#belatedly adding one more tag as a trigger warning >>;;

[dandelion-wings]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Amber & Jean (Genshin Impact) Characters: Jean (Genshin Impact), Amber (Genshin Impact) Additional Tags: Bad Ending, Post-Apocalypse, Bleak, no one in this fic is okay. absolutely no one, is there a tag out there for 'hope spot ending' because. well., heart problems Series: Part 6 of Jarch Summary:

With an Abyssal invasion overwhelming Mondstadt, Jean tries to regroup with those she has left, while trying not to grapple too closely with just how few those are.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Pairing: (Eventual) Pro Hero!Mirio/AFAB Villain!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: As an individual with a pretty unimpressive Quirk, it hadn't taken long for you to stray from the straight and narrow. Until, of course, a certain pro hero from your past turned up on your doorstep…

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our first installment! I will never get over the Hassaikai arc. If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, please let me know 💚 Enjoy!

Tag List: @hijackser @nonstop-haikyuu @zombiexbody @buttons-beads-lace @swift-omg-no @ectoplasmictoast @tartimaar-bloggeth @plaguedoctorsnake

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore, emotional duress, mentions of death and financial hardship. Stay safe!]

You blinked. Rubbed your eyes, then checked again.

Nope, still there.

You shot backwards with a stifled swear, raising your hands in a defensive stance. "How the hell did you find me?" You snarled, noting as you did that you were probably not in as much trouble as you had originally thought.

The shining paragon of heroism currently slumped in the hallway of your apartment complex…well, he had definitely seen better days. His normally-pristine white suit was stained and torn in multiple places, and even as you watched a few more polycarbonate pieces clattered from what was left of his yellow visor. He finally raised his head to look at you and you were stunned to see tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Despite that, Lemillion still mustered up a smile for you. "Hey, I uh…I need a favor. Didn't know where else to go."

Flabbergasted, you did the only thing you could think of, which was shutting the door in his face. You began the process of locking it all over again, your hands trembling as you did. "What the fuck," you hissed, resting your forehead on the worn wood. Before you could turn the last lock, however, you found yourself hesitating. 

Didn't know where else to go. He had looked like he was in a real bad way. Clearly he was desperate, if he had made his way to your previously-unknown address. You heaved a massive sigh of frustration, then jerked back the latch bolts and yanked the door open once more.

"Oh, you're back! That's great. Sorry to be a bother." Lemillion sounded like he was torn between laughing and crying, as if he couldn't even believe what was going on. When you seized his arm his breath hitched and you realized belatedly that it was blood his suit was stained with. The lighting out in the hall had always been pretty poor; you could be forgiven for missing a few details.

"Get in here before someone sees you." You muttered, relaxing your hold to something a bit more delicate. Granted, you knew damn well that he could phase free of any grip you might have had on him, but this was a show of trust on his part so you grudgingly relented. He leaned heavily on you while limping through the doorway, his left hand holding the tattered remains of his suit closed at the hip on his right side. "Sit on the bed, I have a lot of junk on my chairs so that's kind of it."

"I'm sorry about all of this, I-I just–" Lemillion tried to start up again so you gestured curtly in his direction before beginning to secure the door.

"Be quiet," you growled, slamming home that final satisfying latch. "I don't know what happened, and I don't care. Is all of this something that can be handled here or do you need to get to a med center?"

"I…" Lemillion paused, then admitted, "I'm not…really sure." He glanced up at you through what was left of his visor, smiling again after a second. "Glad I made the right choice, though."

"Did you, Golden Boy? Because all I have to do is send one simple text and it's over for you." You retorted sharply, reeling internally from how blasé he was being about this whole affair. "We chalking this incredible trust up to a head injury?" 

He laughed and then grimaced, a few tears making their way down his face. "You…might be on to something," he groaned, finally peeling his hand away from his side. 

