#this was the closest to her fringe it had other than just going full side swept asdfgfd

[heartillian]

watercolour character maker / rinoa heartilly

tagged by :     @heavensarch​ !! (thank you!) tagging :    @castholy​ and uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh anybody else idk who has & hasn’t been tagged & i don’t wanna clog up activity feeds asdfd feel free to say i tagged u (also @nightscaped​ i’m tagging myself hehehe)

[goodlucktai]

hii u still doing the prompts? ✨🥺 its ok if youre not doing them anymore! ^^

id love 14 foooooor, you guessed it! Natsuyuu ✨ any character u wanna write abt!! (sorry on mobile but let me try to rephrase it)

its a long story

you conned be into thinking u were dead for 11 months, i have time

PROMPTS LIST

14. “It’s a long story.” “You conned me into thinking you were dead for eleven months. I have time.”

x

Natsume's eyes are bright and angry. His arms are folded across his chest, posture guarded. It's as if Shuuichi is looking back in time, back when Natsume was a skinny, cynical fourteen-year-old who didn't trust him. Who didn't really trust anyone.

It makes Shuuichi wince and just keep wincing. His chest feels as though it's caving in. It's been years since Natsume has looked at him like he's a complete stranger.

And Shuuichi is-- tired. It's too small of a word, but it's the right one. He's weary down to his bones. He could just lay down here and sleep. In the back of his mind, he only wants to close his eyes. Keep them closed. Breathe slowly. Rest.

But Natsume is angry, rightfully angry, and looks as though he's seconds away from storming out the door. And Shuuichi has to-- has to fix it. He has to fix it first.

"Takashi," he says. His voice is gentle. He's approached feral, half-mad creatures with less care than he's approaching this.

Natsume's head jerks, in something like a quickly-aborted shake. His fingers dig into his sleeves. He probably doesn't know how young he looks.

Tanuma was in class when Shuuichi showed up, but a single text from Taki was all it took for him to leave in the middle of a lecture. He'll be here soon, and Taki isn't leaving, and Natsume's face is shuttered.

Shuuichi deserves that.

He's casting around for a starting point, for something to say, for any way to bridge this chasm between them that yawns wider and wider with every second of silence, when Natsume beats him to it.

"Where have you been?" he asks.

"Ah," Shuuichi says haltingly. "It's a long story."

Natsume's eyes flash, like he took lessons in being terrifying from the ugly cat haunting his shoulder.

"You let me think you were dead for eleven months. I have time."

Eleven months.

Shuuichi gives into the want to close his eyes.

He reaches out, unseeing, and Hiiragi fills the place beneath his hand in a heartbeat. She's not warm but she's solid, familiar, and one of the only reasons he's still alive.

His grip would have been bruising, were she human. It feels like he's been awake for years. He's so tired.

"You were on the other side, weren't you?" Madara says suddenly. "You went across the river."

The breath almost audibly goes out of the room. Shuuichi is still standing there like a fool, eyes closed, hand curling and uncurling around Hiiragi's because he needs the reminder of her.

"What are you talking about, sensei?" Natsume asks.

"I can smell it on him," Madara says. "The river. The one all you humans cross someday."

"I'm sorry," Taki says loudly, not at all apologetically, "but what the hell does that mean?"

Madara is talking again, explaining, but Shuuichi isn't following it anymore. His eyes are still closed, so tightly that stars start bursting through the dark.

Eleven months. Almost a year.

A hand lights on his arm, as gently as a bird coming in for a landing. When he pries his eyes open, it's to find Natsume much closer than he was before. His guard down, his heart pried wide open, the way it always is for his friends.

He's warm. Shuuichi hasn't been warm in a long time. Longer than he realized.

"I didn't know it was a year," Shuuichi tells him. It seems like an important thing to tell him. "I tried to get back."

"Okay," Natsume says warily.

It's his turn to approach with care. It's unfair that his anger should have to take the back-burner to whatever this is. He's allowed to be angry-- Shuuichi did what he promised he would never do and fully disappeared from his life.

But Natsume has never been one to cling to anger. He says, "You're back now. So it's okay."

Even now that he's not hugging himself, holding himself together, Natsume still looks laughably young. His hair is falling out of its tail, fringe hanging into his wide green eyes. He's wearing Tanuma's sweater, two sizes too big.

He's Shuuichi's family. One of the two closest things he's ever had to a little brother. One of first things he thinks of when he thinks of home. The touchstone that guided him back, through the dark. Through the water.

Shuuichi can't let go of Hiiragi, but he has two hands. When he lifts his other one, Natsume snatches it like it's an offer that might expire. Wraps both of his hands around Shuuichi's one and holds on tight. Anchors him.

"You're back," Natsume says again, as though one of them still needs convincing. His eyes are glassy. "I'm sorry that you-- that I didn't-- I thought you-- "

"I prefer you shouting at me to whatever this is," Shuuichi croaks, partly because it's true, and partly because it makes Taki bark out a laugh, half-hysterical, and Natsume verbally trip over whatever apology he was trying to scrape together. "Where did that angry face go? It was precious."

"Shut up," Natsume says immediately, a knee-jerk reaction. "How are you like this? Right now?"

The front door opens with a considerable amount of noise, and then there's the telling clatter of Tanuma and his gangly scarecrow self tripping over the umbrella stand, and when he finally comes into the room it's with a sheepish expression and a bag full of takeout.

"You brought him food?" Madara asks skeptically. "For all you knew, he'd been playing dead for the last year. And you thought he deserved free dinner?"

"When a friend comes back from the dead, the least they deserve is free dinner, Ponta," Tanuma says.

He's not as soft-spoken as he was when he was a boy, but his tone is always gentle. He always speaks kindly. He sets the bag down on the table, and smiles at Shuuichi as though it hasn't been a year since they last spoke. Another little sibling. Another anchor. All three of them.

"If he didn't have a reason for being gone, he wouldn't have come back," Tanuma adds. "I knew that much as soon as I got Tooru's text."

"That's because you're a better person than all the rest of us put together," Taki says. She's smiling now, too, the last of the uncertainty and worry leeched away, because Tanuma's presence in a room just does that. Always has.

Natsume hasn't budged. He's still looking at Shuuichi with wide green eyes.

"I'm sorry I didn't help you," he says. "I-- we looked for you. But we should have done more. We-- I should have helped you."

He's clearly shaken. Whatever Madara told him about the river, whatever that ugly cat has been saying while Shuuichi's mind drifted in and out of service like a cellphone with shitty reception, it's enough to give him an idea of the kind of place Shuuichi was trapped in.

Shuuichi is too tired to have this argument. He's swaying on his feet. If he doesn't pay attention, his mind makes up monsters, dredges up the memory of dark, rushing water. He can still almost hear it, a fuzzy white noise in the back of his mind. He'll probably always hear it. He went someplace he wasn't supposed to go.

So he holds onto Hiiragi, holds onto Natsume, listens to the sound of conversation and cutlery as Tanuma and Taki set the table. He'll tell them everything tomorrow.

For now, he says, "You did help. You were there."

They all were. All three of them. He never would have made it back across the river without these kids-- without Hiiragi's strong, guiding hands-- without this cramped little kitchen waiting for him at the end of a long, crooked bridge, reminding him of what he could have again if he only kept walking.

[knox-knocks]

a hunger inside

an among us au >:) tw: death and violence (no foxes die, only ocs)

read it on ao3

Andrew finds him in the hallway, attempting an escape through the vent in the floor. Andrew’s eyes flick to the corner of the room where the camera is, but it is dark and lifeless, no blinking red light to indicate that someone is watching. Of course, that is why Andrew chose to linger in this part of the ship, after all. No one is ever watching these cameras, so he is free to smoke his cigarettes in peace.

“The vents, huh?” he says and leans against the cool metal wall of the ship and lights the cigarette. He’s almost out. As soon as his job here is done, he’ll have to stop by the closest pit stop for another pack.

Orange jumps at the sound of Andrew’s voice, twisting around in the tiny space the vents allow. It’s not much bigger than him, and he has to wiggle through in order to get out. Andrew watches him, cigarette forgotten between his fingertips, and takes note of the dark red staining his orange space suit, seeping into the fabric.

Andrew tips his head and behind Orange he can see two feet sticking out from the darkness, dripping the same red liquid that’s currently splashed all over him. Andrew is no idiot, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that the liquid is blood and the legs belong to a dead man.

“Faster way to get around,” Orange – Josten, he remembers – says after a tense pause. Andrew can’t see his expression past the dark screen of his visor, instead his own unimpressed face is reflected back at him, distorted in the curve of the helmet.

Andrew has never seen the man underneath the orange suit. He’s been aboard the Space Enterprise for a couple months now and hasn’t so much as taken off his helmet. Which wasn’t a cause for alarm – not at first – because technically it was a rule that you had to be wearing your space suit at all times in case of emergencies, though no one actually did. Except for Josten.

What struck Andrew as strange was that Josten didn’t take it off even to eat. In fact, Andrew has never seen him eat with the others in the cafeteria, not once, in the months since he’s joined the crew.

“I suppose you’re the one the others are worrying about, then,” Andrew says and takes a drag off his cig before it dies. “The imposter.”

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here,” Josten says, neatly dodging the question. His voice is staticky over the mic, more artificial than human.

Andrew looks past at the victim half-eaten by the darkness. Josten subtly shifts his weight, an unsubtle attempt to hide the body, but the damage is done and Andrew has already seen it.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Andrew says. He stares at where he thinks Josten’s eyes should be, and meets his own even expression instead.

Josten doesn’t move so Andrew sighs and pushes up from where he’s leaning against the wall. Josten’s back straightens, and he makes an abortive move, as if reaching for a weapon. Said weapon must still be stuck in whatever poor sap whose blood saturated the floor, because Josten’s hands remain empty, and Andrew unstabbed.

“Go get cleaned up,” Andrew says and stubs out his cigarette against his fatigues. The ashes smear against the black fabric, near invisible. “I’ll cover for you.”

“Why?” Josten says in that robotic voice of his.

“Because now you owe me one,” says Andrew.

“I thought we were even.” Josten mimes a movement reminiscent of raising a cigarette to his mouth, a clumsy mimicry in his bulky suit. “‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’”

“Yes,” Andrew says. “But now I’m covering for you as well. So you owe me.”

It is eerie, the way Andrew can’t see his face to read his reactions, and wonders if this is how his crewmates feel about him. Andrew, always so tightlipped and apathetic, even when the crew started getting picked off one by one. He didn’t join up too much longer after the others, but he’d picked up on their unease almost immediately. Andrew doesn’t care though; he isn’t here to make friends. He is here to do his job.

Josten is the first to break. He turns, stiff, and walks down the hall to the sleeping chambers. Andrew watches him go and waits a few more minutes to give him a bit more time. He’s not really sure why. He could have left when he saw Josten climbing into the vent and pretend he never saw the body, or he could have simply reported exactly what he witnessed.

But it often gets boring on the Enterprise, and perhaps Andrew is intrigued, maybe he wants to see where this goes. Plus, it might come in handy to have the resident murderer indebted to him.

Andrew reports the body over the comm link and makes his way to the cafeteria.

_ _

It was Green who was killed, though Andrew never bothered to learn the man’s real name. The remaining crewmates are dragged from their tasks to deliberate over the murder, while Andrew watches over the chaos and waits for Josten to join them. In the end he points his finger at Red, who has no alibi except for her claim to be down in Navigation at the time of the murder. But the others do not listen and in their panic, they are quick to vote her out.

Her screams of terror and pleading are cut short by the hiss of the chamber door sealing shut. It is Yellow who slams the ejection button, and Andrew watches as Red is spat into the black vacuum of space. Yellow flinches when the air is forced out of her lungs and her blood boils in her veins, but Andrew does not.

Ten crewmates turn to eight in a day, and the others are soothed enough to go back to their assignments. At least until Andrew finds Josten stuffing Yellow’s crumpled form into one of the cupboards in Storage a few days later.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Andrew says smoothly, and Josten flips around, quite literally caught in the act. He’s still holding the knife, but he lowers it when he sees Andrew.

“I owe you two?” he says.

“One,” Andrew replies. Josten tips his head, a strangely animal action with the giant space helmet on. “I want your name.”

Josten hesitates.

“Your full name.”

“Neil,” he says slowly, as if trying it out. “Neil Josten.”

“Neil,” Andrew repeats, and he quite likes the taste of it on his tongue. It tastes a little of danger, like the iron-tang of blood. “Now show me your face, and we will be even.”

Neil is slow in taking off his helmet, and Andrew watches in rapt attention as the vents blow out a stream of oxygen and steam as the seals release and Neil twists the helmet off.

Andrew wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but Neil looks normal. At least, he has a nose and a mouth, and reddish-brown hair falling into his eyes. It’s as his gaze is tracking the movement of his auburn curls that Andrew spots the reason Neil was so hesitant to take off his helmet.

His eyes are a bright, crimson red, glittering and dark under the fringe of his hair. Undeniably alien.

Andrew takes a step forward and grabs Neil by the chin. He brings his face down closer to his own and moves it side to side, studying him. Aside from the eyes, his face is also marked by deep gouges and circular scars on either side of his face. He is very attractive, and Andrew feels a slow, tight pull in his navel. He would quite like to take this man apart, bit by bit. Neil is silent as he lets Andrew look his fill.

“There’s a vent in the corner of the room, to the left,” Andrew says, releasing Neil’s face. “I’d be quick if I were you.”

Neil narrows those red eyes of his before reattaching his helmet and following Andrew’s directions. He has the vent open and one leg in when he turns back and says, “Why do you never talk to any of the others?”

Andrew gives him a thin, close-mouthed smile and says nothing.

He doesn’t report the body. He lets Purple find it, and he and Neil meet the others in the cafeteria together. His suit his clean, no traces of the blood that had been previously splattered down his front. His helmet is on, but he’s not the only one hiding their face so no one mentions it.

“Minyard,” the man in the white suit says. Andrew is pretty sure his name is Folkson or Falkner or something. His face his pale, eyes stretched wide, and his lips tremble as he talks. He’s the oldest out of all of them, and has taken the helm. “Where were you?”

“With Josten,” Andrew says. “We were clearing out the oxygen tanks in O2.”

“That’s not usually a two-person job,” Lime says suspiciously.

Andrew levels a look at her. “It is if you do it properly.”

“We need to figure this out,” Cyan snaps, and Andrew wracks his brain for their name. He comes up blank. “We’ve been getting picked off for weeks and we still have no fucking clue as to why.”

“They might not be human,” Pink says in his quiet voice, thin as a thread. He clutches his gloves in his hands, turning them over and over. “What if this is a game to them?”

Andrew hedges a look toward Neil but he is still, silent.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cyan says, and rolls their eyes. “We need to stay focused before we lose the mission.”

“You give a lot of orders and not a lot of answers,” Folkson or Falkner gripes.

“I could say the same for you,” Cyan replies coolly.

Andrew lets them bicker. He said his piece, and both he and Neil are cleared. After all, Pink saw them on the cameras, and they were no one near the body when Purple found it. In fact, no one was around, and soon the suspicion turns to Purple. Their pleas fall on deaf ears as they are locked in the ejection chamber and Cyan presses the button.

The others whisper around them, desperate prayers to a God that has no place in the depths of space. Let us be right, they murmur. Please, this time, let us be right.

_ _

The first time Andrew kisses Neil, they are in the showers and he has just scrubbed the last of Falkner’s blood off of him. Red turns to pink as it runs off of him, over the white tiles, and down the drain. Andrew knows someone will stumble across the body and report it soon, but he doesn’t care.

Neil’s voice is different when he’s not wearing the helmet, and so is his gasp when Andrew pushes him against the still-dripping wall and presses their mouths together in a bruising kiss. He has a grip on his t-shirt, one in his hair, and he angles their mouths together in a way that has Neil scrabbling against the wall for support.

“Andrew,” he says, and the sound is long, drawn out. Neil tips his head back against the wall and Andrew mouths at his neck, his skin warm from the blood pumping life through his body.

Neil is a killer, the imposter among them, but his skin still bruises and his body still reacts to Andrew’s touch. He kisses him, again and again and again, each one harsher than the last.

Andrew only pulls away when Neil’s tongue darts out to touch his bottom lip. He takes a step back. He needs to be more careful. He shouldn’t be letting Neil get close like this, it’s too dangerous. Too easy to slip up.

Neil’s eyes are blown, his cheeks flushed. “I think we should blame Lime,” he says, breathless.

Andrew presses another kiss to his mouth and resists the urge to sink his teeth into Neil’s lip. Dangerous.

Once under control, Andrew says, “There will be four of us left, after this.”

Neil nods, suddenly solemn. He almost looks regretful. He opens his mouth, closes it.

“Let’s go,” he says without meeting Andrew’s eyes, and Andrew has the feeling that he was going to say something else. Before he can ask, though, Neil is already pulling on his gear.

In the end, they can’t decide who to eject, and Lime is safe. For now.

_ _

“I didn’t do that one,” Neil says quietly, peering down at Lime’s twisted body at the bottom of the stairs. Her neck is broken, blonde hair falling over a face slackened by death, though still etched with fear. Andrew imagines her eyes widening, mouth opening in a scream as hands wrap around her throat, shoving her down the stairs. The image is not difficult to conjure.

“Must have tripped,” Andrew replies. He looks at Neil in the corner of his eyes, and a thrill goes through him when he sees the now-familiar bloodred of his gaze.

“I suppose we report this to the others,” Neil says the same moment Cyan enters the room with Pink in tow.

“Get away from him,” Cyan snarls, and it takes a moment for Andrew to realize that they’re talking to him. “He is the imposter. You – Orange.”

Desperation makes people clumsy, sloppy, and Andrew sees that they are very afraid. Neil looks alarmed – and extremely guilty standing over the body. Never mind Andrew was also caught red-handed, Cyan and Pink surround Neil and Neil only.

So they don’t suspect Andrew at all.

“You killed Gen,” Cyan says, voice shrill. They leap at Neil, and with Pink’s help they corner him against the wall as Andrew watches on. “And I’m willing to bet you were plotting to kill Black too. Lure him down and execute him here.”

“What of it?” Neil says through clenched teeth. Cyan has his arms pinned to his sides, and there is nowhere for him to go. They force him back, crowding him into the ejection chamber. Neil jerks in their grip, but Cyan holds tight. Pink grapples with the panel on the wall to open the door, but his shaking hands slide helplessly over the smooth panel. He finally finds a grip and gets the door open.

“Look at his eyes,” Pink cries. “I told you. I told you he wasn’t human.”

“Shut up,” Cyan grits and shoves Neil into the chamber. Neil struggles, bucking in a last-ditch effort to get out of Cyan’s grip, but it’s useless. They found their imposter, and now they’re going to kill him. His wide red eyes meet Andrew’s calm ones, and he rams his body into Cyan’s, desperate.

Cyan grunts at the impact and looks over their shoulder at Andrew. “Black,” They hiss. “Minyard, help – ”

Andrew smiles, revealing the rows of razor-sharp teeth he has so carefully hid from everyone until now. Pink sees it first and screams, but it’s cut off when Andrew lunges and sinks his fangs in his slender neck. Blood gushes into his mouth, and it tastes so sweet. Pinks chokes, hands fluttering ineffectually at his sides as Andrew tears out his throat.

Cyan watches with horror, but before they can do anything, Neil is already there, his arms wrapped around their neck. He forces their head back at such a steep angle that Cyan cries out in pain, and shakes them like a ragdoll. It is easy now that they have the element of surprise, and Neil snaps Cyan’s neck with ease. They slump to the ground and Neil stares at their body, chest heaving from the fight.

“You,” he says, still out of breath, eyes traveling up to Andrew’s. “You’re the other one.”

Andrew licks his lips, blood dripping from his face, his sharpened teeth, and Neil tracks the movement. “Yes,” he says simply.

Neil grins. “Good. I would have hated killing you.”

“You never would have gotten close.” Andrew steps over Pink’s still-twitching body and hooks his fingers in the thick collar of Neil’s space suit. “Yes or no?”

Neil’s eyes are dilated, black enveloping red. “You already know my answer,” he says, voice heavy.

Andrew’s grip on him tightens. “Say it anyway.”

“Yes,” Neil says and Andrew yanks him in for a fierce kiss. Neil makes a sound low in his throat, guttural, and Andrew swallows it. He’s sure he nicks Neil with his teeth now that he’s not so concerned about keeping them hidden, but Neil doesn’t seem to mind. He is happy licking the blood from Andrew’s lips.

Neil’s eyes flash red and Andrew’s teeth bare in a sharp smile. Game over.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Lost Boys: A Good Night

Word Count: 2,071

Summary: Sometimes Dwayne feels the need to wander Santa Carla by himself. On one such night, he comes into some money, gets in a fight, and picks up an upgraded bike all while looking good. It’s hard to know how a night will go when it starts, but this one looks like it’s shaping up to be a good one. 

Dwayne had been a calm, passive personality for most of his long life. That’s not to say he didn’t have moments of mischief or violence, because he certainly did both as a human and a vampire. But someone in their gang needed to ground the energy and that was a role he was comfortable filling.

Sometimes he wondered if he would have turned out the same if he had been born different. Maybe he would have been more assertive, or playful, if his brownness wasn’t a factor.

But it wasn’t something he liked to dwell on since wishful thinking never changed anything.

That particular night Dwayne was eager to leave the cave. The other boys were moving slower than usual that evening and he struggled to wait for them. Finally, he made eye contact with David.

“I’ll meet you guys later,” he promised quietly.

David looked at him for a moment then nodded once in assent. Dwayne flew out of the cave’s rocky mouth doing a few aerial flips before reaching the top of the bluff. Still airborne, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

He could no longer enjoy the warmth of the sun on his face, but the feel of the wind playing with his hair and the salty ocean spray that tickled his nose were nice substitutes that he made due with.

The longer hair was a newer development. For the first time since early childhood, he was growing out his hair and the nearly shoulder length strands would his around his face when he flew. He had considered braiding it, or at least tying it back, but figured the length didn’t warrant that quite yet.

Dwayne had also recently become the proud owner of a new motorcycle after he had taken it from a victim about a month back. Seeing as how it was new, he was still in a protective mode towards it and tried his best to take care of it. So when he had wanted to upgrade some parts, he brought it to a mechanic shop to make sure everything was done as right as possible.

He was scheduled to pick it up tonight and he was excited to get it back after missing it for a few days. But before that happened, there was the matter of payment.

There would be more potential targets to choose from at the boardwalk, but most who frequented at this time of night were young people who weren’t exactly rolling in money. On the other hand, there was a ritzy social club just up the street from the boardwalk that was popular with Santa Carla’s upper class.

The stakes were higher, but so was the reward.

And not only was Dwayne a seasoned pickpocket, he was also a professional, which meant success was all but guaranteed. Plus, it sounded like more fun to rip off the rich.

Mind made up, he flew towards the restaurant and dropped down in an unlit alley behind the building, landing with a muted thump. He staked out the parking lot with his arms and hands loose, ready to make a move when opportunity presented itself.

His brown eyes tracked a couple exiting the social club, a young woman in her twenties and an again man with a pronounced gut, the latter pulling a wad of dollar bills from his pocket to hand some to the door boy. He put the money straight back in his jacket pocket instead of using a wallet.

Bingo.

Dwayne stayed back until the couple was a couple of feet away. Squeezing his way between two cars, he sauntered up the lot, making sure he was on the side closest to the man.

In the immediate moment preceding contact, Dwayne curved his body in such a way so as to make sure he would hit as much of the other guy he could. He bumped into him, hard, simultaneously snatching the money from the jacket pocket, faster and lighter than a normal human could sense.

The transaction was over in less than three seconds. Dwayne expertly stashed it in the waist of his jeans then turned, raising both of his hands with open palms to convince the other two that it was an accident.

The man made a surprised noise during the jostling, his eyes focused on Dwayne’s long, dark hair and his buck skin vest. Now that he had a clear look at who had run into him, distain showed on his face. “Never expected to see one of your kind at a place like this. Better watch where you’re walking boy.”

Dwayne’s face remained neutral.

He was dismissed by the couple and they continued onto their car, none-the-wiser that the jacket was lighter than it had been.

Dwayne walked calmly, but purposefully away into the darkened alley to count how much money had lifted. He was pleased to find he now had $60 in his possession.

He smirked at the couple’s car as they drove away. What a bunch of suckers.  

He made sure the cash was secured and wandered down the sidewalk, deciding that he would go to the boardwalk next. Technically, there was still a little time left until he had to pick up his bike, and now that he had some extra cash, he was eager to check out the booths and tables at the boardwalk.

The blinking lights glow fantastically against the black skyline and the joyful screams of riders are audible even before entering official boardwalk limits. This spot has always drawn lots of people, locals and tourists alike, no matter the time.

Dwayne weaved through the thick crowds, which got thicker the further in he went, and found his way to the booths he was interested in. For the most part, they were all lined up in a row on either side of the wooden walkway. The things people were selling were fairly typically—art, clothes, and physic services, to name a few. The jewelry tables featured mostly handmade items that glittered under the streetlight.

One spot in particular, really caught his eye. Dwayne paused while he took in the heishi necklaces made with delicate fragments of shell, shiny silver earrings with bold turquoise pieces, and the selection of intricately beaded chokers.  He looked at everything, picking up the cool ones to properly admire them.

The traditional influences of several tribes were represented: the Navajo, Kewa Pueblo, and Cherokee, among others. Other than the fact that they were North American tribes, there wasn’t any discernable theme that he noticed so the booth likely wasn’t run by someone with ties to a specific group.

He was proven right few moments later.

“The turquoise is really popular right now,” said a young blonde from behind her wispy bangs.

In his mind, Dwayne answered with a sarcastic no shit remark, but all he did on the outside was nod. Turquoise had been an important color, full of spiritual connotations, for the better part of the last couple hundred years in a lot of different tribes.

So, yeah. Popular.

Although, Hendrix wore that beaded fringe shirt with some turquoise to Woodstock last year… maybe the mainstream thought it was a trend.

“Ghost beads are also cool,” she continued. She lifted up a necklace with chunky round beads that were neutrally colored. “They’re supposed to protect you from evil.”

He could use some peace in his life, but he doubted this would help him out considering he was the evil spirit, the ghost, the nightmare, that it was supposed to ward off. Instead, he pointed to a white beaded choker with a turquoise centerpiece.

“What about this one?”

“I’ve had it a while. No ones been that interested in it.”

He rubbed it between the pads of his fingers. It was smooth to the touch and seemed durable when he tested its flexibility. “How much?”

The lady seemed surprised, then contemplative.

“Fifteen dollars,” she said in her best business voice.

Dwayne countered, “How about you accept five and then I’ll take it off your hands.”

She opened her mouth, but made the mistake of looking into his compelling dark irises.  She readily agreed and he handed over a twenty, the smallest bill from his stack of borrowed bills. An illuminated clock post showed that he had fifteen minutes to get to the mechanic garage. He thanked her and left with his change and a brand-new necklace hanging from around his neck.

The flow of traffic had become even more packed in the short time he had been there, especially as he moved closer to the exit. He was nearly out when he accidently bumped into a random guy, this time entirely on accident. He had seen the run-in coming and tried his best to angle out of the way, but with so many people around, his shoulder still clipped the guy in the chest.

Since it was an accident, and because he had somewhere to be, he planned to shake it off and continue on. The other guy didn’t take it well.

Dwayne felt a hand grab his shoulder from behind and was pushed into a small alley between two stores. His back was slammed against the wall, his head taking a pretty good knock. A forearm pressed against his chest.

“Watch where you’re walking!”

It was easy enough to assess the easiest way out of the situation.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, throwing in a noticeable wince for good measure. People like this tended to back off faster if they felt he had learned his lesson.

It was annoying to be waylaid like this, but he kept that emotion absent from his face. He was much stronger than them physically and their attempts to hurt him were barely painful. With any luck, this one would get over it sooner rather than later.

“You should be, you redskin,” he yelled while poking the necklace.

F for creativity.

To stop from rolling his eyes he closed them in mock fear. Redskin was hardly the most creative slur that had ever been hurled at him.

But then the guy had the balls to spit at him.

Dwayne couldn’t stop his jaw from clenching as the spit soaked into his vest. Maybe he did have enough time to take care of this. Before he could make the guy sorry, a bloody hand burst through his soon-to-be-meal’s chest unexpectedly.

