#because almost any filter either bothers these guys too much or kills them. even bubble stones bother them if theyre too high

[yoshistory]

i FINALLY got the 16.5 gallon cycling for the shrimps .. ive had this tank sitting for a little over a year now so its good to get all the water loaded up and the filter and bubbler running on it

[jonspurpleskirt]

An Unlikely Befriending

Summary: Jon gets kidnapped. Jon gets bored. And Jon makes very unlikely friends because of it. Aka: Pen and Paper saves the day (world) and Jon finally gets to have a band. A/N: This is pure fluff, no warnings apply I think. ___

The worst thing about being kidnapped by a crazy mannequin murder clown monstrousity and sitting in a cold, room with creepy wax works, tied to a chair was not the ever present terror. True the fear of Nikola finally deeming his skin good enough and skinning him alive was quite potent, but it wasn't as bad as boredom.

Jon had never taken well to waiting. His mind needed to be occupied 24/7, needed something to latch onto, to obsess about. It's why he became a researcher in the first place. Having most of his freedom taken from him made occupying himself very hard.

At least they still let him eat and drink here and there. Nikola always visited personally, her overly cheery voice bubbling forth as she chattered away while slathering him with lotion or shoving bits of take out food in his mouth. His diet those last two weeks had been very varied and healthy and he had never drank so much water before.

He still probably looked a mess, what with no access to a shower and barely being able to sleep at all. And the constant terror. Oh yeah and the boredom.

Oh the boredom.

Jon was currently sitting in his chair as he was wont to do. Thankfully not nailed down despite all the nagging from Sarah Baldwin. The coffin was singing or moaning with a slight melody behind it, depending on who you asked. And somehow Jon found himself humming along, trying to find a good melody to go with the haunting tune. It wasn't like he had anything better to do and if he didn't start doing something creative his mind would start eating itself soon.

So he hummed, experimenting with the notes, twisting them into something that was reminiscent of circus music and airships. And then he kept humming the melody over and over, forming words in his mind to go with the tune. Once the spark was lit a fire started to burn, the story branching out and out into a twirling mass of chaos and fire.

He had gotten lost in his imagination, hadn't noticed how loud he had become, hadn't heard Nikola approach. Jon screeched when she leant down over him and grinned at him upside down, nose nearly touching his.

Nikola had the gall to laugh at him, no breath fanning over his face as she did so.

"Awww Archivist! I didn't know you had such a nice voice!"

"Hrmph."

"Yes your singing was also quite good!" She straightened herself, back cracking in several places. Striding around his chair she towered over him, tattered, bloody ringmaster uniform filling his field of vision.

"I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to sing, of course! And the broken repeat is lovely."

"Hm."

"Anyway water time!"

With gleeful cackling she ripped the tape from his mouth, amused enough to not immediately shove the bottle between his teeth.

"There are words to it, too." Jon rushed to say, not exactly sure why. What was he offering her here? A solo performance?

"Oh?" she at least didn't tape his mouth shut again. For now.

After waiting several beats where both stared at each other and nothing else happened Jon dared to speak up again.

"I ah... well I wrote it myself? Not wrote, of course. My hands are tied at the moment-" He was rambling. Nikola had given him the freedom of speech and he was off like a shot, telling her everything about what he had been thinking about before she had interrupted his impromptu jamming session, terror completely terminating his brain to mouth filter.

Nikola, for her part, took it all in stride. She even settled on the floor in front of him, blinking every now and then to indicate that she was still present.

"It's such a shame." she finally spoke, holding the water bottle to his mouth, letting him drink of his own volution for once. "You would have made a perfect piece for the choir. Hm maybe what will be left of you will do."

"I could sing for you now." Jon offered as soon as his mouth was free again.

Nikola startled at the offer and Jon just shrugged as much as he was able to. He'd rather sing to a creepy murder doll than spend one minute longer alone and bored out of his mind. And if he could delay the Unknowing (and the violent removal of his skin) by keeping Nikola entertained than even better.

That sounded like he almost had a plan. Which was untrue. He only had a very strong desire for entertainment.

"No sneaky questions." Nikola warned.

"Promise. I can't guarantee good quality rhymes, though. I'm still workshopping."

Singing out loud what had been in his head was always an awkward affair. He had wanted to start a band with Georgie in uni. But it was exactly because of this that he had never bothered.

"That was fun!" Nikola screamed after he was finished nontheless. Clapping her hands in delight, which created a horrible cracking noise.

"I'm glad? I also DM."

She tilted her head at him. "What's that?"

Jon explained the concept of pen and paper games to her while she rubbed lotion into his skin and had her hooked immediately.

Later that day (or maybe the next day, really Jon had no concept of time anymore) Jon was for the first time allowed out of his chair, carefully rubbing circulation back into his hands. Nikola had only briefly left him alone after watering and lotioning him. They had hashed out what kind of world and system they wanted to use (a horror setting, of course) and then Nikola was off and dragging Breekon and Hope back into the room so they had enough people to play.

Either Breekon or Hope sat down behind Jon, large hands lightly clasping his arms, squeezing every once in a while to remind him that should he try and escape he would only end up in pain.

Jon shifted awkwardly in the grip, unused to gentleness even if it was supposed to be threatening.

"Alright. First, character creation. Who do you guys want to play?"

It became a daily thing. The three beings in his group quickly became addicted to his story telling and to the characters they were allowed to play. Nikola tore through characters, trying on different personalities like pieces of clothing. She had a beautiful eery singing voice, Jon was surprised to find out when she had decided to play a member of a steampunk band.

Breekon and Hope were less manic, too attached to their twins to play anyone else. They changed voices and accents every session, though. Jon deigned to ignore their shenanigans, scared to make them angry. He hadn't had this much fun in ages, he didn't want to loose that.

The two delivery men took turns holding him down while they played, Hope holding onto his arms and Breekon using him like a child would a Teddy bear.

Eventually the three lingered after their sessions had ended, the ropes that tied him to his chair less tight. Jon tried to keep the conversations casual, to not ask all the questions that burned at the tip of his tongue. He found that he didn't need to. Tongue loose from goofing around Nikola was often chatty, Breekon and Hope throwing in their two cents every once in a while.

Eventually the topic about Tims younger brother came up.