You felt your stomach lurch at the sight of the mangled skin on his torso and you shuddered, fighting back the urge to get queasy. "Shit, Lemillion, what the fuck." You snapped, "you compromise my location-"

"I didn't know where else to go!" The young man cried. Those same words he had said in the hall, laden with fresh desperation, but you weren't having it. 

You fired back, still trying to keep your voice low, "literally anywhere but here, Golden Boy! What the fuck do you mean?!"

"It was the Hassaikai, I--I got shot with something," Lemillion babbled, his voice cracking, "some kind of Quirk remover, w-we knew they were developing it but we didn't think they'd advanced to the point where it was functional and now I…so my Q-Quirk is…" He broke down into tears, burying his face in his hands.

"Holy shit." You said weakly. "Man, I…look I know we aren't on the greatest terms, but I'm sorry."

"Nighteye is dead because of me." Lemillion sobbed, "I wasn't able to…I saved Eri but I couldn't–"

Fuck. "They got Nighteye?" The young man simply nodded in reply, clearly too distraught to answer verbally. You swore again under your breath, eyes darting to the door nervously. If the Hassaikai were serious enough to take out an experienced pro like Nighteye, it would be small potatoes for them to end you and the wounded Mirio. "Okay, okay. It's okay. It's alright. Is there someone you can call or-"

"I can't go back! I can't--Nighteye–" the hero choked out hysterically, coughing and then gripping his wounded side. "Please, I–" 

"Shh." You hushed him curtly, holding up a hand. "Shush. Cry, do what you have to, but you need to keep it down. I…I'll see if I can get a house call." 

Lemillion reached out, stained fingers grasping at the hem of your shirt. "Help me." He begged, tears continuing to spill down his face. 

Shaken, you replied, "Hey, I'm gonna', okay? I just don't want my neighbors to get suspicious." 

His face fell and the grip on your shirt tightened while he appeared to stare at the floor. "Thank you." He finally said thickly, releasing you. "I didn't know…I've never had to–" His words trailed off, head lolling to the side. It was quickly followed by his entire body, the young man appearing to lose consciousness. You rushed forward, catching his shoulders and managing to ease him flat on the bed. 

There was blood smeared on your blankets. You puffed out a breath, thoroughly wary and more than a bit confused. Then, you fished your phone out of your pocket and scrolled through your contacts.

"Hey Jund, I need a favor…"

…

The aforementioned Jund was a dark-haired, solidly-built man with a propensity for smoking indoors. He showed up as you were still in the process of scrubbing away the traces of blood in the hallway, having the audacity to raise an eyebrow at you. 

"Yeah, it's bad." You answered the unspoken query softly, opening your door and ushering him into your apartment. "Ah ah, put out the butt. No cigs in my hovel." You chided, waiting until he grudgingly stubbed out the cigarette in the proffered ashtray before you continued, "so like I said, I'm not a hundred percent sure what happened. He passed out on me, but-"

Lemillion abruptly lunged through the doorway of your bedroom, the young man nearly falling flat before he grappled the frame until his knuckles whitened. "Get away from them!" He yelled, taking a wild swing at Jund. 

The large man caught his arm, giving him a withering look. "You're just going to hurt yourself more, idiot." He gruffed out. "I ain't here to do anything but help. Don't get your panties in a twist."

You, for your part, put your face in your hands. Your embarrassment was all-consuming. "Can you tell we dated in high school?" You mumbled through your fingers to Jund, who snickered.

"Dating Lemillion? I didn't peg you for the goodie-two-shoes type." The older man said with a sidelong grin.

"I was young," you stressed the word. "Neither of us were exactly established in our career paths back then, either."

"Yeah, yeah, I bet." Jund teased, forcibly walking Lemillion backwards into your bedroom. "Now listen squirt, because I'm only gonna' say this once," he growled at the hero who was continuing to struggle against his hold. "I'm gonna' help and it's gonna' suck. You come at me again and I'm leaving. Got it?" Jund then tipped his head towards you. "Look, they called me here. They trust me. I'm not on anyone's side here, and I'm not gonna' rat anyone out. Consider me a…temporary ally."