The hand retracted and there was confusion on the guy’s face at the gory hole in the center of his chest cavity that was pumping out a steady river of blood. Within seconds the body dropped to the wooden floor, dead.

Marko stood there with his vamped out face, shaking his hand to get some of the flesh out from under his claws.

“Racist dick,” he sneered. He turned to Dwayne, his features melting back to their soft human version.

“Hey man,” he grinned, waving.

Dwayne looked at him unimpressed. “I was taking care of it.”

“I know,” the blond admitted, sucking on his bloody fingers. “But I hate when they talk to you like that.”

Dwayne huffed but didn’t push the issue; the boys were all protective of each other, they were brothers after all, but they were extra sensitive with Dwayne. He appreciated the back-up most of the time, but in this instance, he was a little peeved that he had been robbed the satisfaction of the kill.

He toed the corpse with the bottom of his boot. “You made the mess, then you clean it up.”

Marko pouted but didn’t argue.

Dwayne patted the cash to settle himself. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Go. I got it. And don’t worry, we’ll find you someone to eat,” Marko waved him off.

He slapped the blonde vampire on the shoulder and left him to it.

A small bell jingled when he pushed the door open to the front office of the garage. A teenager with kinky hair was working the desk. He pointed at Dwayne’s choker.

“Cool necklace,” he complimented genuinely.  

Dwayne nodded his head in thanks and watched the kid go bring the motorcycle out front.

The night was shaping up to be a pretty good one. He was getting his bike back, his new jewelry looked good, and his friends would have someone waiting from his to eat when he joined back up with them. 

Yeah. A pretty good night indeed. 

_______________

Thanks for reading!

I wanted to get this out in November since it’s Indigenous Heritage Month and a decent amount of fans headcannon Dwayne as being Native. Or at least not strictly white. Tribes had a Red Power Movement following Civil Rights era so I imagine this sometime in 1970. 

Also partly inspired by how the boys jumped to defend Dwayne in the opening scene of the movie. 

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Unexpected, To Say The Least (ObeyMe Fic)

Okaaayyyy so... this turned out differently than I wanted it to, but these types of things happen when you leave a wip in your drafts for months (╬▔皿▔)╯ but it’s still good. This is a part 1, so stay tuned.... depending on how long it takes me haha.. ha. 

~~~~~~

Scribbling in a notebook, a red night light from the window right next her defining the flyaway strands of hair on the top of her head, Aviyah was blissfully unaware of the stares from her classmates. Resting her chin on her closed fist, one leg crossed over the other, black boots bobbing up and down to the tune she had stuck in her head. She was so calm, so much calmer than she had been in weeks.

Aviyah, a human in a world of demons and angels, had arrived in Devildom two months ago. At first, she was unnerved by the close attention she gained from all the demons, angels and the other human she met. Lord Diavolo, who had also taken a liking to her, ensured that it was just because she was a different species to them. She was weak, a helpless being compared to the Avatars of sin she was living with and angels of heaven she had some classes with. Demons fed off souls, and it was an angel’s job to protect those bright balls of light in each human, so it was only right that they kept a close eye on her. Especially when the future king himself had ordered the seven strongest brothers in all of Devildom to keep her safe for the duration of the exchange programme.

But it wasn’t that. Aviyah was sure of it. She had gained unworldly attention for her entire life. Boys seemed to bow at her feet, begging her to let them serve her each and every whim. Girls clung to her, wanting to be friends with such a kind-hearted, beautiful, smart person- and also wanting to meet her every demand. Aviyah, having been raised by good-willed parents, didn’t take advantage of this strange power she seemed to hold over everyone she met, although she did accept the odd gift from colleagues and classmates on that one special day a year, mainly because she didn’t want to be rude. She hardly asked for anything in public because it would cause quite a stir, everyone in the room darting around to take care of the task she had so graciously offered them. All she wanted was an item from the top shelf, but now she had twenty boxes of cereal that she really didn’t need. 

She expected, being in a world of magic, spells, and potions that could kill or force someone to love you, that she would be safe from all the unneeded, and frankly unwanted, attention. Yet, lo and behold, the first day she arrived here, in a much colder climate than she was used to, both the Avatar of Greed and the Avatar of Envy threw their coats at her, only for her to get consumed by the jacket of the largest man she had ever seen, the Avatar of Gluttony. And she hadn’t even made a pact with them yet!

“I’m telling you, there’s something up with her.” A muttering came from the other side of the otherwise bustling classroom. It was just before their lesson would start, everyone was getting themselves ready to learn about different species of man, except for one group of, shockingly, demons and angels.

“Mammon, won’t you admit your true feelings?” The dark-toned angel smiled softly at the second-born brother. Truly, he felt an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of his stomach too, something he couldn’t even begin to describe, but would never admit it himself. He was sure it was something sinful, something against his very being, and would only confess when the time came. 

“What feelings! I-I ain’t got no feelings.” A horrendously red blush appeared immediately on Mammon’s entire face, noticed by all those involved in this small huddle over a desk.

“You don’t even deserve her. You already get to spend so much time with her! It’s so unfair!” The purple-haired otaku tried to bite his lip, he really did, but the jealousy for his brother grew too high, bubbling over into the trait he most represented. Envy.

“That was only because Lucifer made me! I didn’t even wanna babysit that human!” Mammon barked back, not meaning the words but needing a distracted from the embarrassment he could still feel colouring his cheeks. The two butted heads often, but this time it was literal, immediately starting to throw punches to defend the one they held so dear. Several people tried to get between them, the male human even getting his own strike to the jaw, and all hell brought loose in- well- hell.

“Guys! Stop!” A higher-toned, feminine cry, although thick with command and low with anger, echoed over the room, every single one of the occupants freezing in an instance, even those that weren’t involved in this little scuffle- or under the young girl’s pact.

Crouching beside her male counterpart, who had been thrown to the ground by the force of being hit, was Aviyah, the one they had been fighting over. With one hand on Solomon’s back and the other holding his hand to keep him upright, she glared at the two that had been previously brawling in what was meant to be a safe place. 

Aviyah rarely used her unknown power to command people. Or was it the pact? She couldn’t tell any more, but at least it worked. 

“Are you alright, Solomon?” Disappointment turning to anxiousness etched in her expression, Aviyah let go of the sorcerer’s hand and back- once she could tell he could hold himself up-, only to move her’s close to his face, cocking her head to get a better look at the cut bleeding through his white-haired fringe. Being in such close proximity to the woman, and earning so much of her undivided attention, brought many hateful gazes to the man, but he didn’t care. He was thriving off it, in fact. 

“What? Are you worried about me?” No better was the time to tease her, to see that eye roll she did so well and hear that exasperated sigh as she dropped her hands, all previous nurturing gone from her posture as she stood up. 

“You just got punched in the face by a demon and still have the wherewithal to joke?” She muttered, wondering to herself if he was the one with supernatural abilities. Well, he did, he could use magic, but she wondered if he had his own special ability since birth. Could that have been the reason they were the two, out of the entire human race, to be chosen for this life-altering program?

Once she got to her feet, she turned to see Mammon and Leviathan, both with their heads lowered in shame. They had angered their... Goddess? Master? Friend? They didn’t know what to call her, having been the first two to make pacts with her, but there was this force, this unspoken voice that drew them to her and made them bow at her feet. Or want to, anyway.

Before Aviyah could even start to berate them for losing control like that, they had even transformed into the demon-forms, a stern voice cut through the entire scene. Students pinned themselves to the wall, trying to get as far from the fighting as possible, so they seemed to surround them like hawks, eagerly watching, waiting for the two to be punished by such a soft-spoken, angelic figure. 

Now in the doorway, however, was a man. With black hair as dark as the most inner depths of Devildom, red eyes as angry as the fire that sprouted from them, and an expression that has killed in the past, the man glared at the two, not even wanting to look in the direction of the girl in case she too saw his wrath.

“You two. With me. Now.” The words were curt and entirely ineloquent, nothing like that eldest would usually speak, showing how deeply enraged he was. The two quickly scurried after him, for once keeping their mouths shut.

~~~~~~

Biting her lip, Aviyah couldn’t take her eyes off that door, now empty after Lucifer had guided his younger brothers away. 

“It was me, wasn’t it?” She spoke loud enough for the people closest to her to hear, but a whisper full of regret did not go unnoticed. 

“What do you mean, Avi?” Simeon stepped up to try and ease the look of worry that they all saw on her face, but she stepped away, afraid for anyone to even touch her. What if he, Simeon, the nicest, most modest person she had ever met, went into a jealous rage too?

“They were fighting over me, weren’t they?”  Aviyah’s voice cracked as she clutched her fists at her sides, avoiding looking at anyone directly, scared it’ll put them under the curse she seemed to have. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to pull families apart. She just wanted to have no one know who she was. 

“Avi,” Simeon uttered again, but it was too late. Aviyah had already made up her mind, collecting all her resolve in one solid sniff and running out of the room, hoping she could catch the brothers before something too bad happened. 

~~~~~~

“What do you think you’re doing, having a fight like that in the middle of class? Do you think it will make you seem strong? Seem manly? Because it won’t! It only makes you seem needy.” Lucifer’s booming voice shook the paintings on the walls, giving Aviyah some clue as to where he had taken the two. She followed the shouts of pain and anger, running as more and more tears grew in her eyes. She didn’t want to do what she was about to do, but she needed to. She didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. To get jealous. Not when it was all the people she actually cared about.

Finally, in an empty classroom where the shouts seemed the loudest, Aviyah found the door still open ajar, standing just out of sight so she could listen in, waiting for the right moment before anything too serious happened. If that hadn’t happened already, that is. 

“You made a fool out of me! The student council! Not only that, but you made Aviyah look so defeated! I won’t let you argue like this anymore!” Lucifer raged on with a temper that rivalled Satan’s. “I may just have to claim her myself.” 

The comment, although almost a whisper, shot everyone in hearing distance into full-blown madness, both Levi and Mammon charging at him, demanding how he thought he had the right to even suggest the idea. Before they could make contact with each other, Aviyah cried out, desperately begging them to just wait.

All attention on her now, as usual, the men’s eyes went wide. She was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks at the sight of the brothers, who were always so comfortable with each other, usually so familiar, fighting like this? Over her? It broke her like it broke their relationship. 

“I can’t do this anymore. I want to go home! I’m not happy and I never was! Please! Let me go home!” She lied, straight through her teeth. She had never been happier than living here, in Devildom, with all their brothers. She enjoyed her time listening to them bicker playfully, not like they were now. She enjoyed watching Levi play his games. She enjoyed eating with Beelzebub. She enjoyed reading books with Satan. Being dressed up by Asmo. Listening to Mammon’s wild get-rich-quick-schemes. Napping with Belphie. Even with Simeon and Solomon, who she didn’t get to see as often as the others. Luke was fun to cook with- even though he seemed a little apprehensive of her. She enjoyed all her time here but right now, in times like these, when it felt like everything was her fault.

“Avi, what’re you saying?” Mammon’s voice broke, between all the yelling and the way his heart broke at her tone and words, and his brows knitted together tightly. Levi froze up, not knowing what to say in response to her sudden outcry, and Lucifer felt like he could steal her away right here and now. Never before had he felt so out of control.

“I’m sorry, It’s all my fault. I need to leave, go home. I need to get out of your lives because- because I’ll ruin them.” She hiccupped, choking on the tears that clogged her throat, and she tried to hide how sad she was by holding her face in her hands. Her knees shook, her body- just as frail as they had always suspected. It took so much energy for her to say these words and not completely breakdown.

“N-No, it’s not your fault. W-We shouldn’t have be-been fighting.” Levi made a move to step closer, to wrap his arm around her, to help her feel better, but both Mammon and Lucifer shot him a glare so deadly it made the room cold. 

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Aviyah continued to stutter through her words, her tears interrupting her usually melodic, smooth voice, as she felt the indignation in their eyes. 

“This always happens. It was a mistake to choose me. I... I’m going to go to Diavolo now and tell him this was wrong.” She tried to steel herself, to seem strong enough to walk through these halls alone and leave Devildom for good, but it was no use. They could all see how distraught she was.

“Always happens?” Lucifer muttered, confusion written all over his features. 

“There’s something inside me, there always has been. It makes people so hateful for one another and I can’t do that to you all. You’re a family, I won’t tear it apart. I-I need to...” Aviyah led off, not knowing what else to say. Memories of her past, all the friendships she had unknowingly, unwittingly, torn apart because of what? Because she was desirable? Because she was pretty and smart and kind? No amount of adoration was worth this. None of it.

The room was silent, deathly so, no one knew what to say. Have Levi and Mammon just ruined their chances to know such a wonderful person? And not just a person, but a human. Someone they were never meant to befriend. Someone that should fear them and hate them for who they were, for what they represented. But no, she showed them care and love and compassion, what they believed only a human could give. 

So, with no one left to tell her no, to not go and stay with them because they needed her so badly it hurt, she started to turn back to the door.

“Wait, Aviyah. Just... Just wait.” Shockingly at a lost for words, Lucifer turned to his desk, where his D.D.D laid, and picked it up. Aviyah started to refuse him, to say this was the right thing to do, this was the only way they could live calm, happy lives, but he continued to use the communication device, calling together a meeting that would change everything.

~~~~~~

“Tell them what you told me,” Lucifer instructed in Lord Diavolo’s conference room, having called a meeting of the student council together. Everyone looked at him with suspicious gazes, having no real information on why they were here, Levi and Mammon stressing out like they were about to take the most important, most difficult tests in their lives.

“Lucifer, this isn’t going to cha-.”

“Just say it.” The words were demanding, but the tone was soft, very shocking for Lucifer- until it was for Aviyah. He always seemed to have a soft spot for her. Like Mammon. Although for different reasons. 

Aviyah lowered her head, eyes still damp from her earlier confession, thinking about what she was about to say. After a brief but deep sigh, she lifted her gaze again, but only as far as the edge of the table she sat at.

“Since before I can remember, everyone I’ve met has... wanted me.” She bit her lip, not knowing how else to say it. It always felt like someone was trying to win her over, to win her as a price to show everyone else that they were the one she chose.

“No matter who it is, they say they love me or they’d do anything for me. And no matter how much I tell them to stop, they just get more outrageous. They give me elaborate gifts or take me places I wouldn’t normally go. They shower me in a love that I never asked for until they can’t anymore.” Aviyah’s voice cracked again, tears rolling down her cheeks again as she remembered the people that bankrupted themselves to win her over and the others that have lost their health, their friends, the ones who loved them, all to impress her in one way or another. 

“No matter how many times I say I don’t need it, they’ll keep doing it. It’s not until I say I don’t want them or the things they give me that they stop. I thought it’d be different when I came here, but when you guys started fighting...” Aviyah finally worked up the courage to look up, gesturing in the direction of Levi and Mammon, who blushed when she made eye contact with the both of them. 

“This is why we’re here? Because those two were acting childishly again?” Satan sighed to himself, upset that his reading time had been cut short. He wouldn’t even address the panicked feeling that arose in him when he heard the solemness of Aviyah’s tone.

“You’re almost as seductive as me, Avi! Aren’t you lucky to have so much in common with me? Someday you too might be able to bring down a country with your looks.” Asmo leaned into her, ignoring how saddened she seemed by the statment. The next move she made shocked everyone.

“I don’t want to do that! I want it to stop! I hate it and I hate myself for it!” She yelled after pushing Asmodeus so strongly off her he fell right out of his seat. Every time she brushed him off she had never actually been physical. Who was she, a human, to push off a demon? Better yet, how did she have the strength?

“Hey, did you see that?” A whispering demon mentioned to his brother, noticing the flicker of light that sparked in her eyes in her yelling. Even though her words broke their hearts, it was hard not to bring it up.

The outcry caused the prince, stern-faced compared to his usual jovial smirk, to peer at her closer. “I see. Lucifer, do you think she’s..?”

“Yes, I do. It would explain everyone’s... erratic behaviours around her.” Lucifer, not wanting the entire picture drawn out for her and his brothers, interrupted the prince. The information would be hard to hear, for Aviyah most of all, and an off-handed comment was not how he wanted to break the news to her.

“But where are her features? She’s an open-book, we would have seen something by now.” Satan, catching on, eyed her as suspiciously as he had Lucifer in the past, watching the tears roll down her cheeks as she tries to calm herself down. She never yelled like that and felt awful for what she did, but was too scared to even speak to anyone else, let alone touch or apologise to Asmo for her supposed violence. 

“Would someone tell us what’s going on? I-I mean, Levi might be confused, is all.” Not wanting to seem idiotic for asking, Mammon jumped up before shying away again, not being able to cope with the girl’s silent crying.

“Avi, it’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.” Asmo, along with Beel, tried to be some sort of caring figure in the room of inquisitive stares. 

When Beel tried to put a hand on her shoulder, she jumped away. “P-Please! Do-Don’t. I... I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“It’s possible she hasn’t been... awoken yet.” Diavolo couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea. It would be just like the innocent human, if that’s what she truly was, to not have the necessary experiences she needed in life to prove their theory correct. Lucifer couldn’t help but blush.

“Awoken?” Aviyah’s voice, now somewhat tamed but hoarse from her crying, looked up at the prince. Had he an idea? Could he cure her? Could he take away this curse, gift, whatever it was? Could he end all this?

“Well, depending on your immediate ancestry, it’s possible your power needs to be... unlocked, in a way. It’s clear you’re no mere human. You even seduced dear Barbatos, and he never even blushes at my comments.” Diavolo laughed again, gesturing with his gaze to the corner of the room where his butler was clearly fitting the urge to comfort the girl. She quickly looked right back at the prince the moment she noticed this. 

“If I’m not human, then what am I?” 

“Well, my best guess would be a succubus, but seeing as you have more human features, you could be a cambion, a hybrid. We’d have to ask your mother.” Diavolo, as usual, was much too nonchalant with the subject of Aviyah’s supposed species, a topic that would and will change her life forever.

Silence filled the air for one.

Two.

Three.

“WHAT?” Four. They made it to four seconds of silence before Mammon stood up again, shrieking, along with the female in question. Succubi and the topic of hybrids had yet to be discussed in her classes, ironically that was today’s class, but she had a clue what they were from just hearsay.

“You think I’m a demon? But I grew up in the human world! I have human par- well the people that raised me were human... But I never felt the urge to have anything in excess or trick anyone into stealing their money- sorry Mammon- but how could I be a demon?” The tears were gone, replaced with a look of pure confusion that turned to utter disbelief with a hint of ‘what if’. What if he was right?

“The people that raised you? Don’t tell me you were...”

“Adopted. I have two dads who found me on their doorstep. I have no clue who my biological parents are.” The uneasy feeling that meant Diavolo could be right started to rise as Aviyah admitted a part of her past she had never told anyone. It seemed like everything was out in the air now.

“Perfect.”

“This is a problem. Succubi and Incubi have a duty to bring all demons back to Devildom in case they go rogue in the human world. This parent of yours will have some answering to do.” Lucifer, recovered from his bashfulness in an effort to act like the vice-president he was, got furious about someone disrespecting the laws Diavolo had put in place to protect the humans he seemed to so dearly care for. “Dumping you on some couples doorstep will require some serious consequences.”

The whole room shuddered at the idea of what punishments Lucifer was thinking up at this moment, but luckily someone thought to turn the conversation away from that.

“You say she needs to be awoken? I know one way of doing that, but I don’t know… prepared for that she will be.” Satan smirked a side-eyed look Aviyah’s way as she tried to process all this information. She was a demon, or half of one anyway. To think, all those crazy white mom’s at her elementary school were right. 

“I’d be more than happy to volunteer in any way I can.” Asmo started to cosy up to Aviyah once again, making it very clear what the one way of awakening a demon seemed to be.

“No! No, that’s fine, Asmo! B-Besides, I’m not a virgin, so we’ll have to find some other way to awaken this power if you think that’s what I have.” Beetred and edging off her chair to make some distance between the flirt and herself, she almost didn’t hear the snickering from some of the other demons in the room. 

“Oh, deary me.” Asmo tittered to himself, Satan covering his mouth to try and suppress the chuckle that threatened to leave his lips. He didn’t want to make the girl more embarrassed. Mammon joined in, although much louder, just to not feel left out, and Levi blushed furiously, but he knew exactly what everyone else seemed so excited about. As usual, Beel was too distracted by the food laid out by Barbatos to care what was going on now that Aviyah was no longer crying. 

“Aviyah, I’m afraid to say it’s not the act of sex that awakens a demon… It’s the, uh.” Lucifer tried to inform her, he really did, but the stutter that threatened his usually composed manner halted him from doing so. 

“You didn’t cum, did you, Avi?” Diavolo’s brows frowned sincerely, but the wavering of his lips told her he too was trying not to laugh. Aviyah’s cheeks blossomed darker, the embarrassment from her first time flashing through her mind once again and her face screwed up in embarrassment. For her, this situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. 

“Your Highness, if you wouldn’t tease her so much, there is another way to awaken her demon form.” Barbatos, unexpectedly, intervened, shocking everyone in the room but Aviyah. He had always had a sweet spot for the huma- well, hybrid. 

“Yes, yes, Barbatos, you are right. My most sincere apologies, Avi. Lucifer, we’ll come to the House of Lamentation tonight. Prepare the Grimoire.” And with that, Diavolo stood to leave.

“And why not now? Wouldn’t it be best to do this sooner than later so she can learn to control it better?” Satan scowled, earning his own from Lucifer for being so upfront. The prince only chuckled.

“I need to do some… investigating first. You, Satan, of all people, should know what is needed for the ritual.” Satan’s brows frowned suspiciously at the prince as he made his final departure. 

“What does he mean, Satan?” Aviyah leaned into the demon’s side in order to get a clear answer for the first time today and Satan’s gaze finally left the door. 

“He needs your progenitor. He’s going to find your mother or father.”

[lostinfic]

Christmas Eve (stuck) in the Lab

Chapters 8 and 9

Summary: Dr. John Smith and Rose Tyler both work at the Natural History Museum in London, he as a scientist in the labs, and she as a salesgirl in the gift shop. They are only friends, but the upcoming staff Christmas party promises developments they’ve both been longing for. But John and Rose end up stuck with Martha, Donna and Jack in the laboratory, and shenanigans ensue: decontamination showers, cocktails in beakers, a game of truth-or-dare and a Secret Santa rigged by meddling friends.

Tags: mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff with light angst, found family

Rating: Teen (for now)

Ao3

The laboratory was completely silent except for the constant and forgettable hum of refrigerators. Everyone was asleep. Except John. He liked the lab at night, when the blue glow of the central column made everything look like they were underwater.

Eye to the microscope, he was examining the probable cause of their unfortunate situation.

The muted sound of bare feet on concrete made him look up.

Rose yawned and rubbed her eyes as she crossed the lab. She went into the bathroom and came out a minute later with a glass of water, and only then did she notice him. She smiled at him, a slow, sleepy smile, that made him sigh.

“Hello,” she said, keeping her voice low.

“Hello.”

She pulled self-consciously on the hem of the large Dino Store T-shirt she was wearing. John himself was only in his pants and button-down shirt now they were dry.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “Still hallucinating?”

She explained he’d experienced side effects of the antibiotics, and had had to be carried downstairs. He had absolutely no recollection of that.  

“You don’t even remember Jack’s dare?” she asked.

“Nope. What was it?”

“I— I don’t remember either. Something daft, I’m sure.” She averted her gaze and changed the subject. “So, whatcha lookin’ at?”

He scooted away— but not too far away— to let her look into the microscope herself.  

As she leaned over the lens, a strand of hair fell from her braid, over her face. Without thinking, he tucked it behind her ear. She straightened up, surprised.

“Sorry,” he said, retracting his hand as if burned.

“I don’t mind.”

She held his gaze for a moment, challenging him yet hesitating too.

He did it again, unnecessarily. His fingertips brushed along her forehead, swept behind her ear and grazed her jaw, and there she leaned lightly into his touch.

His heart clenched in his chest.

“Anthrax,” he blurted out.

“… What?”

He pushed himself away from the microscope, rolling on the wheeled stool to the opposite desk. He pointed at a picture on the monitor that looked like bits of pink string.

“The unidentified particles, I think it might be anthrax spores.”

Rose joined him by sending herself rolling too.

“Isn’t that what terrorists sent in the mail?”

“Yes, but it existed well before it became famous for that. It’s a common disease of livestock. When infected animals die, sometimes their carcasses get trapped under a layer of permafrost. It’s the perfect place for bacteria to remain alive for very long periods of time.”

He went on to talk about a remote village in Siberia infected three years ago, and NASA scientists reviving 32,000-year-old bacteria from a frozen pond in Alaska.

“That’s the same age as the Megaloceros. The ice is a veritable Pandora’s Box of ancient viruses.”

Rose stopped his babbling with a hand on his arm.

“I’m vaccinated,” he said, “as is Martha. We have to be, in the lab.”

“Jack and Donna?”

“Jack, I don’t know. Donna isn’t, lab managers don’t handle specimens. But you were the closest to it, Rose. And inhaled anthrax is more difficult to treat. It can be fatal. I shouldn’t have let you near me.”

She tried to protest, but her throat itched, and she coughed instead.

John’s eyes widened. “I can’t lose someone else on Christmas Eve.”

She drank from her glass of water. “Just a frog in my throat. You won’t lose me, Doctor.” She tried levity. “Certainly not before I open my Christmas gifts.”

She stroked his arm, and then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, they hugged. And he felt something yield inside of him. He held on to her, longer than appropriate with a friend, and only reluctantly parted from her embrace. He could have held her close all night.

He cleared his throat. “Happy Christmas.”

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘someone else’?” she asked.

He hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

He ignored her question and returned to the microscope, but she gently insisted.

He ran a hand through his hair only to have the fringe flop back on his forehead. Rose brushed it aside as he had done for her.

The last of his defenses crumbled.

“My parents died on Christmas Eve. It was a long time ago.”

“Blimey. An accident?”

“Part of an overpass fell on the car… The radio somehow kept playing. Christmas songs, on and on, until EMTs arrived.”

“Oh god, you were in the car too. How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

Rose held his hand. He rarely spoke about his parents. Every time, grief resurfaced with a strength that surprised him. He’d already revealed more than he liked, but her silent support kept him talking.

“I was already too old to believe in Santa Claus, but… they were in intensive care for a long time. I thought surely there would be a Christmas miracle.”

“Oh, John. And after?… Did you have family?”

He shook his head. “Foster care… then I was on my own, and then, here, my— well, this team.”

A tear rolled down Rose’s cheek; she wiped it with the back of her hand. “Now I understand why you don’t like the holidays.”

“As soon as I hear the first Christmas song on the radio…” He let out a big whoosh of breath. “The foster families, they’d always try to do something special for us orphans, but I could never get into it.”

“Of course not. Feels like there’s always something missing, doesn’t it?” Rose whispered.

“Yeah.”

“My dad, he was killed by a drunk driver, a hit-and-run. I was just a baby. Dunno if that’s better or worse than if I’d known him.”

They looked at each other, sharing an understanding few people did.

John ran a hand down his face, over his red-rimmed eyes and unshaven cheeks.

“Nothing like childhood trauma for a bit of cheer on Christmas Eve.”

Rose chuckled.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you, John, not at all, for the lockdown and everything. None of it’s your fault.”

After talking about his parents, it’s those words from her that nearly made him cry. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Trying to put on a brave face, he raised his chin.

“You should go back to sleep. Get some rest.”

“You think I’ll be able to sleep knowing I’ve snorted anthrax? But you, you should rest, after those side effects.”

“Not until I’ve identified this.”

“How sure are you it’s anthrax?”

“Weelll, I’m a genius, but bacteriology is not quite my field of expertise.”

“So, you don’t know.”

“It’s an educated guess. I’m surprisingly successful at guessing.”

“Okay, so, say you guessed right, then what? You can’t make up a cure in here, can you?”

“A real glass half-full girl, you are.”