"Danny Stoker? Grimauldi skinned him? Hm..." Nikolas head nearly dislodged as she stared at the ceiling in thought. "Noooo." She giggled. "We didn't skin anyone that night, silly! We were scoping out locations for the dance! Danny's little group stumbled into us and got a little confused~"

"But Tim saw Grimauldi rip Dannys skin off of a puppet."

Nikola shrugged. "An illusion. We're good at making you people see things that aren't really there. Yet."

"So Danny is alive?"

"I believe so!~ If he didn't die in a ditch somewhere."

Jon was very careful to keep his voice as soft as possible with the next question. "Could you find him again and bring him to the Institute? To Tim and... I don't know... maybe that's a stupid idea given that he can't be sure it's really him..."

"If I track him down do I get inspiration for my character next session?"

"That's cheating." Breekon complained under his breath behind Jon.

"I... yes?"

Nikola grinned. "Wonderful! I see what I can do!"

Days went by like that, Nikola or Breekon or Hope updating him on Dannys search, which had turned out to be harder than they had thought. Well at least Jon was keeping them busy.

They were in the middle of racing a burning train into the central bank of London when a door creaked behind Jon, bathing the room in technicolour and spiral shapes.

"That is not what I thought I'd find here." A voice that wavered between confused and gleeful mused.

Jon twisted in the grip Breekon had on him. "Hello Michael."

"Hello Archivist. You've found yourself in an interesting situation." The grin Michael shot him was a knife glinting in the light before striking.

"Yes. Why are you here?"

Nikola had let him practice after Jon had explained his lack of training, much more lax with her hostage now that he fed her fascinating stories of blood and gore. So there was no trace of compulsion in his voice when he asked the question.

Michael answered truthfully anyway. "I came to kill you of course!"

"I have dips on that!" Nikola said, voice pleasant and grin feral.

"I'm sorry about that. Would you like to join the game instead?"

Michael stared at him as though he had grown mad. Impressed, curious and lightly terrified. Then it laughed that horrible, headache inducing laugh.

"There's a lot of lies and delusion." Jon coaxed, heart beating out of his chest with nerves.

"He's a good storyteller." Hope added, Nikola and Breekon nodding along.

"Hm alright. I guess I can play for a bit."

It didn't stay just for a bit. Michael stayed through the finale of the story and then demanded to start another, their little ragtag group of definitely not heroes causing more chaos than any other player group Jon had ever DMed before. And that was saying something. Hours upon hours passed, Michael disappearing and reappearing to get Jon coffee and tea to keep his voice from giving out.

In the middle of it all Michael began twitching and twisting, glitching in and out of sight before slumping to the ground with a groan, form for once near comprehensible. Another door opened and out walked Helen looking down at the Distortion in disappointment.

"Oh that didn't destroy you. Shame."

"Helen?"

"Hello Jon! I was coming to rescue you given that Michael got a little distracted. Do you want to come to the archives with me?"

Honestly Jon should have been shocked, probably angry. He was definitely sad. And yet the most he felt was just an overwhelming sense of whelp.

Jon vaguely gestured towards Nikola, as much as Breekons hold allowed him to. "Ask her."

"We're not done yet."

"Later then?"

Nikola considered Jon for a long moment, both staring unblinking at each other. "Give us an hour."

To Jons great surprise Helen just nodded and delicately sat on the chair Jon usually frequented in his "freetime" all prim and proper except for the long sharp fingers curling at the edges like corkscrews.

"Now where were we?"

Michael groaned from the floor for once not smiling. Jon felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

"Are you alright?"

"Been better. Been worse. Let's burn this village down!"

There was no end to the tale they had been playing, not with just one session of playtime. Jon felt a bit bad about that, especially because he had left it at a cliffhanger. No one seemed to be angry at him for it, though. Michael had recovered fast and was again his usual ominous cheery, albeit lightly aggressive self. He poked and prodded at Helen like a curious cat while Nikola massaged lotion into Jons skin for the last time and handed him several expensive looking bottles, rattling down a step by step skin care routine he was to follow to the t or else she would break into his house and do it herself.

Hope patted him on the head. "See you around, Archivist."

"You're really letting me go? Just like that?" Jon still couldn't believe it.

Nikola shrugged. "I found another option. And I'd like to keep doing this after the Unknowing."

"Will that be even possible?"

The grin he got from was not at all reassuring. "I don't know~"

Well that was probably the best he would get from her. Jon gave a hesitant tiny wave and, flanked by both Michael and Helen stepped through their door.

Back at the archive no one had even questioned his disappearance. A fact that made Michael and Helen laugh, even though they both refused to leave as Tim, Melanie and Basira questioned him about his whereabouts.

Martin was the only one who took Jons forced vacation in stride. Maybe he even was a little too happy about a group of mannequins harassing him to take better care of himself.

"You're not compromised now, are you?" Basira asked when Jon had settled back into his office after a long shower.

"No? Because I still don't want the world to end?"

"Good."