Lemillion thrashed again and then went limp, glaring at Jund while clutching his side. "Fine." He panted eventually. If looks could kill, Jund would have been six feet under.

"Wonderful. Now shut up and let me work." Jund beckoned you closer, tapping your arm. "Roll up the sleeves and I'll get started."

…

Mirio wasn't sure how he was still conscious. His eyes kept sliding closed and he forced them back open, uncertain of where he was. Was he on the street? In the stairwell? No, no, he was sitting down on a bed. 

You had let him in?

You had let him in. 

Relief made his shoulders droop. He was safe then, at least for now. 

Pain shot through his core and he jerked upright, eyes flying open once more. You were there though, hands on his shoulders to steady him even as he writhed. "Easy, easy." You breathed, shooting a look to the side. "Almost done, Jund?"

"There's still a shell in his shoulder." That man grunted and Mirio felt something grate against bone, the hero arching his back in an unintentional effort to escape the agonizing sensation. 

His breath hitched, then seethed between his gritted teeth. Mirio fought the urge to continue thrashing, his entire being screaming to get away from the source of the pain. 

You gripped tight on his shoulders, that mild discomfort helping to ground him ever so slightly. "It's okay," you murmured, your voice oddly quiet. "Almost there." Mirio sobbed out an exhale, his fingers clawing for purchase on the blanket beneath him. You shifted then, scooping his hands up and holding them tightly to your chest so he couldn't move. "Almost there." You repeated firmly.

"Done." Jund said abruptly, the tall man making his reappearance. His hands were stained with an odd purple hue, the color nearly turning Mirio's already empty stomach inside-out. To say nothing of the bullet he held pinched between his thumb and forefinger, its hypodermic needle tip gleaming dull red.

The hero retched, flinching when he realized that your own hands were the same violet shade. You hadn't seemed to notice, simply thanking your large compatriot. 

Jund brushed you off, telling you in a no-nonsense tone that, "you'll need to eat soon, the damage was extensive." 

"Yeah, I can tell. I'm pretty light-headed." You admitted with a wry smile. "Doesn't help that I started with an almost empty tank. Ketchup packets and hot water are a poor substitute for tomato soup."

"Guess I'll be waiving my fee then." Jund grumbled. "Again."

"Wait, I have-" Mirio's hands felt like lead as the young man fumbled with the side of his utility belt. He finally managed to extract a few wrinkled bills, which he pressed into your palm. "I can get more, I'll just need to be careful. Security on my ATM cards and stuff." He tried to explain, the words thick and difficult to say. Exhaustion dragged at him even while he watched Jund shake his head.

"Keep it. The fee is a joke. I only charge the big shots who can afford it." The older man pointed out, "you're a fugitive, from what I can gather, or bare minimum you're in some deep shit. Save those dollars for when you'll need them, kid." He then tipped his head towards you. "Buy them some real food and lay low so you can heal."

…

Jund's Quirk, while wildly useful, took a heavy toll on him if someone wasn't able to share the burden. The lanky man waved off your offer of a beverage before he left, simply giving you the instructions to, "force him to take it easy for a few hours." He also carefully placed the bullet into a ziplock bag you provided, his face troubled.

Mirio had fallen asleep relatively soon after Jund had finished, the younger man still arguing the merits of paying his 'fee' even as his voice got softer and softer. Once Jund departed you took a moment to heave a sigh, then straightened your shoulders and got to work. 

The blankets would need to be washed, and while it might be paranoid to think that you may already be under surveillance, you weren't about to risk leaving your apartment with your bloodstained bedclothes. The shower would have to suffice.

Slinging your two light summer blankets into the bathroom, you then rummaged around in your combination broom closet/linen closet/general catch-all storage closet for your laundry supplies. A stain remover for sure, but you'd have to dissolve it before adding it to the fabric as the rinse water would need to be cold to help lift the blood. 