“Sorry… But if one of us is sick, then maybe the best thing you can do to help is make sure we have a good time.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Read more on Ao3

[t4tbruharvey]

ok lots of asks incoming jdhjs i just picked random-ish numbers and names but yeah anyway!! hope you're having a good night :)

past (for q): 3, 6, 8; present (for gabi): 8, 9, 12; and future (for perlah): 2, 7, 8

omg omg omg ok. cool. ok. thank youuuuu

PAST: q

3 - describe their family. who raised them, and who had the most impact on them? did they have any siblings? who were they closest to? what were the family dynamics like?

q is the only child in a fairly affluent family - rich enough to send hir to a boarding school, where ze spent most of their time with ellie, the only other queer kid that ze knew of. hir parents are quite distant, and very traditional, constantly emulating the looks and values of old money folks, which unfortunately meant that for all of hir teenage years, q's only confidante was ellie. school was an extremely isolating experience for her because ze was closeted everywhere, and ze was in the girls' dorm while ellie was in the boys' dorm, so ze only saw her in class/leisure hours, and ze tended to feel really lonely at night.

6 - did the location they grew up in affect them significantly? do they still go there?

ze has literally no love for that place. it's a pretty joyless area, no matter how many brownstones they pass or how many trees are planted on the streets. wrought iron and spring leaves can't make a place feel like somewhere people live, which is why q hasn't been back there since ze left home at 18.

8 - what was their childhood/teenage bedroom like?

q's bedroom at home was COVERED in whatever heavy metal posters they could find in innercity record shops, apart from one wall, on which ze put up paper before proceeding to write all over it; diagrams, homework equations, bad poetry, song lyrics, swear words, you name it. it was very much a typical 'rebellious teen' bedroom, partly to piss of hir parents and partly to make hir feel more like hirself when ze was in there. none of that was present in their dorm, though. that had white walls and sensible carpeting and a desk, and that was it.

PRESENT: gabi

8 - what hobby or pastime of theirs do they consider most important to them and why?

bullet journalling. he genuinely does pride himself on organisation, and this is something that actively encourages it, as well as being an outlet for the impulse to put everything in order that doesn't involve wrecking the apartment or committing a crime.

9 - what kind of place do they live in?

he lives in a really really nice apartment on the fourth floor of a building that was retrofitted in the 70s. you know it's a nice apartment because, despite rent being extremely low citywide, they had to get a fourth roommate to cover the rent. he shares a room with cora, which is mostly pretty dark (black and grey sheets, gothic full-length mirror on the black closet), with his desk being the most colourful thing in the room: it's covered in different brands of brush pen, post it notes arranged in a grid on the wall, a gantt chart printed out and stuck to the side of things he has coming up, a t shirt he's been drawing a fractal on for a week now, shit like that.

the only other room gabi frequents is the kitchen, which is mint green with white tiles and mismatched wooden furniture. it's a pretty standard kitchen in terms of mess levels, and gabi is under no circumstances allowed to change the order of anything in there or cora will go ballistic. she's the one who uses the spices most, so it's only fair she gets to decide how they're arranged. (no system of any kind other than 'vibes')

12 - if someone mentioned their name to someone else, what would they immediately think of (i.e. defining characteristic, appearance- or personality-wise)?

when he was in school, it probably would have been 'size', because he was built like if lady dimitrescu went to high school and had a very unremarkable bob. currently, however, it's definitely the hair, which consists of a raspberry-pink grown out mullet and turquoise fringe. personality wise it's that he's gives off the same vibe as a violin bow that's been tightened to the point where it's just about to snap, but hasn't snapped yet.

FUTURE: perlah

2 - are they content with their future situation? is there anything they would change?

i'll be honest: she probably wouldn't be too pleased she's dead. or that she's being used as a martyr, or that her death is justifying a manhunt for cora.

7 - are their friends still a part of their life? are there people they are no longer in touch with, or newly important people?

well, in the most literal sense, no. in a more figurative sense then somewhat? everyone assumes katy is 'the girlfriend' and that gabi was manipulated by cora, and that cora was scheming to kill perlah and take her money or something all along. so they're all involved in the news coverage, and katy has finally met perlah's parents, who held her hands and sobbed a lot.

8 - would they become a mentor figure for anyone?

no, unfortunately. despite exuding grace and easy charm, perlah wasn't a role model for anybody, unless it's to be used as a cautionary tale about mingling with the criminals in the masses.

[lemonietrinket]

Traditions ||| Prince!Yeosang x Princess!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, a bit of angst but a happy ending Warning(s): inferences to death (succession) and natural disaster tragedy  Word Count: 4005 AN: Happy Birthday Yeosang blessed elfin prince. Just thinking about how princely he appears was the only inspiration for this entirely. you can tell i find yeosang beautiful and i will not apologise for that. feminine-presenting Reader Royalty AU

~~~

Wind whistling outside the murky visage of dark stained glass, you made your way through the long corridors to the dining hall. The cold air that nipped at your cheeks was only rebuffed by the delicately carved firebrands that lined the walls, hooded by rouge. 

Even though you wished you had taken Beatrice up on her suggestion that you wear a dress that would match one of your several coats, you couldn’t say you entirely regretted your decision. The way the silver tresses that entwined across your waist was worth the goosebumps beneath long draping sleeves. The amaranthine shine gave you the firm yet free light that reflected in your eyes, gracing all who could see with not only your true colours but also a sight for sore eyes. You’d always suited the soft violet silk, for years having been a private signature that made you feel unique behind closed doors. It did not provide its own form of stability to the people, however, quite like the vermilion did. Knowing that in these times they needed it in every capacity, you garbed yourself in red for the world, while violet remained a treat.

Besides, you knew there was another benefit to the tremors of shiver that ran up your spine and pooled at your exposed shoulders.

Taking the last corner you could finally see the large oak doors that led into the hall in the dim light. They were closed, but a thin sliver of gold broke through their seal, its promise of food inviting you in. However, a few feet away from the corridor’s end, something else stole your attention entirely. A shimmer of auburn in the thick of the night.

Distracted you slowly made your way over to the nearest window, excitement pooling in your chest and fluttering like a bird wishing to be set free.

one pair of small but intricate heels that had been clicking against the rich wood behind you suddenly slowed. Peering back without hesitation, you saw your second lady in waiting’s grin glimmer in the auburn light as she skipped to the nearest window.  Forcing yourself to look beyond the hazy reflection of yourself, you chased the lucrative gold that pierced the night. Your eyes began in the wrong place, too high, where the road began to sink into the distance, but they quickly trailed down to the castle-side, where you spotted, far below, a carriage flickering beside firelight. A warm smile you’d come to know well warmed upon your lips.

“He’s early,” you announced to the air, feeling slightly guilty when the guard stood firmly by the door offered you a startled look

“Who is, Your Royal Highness?” he stuttered, a panicked undertone as he assumed that you’d been talking to him.

You chuckled, feeling relieved as he visibly relaxed, “Why, Graves, my husband of course!” It was clear that he tried to hide the surprise in his expression, not realising that he shared with you.

“I know, absurd right?” you said, sweeping over to the door as he returned your grin at last, before imploring to him in a whisper, “I won’t eat you, Graves, I promise. I’m not like my father.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.” He bowed in acknowledgement.

Praying that the interaction would dispel any residing fears, you passed through into the dining hall, tall and imposing. You hadn’t liked it all that much, it was too tall and grand, with chandeliers the size of sleeping quarters and columns whose cracks were filled with molten silver. It was a bit much, especially just for a place to eat, but you knew how much worse it could be. You’d seen your older sister’s, you’d seen the drapes of handwoven silk cast in bright crimson and the intricacies of the hand-carved floorboards, dictating the legends of the early days. As vulgar it was, it was how your father built castles for his kingdom, and it was no wonder that it would be the one you would inherit. 

Ignoring the painted ceiling you ran your eyes along the long mahogany table at the numerous platters dotted across its surface at both ends, lids retaining heat and disguising the beauty inside. You wondered why they always made so much for you when you never ate it anywhere near it all.  The firelight from the large hearth that filled the room with a homely scent of warmth and tranquil danced across the varnished floor, painting it with muffled shades of gold and pink. And there, on the other side of the hall was a shadow that disjointed said light.

Tilting your head up confidently, your fingers interlinking at your waist, you found the man who you had waited for every time, waiting for you.

Having shed his onyx coat and draped it across the back of his chair, you were blessed with just how well suited the deep azure of his kingdom. The satin across his back almost glittered in the light, adorning his neck that craned to let him look off to the left. His shirt was tucked neatly into black leather trousers, that you caught yourself staring at for way too long for the ‘checking for stains’ excuse to run even now (you were pretty sure he hadn’t believed the excuse in the first place anyway, but he hadn’t asked you to stop nor ever brought it up again, and you were pretty sure you’d caught him a few times staring at you so, who were you to complain?) that then slipped into comfortable laced boots. He had to have changed, he couldn’t have possibly worn them outside in such poor weather, and the thought just added to how your heart fluttered—he didn’t have to dress up at all, especially since he would have to go out again tomorrow.

His hand lifting from his hip, he removed his sword in its scabbard and leant it against the wall, before finally turning around.

Even at such a distance you were awestruck. Those gorgeous eyes that stared so knowingly at the world now gazed over at you, leaving you feeling a new shade of vulnerable that had taken a while to get used to, but now you weren’t sure you could live without. As with that vulnerability came his gentleness, the curve of his full lips that uttered sweet things despite his stoic nature, and the touch of his hand that rose to meet yours when you addressed the people. He had confused you at first, worried you the next as neither of you spoke. Now you understood his insecurities and threw any misinformed regrets to the side. Now you could see how his hair seemed to effortlessly curl to frame his face but also to carry a crown. 

His fringe then was mottled with damp, his hat adorning the chair with his coat having had only so much success protecting him from the rain. But he still looked ethereal as he always did, and sounded it too.

“Your Royal Highness,” he greeted as he was taught, a deep bow with his hand pressed to his heart. Even though the awkwardness had subsided between the two of you, you still greeted each other like this, despite what you’d discerned. 

“Your highness,” you returned, unable to hide your wince. Why couldn’t you greet each other like you wished you could? Ignore the rings on your fingers and the arrangements made by family and do it all properly.

He smiled at you and waited for you to take your seat, deep eyes following your every move. You sighed mentally, feeling the small doubts begin to regrow in your mind. Perhaps you’d misjudged entirely and your affections led you to just reach into the dark and cling to the first light that appeared.

Taking your seat, your eyes not leaving his, he at last drew his chair back at the opposite side of the table. You let him get comfortable before removing the closest lid to reveal a huge portion of neatly sliced venison seasoned with a variety of spices and coupled with copious vegetables—half of which you didn’t recognise. It smelt delicious and you took the cutlery into your hands, but with your mind preoccupied with another important matter you didn’t feel like eating at all.

While you ran the sharp edge of your knife across the tender flesh, Yeosang tucked straight in, not that you blamed him. His journey home had been long, sustained mostly on fish that would only remind him of home—that and your cooks being truly something special.

“So, dear husband,” you announced across the long table with a coy smile, timing your words just right so he would have his mouthful when he had to answer you, “how was your trip outside Cresciel’s borders?”

“Hmm...” He noticed the mischief in your lips, opting to take his time mulling your question over as he chewed even slower than before. It was moments like these, where he played along with you and teased in return, that questioned whether doubts should be sown. “It was long, mostly tedious. Earl of Blouze is an utter nightmare.”

“As usual,” you chuckled, the same mix of sympathy and humour bubbling in your chest as when you had found out who he would be travelling with. Yeosang hadn’t found it amusing and had sulked for the rest of the afternoon while the packing began. He looked adorable with a pout on his lips though, and you only cooed at him six times. “And Caillteo?”

He nodded. “Recovering well for how much damage was done. The mines are back up and running again, a good harvest this autumn and they’ll be back on their feet without aid. The people are still on edge but they seem hopeful, and you were right, Caillteoans are tough: they’ve leapt into construction and sharing resources between themselves fairly.”

“That’ll be Xena’s example,” you noted, taking a sip of your drink. Surprised at the sweet kick, you coughed before laughing at yourself, “they’re always leading by example—I’m fine Yeosang, really.”

You spotted the worry in his expression through how it turned blank. He’d explained it to you, bathed in the gold of the afternoon sun that did little to ease his mind. He didn’t want to panic the person in concern anymore than they perhaps already were. That had been the day where you’d run your fingers through his hair, locks smooth as silk and scented of the roses found on the mountainsides. He had softened in your embrace, letting you hold him delicately in the peace of the royal garden, closing his omniscient eyes that were cursed to catch too much. It had proven that just trying to be the stable option for the nation resulted in a chaos of the mind.  You wished he would rely on you more. You were used to it, your sister confided with you her plans to disappear, your mother on the will, your cousins when they visited. You didn’t get the choice in some of those circumstances, but you were willing to take on what Yeosang needed. 

You felt heat flush to your face. Since when had you become so attached to him? This hadn’t been what you had expected to happen at all.

“Yes, they truly are. I listened to their grievances, they were furious at how little respect they had received from Cruter, and extremely thankful for the aid we sent them. It was vital for them to get the waterways up and running again, otherwise it would have flooded the sewage system further and...” he came to an unexpected halt, as if a weight had rolled onto his tongue and forced it still. You placed your knife upon the plate quietly, inclining to listen to what finally followed. 

“Yeosang?” you murmured, though due to the distance you couldn’t be sure he even heard it.

“...Xena was glad to see where my allegiances laid, that seeing me gave them and Caillteoans hope. They wanted me to make it clear to you that their kingdom’s alliances are with you—us—alone.”

“They’ve turned away from your grandfather completely?” You couldn’t hide the surprise that filtered into your voice, but watched him carefully as you spoke in response to it. “He’s turned his most loyal—?”

“It’s what he deserves,” Yeosang interrupted, eyes turned towards his food. He’d paused eating, a cut of meat levied on his fork and he stared it down as if it were Cruter himself, “and I think they know how my father’s reign is going to go.”

He took the bite as if out of spite, digging in thoroughly once again. Meanwhile you were left frowning. “Have they managed to predict Idina too, do you think?” After he didn’t respond, you straightened your posture, worry beginning to sink in. “Yeosang? I don’t rule Cresciel yet, and if the plan falls apart I won’t have much power at all! A-as far as anyone else is aware, my sister is going to inherit the—”

“I don’t know,” he finally replied with the shake of his head, his frown mimicking yours, “that’s all they said.”

With eyes met across the vast mahogany dotted with silver and the firelight, silence seeped into the room, only dispelled momentarily by the crackle of flames. 

Your thoughts gathered in your brain, clustering and talking over one another, interjecting and splitting, producing more and more like a disease.  If others could work it out then it would only be a matter of time before your father would, and that would put both your sister and you in danger. Even being a beacon of calm for the future to the people and surrounding kingdoms wouldn’t be enough to hold your plans together, and if things went truly wrong, not only would you be at huge risk of losing your husband and all the arrangements your marriage made, but there would also be mayhem for the innocents you had subtly promised would be safe.

Your breath came out ragged and you swallowed it to steady. The situation was sticky, but you would pull through. You’d make it work. The King of Caillteo was on your side, and that strengthened what you had. Cruter could hardly have endeared himself to his subjects through his ignorance towards the tragedy—especially since word carried that the angered storm had affected the outer towns upon his Siyanirean borders too. With that in hand and your plan just in the waiting process, it wouldn’t be long before Yeosang was King in his grandfather and father’s stead and the kingdoms were united, working peacefully instead of warring like they always did.

Digging your nails into your palms, you wondered why your nerves wouldn’t simmer down. You’d gone over the plan hundreds of times, and things were moving in your favour—both should have eased the sudden attack of worry. But they didn’t, and you were left with bruise-purple divots in your palms, and quivering fingers. You wanted them to be held still, you didn’t like the sight of them fragile. You wanted to be held, by Yeosang—no other would do, as no one else understood it all. He was the only one who knew the details of the full plan, knew what the pressure was like. But he was on the other end of the table.

It seemed ridiculous that a table and a (comparatively) short distance was holding you back. There were no physical barricades, the grandiose chairs tucked in neatly, the food too cold to even eat and get you to stay. Yet, even though your feet twitched, your body didn’t move to go to his side and ask for comfort, like you’d given to him that golden afternoon before.

“Did you miss anything,” your mouth spoke out of the blue, “while you were gone?”

Had your husband looked up he would have noticed the disjoint between your calm tone and your stony expression. But he didn’t, not yet. 

“Not my ship if that’s what you’re asking,” he retorted, assuming you were teasing him once again. After finishing another bite you stared as his face softened, “Though I guess I missed some company.” When you didn’t speak up, voice trapped in your throat as your brain ticked over what he meant, he continued, “The nights were cold, so I thought I missed the warmth of here. They were also quiet, and so I thought I missed the sounds of here but... the more I thought about it, the more I realised that this castle is just as quiet as the other ones I stayed in, and when I added blankets it made no difference. 

“And then I had to speaks to others and, well... every time I met with the nobles, it felt as if they looked down on me, as if I wasn’t really one of them despite my claim. I knew it shouldn’t surprise me, as my grandfather is, well, my grandfather and no one knows just how poor my father’s health is but... even the people didn’t believe I was the real deal, and they were the nice ones. Others I’m sure couldn’t comprehend I was capable of making a difference at all.”

As he trailed off, with your eyes hazy you countered plainly. “And you wanted me there so they somehow wouldn’t? If I was there they wouldn’t look at you at all.” You would have winced at the harshness of your words, consoled him with an apology and the distraction of food or a change of scenery, but you didn’t. You cursed yourself for being selfish.

Yeosang however didn’t seem to take it to heart, trying to explain clearer. “No I mean... it’s easier to chase the doubts of my own abilities away with you at my side. Because you believe in me.”

After cleaning his plate his pretty eyes flicked up to take you in at last, only to become flecked with worry. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Debating and answer in your head you remained silent, gaze dropping to your lukewarm food without a single chunk missing. Clutching your hands together in your lap in an effort to control the quiver in them, you avoided his stare. “I really mean that much to you?”

Out of your peripheral you caught his nod. “Of course. You’re my closest friend, my rock, I don’t think I could have ever succeeded like this without you.”

You peered up at him at last, to catch the sincerity on his features. The apples of his cheeks had a blushed hue, so did the tips of his ears. But you couldn’t make out the etches upon his lips, or the birthmark adorning the corner of his eye. He was too far away, all because of stupid rules. “Then why are you so far away?” you poised.

There was a heavy silence that seemed to even mottle the crackling in the hearth. Your gaze trailed over to the dancing flames, warm and dynamic like the flushes of first love—like your heart.

“Because I didn’t think you wanted me any closer.”

Your head whipped up to him as soon as his words graced the air and the creak of wood scraping across wood resonated through the floor. Yeosang, with footfalls cautious, was making his way across the dining hall towards you. You straightened your back, mouth agape but with no words to fill the space.

Even though it felt like the journey took hours, he was suddenly at your side, brow creased with concern as he placed one hand tentatively on the back of your chair. 

“Y/N, I...”

“I missed you too.”

Chin tilted up you took in the sight of the man you had married properly. How his jaw curved, how his chest rose and fell as he breathed, how his hair slowly fell out of place to cover his eyes while he peered down at you. Months of past worry trickled through from your subconscious as you remembered the anxieties you’d had about your marriage. You trusted your mother’s decision, but that didn’t mean you didn’t interrogate yourself nightly on whether you could be happy being married to a man you didn’t love romantically, one that you didn’t desire sensually. 

You hadn’t slept the night before the castle doors opened to welcome in your chosen suitor. You’d been informed it was a tough and arduous selection process but you had blanked most of it out. With a stone-set face you had been helped into a dress of your sister’s—flowing scarlet with gold lace at the neck—before adorning your neck with an amethyst necklace despite the advice you were offered. Then you took those wide grand stairs down to where your soon-to-be fiance waited, arm interlinked with your sister’s. She had smiled and said something to you, but you hadn’t paid any attention—this time for a good reason.

After days on end of worrying, you were confronted with a meek young boy who could easily have been mistaken to be years younger than you. Garbed in rich navy, he stood prostrate at his father’s side, his posture displaying confidence as he was instructed while his stare flit upon the engraved ground.  When you had taken the final step and swept across the varnished pearl beneath your feet your families greeted heartily while you stared at the boy who eventually worked up the courage to stare back. ‘He isn’t real’, had been the first thought to flash in your mind. After all he had full cloudy cheeks and wide set dark eyes that made him look as if he was borne of another realm. You wondered if the pink blemish upon his temple was a sign of that: a deity’s way to prove that he was in fact human and not an angel. Eyeing him up and down you had found a body just out of proportion to be considered finished, but you guessed he would grow, and fit his elfin face one day in the future.  Overall, he had washed your worries away and replaced them with a newfound curiosity that you hadn’t mentioned to him before.

Of course, you had been right, he did grow. His shoulders broadened and chest filled out while his cheeks retained the majority of their softness. He grew then to become more open, a smile flourished on his lips and once that happened it was only a matter of time. Regardless, despite all his changes that young boy was still there, still watching carefully, even now.

Yeosang stood at your side quite like he had done all those years ago—back rigid, eyes trailing away from where he wanted to focus them. And it softened your heart, practically turned it to pulp, when he finally spoke in a voice completely different to the boy from your past, “I think I might be falling in love with you.”

You watched as he bit his lip disappointedly, as if he’d admitted something wrong. 

“Me too,” you breathed, dispelling his worry and turning it into a startled expression as you stood with him. Your fingers came up to his collar, straightening it out absentmindedly as you met his eyes properly this time. “Forget the rules, forget the traditions, Sangie?” you suggested in a whisper.

He nodded, a smile rising to his lips so bright that you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

Cupping his cheeks in your hands gently, he dipped in to let your lips finally meet, a hum bubbling through your chest in satisfaction. He was finally close to you, and he felt so different from what you’d imagined. His embrace pulling you close he radiated warmth. His lips tasted of the berries that he had drank and his touch was so fluid and soft across the skin of you back. You didn’t mind, you liked how wrong you were. 

Because he kissed you just like the tradition didn’t dictate, and though it had been the arrangements of others that brought your love to you, it was time to do it your way.

~~~

AN: I was going to make yn a duchess bc like princess is overdone and then i got confused and like shite just bc im british doesnt mean i understand the royal family one bit, let alone the hierarchy of titles

so yeah yn is a princess wbk

also this is much longer than the other presents only bc i got carried away i realise i like royal aus and this just wrote itself i promised myself i wouldnt do this with bday presents but oop

any names of the staff at the royal household were randomly generated place names were made using various words put into indifferentlanguages.com +  the word combiner on wordunscrambler.net (so any resemblance to rel places is unintentional)