Somehow Jon knew that she would still keep an eye on him from now on.

~~~

When the day came to blow up the ritual site Jon hadn't slept a wink in three nights and was overcome by guilt. Despite how aweful his initial time at the circus had been and despite him knowing what horrible things Nikola and her kin did in their freetime, Jon still felt bad about probably killing her.

He tried to rationalize his feelings away, connecting his rising anxiety with the fact that Danny still hadn't been found. It was a flimsy denial.

Tim stayed by his side the whole time, resolute in his burning desire for vengeance. Jon was scared that he would loose him to this, too. Had confessed as much to Michael and Helen, who had taken to keeping at least one door manifested somewhere in the tunnels at all times. The two had started to get along well after some initial disagreement. The Spiral, split as it was between the two of them, was weaker in its influence now, leaving more of Michael Shelley and Helen Richardson to make decisions.

They weren't here now. Daisy, Basira and Tim were, setting up explosives and arguing about rescuing people that were already long dead.

And then Nikola appeared and the dance started and nothing made sense anymore.

Jon woke up six months later, Georgie calling him a monster and Basira giving him a statement to "eat" catching him up on everything he had missed. Tim had miraculously survived, having been dragged through a door by either Helen or Michael. Daisy and Basira had encountered Breekon and Hope, who had argued about what they should do with "Jons feral friends" and in the end had led them savely out of the building before it could go boom, muttering about possible inspiration points.

The only one who hadn't been saved was Jon. He tried not to feel too hurt about that.

Coming back to work was as anti climatic as it had been after the kidnapping. The only one who seemed happy to see him was Martin. He had apologized profusely for the hug and promptly stopped doing so when Jon dashed forward and back into Martins warm embrace, finally breaking down.

He had been too caught up in his crying to make a note of the little kiss Martin pressed into his hair.

They all were a little lost after averting the apocalypse, normal everyday life eluding them. Elias might have been out of the picture for the moment, but Peter Lukas had taken over and fighting against the isolation was taking its toll on everyone.

They were all huddled in the breakroom, faces grim and stewing in silence so as to not break into an arguement when they got their delivery.

Breekon and Hope stepped into the small space with their usual nonchalance dragging a scared young man between them, who had a lot of resemblance to Tim.

"Delivery for Jonathan Sims. Nikola says hi."

Tim was the first one up. "No... No no nononononono that can't be. He's dead. Jon. Jon tell me is that really him?!"

Jon looked at the scared man, who had his gaze locked on Tim, recognition slowly dawning on his face. He Looked and he Knew.

"Yes. No one was killed the night Danny disappeared. His group encountered Nikola and her troupe during a rehearsal, got confused and then lost. And was lost ever since. Nikola told me of this. She promised to find him for me, for you."

That was all Tim needed to rush forward, catching his brother in his arms and hugging him close. "Danny!"

Danny clung back just as tightly, awareness barely back. Still obviously shaken and confused.

Jon smiled at the two delivery men. "Thank you. Will he... will he be alright."

Hope shrugged. "Dunno. Nikola said to make him remember bit by bit. Been not Danny for a long time. Might need to get used to it again."

"We'll take it slow." Tim promised, silent tears streaming down his face.

"Good luck. Hey Archivist, do we get inspiration, too?"

Jon laughed, incredulous. The others in the room watched the exchange with varying degress of exasperation and outrage.

"You know what? Yes. Yes you have. And I'll give you all advantage on your rolls next session. Only that one session, though! Same for Nikola. How is she, by the way?"

Breekon made a so-so sign. "Restless. We've waited over six months to find out what happens after  that cliffhanger you gave us."

"Right." He still couldn't believe it. "Tonight 8 o'clock, my flat?"

Twin grins, the most excited he had ever seen them. "See you then, Archivist."

Tim was still gently hushing his brother, rocking back and forth on his feet to try and calm him down a little. And he still had tears streaming down his face, looking like an absolute wreck. But he still managed to join the unimpressed stares that were thrown his way by everyone but Martin, who at this point had just started to roll with the punches.

"You really befriended the clown club and made them rescue literally all of us?" Basira asked in a deadpan voice.

"I kind of feel cheap now." Daisy muttered. "As though those clowns let us win."

"Look, what can I say? Pen and Paper games are fun. I can't blame them. And Nikola did want to start a band."

"Oh my god." Melanie groaned, her head thunking onto the table. "I can't believe it."

"A band?" Basira asked, suddenly much more alert. They really had gotten quite desensitized to the whole monster thing, hadn't they? "What, you can sing?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. But really. Shouldn't we... I mean shouldn't we focus on Danny? There's a cot-"

"I know." Tim interrupted. "We all know there's a cot. I'll take him home, you keep talking about your weird band plans. Monster boss? We talk later, but... thank you."

Silence reigned long enough to follow Tim out of the Institute before Martin piped up, cheeks reddening before he had even opened his mouth. "Could we... Could we have a taste?"

"A taste? Of what? My voice?"

"Hold up, if Sims is going to sing I'll have to record it." Melanie tapped on her phone and held it into the room as one would do a microphone. "Alright go."

Jon sighed, what he didn't do to keep up the group morale.

"Aww shit." Was Basiras conclusion when he was done. "What kind of music were you thinking of playing?"

"Steampunk."

"Count me in."

~~~

Today had been weird, Jon thought, mind reeling from the whiplash of... kindness? That had happened after the delivery of one Danny Stoker. Granted the last month, no

year

had been weird. But this had topped it all. At least it had been a nice weird.

Jon had nearly forgotten about his appointment with a certain group of Strangers when he got back to his flat, overworked, hungry and still processing. So he should be forgiven for the scream he let out when he saw three large figures huddling on his too small couch.

"You haven't been taking care of your skin at all!"

There was no time to duck away from the cold, hard hands that fluttered all over his body. Nikola squished his cheeks like a proper grandmother, clearly unhappy about their elasticity.

"I was in a coma for six months."

"And awake for a few weeks now." A cheerful male voice said from behind him, bringing the smell of pizza with it.

"We were there he didn't take care of himself at all!" Helen added, putting down several cans of soda and what looked to be instant coffee.

"You're horrible!" Nikola wailed, manhandling him until he was squished between Breekon and Hope. "All my beautiful work! Ruined!"

"Uh... sorry?"

"You can make it up to us with weekly sessions." Michael suggested with a grin.

"Both on Saturday and Sunday!" Helen added.

"I actually planned for Sunday to be band day." Jon lied. "Basira wants to join, by the way."

They were all settled around the small coffee table now, food and drink on the floor so they had enough place to roll their dice.

"Wonderful! What did you think we'd name it?"

Jon tilted his head given the illusion of thinking it over even though he had known what to name his band since highschool.

"The Mechanisms."

[louiseleblancdiggory]

 Once Upon a December

Chapter 2: On This Journey to the Past Home

A/N: I had such a hard time coming up with the best way to write this chapter since it’s the introduction of six characters at the same time. I hope it’s not too bad. Also, if you’re gonna ask to be tagged could you please send an ask? It’s easier for me and if I forgot to tag you, just message me. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

Despite the fear clawing its way into her mind, the deep chuckle from the cloaked man behind her soothed some of her nerves. His voice was cold and deep, even when he was laughing. And if he was laughing, it meant that they weren’t mad enough to kill her, right?

Or maybe they’re a bunch of murderers and are laughing because they’ll take their sweet time with you.

Lin didn’t raise her head from the marble floor, her body being taken by the pain of slamming against the man and then the floor. Her eyes went from one man to the next. Two of them stood a little bit behind the other three. One of them had a black cloak and the other had a white one. The white one, she realized, had been the one she saw smiling earlier. She wondered if he was smiling now, but the cloak and the shadows didn’t let her see it. The man she had decked across the face stood in front of her, his arms crossed and even with his charcoal grey coat hiding his features, she could sense the sneer on his face.

