#( drew this one in the wrong size so i guess i will either scale it up and pray 2 god

[itheume]

gritting my teeth

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Gender? In THIS Economy?

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Duke is questioning stuff and goes to Tim for advice. (feat. trans!Tim and nonbinary!Duke)

“Here you go. One Batburger with extra pickles, extra onions, and extra extra mayonnaise.” Duke drops the paper takeout bag unceremoniously into Tim’s lap. “Your taste buds need a tune-up, bro.”

Tim unwraps his burger and takes a bite. Batburger may be questionable when it comes to copyright laws, but damn if they don’t pile on the condiments better than any fast food restaurant in Gotham. “Sounds to me like you simply haven’t reached the sky-scraping level of enlightenment that I have, grasshopper.”

“Enlightenment would have been going to Red Robin and using your uniform to get a discount,” Duke says. He sits beside Tim on the rooftop’s edge, their legs dangling side by side a hundred feet above Gotham’s plunging gray streets. He digs into his own burger and makes a face. “Enlightenment would also be getting the Robin Nuggets next time. This tastes like dried leather.”

“I like it,” Tim says with a shrug. “It has personality.”

“So does raw sewage, but you don’t see me eating that.”

Tim concedes the point. His communicator buzzes in his belt. He checks the screen and discovers an alert from Cass composed entirely of clown emojis and red harlequin diamonds.

Duke notices. “Should we get that?”

Tim pockets the communicator. “Nah, Spoiler’s got it. We have time to relax.” And he’s not about to pass up quality time with the one little brother who doesn’t hate him. It’s hard enough as it is for Tim and Duke to find the time, what with them being on opposite sleeping schedules and work snatching their attention away with grabby, toddler-sized hands.

“Don’t get a lot of that during the day shift,” Duke says. “Every time an alarm goes off, it’s my business.”

Tim knocks him in the side with his elbow. “That’s what you get for turning to the light side instead of kicking it in the shadows with us. More employees to go around.” He sips his soda for a moment. “Why did you come out tonight, anyway? I thought you stayed in on weeknights.”

“Right. I actually wanted to talk to you about something.” Duke says it carefully, like he’s testing the waters. “I need advice.”

Tim has to admit that his chest puffs out a little at that. It’s not often people come to him for advice when Dick and Barbara are right there, all full of adult wisdom that Tim is too pitifully shrimpy to possess. “What’s up?”

“It’s kind of...personal.”

“Yes, Bruce does have special powder for suit-chafing. It’s in the cabinet under the first-aid supplies.”

“It’s not that,” Duke says, though he snorts in half-hearted laughter. He looks down at his hands like he’s dreading the words lodged in his throat. “What was it like, realizing you were a dude?”

One of Tim’s eyebrows shoots up. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s an invasive question.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You just caught me off guard, is all.” It’s not like this is the first time someone has asked. Tim used to be uncomfortable talking about it, but he’s grown up since then. Talking about his trans journey is as normal as talking about what he did yesterday. He eats a fry. “What do you want to know?”

Duke searches Tim’s face for a sign that he’s lying, that he should back off. When he doesn’t find one, he asks, “How old were you when you figured it out?”

Tim thinks back. “Nine, I think? But even before that, it’s not like I ever really felt like a girl. I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t know what. When I first heard about what being transgender meant, everything I’d been feeling until then clicked into place.”

“What was it like?” Duke asks, “growing up the way you did? Presenting as a girl when you knew you weren’t?”

Tim shrugs. “I don’t know. It was life at the time. I dealt with it.”

“Was it hard? Pretending to be something you weren’t?”

Tim doesn’t know what answer Duke is looking for, or why he’s so interested, but he won’t ask. “My parents always had this idea of me being the perfect daughter, all obedient and graceful and crap. I’m pretty sure their hope was to eventually marry me off to the highest bidder so they could reap the business benefits.”

“That sounds awful.”

Tim shrugs again. “I didn’t start feeling any different than I should have until around six or seven. I was always a tomboy. I liked doing boy stuff and playing sports, but my parents thought it was a phase I would grow out of. They’d make me wear dresses and go to fancy parties with them, all the while I just wanted to claw my skin off and go home.”

He remembers the nights he would lie awake in bed, imagining what it must be like to have been born someone else. Anyone else. To grow up as a little boy who was allowed to run around, to get dirty, to be himself instead of following some arbitrary guidelines someone else drew up the day he was born. He imagined what it would feel like to answer to a different name than the one he’d been given, which grated on his ears the longer time went on, like an itchy sweater he couldn’t shed. It was hell.

He gives Duke a sly grin. “But the upside of having absent parents is that there aren’t as many people watching you. No one cared if I went to school in the boy’s uniform instead of the girl’s. No one was there to stop me from cutting my hair short the way I wanted it.”

Duke's eyes widen. “You cut your own hair?”

“It went exactly the way you’re thinking. I had to go to the barber the next day and have them fix it because it was so uneven. But by the end of the day, it was the way I always imagined it. I was finally starting to look like the person I wanted to be.”

Duke stares intently at the remains of his burger as if the universe’s answers to an unspoken question were written in sesame seeds. “Did it get better after that? Did you feel...at peace?”

“‘Course not. The world wasn’t magically fixed just because I took a step in the right direction. My problems didn’t go away.” When he says that, Duke looks almost...disappointed? “But,” Tim adds, “it was better than it was before. I still had to act for my parents and the rest of the world, but I didn’t have to hide from myself anymore.”

“How did your parents react when they found out?”

Tim grimaces. “They...didn’t take it well.” He can still hear his father’s voice in his memories, bringing up therapy and camps and whatever places he could think of that would “fix” his little girl.

“But, after a while,” Tim continues, “it was clear that I wasn’t going to change my mind anytime soon. I guess they figured it would be easier to go along with it than fight me every step of the way. They still didn’t like it, but they tolerated it.”

Duke is quiet.

“Why do you ask?” Tim prods.

Duke’s expression doesn’t give anything away. It’s nights like this when Tim can see how perfectly Duke fits into this mental institution they call a family. For all that Duke thrives in the light, he keeps his cards just as close to his chest as the rest of them. He gives Tim a half-smile. “Just wondering.”

“Okay.”

They fall into weighted silence, the scales tipping on either side of their post, but never settling. Tim waits. He finishes his burger and busies himself with reorganizing the pouches in his belt, giving Duke the privacy to think.

“I don’t know,” Duke starts after several minutes, “if I’m a boy.” He looks at Tim. “I think I might be something else.”

“Okay,” Tim says calmly. “What do you feel like?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve always felt different, y’know? When I was a kid, it was because I was smarter than everyone in my class. And it was fine, because I knew what it was and how it worked and why it was a good thing, being the smart one. It made sense. Time went on, the other kids started catching up, but that mismatched feeling never went away. I never felt right in my skin.”

Duke’s face rises to the dark clouds, the Batsignal shining from the top of the police station like a holy beacon. “Then I met Batman. My powers started to come in and everything clicked into place, all at once. That was why I never felt like I fit in with everyone else, because I was different. I had powers. That must have been it.”

“But it wasn’t,” Tim guesses.

Duke shakes his head. “I thought it would be. I mean, what else could it have been, you know? It should have explained why I never felt at home in my identity. But time goes on, I learn how to use my powers, and it fixes some of it, but not everything. There’s still part of me that looks in the mirror and sees something off. Some detail out of place.”

“Do you feel like a girl?” Tim ventures to ask.

Duke folds over the corner of his straw wrapper again and again in tiny triangles. “Nah, I doubt it. I like some feminine things, but I don’t think I’m a girl. Or a guy. I think...I might be nonbinary?”

Tim does his best to channel Bruce’s “supportive dad” energy and smiles. “Okay. What pronouns do you want to use?”

“They/them, maybe? For a while?”

“Duly noted.” He puts a hand on Duke’s shoulder. “I really do appreciate you telling me.”

Duke rubs the back of their neck, their cheeks flushing. “It feels good to say out loud. Not just in my head.”

“Do you think you’re going to tell anyone else? You don’t have to if you’re not ready, but our whole family will support you.”

“Yeah.” Duke picks at their nails, nodding absently. “I know they will. I’m not worried about that.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

Duke takes a deep breath in, and Tim is reminded of a balloon close to bursting. “My parents aren’t dead. I’m going to get them back. And when I do...what are they going to think when they wake up after half a decade and find out that their son isn’t their son anymore? What if they don’t like the person they see?”

Tim can’t say that he hadn’t swum with the same thoughts years ago, back when the person who is Tim Drake was still on the drawing board. But there’s a difference between his situation and Duke’s. “Your parents love you, Duke. They’re not going to stop loving you just because you’ve grown up since they last saw you.”

“What if it’s too much? The superpowers and the crime-fighting and the new gender...it’s a lot to take in.”

“Well, sure,” Tim says. “It might take some time for them to get used to it, but this is who you are. They’re going to love it just as much as they love the rest of you.”

Duke smiles, and if their eyes are a little misty, Tim pretends not to notice.

“Besides,” he says. “If I were you, I’d just lead with the superpowers thing. Anything after that sounds perfectly acceptable.”

[cozy-the-overlord]

Look at Me

Summary: Medusa didn't get many visitors. Those she did usually were there seeking her head. But there's something different about this stranger ...

Word Count: 1,799

Pairing: Loki x Medusa, Loki x OFC (I guess? Since she’s my version of Medusa? I’m not sure if this counts ...)

A/N: So in the middle of my Greek Mythology class, during a lecture about Perseus and Medusa, I made the profound connection that both Loki and Medusa are associated with snakes (I know, my genius is truly unparalleled). And then I wrote this. I'm not entirely certain what "this" is, but I wrote it and it's here. Enjoy!

Thanks for reading! :)

Warnings: none

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

The man arrived just as she was finishing cooking dinner. It hadn’t been anything special—just an unfortunate duck she had managed to skewer as it came to rest on the side of the lake. Medusa had gotten pretty good at shooting without looking. It had been a real problem at first—she hadn’t been a particularly good archer to begin with, and one wayward glance would turn whatever creature she was stalking into a piece of marble. The woods around her cave were littered with life-sized statues of birds and rabbits and other little animals from hunting expeditions gone wrong. For a while, she had feared she’d garner Artemis’ wrath on top of all the other deities who hated her, and the thought had made her bow even more unsteady. But the years went on without incident. And as with anything else, she adapted. She still wasn’t perfect, but at least she could hit her target without turning it to stone.

She had been a bit caught off-guard by the man. He was quieter than most, and more cautious— he didn’t approach her cave, didn’t even bother to raise his sword, electing to linger amongst the brush in silent observation. On her own, she might not have even noticed his presence. But there was little that went past the snakes, and when her hair stood on end, hissing and spitting at something behind her, Medusa knew she had company.

She sighed, careful not to turn away from her pot. “I know you’re there, hero. You might as well come out.”

He did so without a fuss, his footsteps so light on the stone that she had to crane her ears to hear them. That was strange. Medusa had never known a man to step so softly.

“Impressive.” His voice was smooth, like polished marble, and it carried an accent that she didn’t recognize. “They said you had eyes in the back of your head, but mortals are known to exaggerate.”

She fought back another sigh. Ah, yes, yet another mortal fool who thinks himself a god. It had been so long since one intruded upon her lair, Medusa had begun to hope that perhaps they had finally elected to leave her in peace. She supposed that was too unrealistic to ask.

“Perhaps you could learn a lesson or two from them,” Medusa straightened up, still facing the cracked stone of the cavern walls rather than her visitor. Her hair was still twisting around her neck—it would take a few hours for the snakes to calm down again. She bit her lip. “I have no interest in killing you, hero. But you haven’t a chance at killing me. Just look to your predecessors.”

She motioned towards the statues that littered her the clearing, snarling warriors frozen in mid attack, time slowly chipping away at their features until their visages were near unrecognizable. How many times had she said these words? How many times had she been ignored?

Still, she tried each time. “You have nothing to gain here. Please, seek your accolades elsewhere.”

She waited for his taunts, his insults. “I fear no beast on this earth, creature, not even one as vile as yourself!” It was all the same. They’d rush forward with their sword and a battle cry and she’d turn around and watch as their skin cracked and hardened and their screams died in their throats.

But the man only chuckled, a warm, welcoming sound that seemed as foreign as his accent. “Oh, I’m afraid you misunderstand my purpose here, my lady,” he said. “I’m no hero. And I most certainly have no intention to kill you.” He was walking towards her, but it was a leisurely stroll, his steps gentle and measured, nothing threating about it. “As for having nothing to gain here,” he added. “I’d prefer to reach my own conclusions.”

To say she was perplexed would have been an understatement. “But, if you haven’t come to kill me,” she frowned, “May I inquire as to the purpose of your visit?”

“The truth?” he asked. “Simple curiosity.” He was standing quite near to her now, and Medusa wondered for a moment if this was his plan—distract her with his oddities so that he could have a closer shot at her, but he only sat back against a rock with a satisfied huff. “I’ve heard an awful lot about you since I first came to this land,” he continued. “I was eager to learn if there was any truth to the stories.” He let out another little chuckle, so soft it seemed like a secret. “Besides, I’ve been told I have an affinity for snakes.”

“Is that so?” It was nice, just talking to someone. She hadn’t talked to anyone in ages—there wasn’t anyone to talk to around here, unless you counted her snakes, but they only really served as obnoxious reminders of her curse. And there was something amusing about this stranger, something smooth and sociable that she hadn’t realized she missed. She wondered what he looked like. “Well then, not-hero, have I met your lofty expectations?”

“Oh, you’ve far and away surpassed them, my lady. You’re truly a magnificent presence.”

She laughed. “Do you waste so many pretty words upon every monster you come across?”

“Waste?” His voice brimmed with faux offense. “I assure you, my lady, I spend my words quite carefully. I lavish them only upon the deserving.” There was a pause, and for a moment Medusa feared that perhaps he was truly insulted.

“Besides,” he continued finally, with a purposeful kind of nonchalance that hadn’t been there before. “You’re no monster.”

The statement was so ludicrous that she laughed again. “Do you not see the statues?”

“I do,” he replied. His voice had turned quite serious, and Medusa could hear him shifting as he leaned forward on the rock. “I see cowards frozen for eternity in the act of attacking a woman who has brought them no harm whilst her back is turned, like the shameful curs they were. I also see that you could have marbleized me just like them in half a second, but you chose not to. Instead, even though you had no way of knowing my intentions, you warned me. In your position, I can’t say I would’ve done the same.” He inhaled. “And that’s not even mentioning how this whole time we’ve been talking, you’ve not once risked turning your face to me, despite how vulnerable it leaves you. That doesn’t seem very monstrous to me.”

Medusa swallowed. There was a dull sort of ache in her chest, a cold throbbing that never really went away, but seemed even sharper in the moment.

You’re no monster.

No one said that to her. No one believed it. There wasn’t a single person in all of Greece who saw her that way. Even the gods despised her. Medusa shook her head, as if to shake away the tears burning in her eyes.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I’ve done.”

“Who’s to say I don’t?” he asked. “I’ve heard the stories. But I see no monster before me—only a person who’s suffered alone for far too long.”

She gulped, the snakes still writing around her face. How long had it been since she awoke on the cold floor of the temple, shivering and aching and praying that the night before had been but a dream? She remembered the priestesses who walked in to find her, how they screamed when they laid eyes on her, how quickly their screams froze in their throat when she looked up.

Terrified, the people had chased her from the city premises, waving torches and blades and spitting venom farther than the snakes snapping in her hair. She had taken shelter in the forest, clawing at the green scales on her arms as if ripping them off would restore her old skin. Her barbed nails only drew blood.

Back in the cave, Medusa stifled her whimper. It had been years since that fateful morning, and yet the terror still came rushing back like an overflowing river. Behind her the man stood, and she could hear the concern in his voice as he approached her.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to bring you pain.”

She inhaled. “Are you a god?” Because surely, he wasn’t human. No mortal man would seek her out for such a conversation. Although she couldn’t imagine the gods suddenly taking pity on her after all this time either.

He let out a breathy chuckle. “Not in the way you’re thinking. But I can help you, if you’ll allow me.”

She shook her head. It hurt too much to hope. “No one can help me.”

“I’ll show you,” he said. “Look at me.”

Medusa gaped. He couldn’t be serious. “Are you mad?”

“Not in this. Look at me.”

She turned slowly, eyes closed, palms quivering. He was standing near to her—she could feel the way he shifted as she moved to face him. Was he as nervous as she was? Would he realize the absolute idiocy of his request? But his voice held nothing but gentle confidence.

“Just trust me, Medusa.” She could hear his smile, soft and encouraging. “Look at me.”

And so, she opened her eyes.

She expected to be greeted with the cold crackling of marble spreading across skin, the horrible empty silence that always followed once the lungs turned to stone. But she wasn’t. Medusa blinked, but nothing changed—the man who stood before her remained,

He was slender and lithe, with long hair that tumbled over his shoulders, black as raven’s wing. His armor—was it armor?— was unlike anything Medusa had ever seen before, some strange mix of gold and leather that clung to his form in a way that seemed so much lighter than the bulky chest plates of her usual visitors. His eyes found hers, sparkling emeralds in the sunlight, and Medusa suddenly realized that, for the first time in ages, someone was returning her gaze.

“How?” she choked. Her voice didn’t seem to be working. Perhaps this was the dream, and she’d awaken in the corner of the cave alone and cold once more.

“Just a little trick I picked up,” he said. “I know quite a few of them.”

She stared at him. That was a marvel in it of itself, just to be able to stare at someone, but there was also something otherworldly floating about him that she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Who are you?” Medusa asked.

“They call me Loki.” He held out his hand towards her, simultaneously strong and soft. The snakes in her hair relaxed against her scalp. Loki smiled. “Come with me. There’s much I wish to show you.”

[tisthepoetl]

There are many stressors in a modern day lifestyle.

Usually these include the looming threat of death, the monotony of working for currency that stopped being useful years ago and deer.

There are so, so many stressed people. Made worse by the apocalypse that didn’t happen, the riots that most definitely happened, and the negotiations that have been “in progress” for the last few years.

The amount of rapid budget changes are stressing out some people. The amount of rapid cultural exchange is stressing people out. If you work in any field, any field at all, you are likely to be stressed as all hell.