(also none of yeosang’s relations are based on any of his real family of course, theyre just made up. i imagine yeosang loves his family very much and so this is just creative license)

~~~

Masterlist

[littleblackgoldfish]

Sunfall Ch. 3

Previous Part

Chapter 3

Soli stared at the point of metal pointed at him. Over and over he drew a line between the vicious tip and his heart as it beat, thundering in his ears, against his ribs so violently he was surprised he couldn't see them bending.

Around him he heard voices mixing with the shing! of drawing blades and the whistle of spears swinging through the air.

There was an eternity that stretched itself through him between heartbeats. His feet were frozen to the broken paving stones and his thoughts wrapped around the point of an arrow like the flickering light of fire and lamp glinting off its blade. If he'd had anything to drink in the last��� however many hours, he might have wet himself.

After a moment Soli slowly came back to himself.

In the seconds — had it been seconds, and not minutes or hours? — between all the initial shouting and now, not a single one of the people in the group had taken more than a step back in movement. Shock and fear washed in equal measures across their faces as they stared back at the line of rangers drawn tight as their bowstrings behind the wall of overturned tables and doors. All of them stood still and silent, waiting.

Until finally the shorter of the two boys of the group gathered his courage and called out to the rangers, "We're just- " he stopped, uncertain. What were they just; kids? Scared? Looking for answers?

"We're unarmed..."

He held out his hands, palms, palms up, nodding for the others to do the same. Put a spear or bow in Soli's hands and he would have been more of a threat to himself than any one of those rangers. And he didn't think any of the others would have been much more of a danger to the soldiers before them.

But, the rangers disagreed obviously. They wouldn't be pointing arrows at them otherwise. He still couldn't quite manage to tear his eyes from the closest arrow, not even to see who was holding it. When he tried the glinting point dragged them back.

He couldn't help wondering what it would feel like. To be shot with an arrow. Would it hurt? Would he feel it at all? Or would it be like in the stories where the Captain's friends didn't even notice they'd been hit until it seemed like they were safe again.

Kids never died inthe Captain Thellere stories. Not kids like Soli. Frontier villages kids, without names or personalities beyond hero worship, sure. And it was always tragedy.

But this wasn't a story and Soli knew he could die. Just like his mom. And dad. Probably his sisters and- no, he swallowed that though and tried to force his gaze up the shaft of the arrow.

Slowly, agonizingly, his eyes followed the arrowhead back thin shaft up past the fletching — black feathers, shining in the flickering light — to the hand holding the string of the bow — sun kissed, a shade or two darker than the girl in the sundress — and then up to the face behind the hand. He was surprised at how young the ranger looked, they probably weren't even as old as Ostra, and how naked the fear he saw in their eyes was. A twitch of the fingers and it would go flying. Soli watched the ranger's hand, white at the knuckle, grib the bow

And… a second later he watched it drop away, tracing an arc away from his heart and towards the ground. Soli watched as the ranger's face slackened, tiny crinkles around their eyes moothing out, and the lump of their throat bob slightly. Distantly he heard a voice grow clear.

" —about that. It- we're all a little on edge," a new ranger was saying, a fringe of auburn hair just peeking out from beneath the bottom of her helmet,"Especially with them out there still- doing, Lythra knows what."

Them? Did she- was she talking about the people in the black armor, Soli wondered.

While the other rangers had relaxed and started drifting back to whatever posts they had occupied before, they're eyes kept drifting in her direction before flickering away. She didn't seem to notice. Or at least was deliberately making an effort not to 'notice' if she had.

The taller boy in the group, the one with the glasses, frowned. His own thoughts running along the same lines

"Are you talking about those people in the black ships?"

For a second her expression and gaze sharpened, falling heavily on him before sweeping across the rest of the group. But only for a second, then she forcibly relaxed herself again and simply nodded.

After that Soli wouldn't have had the courage to ask anymore questions, or even open his mouth again. Of course he hadn't been to muster more than a hum or grunt in response to anything said to him in hours anyways, so maybe his own instincts weren't exactly a good measure. Whatever the truth, the other boy had seemingly no compunction.

"Do you know who they are?"

With a brittle grin that did not reach her eyes at all the ranger said, "Bad guys. But, don't worry about them, you'll be safe inside with the Company of Seven Claws standing guards," then, her gaze turning to the men and women beside her and her voice rising to reach out to all of those not, "Isn't that right!?"

As one, the rangers' voices rose to match hers. Soli noticed a flash of metal at her collar, a little silver leaf on its side.

"Catch 'em seven times! Bleed 'em seven times! We know what we're for!"

"Go on," she said to them as she smiled again and made the sign of Cieliel (Eldest Daughter, Patron of Glory), fist over her heart with the thumb out, and thrust her head to the side in the direction of the camp.

With that they were allowed in behind the barricade, a couple of rangers had been busy clearing a way in while they talked, and through the ranger's section into the camp beyond. Some of the group relaxed immediately on getting behind the wooden palisade, others took until they reached the rest of the camp. All except Soli. Being around so many people didn't make him feel safe, it did the opposite. His skin itched, like something crawled beneath its surface.

What could those rangers do if those big black ships came? Throw spears and shoot arrows at it? He doubted they would even scratch it. Maybe some of the Rangers knew a spell or two. But was it something powerful enough to break through the black metal of their shells and burn out whatever was inside?

He didn't think so. But… they would be so confident without reason, right? Two thousand years of keeping the Homelands safe from monsters and division and schismatics, helping to end the strife with the Temples, pacifying the Underdark, they knew what they were doing. Rangers had seen worse than this. Whatever or whoever those people were couldn't possibly win against the Rangers. Not once they got their feet under them and could fight back.

They just couldn't.

Leaving behind the rangers the group finally saw the camp proper; set in what had been an open air market place, what would have been full of crowds and stalls and the shouts of people buying and elling was still full of crowds, but of a different sort. Ragged, exhausted people in torn, bloodstained, and dirt caked clothes. They sat by flickering campfires overwhich nondescript stews bubbled. They walked, listlessly and without direction, between tents for all shapes and sizes and colors. Children, old men, young women, families, lonely beggars, the injured and the healthy, the camp was full of people of all sorts. It was impossible to glimpse the edges of the camp from within, all there was was the endless sea of faces and tents.

Moving single file the group crawled slowly deeper and deeper into the press of bodies. No one met their eyes or so much as acknowledged them. Though there was a constant noise it was not from interaction, it was just the sounds of people breathing all together (and talking in low, slow voices) to those they already knew. Sometimes through the ebb and flow of the crowd and the uneven terrain of the tents a gap would open up for a second through which Soli could see a glimpse of the market's edge and when it did he saw open doors leading into the adjoining buildings and within more people pressed, if anything, closer together.

Soli followed the group because what else was he going to do. Go off on his own and get lost? Whoever these people were, they were safe.

Part of him wanted his sisters (and, he added, his brother. Though the latter was so young he hardly counted) but even thinking about them brought him close to thinking about what had happened to him. That he was not ready to do.

When they finally stop, some minutes later, Soli finds they've reached a clearing of sorts in the crowd of tents and people. It wasn't the edge of the camp itself, that was still off a distance guarded by yet more rangers in another isolated camp like the one they'd come through. At least ahead and to the right. To the left and ahead were mostly buildings, low single story ones that would have been either warehouses or rented shops. There were figures walking along their roots carrying bows and spears. Off to the right hand of this section a series of taller warehouses took up much of the space and behind that was the park which had been entirely taken over by tents (and presumably more rangers guarding the flank). Another smaller camp of strangely dressed rangers had formed around the entrance of the warehouses.

Some scattered tents had built up along the edges of the clearing and there were people wandering around, some of them carrying baskets full of...stuff. Food and wood and cloth and all sorts of other things Soli couldn;'t make out. The group was brought up short by the sight. For several long seconds they just stood there dumbly staring out at the space in front of them, not saying anything.

"I guess we can set up here," said the girl who'd first helped Soli.

No one argued. But no one made any move to do anything either. None of them knew what to do. They looked around, searching for some sign or clue.

There'd been no instruction of guidance from anyone the entire time they'd walked through the camp. None of the wandering rangers or residents had so much as looked at them, much less taken the time to greet them and walk them through what they were supposed to do now.

That didn't look to be changing either.

Finally after another long few moments the boy with the piercings and the long black hair sighed and said, "Miriel, Kieran, you should go see if you can find a tent or something for us."

He pointed to Soli's rescuer and the other boy, who both nodded and after a moment of uncertain and helpless glancing around picked directions and started walking. She headed for the edge of the camp, where the entrances to the buildings were and he went back into the mess of tents behind them.

"Uh, I- I'll look for some food or something," said the other blond with all the piercings. Pierced boy or, as Soil had started thinking of him, 'leader,' nodded.

Which only left Soli himself, leader, and two of the other girls.

"We'll look for the best place to set up."

Leader said it like it made sense, like it was the logical thing to do.

One spot seemed as good as any other in the market to Soli. They'd get wet all the same if it rained and when Kiestre rose in a few hours (or maybe it would be Caithr, though he shudder to imagine the darkness lasting so long) there was little hope of staying out fo the sun. Only one spot would provide shade for more than a few minutes and that was already occupied by that small camp of strangely dressed rangers.

But the other girls were already nodding along with him and Soli didn't actually have a better idea of what to do and so he simply followed along as they wandered around.

All the markets Soli had been to were those covered ones, the ones that sometimes had two or three stories, with lots of water features and spaced out courtyards where you could sit down. This was nothing like those. Away from the crowd and up close he could see more clearly that it had been built like a big, long plaza butting up against warehouses and storefronts on three sides (except for connections to the street) and a strip of park on the last. Soli saw what might have been fountains, though small ones, scattered about. Empty. Dry.

There were also occasional stone posts sticking up, forming rough rectangles. About half his height, they had small holes in their center. The few overhangs that stuck out from the empty storefronts had already been snatched up by other groups. Not that they would give much cover anyways, even standing directly under them Soli didn't think they would stop anyone from getting wet in the rain.

He even caught a few glimpses inside the buildings bordering the market-plaza as they made their circuit around it and it didn't seem any better inside to Soli. Except that they would be dry if it rained. But then they'd also be crammed in with all the sad, lifeless people sitting inside. Also it stunk.

Just passing by Soli could smell it.

They passed close to the rangers for a little while and Soli eagerly took that opportunity to spy on them. He was less circumspect than he imagined. Though, it was not as if anyone else in the refugee camp had disguised their curiosity any better over the hours it had come to exist, so the rangers guarding it did not react or even particularly note Soli's examinations. Unlike the other rangers scattered around the rest of the camp, most of those within this one went about without any armor. Dressed in robes of bright turquoise or soft navy-blue or vibrant purple run through with long swooping, whirling, twisting, designs in glittering thread woven along the arms and backs there seemed to only be a few of them. Or maybe, many of them only occasionally coming out in small groups.

He only caught glimpses of them with their heads bent together whispering over little chalkboards or muttering to themselves as they paced, with their hoods up obscuring their heads and faces. Mostly they remained inside their tents or hidden within the warehouse. Appearing briefly before disappearing again.

At first he'd just assumed they were rangers because… well what else would they be? Now that he was looking at them more closely though he did see the same bits of leather armor peeking out from beneath their robes and one or two even had the same little metal leaves at their collars that the ranger lady out front had had. Soli assumed that had something to do with being in charge.

Clearly they were mages. Pretty important too from the way they were being guarded, and maybe even secret; like the Children of the Thorns that Captain Thellere worked with sometimes.They must be working on some sort of spell or ritual to bring down the black shell ships, or maybe enchanting weapons and armor for the other rangers.

While Soli contemplated the secrets of magic going on behind cloth and walls, Kieran and Miriel came back, having met up again after splitting up at first, with their arms full of bundles of fabric and rope. They'd just found the 'best' spot, as decided by Leader, a little ways down from the magic ranger camp along the southern facing wall of the warehouse structure. While the guards had given them some looks as they'd wandered by, they didn't stirr from their posts even after the other two returned and they started setting up. Or at least as much setting up as they could do.

Mostly it was clearing away what dirt and trash had accumulated in the area.

"It was just sitting in a big pile," frowned Miriel as she dropped her load on the ground in front of them. Kieran nodded and set down his own burden on top of hers.

"Some guards standin' over it all, glaring at everyone who came near. Don't think they were rangers."

Soli stared at the collection of fabric, some sort of thick stiff looking stuff the same dark green as the leaves and needles of the trees in the forest around grandfather's estate. He'd hated the place for the first few days.

Grandfather didn't have any good books, just ones about history and war; but not the fun sort where heroes stabbed monsters. And they'd been all alone except for his family (minus his younger brother at the time, who was still a couple years away) and the staff who were just as old as his grandfather and twice as boring because they didn't even have his grandfather's hunting stories to tell him. Not that those were much better, he always focused on the most boring parts of everything. Soli and his sisters had to invent all sorts of games to keep from dying of boredom.

One of them had involve- Soli cut that thought off behind a steel vault door and then threw it into the dark Beyond.

Everyone stared at the collection of fabric and rope laying on the ground.

"So," the other girl, who'd stayed with Soli and Leader, started, "How do we, uh, put it together?"

A beat.

"I- I don't know," admitted the dark haired boy.

He glanced back at the mass of tents back the way they'd come, looking maybe for some hint. After a moment he shrugged to himself and turned back.

"Let's uh, spread it out first."

So they did that.

Which left them with a large square of thick, scratchy dark green fabric and three coils of rope to stare at.

Thankfully in the midst of their staring at the collection of materials the last girl returned with three canteens slung over one shoulder and a cauldron stuffed with a small basket half-full of potatoes and wilting vegetables. She ignored the spread out cloth and set her spoils down by the wall.

Shaking out her arms she looked at the rest of the group, "This is all I could carry by myself but there's more; sausages and flour and wood for fires, so if we go..."

That was when she noticed them staring at the disassembled tent laid out on the ground and her voice trailed off for a moment. She looked between the other five of her friends and asked, "Is that supposed to be a tent?"

"Parts of it, yeah. We're trying to figure out how to set it up," said Leader.

"Oh."

He sighed and frowned at the uncooperative pile fo stuff for a few seconds longer before turning back to the others.

"Look why don't you — " he looked to the blond girl with the shaved sides of her head " — take Miriel and Duna and Ava go back and grab more stuff while we," he gestured between himself and the other boy, Kieran, and Soli, "Figure out… this."

All four girls exchanged a look that Soli had no idea how to interpret for a second and a hot little flush rose in Leader's cheeks for a moment, but they didn't object. Seconds later they were heading back in the direct the shaved-head girl had gone.

Truthfully Soli would have liked to go to get the food, but… even thinking about opening his mouth made his throat tighten down to a thin straw that made it painful to breathe for a second.So he let them go without comment.

What followed was several minutes of fruitless attempts to tie the ropes to some small wooden beams jutting out of the warehouse wall involving Soli climbing up on Kieran's shoulders and looping it through the convenient slats in said beams. Fruitless not because they didn't produce something that might, generously, have been called a tent, but because it would never fit all of them. Also because it would definitely collapse at the slightest breeze.

As they stepped back to admire the frustrating results of their work, Soli once again down solidly on his own two feet, a voice interrupted any coming disappointment.

"You need poles."

They turned and saw an older woman in a plain white robe that seemed at least a size or two too large for her with a frizzy mane of soot stained pale-blond hair pulled back into a long tail behind her thin swoopingly pointed ears by five battered bronze rings. Something about her didn't fit with the rest of the camp. Not her dress which felt about right for the rest of the camp, though the robe was recognizably white it was far from clean; patches of dirt and grass stains littered the hem while streaks of dried blood trailed up the arms. And though she had fewer bruises than many of the people, she had still clearly been through something in the previous hours and had the bumps to prove it. No, there was a sort of weight to her.

Everything seemed quieter around her. Like the air was weighted. She felt old. Not old like his grandfather, always complaining about how people were doing things 'these days' or wishing for how things had been when he was young. But more like… like the forest around his grandfather's estate, as if she had seen things.

"What?" asked Kieran dumbly.

"Poles. Wooden ones, to go into the sides of the canvas," she pointed at the sagging vee of fabric hanging desultory from the sloppily hung rope, "See where it loops at the edges? In those. Didn't you wonder why they were made like that?"

Soli hadn't. He'd been distracted by trying to slap together rope and fabric to make a tent. But now he did.

And so did the other two.

"Oh," breathed the dark haired boy with the piercings.

He stood stockstill for a moment staring at the 'tent' in front of them and then started laughing. Crouching low he buried his head in his hands.

"Daughters char my— we're such idiots."

"Nnn," the woman shook her head, "You're city boys."

To that the boy snorted and countered, "Everyone else figured it out," He flung his hand out towards the rest of the camp. Kieran frowned and shook his head as he came to stand beside his friend.

"Everyone else got here when there was light."

"Maybe," he said, then to the woman, "Where do we get these poles?"

She raised one of her finely sculpted eyebrows at him, "Same place you claimed the canvas and the rope."

"Right, figures. We'll wait for the others to get back and you and me— " he nodded to Kieran " —can go and get them," then he looked at the woman again, "Thanks for your help. Some of our friends are getting food, if you want to join us for a meal?"

Glancing over her shoulder at the camp the woman hesitated for a moment. She probably had things she needed to get back to doing. Or maybe just a family somewhere back in there, people she needed to get back to.

Soli swallowed against the lump in his throat and blinked back the sting in his eyes. Something itched against his chest. Again the vault and the tumble into the dark Beyond.

"Not that- you don't have to. We totally understand— "

She turned quickly back around, her hair swinging at the sudden movement.

"No, no. I- everything that- I was just," she cut herself off and mustered a weak smile, "I would love to join you all. My name is Au'Liestra, but you can call me Lise."

"Right, I'm Dax- I mean, Anad'du'raxiel, that— " he pointed to the other boy, who gave a shy wave " —is Kieran and the kid is, um… actually we don't know his name."

The dark haired boy, Dax, frowned at Soli. Not angrily, or like he was upset, but as if he was seeing something familiar for the first time in a long while and not quite recognizing it. Soli opened his mouth.

Maybe to give his name or just to say hi. Nothing came out. Still the words died in his throat as if bore down on them like a hungry dog after a meal. He sighed and smiled tightly at the woman.

Dax opened his own mouth, his brow scrunching hard over his frown, but he could not find the right words and so he sighed and shrugged, looking at Soli contemplatively.

"We have to call you something, can't just go running around saying 'boy' over and over, now that it's safe to talk," he paused, "Safer. How about Delyn?"

It wasn't his name. But it wasn't a bad one either, so he shrugged.

What did it matter what they called him anyways. They might as well call him 'Boy' or 'Kid.' But apparently it mattered to Dax, because he was shaking his head even before Soli had responded.

"Nah. Haldin? Ferion?"

He discarded each name as quickly as he chose them.

"Adun?" offered Kieran, then, "Etholas? Logir?"

None seemed to satisfy, as Dax and Kieran both shook their heads in unison. They began to go back and forth in turn, paying more attention to each other's reactions than to Soli's, with the taller boy going first.

"How about Lindon… or, Estir? You know, from tun-Bar Thalaharn's play; the one about the orphans?"

Lise watched their exchange with her brow raised in amusement as she moved to stand beside Soli himself, though not so close that he got nervous. Just close enough that it felt like they were almost standing together watching the two play off one another.

"Bit morose don't you think?"

Kieran shrugged, "Morose feels a bit right, with… you know things," he flung his hand into the air and swung it wide

"Legomir, maybe," but then Dax looked at Soli and shook his head yet again, "No. Feels like it should be shorter. Quicker. Snappy."

"What has to be snappy?" Miriel asked as she and the other three girls strode over.

Arms laden with even more baskets full of food and wood for the fire. Two of them, the blond that wasn't Miriel and the dark haired girl with the jacket, looked at the slowly collapsing disaster of a 'tent' with concern but kept quiet for the moment. Soli saw mushrooms and onions and jerky and sausage in the baskets. His mouth immediately started watering.

"Name for the kid... and don't worry about that," he gestured to the 'tent,' "We need poles apparently."

"Oh. Meni."

Dax blinked and Miriel thrust her chin at Soli.

"For his name."

There was a beat and then all five of them looked to Soli, eyebrows raised. He shrugged. Again, it wasn't his name, but it would work as well as anything else.

With that the other blond girl stepped forward and fixed Lise with a steely gaze, "And, you are?"

Kieran jumped in, "Right, everyone this is Lise. She's joining us for dinner."

Bouncing up from where she'd been settling down her pair of baskets, the red haired girl in the sundressed bounded over to Lise and thrust out her hand, "Hi, Lise! I'm Duna." While behind her the other three looked between Lise and Kieran and Dax, raising their eyebrows in unison.

The taller boy simply shrugged and answered their questioning looks with one of his own. Dax colored faintly. After a long moment the two girls finally relented, sighing and turning to Lise, who had been ignoring the exchange and greeting Duna, with strained expressions.

"Avu'llya."

That was the girl with the jacket, her arms crossed self-consciously for a moment before she forcibly relaxed them to her side.

Miriel stuck out her hand, "Miriel. A pleasure."

"Caria," said the last girl, the blond with the shaved head and the impressive number of earrings, and following her friend's lead held out her own hand. Stiffly though.

After that Kieran and Avu'llya went off together to get the aforementioned poles for the tent while the rest of them went about setting up the fire. Or at least tried to.

None of them knew how to start a fire.

It took only a few minutes of Dunal and Miriel fumbling around blindly with the wood for Liseto to snort loudly and step in, "Here," she held out a hand for the firestarter in the former's own.

Kneeling down beside the red haired girl, the older woman simply waited out Duna's subsequent pout. Relenting after only a few moments. Lise took the loop of metal at the same time as she reached over her lap and into the small metal box beside her to pull out a piece of sooty, black something. It was almost cloth-like.

"Unless you know a spell, start with some kindling. Kits like this come with char cloth, but dry grasses and twigs and all that will work if you out in the wilds," again reaching over her audience Lise dug around in the basket and pulled out some straw and sticks from the bottom.

Arranging it into a small mound, she continued, "It'll just take longer— "

Soli had just thought that was like padding. A thought shared by the others given their startled looks.

" —then you take a bit of char cloth," she tore off a piece, laying it next to the mound, before reaching back into the small tin and pulling out a little black rock, "And use your flint and steel to light it."

With the metal loop held close to the mound she raised the rock over and brought it down quickly, striking them together. A tiny shower of sparks showered down over the grass and cloth. Most of the group, Soli included, squawked in surprise.

"Sometimes," Lise said, striking the metal again, "It can take," again, more sparks, "A few tries-"

Finally a few landed directly on the char cloth and caught, burning slowly out in a glowing irregular ring, turning the black of the cloth gray-white slowly. It went out after a moment. Duna's shoulder sagged.

But Lise leant down and blew gently on the patches of ashy gray and they flared momentarily into orange-white brightness. Carefully pushing the char cloth into the grass and sticks, Lise kept on blowing and soon enough there were tiny little curls of white-gray smoke curling out from the mound. After a few seconds actual wisps of flame poked through the debris. Lise prodded at the blackening bits of kindling, revealing unburnt portions underneath to the growing flames, before she started laying some of the larger sticks from the bottom of the basket overtop. All the while continuing to blow occasionally, causing the flames to flicker and jump, until it had grown into an actual (small) fire.

"There you go. Fire."

Everyone stared at it for several long seconds, taking in the licking flames and the warm glow.

"And when do we- when should we add the logs?" asked Dax.

Lise added a few more sticks on top and shrugged, "Once you're sure the smaller stuff is burning good and well. Just be sure not to smother the fire."

Lise and Duna continued to build up the fire. Meanwhile the rest of them started preparing food under Miriel's watchful eyes, tearing up vegetables and throwing it into the pot with some of the water from the canteens. A little bit later Kieran and Avu'llya came back with the poles and Lise started helping them figure out how to set up the tent. Soli helped.

They worked slowly; watching the pot boil and joining in the brief, occasional spot of conversations that sprang up. Mostly involving asking Lise questions about innocuous subjects; What the tent fabric was called (canvas), if the fire was burning alright, did she think the soup/stew needed more salt or maybe more meat or potatoes?

Nothing that invited deeper conversation. Or that ranged too close to acknowledging that Lystra had set hours ago and Kiestre still had not risen or that the rangers looked scared and that no one was sure they would live to see tomorrow. It was stilted, but it filled the silence.

Soli found the soup bland when it was done. He ate it ravenously of course. But as he scooped out the chunks of meat and potatoes, and slurped down the broth he found himself longing for home all the harder. The warmth of his fathers arms and his mothers smile. Ostra's quiet musings on whatever she was learning and Euma's grumbling about not being allowed to go to whatever party was going on next weekend or Idith's exciting chattering about her friends. Even Timik's nonsense babbling. He missed it all.

He swallowed down those thoughts and shoved them behind another vault in his head. But he didn't send it tumbling over in the metaphorical dark Beyond. He didn't know what happened next. If the black shell people—

Suddenly the air was split by a wailing roar that shook their half assembled tents and wrenched everyone's attention into the sky. Which remained black and silent as it had been for hours.

A second went by. Two. Then a third.

There was a funny whistle in the air.

From across the camp Soli heard shouts and cries go up, and felt more than heard a huge surge of people moving all at once through the dense press of tents. Lise was on her feet, staring back into the crowd of tents intently. So were the others.

Something bright shot out of the darkness, a tiny little ember, and fell to land in the midst of the camp. Half a second later there was a loud whump and the spot where the ember had landed exploded into a roiling ball of fire and scattered burning scraps of canvas and wood and… other things in all directions. Dirt and smoke filled the air. And a rush of hot stinking wind rolled over them. Soli blinked up at the group from where he'd fallen.

More people were screaming and running. Pushing their way past and through and over tents and people as the crowd pushed in every direction simultaneously. Many of them heading straight for the back of the camp (and thus them).

But a second later, after another loud whump had lit up the rear of the camp in a burning cloud of dirt and debris, the part of the crowd heading their way broke up into a dozen smaller waves. Figures danced in the cloud; rangers cried out in agony as flames licked at them. But Soli hardly had time to take in the horror as another explosion lit up the camp behind him and sent the crowd into even further panic as they tried desperately to get into the surrounding buildings.

"Run!" yelled Lise and Miriel and Duna all at once, though none of them said where to run too.

Not that it mattered, in an instant their group was caught up in the pell mell of the crowd, their fire trampled underfoot, pot overturned, and the remnants of their meal dashed to the ground with a clang. Soli managed to stay close to someone familiar for a few seconds. But the crowd was too dense and chaotic, the press of people too panicked, and he was carried quickly away.

He thought he glimpsed either Miriel or Caria through a break in the crowd but it closed almost as soon as it appeared. It was as he was casting around desperately for any sign of a familiar face that Soli saw them, the people in the black shells, dropping down from the rooftops (hadn't there been rangers up there? Where were they?) all around the camp, wielding spears with gleaming points or swords with sweeping serrated edges. People screamed, angry, pained cries and he smelled a hot tangy something in the wind.

Then Lise was beside him, pulling on his arm, shouting, "This way!"

Towards the warehouse, towards the camp of strange magicky Rangers. Through the crowd he saw some of them shove their way out from behind their guards and the tents of their camp, hands full of fire and lightning and the cold light of death.

With a crackle and a flash something hot and wet peppered his back. He almost turned back but Lise kept pulling and Soli's legs pumped, keeping pace with her.

Something whipped past his head with a whistle and Lise grunted, her steps faltering for a second, but she pushed him on.

Now the strange Ranger's guards were pulling down their tents and the other doors of the warehouse opening, letting out more rangers with spells on their hands and lips to toss at the black shell people, who were still dropping over the lips of the buildings. And beyond the rangers, inside the warehouse, Soli saw… he didn't really know what; a dark empty space littered with empty arches of metal. Like doorways. Except they weren't empty but filled with glass- no water.

Not, not water.

A field. A forest. A river.

Clear blue skies, wispy clouds drifting along lazily and songbirds flitting through the air. Rangers in heavy armor — like out of the stories of the Integration, when elf fought elf to bring the light of the Daughters to all the Summerlands — yelled at them from the warehouse entrances, waving their hands even as they hefted fearsome spears and nocked arrows to enormous bows.