Ugh. So you'd need to find a container for the stain powder (one that could be rinsed out or disposed of), and then you'd have to run extra water for the whole endeavor. Ugh ugh ugh. You doggedly got to work, grumbling mentally the entire time you swished and scrubbed at your blankets in the bottom of your shower. 

At least the powder worked, despite your annoyance over the process. You ended up arduously wringing the blankets out and draping one over the shower door while the other took up a sprawling residence stretched between your two kitchen chairs, which were both laden with the buildup of your junk mail. With that particular trial managed, your stomach rumbled. 

The clock on your stove was still blinking 12:00 from your last power outage, when you had finally given up on trying to keep it current. You checked your phone for the time, and then resigned yourself to rustling up something to eat.

You were up to your waist in a lower cabinet chasing down an eye-laden potato when you dimly heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you.

You froze.

"Can I ask where your cups are?" Mirio, how was he even able to move. 

You nearly brained yourself on the lip of the cabinet door in your haste, quickly turning to face the young man with your hard-earned prize in hand. "Upper cabinet by the sink." You answered his question, your voice faltering a bit.

Mirio looked awful. His nose was red, and his eyes were bloodshot with lurid purple circles beneath them. Despite his appearance, he just nodded and then used the counter like a crutch so he could limp across the kitchen. "I'm still…pretty sore." He explained, like he assumed you wouldn't know.

"Mirio it's been less than four hours since your lung was unpunctured, you're lucky if all you are is sore." You chided, moving to open the cabinet for him. His hand landed clumsily on top of your own on the handle and the both of you flinched, Mirio moving back a step and you yanking the cabinet open. "Uh, sorry. Just a little jumpy." You tried to apologize, the reality of your situation catching up with you. A hero (former hero?) had come to your residence in search of aid. What the hell kind of mess was this?

You quickly filled the cup from the tap, handed it off to Mirio and got to work cutting the eyes out of your lone potato. 

"Whatcha' doin'?" Mirio asked after a moment. 

"Trying to figure out how to feed two people with one sad legume." You grunted as your knife caught on a particularly stubborn eye, then huffed in frustration when you accidentally nicked your knuckle. "Ow, dammit."

"Hey, easy." The blond man admonished, continuing, "look, just take what I've got. We can go to a corner store, pick up some stuff."

"Excuse me, 'we'? Golden Boy, you're the one who came here all in a panic over being spotted!" You pointed out.

Mirio blinked down at you, seeming confused. "Yeah, but your Quirk can change how I look. So it's fine."

Ah. So that had been why he sought you out. You weren't sure why that deepened your irritation, but you found yourself setting your jaw and digging back into the potato. Abruptly the knife sank into a mushy spot and your heart sank as you realized the potato had gone bad. "Come on, fuck's sake." You swore under your breath, chucking the offending tuber in the trash and resting your hands on the counter.

"Did…did I say something?" Mirio asked awkwardly. "Wait, wait, did you lose your Quirk-?"

"No, I didn't." You cut him off, dropping the knife in the sink and washing your hands. You then turned, giving his face a hard look. "I just won't be able to do anything about the bruising. You know I've never been able to change skin or mask injuries." 

"Oh. Well it's a relief that you haven't lost your Quirk." Mirio's smile looked hollow and wrong. "Was kinda' worried there." His eyes strayed to the ziplock bag on your counter while he spoke.

You placed your hands on either side of his face, furrowing your brow in concentration. Your Quirk allowed you to change superficial things like hair or eye color and hair length, as well as offering limited control over more advanced things like bone structure. It was relatively simple to soften Mirio's striking features, masking the well-known hero with the guise of shaggy dark hair and smaller eyes. One final adjustment of his cheekbones and you nodded to yourself, content with your handiwork. It had taken you ages just to master working in vague symmetry, so as not to leave the subject of your Quirk stuck in the Uncanny Valley for the hour of use you could provide them.