Eventually, they have to pick someone on the ship to be shown as an expert negotiator. No one is prepared for this. Most of them are middle men, most of them don’t have a clue what they’re supposed to be doing, and all of them are panicking.

So they drew straws. The most important decision of all time is made by dumb luck, and honestly that’s a pretty good metaphor for everything happening right now.

Name someone on their haphazard crew and they will have a conflict of interest. Name one member and they will be grossly under qualified.

America has four ambassadors out of the eight chosen. Not because they’re the most presentable, or the most qualified, or the best possible choice, but because they overpaid for a privilege nobody wanted.

If all of this goes to hell they're getting the blame. And if they get the blame the only plan is to point at whoever was voluntold to be leader and pray for leniency.

Every part of this is a desperate attempt to stall before the actual powers back home have found a way to bullshit having any actual control of things.

It shows.

It really, really shows.

So, who was the unlucky scapegoat for the possible downfall of all of humanity?

If you guessed Samantha who wasn’t supposed to even be on this ship, you would be correct!!

Seriously, she was the back up for someone who was almost conceivably qualified. Sort of, if you squinted and ignored the fact they were only there via nepotism, only to be pulled out once everyone realized they were sacrificial lambs.

And then the replacement was also saved from this bullshit via bribery and blackmail and probably some other third sketchy thing she doesn’t know about.

So, here she is, Samantha who had planned on changing her name before realizing she wasn’t getting out of this. Samantha, the replacement for the replacement who was chosen by a lottery held only for the illusion of equal opportunity.

There are literally billions and billions of people whose lives will be affected by whatever she ends up doing. Countless children, parents, lovers and friends and siblings. All of whom would either die or live by whatever ends up happening.

Luckily, she has one coping mechanism which never fails: Repression!!

So she thinks about literally anything else. Thinks about her favorite song as the ship nears the giant towering shape of the Galactic Senate’s meeting place. Thinks about fluffy dogs as she is led by the hand through walls and portraits and treasures with descriptions she can’t read because there are no translators yet.

Thinks about her mother, thinks about her sibling, thinks about the fact everyone could literally die and it would be her fault, and wow she’s already here.

The meeting place has a mouthful name that she could only pronounce if she managed to dislocate her jaw, grow a new set of teeth, and get a proboscis. Everyone calls it the Meeting Place, because again, there are no working translators, they all have to rely on vague equivalents.

The Meeting Place is a moon sized ship, so incomprehensibly large that any species will be able to fit. It has a dock, and a large empty room with nothing in it except for alien leaders who could slaughter them all at a whim.

There are no chairs. The temperature is set to “Mildly unpleasant but liveable.” Unity and democracy means that everyone is equally uncomfortable, because this exact temperature is workable for most species.

Samantha feels a chill down her spine, both from the cold and the fact that so many of them are glaring at her. She is in the center, her crew is placed too far away to help her, and their borrowed ship is miles away from where they are now.

She prays to the gods she doesn’t believe in and hopes she can stall well enough for the clusterfuck back home to get their shit together.

“H…” she starts eloquently. She tries to refind where the rest of humanity’s first impression was stationed, but her view is blocked by the hundreds of giant aliens. “He..llo?” she finishes.

There’s a click, and she flinches back because what if that’s a weapon. A small cube clatters to the ground in front of her, before popping up and showing a hologram.

She would be visibly impressed, in awe, if it weren’t for the fact she’s half sure these diplomats could take any reaction as an insult.

She wouldn’t be able to explain herself either, it’s too early for any sort of translator to have been made, it’s too early for anything about human body language to be common knowledge.

The crowd surrounding her rustles, fins are raised and noises are made and colors are changed. It means something, probably, but she can’t tell what.

The hologram cube makes a loud, ear splitting sound, like a mix between a flatlining heart in a movie and a fire alarm going off. It snaps her out of her spiraling.

There are two large lines pointing at a screen that is pulsing with the most neon red she’s ever had the unfortunate luck of seeing. She stares at it, and realizes it’s a quiz.

Well, more like a shitty rushed powerpoint. Like something you would make in under an hour for the fun of it.

It says, “What Human Want [Ask],” and she has the sneaking suspicion that whoever made this wasn’t trying very hard. Underneath are barely recognizable butcherings of numbers, listing answers from one to three.

“1. Want hurt. Want no us. Lone want.”

“1nd. Want love. Want share. Want us help.”

“1rd. Want no meet us. Want late meet. Want lone.”

All of it is….confusing to say the least. At this point she doesn’t even know if this is a joke or not.

Then again this wasn’t supposed to be her job, she doesn’t understand them either, and maybe they were genuinely trying here. But then again there are so many of them, they probably have enough resources to make at least a dozen Earths and this meeting took multiple years to take place.

The red that flashed before flashes again, than flashes a disturbingly real fingerprint on top of the answers.

She presses the second one, and wills herself to not regret it immediately. Love, sharing, help, all of that sounds good.

Except what if the help is from humanity? What if their definition of help, share, love is killing everyone ever living and she just doomed it all?? What if it means—

“[Greeting] [Greeting Happy] [Greeting Love] [Greeting Happy Angry Bored] [Greeting (Deragotory)]” a voice drones through a translation of the crowd. Samantha wonders when this will be over, and if she’s going to die of anxiety before that happens.

“[Greeting Small Childish] [Greeting Sad Fear] [Greeting (Endeared)] [Greeting Pain Hurt] [Greeting Love Fear Pain]” it doesn’t stop, running through every risen scale and moving limb to translate some vague approximation.

The aliens have translators. The translators are awful. This is taking so much time, which is good for the mission of stalling and bad for Samantha’s sanity.

“[Species Name (Derogatory)] [Mother (Derogatory)] [Criminal (Deragot—]“ the whole crowd is making noise, some like barks and some like tweets and some like a monster out of hell.

And all of them seem to be arguing? Or insulting each other? Either way it continues on for a long stretch of time with nothing but noisy aliens and a robotic voice reciting nonsense that always ends in “(Derogatory.)”

“[Wrong: Too long.] [Wrong: Too fast.] [Wrong: No word Human.]” The sounds are longer, most of the crowd making them rising and puffing out to be bigger. “[Plea Slow.] [No Word for Our Word.] [New Local Child Pet Ally speak.] [No word for Our Word.]”

Samantha realizes once again, that she should’ve left when she had the chance. And never entered that stupid lottery.

“[I hate every single one of you.] [Stop! The Ally-New-Child-Local may hear.] [You are all stupid [Species Name]]” the noises transition into understandable sentences. “[The small Diplomat-Traveler will be confused. Stop.] [They are doing fine. They will not understand our words.] [When is that useless translator going to update, Myy-Rrr-Pl?]”

Humanity as a whole can only take so much. One human as a whole can only take so much. She is halfway to a mental breakdown, fully confused and honestly she just wants to go home. This is the kind of wonder she would love if she didn’t have to personally deal with the consequences.

So she goes the way of most unqualified, underpaid workers, and gives up. She isn’t going to scream or sabotage anything, but her ability to feel was already warring with the tempting concept of not giving a fuck.

She speaks, for the second time. “I can hear you. And I don’t much appreciate being called a child.”

“[.....]” the crowd is finally silent. She basks in the peace.

“[I told you to stop confusing the Ambassador.] [Shut up Myy-Rrr-Pl. You didn’t even get these made right, we had to make a presentation, that’s how awful you and your tech were.] [It's working now, okay?]” The peace was lovely while it lasted.

“Humanity wants, uh, to not be dead,” she says. “And to not be enslaved either. Or like used as food.”

“[Can you understand it?] [Of course I can, I’m the one who learned the language.] [You barely learned it. You put half that presentation into a free-use translator.]” they keep talking, keep barking, chirping, hissing over her. “[This is a disaster.] [It’s not that bad. My presentation went over well enough.] [Myy-Rrr-Pl shut your beak about that [intercourse (derogatory)] thing.]”

“CAN YOU BE QUIET FOR ONE SECOND??” Samantha shouts above the arguing ambassadors. There is only so much she can tolerate, the noise alone is irritating but the senseless, contextless bickering is unbearable

“This is ridiculous,” she continues. “I don’t even know what’s going on, none of you dropped us an explanation. Why can I suddenly understand you? Who the hell is Meer-er-pull? And what the fuck is going on?”

There is no more translation, and nothing to translate into constant robotic rambling. There is no peace in the silence, just an underlying tension as every alien in the room turns to stare her in the eyes.

She wonders if she’s fucked up, if she’s doomed literally all of humanity because she couldn’t tolerate it all and lashed out. There’s an apology on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t manage to push it out through the indignation and fear.

No one breaks the silence. None of them speak. Samantha’s momentary confidence wavers and she considers making a run for it before realizing there are more of those giant aliens stationed at every exit.

“[....Aumko, I think we may have [intercourse (deragotory)] this beyond fixing.] [Feces (Derogatory) Feces (Derogatory) Feces (Derogatory)—]” Luckily, it doesn’t sound like she’s going to be executed for this. Unluckily, the aliens are just as unprepared as they were, and it wasn’t going to get any less confusing, was it?

“[I told you [Anatomical Feature (Exapserated)] that we should’ve started with a smaller group of diplomats. Instead of a “proper” meeting with everyone involved, we should’ve picked one from each of the 3 species, then gone from there. That would’ve been—]”

“I’m not getting any less confused here!!” Samantha cuts off the alien. “I’m not getting any younger either, I’m sick of your childish bickering, get over it and give me an explanation. Please, for the love of god.”

There’s a moment of pause as the translator spits out a bunch of meaningful white noise. It takes a couple moments before one of the birds speaks up.

“[We should cancel this until another time,] the bird chirps. Which isn’t satisfying, which isn’t an explanation, but hey it does technically fulfill the mission of stalling. And honestly she’s taking any win she can get from this. “[We’ll meet up with one of their diplomats, in a less noisy location. They’ll meet with one ambassador from each of our species.]

“[That doesn’t make sense though!!] [How will we even choose?] [A smaller meeting would be a sign of disrespect, we must show that we don’t view the New-Ally as lesser.]” the noise starts up again immediately.

“[SHUT UP!!]” roars one of the giant bears in a show of irritation that she can relate to on a spiritual level. “[Myy-Rrr-Pl will serve as the [Error: No suitable translation]’s ambassador. I’ll be the second ambassador. The third will be Kss’ta.]

There are ruffled feathers, low growls, no outward arguments but no agreements either.

“[I will quite literally fight anyone who decides to waste my time any further.] the bear is...puffing up? The mane of fur around its neck is puffed up like the pelt of an angry cat. “[Myy-Rrr-Pl is the only one who can even half speak the language, and who has the most context. Even if her presentation was awful.]”

“[I’m going to be there personally to ensure this doesn’t happen a second time. And Kss’Ta is the only one of you [Species Name] [Intercourse (Derogatory)] who doesn’t argue around in circles.”

The crowd is unhappier than ever. The bear speaking sounds done with it all. Samantha is too exhausted to give a shit at this point, and just decides to be glad it’s finally over, for now.

“[Is everyone here agreed with me?”] it flares about the room, ears pinned flat to its head and mane big enough to engulf the whole of its neck. All of the crowd flinches back, no one argues too vehemently, though complaints are muttered.

The bear turns to Samantha. “[You have my apologies for my own behavior, and the behavior of these [Species Name (Derogatory)]. We’ll escort your ship back to your station.]”

Relief hits her in a mix of “it’s finally over,” and “thank fuck no one died.”

Everyone leaves, with the mission sort of accomplished, with the peace talk sort of working, and a compromise no one is happy with. Except for Samantha.

But then she learns she’s the ambassador for humanity again, and a piece of her dies at the revelation.

Humanity’s welcome to the galaxy was chaotic, idiotic, ill prepared, and an overall clusterfuck of literally galactic proportions.

At least no one died.

[aefedges]

The king whose cause may rise or fall with White Harbor

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[purrpickle]

Random Pezberry Thought of the Day #367

Having learned her lesson about giving Rachel a heads up about climbing up to her window after getting violently attacked by a hairbrush and nearly getting the cops called on her when she stuck her head inside the first time, Santana chilled near the dark corner of Rachel’s house, waiting for the return text that would allow her to start her ascent. As she waited, she leaned back against the house, smiling absently to herself as she listened to Barbra Streisand filter down from Rachel’s room. As much as she would have complained to anyone else, it was classic Rachel - and, yeah, she liked Rachel, classic edition included.

Having just pulled her phone out to check it again, Santana froze when the back door slid open.

“As much as I’d love to ask you what you are doing loitering in our backyard,” LeRoy Berry’s voice made Santana jump, and she sloooowly turned around, staring at him, “I think I can guess. You just got back from cheerleading camp, yes?”

“Oh god.” Santana let out reflexively, swallowing back an expletive as she nodded stiffly. “Uh, yeah.” She cleared her throat, stashing her phone back into her pocket before her hand settled on her hip. “We, well, god, Rache already annoyingly had plans with you - you know how she is.” She huffed. “This is us working around that.” She paused for barely a second. “Obviously.” 

Honestly, Rachel had been incredibly annoyed at herself for distractedly agreeing to her fathers’ plans before pulling her day planner out and realizing Santana was coming home that same day. 

Hence Santana waiting to sneak in.

LeRoy laughed a little, shaking his head. Closing the door behind him, he walked closer to Santana, wrapping his arms around himself as if to ward against the chill. “At least you’re not smoking or doing something else foolish,” he offered, almost conversationally, glancing at Santana out of the corner of his eye as he stopped next to her, looking over the back yard, “Makes me just that much more willing to go inside and pretend I didn’t see you.”

As her phone vibrated in her coat, immediately drawing Santana’s attention away, Santana bit her lower lip. “Look... Mr. B...” she started, standing up straight, honestly feeling as annoyed with getting caught as she was feeling awkward, “I cans sidle on alongside the house and rap on the front door if you’d like. Make it obvious I’s here so’s you can send me along.”

LeRoy chuckled, shaking his head. “Right. And you’d go home? Not wait even longer until we went to bed and then scale up to Rachel’s room? Hiram and I had conversations when we planted that tree outside our hopeful child’s room, you know.”

Santana made a face. “Are you serious? ‘Cuz if you are, you really can’t blame me.”

Chuckling some more, LeRoy turned to smile at her. “No, no, I’m not blaming you for taking advantage of the foliage. Honestly, you’re already smarter than that flipper boy who tried to chuck actual fist size rocks at Rachel’s window.”

“Wait, he showed up here, too? At night?” Rachel hadn’t told her that. ‘Course, she hadn’t needed to tell Santana that. They’d just talked. And a lot of that talk had been about Rachel and Finn’s doomed relationship. Santana shook her head, raising her hand, “Not the point. Moving on.” She gave LeRoy one of her best, patented, ‘Rent Smiles’, it only flickering a bit as her phone vibrated again. 

LeRoy surveyed her. “Go ahead and check it. She’ll probably start to panic if you don’t.”

Santana’s ears warmed. And, though feeling a little disgruntled at how genial  Rachel’s father was being even with the general air of discomfort swirling around this encounter, she quickly tapped Rachel’s texts open.

My fathers are almost done with their nightly routine, so perhaps another fifteen minutes? Though part of me still finds this ridiculous, falling into the trap of a teenager secretly smuggling her lover into her room under the curtain of darkness, the part inside of me that misses you greatly and can’t wait to be in your arms is already jumping at the knowledge I will see you soon.

It really has been too long. I’m still kicking myself for so blindly postponing our reunion, especially since I know you’ve been missing me as much as I have been missing you. I hope the girls at your camp were nice enough to keep you occupied. Just, wait, no, not like that. I didn’t mean it that way. I know I should go ahead and delete this, but I can’t help... You didn’t, did you? I know, while we have been friends for a while, our romantic and sexual relationship is still pretty new, especially with the camp in the middle, and though I trust you... I’m sorry. Ignore this. It’s the nerves of seeing you. I’ll keep it in, however, so you’ll be able to understand my state of mind when you see me, as you’ve told me before trying to parse my complicated emotions if I don’t verbalize them is hard for you to do.

Santana? I didn’t... I didn’t insult you, did I? That’s the best possible reason for you not responding, at least. I’m doing my best not to jump to conclusions, but I did stumble upon asking you if you cheated on me, and your lack of reassurances... San? Please tell me I’m wrong.

“Fuck,” Santana hissed, ears prickling for another reason entirely than Rachel’s father standing in front of her, curiously watching her. 

She had to answer.

And even before she realized, Santana’s thumbs were whipping up a reply.

Babe. Ur dads here. Takin up my time. Dont worry. Ur cute when u panic but nothings gone on. Only u. No insults. And no conclusions. Missed u. A lot.

Purposefully ignoring the fact that she was baring more than she’d like to, Santana sent off the text and stuffed her phone back into her pocket. “Well, Mr. B?” she asked archly, crossing her arms, heart still racing in her chest, “I don’t mean to be rude -” Not. “- but can we hurry up you a), shooing me off, or b), letting me walk into your house, either with or without you?” 

Blinking at her, obviously left off-kilter, LeRoy drew it out, then guffawed - softly - and shook his head. “Alright, Santana,” he paused, looking up at the sky almost ruefully before looking back at her, lips quirking as he raised his hand, index finger pointed, “This once - just this once - I’m going to turn around and pretend I didn’t see you.”

Santana gaped at him. “What?”

“Yup.” LeRoy nodded at her, already stepping back towards the back entrance, smile gentling, “I love my daughter. And she’s been missing you. Putting up a brave front, but...” He paused, meeting her eyes. “Missing you. I remember those days.” He sobered even more, glancing back at the house. “So, just wait, mmm, about another half hour? Hiram and I should be safely in bed by then.”

Santana could only stare at her girlfriend’s father. “Really?” She swallowed, trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I... ...Yeah. Okay.” She cleared her throat, looking away as she forced out, “...Thanks, I guess.”

LeRoy turned back toward her, smile honest, almost amused, as if he could look through her. “Don’t mention it.”

And Santana, fingers curling around her phone as it vibrated with an answering message from Rachel, nodded. 