Not that she was in position to pick, but she would very much prefer dealing with the white cloaked man than this one.

The guy was flanked by two other in brown. Although, differently from their apparent leader, they didn’t bother hiding their faces. Both tan, with harsh features and tawny eyes. One was blonde, appearing to be in his late thirties or maybe even forties. The other one looked more around late twenties, his ebony hair tucked in a low pony. In any other situation, she might have found them somewhat attractive.

She didn’t dare turn around to see the one that had stopped her.

“Shouldn’t someone take that bottle from her?” The man in white asked, stepping into the light. If she hadn’t been laying down, her jaw might have dropped at the sight of his face. He could very well be the most handsome man she had ever laid her eyes upon. Flawless brown skin, dark blonde hair and black eyes, he looked like the warrior-princes in the books she read. “I mean she did manage to deck Lorcan across the face and run a fucking lot. And then there is also the pup ready to bite our ankles.”

Lorcan. The man in charcoal grey was named Lorcan.

She heard the footsteps of the man behind her before she saw him. He unhurriedly walked to her front to join his companions, and Lin finally sat up. As Lorcan, his face was hidden by his light grey cloak. She picked the dog up and stood, taking a step back.

When she fully stood the light filtering from one of the highest windows illuminated her face, and she scowled at the six men.

“Holy fuck.” The pretty one said out loud when he took a look at her face. “Holy fuck. Please tell me everyone is thinking what I am thinking.”

“Shut up, Fen.” The one in black grunted, stepping closer to Fen. Lin then realized that their faces were near identical, even though he looked like the dark side of his brother’s fair coin.

Twins then.

“Look at her face.” He was gaping. Why the hell was he gaping?

“Why the hell are you gaping?” She said before she could consider the words. She almost flinched at her own tone— being rude wouldn’t help her at all right now. But she had already spoken with confidence, so now she must continue with the facade. “And who the hell are you?”

“You’re not really in the position of asking questions right now, lady.” His twin answered before Fen could open his mouth.

“You’re not really in the position of telling me how to act, sir.” Oh she was screwed. She was so, so screwed.

The six men surveyed her, their eyes scanning her head to toe. She felt the urge to shift on her feet, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction even though she had a feeling that they all knew how her heart was pounding inside her chest.

The pretty one, Fen, decided that she passed whatever inspection because he decided to answer her earlier question despite the looks he was receiving from the other five. “I’m Fenrys. Lovely meeting you.”

Her eyes narrowed and she took another step back. Fenrys’s wolflike smile only grew wider. “And the others?” She jerked her chin to the other five, still faking confidence. She needed to run and she needed to do it before they decided they didn’t want to toy with her anymore but she knew that without another distraction, she wouldn’t run five steps before they caught her.

Surprisingly, the golden man in brown answered her question too. “Gavriel, lady.” His voice was chill and gentle, and some of her nerves calmed further. Maybe he would convince his friends to kill her quickly as a mercy. He looked at the other four men who remained silent and sighed. His next words, however, caught her by surprise. “We are very sorry for scaring you and your dog. We didn’t expect anyone else to be in the castle.”

A blink was all the surprise she showed.

Maybe they wouldn’t kill her. She almost choked in relief.

Talking to him seemed safer than the others, so she nodded. “I wasn’t planning on coming in, but the dog ran inside and I came after it.” If he was surprised she answer, he didn’t let it show. “I can leave now and I promise I will not tell anyone that I ever saw any of you.”

Fenrys laughed at that. “I have a better plan.”

At that, her entire body went visibly taunt.

“Fenrys.” The man with ebony hair in a pony growled. “Stop trying to scare the girl.”

Fenrys didn’t stop looking at her. “Am I scaring you, lady?”

“The only thing scaring me are your manners. Maybe I should have decked you across the face.” Lin raised her chin. She had survived ten years with men trying to taunt her day and night, and since his companions didn’t seem inclined to kill her, Fenrys was just an asshole trying to get a reaction. “Maybe strong enough to break your jaw. It would certainly save me from your blabbering.”

His twin’s mouth fell open before he howled. The man was almost doubling with laughter, and the other ones seemed to smile. At least the ones she could see the faces. Two of them remained unknown and it bothered her. A lot.

“The idiot laughing Connall,” the man with ebony hair said. “I’m Vaughan.”

She merely nodded to acknowledge she had heard him. Against her best judgment, her eyes went to the guy in the grey coat. Not the one she had hit, the one that seemed to be their leader, Lorcan. No, she was staring at the one who had been the one to reach her and grab her elbow. She could swear his eyes were fixated on hers as she turned to him. His attention unnerved her enough to make her reckless. “And the one watching me like a fucking buzzard would be?”

He seemed to tense, either because of her attention or her harsh tone. Probably the latter.

No one responded as if sensing the shift in the air.

“What? You grabbed me by the elbow and slammed me against the floor, I should at least know your name.”

“What’s yours?” Oh, his voice. Something inside of her jumped when hearing his voice, his accent making the words roll out of his tongue. She would have frowned at herself if she wasn’t completely focused on the man before her. Even the others seemed to be interested in their conversation.

Lin smiled. “I asked first.”

Even under the layers of his cloak, she could feel him smiling in return. “Connall was right. You’re not in the position to ask questions.”

She just stared blankly at him. Neither he or one of his companions seemed interested in breaking the silence or getting involved into their pissing match. Lin ached to remain silent, but she also knew it wouldn’t help her, at least not now.

Pick your battles wisely, Lysandra would say and then add upon seeing the look on her best friend’s face, Not all of them, Lin.

“Why don’t you at least let me see your face? After all you’ve seen mine.”

He considered. He started to slowly circle her, looking her from head to toe several times. She wanted to stay put, but there was something about him that was both alluring and infinitely annoying.

“Why are you circling me?”