"Go! Go! For the gates!"

Lise shoved him ahead of her, past the line of mages. Soli stumbled but caught himself and got his feet under him. He picked one of the doorways, one that looked calm and friendly and safe (sunlight peeked through the trees of a forest of pale trees, their bark; black dappled on white) and pumped his legs as hard as he could for it. Soli glanced to his left, out of one door of the warehouse, he saw a trio of rangers locked in combat with twice that of the people in black shells. Blood running down their sides.

The ground shook and a whole wall of the warehouse ripped open in a shower of shattered stone and splintered wood. He looked over his shoulder and saw Lise standing beside the mages at the front, surrounded by the glow of a clear, dry spring day.

" —andra! Set your eyes to me! Heed my prayers! Make of me— "

And then she was swallowed up by a void of pure black, darker even than the sky outside, that grew and grew and grew until it had eaten the whole front of the warehouse and left nothing but itself.

Soli was just opening his mouth to shout… something, when he felt a cool pressure engulf his arm and a tugging drag him backwards. Then he was falling back, back, back, but instead of meeting hard dirt he just kept falling into nothingness and the world shrank down into first a pinprick of light and sound and then into nothingness.

Next Part (Coming Soon)

[cartoonfangirl1218]

BTS Inspiration of Winner’s Curse

I know not many people read my descendants fic, but hey it’s my Bday tomorrow and I feel like revealing some of the inspiration for it. This world building was actually what inspired me to start writing it down. Originally it was going to be from the POV of a Vk, and explore all the dynamics of the “new” Isle under the Coven of 13, and get into the motivations of each but as you can see that did not happen. I was intrigued by the idea of exploring a “sidekick” trying to be the hero and all that. Other notes are

Circe was originally going to be the mother of Malik, after having a fling with Mozonroth when she got sent to the Isle. Decided it was too much drama and discarded that.

There was going to be more focus on the power struggles between the mercenaries, the Coven and the authority figures. Was going to reveal Uma and Freddie to be siblings. Ended up sidelining Freddie.

Gaston’s daughter, Cosette, was going to have a role, becoming closer with Gil.

Atlantis characters were going to be part of the main group. As well as Black Cauldron characters. Also discarded.

Was going to redeem Drizella because I heard the original plans for Cinderella III was going to be Drizella redemption but they changed so they could give more development to Anastasia. So I decided I was going to do it. Dizzy would have been given more of a role.

Hans was going to be revealed as the cruelest villain. (Yeah I was going to make him a twist villain again. Be glad I did not).

Nasira and Mozonroth were going to be lovers before I decided on mother and son.

Diego and Ivy De’Vil would have had more a role.

Hercules characters would have had more a role. Including the Muses.

Ben would have had more a role somehow.

And that‘s about it.

But some things I am proud of in Winner’s Curse. Passing the Bedchel test.

A POC majority cast (This was completely unintentional but now I see it and counting it out, there’s four Agrabians, two WOC, and three European. Though I’ll admit I have not given Harry, Calix and Gil as much spotlight as I should. So my bad. But does Greek count as a white Euro? Idk, point is, unintentional diversity. Woo)

There‘s only two romances. Both are interracial. Also unintentional. Uma and Harry are totally together. And Aziz and Lala’s burgeoning crushes that will not end in a kiss after the final battle because it’s not important. Oh well. Attempts to explore PTSD, abuse, sexual assault and poverty.

The emphasis on family and friendship between characters.

Exploring the negative side of Auradon including it’s classist system, the Magic Ban, and the Euro-countries getting more resources and riches compared to the likes of Kuzcotopia and Atlantis and Atlantica,

Psychological studies(ish) and more character exploration.

Jay faces his dad!

Hook siblings!

Getting to mention tie ins to the Aladdin animated series, Legend of Tarzan animated series, Hercules animated series, Ariel‘s Beginning and soon Disney fairies books. And adding those characters.

That I finished 20 chapters! This is my longest fic ever! And just ten more chapters to go! I’ll get there.

Coven of 13: Villains dedicated to using their old magic to take over Auradon and be restored to their glory days once more. However they all have conflicting wishes with what the final plan should be.

Maleficent: Since being “overthrown” as queen of the Isle. Maleficent had to settle herself with working with others until she can be mistress of all evil again. Is in a constant battle for dominance with Queen Nerissa, Ursula, Mozenrath and Jafar.

(Evil) Queen Grimhilde: Though she may be pre-occupied by her looks and seem to be passive, Grimhilde is secretly gunning for complete control of the Isle and Auradon when they invade. She feels there should be a new queen that doesn’t get into such petty tantrums as Maleficent. Queen Nerissa: Queen Nerissa is the unofficial leader of the coven since it was her idea but it is impossible to convince the others of that. She wishes to get her ultimate revenge on Giselle, Edgar and the rest of Auradon by becoming the tyrant.

Ursula: Ursula is smartly setting her sights on just ruling Atlantica. Unless she gets bored. Then she might expande her pool of options. She mainly just wants to stick it to King Triton and when it comes to execution time. She isn’t going to make the mistake of keeping his soul, she wants to destroy it. Mother of Uma.

Circe: Very bitter about ending up on the Isle even after Helen of Troy vouched for her to stay in Auradon. So to say that she wants to crush Adam to the bone is understatement. She wants him to grovel. And if she can find that one good man while she’s at it, that would be a plus. Mother of Calix.

Mother Gothel: Though she has an intense rivalry with Grimhilde since day one about hoarding the scarce beauty products available on the Isle, she is her closest supporter now when it comes to finding magic for revenge and curing wrinkly skin. She is the mother of Ginny who she doesn’t dote on nearly as much as she did with Rapunzel.

Yzma: She wants Kuzcotopia and she will do anything and everything to get it even if it means teaming up with a bunch of “old hags” (yes pot calling kettle). Still remains overdramatic and delusional. Has a semi-dependent abusive relationship with her children Zevon and Yzla.

Morgaine Le Fey: Morgaine Le Fey, like Grimhilde, is quiet when it comes to group work but she is always observing for everyone else’s weaknesses and flaws that she will undoubtedly exploit when she becomes Queen of Camelot. Mother of Morrían.

Nasira: Sister to Jafar and mother of Jade and Mozonroth. She isn't nearly as enthusiastic about ruling Agrabah as her brother and Mozonroth are but she is just in it to get revenge on the stinking alley rat, Aladdin.

Queen La: Without her staff, her kingdom or leopard-man army, La has resorted to her Atlantean priestess magic again in hopes of getting off the Isle and reclaiming her staff. Still delusional, still lustful and hates having to depend on the rest of these people. Mother of Ranavalalona.

Jafar: Wishes to rule Agrabah and execute the royal family that “mistreated’ and “disrespected” him so much. Is in a constant battle with Mozonroth on the fact that he is the best sorcerer and will be ruler of Agrabah when they take over. Mozonroth: Finds Jafar to be a blowhard and believes that since he already took over the Black Sands and overthrew his former mentor that he should be doing far better plots. But with the Isle’s Magic Ban, he has to go with what he has. Besides that he would like to give his half-brother, Aladdin, a taste of “brotherly love” when he puts him in a headlock to crack his skull. Father to Malik and Imran Abbas.

Dr. Facilier: Like Ursula, Dr. Facilier smartly works on the fringes, setting his sights small on the Bayou before ruling the rest of Auradon. Father of Freddie and Celia.

All-Powerful Quartet: Generally speaking, if any villain was going to be taking over Auradon, it would be these 4. But due to their all-powerful status, they’d rather not exert themselves to do such menial tasks when they have other things to do.

Mirage: Evil Incarnate. So she does get to go off-Isle to maintain some balance of good and evil in the universe but generally enjoys the place. There is just so much evil and chaos everywhere and she glories in it. Mother of Illusion and Chimera.

Chernabog: Since being put on the Isle, Chernabog remains asleep on the mountain, waiting for his day to rise again.

Horned King: Without his deathless army, the Horned King remains in his cave, slowly wasting away. Mainly convenes with Hades.

Hades: God of the Underworld. So yeah, he has a full time job to do.

Mercenaries: The muscle behind the Coven, these are people who can’t adjust to domestic life, more 20th century living and miss the thrill of a fight. They deal with the dirtier deeds of murder and treason. The big boss (literal mob boss) is Sykes who rents their services out.

Sykes: Mob boss. Basically owner of the unofficially named, “Mercenary for Hire.” He never gets his own hands dirty but he has plenty of people who will do it for him. He keeps his people in line with his files of blackmail he has stocked up.

Clayton: Desperately misses the thrill of the hunt and more modern conveniences like a well-polish gun with enough ammo to shoot all these thieves to hell. Has a coworkers- with-benefits relationship with Helga. Father of Clay.

Rourke: Since being screwed over by magic, Rourke has kept a very rigid condition that he will only deal with non-magical situations. Still maintains his treasure-seeking ways and often pilfers from Jafar’s shop.

Helga Sinclair: One of the most intimidating humans on the Isle and of the mercenaries in general. She is known for her efficiency in work, stoic demeanor and same condition to her jobs as Rourke, no magic.

Muviro: Finds mercenary life to be very suitable since being exiled from his tribe. He does it less so for the money but for the glory and bloodlust. Father of Renavalalona.

Lady Caine: Self-proclaimed, “Queen of Thieves” and pirate extradonier. She is Captain Hook’s only real competition on the piracy front leaving a lot of punch-punch kiss tension between them. Many suspect that she is CJ’s bio mom since they share the same manipulativeness, “devil may care” attitude and self-centeredness. However she has no time for any child-rearing, and leaves James to do whatever neglectful work.

Gaston: Another mercenary that does it for the glory rather than the money. He needs something to do since his hunting days are over. Unfortunately he has not won a lot of admirers on the Isle for his chauvinistic attitude (Bad move considering that many of the women have actual powers). Father of Gaston Jr. Gaston the Second, Gil, Gaston (IV) the Great and Cosette.

Shan Yu: Finds himself very low being part of a mercenary gang instead of invading foreign countries. But it does provide some thrill that he can work on his own and make his homicides as bloody as he wants them to be.

Sa’Luk: Former “King of the Thieves,” Sa’Luk uses his mercenary work to get rid of his excess energy and anger towards his enemies. He joins Rourke in pilfering from Jafar’s shops and has a penchant for shiny gold trinkets.

Lt. Col. Jean Staquait: Former French officer and best to hire when you need someone to torture prisoners.

Authority Figures: Villains who are used to have some amount of power in more domestic/civilian pursuits. Pretty much like big corporations that constantly drain the other villains of cash, small trinkets, food and whatever other valuables are on the Isle.

Queen Saleen: One of the most malevolent mermaid, well only mermaid on the Isle. She spends most of her time in the Isle’s waters, avoiding the annoying two legged people. She is often in some sort of feud with Ursula.

Lady Tremaine: Guardian to Anthony Tremaine. Lady is getting on with her years and remains more or less infirmed in her house with a dozen grandchildren. She runs her house with an iron fist and is the most vocal on the Isle in support of child labor. She misses her days of richness and convenes with other elder women about how low they have fallen.

Medusa: Just like she did before the Isle, Medusa owns a pawn shop that is on a constant losing streak to Jafar’s so she has opened a small casino next to it too. She rather delusionally considers herself to be an entrepreneur and tries to work with those higher up in the social ladder to get more money herself.

Cruella De’Vil: While she spends most of her time tending to her furs and car and drinking, when she is sober she tries her hand at fashion design as in the olden days. She works closely with Lady Tremaine and Medusa.

Prince Hans: More or less the least-adjusted to the Isle with his loss of kingdom, servants and anyone gullible enough to believe his lies or manipulations. He is in close cahoots with Mozenrath and bought Drizella as his mistress. Father to Lars, his only son and heir since Stalyan refuses to ruin her figure again.

Sheriff of Nottingham: Serves as the Isle’s one man police force and a sucky job at that as he lets his henchmen squad do most of the work while he serves as trial judge and executioner with the Queen of Hearts: She works a bit on the judicial system, mainly the one who suggests the executions. She can also be found bringing most of the cases to court against henchmen who have wronged her or disobeyed her Tea Shop’s rules.

Captain Hook: The sole owner and commander of the coasts of the Isle while Ursula controls its seas. He is still as obsessive as ever about Peter Pan, his hand and crocodiles and can be found frequenting bars and other brawling areas on the Isle where his hook serves as a nasty weapon. Father of Harriet, Harry and CJ.

Gov. Ratcliff: The only one on the Isle that deals with paperwork. Sort of a treasurer of sorts. Not so much in organizing it but guarding it with his life and spends his time staring longingly at the piles wishing it were genuine gold than copper coins. Claude Frollo: Father of Claudine. Maintains his strict preaching and inflaming others against sin and towards prejudice. But he also tends to lose his inhibitions more and is a regular at the brothels of the Isle late at night. No woman has replaced his lust for Esmeralda though. Claudette seems to becoming close to that though.

Stalyan: Hans’ wife and Lady Caine’s part-time lover which drives Prince Hans crazy. She has her eyes on one thing and one thing only, money and bad boys that make her look good. She has no real ambitions of her own and depends on her father, the Baron, to give her what she wants. Mother of Lars.

Regular Citizens: Citizens that hold no sort of power and are pretty much everyone’s punching bags.

Morgana: Morgana would have been put part of the coven, but her sister, Ursula forbade it. Besides everyone knows that Ursula is far more powerful and talented than her sister. Instead Morgana is blackballed from any real position of respect and takes care of Ursula’s restaurant when she is away.

Marina Del Ray: Since losing her job to Sebastian she has become the Madam of the Isle’s seaside brothels, using the money to spiffy up her gaudy wardrobe.

The Bimbettes: Claudette (red dress) used to be Gaston’s gf but left him after he tried to “throw away” their daughter, Cosette, to try for a boy. She has since then been seen with the likes of Prince Hans, Mozenrath and Frollo. Laurette (yellow dress), the mother of Gastons 1-3 is Gaston’s favorite. Paulette (green dress), Gaston’s official wife is more or less his servant/punching bag and mother to Gil.

Drizella Tremaine: Since she couldn’t be married to Prince Hans, she has settled for being his mistress whenever he and Stalyan have a fight. A thankless position since she regularly bends over (literally and metaphorically) to his will and gets discarded like trash every time.

Lefou and Smee: Live together and own a kinda profitable gun and fishing shack. By far the best parents on the Isle due to their goofy more sympathetic natures.

Jasper and Horace: Still devoted henchmen of Cruella, they serve as secretaries, gophers and all manner of assistance to her. Fathers to Jace and Harold.

Ivy De’Vil: Mother of Diego, is the brains behind Cruella’s beauty designs since she isn’t drunk all the time. Can be considered one of the better mothers on the Isle.

Animals: No explanation needed

Scar, Zira, Shere Khan, Sabor, Benzai, Ed and Shenzi, Tublat, Hista

Couples: Captain Hook and Lady Caine (fight-hate sex rivalry. Child- CJ)

Lady Caine and Stalyan (with-benefits)

Stalyan and Prince Hans (Married. Child- Lars)

Prince Hans and Drizella (affair, possibly Dizzy?)

Mozenrath and Hans (Hans swears it was an accident. Or he was too drunk. Or it was magic)

Lady Caine and Hans (Revenge against Stalyan)

Queen Grimhilde and Prince Hans (One night stand)

Ursula and Dr. Facilier (fling, potentially Freddie and Uma)

Frollo and Claudette (with-benefits)

Gaston and Laurette (Affair/borderline married. Children- Gaston Jr. Gaston the Second, Gaston (IV) the Great)

Gaston and Paulette (Married. Child- Gil)

Lefou and Paulette (Lefou deux, drunken night of pity sex because Gaston’s treatment of them)

Smee and Lefou (Couple. Adopted Sammy)

Ivy De’Vil and Frollo (One night stand. Child-Diego)

Mozonroth and Morgaine Le Fey (Fling)

Clayton and Helga Sinclair (co-workers with benefits)

Queen La and Muviro (Married and dumped. Children- Ranavalalona. Musala, Taytu Betuvira, and unnamed, deceased)

Queen La and Clayton (Fling- Leopold, deceased)

Queen La and Gaston (Fling. Children-Amina and Shaka, deceased)

Queen La and Rourke (Fling. Child- Euware, deceased)

Queen La and Mozonroth (Fling. Child-Sarounia, deceased)

Shan Yu and Sa’Luk (Once- There’s no straight men in the trenches)

[disenchantedhq]

The weeks since Queen Belle‘s Ball and the Princess’s Grand Fête rolled on in a dizzying splendor, April coming to a rapid close. Cool, spring weather gave way to warmer, humid temperatures, the threat of a blistering hot Summer looming on the horizon. It had come as a surprise to the citizens of Auradon that the first full month with their Shadow Realm visitors had gone by without incident. Aside from the festivities at the Queen’s Chateau (with some minor displays here and there) it appeared the season was off to a charming (and irritatingly slow) start, the printers of Lady Chattermore’s Society Papers sighing indignantly at the lack of exciting drama to report on.

While the papers spoke of a heated argument between the Young Genie and the visiting Sehzade Sultan, clandestine dances between Her Royal Highness and the Neverlandian Gentleman, a Sea Captain and his Prydanian Rumored Intended gallivanting by the garden, the Diamond of the Season poked and prodded for conversation from every angle by many a suitor, and a Shadow Realm Vagrant seen sneaking about the halls far after curfew, among other less interesting reporting, it seemed that Princess Emma’s first attempt at merging the fresh arrivals into Auradon’s high society came with little problem. The only genuine attempt at stirring up controversy being the lack of invite for the visiting Faerie Prince and his entourage the evening of the fête.

Despite this fact, all was transpiring beautifully in Auradon City as the season carried on in a satisfying slow haze.

Among those that promenaded through the Ton on a daily basis, seemingly carefree and swept up in the elegant charm of the city, was one Faerilyth Moor. Day by day, the daughter of Maleficent roamed the twisting avenues and cobbled ways, often attended by one of the readily available chaperones or her tall and intimidating brother. At first her presence caused a nervous pause in the Ton, wary glances passed her way as she meandered through the shops on Rue de Magasins, or stopped into the Benbow Inn for a meal. No one had known quite what to expect with the arrival of the Shadowborn, but there was particular nervousness where the children of the Horned Ones were involved. Though they all appeared as normal as the next passerby in Auradon, there was something about their countenance that always caused pause. But as the month strolled by with little incident, and saccharine Faerilyth made her docile self more known to the shop owners and common folk in the Districts, the lingering fear of something sinister hiding behind the charming faces of the trio became less and less a bother until it seemed that it no longer existed.

There were those among the throng, however, that knew better than to assume innocence behind those well glamoured grins. Lurking in dark alleyways, or huddled in the corners of the pubs and inns, they sat with their cloaks on tight. Some were travelers from far and wide, arrived to the big city seeking employment or to peddle their wares at the docks and markets. Others were more established members of the lower crust, shouldering the burdens of day to day life that the lofty nobles could never imagine. And some even were higher up, among those in gilded carriages and most impressive refinery. They covered all types of people one could find in the bustling streets of Auradon City, each one distinguishable from the last save for one thing which linked them.

When given the opportunity, in the presence of either Faerilyth or her companions Nikolai Chernov or Mercedes Reyes, in discreet view where no one could lay witness, they would pull back their sleeves or collars, hike up their hems or trousers just so to reveal the black smudge of ink on their skin. Most were faded after 25 years. Some bore burned marks from when officers of the law attempted to scorch them away, and a fair few were fresh obsidian upon their fleshes. The marking of the followers, an intricate tattoo, flashed swiftly to the children of their masters long gone from this realm. A call of fealty, that when the moment arose they would come marching in on their side. A promise to wreak havoc upon the polite and genteel society of Auradon.

Acknowledgement was minimal. Faerilyth had an intention — to lay low until the time was right. It was so early in their time in Auradon, she had no desire to jeopardize what was decades in the making. Patience, she preached to followers that dared come too close. Just rewards for those who waited. She kept her secrets close, not even allowing her dear Nikolai to know the extent of the plans. Not yet. Not when their positions were still so delicate. But a restlessness gripped their followers, who quickly grew tired of waiting. They demanded answers, demanded some sort of relief from their wondering. Walpurgis Night, she’d said, I will give you clarity on the Witches’ Sabbath. As the night of April 30th loomed before them, the good hearted nobles funneled into Notre Dame for mass, excited for the morning and the May Day festivities to take place in the Enchanted Park. But on the fringes of society, cloaked in shadow and smoke, those loyal followers to the dark rushed through the empty streets of Auradon City, to the docks of Low Town. Fewer guards roamed the streets that night, not privy to the men and women gathering in the shadows.

In the southwestern most point of the district, on the border of the city’s vast and sparse outskirts, lay an abandoned mansion. Decrepit and run down, with full walls blown out and large holes in the decaying roof. The front yard had a broken down gate, patches of dead grass, and a small graveyard where the forgotten family was laid to rest was left forgotten with overgrowth. No eyes were on the mansion, save the groups slowly descending upon it. They snuck in through the openings in the old stone walls, walking through the rotting house and making way to the only still intact place within — the cellar. Climbing down what felt like miles of spiraling stone steps, they eventually found themselves in a large and damp space, looking much like the chapel where the honourable now met on the opposite side of the city. The air was thick and musky with mildew and dust, moist and heavy around them. But not a single one shed their cloaks, not daring to reveal themselves beneath their hoods.

Before them all stood an altar, drenched in a rusted bronze, sitting low before an intricate dais which housed a red velvet bejeweled throne. Flanking either side of the dais stood the son of Chernabog and the daughter of the Horned King, eyes passively scanning the room as swiftly the pews were filled with seated cloaked followers. So many arrived that they filled in all the spaces surrounding, standing along the perimeter and filling in the center aisle. They were packed so close together they could no longer move, none daring to stand so close to the magnificent display at the head of the room. There was a low rumble of whispers among the throng, nervous and excited for what was to come.

At the sound of a heavy door creaking open and then slamming shut, a deaf silence fell upon the crowd, all eyes turning to the far side as a figure descended upon the chapel from a side room. There were silent gasps as the blonde maiden, so small and innocent looking, crossed the path towards the others, vivid blue eyes glowing even there in the dim underground. As she neared the front there was a buzz in the air, a magical release as slowly the glamour around her faded and her true face was revealed. White blonde locks gave way to a gray brown, pink and warm skin going colder and paler than the dead. Her cheek bones more accentuated, her ears more pointed, and curling high and away from her flat forehead were two onyx horns, glimmering in the torchlight. Her robes, flowing and black, trailed behind her as they suspected her wings would have should they not have been taken from her. With a passive face she stopped before the altar, turning her full attention to the silent crowd assembled before her.

“Greetings,” she began in a soft but commanding voice which echoed off the stone walls, “And welcome. Each of you has, over the past month, reached out to myself or my comrades, sharing symbols of fealty and devotion to our beloved parents that came before us. Those who, once upon a time, had desired to take this world, so docile and magical, and turn it on its head. To bring a change and reign in a different era for the people of Auradon. Disappointingly, their vision had never come to fruition. Their stories came to an abrupt end, and even from the redemption of the cauldron they could never see their plan through. I thank you heartily for showing yourselves in a time where our legacy, our great power, is no longer feared or respected. It is because of you that at long last we may see the day where dark overpowers light, night overturns day, and ‘evil’ may have its glory.”

A rumble of agreement, claps and shouts of joy in response to Faerilyth’s words which almost caused a smile to appear on her ruby red lips. She held out a hand, long and clawed, demanding their silence. Her eyes flashed over the crowd. “Twenty Five years ago my mother and father, and their closest comrade the Horned King, had joined their dark magicks together to create so fearsome a curse it took all the might of every noble, faerie and wizard to join together and stomp out their dreams. Their imprisonment was brought on because of an enchantment so fierce and dangerous, the nobles could not allow their resurrection to threaten it back to existence. What they didn’t count on was our parents’ cleverness. Maleficent knew that if she could not finish the task, then another would rise to her place and finally be able to bring all she designed to fruition.

“That is why I am here, why I live and breathe. My purpose is to see my mother’s genius through. To bring about the end of this ‘Happily Ever After’ which the nobles of Auradon claimed for themselves and no one else. Look at you, look at thy neighbor, and ask yourself — who prospered from the unification of this land? Who is it that reaps the spoils of ‘good deeds’? Is it you, my brethren? Or you, my sisters? Do any of you truly live in the blissful peace rewarded to the King and Queen and their coconspirators?” Waves of angry shouts and boos traveled the room, the group becoming riled up. Faerilyth spared a glance to her Nikolai and Mercedes, a delighted smirk on her face, as the throng cursed the royals and aristocracy which lived in decadence and splendor while they squabbled in the sewage. “Be merry, my friends, for the age of princesses and princes, of fairy godmothers and ‘good’, it will all come to an end soon enough and you — you my beloved friends — will finally have your time in the sun. Because I am here now to usher in the new age. The Age of No Happily Ever Afters, not lest it be for all! For those dying in the gutter! For those desperately seeking the help of these passive and kind nobles, who do nothing to end your suffering! No. I will be your champion, and I will uplift you. And my journey will begin here, with this—”

A gasp rang through the room as from within her robes Faerilyth retrieved a broken piece of wood, sawed off a spinning wheel and held aloft for all to see. In the flickering torchlight it was plain to see, the sharpened spindle imbued with dark magic held above them all. “Behold — The Cursed Spindle! The work of my mother, returned to Auradon and it’s purpose. The curse which my mother designed, remnants of its power lingers here in this land. Imbued in items held in the hands of the noble class. Small pieces of the puzzle to who I am and what I was built to do... my beloveds, it is up to us now to scavenge for these items, pillage them from the corrupt ones, and bring them together—” Her words were drowned out as a commotion rang from the front pews, a single dark figure rising to its feet and calling out angrily.

“The only corruption in this land is you, filthy creature!” A man wailed out above Farrilyth’s rambling. She stopped, shooting a hand out to pause the others which moved to silence the nay sayer. “You come here, to our splendid Auradon, and you speak poison into our ears. We, who have nothing but gratitude and thanks for our just rulers. Hard times existed back when you and your cursed lot roamed our lands freely. And now you return, daring to say that you will be our savior?” He spat onto the stone ground between them, his hood falling back to reveal the wrinkled face of an old man. A priest of her demon father, a face she and Nikolai surely recognized from beyond the mirrors when their father told them who to seek out upon their arrival. Faerilyth’s expression stayed cool and blank, not betraying emotion at the outburst, while others shouted for the man’s death. “I’ve made my peace, I’m free of you’s, but I’ll be damned if I allow you to poison more innocent souls with your empty promises and lies. Curse you, and damn you all!”

He’d brandished a silver blade, throwing himself onto the stone between the crowd and Faerilyth, Nikolai and Mercedes. Others clambered forward to grab him, to pull him away from the trio they adored. But the icy gaze of the young Horned ones caused pause. A silence fell in the room again, the only sounds being the ragged breathing of the priest. And then suddenly a melodic laughter filled the space, peeling from the stone cold faerie that had stood passively before them. The laughter rang for a moment, her hand falling dismissively at her side. “Oh, you’ll be damned you say?” She chortled, turning her gaze to Nikolai and Mercedes behind her. A silent message passed between the trio, a glint of something mischievous and sinister in their eyes. Slowly she moved forward, closing the space between herself and the old man. Her stature seemed to grow, a menacing shadow overwhelming her and making her appear almost giant in the room. An illusion, a gift from her demonic father. As her eyes flashed between blue and yellow, her features growing more demonic and frightening, she leaned over the cowering elderly man. When she spoke again, her voice had an echo of a thousand distorted voices laced with her own, as though the creatures of hell spoke simultaneously with her.

“You’ll be damned? Then so be it,” she said, and her eyes turned into endless pools of blackness, obsidian orbs glaring back at him from a white face. He was trapped by her gaze, whimpering and pleading for his life as he involuntarily stood at his full height. Gaze leveled with her demonic one, the man begged to be spared once again, a feeble effort. Faerilyth did not speak, she simply leaned her head inhumanly to the side in a swift motion. The sharp snap that echoed through the room caused a volley of startled gasps and cries, as instantly the man fell to the stone ground, blood leaking from every crevice in his face and his head seemingky unhinged from his neck in an unnatural fashion “Anyone else wish to interrupt?” She called out in that demonic voice, laced in the legions of hell. When she was met with silence, she smirked, returning to her former faerie state. “I thought so.”

Her voice returned to its saccharine state as she carried on, “As I was saying, in order for the task set by our parents to be completed we must gather these objects which are held by the noble houses and bring them together. With the magic that lives within them, myself and the two behind me will finally be able to awaken the curse our parents created. Once they are obtained, we will make a pilgrimage to the Forbidden Mountains and gather upon the summit of Bald Mountain where my father had once slumbered, and we will combine our powers to bring about the end of the nobles’ era and the dawning of our time. We have one piece of the puzzle,” she retrieved the spindle she held earlier, “already in our grasp. We need only fourteen other magically imbued relics to finish the task.”

Faerilyth motioned behind her to Nikolai and Mercedes who unraveled a long tapestry before the dais, colored with imagery depicting the spindle and fourteen other objects. The crowd instantly recognized some of the iconography. Glass Slippers. Enchanted Roses. A Magic Lamp, among many others. They began whispering amongst themselves. Who had the courage to defy not just the nobles but all law and reason to steal items such as these? It seemed an impossible feat which had many crying out in negative. “Don’t worry, my pets, though it appears a big undertaking, we will not fail to gather these items.” She moved to the tapestry and ran a finger over one of the shimmering images. “Tomorrow is May Day, the beginning to the fifth month. And all of Auradon will celebrate. And following the day time festivities there will be another event, one more elite but an opportunity nonetheless. The Faerie Prince has arrived in Auradon for the season, and he will hold a party for the society members and visiting shadowborn. And, more obviously, for his faerie companions.“ She traced the image of pixie dust weaved into the tapestry. “It is at this event that our first chance presents itself — for our first heist we will steal pixie dust, an important necessity for the curse casting. A small and simple task, easy for the unsuspecting beginning. Slowly over time we will gather all these things and hide them here until the day comes to travel north. Following tonight we will meet sparingly until we are ready to begin preparations for the journey.