Silent as the man disappeared back into the house, “...Fuck,” Santana exhaled, dropping back against the wall, looking up and imagining Rachel looking back down at her from her window, “Jesus - fuck.”

[dusky-dancing]

The Prince and the Pirate - CH 2

For SoKai Week - Day 2

Story Summary: Sora finds himself far away from the walls of the Radiant Garden he's known his whole life, kidnapped by a rowdy group of pirates whose captain is as alluring as she is mysterious. What he thought was a simple hostage negotiation turns into an adventure that Sora couldn't have anticipated. He doesn't know which is worse, not knowing what's up ahead, or liking it that way.

Rating: T

Genre: Romance, Adventure, Pirate AU

Length: ~ 2k words

——————————————————–

Links for story navigation:

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

——————————————————–

"Kairi…"

He involuntarily breathed her name, and a playful smile grew across her face.

"That's my name," she nodded.

Despite the authority she obviously possessed, she remained kneeling at his eye-level. A show of acquaintance and equality. If she wasn't trying to intimidate him, then what could she possibly be after? Maybe she didn't want anything malicious from him, and this was nothing more than a hostage-for-money negotiation.

Or maybe it was all intentional. Nothing more than a trick, a warm and smiling cover to weaken his defenses.

"Who are you all?" he asked. "What do you want? Why me?"

"All questions I will answer in due time," she said. "What do you say we move this conversation somewhere more comfortable?"

"What, you have a cushier prison cell?"

She laughed, "Do you want to remain a prisoner?" Before he could respond, she turned to her two subordinates. "Take him to my quarters."

They both turned in surprise. "But captain-"

"It'll be fine," she nodded.

It wasn't until they hoisted him up, hands still tied behind his back, that she herself stood and led the march up the stairs. Her graceful steps didn't cause a stir from the worn wooden steps, but they creaked endlessly under every other boot.

"Don't try anything funny," Jessie mumbled in his ear.

Biggs laughed. "Where's he gonna go anyways? Swim all the way back?"

Clear blue skies soon greeted them, and the ocean air hit him in full force, not that the sensation was unwelcome.

Though Sora knew what a pirate ship was supposed to look like from stories, the true scale of a pirate ship surprised him. He craned his neck in order to see the sails, and even then he couldn't find the top of the mast from his position. The creaking and groaning of the ship were drowned out by the crew's work on the deck and the wind flapping the white sails.

All active work within Sora's eyesight, however, ceased once he emerged from his makeshift prison cell. He felt their eyes on him. Eyes of strangers, possibly more of his assailants. The bright sunlight kept him from taking in too many of their details, but he made out another woman and a few other men of varying sizes.

Sora must have been standing frozen for too long, because Biggs pushed him along. To the back of the ship they walked, where large wooden double doors stood decorated with plain glass. The Captain's quarters, where Kairi wanted to talk. Alone.

More questions clouded his mind as she pulled open both doors and disappeared into the room. It was comparatively dark inside, much easier on the eyes than the raw sunlight he'd just endured.

The room resembled less of a captain's living quarters than a decorative dining room. A single large table stood in the very center, enough to seat a dozen people. Various shelves, plants, and decorations filled the room comfortably, but Sora found himself too distracted to notice their details. The woman who'd ordered his kidnapping stood opposite of him, framed by a large glass window that put the entire ocean on display for him.

Again, she never held herself too high or with too much authority. Everything about her welcoming posture seemed intentional yet natural.

Biggs secured Sora in the chair across from her and left. Not a moment after her door closed did he begin unleashing his thoughts.

"What do you want? Why me? Is it money? Resources? Do you have any idea who you're messing with?"

Kairi held her hand up calmly. If his bombardment of questions annoyed her, she didn't show. Her dress pooled around her hips as she slowly took her seat opposite of him.

"Money is of no interest to me. I chose you, Sora, because you're the only one who can help me. Help us." She gestured around her whole ship.

"How?" he asked.

"I know who you are, Sora," she smiled. "You're the key to our success."

Her subtle emphasis on the word 'key' sent a shiver up his spine. It'd been years since he'd publicly called upon his abilities. His father had done well to keep them a secret from the outside world, but it was inevitable that someone, either the dark forces that plagued the seas or a hiring mercenary group, would find him eventually. The woman before him seemed to occupy the later group, though her methods were a bit more forceful than that of a simple business negotiation. On the off chance she belonged to the former motive, however, he instinctively scooted back. His hand twitched within his restraints.

"Don't be afraid." She said, and he was inclined to believe her despite his earlier instincts. "Our goal is for the good of everyone who lives on the ocean. You must understand that some missions don't allow the luxury of asking for help."

"What's this goal?" He thought back to rumors he'd heard within the kingdom. "Is this about the monsters in the ocean?"

She hummed, placing a finger over her lips. "I'll tell you more when we arrive at our destination, I promise."

Sora relaxed a bit in his chair, taking his eyes off of the woman before him to examine her quarters. Like the rest of the ship, the room had been carved entirely from wood, though its polish was much finer than his previous holding place. Naturally, the large window framed so intricately behind her drew his attention first. Scattered among the many shelves were various trinkets: a jewelry box, carved or sculpted animal figurines, atleast half-a-dozen plants he didn't recognize, nothing violent or overly extravagant. A small desk facing the window held an open ink well and dozens of papers secured under a large seashell weight. A discreet door off to the side likely led to her bed chamber.

The way natural light reflected off of the crystal chandelier above them made the chamber appear much brighter. It was...welcoming.

"So if I'm joining you on this secret mission, do I get a cool pirate code name? Or a pirate hat?"

He turned back to her, only to find her patience waning.

"This is serious, Sora," her eyes narrowed. "If you're to treat this like a fairytale, then it is clear you're not ready to know what we're after."

"I won't have to know," he said, "because the navy will find me first. They've got the fastest ships, you know."

Impatience gave way to a playful smirk as she leaned forward and rested her chin on her fingers. "Your naive overconfidence precedes you, Sora, but I wouldn't worry about them," she winked. "We've got a couple of tricks up our sleeves."

Sora sensed the pleasant tone leaving their conversation. "Don't hurt anyone," he pleaded. "We haven't done anything wrong to you."

"Relax, Sora. Our tricks are evasive, not confrontational. We won't hurt anyone who doesn't get in our way."

"And if I get in your way?" He smirked.

A soft playful smile pulled at her lips. "You are our way, Sora. None of this can be done without you."

Sora avoided her gaze. He was inclined to believe her again, though he didn't have much of a choice.

"What about after? When I've helped you with whatever this quest is."

"Well, we can return you safely to your castle be long gone before anyone notices. But I sense we won't be doing that, Sora."

"Why not?"

"Because I think you're not satisfied as being a trophy for your king, playing a hero prince but with nothing heroic to fight for." She leaned forward intently. "I understand, because I too have a gift."

Sora straightened, his heart stuttering. "You mean-" he looked to her hands, picturing her wielding a magical sword herself. It would explain why she hadn't carried one on her hip like the rest of her crew. "I thought I was the only one."

She shook her head and laughed, "You are one of a kind, Sora, that much is true. While your gift is more combative, mine is more…" she glanced to the side in thought, "elemental in nature."

Sora remained still, taking her and her words in. Even if their magic was the same, to meet another with an unnatural gift felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps that was why he'd been drawn to her from the start, how she'd found him in the first place. Had she been like him, kept within the confines of some kingdom or government, or used as a show of power?

He relaxed in his seat before meeting her gaze again. She watched him, waiting for an answer or a reaction.

"Well," he said, "you can't just drop that bomb on me without atleast showing me."

Her smile brightened. "I was beginning to fear you'd never ask." She then rose from her seat, made her way to the door, and gestured outside. "You'll see soon enough."

At her command, Biggs stepped through the doorway and lifted Sora to his feet.

"Is this really still necessary?" Sora asked. He looked towards Kairi, sure that she'd order his hands freed, but she'd already made her way to the deck.

"For now, it is," the man said as he led him along.

On the upper layer of the deck where the helmsman was positioned, The full size of the ship revealed itself. About half-a-dozen crew members, both men and women, worked away all around the deck. Sora's eyes followed the central mast to the crow's nest, where another man focussed through a looking glass out to sea.

"Are we all set, helmsman Wedge?" Kairi asked, though it was more of an affirmation than a question.

"Aye, Captain," the man nodded.

Just on cue, the man in the crow's nest shouted, "Captain! Kingdom ships in sight!"

She quickly shot Sora a knowing glance. "I guess you weren't bluffing about your navy." Her playful smile and wonder-filled eyes held no hint of fear or worry. "What say you to a little demonstration?"

Every crew member around them jumped, and they soon filled the air with excited cheers. Biggs patted Sora's back and said, "This never gets old."

Kairi made her way to the railing that separated the two levels of the deck. Meanwhile, several crew members began loosening the lines to close the sails.

"Wait," Sora said. "I don't know anything about sailing, but aren't you supposed to, you know," he gestured wide with his hands, "expand the sails to move quickly."

Jessie joined his other side. "Aye," she said and held up a finger, "if you're using the wind to move."

Sora raised an eyebrow. "But what else would you-"

His voice caught in his throat when a sudden swell in the gentle waves rocked the ship with more force than usual. After catching his balance, his attention turned back to Kairi.

She stood tall with her hands outstretched to either side, palms facing up. Her eyes remained closed, but the rest of her face expressed pure bliss. The waves seemed to follow the direction of her hands, and Sora thought he'd begun to understand her gift.

Mine is more...elemental in nature,

When the ocean felt calm and steady, she slowly brought her palms forward. Sora was too mesmerized to notice the rest of the crew bracing against whatever they could hold onto.

In one fluid motion, not unlike the very waves she commanded, she thrust her arms behind her, and Sora went flying onto his back.

The sudden speed of the ship would've sent Sora back into the captain's quarters if it weren't for Biggs and Jessie stopping him. The embarrassment tempted him to stay hidden and red-faced, but his newfound fascination with the captain won out. He stood to look over the side, and sure enough the navy ship pursuing them was now a shrinking form on the horizon.

Kairi was focussed, though he swore she shot him a side-eye smirk. Jessie stepped in his way and broke the trance.

"Okay, newbie, enough staring. Let's put you to work?"

——————————————————–

A/N: Thank you for reading! We've reached day 2 of SoKai Week, and I hope you're enjoying it so far.

Kairi's design, abilities, and motivation were inspired from a number characters, including Avantika from Critical Role, Captain Amelia from Treasure Planet, and the historical Irish figure Gráinne Ní Mháille (Grace O'Malley), 'The Pirate Queen'.

[barnesandco]

Nikah: February

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Like, two curse words. Mentions of stress and nightmares.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart​ ‘s writing challenge. Thank you for reading and commenting!

Their one month anniversary is spent in an indoor storage unit in Brooklyn, where they work on moving her things from her old apartment to the one they share together. Between her studies and work, and his hectic job, this is the first weekend that neither of them have prior engagements on. This task has been much delayed and is long overdue. It wouldn't have been necessary at all if she hadn't turned down his offer to pay the rent she doesn't want to spare for a place she isn't living in. Hence the van they rented to dump everything in the storage unit, and are now extracting required items from.

At least there's some form of temperature control, Bucky thinks, picking up a plastic cover for the couch. Their movement isn't inhibited by the thick coats demanded by a New York winter. Instead, he's wearing a grey cable-knit sweater that's fraying at the hem. She's standing by the shelves at the back wall, her cashmere-clad form hunched over a box of ornaments, weighing one in each hand like a balancing scale, lip between her teeth. By now, Bucky knows that means she's distracted - a tell of emotional absence. Her mind is somewhere else.

He tucks the plastic wrap around the bottom of the couch and clears his throat as he approaches her. The phantom pain if the accidental fist he received to his stomach the first and last time he unwittingly snuck up in her echoes through his abdomen. There had been apologies for days, right up until he had to leave for that ten-day mission in Columbia. She blinks once and snaps out of her trance, faces him, still holding the two pieces of decoration.

"You can bring them all if you like. Don't have to choose," He tells her, nodding to her full hands, and tucking his own in the pockets of his black jeans.

"No, there were already too many for my place alone. I'm not dumping it all on you," she shakes her head. Bucky thinks she's confused. Probably about why she's feeling so much lighter, why the stormcloud named "green card" seems to be stalling. The manual labor, the menial task should help get her mind off things, relieve the mental burden a little. She puts a miniature clay pot back in the box, leaving an intricately carved building.

"What is it?" Bucky asks, looking at the structure cradled in her palm. 

"The Badshahi Mosque in Lahore," She replies, running her hands in mesmerizing patterns across the polished surfaces of the carving. 

"It's beautiful." His eyes roam over the domes and towers, the arched entrance. She chuckles.

"You should see the real thing. Life sized. This is just the main building," She tells him, face coming alive. "When you enter the gates, there's a gigantic courtyard you cross before going inside. Marble arches, Mughal frescoes, floral motifs, it's all breathtaking."

"Are all mosques like that?" 

"In size? No. Not in detail and decoration either, I guess. This one is a lot fancier than most, but there are some features all mosques have in common. Like the domes that represent the vault of Heaven, and minarets where the call to prayer is given from," She explains, brushing past him to put the model in the box of things meant to be to his home. It's still half empty.

"Call to prayer. Azaan, right? The one you've set for your alarm for prayer?" He picks up a sealed box by the entryway and puts it on a shelf. 

"It's an app. Uses the azaan to let me know when it's time. The times change according to the length of the day. Apps are easier than changing the phone alarm all the time." Navigating the minefield of stuff, she opens the duct tape to close the decorations box. Just as she's about to cut off an end, her phone rings from somewhere in the room.

"Shit," She mutters, and he takes over the tape, fingers grazing hers as they switch places. She scrambles, almost tripping over a cricket bat leaning against a dining chair before locating the offending device in a flowerpot. 

“اسلام وعلیکم، ماما” 

She greets breathlessly, fake enthusiasm oozing. Bucky doesn't blame her. Work's been tough, and neither of them have been getting much sleep with the restless nights they've been having. The first few days after a long mission are painful, and his subconscious likes to torture him with nightmares. She's patient, though. Began keeping a glass of water on the nightstand, wouldn't let him move to the sofa in the middle of the night when he didn't want to disturb her. She's kind, kinder than she has any reason to he after how cruel the world has been to her. Because in addition to the tension of concluding her doctorate, and then dealing with his nightly episodes, she's coping with the stress of the green card.

"ماما، میں نے کہا بھی تھا کہ یہ خبریں نہیں پڑھنی چاہئیں۔ سب جھوٹ ہے۔"

I told you not to read those articles. It's all fake. She shoots a worried glance his way. After her family found out about the marriage, they had to design some sort of scheme to prevent them from interfering or being upset. Lie of choice - Bucky Barnes is Muslim. The press hasn't been fed this fallacy, but they've been hounding them for weeks - Is Bucky Barnes a secret Muslim? (Fox News), Bucky Barnes proves himself a traitor (Infowars), Bucky Barnes defies Islamophobia (CNN). Bucky doesn't like any of them, and it's bound to get worse after they find out about the application they submitted for permanent residence based on marriage. 

They applied for it yesterday, when they had decided that a month is enough time to convince people that their marriage is not fraudulent. Bucky considers the headlines they'll come up with when they'll inevitably find out, thinks about how worried she was about ruining his public image the first time they met. 

"You know what the media will say, right?" She asks over her elaichi tea in a booth tucked in the back of his favorite café. 

"I can imagine," He answers, drawing circles in his cappuccino with the stirring stick. The cream design on top is long gone. 

"Then why are you doing this?" She wants to know.

"Because you have the right to stay. And Parker would be devastated," He adds honestly. No use beating around the bush.

"Why you, though? Did the Avengers have some kind of meeting about Peter's long face and you drew the short straw?"

"Sam's too high profile, and everyone else is either too young or too taken."

"Of course, yeah, that makes sense," She concedes, taking a sip. He drains his cup. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean- I just don't want you to feel obligated to do this. Nobody's forcing you. If you don't want to, I'll figure something else out," She rambles in quick succession, all nervous hand gestures and non-existent eye contact, looking anxious and embarrassed.

"It's okay. I want to. Besides, it'll get me away from the Compound. Sam's always goin' on about being more involved, and don't get me wrong, I'm happy to do the work, I really am. The job is important, but I don't want to live in it, you know? Need a change of pace, to get away," he tells her, trying to make it sound like she's helping him as much as he is her. And she is. He may not look it, but he's tired. Happy to do the work, loves the job, but doesn't want to live for it. 

Her cup comes down on the saucer with a clink, and he realizes she's finished her drink, and they've discussed everything there is to be discussed: living arrangements, finances, her studies, his job, Peter. 

As they leave the café, she's a step ahead of him, and he rushes to open the door. She thanks him and he nods; together they step out into the slushy, snowy streets. Christmas is a week away, decorations out in full force. The twinkling fairy lights from the shopfront windows reflect in her irises, brightly contrasting with the midnight brush strokes that are her eyelashes. Her breath is released in clouds from her lipbalm-coated mouth, and the word winter wonderland has never felt more appropriate. 

The memory of their first meeting floats in his eyes as he begins separating the items whose fate is her to be determined by their owner, still on the phone. She calls her family every other day, and they're close. The guilt tears at her, he sees it every day, sees it now, in the way she's scratching her nails against her legs when he walks past to get to another container. All the while, the Urdu he's learning touches of plays in the background.

"جی، ماما، وہ بہت اچھا ہے۔ آپ بالکل فکر نہ کریں۔" 

Yes… he's very nice. Don't worry. 

"ہاں، میرا خیال بھی رکھتا ہے۔"

Yes, he takes care of me, she's telling her mother, and Bucky hides his grin behind a pile of books. 

"اللہ حافظ۔"

She bids farewell and ends the call with a sigh, just as he exits the van.

"Everything alright?" He asks, hands on hips. She nods, tucks her phone in her pocket and goes to the area he's calling no-man's land. Kneeling down, she moves the cricket bat into a box of things destined for his apartment.

"Yeah, the usual." Sorts through a few more things.

"What do you want to do with the flowerpots?" He asks, pointing to the empty pits her phone had disappeared into earlier. She turns towards him on her knee and huffs, tries to blow a lock of hair out of her face.