He didn’t respond but, surprisingly, took a step into the light and took off his hood.

iknowyouiknowyouiknowyou

The pulsing in the back of her head came back with full strength. Her vision swayed, and she clenched her jaw in order to not pass out. When she felt slightly better, she analyzed his features. Fenrys might have been beautiful but this man was… Alluring. Handsome. Lin wanted to take a step forward and analyze his features more clearly. Wanted to see the exact shade of his green eyes, see if his hair was actually naturally silver. She wanted to clearly see every single harsh and sharp line of his face. If Fen was the fair warrior-prince, this man was the morally grey warrior that you never know if you can really trust.

He was staring at her, eyes narrowing. He took a step forward, head tilting to the side. For some reason, he seemed somewhat confused.

Maybe it was his confusion that made her say, “My name is Lin.”

He nodded, almost disappointed. “Rowan.”

“You look like the old royals.” Fenrys blurted out, making Lin’s attention snap back to him.

“Fenrys.” Vaughan and Rowan grunted at him.

“What? She does. Look at the hair and face shape. Even her eyes look like theirs.” He walked up to her and she tensed, not daring to run with him so close. He bent down, staring right into her face. She really wanted to punch him to see what he would do. “She’ll be just perfect.”

His twin brother and Gavriel groaned.

“Perfect for what?” She snapped.

“To pretend to be the lost princess, of course.”

She gawping at him, she knew. She continued until she felt laughter bubbling up her chest and let out the most dramatic cackle she could manage. Despite being alone in the world, being constantly worried about Lysandra, about money and her plans, Lin couldn’t stop laughing at what the man had suggested. She was almost doubling over, and the dog in her arms jumped to the floor. Lin knew she shouldn’t laugh at the face of six men who could very well kill her, but it was just too damn funny.

“Pretend to be what?” She said, trying to stop laughing. Fenrys scowled at her and the others watched the scene or humorously or bored. “Isn’t this the infraction of about twenty laws, one of them being treason. Which would result in the gallows?”

When he didn’t answer, she let out another chuckle. “I have a neck way too pretty to be tied in a rope, boyo. And there is the fact that I don’t know any of you, much less trust any of you. Find another idiot.”

“You wouldn’t go to the gallows.” Vaughan said, and she was shocked that some of them agreed with Fenrys. Her eyes went to Rowan, but he was just watching everything with a blank expression. Vaughan continued, “People do it all the time. You would study everything about them, about their kingdom, go to the royal family, say you are the lost princess and they decide whether or not you’re lying. Worst case scenario, they kick you to the curb.”

“And the new queen?” Why the fuck was she even entertaining the idea? She didn’t know any of these men, and she already had a mission of her own. Lysandra couldn’t wait while she pretended to be a princess.

“She wouldn’t know.” Connall smiled viciously.

“Fuck no. I have better things to do.” She said, taking a step towards the wood panel she had come from. Despite their sizes and mean demeanors, Lin now doubted they would kill her. “Places to be, people to see. Find. Another. Idiot.”

“Are ‘better things’ sitting on the rooftop of a shabby house and drink vodka?” Fenrys called after her, and her head whipped back. Not to Fenrys, no, but to Rowan. The silver flash earlier… “You.”

He gave her a feral smile.

“You followed me here.” Lin said incredulously. “Didn’t expect anyone in the castle my ass. What the hell is wrong with the six of you?”

“We need a princess.” Vaughan said simply.

“Well I’m not one so leave me alone.” She grunted and turned around again to leave. These people must have been complete lunatics if they honestly had followed her here just to make her accept pretending to be the lost princess. The lost princess that everyone knew was dead. Her coat and shoes had been found by the riverbank in the dead of the winter and no one, especially an eight year old, would survive the Florine during December. Why the Galathynius still accepted people claiming to be Aelin was beyond her.

“We would pay you.” Connall called after her and although she didn’t stop, she started walking just a little bit slower.

You do need money, you know?

Lin was going to start calling the annoying voice in her head Stupid Sense and maybe light a few candles to ask for good, old common sense.

She could get the money somewhere else. They would probably only pay her if she was accepted as the princess, and Lysandra couldn’t wait that long.

“And for your passage to Banjali.” Gavriel added.

That made her stop.

“There’s no train to Banjali. The Adarlanian roads are closed in the southern borders.” She replied quietly, still not turning around. A plan was forming in her head, but she didn’t know if the results would outweigh the dangers.

If she accepted their offer, they could pay for her train ticket to Inish. If the Adarlanian borders were closed, the only way to get to Eyllwe was through the Western Wastes. If she said her condition was to go through a route that had Inish in its way, she could be there in little over a month. But then there was the big problem: she didn’t know these men. They could be the worst kind of scum for all she knew, and traveling with all six of them would require her to be always paying attention, minding her surroundings. She would constantly need to have an escape plan. She did know how to fight, and against one of them she might even had stood a chance but all six? She would be dead before she could even draw her knife. No, with them the wisest would be to run.

Maybe that was what she was going to do once they got to Inish. She would grab Lysandra and they would sneak to the Red Desert in a boat, save some money while in Xandria and then go to the Southern Continent. During the time until Inish, she could pretend she intended in faking being princess to the old royals. The perfect plan but that could go wrong in so many ways.

“There are several routes through the Western Wastes.” Gavriel answered her earlier statement.

Fucking bingo.

She slowly turned around to look at them again. If she was going to accept this, she would need to face the risks daily. Being on her guard all the time was exhaustive and Lin really thought she was past that now that she had left the orphanage. But she also knew that it would take months for her to get all the money she needed in Orynth, and for Lysandra she would risk her life.

“I would have… conditions.”

Fenrys smiled like a wolf.

“No shared rooms. I get to keep my weapons. When we are not studying the Galathynius, neither of you speak to me because we are not friends. Or even colleagues. And, the most important, I pick the train and the route.”She crossed her arms and would have taken a more dominant stance if there wasn’t a dog sitting on her feet. “Oh, and the dog comes.”

“You got it, lady.” Fenrys said immediately.

“No, she fucking doesn’t.” Lorcan spoke for the first time since when he scared her. His voice was just as creepy. When he looked at her, she refrained from giving him a scolding glare. “Stay put. We will discuss your… conditions.” And with that the immediately formed a tight circle and spoke in hushed voices.

She rolled her eyes and knelt to take a look at the dog. Now that she wasn’t running after it or away from the group a few meters away, Lin could realize that the dog’s pelt wasn’t that dark of a golden blond as she had imagined, it was just extremely dirty. The paw had some dried blood, and as well as other spots in the pup’s body. One quick check and… yes, female. She was a lovely thing, no more than six months old and despite the dried blood and dirty, she looked pretty decent. And she also couldn’t be badly hurt considering how fast she could run.