“‘Tis only the beginning but know this — our plan will not fail. Unlike our fathers before us, we are suspect of nothing. And we will continue to play our parts to earn the respect of our peers.” Her glamour formed again and she stood before them all once more as a docile blonde dressed in white muslin and lace. “They will never see what is coming, and as long as you succeed in assisting us then my darlings you will be blessed in the new age. It is a promise that I make to you now, that you have my word that you will all be justly rewarded for your hard work in the coming months. Let me leave you with this: my full commitment to bring an end to your sorrowful suffering at the hand of those greedy fat cats upon their gilded thrones. You will be exemplified in my eyes. I will raise you to godhood so long as you play your part. Now carry on, my friends, discreetly return to your homes and speak none of this to anyone. Or be warned,” Faerilyth toed the corpse which still lay on the floor between her and her followers. “You will be punished accordingly.”

With that, the meeting of Walpurgis Night came to a swift close. One by one the followers fanned out from the abandoned mansion, running off to their homes in the city and storing their memories of that night away from the prying eyes of outsiders. In the cellar, the trio were cutting up the corpse, laying his remains upon the altar as an offering to Chernabog. Faerilyth silently prayed that he would feel the sacrifice made in his name from behind the mirror world and be satiated. “Listen well, my friends,” she spoke in a low voice to Nikolai and Mercedes, “We’ve secured invitations to the Faerie Prince’s gathering tomorrow evening. I suspect you two will continue to charm the masses into trusting us, but it is far more imperative that we each leave with a handful of pixie dust, concealed in these little bags.” She offered a small burlap sack to each of them. “While it is true that Neverlandian faeries secrete it more, any wing bearing fop at that engagement can give it to us. Whether it be forced or by other coerced means, you mustn’t leave until you have the pixie dust in your hand, understood?” With affirmative declaration the trio cleaned up and disbanded from there, returning undetected to their boarding homes.

A dark and grim silence fell upon the city of Auradon that night, none the wiser to what was brewing in secret, of the dark promises whispered in the night.

—

When the dewy morning had come, the dark atmosphere of the prior night‘s events dissipated, replaced with a light and exciting feeling. The Ton was of course none the wiser to any evil doing afoot and all eyes were turned towards the Enchanted Park where the May Day festivities picked up almost immediately. The manicured greens were outfitted that day with stalls and tents full of savory and sweet foods and confections, holiday themed wares and items to peddle to the attendees with coin to spare. Glittering toy wands with ribbons dangling from the tips for children to wave about, wax wrapped bouquets for gentlemen to present to their sweethearts. Boxes of carefully crafted chocolates, toffees and treats, tied with pastel ribbons, sat upon tables for families to purchase and gift to one another. And of course the May Day Pole was installed in the center of the green, colorful ribbons dancing in the morning wind alerting everyone to its installation. The faeries of Auradon sprinkled their magic in the dawn across the entire park allowing for all bushes, hedges, plants and trees to spontaneously bloom, their colorful glory adding a fresh new glow to the surroundings.

As the Auradonians awoke, they put on their springtime best and migrated to the Enchanted Hills to join in music and merriment. Carriages were deployed to take passengers on guided tours through the flowered archways in the vast park, spectator tents and shaded areas for lounging on cotton blankets and enjoying the seasonably warm weather set out across the green. A wooden plank dance floor set up at the base of a stage where the royal orchestra played merry jogs for line dancing, and stalls for the tenant farmers living on the outskirts of town or the traveled farmers from the other providences to bring their livestock to be judged by the royal family, fishermen to bring in their sea harvests. Then when the sky darkened and night fell upon them, colorful fireworks from the imperial southern lands would be released into the night sky high above the city and a bonfire in the midst of the party would be built to commemorate the end of a dark half of the year and the beginning of long sunny days ahead.

You have more than just these daytime plans lined up. As rumors have persisted, the visiting faerie dignitary has announced a soirée at the prince’s lavish mansion in the Fey Burrough. It’s a rare occasion — faerie homes are for those in need of help, not for socializing, but it appears the visiting royal is interested in partaking in the season and its traditions. And it seems only right as a visiting member to court to host an extravagant event for all to attend. The invitation quite literally flies through your window, sparkling from pixie dust left over from the winged messengers that brought it to you. The iridescent paper has bold script and gold leaf filigree which expressly invite you and your household members to attend that evening’s party at the mansion. From the prince’s back garden and courtyard, and many balconies, he promises the best views of the fire works. There will be an abundance of faerie foods as well as Auradon’s most charming confections, the sweetest wine either realm has ever tasted, and music to dance your hearts to. Every faerie from Auradon will likely be there, which means seeing some of the most dazzling creatures up close.

For reasons you don’t understand, the invitation states that formal Auradonian wear is ‘very much optional’ but the meaning becomes clearer to you when you arrive to the large mint colored mansion at the center of the Fey Burrough. Faeries do make up the majority of the crowd lounging about the lawns and exquisite rooms of the mansion, wearing light and flowing robes made of breezy fabrics you’ve never seen, crowns of ornate flowers, and glittering from the magic flowing in their blood. They look more like the Olympians depicted in paintings than like the stuffy members of society you’d spent most of the day with. It becomes apparent to you why they swapped their refinery for these robes and togas — their shimmery wings now free to stretch out behind them.

The Prince appears before you, wearing black breeches and loose fabric over his torso, his gold iridescent wings beating excitedly behind him. Upon his russet locks he wears a crown made of colorful springtime flowers and greenery, lopsided from how often he has taken it off and replaced it. He greets you with kisses upon both cheeks and shoves a glass of crimson colored wine into your hand. One sip and you swear you’ve never had anything quite as decadent and sweet. You question what it is and he simply says it’s a delicacy from his realm. You question no further. With an arm lazily draped over your shoulders he and courtiers beckon you further into the shimmering haze. You find more foods — squares of confections you’ve never seen before — and you take trepid bites. Each tastes better than the last, and your mouth bursts from the magical flavors. Above and around you lithe faeries hang in rings or suspended on curtains, spinning around and contorting their bodies into impossible knots and positions. The music is odd and different from the elegance you’re used to, played on lyres and sitars by pointy eared faeries with long smoking pipes sticking out of their mouths, a soprano accompanying them in a language you’ve never heard. It’s slow and dizzying, and you feel as though you’re drunk from the wine. But you only had one sip didn’t you?

As you dance lightly, the hot May air attacks your senses and you find yourself shedding off your overcoat and upper layers. Oddly enough you wish to be free of everything, to let the moonlight touch your bare skin. At least that’s what some of the faeries want, and if you’re not careful you may find yourself in such a predicament. Faeries are tricksters by nature and it stands to reason that some of them are planning to play with the prince’s many illustrious guests. Could you fall pray to the truth serum sprinkled in gilded goblets? Or the spelled berries and sweets which cause passionate and fleeting infatuation with the first person you lay your eyes upon? Or will you dance naked and carefree in the back gardens under the watchful eye of a moon high above you?

How magical might your May Day go?

—

And now after all of that I’m proud to announce our Second Group Wide Event: THE MAY DAY FESTIVITIES AND FAERIE BACCHANAL. As highlighted above, this dual event takes place over the course of May 1st, 1825 and in two particular settings: The Enchanted Park where a setting appropriate, charming daytime festival is being held and then at the Faerie Prince’s Mansion in the Fey Burrough, where a potentially more raucous party is to take place. You have the option to participate in either or both festivities for this event. When we get close to the start date of the event, a listing of enchanted faerie foods and beverages at the party and their unique side effects will be posted. This portion of the event is not mandatory but can be used as a fun plot device and is encouraged to generate interesting situations. The party itself is somewhat of a scandalous affair, with the odd and peculiar culture of the faerie people on display. Circus performers and musicians playing unknown instruments provide entertainment, and there’s plenty of odd things on display. While nsfw threads can be a product of the party event and the enchanted foods, please remember the rules on how to handle nsfw material on the dash. Refer to the discord if you need a reminder. Discord may be used to roleplay elements of either festivity and will be determined at a different time.

The event itself will begin Wednesday May 26th, 2021 and carry on for two weeks. We will wrap up the evening of June 9th at 11:59 PST. Shortly afterwards our first officially written Lady Chattermore’s Society Papers will go live, highlighting any dramatic mischief that may occur. If your characters end up in anything you are okay with being reported on, please submit this information to the main by June 13th so it can be accounted for.

As always, should you have any questions about the event or story depicted in this plot drop, don’t hesitate to reach out! More details regarding this event will become available over the next couple days.

Thank you guys and happy roleplaying!

[ptw30]

Shiro whump baby that’s all I ever need (the team/ a specific person of your choosing helps him out) I particularly enjoy when he tries to sacrifice himself for his team please please please!

Sorry for the delay! Hope you don’t mind if I post this on Shiro’s birthday! @shiro-birthday-celebration

Fic: Assimilation

Relationships: Krolia & Shiro; can be seen as Sheith or Friendsheith. 

-----

Shiro gritted his teeth as liquid fire raced up his left side. A low hiss escaped his lips as his chest, covered only by the thin material of his under suit, heaved a quick breath. Without his top armor, it shouldn’t be that hard, but the shoulder wound from the pirate’s blaster somehow pierced his armor and sunk directly into his flesh.

“You didn’t have to come,” Krolia tsked above him, keeping consistent pressure upon Shiro’s wound. “I requested Keith’s participation in this mission.”

“And as I said, Keith is across the universe on paladin duties.” Shiro grunted when Krolia added another ripped section of her jacket to the makeshift bandages. “Calling him back would have compromised his current mission. I was free, and I-I owe you.”

She shook her head. “You owe me nothing.”

“Ulaz freed me from Zarkon’s prison.” Shiro pushed up and back to resituate himself against the cell wall, despite Krolia’s huff of disapproval. “The Blades have been our closest allies since the start of our campaign, and you—you’re Keith’s family.”

“Hm.” Krolia lifted the bandages slightly to examine Shiro’s wound, but her stern expression gave nothing away. “I do not believe I’ve heard you speak of your family, Shiro.”

Shiro held in another hiss when Krolia pressed down again. “Keith and I spent a lot of time together once he came to the garrison. Movie nights, races through the desert, camping.”

“I asked about your family, Shiro.”

“And I just told you.”

He let his dry but genuine tone convey the truth for him. There was no heat, no need to remind Krolia that he had been close to Keith long before Keith even knew her name.

Krolia blinked, looking down at Shiro’s face to study him herself. After she came to some sort of conclusion, she nodded once and added yet another bandage to his shoulder. “I see.”

“There are others now,” he said in a strained whisper. “Mitch, Sanda, the Holts, the Paladins, of course. Coran. Lotor and his generals. Kolivan and you. It’s not just me and Keith against the universe anymore.”

“No, I suppose it’s not, though I would appreciate if you did not take a blast for me again, Shiro. I would have deflected it with my blade.”

“Perhaps, but you and Keith just found each other again.”

A smirk crept upon her face. “I could say the same for you as well.”

“Touché.”

They sat in silence for a few long moments with Shiro pointedly ignoring his shoulder. Krolia eventually broke it. “Kolivan wants a kit. I personally was against the idea until recently, but I think bringing more warriors into the Blade is…naturally. Necessary.”

Shiro blinked. “Keith’s almost twenty-three. Not, uh, to be presumptuous, but can you still bear kits?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of assimilation. It’s time we put tradition behind us, and family is bound by more than just blood.”

“Makes sense. But just for the Blade? Not for you and Kolivan?”

“I know someone who has already been welcomed into our circle of trust, someone who has been welcomed into our family for some time now and woven into our very fabric.”

Shiro blinked, his breath catching in his throat. He didn’t care to interpret, to hope, and then Krolia’s hand came up to cradle the side of his face. “Tell me, Shiro. How are you with blades?”

His voice was strangled by the tears. “Perficient. I’ve formed a tanto knife with the Black Bayard a few times in close quarter combat.”

Krolia leaned over to press her lips to his forehead, holding them there for a long moment like an unspoken promise. When she pulled away, her smile was nothing short of precious. “We’ll get you a longer one. Now, let’s get out of here, shall we?”

Shiro held his hand over the three bands on the outside of his thigh armor and closed his eyes, focusing on the inner most part of himself. It was there, nestled against his soul, that he found Black and through Black, the tie to his bayard.

In a flash of purple light, his bayard was in his hand.

His eyes snapped open to see Krolia’s astonished gaze. “You might want to wait by the door. Our captors will be here in a few.”

Sure enough, the space pirates opened the cell door a few moments later. From his spot on the floor opposite the door, Shiro waved weakly, showing off his glowing bayard. “Looking for this?”

One of the pirates narrowed his eyes and stalked forward. “How did you – ugh!”

Krolia pounced on him from behind while kicking the second captor. A few quick punches and well-placed kicks left them bleeding and unconscious on the floor. When Krolia turned toward Shiro, a blast of blue Altean magic zipped past her cheek and buried in a third captor’s chest. He fell out into the hallway.

Shiro’s bayard shifted into its resting form. “Couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

“Come on.” She crouched down to throw Shiro’s good arm around her neck and over her shoulder. “We need to get to the cockpit and take out the rest of the crew before we get to our destination.”

“Go ahead without me,” Shiro said, teeth clenched in pain. “I’ll just slow you down.”

“Not an option.” With one arm gripping his wrist and the other about his waist, she heaved him to his feet. “You’re coming with me, even if I have to carry you.”

Heat rushed to his cheeks. “Please don’t.”

Krolia still took the brunt of his weight as they wound through the tight hallways of the space cruiser and arrived at the cockpit. Krolia leaned him against the wall, and when they hit open the doors, he laid down suppressive fire as she took out of the rest of the crew. She then brought the hanger up on the screens, finding the precious cargo still in one piece – crates of medicine that had been stolen earlier from coalition forces. The pirates even kept the packages in a refrigerated unit.

“I guess we should hail the Atlas and see what Allura – ”

“Hailing idiotic space pirates who captured a Blade and a Paladin and thought they could get away with it.” Lance’s face appeared on the screen. “Hailing idiotic space pirates. It’s in your best interest to answer before the Red Paladin gets on the line, and if that happens, you might not survive. And no, I’m not kidding.”

Krolia opened the frequency. “We’re fine, Lance. Shiro and I handled the situation and subdued the pirates. You’re welcome to come aboard.”

“Oh, good.” Lance let out a loud breath and looked visibly relieved. “Seriously, though, you do not want to get between a Galran paladin and his pack. Geez – I think he even snapped at Hunk.”

Shiro couldn’t hold back cringe. “Thanks for helping to defuse the situation, Lance.”

“Yeah, no. Nothing can defuse Keith when he’s fused. You should know that better than anyone, Shiro.”

Yeah, Shiro could attest to that.

“Shiro! Mom!” a desperate cry echoed down the hallway, and then Keith rounded the bend, right into Krolia’s awaiting arms.

Shiro smiled and leaned back against the wall, sliding down and resting his injured arm. Blood must have drew a line down the wall, but Shiro wasn’t about to turn and see. Instead, he tipped his head back and let out a sigh, finally allowing his exhaustion to creep up on him. Krolia was here. Keith and the Paladins, too. Shiro could finally relax, so he did.

Shiro returned to reality feeling numb and groggy, eyes fluttering and head spinning. When he tried to move, something clenched harder about his hand, and he cringed through the pain to look down. A familiar black braid of ruffled hair rested upon the white sheets of a hospital bed, hand clenched about Shiro’s metal one. Keith, always there, always by his side. He was dressed in pajama bottoms and one of Shiro’s T-shirts, which was two sizes too big and hung off one of his shoulders. Keith was asleep now and acted on instinct, clutching Shiro’s hand when he shifted.

A dark shadow shifted just over Keith’s head, and Shiro’s eyes followed it to Kolivan, who rose from his perch in the corner to approach the foot of Shiro’s bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked in a soft murmur.

“I’ve been worse.” And he meant it. With a rasped whisper, Shiro added, “You don’t have to stay here.”

Kolivan moved carefully behind Keith, coming closer to the edge of the bed and running his long claws through Shiro’s fringe. “I’m right where I need to be. We all are.”

Krolia and Thace entered the room with two full trays of coffee, drawing Shiro’s attention, and only then did he see Regris, Antok, and Ulaz. Antok was sharpening his knife, while Regris fiddled with a tablet. Ulaz was checking Shiro’s chart and making thoughtful noises in the back of his throat.

“Rest,” Kolivan suggested, his hand upon Shiro’s shoulder already becoming familiar. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

And they were.

The End

[midnightartemis]

Chapter Nine

Read Me On AO3

She’d never slept like that before, or woken as she had either. The loft was quiet. Soft tendrils of light-soaked through the curtains. She was safe. Warm. There was no place for her to be, no place to run off to. All she had to do was breathe and sink back into the strong arms that wrapped around her and held her close.

Rey wanted to stay like that forever.

With Ben curled around her, she could pretend for a moment like she had a normal life. One where she wasn’t in hiding or on the run. One where maybe she and Ben could have a happy ending. Rey pushed away the rising doubts and voices in her and turned over gently. Ben grumbled but did not wake. She could stay like this a little longer. Pretend a little longer that someone like Ben could ever love her. Want her.

The haze of last night came back as she watched him take slow, light breaths. The warm arm from his lips gently brushing against her. His hair was ten different kinds of crazy. And there was something boyish about him as he slept. Something almost happy. Peaceful. She wanted him to stay like that, wanted to remember him like that. She’d never been good at art, but she wished she was just to capture him.

How had she fallen so fast?

It was only just yesterday she had gone to the skate park. Only just yesterday she had left Plutt passed out in his recliner. Considered lighting the place on fire, knowing he was too drunk to wake up. But she had left him there, like a part of her knew she wasn’t going to return anyway.

Terror of the unknown hung at the borders of her consciousness, but she kept them at bay as she reached out to brush her fingers over Ben’s full lips. She traced the curve of his cheeks, the patterns of the moles on his face. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen and she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, knowing full well he had the power to burn her.

Ben grunted as he slowly awoke, his eyes blinking against the sun. Her hand froze against his cheek as surprise flickered over his features. His warm amber eyes settled on hers and a boyish grin came to his lips. Rey smiled in return, her body warming as Ben turned his head to brush his lips against the palm of her hand. Rey slowly moved her fingers over his cheek and carefully ran them through his bedhead. Ben let out a muffled, contented sigh. His eyes closing again. His hair, despite the tangles, was one of the softest most luxurious things she had ever felt before.

“If you keep doing that, you’re going to put me back to sleep,” Ben grunted. Rey stopped and pulled back.

“Sorry.”

Ben’s eyes opened to look at her again. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “No, iss good. I liked it. No one’s done that since…”

Ben cuts himself off, drifting to somewhere distance. It stings a little, that he doesn’t want to tell her. Some ex-girlfriend maybe? A pang of jealousy curled through her and she forced herself to look away, change the subject.

“Last night...” Ben says softly.

Rey can’t bring herself to look at him. She had let herself break, lost herself in her emotions in him. And the worst thing was that she wouldn’t change a thing about it. He had been the only thing that made sense. He had been the only one she trusted to hold the pieces of her together. And she had just wanted to feel something.

Ben pulls away from her and the distance between them hurts more than Rey knew it could.

“Rey, please tell me- Please, please tell me you wanted that. I didn’t- I thought-”

What?

No-

Rey looks up at him. She sees nothing but sheer panic in his eyes. “No, Ben. I wanted that. I did. I swear.”

Ben relaxes, but he can’t hide the hint of worry still there. Rey doesn’t know what else to do to push that worry completely out of his mind but presses her lips to his gently. A sigh falls from his lips as she pulls back. “You’re the only person in this world I trust.”

“I don’t… Why?”

Rey doesn’t answer. Can’t answer. She doesn’t know a precise reason. What makes Ben so different from any other man but…

He doesn’t ask her for anything. Not her trust. Not her life or her body. He wants nothing from her but what she’s willing to give him.

She doesn’t know how to communicate that, so she kisses him again and pulls him as close as she can to him, hoping he’ll understand. They kiss slow and soft as they wake up to a new day. Ben’s fingers thread through her hair to pull her close, deepening the kiss between them. She can feel him against her thigh, but he doesn’t push. He seems content to just lay like this with her.

Ben pulls away and it takes a moment for Rey to come back down to him. He runs his hands through her hair and Rey sinks into his touch. “Promise me you’ll stay here.”

She can’t go back to Plutts. She refuses to get stuck in some group home somewhere. The Knights are the closest thing she has to a family, Rey realizes. Even with Kuruk being an overall ass, they looked out for her. AP treated her like a little sister. The twins tolerated her and even listened to her. Vik and Cardo, she barely knew but even they seemed to accept her presence. “I’ll stay.”

Ben nods. “Good.”

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, leaving soft open-mouthed kisses there. “Good.”

Rey is half-way back to sleep when her stomach growls loudly. She’s so used to the feeling that she doesn’t move, but Ben chuckles softly and kisses her forehead. “Don’t move. I’ll go make breakfast.”

Ben slides out of the bed and Rey curls up in a ball, trying to retain the heat he leaves behind. For the first time in a long time, Rey finds her hope and holds on to it tightly.

…

There are things he needs to take care of. Already he can feel the drive humming in his bones, the feeling of being unstoppable. Now that Rey is safe, he can focus on the other issues at hand. Kuruk’s issues. The man has been nothing but a pathetic, wasted drunk since the fight and Ben would like nothing more than to finish the job. At the very least, he’d like to toss the man to the curb and leave him high and dry. See how he’d like it. Because that was exactly what he had done to the Knights. And now it was Ben’s job to fix Kuruk’s fuck ups.

He didn’t trust the fact that Kuruk was still around, drunk or not. Even Ren himself had disappeared once Ben claimed his seat. There was nothing that said Kuruk had to leave, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be forced out.

On the other hand, Kuruk might be helpful in unfucking his mess. Or at least be someone to throw under the bus if push came to shove.

In the weeks that Rey had been… Gone… He’d found out as much about this First Order as he could. They had come in guns blazing after the Hutts’ operation fell apart, filling the void with an already extensive network of suppliers. From there it was child’s play to make deals with the local dealers who had remained largely unaffected by the Hutts’ departure, but with no product to move. The First Order took over the market before anyone could challenge it like they had known the Hutts were about to fall.

The Knights were not supposed to be part of that equation.

The reason they had survived as long as they did was because they operated on the fringes at low levels, filling the gaps that the Hutts didn’t care about. They were weed dealers and little else. Their product was good, priced well, and their customers were loyal- mostly rich Northsiders and the odd Southsider. They made more than enough to be comfortable and nothing that would cause waves.

It was a deal that worked. A deal that kept the law off their backs and put no one in danger.

And Kuruk had gone and fucked it all up.

Now Ben had to be the one to fix his deal with the devil. He needed to call a meeting with the Knights. Unlike Kuruk, Ben knew better than to go behind the Knight’s backs.

The door to AP’s room swung open and the man sleepily stumbled out with a groan. He blinks as his eyes land on Ben and the two men nod in a morning greeting. Ben finishes prepping the coffee maker and sets it to brew. “There’ll be coffee in a sec. And I’m making breakfast.”

He might as well make it for everyone while he was at it. There was probably pancake mix hiding somewhere and some bacon. Rey needed to eat. He didn’t want to think about how much Plutt probably wasn’t feeding her. It was too early to ruin his morning.

He digs out a half-empty box of mix. There was just enough mix and milk left to make a decent amount of pancakes for the group- at least if Kuruk didn’t show up. Which Ben would admit he was hoping for.

Again- fuck Kuruk.

Ben poured a cup of coffee with a dash of milk for AP and set it in front of the bleeding looking man sitting at the bartop. AP grunts in thanks. It didn’t look like he had the best night; AP was generally the most morning inclined of the Knights.

Coffee then business it was.

Ben put a pile of pancakes on a plate for AP as well then started on Rey’s stack and bacon.

It was semi-fascinating to watch the life flood back into his friend’s eyes.

His only friend, really. Second in command, as Ben trusted no one else, even if AP had no interest in leading.

Ben stacked up Rey’s pancakes, slathered them in butter and syrup and added a few slices of bacon on the side.

He takes the plate and a cup of coffee back to his room. Rey laid curled up on his sheets, hair in disarray. Her breaths rise and fall quietly. She twitches and frowns adorably and Ben doesn’t want to wake her if she needs to sleep. But he can tell the moment the smell of food hits her as she jumps out of sleep and looks around the room wildly. Her eyes land on him and food and she relaxes back into the bed.

“Food. As promised.” Ben offers her the plate and Rey frowns. Not the reaction he was going for.

“Is that all for me?” Her eyes shine. Was she about to cry? Did she not know how much of himself he would give to her to keep her happy? Of course, she didn’t, but he wanted her to know. Wanted her to believe it. Though, he didn’t quite understand it himself.

“Yeah, of course.” He hands her the plate and the cup. “There’s more in the kitchen. Eat as much as you want.”

He can smell the bacon beginning to burn, so he turns to leave her to eat.

“Wait.”

Ben turns back to see her sitting in the middle of the bed, a giant plate of food in her hands, hair crazy, sleep in her eyes, drowning in his t-shirt. He loved her. He knew he did.

“Are- Will- Did-” Rey stutters. He thinks he knows what she’s wanting.

“I have to finish cooking. But… Do you- Did you want me to eat with you?”

Rey paused before nodding slowly. “You don’t have to. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t eat in your bed anyway- get syrup everywhere.”

He can’t fight back his grin. “I’ll eat with you in a second. I don’t give two fucks if you get syrup on my sheets.”

Rey opened her mouth to say something then decided against it and nodded. “Okay.”

Back in the kitchen AP was still slowly working through his pancakes. Ben returned to the stove and tried to ignore AP’s raised brow and pointed stare.

“I need to call a meeting. Everyone. Get Vic and Cardo here, too. First ORder dropped off contact last night. We need to decide how the hell we get out of this.” Ben watched as bubbles formed in the cooking pancake batter.

“And Rey,” AP grunted.

Ben flipped the pancakes. “What about her.”

“We need to have a formal vote about her staying long term.” AP paused. “She is staying long term.”

“As long as she wants.” Ben knew this, but he also knew AP’s cautious opinion on bringing Rey too close to the operation. Ben would be lying if he said he didn’t reluctantly see why. And since she would be staying in the loft, there needed to be a formal unanimous vote amongst the loft’s residents to let her stay.

“She’s a runaway. Could bring cops sniffing.”

“If they care enough to.” Cops didn’t give two shits- now about welfare anyway. But it would give them leverage to get a warrant if they thought an unemancipated minor was living with them illegally.

“It’s a weakness to exploit. Could give them an opening-”

“I’m not letting her go back there,” Ben growled as anger roared through his system. Protective. He was protective of her. He’d die before Plutt ever breathed in Rey’s direction again.

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.” AP set his now empty cup of coffee on the counter. “I’m saying that we need to look at other options for her. We have to be prepared for the consequences of our actions.”

AP picked up his empty plate and stood. Ben turned to face him and the two men met each other head-on. AP searched for something in Ben’s eyes, but Ben was careful to let little through. AP nodded. “I know how you feel about her. We all want to keep her safe, but you’re Kylo Ren. You’re not just responsible for her life. She doesn’t come first. Not now. If you can’t remember that, you shouldn’t be here.”

Ben breathed through his urge to deck AP (a common reaction to the man’s scarily acute and frank advice) and nodded. He didn’t like that AP was right. Not one bit.

Satisfied, AP tossed his plate and cup in the sink. “I’ll round up everyone for tonight. Rey can’t be there.”

Ben nodded and AP went to disappear to wherever the man liked to disappear to during the day. Ben shut down the stove and made himself a plate of food. He left the rest out for whoever wanted it.

AP’s words itched at him.

Rey still sat in his bed, giving him a soft smile as he closed the door. She still held her plate of food, though her coffee cup was on the nightstand. “Is everything okay?”

He needed time to think. Answers. Some sort of plan. He wasn’t one to charge blindly into situations if he could help it. He had seen his father fuck up too many times with that idea. As much as he hated to admit it, realistically Rey threw in a separate complicated wrench to his problems. He had to keep her separate. Safe. Not let her get dragged into something that could get them all arrested or killed.

“You haven’t touched your pancakes.” He sat down on the edge of his bed, shifting to face her.

“Oh.” Color flooded her cheeks. “I was just waiting for you.”

Ben’s heart leaped. “Yeah?”

Rey’s grin could fuel his soul for the rest of his life. “Yeah.”

Death dreams you don't forget It's been a while since I dreamed this but Even now, when asleep, I'll tread with care Death dreams you don't forget It's been a while since I dreamed this but Even now, when asleep, I'll tread with care

- Death Dream, Frightened Rabbit

[breakingsomething]

naomi

summary: marvin does have a life outside of his brothers. a lot of it is just crime and friendships for convenience, but naomi is different.

marvin is not a nervous man.

he's not, really. usually he's very confident in himself, sometimes going as far to be cocky and slightly pompous. that's something he's aware of. but now, standing in front of the doors to the florists, he can feel his heart pounding and his breath getting slightly quicker, and he laughs in spite of himself. why is he nervous? he's not doing anything he hasn't done before.