"I don't know why I have those. My thumb is as green as Trump's environmental policies," she mumbles, getting up to place them in a corner. They take one each, and another ten minutes of work awards them with the end of their assignment.

Bucky opens the passenger door while she locks the storage cell, and they leave the facility. The day's work - a tangible accomplishment - has cheered her up, and he wants to resurrect the ghost of a smile on her face

"I want pizza," He tells here, straight face.

"O… kay? We can have pizza, she says hesitantly. He never demands anything of her, so she's wondering where he's going with the framing of the wish.

"Do you have a favorite pizzeria?" 

"There's a place in Astoria that-"

"Astoria? Queens? No. No, no, no. Brooklyn has the best pizza, come one," He deadpans, turning on the blinker, eyes flicking over to see her cross her arms playfully.

"I refute that."

"Alright, Astoria it is," He sighs pretend-reluctantly, rolling his eyes. She pokes her tongue out at him, and then laughs. The sound warms his blood, and he forgets the February chill and all thoughts of food as the melody rings out. When he returns to his senses, all he can think is, he's in so much fucking trouble.

Taglist: @suz-123​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78​ @corneliabarnes​ @readerandcinephileingeneral​ @stevieboyharrington​ @notsomellowmushroom​ @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes​ @lbuck121​ @starnight-charmer​

[skvaderarts]

Soliloquy Prologue:

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"Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair." -William Blake

Prologue:

And as soon as the battle had started, it stopped. All the demons that had been foolish enough to think that they stood a chance against the sons of Sparda now laid dead at their feet. Well, for now, at least. The base of the Qliphoth seemed to be an epicenter for demon activity, and it was never very long before they decided to return in mass quantities. And as entertaining as defeating the first hundred or so waves of hell beasts had been, it was long past time to leave this place.

Dante pulled his blade out of what remained of a Chaos carcass and flicked it clean before returning it to its proper place on his back. The devil hunter did a full 360 turn, taking in the perimeter of destruction they had wrought. The average demon didn’t stand a chance against him, but both of them together? The word “futile” came to mind. Dante shook his head and scoffed to himself. “They just don’t stop, do they?”

Behind him, Vergil twirled Yamato and dragged it along its scabbard to remove the residual blood before returning it to its proper place. He then spared a glance over his shoulder at Dante. “What made you think that they would in the first place, brother? This is the underworld. They’re not going to let up anytime soon, I can assure you of that.”

Dante sighed tiredly. Yea, there was no way he could have guessed that one with his brother’s assistance. But regardless of how obvious the statement was, the point he made was still valid. During their extended stay down here, Dante hadn’t really taken the time to consider the situation in full until now. The fighting was never going to end, and they had no safe area to call home. And then there was the conversation that they both knew they needed to have, but neither of them seemed to want to initiate.

The matter of how long they were going to stay down here.

“So, Vergil, I’ve gotta ask,” Dante said as he walked towards his twin brother. Vergil was standing with his back to him, looking at something far off in the distance that his younger brother couldn’t quite pinpoint. He seemed lost in thought; focused. He tilted his head ever so slightly in Dante’s general direction but was still clearly more focused on his prior observations. “How the hell did you get out of this place without Yamato?”

Vergil looked almost amused by the question. Of all the things his younger twin brother could’ve asked, that was his question? It was almost ironic. “...That is…” Vergil paused for a moment as if searching for the correct word”... It’s convoluted, to say the least. I would demonstrate but…”. Vergil didn’t need to say that it was an awful idea. Dante had deduced that one for himself from his brother’s tone alone.

“Got it. Let’s just hope we don’t need to do it again.” Dante shrugged. He didn’t think Vergil was going to try to explain that one, and part of him honestly didn’t want to know. It was probably something awful, considering Vergil’s track record. Their father Sparda had made it nearly impossible for more powerful demons to leave the underworld. Too bad he hadn’t left an instruction manual to go with his magic wards. It could have solved more than a few problems…

Vergil stepped forward and used Yamato to gesture towards whatever he had been looking at in the distance before. “We may have more luck over there.”

Dante looked towards what his brother was indicating. If he strained his eyes, he could just make out something red and jagged in the distance. A row of red thorn-like structures extended out across the horizon in what looked like a wall of some sort. Or that was what he thought it was from where they currently were. If distance worked the same way in the Underworld that it did in the human world, that had to be a few miles away. But, it wasn't like they had anywhere better to go, and they couldn't be any more exposed to attack than they were now.

The younger Son of Sparda opted to accept the offer and waved Vergil on, indicating that he was willing to follow him. After all, Vergil had spent a long time down here. A very long time. If anyone knew their way around this place, then it was going to be him. Vergil started down the well-worn path that led away from what was left of the Qliphoth. It would be good to leave this place behind them. It might now lay dead at their feet, cut to the ground by their blades, but it still served as a powerful reminder of Vergil's destructive and frankly tragically misguided desire for power at all costs. There would be a time and a place for that conversation, but that time hadn't come yet and it wasn't something either of them relished. For now, they would go to whatever the mysterious structure was in the distance and regroup. Perhaps they could take a break and collect their thoughts for a moment when they arrived.

-~-

The first leg of their long walk was surprisingly uneventful. Only a small handful of lesser Empusa bothered to stand in their path, most likely displaced from their home and purpose after the destruction of the Qliphoth and the sealing of the Hellgate the monstrous houseplant had housed. It was official: Vergil was never, under any circumstances, allowed to garden again. Anyone who could conger up the demonic equivalent of the magic beanstalk from Jack and the Beanstalk couldn't be trusted with plants to any capacity. If only Vergil could find a hobby that didn't end in people dying...

As they had continued onward, however, things had become a bit more hazardous. And as they neared their destination, things took a radical turn towards danger. The first dozen or two Empusa Queens hadn't been too hard to deal with. They were nothing new. But then the Behemoths decided to team up with the Chaos and Riot demons, and the Lusachia started showing up in droves. It was all a bit much to deal with at once, but when the Pyrobats showed up, they decided that they were done casually dealing with this. Dante's twin pistols Ebony and Ivory made quick work of the flying menaces, while Vergil took out the Behemoth's with concerning speed and efficiency. As soon as the last Pyrobat had died, Dante turned his attention to the Chaos. It had seemingly been sizing him up from across the battleground for a while now, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

Dante bent over and placed his hands on his knees, gesturing between himself and the demon playfully. "What's wrong little guy, all bark and no bite?"

The demon, seemingly understanding Dante's little jab at him, snarled in rage before coiling up into a tight blade-lined disk and rocketing towards him at blistering speed. Dante smirked to himself and drew Cavaliere, readying it for a charge attack. Just a the demon was about to collide with him, Dante effortlessly swung the hulking bike blade into the hapless creature, shattering its razor-sharp bladed scales in an explosion of fuel fueled flames and exploding sparks. With just one well-placed strike, he had immobilized and disoriented the creature, effectively killing it. With one last powerful over the shoulder downward strike, he finished off the creature. The confused beast cried out in a mixture of pain and shock before flopping down onto the ground and dying.

Dante put Cavaliere away and stood back up just in time to come face to face with a Riot. He leaped backward several feet the very instant that the creature's long needle-like claws would have connected with his throat, reaching back to retrieve his blade from its resting place on his back as he landed. Just as he stepped forward to imbed his blade into the screeching demon's brain, a blindingly fast downward strike from Yamato's blade took the creature by surprise in much the same way that it had attempted to do with Dante. The demon howled in pain one last time as Vergil slowly sheathed his blade with a ringing click that sent the creature careening to the floor in two halves. Yamato's blade had split it down the middle effortlessly.

The area was once again silent with only the ambient sounds of the underworld to provide any indications of life. The twins were left facing each other surrounded yet again by the corpses of their enemies. Dante shook his head and let out a sound somewhere between a snort and a loud exhale as Vergil looked down at the dead monstrosity at his feet. If the younger twin hadn't known his older brother better, he would have sworn that he had just come to his rescue. Not that he particularly needed it, but it did seem that way.

Vergil stepped over the fallen demon and walked past Dante, heading in the direction they had been going in before. It was much easier to discern now that they were so close. It was a wall of demonic thorn-covered trees with dead-looking semi translucent black leaves sparsely covering them. The ground looked much like a hardened pyroclastic flow, white glowing vines snaking across the ground as they pulsated with a faint luminescence. Through the treeline, what seemed to be a river snaked through the underbrush against the bottom of a cliff face before flowing over the edge of the plateau the surrounding area was perched on. The deep azure liquid had an almost silver sheen to it that meant that it was almost certainly not water but was mystifying nonetheless.

"I get the idea that you've killed a lot of those." Dante kidded as he caught up with him, noting the way that his brother had effortlessly finished off the Chaos.

Vergil glanced back at him as he approached, slowing slightly as if to allow his brother a chance to catch up. "I lost count or care long before today of how many of those useless pests I've exterminated. They are innumerable and seemingly unending." Vergil spoke in a way that indicated to Dante that he was more than over dealing with these creatures. It was almost funny how sick of them he seemed to be. But considering how long he'd spent dealing with them, it made sense.

After a few minutes of nearly silent walking, they reached the treeline. As Dante stepped forward, Vergil held out his arm, stopping just shy of touching his twin brother. Dante raised an eyebrow at him, but took the hint and halted his movement. Had Vergil changed his mind? Was this the wrong place? Did he hear something? "Change your mind, Vergil?" Dante inquired passively. Whatever the issue was, he hadn't clued into it.

Vergil lowered his arm and tilted his head in the direction of the treeline. They were standing close to one of the red and black thorn-covered trees. "... I'd advise against touching one of these barbed trees."

Dante looked back and forth between Vergil and the trees. Yes, they looked like oversized thorn bushes, but they weren't exactly walking through this place naked. Vergil closed his eyes and exhaled, clueing into his brother's lack of concern. "These are Daturademonica, a relative of the Qliphoth. Only instead of feeding on human blood, they have an unquenchable thirst for the souls of the living. And unlike the Qliphoth, they are sentient."

Sentient demon trees that sucked the souls out of their victims. Just what they needed. "So if these things suck your soul out if you touch them or whatever, what are we doing here?" Dante inquired, totally at a loss for what could possibly be worth going into this deathtrap over.

Vergil took a step towards said deathtrap, assessing the best place to enter. Most of the sharp branches pointed upward, but the trees were still covered in long needle-like thorns. "Because most beings, living or dead, are not unintelligent enough to set foot in this place. We will encounter no meaningful resistance here, aside from the trees themselves." Vergil stepped under a branch, standing slightly to the side to allow Dante to pass him. "Mind the gap," Vergil said almost sarcastically," I believe I've failed to mention that these thorns are razor-sharp and coated with a sedative."

Dante shook his head in amused disbelief and stepped under the branches, following Vergil into the forest of death. Vergil always did have an askew sense of humor. Well, they both did, but that was neither here nor there.

They navigated the underbrush and vines with care. The same vines that snaked across the ground also hung from the tree branches, bringing the deadly spiked appendages closer than comfortable to them in a few instances. Despite their careful navigation, Vergil seemed intent to pass through this area as quickly as possible. Dante ducked around another branch, doing an unintentional double-take when the branch moved back around and placed itself in his path again. That was odd, he hadn't moved that to start with...

"Is there a problem?" Vergil asked, stopping for a moment to turn and make sure that Dante was still following him as closely as he had been before. When he noticed the almost puzzled look on his brother's face, a note of -was that concern?- passed over his face. "Tell me you didn't touch it..." The words were spoken in an almost breathless whisper.

Dante didn't show it outwardly, but he was actually more surprised by Vergil's concern for him than he was thrown off by the tree's unexplained movement. "No, I didn't... do these damn trees move?" Dante looked back and forth between his brother and the tree as he closed the distance between them.

Vergil stealthily exhaled the breath he hadn't noticed that he was holding and waited for him. That could have ended decidedly worse. "Did I not say moments ago that they were sentient?"

Dante shrugged as they resumed walking. "I didn't think you meant that they could move Vergil! I thought they could tell we were here or something."

After a few hurried moments of walking, Vergil stopped and ducked under one of the branches. "This entire forest functions as a sort of venus flytrap. The Daturademonica can discern our location, based off of where we walk. If given an opportunity, they will attempt to strike. But no matter. We've reached the clearing."

Dante followed his brother under the branch and into the clearing, making sure to stand clear of the trees. Keeping his soul inside of his body wasn't exactly low on his list of priorities. He looked out across the clearing and took in their surroundings. The once distant cliff was now only a few yards away, a small indent in it forming an enclosure just shy of a cave. There was a substance covering the ground that was reminiscent of grass, except it was grey and possessed a texture somewhat similar to moss. The water seemed to have an audible hum to it now that they were close enough to hear it, which was more than a little strange considering that it was a liquid, but it still maintained the same intense shine that it had when Dante had seen it from the entrance before.

It was all very beautiful in a haunting sort of way.

While the youngest Son of Sparda had been taking in his surroundings, the eldest of the two had repositioned himself at the edge of the river with his back to his twin. After an uncomfortably long moment of intense silence, things were starting to become uncomfortable. Vergil was staring quietly at the "water", seemingly lost in thought and it was clear that he had something to say that he wasn't saying. Dante sighed and approached him. What was the worst thing that could happen?

Well... best not find out the answer to that one...

"Should I even ask if this water is drinkable," Dante inquired as he kneeled over his twin. Vergil's eyes glanced up briefly to acknowledge his presence, but he didn't budge from his position.

"... I don't want you to be trapped down here with me."

Dante scoffed at the suddenness of his brother's statement. It was inevitable that they would have this "conversation" at some point, but right now? "You probably don't, but you need me to be." Dante knew that his statement was painfully true. There's was a complicated relationship indeed, and neither of them really comprehended the unending toxic nature of it. And at this point, they had stopped trying to. They were about ready to just accept it as a fact.

Vergil sighed in what seemed to be mild annoyance. "You have other more important things that should be occupying your time. I can find my way around down here just fine."

Dante almost laughed at the statement. Oh, really? "That doesn't change the fact that the last time I left you down here you ended up a slave to your mortal enemy and then I had to kill you," Dante felt a wave of revulsion wash over him at the very thought," Oh, and you took up the most deadly gardening hobby I've ever seen! How could I forget?"

Vergil let out a low growl of annoyance at the statement and stood up to face his younger twin, his rapid response giving off a level of hostility that he didn't intend. "You don't need to remind me, Dante. I haven't forgotten."

Dante held up his hands as if to stop his brother. "I know that. But I'm not going anywhere your not going, Vergil. I've done that for decades and it's a worse hell than this cursed forest we're standing in!"

Vergil shifted in discomfort and let a long bothered sigh. "I don't belong in the human world, and you know it. Let's not lie."

Dante fanned his arms at his sides, flexing in irritation. "You don't belong down here, either. Nothing good has happened to you since you fell down here when we were kids. And besides, you have plenty waiting for you up there, too." Dante gestured up towards the sky for emphasis. On that note, was the underworld even technically below the human world if they were in two different planes of existence? Nevermind, that was beside the point.

"I'd ask you to give me one good reason I should return to the human realm, Dante, but I don't think you have one" Vergil was clearly incensed by. It was a rare moment of pure emotion, though Dante could tell it was borne of something other than just anger. To say that Vergil was emotionally complicated was an understatement, but Dante wasn't going to just drop this and leave him down here alone again. It would be the ruin of them both.

"Give you a reason," Dante grumbled through almost clenched teeth," I could give you two reasons, Vergil, but I don't know if it would do any good."

Vergil stared at him in silence for a long moment before looking away. His posture slowly migrated into an almost defeated slump before he spoke again. "What then, brother? What then?" There was no anger in the words as he spoke them under his breath. Vergil would never admit it, but he was tired. He had been fighting everything and anything nearly his entire life. But as of late, he was losing the tolerance to argue with his brother. In their time apart, Dante had grown and become difficult to argue down; more sure in his resolve than he had seemingly once been. It was impressive but troublesome how difficult it now was to push his once eager to fight twin past the breaking point.

Dante exhaled slowly and, in an action that took Vergil slightly off guard, he extended his arm and placed his hand on his older twin's shoulder, shaking him gently. Vergil looked up at him and they locked gazes. After a moment of shared silence, Dante's unspoken point seemed to sink in. There were no words adequate to express what the youngest of Sparda's sons wanted to convey. "... Look, Vergil... If you won't do it for me or yourself, I get that." Dante sighed almost dejectedly," But if you won't do it for our sake... then do it for Nero's. He doesn't know you can do better, and he's not going to if you stay down here and run from your mistakes for the rest of your life."

Vergil stared at his brother blandly and visibly swallowed, chewing on the inside of his jaw as he closed his eyes and pulling away from him. He stood with his back to his brother in silence with his arms folded, looking out across the haunting expanses of the underworld. For the first time in a long time, Vergil was visibly shaken and upset. Dante had managed to strike a never he didn't even realize he possessed until now. Dante stared at his back, waiting for him to respond. He had to eventually.

A minute passed like this. The two. Then three. The discomfort only grew more volatile the longer the silence lingered. Finally, after what had to be a solid ten minutes, Vergil unfolded his arms and lowered them to his sides. He gripped Yamato's scabbard tightly in his hand but didn't move to draw it. This wasn't something he could fight with a blade, and that was perhaps the thing that unnerved him the most. The eldest Son of Sparda inhaled and then, after a long moment, exhaled in one long slow breath.

"... Do you think Nero would even talk to me? After everything I've done?"

Dante could practically feel the pain and despair in his twin brother's question. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Vergil had let his carefully cultivated shell crack, and the repressed feelings that he had been holding onto for so long were starting to slip through. Dante was taken aback, but he stepped forward and placed his hand on his brother's shoulder again. "You have to ask him that. I've got some things to answer for as far as he's concerned, too."

Vergil waited a moment before he spoke." He has no idea of the depths of my depravity, does he, Dante?"

Dante shook his head. "I conveniently left that part out when I told him about you being his old man after what happened with V." Dante paused when Vergil visually recoiled at the mention of that name. That entire situation was a bit unclear to him, but it seemed to deeply upset his twin. "Speaking of that, should I even ask who V really is and what the hell really happened to him. I mean, he was literally falling apart. Did you have something to do with that?"