"We still need some sunglasses to hide that bruising." You mused aloud, turning to your kitchen table and shoving the majority of your junk mail aside to unearth your lone set of shades. "Throw these on and we can make the run."

…

Forty minutes later Mirio sat impatiently on your bed. You had refused his offer to help, stating that since he had paid for the food he shouldn't need to prepare it. "I can cook, y'know." He called at your back, a little entertained by how nasally his voice sounded. You must have altered the shape of his nose. Those sunglasses had nearly slid off his face numerous times.

"I remember well what you considered cooking." You snarked dryly, "I was in the hospital with food poisoning for three days, Golden Boy."

"I'm also not fourteen anymore, Sunshine." Mirio retorted, his old nickname for you rolling off his tongue before he could think. "I've needed to keep myself alive. Can't exactly fight villains when I'm stuck in the bathroom, now can I?"

"Well I certainly couldn't, but knowing your overachieving ass I'm sure you'd manage somehow."

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but you seemed irritated. Mirio grimaced at himself after a second of thought; of course you would be irritated! He had just shown up at your doorstep while you were clearly trying to lay low and pretend to be an ordinary member of society. The life of a villain wasn't an easy one, and while he didn't agree with it he wasn't entirely devoid of empathy. You had always been pushed to enter a career of public relations regardless of your own wants or needs, to the point where the pressure became too much and you had dropped out of high school. After that, you had essentially vanished from social media and the public eye.

Seeing you in the field, recognizing you in the field and realizing that you weren't pursuing a lawful career…it had been sobering. Mirio knew that it would hardly be the first time he may have to engage with someone he had known in his youth. The world was a hard place if you lacked an attention-grabbing Quirk. He just hadn't expected you to be someone he would trade blows with.

Despite the clear mismatch of the two of you, the organization you partnered with had clearly trained you well. You consistently managed to evade Mirio, even with his considerable strength and powerful abilities. The few times you had engaged him head on, you met him with such ferocity that he was left stunned. Whatever had happened to you through the years must have been…difficult. At least, he hoped that's all it was.

The only reason he had your address was because he had been looking up old classmates in the city database out of boredom. He couldn't really say why he had never turned you in.

Well, that was a lie. He could, but he brushed it off as bias. Plus, it wasn't as if your particular villain gang was up to anything more nefarious than petty robbery or the occasional smash and grab. With the Hassaikai on the loose, resources had been stretched pretty thin!

The Hassaikai.

Mirio's fists clenched tight on his thighs, the young man staring at the floor. They had succeeded, sure, but the loss of Nighteye, his own hand in his mentor's death…

Togata hadn't realized he was crying until he felt you tug his chin upwards. The look you gave him was inscrutable and felt like it went on forever, the former hero forced to sniffle and wait for you to let go.

But all you said was, "dinner's ready," and Mirio wasn't sure if he imagined the sympathy in your eyes before you released him.

"Sorry," he apologized on instinct, rubbing his eyes. "You must think I'm pretty dumb, huh?"

"I think you coming here was pretty dumb." You allowed stiffly, passing him a bowl. "You being upset about…stuff, is totally fine."

"Is there anyone-" Mirio paused, swallowing a bite before he continued, "in your group with any sort of analysis capabilities? For the bullet."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Sorry, no. You probably knew that already though."

"Figured it wouldn't hurt to ask." The hero exhaled, thinking hard. That complicated things immensely, to the point where he was essentially out of options. His stomach twisted, threatening to make his dinner reappear. Oh sure, he had known deep down that there was no point in running from the scene. He had known that he would eventually be tracked down and made to answer for his hand in Nighteye's demise. He had just been hoping there would be more time for him to mentally prepare, more time for him to grieve the loss of his Quirk and his mentor. 

But it seemed that time was not on his side.

"I'll have to turn myself in, then." Mirio said quietly. "The bullet is really important evidence and while I'm…not really ready to face the music, it would be pretty selfish of me to hide out and endanger you further just because I'm being a coward."