the old fashioned bell above the door rings as he pushes it open. "hello?" he calls in a sing song voice, letting the noises of the world outside silence with a click of the door as it closes. it's quiet in here. the early evening light casts all the plants in shadow, turning everything a pretty orange colour. his boots thump against the floor. "naomi?" 

"looking for me?" comes a voice from behind him. he yelps, before quickly regaining his composure, just a second too late. naomi is standing behind a shelf of flowers, peeking over the top at marvin with a huge grin on her face. her short, cinnamon coloured hair practically glows in this light, and marvin blinks to make sure he's not imagining her dark brown eyes glowing. maybe they are, he wouldn't question it. she laughs at his surprise, casually walking round the many flowerpots to face marvin fully. "finally got you, fucker. you can't always be on your guard, can you?"

"fuck, naomi, give me warning! i give you warning with your goddamn bell!" marvin glowers. naomi sticks her tongue out and flips him off before marching purposely to the other side of the store.

"ok, i got something cool to show you. two cool things, actually." she stops at a door and twirls in place, whistling. "flip the sign round to closed please, pye? i don't want anyone walking in on this."

out of context, that would sound bad, but marvin knows what she means. without looking, he waves his hand and the homemade sign on the door floats into the air before landing on its other side. he cheers loudly for himself like he's achieved something amazing, trying to relieve some of the awkwardness he's sure he's imagining. "well done, show off," naomi scoffs with a smile. "come on, i don't have all day."

they go into the back room, a small white room that's more window than wall, full of plants hanging from pots on the ceiling and draping off shelves. naomi sets up closing all the curtains while marvin throws himself down on a green plastic chair, opening and closing his hands nervously.

he's been here many times before, of course- he practically lives here, especially on saturdays. that's when jackie's out pretty much the full day, and naomi's in shop from nine til five, and marvin fucking loves being here. it's always so warm and cozy, and the atmosphere is so nice, and maybe he's a little in love with naomi… maybe he likes having a friend other than jackie. a friend that he didn't make from circumstance. a friend that gets him better than most other people in the world could. maybe he's in love with the idea of having friends. maybe he's in love with naomi. he doesn't know what he's feeling. 

what he does know is that earlier today, naomi sent him a message asking him to come to her store specially after closing time, and marvin is nervous. he wishes she would hurry up and just tell him what she wants already. he doesn't like suspense.

it's very warm in here. naomi's closed all the windows and is now sitting on the red chair in front of marvin, leaning her elbow on her desk, upon which there is a huge tarp covering what looks like a cage. "you wanna see?" she asks excitedly, stars in her eyes. straight to the point, as always. 

"see... what? do i wanna know?"

"close your eyes," she says, and marvin does so with an awkward laugh. "naomi, what-"

there's a sound of a large piece of material being ripped off and tossed to the side, and marvin peeks slightly to see…

a gigantic plant. a tree that marvin doesn't remember the name of, but it's beautiful, with curved branches and perky clouds of leaves. he admire it, standing from his chair to see it properly. "holy shit, that's a big plant." he says.

"that's not all!" naomi stands onto her chair, dangerously close to falling off, and curls her hands around the outside of the plant's cage, never touching it. she moves her arms, slowly, gently, twisting them round as magic flows from her fingertips, glowing green and yellow trails of glittering spells landing on the leaves that poke out from the bars. as she does so, the plant changes. golden liquid drips from all the cracks in the bark and indentations in the leaves, pouring from seemingly nowhere and falling to the floor. "catch the drips, pye, don't just gape!" she instructs, not taking her eyes off the tree. marvin raises his hands and lets several empty jars from the side of the desk float upwards, the liquid drizzling inside. 

"man," he murmurs. "what kind of fucking plant is this and where the hell did you get it? what's the gold stuff?" he inspects the jar closest to his face. "it looks like honey."

"here's the thing," naomi says, and lowers her hands to step down to the floor. the liquid stops flowing, leaving golden streaks on the tree that sink back into the bark. marvin watches, fascinated.

naomi sits back down on her chair and faces marvin, a serious look on her face. "here's the thing," she repeats. "this is not a legal plant."

marvin nods, unsurprised. he'd expect nothing more of naomi.

"but," she says excitedly, suddenly pulling her chair right up to marvin's, her legs pressing against his. her cargo pants are stained with dirt and sap. his face suddenly feels very warm. "this isn't any usual illegal plant. i, naomi gudmundson, bred this plant myself."

she widens her eyes, waiting for marvin's amazement. but he won't give it to her that easily. he leans back in his chair, pretending to be unimpressed. "so what does it do?"

naomi bites her lip, lip gloss smearing on her teeth. "ok, so, you might be mad at me for this." she hesitates. "so, i had a few plants brought it from a few different places- scotland, africa, one of them's from fucking greenland- and. well. you've seen my breeding skills."

once again, bad out of context. but marvin just nods, curious. "come on, get to the point where i'm mad at you."

naomi glances away. "so you saw the sap the plant released. i had these plants imported specially, disguised as orders for my shop, although i had to get a few other plants so as to avoid suspicion, which cost a lot, by the way. and i- when i broke the branch, this sap came out, and i tested it on myself, and nothing much happened. so i thought, oh, it must only work on others, meaning it does do something for the caster. and this plant is especially magical because certain types of agrokinesis are more compatible with magics from other countries or climates, and the combination…"

marvin smiles softly. even if he doesn't know a lot of what she's saying, he loves listening to her ramble about these kinds of things. sometimes he wishes he were a plant magician too, just so he could understand her better. it'd also certainly be more useful than his fire. maybe not as visually effective, but certainly something.

"...so yeah, it's a love potion, essentially."

marvin snaps back to reality, sitting bolt upright. "what?"

"it's not a love potion like in the movies," naomi says, waving her hands around her face. she picks up one of the jars from where they've landed on the table and holds it close to her head, her fringe falling slightly in front of her eyes. "it's move of a- a blind loyalty spell, a mind fuck. it seems to form some sort of bond between the drinker and the spell caster."

marvin can hardly believe what he's hearing. "naomi, that's black magic type shit right there!"

she sighs and shakes her head, bumping marvin's knees as she stands and walks over to the window, peeking out of the blinds. "it's not even the worst thing i've accidentally made. once i-"

marvin stood too, nearly tripping over the chair leg. "accidentally my ass, there's no way you accidentally brought that level of magic into existence!"

naomi turned to him, grinning. "you have to admit, it's cool though."

and despite himself, he also smiled. "ok, it's cool. but also fucked. you're not gonna keep it, are you?"

"no, no. and i can't just dump it on the streets either, who knows what could happen to it. no, i have an idea of what to do with it, which brings us onto cool thing nummer två. come on, come on!"

she suddenly dashes from the room, only pausing to throw the sheet of material back over the tree, leaving marvin to gape at the glowing golden jars of the sap. he can't believe naomi is really powerful enough and has enough black magic potential in her to be able to bring to life a plant like this. and honestly… part of him is jealous. he's never been able to accomplish spells that manipulate the mind in any way- not that he wants to, of course- much less a hybrid-plant-sap-potion thing. this stuff could be so incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands. this stuff could ruin civilizations if necessary. yet here he is, gently cradling one small orange vial of it.

"marv! come here, i have a thing to show you!"

marvin hurries out back into the main part of the store, blinking in the sudden light. naomi's sitting on the front counter, an envelope in her hands. "come sit here." she invites him, patting the space next to her.

marvin raises an eyebrow and grins. "why, flower, we've only known each other for six months or so, this is awfully forward of you-"

"get up on the counter, dipshit, or i will smack you round the head." naomi glares at him as he laughs and jumps up beside her. he glances out the window at the people bustling in the orange light, swinging his legs while naomi unfolds a piece of paper. the perfect silence makes marvin feel warm and light, and he leans back on his arms precariously.

"your hair looks nice," naomi comments casually, and marvin nearly falls over.

"re- oh! thank you," he says, hiding a smile. he didn't think anyone would even notice the change.

"are you growing it out long then?" she asks. marvin notices how she's tilting the paper away from his field of vision.

"yeah, i suppose. it's about the same length as yours now." he pushes himself up fully, craning his neck. 

she nudges him lightly. "bob bros for life, man. now stop trying to look at the paper, i'm doing- ok, done. have a look."

marvin takes it from her hand and reads it.

dear miss gudmundson, reads the letter.

we are joyful to announce that we were able to accept your request to officially join hecate's international golf club! we have reviewed your application and believe you possess the qualities we look for in our esteemed organization. we look forward to seeing you at the course nearest to you on our next meeting!

sincerely, hecate, head of staff.

marvin turns to naomi, who is positively beaming.

"um… congratulations!" he says, trying not to sound as confused as he feels. "that's, uh, that's really cool!"

naomi bursts into peals of laughter, making marvin jump in surprise. "what?" he says, which only makes her laugh more.

"lift it up to the light," she whispers, and gently takes his hands and raises them upwards towards the ceiling. marvin's heart pounds at how close she is. he can feel the ends of her hair tickling his cheek, but he doesn't dare move in case she lets go.

"look now!" she says, and as she says it, light falls through the rooftop window and hits the paper, making it positively glow. instantly the words on the paper change, and marvin gasps in delight; the words are not just changing, they're shifting around on the pagez melting into each other and reorganizing themselves. when they've eventually got themselves where they're supposed to be, marvin reads again.

dear miss gunmundson,

we are joyful to announce that we were able to accept your request to officially join hecate's international network of magic! we have reviewed your application and believe you possess the qualities we look for in our esteemed organization. we look forward to seeing you at the course and safe place nearest to you on our next meeting!

sincerely, hecate, head of staff.

marvin lowers his arms and stares at naomi.

"what the fuck?"

"it's a magic organization!" she squeals. she claps her hands rapidly, bouncing in place. "i got the letter after placing the orders for the blind loyalty bonsai tree recently, i suppose the sender must have realized how many magical related items i was ordering, and how they all correlate- marvin, how cool is this? they can take my tree too, and i won't get fined!"

"wait, wait," he says, twisting to face naomi. "why couldn't i read it straight away?"

naomi shrugs innocently, folding up the paper and carefully putting it back into its envelope. "i mean, a simple light trick to mess you up. for suspense, you know." she tosses the letter aside and turns to marvin, her eyes boring into his own. "apparently you can only read the letter if you have magic in your blood and are able to perform some of your own. that means that only magic users can get to it, not just any old person with magic blood in their veins. it's super enchanted. how cool!"

she slides off the table and spins round the room, nearly knocking over several plants. marvin laughs from the counter. "it's certainly interesting," he says. "can you stay still for two minutes?"

naomi teeters and grabs marvin's legs for support. "not when i'm this excited!" she laughs breathlessly. "we can learn more advanced magics, pye, in a place where we won't have to hide it, and- you'll come, right?" she looks up at marvin with pleading eyes.

marvin makes a noise of disbelief. "well, you're- you're sure this is legit? it seems like some kind of scam. why do they call themselves a golf club? and how international are they? are there magicians all round the world? how did-"

"relax, marvin," naomi says, before pushing off his legs and spinning again, warm green and yellow sparks flying off her and sprouting into buds on the floor. marvin almost wants to join her, but he knows his rather unpredictable fire magic won't mix well with the store. there's a reason naomi calls him 'pyro', after all. instead, he stands and glances at his phone. almost seven.

"i should go," he sighs dejectedly. naomi stands still and makes a face.

"ok, well, the next meeting is on sunday. which is in three days." she pulls a pen from her shirt pocket and grabs marvin's hand despite his noise of protest, writing SUNDAY in big block letters on his palm. "meet me here, and we'll go check it out?" 

and again she's looking at him with her glowing oak eyes, and marvin is powerless to say no. "you sure you didn't slip me some of that sap?" he says with a weak smile.

she snorts and pushes him towards the door. "haha, definitely. now go home to your brother before it gets too dark. do you want me to walk with you?"

"nah, nah," he waves her off, pushing the door open and feeling the gust of cold wind on his face. he struggles to pull his hood up before turning back to the comfort and warmth of the shop, and to naomi's softly smiling face, her hair fluttering. "see you friday?" he asks.

"as usual." and just before he leaves, she gently brushes against his hand, sending a shooting warmth through his body. though whether that was her magic or just her was unknown. the door closed behind him with a soft jingle, and the roar of the world consumes him again.

this wasn't stealing. well, technically it was, but she was going to give the plant away to some magical organization anway, right? it wasn't like there was a shortage or anything. still, the orange vial burned against his fingertips in his jacket pocket despite how cold it was, and he shuddered. this felt bad, and wrong.

naomi wouldn't mind. one vial of magic wouldn't hurt, anyway.

he shivered the whole way home.

[sareyen]

The Price of Hope (Cherik): Part 1/4

Read on ao3

Legion (2010) AU: The apocalypse is coming, and the key to humankind’s survival lies in a pregnant waitress and a rag-tag group of strangers, all broken in their own ways. Charles, the oldest of the archangels, sacrifices everything - his wings, his Gift, Erik - to help the humans that Heaven has given up on. Because, he believes, that even if they stumble and lose their way, it doesn’t mean that they are lost forever.

Chapter 1

“For behold, the Lord will come in fire And His chariots like the whirlwind, To render His anger with fury, And His rebuke with flames of fire. For the Lord will execute judgment by fire And by His sword on all flesh, And those slain by the Lord will be many.”

Isaiah 66:16

“Charles, don’t be foolish!” Erik hissed, wrenching Charles’s arm back, forcing the shorter angel to look at him. Bottomless blue eyes stared up at Erik, determined. Unwavering. That gaze that always made Erik weak now only angered him.

‘Let me go, Erik,’ Charles pushed into Erik’s mind, the internal echo making Erik quake. But, still, Erik did not let go of Charles’s arm and only squeezed tighter.

“I will not,” Erik churned out, pulling Charles closer, the man’s wings tensing. “Charles, this is madness. You’d give everything for those… those humans. How could you…”

‘You, who is so beautiful and pure, so full of everything that is good. You, who has always been the best of all of us. Why would you want to lower yourself to the level of those humans who are beyond salvation?’

Charles’s eyes softened for a moment, likely overhearing his closest friend’s honest thoughts. Red lips curved gently, before flattening back out into a resolute line.

‘I have hope, my friend,’ Charles supplied softly, slipping his left arm from Erik’s grip to reach up and cup the taller angel’s angular cheek.

“Hope,” Erik said bitterly, lips pulling back in something resembling a snarl. Erik’s steely-grey eyes narrowed as he gathered a sharply cut collection of thoughts and images in his mind, the familiar thrum of Charles’s own mind buzzing around the fringes of his consciousness. Erik felt hesitation, never wanting to hurt Charles, but disregarded the feeling because he had to make Charles see.

Erik threw all of the images he had gathered from the past few millennia at Charles, who winced and stumbled a little, held in place by Erik’s hands which again gripped his biceps, shaking the stubborn man.

Erik sent Charles images of humans at their worst – hurting children, ravaging the land, of countless wars leaving blood to soak the Earth red. Erik throttled Charles’s mind with everything that was terrible, of everything soiled and tainted and so unlike the man wearing pristine robes of white, fringed with sunlit gold.

That very fabric was crumpling under Erik’s hands now, and Erik pushed down the sense of unease budding within him – Charles had always looked so clean and pure, always opting for white robes in contrast to Erik’s harsh warrior’s garb. Erik knew better than to be deceived by Charles’s appearance, knowing that underneath the fluttering white silks was a hardened body, strong and powerful, encasing a mind that was even more astounding.

“Erik, stop,” Charles gritted out, glaring up at Erik now with those blue eyes of his that He had modelled after skies and oceans. Or was it that the skies and oceans of Earth were modelled after Charles’s eyes?

Charles rarely used his Gift so forcefully, but now he snapped at Erik’s mind, shielding his own from the unrelenting torrent of earthly atrocities, silencing Erik. Erik, in turn, almost winced as his mind grew cold, Charles pulling back. It felt like there was an empty space in the base of Erik’s mind, so used to having Charles’s warmth curled up there. Charles’s constant tether to Erik was not invasive – never invasive – but just a silent hum of ‘I’m here, you’re not alone’.

Now, though, Charles refused to touch Erik’s head.

“Don’t you see, Charles?” Erik urged, the gold bands around Charles’s biceps and legs humming under Erik’s gift. “The humans, they’re beyond all hope. They kill and hurt each other for greed and wrath, they’ve razed the very Earth He created with smoke and death. It has taken Him so long to see it, but the humans are inferior and need to be exterminated. Even He has lost hope, and He is right.”

Charles eyes grew glossy and wet, and Erik watched him minutely shake his head, a mere tremble. Chestnut hair which shone almost amber in the light of the Heavens shook over Charles’s eyes, obscuring them as he looked down.

“I don’t believe it,” Charles whispered, Erik’s heart hammering at Charles’s admission.

“No, Charles, don’t say that,” Erik said, almost pleading as he shook Charles again, the metal surrounding them in the Hall of Angels in Heaven screaming as Erik’s Gift unfurled, unbidden in his internal panic. ‘Charles, don’t say it. Please, stay by my side. We want the same thing.’

Charles looked up again then, tears slipping down his reddened cheeks.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but we do not,” Charles murmured, and before Erik could open his mouth to respond, to use his Gift to rivet Charles to the spot, he froze. If Erik could control his body, his eyes would have widened, but Charles held him eerily still with his power. Charles’s tears continued to flow, collecting at his chin and dripping onto the white fabric covering his torso, as he forced Erik’s fingers to loosen and drop uselessly to his side.

Erik’s heart felt something wholly unfamiliar to him, something that angels so rarely felt. But Charles, Charles who was given the gift of seeing and hearing and feeling like a human, felt all of those human emotions and more. Erik couldn’t understand it, how Charles of all people could still believe in them when he could feel all of their worst emotions and was forced to shoulder them all.

‘Charles! Charles! Don’t do this!’ Erik screamed in his mind, his body non-compliant as Charles cupped Erik’s unmoving cheeks again, giving his friend a sad, grieving smile.

“Erik,” Charles whispered, hopping onto his toes to press his lips against Erik’s forehead once. Erik felt the warmth on his skin for a moment in his frozen state, his chest doing something once again, something that ached. The warmth was soon gone, Charles taking a step back after brushing his thumb over Erik’s cheek, where a single tear had inadvertently escaped.

“Erik, just because the humans stumble and lose their way, doesn’t mean they’re lost forever,” Charles said, giving Erik one last, lingering look before turning his back.

Erik screamed in his mind, but could only watch as Charles threw himself off the clouds and out of Heaven, descending from the skies and giving up everything for those humans that did not deserve him.

Erik knew the moment Charles’s angelic powers were ripped away from him when he found himself crumpling to his knees, Charles’s hold on his mind and body burning away to nothing.

***

When Moira clocked in for the early shift at the diner at four in the morning, it had been the same as any other day. McCone had slacked off during his uneventful nightshift and left Moira plenty of dirty tables to clean up, sauce beginning to dry into concrete on the plates and flies buzzing around. It was still pitch-black outside, the only cars in the parking lot being Moira’s beat-up Chevy and Darwin’s own rust-bucket of a car.

“What time did McCone leave today?” Moira asked Darwin, who just chuckled as he pulled his apron over his head after stamping his time card.

“The moment he saw me clock in, he bolted,” Darwin replied, Moira rolling her eyes while tying up her long brown hair into a tight ponytail.

“Figures,” Moira tutted, sharing a look with Darwin, who began preparing the kitchen. Moira, on the other hand, sighed and grabbed a large grey plastic tub, shoving dirty plates and cutlery into it and hating her miserable small-town life.

Sure, Moira knew that her life was better than most, but there was always the feeling that she could be doing more than working at a diner in her tiny town that was often forgotten on maps. Moira had always been ambitious and hard-working, and while her parents had always told her that ‘there is plenty to do in our lovely town’, Moira dreamed bigger – Moira wanted to study at a big university in the city, to become someone that could help shape the world into something better.

Unfortunately, to leave town she needed money, and there weren’t many jobs available in such a backwater place – hence the unstimulating job as a waitress in the town’s only restaurant.

It was as Moira was dumping the dirty dishes into the large commercial sink that the bell at the front door clattered, followed by hasty footsteps and a shrill “Sorry I’m late!”. Moira and Darwin just shared an amused look as Sean, a wild-haired teenager, barrelled in.

“You’re eight minutes late,” Moira said, raising a brow. “That’s actually pretty good by your standards.” Darwin chuckled and slid Sean a cup of coffee, the kid taking it gratefully and downing the watery concoction in record speed.

At that, Sean shot Moira and Darwin a newly-energised grin, quickly ducking to the back to dump his bagsand coat, before sidling up to Moira in the kitchen to clean the dishes.

Even though Moira hated her job, she didn’t mind her co-workers; Darwin, the cook, was easy to get along with and made some mean pancakes, while Sean was always energetic despite the sun not having risen yet and always managed to lighten up the dreary diner.

For the next hour, the three just cranked up the radio and danced around the otherwise empty diner. No one ever really came to the diner before six, so when the bell at the door chimed when the clock hanging above the counter just hit 5:23, the three workers nearly jumped out of their skins. Darwin quickly turned down the blasting radio, Sean hopped down from the counter and Moira cleared her throat.

A young dark-skinned woman walked into the diner wearing a short black halter-neck dress and teetering heels, hugging her dark, furry maroon coat around her slender frame. Her dark hair was slightly windswept and in disarray, eyes flittering left and right with agitation, before turning to Moira warily when she approached with her usual ‘service’ smile.

“Good morning. Table for one?” Moira asked, the woman licking her plush lips before nodding stiffly. “Okay. Would you prefer the counter or a table? We’re pretty empty, so you can take your pick. I’ll bring a menu and some water to you.” Moira vaguely waved her hand around, ducking behind the counter to pour a tall glass of water, tucking a menu under her arm.

The woman glanced around at the empty diner, before moving to the booth seat in the corner. Moira slid her water across the table and handed her the menu to peruse as the door opened again. Moira was surprised at the second arrival before six – maybe this day was panning out to be vastly different from every other day.

The person that walked in was a very gruff-looking man wearing a worn-and-torn military jacket and dark-wash jeans. His face was covered with dark hair and his brows looked like they were permanently furrowed and unable to be smoothened out. He was unfamiliar to the diner’s employees, who basically new everyone who lived in their small town.

Before Moira could greet him, the man planted himself at the bar and asked for coffee, as dark as they could make it, and a breakfast with everything in a voice that was biting and brusque. Moira let out a little snort at the man’s rudeness, but jerked her head at Sean, who went and poured the man a coffee while Darwin started cooking the man’s meal.

Turning back to the girl in the booth, Moira asked if she was ready to order, relaying the order of ‘scrambled eggs and a chocolate milkshake’ to Darwin, who gave Moira a thumbs up in response.

Before Moira could put the menu back in its place, the door opened again, revealing a young blonde man wearing a white T-shirt, jeans and leather jacket, face bleak and cool. Moira glanced at the clock – 5:52am. Christ, there were too many patrons at their backwater diner far too early in the morning.

“Morning. Take a seat anywhere, be with you in a second!” Moira called out as she poured the chocolate syrup into a tall milkshake glass, the young man nodding, before sliding into the booth by the door. After serving the chocolate milkshake, Moira walked over to the newcomer with a menu while he was on his phone, seeming to scroll through photos – one of them was of him and a slightly younger boy, the two of them smiling into the camera. Moira internally sighed at how different the man’s expression was as he sat there, desolate and weary, in the diner booth.

“Order when you’re ready,” Moira said, the man shutting off his phone and giving Moira a small smile.

Even though the morning was more lively than usual, Moira, Sean and Darwin got into the swing of things like always. It was at 6:15, when the three early patrons were all munching on their eggs and bacon, that the door opened, revealing someone that was familiar to the diner’s employees.

“Raven!” Moira said, hugging the blonde girl with a wide smile on her face. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be coming in to work!”

Raven gave Moira a sheepish smile, instinctively rubbing at her swollen and pregnant belly. Raven was 9 months pregnant now, and due to pop at any given moment, which was why she had recently taken time off work.

“I know, I know,” Raven said, bumping Sean’s fist as he leaned over the counter before Moira ushered Raven to sit down in one of the empty booths, the young woman letting out a relieved ‘phew’ when she sunk into the peeling red faux-leather. “I’m not here to work, I promise. The kid just really craved Darwin’s pancakes.”

Raven fondly tapped her belly, Moira laughing.

“Right, one serve of Darwin’s pancakes coming right up. And let me guess… a strawberry shake?”

“With extra ice-cream,” Raven said, Moira smiling.

“Sure thing.”

A few more minutes ticked by, and the door opened again, revealing another familiar face.

“Heya, Hank,” Sean said, waving at the tall and lanky man, who nodded his head with a shy smile, pushing his bulky glasses higher up onto his nose. Hank scanned the diner, and when he saw the back of Raven’s fluffy blonde head, turned a shade of scarlet that made Sean snicker and Moira stifle a chuckle. Sean, Hank and Raven had all gone to high-school together, and it had been obvious even then that Hank was nursing a hefty crush on Raven.

Unfortunately, Hank never acted on his crush, since he was of the notion that Raven – popular, beautiful and charismatic Raven – was out of his league. Hank was, quite simply, a geek, and had always been most comfortable in a lab or the library, while Raven was a cheerleader who also dabbled in the school’s volleyball team. Hank would never confess his affections to someone like Raven, and especially not now that she was, as the whole town knew, ‘knocked up’.

Raven’s pregnancy at a freshly ripened age of 19 had been gossip-fodder for the majority of her time being pregnant; after embarking on a road trip after graduating highschool, Raven had returned pregnant. People had tried to find out who the father was, but Raven had kept silent about it. Of course, with silence came rumours, and unfortunately lots of Raven’s so-called ‘friends’ had abandoned her in her time of crisis.

Raven, though, was stronger than anyone Hank knew, and this only made him love her more. Hank, even though he wasn’t the baby’s father and not even the object of Raven’s affections, wanted nothing more than to help her.

When Hank approached Raven’s table, the blonde smiling at him and kicking at the seat opposite her, Hank’s heart was alight.

“Hey Hank,” Raven chirped, the boy blushing and murmuring a small ‘hi’ in response. “It’s a nice morning, isn’t it?” At that, Raven looked outside at the sky that was strangely clear and devoid of any clouds, the sun beginning to rise over the distant mountains.

“Yeah, it’s a nice day,” Hank said, not looking outside but at Raven instead, soft smile on his face as the sunlight made her hair gleam more golden than usual, a halo around her beautiful face.

But oh, how wrong they were. This was not a nice day.

In fact, it was the dawn of the Apocalypse.

***

When Charles landed, he landed hard. Charles coughed out a pained breath when he collided with the dirt, dust pluming out from the crater his descent had etched into the earth. Spluttering a little, Charles waited for the dust to settle before pushing himself up to a kneeling position, groaning as pain lanced throughout his entire body.

Charles’s mind felt like it was splitting, like a hand – His hand – had reached in and rearranged everything, pulling out something integral. His Gift.

It had been a long time since the world had been so silent for Charles, and it unnerved him. Charles knew that this would happen, of course – he had blatantly disobeyed His will, so of course He would take away the gifts He had bestowed upon Charles when the angel was created.

The stabbing pain in Charles’s head soon ebbed away as his mind found its bearings, but that only gave way to another searing pain that splayed out from Charles’s back. Charles let out a sobbing breath as the pain in his back made him lurch forward, head hanging down as his arms propped him up, shaking.

Carefully, Charles bit on his lip, reaching back over his shoulder to probe at his back. Charles whimpered when his fingers met a jagged lump by his shoulder blades, and without seeing his back Charles knew what it would look like.

“Oh,” Charles croaked, pulling his fingers back from the stump of his wing, blood already crusted over. Charles shuddered, breathing erratic as his mind whirled. The angel – fallen angel, now – hunched over and hugged himself, struggling to catch his breath.

‘You knew what would happen. You knew, Charles, and you made your decision. This is necessary, this is needed. You have to stand up now,’ Charles told himself, wiping away the dirt and tears from his face, picking himself up from the ground. It was only then that he realised he was completed nude, his white and gold attire having been ripped to shreds in his descent.

Charles, of all the angels, was the most fond of the humans and Earth. Erik had always thought his infatuation with them ridiculous, even if a millennium ago he had only said those words with a small, fond smile on his face. Now, though, Charles could just see the hurt, disapproval and betrayal etched across Erik’s stoic face when Charles, in the end, chose the humans. The smarting sores on Charles’s back was a physical reminder of that. His wingless form was a reminder that he had forsaken God and the other angels – forsaken Erik – for the humans.

Even though his decision pained Charles, he did not regret it, because Charles believed. Charles, who had been given the Gift of peering into the souls of the beings that God had so cherished, until his faith had supposedly wavered. Yes, Charles knew of their pain, of their suffering, of their most vile potential. The images Erik had pushed at him in a final effort to change his mind were not new to the fallen angel. Charles knew of all of the evil in the world – felt it – but he knew the other side of the coin as well.

Charles knew about all the good in the world.

Charles, who could connect with all the minds on Earth, knew of the good there as well, just lying dormant and waiting. Unlike all of the other angels, who could only watch the humans with detached eyes, Charles could feel them. Charles knew what happiness felt like, what trust and hope and love felt inside a beating heart. Charles knew how it felt to be hugged by a mother, how it felt to see your child for the first time. Charles knew how it felt to laugh with friends until you all cried, Charles knew how it felt to hold the person you loved for the first time.