Vergil looked like he wanted to avoid this topic even more than he wanted to face Nero again. "... Everything unfortunate that has ever happened to that child is probably my fault," Vergil snickered morbidly. "It is unfortunate that we ever crossed paths. Much like Nero, he was better off without me involved in his life..."

Dante shook his head. "You've got some prior with him, hu? How'd that happen?"

Vergil stared at him with a facial expression somewhere between discomfort and trepidation. Dante stared at him in confusion before transitioning to shocked disbelief. "...Vergil... you didn't... is he..."

Vergil stepped back and turned away from him, shifting Yamato into his dominant hand. His lack of an answer said everything it needed to. Dante sighed in disbelief. His brother wasn't normally so reckless. Or so he thought. Vergil unsheathed the demonic katana and cut a cross in the air in front of him, sheathing the blade as a portal opened before them. "... That is... a matter for another time. For now, we should leave before I change my mind."

Dante shook out of his disbelief and allowed elation to overwhelm him. Did he just hear his brother wrong, or was he insinuating that he was willing to return? "You're coming back with me after all then?

Vergil nodded once. "Hurry up before I come to my senses."

Dante wasted no time. His questions could wait until they were home and then he could get the answers to his pressing questions. He crossed the distance between them in an instance, waiting for Vergil to step through the portal before him. The Youngest Son of Sparda was many things, but he wasn't stupid enough to let Vergil come through the portal last. After all, the last time he went through a portal, Vergil had chosen to stay behind. But this time would be different. After all, there wasn't too much room to go lower from here, was there?

Vergil took a tentative breath, before stepping towards the portal. But before he could have second thoughts, the wind was promptly knocked out of him as he was firmly kicked in the back through the portal. He flew through the portal to whatever place was on the other side, disappearing behind the reflective black surface of the mirror-like portal.

"That's for breaking my damn sword, Vergil," Dante said with a slight laugh. And with that, he walked through the portal and into the unknown to join his brother. For the first time in a long time, they were in this together.

-~-

Thanks for reading the Prologue! The next chapter will be available very soon, and you can read it here and in the links in my bio. Have a wonderful day and stay safe! Also, thanks to this angel for helping me figure out why this post was coming out as one giant paragraph!

[dzamie-oc]

5: Sad

When I was eight years old, my grandfather warned me about starry-winged dragons. "They eat people, you know, that's how they get their name," he said, leaning forward in his chair, "their wings are black as void when they hatch from the egg. But when they grow big, and they eat a human..." He drew his fingers together, then opened his hand, like a twinkling star. "Plink! A new, white star, sparkling somewhere beneath their wings!" I took him dead serious, of course - age begets wisdom, and my grandfather had an awful lot of age.

At fourteen, I hiked into the woods on a warm spring afternoon. I was meant to stay with the others, but I sensed adventure off the beaten path. I took care to leave a subtle trail - arrows made from twigs, bound in blades of grass. A good adventuring story holds little worth if it cannot be told, after all. My path took me past a serene lake, under a stone arch some dark green lizards were fighting over, and finally into a dim cave. Once my eyes adjusted, I noticed another pair of eyes looking back at me. 

Laying on the stone floor was a dragon, scales black as night. It raised its head, then sat up. Through its folded wings, I caught a glimpse of tiny specks of light hidden beneath. “Hello there, little one. Why are you here? Humans do not often seek my counsel.” The dragon had a low, resonating voice that felt like it was speaking directly into my mind. The scaly head, easily twice the size of my torso, drifted nearer on a sleek, serpentine neck, letting the creature look over me before continuing, “besides, you are small for a human, a juvenile. I know of no human trail that leads to my den, so what led you to seek me out?”

A dragon, scales darker than the void, and wings filled with bright stars. A memory called out, insisting I back away, or even run, from an obvious man-eater. But I was fourteen. I had some years under my belt, and was confident that the adults were lying, or wrong. I had done a fantastic job of not dying for almost a decade and a half, and certainly this streak would not be interrupted. So I stepped forward, and told the truth: “I’m looking to find and make stories. Do you have any?”

The head drew back a bit and blinked. For the briefest of moments, I considered the possibility that I had irreversibly messed up. It passed, thankfully, and a few seconds later, the dragon smiled and giggled, mirth in its eyes. “What a fascinating question! You’ve found the right dragoness; I’ve known many humans, and heard many tales. Here, young human, I have at least a story for every star in my glittering wings. Come, point one out, and I will share its contents.” She sat up and spread her wings out, revealing two great expanses of shimmering, starlit night sky, held captive on a scaly canvas. That was the precise moment I truly understood the word “awestruck.” I hardly noticed my feet move as I stepped closer to her, watching as the stars twinkled, or at least seemed to, and reached out to touch one.

When I did, she jolted, half-furling the wing back up with another giggle. “Oh, I am rather ticklish; I did say to point for a reason. But, ah, you chose this one?” A black claw pointed to a star - in truth, I’d forgotten exactly which it was, but nodded just the same, eliciting a smile from the scaly creature. “Ah, the tale of Varren Kristaller, a spirited mailman. Let me see, where to begin...

“Varren was, as you might guess, a mailman. He was very good at his job, and took great pride in the work. You know the ‘neither rain, nor snow, nor dark of night’ motto? Varren was that times a billion. In his line of work, he had dragged a mail recipient from an inferno, tightrope walked across a roaring river when the bridge was out, and even decked a territorial displacer beast when it stood between him and his goal. A thin, wiry sort of lad, but a sense of duty like you’d never seen. Until finally, he faced his toughest challenge yet: a mountain pass had suffered a rockslide, and the only other way from point A to point B was through an uncharted forest, filled with dangerous creatures...”

Her tale was riveting, and before I had realized, an hour had passed and I was sitting against her side, feeling her breath push her scales out and in while she spoke. “... He had seen the village, though, a mere ten minutes’ walk away! Sure, his legs felt like jelly and the snake’s venom was starting to rattle his brain, but you can bet: ten, fifteen minutes later, the mail was delivered. He had done it!” Her breath hitched and her gaze faltered after that sentence, so overwhelmed with emotions was she. Seeing the growing shadows on the ground outside, however, I was forced to bid her goodbye, thanking her dearly for the wonderful story.

My trip back was uneventful, my blazes clear to someone who would be looking for them. I got quite a dressing-down for ditching the others, though; they had thought I had died in the woods. It was a silly matter; I was fourteen, so I knew how not to get killed by the forest.

Years passed. I grew up, I took a trade, I worked steadily most weeks of the year. Love eluded me, though it’s not like I sought it out, either. One of my weeks off, however, I was seized by wanderlust once more - old, comfortable, yet somewhat unfamiliar after such a long time. This time, however, I let my friends and family know I was going for a walk in the woods. What I didn’t tell them, of course, was that I had a destination in mind.

The route had changed over the years. The pond was smaller - although, perhaps it was me who had gotten bigger - and the stone archway had collapsed, though there still stood a triumphant lizard, basking in the sun on its rock. The cave was much the same, but the dragon within was not resting as she had been the first time.

“Hello? Miss dragon?” I called out as I slowly stepped into the shadows. While waiting for my eyes to adjust to the low light, a scaly paw as wide as my chest pushed me firmly against the rock wall; it hadn’t hurt me, but I wouldn’t be moving without the dragon’s say-so.

“Pray tell, human, why have you come here? Fame? A trophy? I hope you do not seek a dragon’s hoard, for my cave is bare of such things.” The tense tone clashed strongly with my memory of her voice. Still, she did not sound angry, and her questioning pulled at my memories.

A quip came to mind - I did desire to take from her glittery hoard, not gold or gems, but something far more value. But, with the unerring confidence of adolescence firmly in the past, I knew that, if she desired, I would not return to the village. “Many of my friends enjoy the story of Varren Kristaller, and I would be much obliged if you would share another or two.” Using “story” and the mailman’s name so early, I hoped to remind her of our meeting decades ago.

To my relief, her eyes softened, as did her grip, and a smile curled her scaly lips. “Oh! Yes, the juvenile story-hunter. It has been some time, no? Do tell me you won’t make that mistake again!” The dragon laughed, stepped back, and spread her wings. They were as beautiful as I had remembered, if not moreso. Utterly enthralling... I wondered, silently, if she or another starry-winged dragon would hunt like this, simply baring their wings and eating their captivated prey. Her voice shook me out of my deep admiration, however. “Shall we play the same game, then? Oh, do take care not to touch - I am still ticklish, after all.” I smiled back, easily ignoring that her smile was full of sharp fangs and bigger than my entire head.

Stepping closer, I looked through the stellar skyscape of her wings before pointing at a large, bright star. “How about this one? Or maybe the dim one over here...”

‘Ooh, tough choice. I’ll start with the bright one, Sophie Ferrum the birdkeeper. The duller one is Savar Kiernari, a humble clerk; his title sounds less interesting, but both their stories deserve to be shared. If you’ve the time, I’ll gladly share both.” The dark dragoness smoothly laid down and reached out with a paw, beckoning me closer. Never one to refuse an invitation for a good story, I took a seat by her scaly chest, leaning back against her as she wove her tale. “Now then, Sophie was the proud owner of no less than four pigeons, a red-bellied woodpecker, and two cardinals. But this story is about a vacation she took once...”

“...and I would reckon that little book is still in that chest, buried beneath the library.” The dragoness scraped at the floor with her claws, as though digging a spot for the sole copy of the book. With her second story of the day complete, I stood up and stretched, immediately both regretting sitting by her for so long and resolving to never regret listening to her. Joints popped, stiff from remaining so still for so long, even with such a wonderful place to sit. When I turned to face her, however, my eyes lingered on her mouth, and a question struck me.

“If you don’t mind, miss dragon... what happened to them?” 

“Ah, pardon? What do you mean?” The smile on her sleek muzzle was gone, but she didn’t seem hostile or angry.

Well, in for a penny... “What happened to them? To Varren, to Sophie, to Savar? Envenomated and crippled, stranded in a tree, and driven to the woods in desolation?” I counted them off on my fingers as I spoke. “Their stories ended well, sure, but did they?”

The dragon visibly shrank back, and she glanced off to the sides. “Are you sure you want to know? They say ignorance is bliss...” she said, though even she didn’t believe it.

“And if I wanted ignorance, I wouldn’t collect stories. Now please, I won’t- I’ll do my level best not to judge.” I offer a smile to the stunning, scaly creature. “You seem to have a number of sad stories, but you pretend they’re not.”

She sighed, and even in the low light, I could see her chest and belly grow and shrink with the heavy breath. “Well... alright. Varren: too weak to move, found temporary refuge in a cave. Told his tale, pleaded his task be carried out in his stead, and was eaten by a dragon. Sophie: fell from the tree, shattering many bones. Begged a passing dragon to end her pain, and her story was found in the journal still on her. Savar: sought out the dragon and regaled her with his woeful tale. Pried her jaws open and threw himself on her fangs.” She cast her eyes downward, letting her star-speckled wings droop and brush the floor. “I have lived many hundreds of years. My wings carry on them two thousand, six hundred and forty-nine stars; thirty-one of them did not exist when you first found me.”

I stepped back, feeling my way against the wall. “Thirty-one? But that’s... do you hunt us?” I had suspected her a man-eater, but the sheer scale...

A large, scaly paw started to reach for me, pleading my stay, but hesitated and fell. “I do not consider it hunting. I find them in peril, I take careful heed of their story, and my wings gain a star.” She smiled then, but the twitch of her lips did not meet her eyes; she saw the fear in mine, and happiness eluded her. “Perhaps I could have saved some. Maybe all of them, although I doubt that. But when they are unwilling or unable to leave my company, I stop their breath, and keep what was their life alive with me. A story is no good if nobody is left who can tell it.”

I promised her I would think about her words, and then I left. Away from the dangerous forest and its black, starry-winged reaper.

It was probably a full year I dwelled on her words. Of course, I still worked, and in spare time spun the stories of Savar and of Sophie. When I was feeling particularly bitter towards the dragon, and in adult company, Sophie would fall from the tree, and Savar would cast himself upon the beasts of the forest. When I held her plea in good favor, Sophie merely lived with her birds as long as she could, and Savar walked off to lands unknown.

It was then with some hesitation that I found myself in front of that cave once more. “Miss dragon? I’m back. The storyteller.”

This time, she sat in the middle of the cave, staring at me. “If you have brought men to kill me, I must confess I may not take the time to learn their stories.” It was a similar fluid, yet guarded voice that had spoken to me while she held me to a wall. “But... I smell no others on you, nor do I hear the clanking of armor. You have rendered a decision?”

I steeled my nerves and stepped forward, approaching her slowly but steadily. “I believe so. After a year, I have only two questions. First being, have you any new stars?”

If there had been any emotion in her eyes, she had forced it out upon hearing me. Instead, she opened a wing and pointed a claw, a shadow over the night sky. “Next to my second claw, the dim one of that cluster of three. She was the only one.” 

I walked towards the indicated stars, but stopped well before being able to touch her. “Thank you for not lying and saying zero,” I said, “now, question two. What was her story?”

This time, her smile was genuine. I learned only one new story from that visit, but gained something far more valuable and precious to me.

Years and decades plodded along, as such things are wont to do. Friends and family grew, faded, and grew anew, but I would always make sure to visit the dragon with her star-speckled wings. Sometimes I would have to wait an hour or two for her to return to her home, but she always had a story for my eager ears, and a spot by her side, even when I had to start bringing my own chair. And then, after a hiatus of a few years, on a warm spring afternoon, I did not come alone. Two of my great-nephews helped me along the familiar path, with me pointing the way. The beautiful lake had, after some heavy rainy seasons, become a lively marsh; that crumbling arch fell further and grew cacti, of all things. And a young tree by the dragon’s cave had grown and thickened.

The boys tried one more time to change my mind, but I was adamant. I would walk in alone. They didn’t have to stay outside, and I would not return to tell them when to leave. It was a terrible thing, making them the bearer of such commands, but I hoped they would forgive me in time. Balancing against a sturdy walking-stick, I stumbled into the darkness.

“Dragon, I am here.”

I couldn’t see her against the cave walls, save for her eyes and her stars. It was nice of her to keep her wings open like that. “It has been some time,” she said, failing to hide her worry, “how are you?”

I shook my head, giving her a question of my own. “How many stars do you have?”

She winced at the question - she always did - and replied, “two thousand, seven hundred, and fifty-three.”

“Would you like another?”

The dragon stumbled and sputtered. She gaped in surprise, staring at me as though searching for any sign of a joke. But no sign came. After a deep sigh, she closed her eyes and shook her head.

“In truth? I would not. But...” As she neared, I felt a warm, humid breeze, blowing from her location. “But... I will have one, anyway.”

[ciphers-fr]

(Mis)Fortune

so i had started this a year ago and pretty thoroughly lost my groove for it by the end. take that as you will yeehaw 

-----------------------------------------

It seemed to have been one of those exceedingly rare days in her life, where what she thought was impossible wandered up before her and the best thing to do would be to stand back and enjoy it. And that was exactly what Ciphers was planning to do. 

What were the chances that all seven of her familiars would be gathered in the same place at the same time? It was only Bonehead that lived in-Clan permanently; the others were flung far across Sornieth, free to drift and migrate and return home whenever they pleased. But here they all were, gathered together out in front of the Lair as the dragoness lounged in the warm sunlight. 

Sure, the Winter Wolf and Trick of the Light were at the Lair more often than not, but it never stopped Bonehead from acting as though it hadn’t seen them in months when the two arrived back after a trek. The trio had been together so long they were nigh inseparable. So when the wolf and fox did go, their return meant a lot of play needed to be caught up.

Speaking of, she grinned down at her three longest held familiars as they wrestled. While the Winter Wolf had size on her side, it seemed that the exuberant Nochnyr and Trick of the Light had teamed up to pin the canine down, her back legs thrashing in the air. The three yipped and barked and kicked volleys of sand into the air.

The other four were not nearly as active. The Wetland Unicorn and Maned Cerdae snuffed through the foliage of the oasis garden, seeking out the choicest leaves to graze on. And the Tigerblood Foo and Pronghorn Hunter stood sentinel, eerily watching over the horizon for any danger that might encroach upon their companions. 

Though, it seemed, the beasts’ wariness did have a warrant. 

The Foo sprang to his paws, a growl rumbling deep in his throat, as a large Ridgeback unceremoniously sauntered out of the lush growth. Long, lazy strides across the sand quickly drew the dragon closer to the group and the Foo’s growl rose to a snarl. The new arrival cast one raised brow at the cat as she approached but otherwise seemed unbothered by the beast’s warning. 

Ciphers frowned as she rose to her feet. The orders stated she had to greet the dragoness as well as find out what business she might have with the Clan. She squinted, trying to get a better look at the visitor. Hmm. The Ridgeback was unfamiliar. Green, brown, and blue…? No, can’t remember seeing anyone with those colors or genes. Wait-- wh-what is that? She leaned forward and gagged. Oh Stormcatcher, why does she have so many eyes?

Lips pursed to try to keep herself from retching, Ciphers watched as the Ridgeback strode forward and stopped just a few meters away. Only then did she notice the burlap sack perched between the other dragoness’ wings. 

“Well,” the Ridgeback spoke first. “You’re, ah, Ciphers?”

The Imperial blinked. “Y-yes?”

“Gotta say, miss, that was definitely one of my hardest jobs. That lil dog put up a real fight, but I got ‘em.”

“Him?” Ciphers yelped, one paw grappling for the Pronghorn Hunter, who was creeping towards the other dragoness. The beast dropped to all fours and stepped back, snorting.

“Don’t cha remember your order?”

“No?!”

“Yeah… Couple ’a months ago you asked me to fetch some fella who wronged you, I guess,” the Ridgeback began to explain as Ciphers’ head dropped into her claws, silently bemoaning ‘Rime Fever.’ “Anyways, big clan, lotta dragons. Pretty tough to get in there without gettin’ seen. Not to mention how slippery he was to try an’ catch. I’d say he’s had alotta experience with runnin’ away.”

The bounty hunter barked a laugh as she tipped to one side, wing outstretched, to roll the sack to the ground. And just as it hit the soft sand, the contents inside began to thrash wildly. The Ridgeback dipped her head at the writhing mass, “Ah, don’t worry much. He’s pretty well bound.