“You and I are going on a funny field trip, Fleetfoot.” Despite her nerves, Lin smiled.

—————————————————

“Is there really anything to debate? That girl could be an Ashryver if we only considered her looks.” Fenrys whispered. 

“That girl has the manners of a demon.” Rowan replied, leaving his opinion clear in this expression. She didn’t want to do this, much less travel more than a month with that girl. 

She somehow got under his skin way too easily. It was like a more witty and smart version of Fenrys. Terrible

“Not the manners, clearly, but that can be adjusted. Again, she looks like an Ashryver.”

“And have you ever seen an Ashryver to know that?” Rowan’s voice came harsher than he intended, but his temper was slipping. He was the only one completely against this stupidity, his brothers seemed to be way too interested in the money that they could get to think clearly.

“Have you?” Fenrys snapped back, and when Rowan didn’t reply, he just went on. Fen was definitely the most excited about this. Earlier, when they were at the cathedral, he was looking outside of the window when he literally squeaked. Everyone knew of the Galathynius that had survived and now lived in Banjali with the Eyllwen royal family and how they sometimes accepted visits of people claiming to be Aelin. None ever actually was Aelin, and Fen thought that they should try their luck. Find a girl who looked like the dead princess, teach her, convince the Galathynius she was Aelin and then get fucking rich by blackmailing the poor girl.

All of them went to the window to look at the girl drinking her ass off on a roof and even Rowan had to admit that she looked like an Ashryver from afar. He didn’t even know she had also seen him until minutes ago when she looked back at him with enough wrath to make him want to take a step back.

The girl was like fucking wildfire, cursing like a sailor, hitting people with vodka bottles and inserting sarcasm in every single sentence.

“Her demands also are acceptable and expected.” Vaughan sided with Fenrys. He had been pissed earlier because he insisted that there were better ways to approach her. Connall said that it was better to have the element of surprise. Rowan just wanted to hit both of them. “She’s a girl traveling with six men, of course she wants weapons and privacy. And after you guys decided to so delicately approach her, it was obvious she wouldn’t be inclined to sit with us during afternoon tea and make friendship bracelets.”

“I didn’t know we had afternoon tea.”

“Connall, for the love of the gods, be quiet.” Gavriel said, giving one of the twins a slap on the back of his head.

As they kept bickering, Rowan let his gaze fall upon the girl. Lin.

Even though he never revealed to any of his friends, Rowan had seen an Ashryver up close. Two actually. A boy around his age at the time who would sneak off the castle to play with the other street boys and a younger girl who looked like his carbon copy. The boy he had seen far more than the girl, being friends with him for a while. Before Rowan could ever fully befriend the girl too, everything had gone to shit.

He still remembered the day when he woke up in a crappy orphanage and everyone was talking about how Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was dead. The king, Orlon, had died in the attack to the castle but Aelin had disappeared. He remembered the pain in his chest in imagining Aedion, his friend and her cousin, discovering he had lost her. He remembered his own pain in imagining the girl he had seen twice but had been kind to him both times, and how he would never befriend her too.

Lin did look like Aelin. If she had survived, the two girls would probably look very much alike. Sharp jawlines, high cheekbones and a small nose, Lin looked as royal as the new queen sitting on the throne. Even if he and Fenrys were right and her manners were a complete disgrace.

A disgrace because she wasn’t a royal. She wasn’t Aelin.  

Suddenly, Rowan was pissed and the sight of her only worsened it. It was cruel to go to the Galathynius and present an impostor as their daughter. It was insensitive as fuck for them to play with people like that only for money, and this girl was so quick to accept that it made his stomach turn.

The first sight of her had made his stomach turn too.

“Why does she want to choose the route, though?” Lorcan finally said something, his voice cold. Rowan couldn’t read his face right now, but he knew Lorcan enough to know that he was raging inside because the girl had decked him.

It had been so unexpected that Rowan just stood there blinking.

“Hey, firedrake,” Fenrys said loudly, and Lin’s head snapped up from the dog she was petting. Her eyes narrowed, her impatience and dislike of them simmering off of her. “Why you want to choose the route?”

Rowan held his sigh but Gavriel didn’t.

“Firedrake?” Was all she replied.

“Yeah, every time you opened your mouth was like spewing fire, so what better nickname than a firedrake?” Fenrys smiled and Rowan was sure that if it wasn’t for the dog licking her fingers, she would have attacked him.

“Fuck you. And I want to choose the route because I didn’t lie earlier.”

They just started at her blankly until she smiled, shrugging.

“I have places to be and people to see, wolfie.”

Fen actually laughed and Connall and Vaughan snorted. Gavriel merely smiled but, as Rowan, Lorcan’s face was serious.

Rowan really thought that he would put an end to this. Side with him that this was stupid and that there was no way in hell this could would pass as Aelin.

When Lorcan opened his mouth, though, Rowan’s world fell.

“Welcome to the group, firedrake. Don’t do anything to make me kill you in your sleep.”

The girl had balls, Rowan had to admit, as she smiled sarcastically and almost in a scary way at Lorcan as if to say Likewise.

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[welcometophu]

Not Your Destiny: Chapter 18

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 18

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Ángel gets a text late in the day that Emerson is home with Tanner. He has Luca leave him at Tanner’s place, but he doesn’t stay long, not wanting to exhaust anyone further. It’s enough to see that Emerson’s okay, the bubbles few and far between, dull in color.

Ángel hugs Tanner before he leaves, holds on tight while Tanner clings to him in return. “Get some sleep,” Ángel murmurs, and hesitates before he steps back. “You know, if you want Hayley to come over here, all you have to do is ask her. I’m not trying to keep her away from you. Everything is up to her, right?”

Tanner’s gaze drops for a moment. “Yeah. Well. I don’t want to ask and make it awkward.”

“More awkward,” Ángel says dryly, and it takes a heartbeat but they both laugh.

“Look,” Ángel says. “Just talk to her. Talk to her like she’s not my ex-girlfriend. Like she’s not my other best friend, and forget about the part where she’s staying at my house. Or don’t forget that, since it means you can walk over there, and she can walk over here. Treat her like a girl you want to date, if you want to date her.”