Charles also knew what loved felt like. What falling in love felt like.

That feeling was not discovered second hand like all of the others. No, that was a feeling born solely from Charles’s very being.

Charles grit his teeth and clutched at his chest that was full of Erik, but also full of hope.

Charles had a mission to complete, a mission that made him an enemy of all of Heaven, so he had to move quick.

That was why Charles trudged across the desert he landed in, naked like a newborn babe, to the town that was destined to be the beginning of the end – unless Charles found a way to stop it.

***

The pretty dark-haired girl in the corner booth had long-since finished her meal and milkshake, but was now sipping on a lukewarm coffee while glancing out of the window sketchily, like she was keeping an eye out for something or someone chasing her. The gruff man at the counter has since ordered a third plate of scrambled eggs, sausages and bacon while scoffing down his second helping of Darwin’s pancakes – Moira had noticed that he had added a hefty dose of what looked like whiskey into his coffee as well, the drink tucked away in a silver flash by his breast.

The young blonde man had locked himself in the bathroom for the past twenty minutes, and Moira could hear a heated conversation between him and child services, the boy hissing something muffled about a younger brother. The other boy in the picture, Moira supposed.

Hank and Raven had been chatting away in the middle booth, or at least, Raven had. Raven had regaled the entire diner about how her unborn child was going to be the most badass child the world has ever seen, and had been scrolling through her phone with a litany of potential baby names. Hank had just listened, soft smile on his face, only occasionally piping in with a ‘that’s a nice name’ or ‘what does that name mean?’. Hank spoke more when Raven asked him about the medical side of things, since Hank was studying pre-med (though he was already working his way through the medicine course on his own time, his intelligence leagues ahead of his age).

It was during a quiet lull in their conversation that the diner was plunged into silence again, the radio playing 80s hits suddenly cutting off with static. Darwin sighed, wiping his hands on his apron to knock his fist on the radio a few times, brute force usually fixing the issue. Strangely, the radio remained plunged in static, and Darwin frowned, trying to change the station to no avail.

Raven turned her head outside, a sense of unease washing over her as she noticed thick grey clouds rolling in, blanketing the sun in a shroud of darkness.

“Huh, looks like the nice weather from this morning is gone,” Raven mused, rubbing absentmindedly at her belly, the child kicking erratically. “Katie doesn’t like bad weather.”

“Katie?” Hank asked, Raven laughing a little.

“If she’s a girl,” Raven said, Hank smiling. “Well, Katherine – but I’d call her Katie. Ooh, or Kitty. Kitty is a cute name for a girl.”

“It is,” Hank said, head lolling to the side as he swooned at Raven’s round-cheeked elation. Raven opened her mouth to say something – likely about to begin spewing out boys’ names – when the girl in the corner booth swore loudly.

“Fuck! He found me,” the woman hissed, ducking down from the window with wide eyes.

“Are you okay?” Moira asked, the girl dropping to the floor, like she was about to climb under the table.

“No! He found me!” the woman hissed again, voice panicked. “Fuck! How the hell did he find me so quickly?!”

Moira frowned, looking outside; a sleek black sedan with heavily tinted windows had pulled up, and a well-built man in a striped 3-piece suit stepped out of it, imposing and severely out of place in the parking lot of their ramshackle diner. Taking in the girl who was trembling in her dress, scrabbling at her fraying coat, Moira frowned further. Clearly, that guy was bad news if he could make this girl so terrified.

“Hey, follow me,” Moira said, ushering the girl behind the counter and to the back of the diner. The girl did not hesitate to follow Moira, who let her into the small staff room that had sometime turned into a store room, packed floor to ceiling with boxes. “Stay here and wait until that guy’s gone. Don’t come out until I get you.”

“Thank you, God, thank you so much,” the girl said, rubbing at her eyes and smudging her heavy eyeliner. “He’s… He’s bad news.”

“What did he do?” Moira asked, the girl blanching a little, making Moira give her a reassuring look. “I don’t mean to pry, I just think it’ll help if I know what I’m trying to kick out of the diner.”

The girl snorted out a laugh, though it wasn’t amused in the slightest.

“He’s my step-father,” the girl said, disgust and fear written all over her face. “He… He’s involved in prostitution, and…”

The girl gestured to herself, eyes growing dark. Moira’s heart bled.

“I was one of the girls he used to pimp out, but as one of the older ones he was harsher with me. I didn’t mind it, since that usually meant he didn’t hurt the younger girls as much, but he went too far. So I… I retaliated. I burned down his office and stole all of the cash he had been hoarding, giving it to the girls so they could get away from there. I ran too, obviously – but he found me,” the girl said, biting her lower lip.

“Well, shit,” Moira breathed out, cursing. “If that’s the case, then you’re definitely staying in here. Seriously, don’t come out until I let you know it’s all clear.”

“Thank you so much,” the girl said, giving Moira a watery smile. “My name’s Angel, by the way.”

“Moira,” the brown-haired woman said, flicking at the name badge pinned to the front of her ghastly yellow and blue diner uniform, smiling. “Alrighty, time to deal with a scumbag.”

Moira closed the door behind her after putting her finger to her lips in a final ‘be quiet’ motion to Angel, heading back to the front of the house. Angel’s step-father was currently leaning against the counter, hand slapping down as he snapped at Darwin and Sean.

“I know she’s here!” the man seethed, Sean’s eyes wide while Darwin remained calm as always, stepping out of the kitchen and placing a comforting hand on Sean’s shoulder.

“Sir, who are you looking for?” Darwin asked, the man’s face pulling back with a sneer. Moira smiled a little at Darwin’s perceptiveness – he had clearly gotten the general gist of the situation, and though he didn’t know the details, he had recognised that this guy was bad news and on the hunt for the terrified woman Moira had ushered to the back just moments before.

“Black, tall, skinny, pretty with long dark hair. She should be dressed like a whore,” the man said, Moira bristling. Ugh, pig.

“Sorry, Sir,” Moira said, sidling up with a deceiving sweet smile, the one she used to serve entitled customers that sometimes stumbled into their humble diner. “No one fitting that description has come to our diner, we’d know. As you can see, we don’t usually get many patrons, especially not so early in the morning.”

“Don’t lie to me, woman,” the man spat, jerking a fat finger at Moira’s face, saliva spraying. The man then slammed his hand down on the counter again, the plates clattering.

“Excuse me, Sir, but we don’t tolerate violence in our establishment. If you continue this behaviour, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” Darwin said carefully, the pimp’s face going bright red, hand rising to slam back down on the counter.

Before he could, though, there was suddenly a loud ‘whack’, the pimp crumpling to the ground, knocked out cold.

“What the hell?!” Sean exclaimed, watching everything unfold with wide eyes. The other diners – the blonde boy, Hank and Raven – all watched in shock as well, eyes flittering from the pimp on the ground to the person looming over him.

Standing over him was the gruff bearded man wearing the army jacket sitting that had been at the counter. He rubbed at his knuckles, which had just a second ago made contact with the pimp’s jaw, sending him dropping like a sack of flour.

“Tsk, one punch and he’s already out? Pathetic,” the man grumbled, trudging back to his seat and shovelling some eggs into his mouth, chewing.

“What the hell just happened?” Moira exclaimed, rushing over to the unconscious pimp, checking for a pulse. He was still alive (barely), but it was obvious that his nose was broken and oozing a crimson puddle on Moira’s freshly scrubbed floors. Getting up, Moira glared at the man sitting at the counter who was eating his breakfast like he hadn’t just knocked a man out. “You just assaulted him!”

“He deserved it,” the man shrugged callously. “He was obviously an asshole.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can just go assaulting him! He’s unconscious!”

“Yeah, but now he’s not a problem,” the man said, cracking a grin that was a little feral. “You can thank me with another cup of coffee.”

“Oh, Christ,” Moira groaned, looking at Darwin. “Darwin, call an ambulance or something. And Sean, can you get this guy over to the corner, or one of the booths?”

Sean looked like he would honestly rather do anything else, which Moira thought was understandable - the kid hadn’t taken the dishwashing job to lug around fully-grown unconscious pieces of shit, but this was a strange day.

When the man – still unconscious – was tucked away in the corner, Moira went back to Angel, who jumped when Moira opened the door.

“Is he gone?” Angel asked quickly, Moira biting her lip.

“Uh, well, that’s one way to put it?” Moira offered, Angel giving her a confused look. “You can see for yourself.”

The two women walked out, and Angel gasped when she saw her step-father slumped on the floor, blood oozing from his broken nose.

“Who did that!?” Angel asked, eyes wide. The offender snorted, waving a hand briefly. Angel, still a little shell-shocked, pushed out an incredulous laugh. “Well, thanks. I only expected him to get kicked out, not… knocked out.”

“He seemed like he deserved it,” the bearded man said, Angel laughing.

“Yeah, he did,” she said softly, walking over to the man at the counter. “I’m Angel. I don’t really know how to repay you, but I could buy you another coffee?”

“Logan,” the man grunted, pushing his empty mug of coffee across the counter. “And you can thank me by buying me two.”

“Deal,” Angel said, beaming as she waved Moira over, who was exasperated by their disregard for the fact that there was a man bleeding all over her floor.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” Moira grumbled, just as Darwin hung up the corded phone mounted on the wall.

“Hey, the landline seems to be down,” Darwin said, Moira throwing her hands up in frustration.

“Just another thing to worry about! It’s clearly not enough that we have an unconscious pimp on the floor!”

“Hey, my cellphone isn’t working either. Like, there’s no signal,” Sean said, tapping at his phone with a frown on his face.

“Huh, weird – I’m not getting any cell service either,” Raven said, leaning over to see if Hank had any. His phone had zero bars as well.

“Is it because of the storm that’s starting outside?” Moira asked after checking her own phone, which wasn’t any better. Everyone looked outside at Moira’s comment, the sky now completely dark – it was only 6:45 in the morning, but it felt more like the dead of the night. In the gaps in the clouds was an odd silvery sheen, like constant, noiseless lightning, which cast disconcerting shadows across the barren desert outside of the diner.

“It’s just clouds, there’s no rain or thunder that would disrupt all the cell towers, let alone the land line,” Hank said, fiddling with his phone.

“Hey, Sean, do you want to make a quick run to the sheriff? Ask what’s going on?” Moira said, Sean nodding and pulling off his apron. As the boy headed to the door, he had to pass by the unconscious pimp, who suddenly jerked, making Sean scream shrilly.

“The hell, dude?!” Sean screeched, jumping back. The pimp’s eyes flickered open, Angel’s mouth opening in a silent, terrified scream, scuttling back behind the counter. Logan narrowed his eyes at the pimp, who was picking himself up from the floor sluggishly, head hanging low.

The pimp’s head then snapped up abruptly, eyes glassy. His gaze flittered across the diner, looking at Logan, then Darwin, then Moira, Sean and Angel – Angel tensed, about to run, but strangely, her step-father looked right past her. His eyes flitted to the blonde boy by the door, then Hank, and then…

When the man’s eyes fixed onto Raven, the girl bristling and cradling her baby bump instinctively, the man smiled, showing teeth reddened with blood.

The pimp suddenly lunged forward at Raven, who screamed. Hank also yelled, tripping out of the booth to block the man’s path, but the pimp was suddenly on the ground again when Logan kicked out his leg, landing a blow to the pimp’s side.

The man flailed to the ground, limbs flying and an odd screeching sound erupting from his throat.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Angel asked, trembling. “He… He didn’t even see me. Recognise me.”

“And why did he run after me?!” Raven yelled, gripping onto Hank’s arm, the lanky boy’s mouth pressed in a tight line, hands balled into fists.

“Guess my first punch knocked his brain loose,” Logan said, smirking. Everyone just gave Logan an odd look, but couldn’t say anything when the pimp on the ground suddenly jerked again, spasming. Logan looked a little surprised, staring at the man writhing on the ground. “Jesus, he’s pretty sturdy. That should’ve knocked him out cold.”

The pimp suddenly twisted onto his back, arms bending and bending and bending… until his tendons snaps and joints dislodged. Everyone watched, horrified, as the man’s legs did the same, contorting into something that was definitely not normal.

“Oh my God, what the fuck?!” Sean said, grabbing a frying pan hanging on the wall and holding it up like a bat. “Is the dude possessed?! Arms aren’t supposed to bend like that!”

As Sean spoke, the man whirled around, eyes staring at Raven with fixed focus. The man scuttled forward on all fours, making everyone except Darwin and Logan scream – the latter darted forward, kicking the pimp again, sending him crashing against the wall.

But, just as everyone thought that things would quieten, they only got worse – the moment the pimp hit the wall, he began climbing up it on all fours, nails digging in and leaving bloody indentations into the wall as he climbed like a spider up the off-white plaster.

“The Exorcist! This is the fucking Exorcist! The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!” Sean shrieked, waving his frying pan in the air frantically.

“Oh my God!” Moira cried out as Raven screamed, hauled to her feet by Hank and tugging her behind him.

“What the fuck is in your coffee?!” the blonde man hollered, grabbing his empty plate and smashing it over the pimp’s head as he – it – leapt off the wall and landed on his table. The young man let out a yell as he punched the pimp in the face, grunting in pain as his hand collided, the pimp’s head snapping to the side with the motion, but otherwise unphased. The blonde boy’s eyes widened then the pimp’s mouth pulled into a smile.

“Oh, shit!” the boy yelled as the demonically possessed pimp shot forward, knocking him onto the ground before aiming for Raven again.

“Someone get him!” Raven yelled, hugging her pregnant belly as Hank pushed her back behind the counter, grabbing the frying pan from Sean and slamming it against the pimp’s face, the collision of metal and bone echoing around the diner.

“Help me hold him down!” Logan yelled, slamming his burly body down onto the screeching demon-man, struggling to keep him down alone. “Hey! You guys, get the hell over here!”

The blonde man reacted first, sliding on his knees and grabbing onto the pimp’s arm, almost throwing up when he could feel the pimp’s joints bending backwards. Hank dropped down as well, grabbing a leg while Darwin seized the other one.

 “Someone knock him out!” Logan barked out, Angel suddenly running into the kitchen and grabbing a heavy cast-iron griddle, raising it above her head with something that resembled a war cry and slamming it down on her step-father’s head.

Thunk.

The demonic man stopped writhing, the three men holding him down not releasing him immediately, but only after he had stopped thrashing for a whole minute. Getting up from the ground, Hank was shaking, while Darwin had a deep frown etched on his face and Logan took a hefty swig from his beat-up flask.

When he swallowed, Logan pat the mysterious blonde boy on the back.

“Nice punch earlier, kid,” Logan said, the blonde man huffing.

“My name’s Alex, not kid.”

“Sure, whatever you say, kid,” Logan said, taking another drink as Moira leaned on the counter to steady herself.

“What the hell was that thing?” Moira asked as Raven sobbed, burying herself into Hank’s chest, the man freezing in surprise before tentatively wrapping his arms around the blonde girl.

“It would be more accurate to ask ‘what the Heaven was that thing’, my dear.”

Everyone turned, startled, to the voice that came from across the room. Standing in front of the door was an unfamiliar man that was, truly, beauty incarnate. Milky skin awash with a light smattering of freckles like constellations, sinful red lips, azure eyes and silken brown hair. He wore a slightly tight lilac V-neck sweater covered with a grey tweed coat and matching grey trousers. Strangely, his feet were bare.

From where they stood, they could see that the man was on the shorter side, but something about him filled up the entire room.

“Another weirdo?” Alex muttered, the newcomer’s lips quirking up slightly, seemingly amused. The man stepped across the floor, skirting around the small pool of blood where Logan had broken the pimp’s nose the first time, hopping lightly over the shards of the plate Alex had smashed earlier.

“I’d step away from him, if I were you,” the man said, voice lilting with a thick English accent, and despite being so soft and gentle, its weight made everyone – even Logan – jump away from the man on the ground. Just as they did so, the demon twitched, Raven screaming again.

“The hell, he’s still not down?!” Sean yelled, the man wearing the lilac sweater letting out a short sigh, reaching behind him to pull out a hand gun, pointing it down at the demon at his feet.

“What are you doing, Charles?” the demon man spoke, voice trilling, inhuman. “These weren’t your orders.”

“I’m sorry, Brother,” the man said solemnly, before pulling the trigger. Red sprayed everywhere – across the floor, up against the walls, on Logan’s shoes. Raven seemed to stop breathing, swaying on her feet and Hank letting out a strangled noise as he caught her in his arms. Moira’s mouth was wide opened, mind static like the radio, and Sean had fallen onto his ass in shock. Darwin stared silently at the scene unfolding before him, Alex cursing loudly and staggering back, while Logan just looked at the seemingly demure man with narrowed eyes.

Logan had killed men before, many of them, in fact. He had killed men in warzones from a distance with his rifles, and had felt the life bleed out of some of them when he strangled their necks. Logan was used to killing, and he knew what a killer looked like.

How strange was it, then, that when he looked at the man before him, he didn’t have the stink of a murderer?

In fact, the man looked all too pure in the way he held himself. Untainted, even if his hand was on a smoking gun and a little blood has splashed onto his bare feet. The man’s blue eyes shone with tears, but not of fear, regret or anger.

No, he was a man that looked like he was grieving.

“You just killed a man!” Moira suddenly said, rushing to the phone that didn’t even work, punching in 911 over and over.

“I assure you, Moira, that he was not a man. At least, not now,” the man holding the gun said calmly, tucking his gun back into the waistband of his pants.

“You know my name,” Moira said, eyes wide. The barefooted man just smiled, tilting his head in what looked like a greeting nod.

“Yes, I know all of your names, actually,” the man said, turning to Logan. “You’re James Howlett, or I suppose you prefer Logan. And you’re Alexander Summers, Sean Cassidy, Henry – or Hank – McCoy, Angel Salvadore, Armando Muñoz and… Raven Darkholme.” The man’s voice softened as he spoke the last girl’s name, looking a little wistful.

“Are you a spy or something?” Sean asked, spluttering. “Or psychic?!” The mystery man chuckled a little, shaking his head.

“No,” Charles said, clasping his hands in front of him, eyes closing for a moment, before opening them again. “And I’ll explain everything, but we have to deal with them first.”

“Them?” Darwin asked, Charles turning to the window.

“Oh, please tell me he doesn’t have friends,” Angel said, grimacing at the body of her dead step-father.

“No, not friends,” Charles said, giving her a sad look. “Brothers and Sisters.”

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[xadoheandterra]

Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Jak forgot something kind of important. At least it gave Torn time enough to get him presentable.

Daxter ducked between legs and strangers alike, scurrying along the ground on all four paws. He dashed quick from the port and used all of the little known side alleys that only three years in Haven could teach an ottsel. Two of those three years he’d worked hard to unearth and learn the layout by himself despite Haven’s insane size. It’d taken him the better part of the first year to just learn how to traverse the city at barely two feet tall; after all the distance Jak could travel at a dead run in an hour Daxter could barely achieve in three.

And he wants this damn thing pronto, Daxter grimaced to himself. Really buddy? It ain’t easy getting’ around by myself and it ain’t like I could ask anyone! I can’t even jack a damn zoomer, sheesh.

Sometimes Daxter felt like Jak could be so inconsiderate, taking his willingness to help a pal out for granted. Still Daxter persevered, and yeah maybe he realized after he’d finally reached the beginning of Main Town that he could’ve asked Tess for a ride but damn if Daxter weren’t determined to do this one his own by that point. Even still Daxter had a limit, and one that rapidly began to approach given how much his chest burned and his legs and arms hurt.

Jak’s just gonna hafta deal with me bein’ a bit late, Daxter reasoned to himself. I’ll make it up t’him later. He skittered to a halt over by the nearest bridge. His chest heaved as he flopped down against one of the rails supports, the small backpack that Tess had scrounged up for him to carry the key in thunked heavily against the ground. Exhaustedly Daxter brushed along the fringe of what would have once been his bangs to wipe away the sweat that had gathered. He grimaced at the feel of slick fur and resisted the urge to growl out of annoyance.

Sometimes he really hated being an Ottsel. The fur and two feet tall were prime reasons to resent the transformation, no matter how used to it he’d gotten. Daxter puffed out a breath and pressed his head back against the rail and closed his eyes.

“Ugh, why s’it gotta be so far?” Daxter grumbled to himself bitterly. He didn’t see the glances from the others who meandered around Main Town, going about their business, but he knew they were there. He’d gotten stares like that all the time, although the ones that he and Jak got together where by far the most hilarious of the lot.

“I think I found him.”

“Really? That small thing?”

“Well Commander Torn did say an orange rat, right?”

“I thought he was joking.”

Daxter opened one eye to look for the voices the minute he heard ‘Torn,’ a snarl on his lips. He wasn’t a rat Precursors damn it all! His gaze found a small trio of slightly armored teens that he vaguely recognized from the few times he and Jak spent more than a night at the Underground barracks.

“Oi!” Daxter yelled. He jumped to his feet, quite suddenly energized, hands on his hips. “It’s ottsel. O! T! T! S! E! L! Get it right, ya jerks!”

The three teens turned and shared a look before they seemed to nod in agreement. One of them approached and Daxter noted he wore some sort of half-KG mask. He vaguely remembered Tess had mentioned something about the Underground’s members were now forced to be recognizable since the metal head invasion.

“You Daxter?” the one on the left said. Her voice rang with the tinny quality that Daxter associated with the KG.

“Ya work for the Tattooed Wonder?” Daxter shot back, eyes narrowed and lips pulled down.

“Yeah it’s definitely him,” the one on the right said. He shot a side glance to the girl. The one in the middle, closest to Daxter, snorted disdainfully.

“This job sucks,” the middle one grumbled and turned his gaze away from Daxter to look instead at his companions. The one on the right’s eyes crinkled in the amused way and the one on the left looked like she was hiding a smile under that mask.

“What job? Searchin’ out the good ol’ Orange Lightning?” Daxter didn’t quite leer, but he did drawl out the words. At least two of them seemed decent.

The girl on the left laughed. “Definitely him. Come on, orange lightning. Commander Torn’s asked us to pick you up.”

“Said something about it taking too long,” the one on the right said.

“I still don’t get why we’re stuck with carrying this pet,” the middle one huffed.

“You can carry me anytime you like, gorgeous,” Daxter winked to the girl, who laughed good naturedly with the guy on the left while the middle one growled. “I’ve been lookin’ for a cute ride like you. I got one mean delivery I gotta get over pronto, y’know?”

“I might have heard,” she replied as she reached out a hand for Daxter. He quickly scurried over and then up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Damn is this what it feels like to be him?” she said almost reverently.

“All th’ time, babe,” Daxter nodded. “Now c’mon! I’ve wasted enough time huffin’ it by myself. Ol’ gravelly shoulda sent someone sooner.”

“We should just shoot it,” the middle one hissed.

“Aw, I like you too grumpy!” Daxter cooed back, face twisted into a sickly sweet grin.

“I’m gonna shoot it,” ‘grumpy’ snapped and reached for his gun.

The one on the right grasped his wrist before he could do anything and hissed, “Do you want to get on Commander Torn’s bad side?”

“But it’s annoying.”

“It,” Daxter said sharply, “is a he, and he happens to be the one who saved all your asses with his trusty sidekick Jak who just happens to be his best fuckin’ friend and can, y’know, get growly.”

Grumpy swallowed heavily and backed off at the look he received from his two partners.

“Told you,” the one on the right mumbled. “Bad idea, man.”

“Yeah,” Daxter agreed. “Listen to your conscience over here.”

“Fuck you,” grumpy spat.

‘Conscience,’ snorted a laugh in response.

“Funny,” Daxter’s current shoulder seat laughed softly. “Come on, we best hurry. We’re gathering a crowd.”

Grumpy and conscience exchanged glances, paled, and quickly began ushering their female compatriot onwards.

“Weren’t we supposed to not draw a crowd?” conscience uttered.

“Your fault,” grumpy spat.

“Oh hush,” Daxter interrupted, “and get movin’!”

All three started to run at that. Daxter relaxed against the gentle lull of a shoulder at full run, a wide grin across his face. Now he’d get there in a decent amount of time. He’d have to thank the Tattooed Wonder for giving him such a lovely ride, too. Daxter paused, then frowned, then wanted to cry at the realization he actually had to thank the asshole who called him a rat.

Torn stared at his communicator in faint horror, although Jak figured a good majority of that actually was for show. Torn had to be acutely aware of how uncomfortable this entire situation made the teen, give that Jak practically gouged his legs throughout a good chunk of the process. The act did serve to put Jak into a more comfortable mindset, comfortable enough that his eyes were black with dark eco—just tinged purple instead. His skin looked a bit paler than normal, but that could be associated to nerves rather than eco.

“Why is your rat insisting on riding one of my men up the elevator?” Torn’s voice practically squeaked at the end he wheezed so hard.

Jak scrubbed a hand through his now groomed, wrapped, and braided hair. It hung in twisted, braided dreadlocks that suited the young teen and at the same time felt like a punch to the gut. If Torn didn’t know that Jak happened to be the young kid he’d once looked after—and thus had to be related to the late King Damas—then the resemblance sure as hell would have told him as much. Granted Damas never did quite wear the locks as well as Jak could.

“Mar you have to have some Wastlander in you,” Torn muttered as he flopped onto the couch.

“What does that mean?” Jak blinked at the sudden non-sequitor.

“Your hair,” Torn waved a hand. “No Havenite can wear it like that so easily. You see it more on Wastelander’s than anything.”

Jak’s brow furrowed in confusion, but before he could get a word in about it Torn shifted and spoke up again.

“Seriously though what does that rodent think he’s doing anyway? He could put her at risk!”

“His name is Daxter,” Jak pointed out, “and he’s probably exhausted. I forgot how far Main Town is from the bar.” Jak leaned forward from his spot on the bed and scrubbed at his face. “He’s probably pissed about that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Do you like him nagging you or something?” Torn quarried. When Jak didn’t answer at first the commander shifted to stare at the teen, concerned.

Jak sighed. “…sort of.” He licked his lips. “It’s…I didn’t speak for a long time, Torn. Dax talking…it’s normal.” He smiled fondly. “He spoke for the both of us.”

“He still does,” Torn grumbled.

“Yeah.”

Despite being an ottsel Daxter at his core didn’t change. Jak relished in that, relished in how much his friend still remained his friend because damn if he didn’t regret that accident so much. He opened his mouth to speak some more when a sharp rap at the door sounded throughout the room. Torn got to his feet and Jak likewise pulled himself up.

They shared a glance—looks like it was showtime. Jak got to his feet, Torn shortly behind him. Jak wanted to get the door, but Torn motioned for him to stay—they’d gone over, repeatedly, in the wait for Daxter to show up and in the time that Torn worked on his hair, how the people around Jak were expected to act. How Jak would be expected to act. While it sat wrong with him to hang back, he still let Torn take the lead and open the door.

This whole insane plane hinged on Jak, after all, and if he didn’t show the right response at the right time then any credibility as being the last heir to the House of Mar wouldn’t matter. It grated to act like some damned nobleman when first and foremost Jak was anything but; still he waited, anxiously as evidenced by the slight shift from foot to foot. Torn slipped the door open, took one look out into the hallway, and sighed in relief.

“Ashelin,” Torn greeted sharply, and stepped back.

“Commander,” Ashelin responded in kind. She stepped into the room first, behind her followed an Underground fighter with Daxter perched precariously on her shoulder. Jak zeroed in on his best friend, and a small nervous smile flittered across his face.

No one said anything at first, or at least no one but Daxter and Jak. Jak’s little twitches—almost completely unnoticeable—clued Daxter into the bigger picture within a minute. The conversation went on much longer than that though, with an ever growing darker expression on Daxter’s face. The ottsel glanced between Jak, Torn, and Ashelin with a scowl until Ashelin couldn’t take it anymore.

“What!?” the young Praxis heiress snapped out. She looked to Torn for back up, but Torn refused to respond. He’d seen the silent communication in action too much to even attempt to counteract it.

“Nothin’,” Daxter said eventually after a pleading look from Jak and a slightly pulled face. “We’ve got a show to get on the road, right?”

“What do you mean we?” Ashelin demanded. “You were just delivery—”

“I ain’t leavin’ Jak to deal with just you,” Daxter shot back, “and my ride here ain’t either. We’re both goin’ an’ you’ll just hafta deal there princess. You roped Jak into this thing and ya better handle the consequences. We’re a pair an’ that is that.”

Jak smiled.

“Dax’s always had my back, Ashelin,” he said softly. “Besides, as I understand it if I just walk in with the Ruby Key they’re going to demand how a priceless artifact integral to this city’s history just so happened to disappear and then reappear with the House of Mar.”

Torn smiled, and nodded once in approval when Jak glanced his way. He spoke up to catch Ashelin’s attention. “Look at that Ashe, the kid has a knack for this,” he teased for a second before he added seriously, “He has a point and you know it. Especially when you know it was this very council that ousted the last King we had.”

“That was my father—” Ashelin counteracted, only to be cut off with a look.

“It might have been your father,” Torn said carefully, “but even your father can’t intimidate the other sage lines. At least three quarters of them had to be in agreement. Not to mention the other minor noble houses.”

Ashelin bit her lip, frustrated, but she had to admit Torn was right. Although neither of them had been there for the original banishment of the House of Mar, they both knew the aftermath intimately enough. Still—Ashelin turned toward Daxter and with a sharp look assessed the situation.

“You can’t just waltz in with the Ruby Key, either,” Ashelin pointed out. “You’re too involved with Jak.”

“Ah, but I’m involved officially as of this past year,” Daxter pointed out slyly. Jak didn’t bother to fight down his smile as Ashelin blinked in slight surprise and Daxter continued barreling on, head held high. “In fact I was quite the respected bug hunter up until the business went up in smoke; I merely stumbled across this here puppy,” Daxter patted his bag, “without knowin’ what it was. I’m just a poor ottsel—we’re not taught Haven’s history.”

“If anything Dax only realized what the Ruby Key was after he and I got involved,” Jak added softly, and completely convincingly. Any protest left Ashelin.

Torn glanced at them, then asked, “How will you explain your closeness?”

“How do you explain a soul brother?” Daxter shot back full of complete self-confidence.

“We click,” Jak shrugged, and it was the honest truth—he and Daxter had always just clicked like that.

Torn appraised them for a second more—and almost let out an amused snort when he realized the soldier before him was still star-struck and drooling; kids these days—before he nodded sharply. He turned to Ashelin and said, “They’re good.”

Ashelin looked ready to protest, so Torn stepped up to her and grabbed her shoulders. “They’re good, Ashe,” he said sharply. “Trust me.” It took a second longer before Ashelin let out an explosive breath. They’d wasted enough time already on this whole mess, and so with a sharp turn she motioned for the group to follow.

“Look alive soldier,” Torn said under his breath to the young girl. She jerked, flushed, and then straightened her back and fell into step just behind Jak.