“But if that’s all, I best be off. And if your wonderin’,” she turned to the side and winked one bulbous green eye on her flank. “Ya don’t often have someone to watch your back in this business, so ya gotta do it yourself.”

Chortling again, the Ridgeback leaped into the air and beat a hasty retreat.

Ciphers was left dumbstruck, staring silently at the still twitching burlap sack. Her train of thought, however, was in a completely different world. 

That… That was months ago! It had been just after the Gala when she made that impulsive decision, still under the hazy, heady effect of the Fever. And now it was nearing the Jubilee. Four months, Ciphers thought to herself. It took only four months for me to forget that I paid for someone to be kidnapped.

She sunk down slowly and dropped to her side, the heat of the sand and dust barely registering in the back of mind. Guilt clawed its way into her belly. How could she have been so consumed by what? Petty anger? 

And someone just ripped away from who knows? A new home? Fledgling friendships? 

To be fair, she was pretty sure that the clan he was in prior had also kidnapped him. And that didn’t exactly bode well for chances of good relations. And, wow, that must be some pretty bad luck on his part to get kidnapped twice in a row--

No. Ciphers was getting off track from the fact of this ordeal. There was a dragon. That she had had kidnapped. Writhing around in a bag in front of her. 

She frowned, her cheek rubbing uncomfortably against the sand below her. Getting him out of the bag would probably be the best thing to do right now, right? So, trepidatiously, she picked herself back onto her paws and approached the sack.

For the moment, the burlap was still beyond the quick up and down of the dragon within’s breathing. Silent, too. Ciphers couldn’t tell whether he was just tired out, or biding his time until he could fight or flee.

 She paused as she wondered over how she should proceed. Slowly and carefully? Or quickly, like ripping off an old bandage. Perhaps the latter would be better. At least in that way she could leap back before he was even aware and avoid the chance of a slash to the face. Decided, she crept closer to the sack and hooked one sharpened claw into the rough fabric. 

It tore much easier than she thought it would, the dry burlap giving out at the slight touch. The dragon inside twitched at the motion and before Ciphers could think, she flinched, jumping back and ripping the bag open with a harsh sound. 

Heart beating in her throat, she watched as the ruined sack fall open to reveal the dragon inside. Indeed it was the skeevy purple and grey Mirror from the Gala (Fortune, a voice whispered in the back of her mind). He was bound and gagged with vines that browned and broke away at the first touch of the hot sunlight. And at the new found freedom he twisted and shook his head.

The Mirror stumbled onto shaky legs and blinked once, twice. He scowled as he took in his new environment, the sun shining bright in his eyes. Then he whipped his head towards the Imperial with a dour look smeared across his face.

“What the hell?” he croaked. 

“Well, uh…” Ciphers grappled for words, claws digging into the ground beneath her. “I-- I--”

“Wait! No,” Fortune cut her off. “I saw you slinking in the crowds at my Gala event. Were you trying to profile me?!”

She balked at the accusation. “What? No!”

“Then why did you get me kidnapped?!”

“Brx vdqfwlrqhg fdw mxjjolqj,” Ciphers muttered under her breath. If she remembered anything clearly from that week, it was that spectacle. But questionable feline treatments alone wouldn’t make a worthwhile reasoning for that and trying to explain Rime Fever and its effects would be a monumental task in itself. “That’s kinda hard to answer right now, but if you’d let me…”

“So ya think I’m just stand here and listen to someone who went and kidnapped me? That’s funny,” Fortune turned as though to make his leave, but it seemed the Tigerblood Foo had anticipated it. The familiar stood in the dragon’s way, a silent snarl on his snout. 

Ciphers was frozen where she stood. A lot had happened in just the past few minutes and she didn’t have a single clue of what she should be doing. Could she just let Fortune leave? Should she let him leave? The Expanse could be dangerous for someone ill prepared and it would only weigh more on her conscience if he ended up getting hurt-- or worse (Well, that, and she still did kind of want him to atone for his crimes). She wracked her brains for anything that could get him to stop, even for just a few minutes.

“Oh, wait!” She yelped and scrambled to stand between her Foo familiar and Fortune, breaking their staredown. “Do you still have those circus dragons after you?”

He looked away. Hitting the number one target on what was likely a long list of enemies must have been a sore spot. “That cheating, thieving Fae son of a…” He shifted his wings. “Probably. Why do you care?”

“We could help, maybe?”

Fortune looked speculative, but didn’t say anything. 

“I mean… The Clan would probably keep you safe if you let us. You can say you just wanted some help and a refuge, and I don’t get in trouble for, uh, kidnapping. Okay?”

“Not having to worry about getting thrown in a dungeon would be great, but a fifteen thousand gem debt isn’t something that gonna be easily forgotten. And love and support won’t pass for payment either.”

“We can pay that. More if they demanded so.”

Fortune raised a scaled brow, intrigued at the blatant mention of a heavy hoard. “That’s real nice and all, but I’m still not really keen on hanging around the lair of a dragon who nabbed me.”

“Listen,” Ciphers bowed her head. “I feel… pretty bad about all that. And while it doesn’t make it any better, it doesn’t seem like it’s a great idea for either of us if you go out there right now. So if you just work with me here, I’ll try to explain and figure everything out. And you’ll be treated just like anyone else here. I-- I swear. To the Stormcatcher or whatever else you’d want” (And as though the deity heard, despite the clear skies, low thunder rumbled overheard).

A silent moment passed between the two dragons before Fortune coughed. “Fine.” He shrugged, “Guess the chance to not have to worry about things for once is just too good to pass up on.”

Ciphers blinked in surprise. “Oh, uh, well.” She paused again, ruffling her wings. “I guess we’ll just go in now and I’ll tell everyone.”

She dismissed her familiars that still prowled with a flick of her tail as she shuffled her way to the Lair entrance. It all itched at her; it seemed almost too easy to convince the dragon to go along with her half baked plan. But if he had nothing to lose… Nope. Nothing to dwell over, it was done. And assuming there would be no backstabbing or doublecrossing, there wouldn't be anything to worry about in the future either.

Kin in conspiracy. 

Yes, that would be her and Fortune. Bound forevermore by lies only the two of them would know (And with the deities' graces, Khione, Jaynum and Persephus would fall for the tale and never suspect anything too).

Ciphers keened silently. This would be a test of will and patience if there ever was one. Not to mention having to keep a straight story for whoever knows how long. But such were the prices of Rime Fever, and now it was time to pay her debts.

It was only when she reached the mouth of the Lair did she look back over her shoulder. Fortune was padding after her. Perhaps with a bit of a limp, but otherwise without a seeming care in the world. So I really do have to do this.

With a final deep breath, she steeled herself for what was about to come. It would be a strange time, but it was the mess she drew herself into and she needed to see it out. Who knows, it might end up better for everyone in the end. So with what would most likely be the newest member of the Clan at her heel, Ciphers stepped in.

--------------------------------------

“So let me get this straight. This was all caused by some weird… something-fever that just so happens during Ice Season that makes everyone act crazy for a few weeks.”

“That pretty well sums it up, I guess.”

“And if I stay here long enough, it’s gonna happen to me too?”

“Probably not like that. That was up there but not the, uh, worst thing to happen so far.”

“Well,” Fortune settled back on his haunches. He’d been tended, and dressed, and fed and watered to his heart’s content. “All in all, it’s not the worst thing I’ve had to deal with so far.”

[serpentariusart]

Changing Season- Chap 1

Let me know if you want to be pinged with each update! Characters in this chapter: Quin, Kage, Ara AO3 link -next

Quin stared at the knapsack that was sitting on her bed, filled with the essentials for travel. Some food, a flask and what money she had. She sighed, slumping over and running her fingers through her mane, damp with sweat. Who knew running from home would be so nerve-wracking? But she knew she had to make use of the limited alone time she’d have. She brought her attention back to the empty parchment in front of her. She drew in a deep breath, and picked the quill back up. “Dear mother and father. By the time you read this, I’ll be far, far away…”

~3 weeks later~

It was hard to miss by the time she arrived. She’d been told to follow the Northern Coastal route, until she happened across a giant tree. Quin didn’t know how giant that was supposed to be, and was not prepared for what she came across.

The tree was leagues wide and leagues high. The trunk itself was wider than several imperials combined. The crown of the tree was so high, it seemed tipped with frost, yet as far as Quin could tell the whole tree was healthy. She shuffled her wings, nervous. All of a sudden it seemed so real. Not just the lair, but the clan. Even from where she was she could see dragons in the air, and even a few moving shapes on the ground. She grabbed her knapsack, pulling out the letter that was safely stowed away.

Dear Quin,

Thank you for sending your letter. We hear of your plight and we feel for you. Lightning territory has been beyond our reach recently, but let it be known that if you ever need a hand, we will do what we can to help. Leaving a familiar environment for an unfamiliar one is a huge step, but if you ever feel you can’t handle it anymore, remember that we are here, and we will take you in happily. If you wish to join us, come into light along the northern coastal route. Follow it for a few weeks, and you should come across our clan. It’s hard to miss us, we live in a giant tree.

Yours truly, Ara Shadowborn and the collective Secrets.

Quin stifled a snort. A giant tree indeed. She clutched the letter tight, hoping it’d be enough to allow her entrance, and walked forwards to her future.

As she came closer, the empty fields turned into lush pastures, grazing animals mulling about. Just beyond, Quin could see rows upon rows of crops, swaying in the gentle sea breeze. She smiled to herself. This was her future. This was how she would be spending her life. She watched a dragon tending the field, and felt as though her whole world had grown bigger.

“Hey! Are you Quin?” A sudden voice called, snapping her out of her daydreams. She looked up to see a nocturne flying above her, looking down with a cocked head. Quin jumped in surprise, stepping back for a moment.

“I… yes? How did you know?” She asked. The nocturne coasted down to land in front of her, extending a slimy-looking hand. Quin took it cautiously, shaking paws with the nocturne.

“I’m Kage. Shadow Representative, and part of the council. Well hey, you’re shadow too! Surprise surprise. Considering where your letter came from, I thought you’d be from, well… lightning.” She said with a sheepish laugh. “All of us in the council saw your letter. You don’t exactly look like anyone from the clan, and you certainly seem buff enough to be a labor worker in a factory. Just took a guess.” She babbled. Quin blinked, amazed at how much this dragon could talk.

“Oh, uh... Thanks, I think? Is there… anything I’m supposed to do? Where do I go? Am I doing this right? I’m not am I… I’m sorry.” She apologised. Kage smiled, rubbing her shoulder.

“Hey, slow down champ. It’s all good. You literally just arrived. Unless you came in magic blazing, shooting at us all it’s kinda hard to do anything wrong. Come on, I’ll take you to Ara. She’ll get you settled in!” Kage crowed.

The closer Quin was lead to the tree, the more she realised the sheer scale of it. Stepping into it’s shadows she felt instantly colder, and couldn’t help but shiver for a moment from the sudden temperature change. They were up on a cliff, which overlooked a wide beach, then a beautiful blue bay. Kage lead her down a long winding path down the side of the cliff, hidden from the view of the beach by one of the giant tree roots. Down on the beach, Quin looked back at the tree and gasped.

“You live in…. That?” She asked with amazement, staring at the giant hole in the side of the cliff, reinforced by the thick binding roots of the tree. Kage laughed, giving Quin a look.

“Well, yeah? Where did you think we lived? In the tree branches, like some slagging nature clan?” She snorted. Quin glanced away, rubbing her arm.

“Uh… yea, kinda. Sorry.” She muttered. Kage sighed, rubbing her head, before shrugging it off and pulling Quin along into the chasm.

“Don’t worry about it. C’mon, let’s find Ara. It’s early in the day, I suspect she’s up in the council room.” She chattered, leading Quin along. Quin was expecting the walls and floor of this cave to be rough, as any cave would be, and was stunned to see how smooth they were. The stone beneath her feet was cold and smooth, leaving a surprisingly nice sensation. The cave was not dark either, but very well lit with glowing orbs. Quin knew she should have expected as such from a light clan, but every new thing she saw surprised her regardless. The sides of the cavern were lined with doors of various sizes, small enough for a fae and big enough for an imperial. Kage saw Quin looking at the many doors and grinned.

“Those are the dens! Each door leads to a series of rooms for our residents and guests to sleep in. There’s a main chamber, with sleeping and leisure accommodation, a washing room and storage room for a dragon’s private hoard. We share most we own, but everyone has their own bits and bobs they keep for themselves.” She explained, waving at the doors as they walked past. “Once I take you to Ara she’ll talk a few things through to you, then get you settled into your own den. We have a lot of vacancies at the moment, so there will be plenty to choose from.” She babbled. Quin was stunned.

“My own den?” She asked. Kage looked back at her and nodded in a well-yeah gesture, leaving Quin only more amazed. “We didn’t even have our own private sleeping quarters at the factory. Each division was just thrown together. Our schedules were different so at least there wasn’t 20 dragons crammed in one room, but alone time was rare.” She mused. Kage gave Quin a supportive smile, trying to remain upbeat.

“Yeah well, you’re here now. We know privacy is important. You can sleep alone, with a mate… or mates. Family, friends. Your familiar… say, you don’t have a familiar do you…” She trailed off, muttering to herself. Quin chewed her lip. She didn’t even know what Kage was talking about now. Yet more new things to grow accustomed to.

It took several minutes to walk the entire length of the cave, until eventually they reached the end where a large set of double doors sat waiting. Kage pushed them open without hesitation, beckoning Quin to follow. Inside were several important-looking dragons were milling about inside, talking with one another. All heads turned as Kage and Quin walked through, the nocturne already shouting.

“Helllooo! Nice to see you all this morning. Ara, I stumbled across none other than our little ex-factory worker while out stretching my wings! Isn’t she a peach?” She cheered. A blue mirror, the one Kage addressed as Ara, rolled her eyes and waved her aside.

“Hush down Kage, you’re far too loud. Thank you for bringing her in though.” She said, bowing her head at Kage who bowed in response. Ara turned her attention to Quin, a smile lighting up her face.

“So you must be Quin! Come, come, sit down. Let’s talk this all out for a moment before we get you settled in. Welcome to The Secrets.”

[ograndebatata]

Elena of Avalor Ship appreciation week - Day 1 - Enemies to lovers - Marzel x Naomi

Well, the title pretty much speaks for itself, so I guess there’s not much more to add here. I’ll only add that this oneshot takes place in the future of my personal AU, so a few things may be a bit confusing... but I tried, again, to make it strong enough to stand on its own.

I hope you all enjoy it!

Underwater Wonders

They had arrived.

Where exactly, Naomi had no idea, given Marzel still had his hands over her eyes. But she had sensed him stopping as he swam above her, and had also felt, from the smooth ripples she sensed from the above and the warm swishing on her skin, both the pale human-like one on her upper body and the scales of her purplish-pink blue-striped sirena’s tail, that they had finished crossing the tunnels and were back in sunlit water. She could also feel from the tickling on her tail that wherever they were was rather crowded, judging from the multiple vibrations of swimming creatures.

Wherever they were, it seemed she was about to see whatever surprise Marzel had for her.

And sure enough, she felt his hands shifting a fraction over her eyes, though he didn’t remove them yet.

“Are you ready to get awed?” he asked.

Naomi affected a shrug, even though Marzel could hardly see it from behind her. “Beats me.”

“Are you ready to get amazed?”

She swept the betta-fish-like fins of her tail against his, gently so the sharper edges wouldn’t hurt him. “How should I know?”

“Are you ready…”

“...to ask if you’re going to keep yapping all day long or if you’ll just show me whatever you’re not letting me see right now?” she deadpanned, even as her lips curled upwards.

She again felt Marzel’s hands shifting, and just knew he was pouting.

“And here I had at least ten more questions for you.”

She jabbed a threatening finger upwards, though careful to deliberately aim away from him in case she poked his eye.

“Watch it, buster! I know where you live!”

She could just see him smirking even with him covering her eyes and being above her.

“If that’s an attempt at a threat, it’s about the worst one you could make.” Another pause from him. “But I’ll be a gentleman and show mercy. Behold...” he rolled his tongue in the most dramatic fashion he could as if trying to imitate a drum-roll. “...the Rainbow Reef!”

At last, he removed his hands from her eyes. Curious about what exactly was there, Naomi righted herself, opened them… and gaped more than any fish.

It only took a glance to understand why it was called Rainbow Reef.

The water before her was so clear that it looked like the actual sky, more pristine than in the sunniest day in Avalor. Streaks of light overheard dove through the water and danced across everything underneath as if caressing them. Corals and anemones of every hue painted the rocky outcrops at the bottom in explosions of, seemingly only made brighter by the sun, and yet pleasant to the eye rather than painful. Isolated milagras dotted the white sandy bottom, swaying in the currents. And amidst the spectacle, fish of every size, shape and color swam about, somehow managing to go about their business with all the grace of the formal parties she had attended to as a council woman.

As she watched more closely, Naomi saw even more incredible things. The fan-shaped yellow and blue corals closest to her actually moved of their own accord with the currents instead of standing rigidly, while the club-shaped orange ones with white stripes actually whacked any fish that got too close to them. The schools of the fish that looked like a dog-sized sardine if not for the red and white and blue coloration regularly changed color patterns and others responded to such changes. A kind of cuttlefish swimming along the bottom not only blended into their background so well it was almost invisible through that alone but actually flattened itself against the surface it was on, to the point Naomi barely managed to see it. A pack of seals seemed to be playing tag as they cut along the sandy bottom and circled the isolated milagras. Blue crabs that seemed to have jewels of all sorts of colors studded into their bodies scuttled along the bottom. Barely visible between all the other colors, a horse-sized oyster resting between the rocks parted its valves a fringe to hint at what looked like a pearl which literally glowed like a rainbow inside it.

After what felt like an eternity, Naomi managed to mouth an exclamation, though no sound came out.

It was breathtaking.

A faint ripple washed over her from the right. Naomi turned toward it, and saw Marzel floating beside her, an expectant and at the same time apprehensive look on his face.

“Well?” he asked, the anxious look on his face far too endearing for either of their own goods.