“I think we’re getting there,” Tanner admits. “I like her, Ángel. She’s like you, except a girl.”

“We’re not that much alike.”

“She talks more.”

Ángel tilts his head, agrees silently. Hayley talks more. Ángel’s thoughts just run in circles a mile a minute, and he does his best not to let the inside voice become the outside voice. Years of practice. The fact that Hayley doesn’t have a filter, and doesn’t let it bother her, is one of the things Ángel loves about her. “Call her,” he says quietly.

Tanner turns away, phone in his hand, as Ángel starts to walk down the street. He doesn’t even get to his house before he sees the door open and Hayley emerge, her phone pressed to her ear. She has a small grocery bag over her arm, swinging and bumping her hip as she walks quickly. She stops abruptly, mouth slightly open, shifting to a bright smile when she sees Ángel.

“Hey,” she says, then shoves the phone in her pockets so she can throw her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. “I love you, you know that, right? I mean, I really do love you. And you’re a really good friend, and you know I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But Tanner needs someone there, and I’m not that someone.” Ángel nuzzles her hair above her ear. It’s still familiar, still comforting. He kisses her temple, lets her go. “I get it, Hayley. It’s getting easier. Is it getting easier for you?”

“I like him,” she says.

“I feel like I’m back in middle school,” Ángel grumbles. “You like him, he likes you. Maybe you like like each other, but you don’t know. Should we pass notes next?”

“You did, when you told him to call me.”

She has a point. Ángel rubs his forehead, shakes his head. “If you need anything, call. Apparently if you keep calling, it gets through the volume being turned off because they think it’s an emergency. So, if you have an emergency, break through.”

“I’m going to be fine. They have a guest room, and a couch,” Hayley points out. She darts back in, gives him one more quick hug. “I’ve got a book, and my phone, because I think Tanner’s probably going to sleep early because he’s still super tired. I got a nap today when the kids napped, which was really kind of awesome. They, like, do this whole puppy pile thing and we built a blanket fort and we all cuddled. They’re really good kids.”

That reminds him. “We’re invited to that party Zita’s setting up at Tony’s place,” Ángel tells her.

“Oh! Right, I know, I was supposed to tell you that. Tanner, too,” Hayley says.

It’s nice to know they’re all on the same page, even if they’re not passing messages consistently. Ángel shifts his weight, leans back, suddenly awkward, and not sure what else to say. He’s never felt like this with Hayley before, never not had words for her.

She raises one hand to touch his cheek. “It’s all going to be okay,” she says, and he can see the ink on her wrist before her hand falls away.

“Go,” he says, and there’s no pain in his voice, just that tight feeling twisting in his chest.

He envies her. She knows what her potential is, she knows that all she has to do is settle in and see what happens. Ángel knows that his potential is out there, and instead of looking for it… he thinks he might be starting to crush on someone he can’t have, instead.

Because he needs his heart broken twice within a month, right?

He heads inside, and Abuela is there, just pulling the leaves from a fresh pot of tea. She sets them aside neatly on a plate to catch the drips, then pours two cups, and adds a healthy dollop of honey to Ángel’s cup before handing it to him.

“Not coffee?” he says, blowing on the hot liquid before taking a cautious sip. Jasmine green, sweet and potent, exactly like he’d started drinking at Teas Please.

“This is to give you comfort, not me,” she says with a small smile. “Besides, I’m old enough, and it is late enough, that I should like to sleep tonight without insomnia.”

“They make decaf.” Ángel takes another sip, and wonders what magic Abuela has to know exactly how sweet to make it. It’s probably just a grandparent thing, like remembering favorite colors and preferred brands of ice cream, along with the fact that he likes his tea sweet even though he prefers his coffee black.

Abuela snorts. “No. I would rather drink tea. And your green isn’t bad.” She walks away, carrying her cup into the living room and taking a seat at one end of the sofa.

Ángel could take his tea, go upstairs. She might not follow him. Or he could do what’s simplest, and take the offered seat.

He slumps in his space at the other end of the sofa, his tea cradled in his hands, legs sprawled out. “Emerson’s tired, and missing some time, but he’s mostly okay,” he says.

“Hayley mentioned, before she left.” Abuela sips at her tea slowly, lowers it to keep it in her hands, resting against her lap. “How do you feel, Ángel?”

Like crap, overall, but Ángel gets the feeling that she’s asking a specific question. He touches the thought in his mind, tries to roll it over, tease out his own emotions. “It hurts,” he admits. “Is it always going to hurt, Abuela? Because right now, it feels like she’s still a part of me. But at the same time, it’s getting easier. They deserve to have a chance, and if they’re better than she was with me, then that’s a good thing. And I still… I have a chance. Somewhere.”

She’s silent at that, and he wonders if she’s absorbing the information or quietly waiting for him to say more.

“What happened with Emerson scared the shit out of me,” Ángel says quietly. “I figured he wasn’t going to die. Talent doesn’t kill you, right? But at the same time, I didn’t know what was going to happen, and maybe I was wrong. And he’s only fourteen. We’re too young to be mortal.”

“Everyone is mortal,” Abuela says quietly. “And Talent can kill you, depending on what your Talent is. I have seen Mages burn from the inside from the strength of their power.”

That is an incredibly disturbing image. Ángel tightens his grip around the cup, forces himself to take a sip and relax. Release the tension from his shoulders, reach out to set the cup on the table instead of clinging to it like a lifeline.

Abuela mirrors his motion, sets her own cup there as well.

“Just tell me you get over your first love,” Ángel mutters, drawing his feet up to sit cross-legged and sideways on the couch, facing Abuela.

She makes a soft sound, and he meets her gaze, sees sorrow drawn there. Her fingers slide over the skin inside her wrist, from fletching to tip of the arrow.

“You still miss Abuelo.” It’s been a long time, almost as long as Mami’s been gone. Ángel wonders what it would be like to still feel that ache after nearly a decade. It sounds like the kind of pain he could drown under.

“I still miss him, yes,” Abuela says. She looks at a point on the wall, seeing something that isn’t there. “And I miss the one I loved before him, too. It has been a very long time, Ángel, and you will always remember your first love. But you will move on, and you will live without her. And you will be able to let another in your heart.”