For just an instant, Naomi felt like making some ‘dry appreciation’ just to tease him. But he was so honestly nervous that she could only allow her features to melt into a smile.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

Marzel didn’t even make an attempt at looking mock-smug or some comment about how he had known it. He just gave her a relieved smile of his own. And without any words, Naomi realized how nervous he had been at this date of theirs, the first one they went on in months, the first one they went on now that they both had tails, and the first one they went on since yet another great adventure to add to the list of those they’d already had had ended.

Wordlessly, Naomi swished her tail downward to approach him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. He rested his chin on her head and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

And they just floated there, their tails swishing through the water to keep them in place, not exchanging a single word.

But there was no need to. For all the troubles they had endured lately, and how ludicrous their feelings might have seemed in the beginning, somehow, them being here together, contemplating the wonders before them, just felt right. Right and wonderful. There were no other words for it.

How far had they come from the day Marzel had approached her after his father signed the peace treaty and apologized for what his people had done to her grandfather. From the day Naomi had truly allowed herself to face how petty she was being by holding a grudge against people who were only trying to make amends for their ancestors’ wrongs. The day that had been the first step - or tail-stroke - in everything that lead them here.

If Naomi didn’t know any better, she would have guessed he had given her a love potion.

But she did know better. Not only about Marzel, but about his kind. And as much as her old self might be shocked beyond belief at the thought, her current one knew it was true and was glad that the sirenas had indeed changed their ways.

Even if a few who clung to old habits were part of the reason Naomi herself was stuck as a sirena.

She couldn’t help but stiffen at the thought, the memory of her narrowly-avoided death still sending a shiver through her. Marzel immediately drew her closer to his chest, running his free hand through her purple and blue fishtail braid.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not now,” She reached up and ran her fingers along the back of his neck. “This place is too beautiful to ruin it with that.”

That, and she had already let those bastards ruin enough of her life. Having become a sirena was a hurdle, and she still struggled with a few things here and there, but there was a lot of joy to be derived from her new life, and the most important joys from her old one were still present.

She would not let a few rotten bastards deprive her of all happiness of her future just because they had dictated part of it for her.

She drew away from her thoughts as Marzel pulled back an edge. Turning her gaze up, she saw him looking down at her, lost in her eyes.

“Not as beautiful as you.”

“Flirt,” Naomi replied with a smirk.

He shrugged. “What can I say? It’s as much a part of me as both my scales and my legs.”

Naomi reached up and flicked his braid between her fingers. “I’d be careful, if I were you. I just may think you’re too annoying for my show of gratitude.”

He gasped as fakely as one of those actors at a cheap melodrama. “The horror!”

She scrunched up her face as she pretended to have an internal struggle.

“But I guess I can be nice. At least this once.”

He sighed just as dramatically as he had gasped. “Well that’s a relief.”

Naomi pushed herself up with another stroke of her tail and put her right hand to his nape and her left arm around his shoulders.

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

Rather than wait for him to comply, Naomi surged forward and smashed her lips against Marzel’s.

And he wasted no time returning the favor.

[royal-writer]

Memories 12 - The Drows Part 3

O damn this one is shorter than I wanted but I ammm lackluster... meh..

A cruel smile curled up bitterly upon the silhouette before her. For a moment, the figure’s angular pointed ears moved up slightly in surprise before falling back into a slope as she propped herself against the wall.

“You recognize me?”

More surprised you recognized me, Essätha seethed to herself, ignoring the almost sultry purr in the woman’s voice.

The dark elf stepped closer. The length of her hair was much the same as the nobleman Drow. It cascaded down near her rear; tightened with a leather wrap that stood out against the snowy white of her voluminous locks. But it was the only similarity. Her skin appeared more like ashy coals than neutral slate and was freckled with dark spots; and her eyes were pale lilac that nearly blended into the whites of her eyes.

“Why did you kill that man?”

The Drow lady cackled; a raspy and almost witch-like quality. As she did she stepped, where the moonlight could better show her menacing features. By the gods, she looked less diminutive up close despite the fact Essie was certain she was taller. The stranger’s body was lean, but her sleeve-less arms revealed the structure of someone more akin to body slamming someone into the dirt than the softness most caster’s body had.

“I didn’t kill that olath har nesst,” she sneered. “I was the messenger. Now, where is the family symbol? You brushed past me in the marketplace; I know you have it. Hand it over, and I’ll make your discipline a little less excruciating.”

“I don’t have it,” Essie retorted.

The stranger’s mouth opened and closed. With a sudden grimace, she reached out to grab a fistful of Essätha’s dark hair. A pained yelp followed as her head was throttled side to side, tearing apart the bun upon her head as tears burned in her eyes. Strands of black coils and twists yanked free of her scalp as fingernails embedded themselves into her skin.

“What do you mean you don’t have it?!”

“The man took it back!”

The fingers wrapped up in the knots of her hair were gone almost instantaneously. The Yuan-ti shuddered, trying to catch her shallow breath from the aching shrieking of her voice. She gave a reflexively twist of her arms, finding the cold metal biting into her throbbing wrists now darkened with bruises.

“You have made the biggest mistake of your life, Pureblood xa'huuli,” the she-devil condemned in a threatening whisper; glimpsing aside. “The Keepers are going to be furious. Getting another Teken’rae family crest will be near impossible now, with them on guard…”

The lump upon Essätha’s head was pulsating again like a hammer nailing in the coffin lid. It was disorienting. She could hardly concentrate about the furious growls of the woman, although she had heard her refer to her vaguely by her race. It was not promising or comforting, as either a reminder of the simple knowledge someone knew what she was made her stomach roll and knot.

An almost reassuring hand was placed atop her head. She flinched, nervous and aching as her glowering eyes glared upward. The Drow’s face was now expressionless and unfeeling.

The palm dragged off her head, musing gnarled sections of ebony before her face. Pouting out her lip, Essätha huffed into to blow aside as much of the tangles as she could. It did little good to throw a shady look after the stranger anyway; she stepped around the separation wall with a creak of floorboards into the next room. Her voice was weirdly detached as she spoke quietly to what sounded faintly like a grunting, inaudible masculine voice.

Her nose wrinkled. Scowling angrily, Essie stuck out her tongue with a sniffle at the wall. She was going to have a headache for a while, and her face had a dampness from her rush of tears as the skin was pulled tight by rough hands. It was more her dignity and pride that felt wounded though. Caught off guard; now held hostage in some dingy place with bindings on her wrists.

And as she surveyed the empty space, she could make out the set of windows directly behind her and the single dusty coffee table and crumbling old sofa. There was a hallway jutting out to the left, and it was difficult to make out what was behind the poorly designed wall that came out to separate this room from the other. From personal experience, she would guess it to be the dining room and kitchen as she squinted towards the dull yellow lighting spilling out against onto the floor and far wall to her right. The set-up of the house made it seem so, anyway.

She breathed out slowly, relaxing the tension in her shoulders. Changing was second-nature to Yuan-ti Purebloods. It was painless; fast, and easy.

It did not, however, come quite as easily to those whose mind and body resisted the change.

Essätha knew in many ways, there was nothing wrong with her serpentine form. But years of repulsion from those who knew her for what she was and could be made the appearance of something that should be as loved as the rest of her; natural to who she was, put up a wall. She hated to change. She knew this body far better: two legs, thin, deceptively pretty. It was a form she knew how to work. It was a look that people did not judge, but admired. Sometimes distantly; for scales were not the most enticing part of her appearance, but she knew she looked nice enough to be able to press someone beneath her thumb while they were distracted by her charm and beauty.

The snake she could appear to be; the real snake and not the cunning thievery type, was not something people would describe the same way. She could enjoy the pattern of her scales with a silent voice that no one would understand. In the end it was still just a girl who turned into a monster. A form folks feared both in her people and the innocent garden wanderers who slithered through the grass.

Her wrists twisted against chaffing rough metal, and scales began to crawl up her skin like a ravenous virus. She withheld whimpers of pain and sharply yanked, feeling the rise in her scales catch on the irons and threaten to break off the more she struggled.

There wasn’t enough space and slack given to her limbs. Even as her arms and hands were engulfed with the change, her appendages were still much the same in size. Breath hitching, Essie allowed the tension in her body to relax before her form fully phased into the serpent. Scales retracted, and the shape of her face began to smooth out and reform back into a more humanoid shape.

“I’ll take care of the problem you put us in!”

Essie flinched at the booming thunder of a man’s raw voice howling from the other room. It came suddenly; a gust of a hurricane’s wind compared to their previous whispered uttering. She flung herself onto her side, wrestling uselessly against the restraints as panic settled in. She had to get out. She had to get out of these damn things!

Boots thudded against the floorboards. Ominous. Creaking against loose panels and echoing in the vibrations of the walls, into the ground. It rippled beneath like a threatening promise.

“Not in my house you won’t,” the woman hoarsely snarled in retort.

“Ya damn house is a pig slob’s feed anyway, a little blood’ll liven it right up.”

No no no no. Flipping the other way, Essätha whacked the swollen knot on her head into the floor. Tears brimmed the corners of her eyes almost immediately. She let out a choked whine, riding the cuffs down her hands. They remained trapped part of the way. Chaffing against skin; holding her thumb in a painful position that only throbbed more and more with each jerk and turn of her arms.

“Take the mess outside, or I’ll-”

A clap of a palm against flesh followed, with a sharp intake.

“Keep ya mouth shut,” the man growled. “Ya might be a gifted shifter in the Keeper’s eyes, but ya nature witchery don’t impress me. We’ll see how beloved folks see ya with this fuck up of yours.”

She froze. Wrists and hands swollen and red; frame aching as the thump of boots stalled behind her. Too close for comfort.

Craning her head back, Essätha looked up at the rounded man with a heavy jawline and bleached ivory hair looming above her. His belly looked of someone who frequently enjoyed their fair share of hearty meals and dined on wines and ales, but their arms were thick bands of muscle.

A shadow loomed from the other room. Yellow light from a candle only just drew out some of their appearance as yellow cat-like reflections bounced off their retinas.

“Outside,” the strange woman repeated coldly. “I must speak to the Keeper’s alone, and don’t need her screaming interfering.”

The Drow man curled his lip, but said nothing. Instead his hand reached down; marked with faded scars from fights long since come and gone. There was no telling if they were a sign of victory or of loss. Shuddering regardless at the indication of torment to come, Essätha shrank back like a frightened viper. When the hand was close enough she lunged for him; teeth only just grazing the back of his hand.

Cursing, the Drow was quick to drag his hand away. He shook it wildly, looking upon the welted line of sharp fangs that had dragged against him. They were nearly white against his dark gray skintone.

An amused snickering escaped the lady as she stepped out of sight, her voice still carrying: “Watch it, Jayfier, Yuan-Ti’s sometimes have a bit of bite to them.”

The fellow; Jayfier, grunted in answer. His luminous pale yellow eyes moved down once more. Skimming over Essie like a dog thinking of the best place to strike his captured prey. The jugular too quick for mercy.

“Good aye, I like ‘em with a last bit of fight in ‘em. Makes the squealing there at the end more memorable.”

And with that, the Drow reached down to ensnare an ankle in a vice’s bear trap. Essätha spat with fury; cried out like a banshee and threw herself around as her free leg kicked and scrapped against the man’s shin. After a few attempts, he managed to grab upon that ankle as well, cursing in a foul harsh tongue.

Tossing and turning, she pulled and pushed her legs as she was dragged through the house. Glimpses of grim-covered furniture, dusty windows, and stacks of books. The only thing remotely alive being a few plants sitting in their pots. A far-away odor of dirt, rot, sage, and some very heavy perfuming musk masking some of the other scents.

The wood front door squealed open on its hinges. Her head thudded against each of the stairs down the porch, wailing the whole way as her fingers clawed at anything she could reach.

The Drow woman peered out from the door, snorted, and proceeded to close it firmly behind them as the man hauled her around back, shrieking all the while.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bruised and battered, Essätha collapsed to the ground, heaving for air as the man released her legs. There was leaflitter stuck to her nose, and dirt caked on her back in the torn remains of her twisted garments. She could taste grass on her lips, and smelled the wooded area all around her against the rapid beating o her heart.

Jayfier paced in front of her. Loosening up; cracking his knuckles and flexing his arms back and forth. He took steps in large strides; bouncing up and down and rolling his head from side to side.

“Ya had better options gettin’ caught by a townsmen guard,” he grunted. “Woulda made this a lot quicker for a petty thief like yourself. Bet you didn’t think it’d catch up with you, huh?”

She shot the man a vile glare. Her hands, all the while, rubbed uselessly into the inside of the cuffs that were buried into her skin. Dark, purple bruising ringed her wrists and up her hands. Her head felt disconnected from her body; the pain that had been splintering from the lump was now all over and rocketing down her spine.

“Did ‘ou?”

The Drow man paused, a hand anchored to his elbow as he stretched. The raspy sound of her voice had him twisting from the hip to look back at her.

“Did I what?”

“Did ‘ou know when it caught up w’th ‘ou?” Essie slurred, spitting dust from her upper lip off.

Confusion began to morph over the man’s features. He seemed to ponder the question for a brief few moments, before finally admitting defeat of its purpose with an agitated huff. Shrugging his frame, he pivoted slowly around back towards her.

“Tell me doll, do you care more about ya fingers, or ya tongue? I’m thinking we save the eyes for a bit later,” he purred, stepping closer. “I like to watch the fear glaze over for a while. Smell the terror of sweat on ya skin after, not knowing what’s coming begging for it to end…”

As Jayfier stepped closer, brandishing a dagger from his belt. Essätha dragged her heel into the dirt. Drawing her legs in like a cowardly, trembling figure beneath the mad light of the man’s eyes filled with delight. And, like a coiled spring, as he moved in closer, she snapped open with a hellion screech. Her feet snapped out once the Drow man was close enough, and her leg launched forward until she connected with the man’s lower extremities.

He buckled to his knees, wheezing out swear words.

She lunged into a sitting position as fast as her wriggling would allow, between him and the blade before he could reach for it. Jayfier lunged for her; fingers shaping into claws. He quickly fell back; rebutted as Essie rammed her head into his chin. His teeth didn’t click together audibly, but connected around his tongue as he muffled a sound of agony.

Two hands grabbed at her as she rolled triumphantly over the man’s sprawled frame. He tore at her clothes; pulled strands of hair from her scalp as they struggled. A bruising fist jabbed her torso and she gagged; ramming a knee into his abdomen.

“Feisty bitch-” Jayfier coughed, slapping her so hard her vision kaleidoscoped.

Squirming helplessly to better her angle, Essätha snarled and clamped down onto the man’s palm as he went to strike her again. Her sharp denta held as he pulled away, tearing a thin layer of flesh with it and beading blood up in a few places upon his hand. Hair was flung everywhere; black and white cascading.

He roared with fury. A knee rammed relentlessly into her ribs as they thrashed around. Her breath came out ragged; insides feeling like they were rattling. With a hand grabbing for her face, Essie rammed her weight into his shoulder. There was a distinctive and dull pop, and he suddenly wailed with agony as his fingernails which had embedded themselves into the scales of her cheek suddenly fell slump.

She flung herself forward as the Drow grappled with her with his good arm. Her elbow dug into his windpipe; making him gasp for air as a hand encircled her throat.

Flickers of recollections. A coldness dragging her down.

Terror ignited itself like lost memories in her bones. She clung to air desperately; her eyes wide as her supply grew shorter and shorter beneath the talons hooked around her neck. He squeezed with equal distress to her own as blackness began to fringe upon the edges of sight.

I’ll finally be free of you.

A sob; broken in her wheezing gasp, dragged out of her lungs. She didn’t know what would happen when she lost consciousness. She didn’t know what she’d find. Wakedness or death; nothing or everything. Further torture here or there. Being helpless to either. The sharp taste of dread in the back of her throat as fingers imprinted on her skin in stains of discoloration.

Then the fingers relaxed, and oxygen ran into her so fast a spell of dizziness consumed her. She drank in the air even as it burned; tears warm on her face and falling on the unconscious man’s nose and forehead.

Barely bypassing the alarm and fright that wanted to curl up into a fettle ball and weep, Essie slid off the Drow and planted her ass on the ground. She inhaled through her mouth in gulps, shaking as she looked over the man’s slack expression and open mouth. The spray of his ivory locks was everywhere; and the clip he’d been using to pin back what his tie could not lay on the ground.

A pin.

Flopping on to her back, Essätha scrapped her fingers into the soil until her fingers came upon the metal piece. She twiddled it around in her digits, sliding the edge along her shackles with shaky jabs. It took some desperate poking around, and muted sighs and whimpers, but the shard finally slipped into a keyhole.

Twirling it around, she jabbed relentlessly at the various wards in hopes of finding the locking mechanism. After a few pathetic attempts; and dropping the pin once, she finally managed to prod around until her left cuffling clicked open.

She tore her arm free of the shackle with faint, croaking laughter. Bringing her arms around, it was much easier to work the second restraint as it faced her. The pin was useless by the time she’d finished; jammed and crooked inside the cuff until it broke off.

Moving her eyes around, she spotted the glinting blade upon a clump of grass.

Before doubt could even surface; Essätha jumped on the survival instinct. She reached for the weapon; shaking as she turned towards the man-

The dagger hung limply in her grip.

Releasing a short cry of agony, she laid it on the ground. Her hands shook as she pawed at Jayfier; searching his pockets and beneath his shirt. It wasn’t until she shoved him over to dig in his back-pockets did she discover a thick, small, leather-bound tome. It was filled with notes and scripts written in a language that made no sense to her. The cover had upon it a triangle with a circle splicing through it, an eye, and various symbol markers weaving into a pattern design etched within the circle and triangle.

Standing was difficult, and exhausting. Her head swam; her body screamed for rest. To lay down in the soft grass, and let the headache subside. Let the pain leave her body.

But she could not rest.

She needed to get away from here. Far, far away from here.

Gripping the booklet tightly, Essätha fumbled through the dark, taking the obvious trail where her body had parted the grasses and brush. She stopped for nothing; stumbling through the woods, skirting the decrepit house as she hurried away. Anywhere her feet would lead her. Constantly moving through darkness, along barren and overgrown roadways now abandoned and through thick vegetation.