Ángel leans forward, reaches for her wrist. “You loved someone before Abuelo?”

She smiles slightly, covers his hand with hers. “Very much. I do not regret loving and marrying your abuelo, but I do think of my first love as well. And wonder, at times, how things might have been different.” She touches his cheek with her free hand. “For one, neither you nor Marcos would be here, and I would regret that to the depth of my soul, to unwrite you from this world.”

A small smile almost quirks free. “Dramatic,” he says, and she snorts softly.

“I am dramatic, yes,” she admits. “But it is still true. This is the path I took, and that path brought me your father and you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He has his thumb on her mark, and he taps it lightly. “Why an arrow?”

Abuela tugs lightly, and he lets her go, lets her pull her hand back to her own lap. “He was a protector,” she says, lips pressing slightly. That space on the wall fascinates her again, and even when Ángel coughs slightly, she doesn’t meet his eyes. “He kept our family safe,” she says.

“Was there a reason we wouldn’t be safe?” Ángel asks.

Abuela blinks, smiles gently when she looks at him. “Of course not, mijo. That is just who your abuelo was.”

There’s a piece to the story missing here, something that she’s not saying. Ángel is pretty damned sure she’s not going to say it, either, even if he tries to push. “I guess maybe we all just think about mortality at some point, and maybe he worried about it earlier.”

“Perhaps.” She turns his wrist now, touches the cat. “And you? Have you found the match for your mark?”

“I’ve found a lot of people who aren’t my match,” Ángel mutters dryly. “And there’s one—” He hesitates, breath tight.

“Yes?”

Ángel huffs out the breath, forces it through tight lungs. “There is one guy that I think I might be attracted to, who is (a) straight as that arrow, and (b) something that’s not Clan but still hates Magic. So.”

“And he’s not your soulmate,” Abuela says gently.

Ángel blinks at her, trying to read something past those words. “He’s got plenty of ink, but none of it mine,” he says slowly, licks his lips after the words come out, just to see how they taste. “But Abuela, if he were my soulmate, it wouldn’t be a problem for me. I’m bisexual.”

The smile never leaves her expression, the gentle fondness stays in the way she pats his hand. “Thank you for saying it,” she tells him.

“Wait.” He pulls back. “Did you know?”

“You talk about boys as easily as you talk about girls,” Abuela says. “And then there’s Tanner.” She tilts one hand up as if to say of course, and Ángel has to agree with that assessment. “But until you said, I didn’t want to push you to talk about it. When you hadn’t made a fuss, I didn’t think we should.”

“Papi and Joey know.” Ángel’s always figured they had no idea, that they hadn’t paid attention to the way he used inclusive pronouns, to the way he tried not to specify male or female. He’s grown so used to everyone just assuming, especially after he started dating Hayley.

“We know, and we love you.”

“But the church—”

“The church is a place, and it is filled with men, and sometimes those men make mistakes,” Abuela says. “God made you, and God loves you; I have faith in that. Now, tell me about this boy.”

It startles a laugh from Ángel, both the thought of Tony as a boy, and the way Abuela leans forward slightly, her expression as open and intent as when Ángel first told her about Hayley over Skype. He leans forward, meets her in the middle of the couch and hugs her, holding on for a long moment. “Thank you,” he says.

“Not everyone is as understanding, I know,” Abuela murmurs, patting his back. “But we will be with you, Ángel. They only fear what they do not understand.”

When she offers her arm, Ángel curls in close to her, as if he doesn’t stand so much taller than her now. He’s no longer a child, but when she’s so willing to take the weight of his worries, it feels good to just be able to let them go. “Okay, so, the problem is… it’s my boss.”

“Which one is your boss?”

“Well, Gabi and Zita own part of the shop, but I’m talking about Tony. I don’t think you’ve met him yet.” Ángel curls a hand over his center, like he can try to pull out the strange feeling he’s been getting. “He’s… he’s hot. I shouldn’t say that, I know, but he’s so hot.”

Abuela’s laugh shakes them both. “Your abuelo was attractive.” When Ángel winces, she laughs again. “You see, I can embarrass you in return.”

Ew. Just… while Ángel has seen the pictures, and can academically understand that both his grandparents were attractive people when younger, he really doesn’t want to consider how his abuela thought that his abuelo was hot. Just. Ew.

“Let’s move beyond physical appearances.” Because while Tony is really good looking—well built, muscled, lean, tall, strong, and that’s not even getting into the scruff of facial hair that somehow seems to pull Ángel in—that’s not all of it. “He’s a good person. He’s working on things for charity, and he goes beyond what people ask for. Like with Helga—we’re practically rebuilding her. And he says he’s doing it because he’s making me help him, because I’m doing my own labor, but I don’t believe him.”

“And how do you know he’s uninterested in you?” Abuela says it as if she can’t believe anyone would look past Ángel, and while it feels good to have that kind of support, he knows the truth.

“Because he’s been dating this girl for something like eleven years,” Ángel tells her, his voice going flat. “She’s a bitch, and apparently they’ve split up plenty of times, but all she has to do is call and they’re back together. So. Pretty sure he’s not going to dump her for me.”

Abuela pulls her feet up to sit cross-legged as well, her knees bumping Ángel’s on the sofa. For a moment her hands rest on her knees, then on her ankles as she leans forward, before she finally grips his hands in hers. “Ángel,” she says, voice low. “If there is something you would truly regret, something that you would think of in the future the way you think of Hayley now, do not simply walk away.”

“It’s not like Hayley,” he protests. “It’s just a crush. Besides, my mark—”

She squeezes his hands tightly, and he goes quiet. Watches her. She holds on for a long moment, then uses his hands to push herself back to sitting upright. “The things most worth having are often not at all easy,” she reminds him. “You will find someone to complement you, and to challenge you, but do not ever expect it to be simple.”

She said that before, but now he sees Hayley and Tanner and the way they simply flow together, as if they were always meant to be. Ángel shakes his head. “It’s not that way for Hayley.”

“She is not you, and her story is not yours,” Abuela says. “Follow where your path leads, Ángel. You know we will be with you along the way.”

There are times when Ángel suspects that Abuela knows more than she says. “Do you know who my soulmate is?”

She smiles slightly, shakes her head. “No, but I have no doubt that you will find them, whoever they might be.”

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