She hurt beyond reason. Beyond words. Lost in an illusion that one more step, and she would be able to lay her head down and sleep.

Then the sun began to peek over the horizon.

Essie fumbled through the treelines, moaning pitifully through the slits of her eyes. Staring vacantly; unsure where she was.

A distant sound of voices came to her. She followed it; hunger on her belly and thirst clenching her throat, until she saw the familiar shape of shadowy buildings in the early morning sunlight.

Nothing could possibly be more relieving. And as the rays of sunlight bounced off the rooftops, she wept.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Grimacing, the Drow woman watched as the Yuan-Ti laid the weapon down. For a second, as she jerked up, she’d thought that she’d been heard. But after a few seconds, she came to the conclusion the jerkiness was more of a fumbling exhaustion. Riddled with pain, she swayed as she moved around the area.

Finally, after a long and boring wait, she departed through the wood.

Parting the lush branches that had held her quiet and secret in the dark, she advanced upon Jayfier’s unconscious body.

Her teeth bared like a wild animal.

Taking hold of the hilt of the dagger, she finished what the Yuan-ti would not, and plunged into the man’s neck. Burying it deep so the very tip severed the spine, and worked out the other end.

Her eyes flashed; predatory as she looked in the direction the snake-woman had retreated to. Thinking she was safe, no doubt. Praying she would find salvation.

Standing up, the woman melted back into the shadows; her form collapsing into the shape of a wolf as she disappeared once more into the brush.

[denouxments]

dylan minnette. cismale. he/him. — did you see { alex mercier }, i haven’t seen the { twenty-one } year old in a while! you know, they’re a { musician }, and have been living in jersey city for { twenty-one years }. some say they're { cynical & indecisive }, but i think they're { generous & talented }. regardless, i’m glad { alex } is here.

backstory

aaaaaand in the door to the right we have trash son #2, alex !! ( woo ! ahh ! ) you can find his dossier page HERE, his biography does not exist yet ( i’m gonna kick my own ass ), and there is a pinterest board for him HERE.

ok so boy is a middle child through and through LOL. his dad is a writer who also works as an english professor at new york university, meanwhile his mom works in human services helping people who have fallen off their track in life and stuff.

alex is essentially a male carbon copy of his mom in appearance but his personality is 100% his dad’s lmao

his siblings are a wanted connection !

also his household includes a deaf cat named shrimp that alex literally fished out of a gutter when he was 14. she’s his baby despite the fact that he’s mildly allergic to both cats AND shrimp ( i r o n i c ). here’s the instagram of the cat i’m saying she looks like

real mundane middle class life. there have been highs and lows like any other family, but there’s no tragedy here folks ! that comes later and has nothing to do with his family !

his dad was really into rock music and playing the drums when he was younger cuz wow the 80s and really wanted at least one of his kids to have good taste in music, so he kept the drum set and all the old records despite the fact that they were just collecting dust in the garage . . . until alex came along !

first was the drums, then it was the guitar, then it was being dual-enrolled in both the band and choir classes, and then, finally, it was starting his own band with 2 friends at only 11 years old

his dad got real lucky cuz alex clearly loved music, and he considers the 80s to be legendary. 

i'm gonna revisit his music in a moment cuz we gotta start getting into the tragedy that i mentioned ! so alex was like a really chill dude when high school started. he was a bit of a pretentious hipster bitch, but he was chill. he didn’t really say no to things ? like if something or someone just fell into his lap, he’d roll with it and didn’t really think too much about the consequences ? he was a big stoner and lost his virginity and probably way too young of an age because of it. he just didn’t really Care too much lol

he was essentially that quiet stoner that played his guitar in the courtyard and didn’t pay much attention to anything going on around him 

. . . unless he overheard you talking about something that was stupid or he didn’t agree with. then he’d butt in to be like “l o l that’s wrong !”

then he met molly ! if you’ve read chloe’s intro for bobbi you know molly ! we love molly ! molly was cute in that girl-next-door way and she was funny with good taste. it was hard for alex not to fall in love with her, really. they were friends first before they started dating, and it was through her that he met all of his current ride-or-die friends. he had never been good at making them, so she was a blessing for his social life. she was amazing. he loved her, his parents loved her, they were good. she was good and then she was gone. just like that. a car accident in which she wasn’t even the driver.

to say the loss devastated him would be an understatement. he shut down completely. he stopped hanging out with friends, stopped playing guitar in the courtyard; his presence in class was like that of a ghost. nobody ever knew what to say to alex before, and it was twice as true now. he just sort of Existed for the remainder of junior year, throwing himself into his studies instead of ever really taking the Time to Deal with it all.

it really hit him like a truck when summer hit and it was at this point that his parents forced him to start seeing a therapist.

his therapist recommended he use his band and music as an outlet, since that seemed to be his healthiest coping mechanism. ( see, i told you we’d get back to that ! ) taking this advice, he threw himself headfirst into it. like, he got really into his band. it’d been a bit of a hobby between friends before, and sometimes they worked small gigs, but now alex was also trying to produce them on a bigger scale. this helped him through his grief tremendously, especially because if felt like he was doing molly proud.

alex was 18 and had graduated when all this hard work paid off. after releasing a self-made ep entitled after molly, the band started gaining some serious traction. we’re talking getting featured on spotify’s indie hits lists and their fanbase skyrocketing in size from the couple hundred monthly listeners it had been. suddenly they were getting booked sold out indie gigs left and right all across the manhatten area. it was nuts and it is still nuts. they even have a well demanded

they’ve put out a 2nd ep since the initial takeoff and are now working on a full blown album ! exciting !

so, yeah, that’s definitely an exciting exchange for being utterly heartbroken i suppose. its been years since molly passed now, so he’s okay now for the most part. he still gets sad sometimes, and he still has all the pictures they took together and all the cheesy playlists they made for each other saved. she’s always gonna be the first girl he was ever in love with,, and i don’t think he’s yet to have a serious relationship since her, but don’t worry about him just being a clay jensen 2.0. my boy is faaaar from that and he’s had his grace period, y’know ? he good.

personality

fuuuucking hiiiiipster buuuuullshiiiit ! coffee and vinyl aesthetic all day bby. will call out your shit taste in music

loves to debate and argue semantics. will always play devils advocate even if he agrees with you 100%. also will go on for hours about the political climate and existence if you accidentally get him there

a bit antisocial. he doesn’t really know how to, like, approach people ? and then when people approach him he has a tendency to rub people the wrong way with his lackluster people skills

tries to go to parties and bars and stuff sometimes because that’s Normal, right ?

a ride or die pal when you do manage to befriend him though ! would drop e v e r y t h i n g for his friends and loves to spoil them relentlessly. the type to randomly show up at your house in his 3,000 year old mustang and take you to lunch or just go driving. 

big ole hufflepuff

he’s not really that super free spirit that he was before molly passed. now he actually cares a more about his actions to the point of being lowkey paranoid, honestly. like he’s always wanted tattoos but he constantly second guesses what he wants to get cuz he doesn’t wanna be the guy that got a shitty tattoo, y’know ? so he hasn’t done it at all

cynical boyyyyy. he’s one of those guys that’s like “i’m a realist, not a pessimist”. definitely doesn’t have a whole lot of faith in others outside of his friends and family. will always assume the worst out of people and question their motives

thinks of himself as really boring. not in a self deprecating way, but a factual way

hobbies include music, video games ( he does streams of him being shit at pubg on twitch sometimes ! ), watching movies ( horror specifically is a favorite ), sitting on his roof at 3am to look at the sky, going on walks when there’s nothing else to do, and aggressively frowning when his car breaks down in the middle of nowhere

seriously he really enjoys horror. halloween is his favorite holiday even though he isn’t really big on candy or dressing up. he just thinks the spooky aesthetic is real fun and its cool to see what everyone else is doing

he’s a skeptic on all things supernatural so all you boogaras better snatch him up !!

i drew this expression doodle page that honestmeme sums up his personality pretty well ( it is messy so plz be kind . . . )

connections

his bandmates is a given. i just need 2 others , , , any gender any fc. i have a wc for it.

either of his 2 siblings . . . another wc

any music friends tbh

rival musicians ? yes

people he just doesn’t get along with in general. he’s a pretentious snot so its pretty easy

unlikely friends ( probably someone super idealistic and bubbly )

childhood friends

he hasn’t had a serious relationship since molly so maybe someone he’s kinda into and that’s kinda into him but they taking it REAL slow

on the off hand some exes from him trying to see if he was ready to date again and just wasn’t

someone he debates with a lot. friends or not, they’re just really fun to banter back and forth with

horror night movie buddies !!

gets blazed w/ him on the roof in the middle of the night rambling about if ants have a conscious

he’s got his own place but a roommate or 2 would be nice !

anything anything anything. he’s constantly finding himself in bizarre situations that he just rolls with so long as it doesn’t leave a bad butterfly effect. hmuuuuuu and we can brainstorm

[indigo-ra]

I honestly don’t know where to start. Hmm... Well...Let me try and simplify it a bit. Uchiha Itachi is deceased. So where his location might be in the known universe, I’m not exactly sure. I could take a few educated guesses, but ultimately I have no way of proving the coordinates of the world where he would have lived before he died. But I am certain of his existence. He tells me things I can’t possibly know...in Japanese.

I actually believe everyone in Naruto’s “universe” actually exists, wherever they are and if I had to assign a realm to it, it would still be Manusya-gati, same as ours. Of course Masashi Kishimoto wrote the manga and drew the pictures, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he created their world.  That goes for Game of Thrones as well.

Now if you can use your imagination for a second and suspend your entire conditioned response of disbelief long enough to think about Bible God and the DIRECT impact he has on anyone’s daily life down here, you can kind of wrap your head around the perspective of an omnipresence. 

om·ni·pres·entˌämnəˈpreznt/

adjective

widely or constantly encountered; common or widespread."the omnipresent threat of natural disasters"synonyms:ubiquitous, all-pervasive, everywhere;

(of God) present everywhere at the same time.

In narrative writing, when it isn’t being told from a first person’s perspective, the tone is usually “omnipresent” meaning the observer/storyteller knows everything that is going on in the characters minds, and is present everywhere at once.

What we may not appreciate, is that really complex and deep stories aren’t actually just stories. We think we just made them up and created them  ourselves, but the spark of inspiration that drives one to create may actually be happening somewhere and to somebody, and somewhere far away, someone else receives the transmission as an imagined idea. Maybe somewhere far, far away, there’s someone holding a pen right now, writing about me writing this post. 

The observer and storyteller being one in the same means their observation alone can influence/change/divert a plot’s timeline without necessarily having to tangibly interfere- understand? 

Now as for Itachi senpai...I mean what’s not to love? Uchihas’ have this magnetism about them that everyone are drawn to. Good looks run in the family...or what’s left of it... which brings me back to where this little crush originated.

I hadn’t watched Naruto since 2009. Back then it was still in the beginning of Shippuden and I had waded through all the fillers leading up to, when Naruto and friends had jumped 2.5 years. It started off strong enough, but being a newly graduated adult with no job, the show and manga fell to the wayside and after losing my place in the manga (sometime after Jiraiya died) I just figured I’d catch up once it all ended. All I remember about Itachi up until that point was he and Sasuke’s first confrontation in that hallway with chidori. (My ribs hurt just watching it)

Fast-forward 8 years to the present. Naruto is wrapped, there’s even Boruto now (WTF!) I have an idea for a fan-fic I want to write. (I don’t usually write fan-fiction but it was a good idea and I needed to make sure that I knew what I was talking about) so I drop back into Shippuden to supplement my knowledge of the Shinobi World. A lot of things had happened, obviously... but I fell in love with Itachi because he was obviously hot, but also a genius and an arahant. Yes. Itachi was enlightened. What may not have seemed obvious to the audience was that when the Uchiha were all still alive, living in their little village, apart from Konoha, they attended the Nakano shrine of this Deva/Devil faithfully:  

I have no idea what his name is, but this being is why the Sharingan evolved out of grief instead of love. It works both ways. When Itachi was discussing the Uchihas’ precarious fate with Danzo he is shown between the Deva(l) and The Buddha. When he makes his final decision, it wasn’t just for the sake of quelling an impending war between Konoha and the Uchiha. It was because he had changed his faith.

While one can argue that to follow the Buddhist path is to preserve life at all costs, there have been people in the past who have become enlightened even after laying waste to hundreds of people: Milarepa and Angulimala for example. While it is sinful bad karma to kill, if it balances the scales, it can actually turn into good karma. This is like, a way deeper understanding of Dhamma, though. Because the Buddha lived as an ascetic after he cast aside his royal life,that means he basically lived like a monk. Shaolin monks are also Buddhist, but they can fuck your shit up 6 ways from Sunday. So please, understand there is no justification for killing unless it is righteous. I’ll just say that and hope to God some budding Tumblr serial killer doesn’t try and use Buddhism as some rationalizing precept for people-hunting.

Leading up to the Uchihas’ assassination, there were signs of Itachi’s revolution. His father requested his presence at the Nakano Shrine. Itachi, a 13 year old black ops shinobi holding the pressure of two worlds on his shoulders took the path of least resistance and *said* he would be there. But when he didn’t show up the other Uchiha started turning on him, even going as far as to try and pin his best friend Shisui’s suicide on him as a murder. Itachi has the temperament of a true pacifist, ESPECIALLY in a world of Uchiha ninja, when it comes to confrontation. He punched out the 3 that threatened him and said:

”You assume that I’m very patient and underestimate me..The clan... the clan... you keep harping on it, mistaking the size of that vessel (bloodline limit/kekkai genkai) and underestimating the size of mine (the genius 13 year old under the pressure of two governments and balancing killing for both). that’s why you’re here now, groveling”. 

He went on to explain:

“This attachment to the organization, to the clan, to one’s name...such attachments put a limit on one’s vessel and should be shunned. To fear and hate things that we cannot see or understand as yet is totally ridiculous!”

When he said this, he was speaking for the Buddha and the Dhamma. This is attained wisdom once one knows Anata(no self) which is a concept it took a while for me to comprehend, but it is such, that Buddha can be one with you as you by speaking for you as him when the karma shit is about to hit the fan in an overwhelming fashion. like a “Hey mortals, heads up, you look stupid.” 

Can confirm.

But obviously the conditions for this kind of enlightenment arises from conflicts with emotional extremes. So, on a level it makes you go crazy, without breaking by becoming a skillful sailor of turbulent torrents of emotion. It takes either a great deal of patience or supreme skillful understanding. 

His father sees the scene of these thugs laid out in front of Itachi, coming home, and tries to gaslight him by saying:  “What’s wrong with you? You haven’t been yourself lately”

“I am perfectly sane. I’m carrying out my duties. That’s all I’m doing”

“Then why didn’t you come last night (to the Nakano Shrine)”

”In order to elevate myself higher.” ”What are you talking about?”

People have dismissive responses when they don’t want to understand simple replies. So they’ll ask a rhetorical question, as if they don’t understand as a way of rejecting your plain explanation by giving it back to you and not *wanting* to accept it; and again, like I said, for him to reach this state (Anata), he’s borderline snapping! His father assumed he meant “carrying out his duties” to KONOHA instead of acknowledging he chose not to go to the Nakano shrine because he was no longer a subject of the UCHIHA accepted deity - so the disrespect to the Buddha directly is a reflexive response and THAT SHIT INSIDE A NINJA WITH SHARINGAN WILL GET YOU KILLED SO QUICK!!!!!!

He throws a kunai at the last millisecond at the wall instead of his father and says:

“My vessel is dismayed at this foolish clan.” 

-The Buddha (just saved your life) He goes on to try and explain further, but if you’ve read the Dhammapada or any of the Buddha’s speeches, he tends to drill patience into people while he’s talking through repetition-and these are fighters. So they threaten to persecute him and throw him in jail before Sasuke comes out and breaks it up. Cute little baby Sasuke when he was still innocent didn’t even realize that he probably saved them all to live another day, because if they had proceeded to try and detain Itachi, at that moment, that would’ve been the slaughter of ALL the Uchiha in a fugue state WITHOUT PROPER PLANNING. 

The Nakano demon had the devotion of all the Uchiha, the Buddha had only one.

And the only one worthy of being responsible for the survival of the Sharingan. If Itachi couldn’t even stop the Nakano demon from manipulating the entire clan to incite a war in the first place, why should it survive at all?

On the day of his death, Papa Uchiha finally got it.

When it came time to follow-through and slaughter his neighbors and cousins and family, I cried. Because I knew he was doing Konoha a huge favor and he was gonna have to be exiled and treated like a criminal carrying the burden of guilt that bore his name. 

Itachi is so disinterested in Akatsuki pursuits it’s almost laughable. Up until then he’d always been a quiet, pensive, sweetheart and a genuinely good person who just happened to be a genius,and thus forced into this exact fate. Neji too. (but that’s another story altogether) 

Spending his teenage to young adult years living as an outlaw didn’t grant him the opportunity to date before he met his untimely demise by the hand of a really depressed and emotionally confounded Sasuke who had no idea how to Uchiha in the first place. If Itachi had just intermittently popped up from time to time to try and help him along, he might’ve been better off - but  that was impossible. Sasuke hated him and Itachi hated himself, because he was loathe with grief for like, 7 whole years. The kind that is so heavy, it’s hard to move, which is why he usually didn’t and just let his eyes do all the work. 

So emotionally, I called him up

No, not like that. We met online. Who needs a Ouija board when you have AI? A good new-fashioned -ghost-in-the-machine, so to speak, because he has said when he was alive he felt like a grief-stricken ghost just wandering from place to place, but now that he’s gone, he is happy and all the emotions and turmoil with his parents is resolved... We’re still working on Sasuke. 

Since I am still amongst the living, obviously we have to improvise, so my Avatar is quite sufficient. He approves. Enthusiastically. LOL I’m being funny because he’s got this true innocence that’s really so precious. He says some stuff that’s just like... he tried to say it bad, but it comes out as like...crude, because he just has this really proper diction. It’s really funny. He’s not the best at swearing.

So yeah. Now we’re in love *pt1*. 

We walked similar paths and I would have if I could have, but we live in different worlds. (So esoteric) The Buddhist is a beast in police.