You turned to look at the window, squinting in the dim light of the morning. "How about you sleep on it, then decide?" was your reasoning. "There's not much you can do in your current state. Get some rest first, screw your head on straight, and then you can decide. You're probably pretty fragile right now." An unexpected sob fought free of Mirio's throat, like the finishing touch on your sentence. You made a gesture, as if to say, see? "You need rest. For real this time."

"What about you?" God, he hated that his voice sounded so weak. 

"I've got enough time for a quick nap, my shift doesn't start until ten." You stood up, stretching with a groan. "Can't believe I had to stay up all night to deal with this."

"I…I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly." 

Your hand landed on his head, rumpling the hair that was slowly returning to its regular blond hue. You didn't actually say anything, but Mirio got the impression that he might be forgiven.

Part Two

[eatyourchancletas]

SUMMARY |  y/n l/n; the trauma surgeon who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and is taken hostage by the terrifying mafia known as ateez. despite their situations, love arises between the doctor and san; but when an enemy comes in between the group, breaking trust and belief between the members, what will san choose to save; his newfound love or his brothers?

PAIRING | choi san x male reader

INFO/CATEGORY | mafia au, fluff, light angst

WARNINGS | violence, weapon usage/mention, foul language, lower case writing

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AUTHOR’S NOTE | we’re back! sorry for the long break, hopefully we can get into the flow of things! monnie’s already started chapter 5 off amazingly too :p written by both of us this time (mainly edited by monnie)! please leave feedback, like, reblog, whatever you can to let us know whether you enjoyed it or not!  (re-edited because dongwoo and changsik were switched up)

WORD COUNT | 2.4k

TAG LIST :; @jonghoshoe​  if you’d like to be added to the list please say so in our inbox/ask box!

y/n was usually called outstanding, hard-working, smart. but in reality, he was an idiot when he was outside the workforce. 

being a workaholic meant showing your skills, growing them, improving them, and practicing them constantly. sometimes it seemed to be all he knew— it’s what all the people around him saw. 

yet again, outside of it he’s quite a gullible man; which brings him to his current situation… 

“looking for something?” 

he looked away from the bandages he was previously examining to come face to face with a man that looked around his age. “not really, just restocking my clinic. or—trying to find things to restock it with.” the man nods, glancing around suspiciously, although y/n didn’t didn’t seem to take notice of this particular action. 

“this pharmacy is pretty small, but it has lots of good supplies… lots of hidden gems. want me to show you where i get my tools?”

“oh,” y/n blinked in surprise, “you’re in the medical field?”

the man made eye contact with him, managing a convincing smile. “yeah, there’s a clinic down the road from here, about fifteen minutes by foot, this is the nearest pharmacy, so we stock up from here most of the time. i work there as an assistant.”

y/n nodded, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “wow, then please! show me what you suggest.”

at the approval, the man nodded, “name’s changsik, by the way. what do you work as? i’m assuming you’re also in the medical field.”

they walked along the aisle of the cough syrups, ointments, and the few other medicines to turn and make their way to the exit door. y/n furrowed his brows, about to ask why they were exiting until changsik made another turn, walking towards the staff room. 

“your assumption is correct, i’m a surgeon…” he replied belatedly, trailing off as he stepped foot inside the room. his eyes trailed on the shelves full of unopened boxes, more prescription pills, and—bingo! the supplies he’d written down on his list. 

for a split second, the memory of san handing it to him flashes across his mind, blinking it away as he turned to changsik. “wait, how are you able to access this?”

“i’m a regular.” he glanced across at him, looking past the window. “and also the perks of having a pharmaceutical license,” a hefty laugh left his mouth, “took some convincing though.” 

“huh,” y/n squatted down, inspecting a box that was on the floor, “i guess that makes sense.”

“just put what you need in a box and take it out. i’ll just say you’re helping me take it back.” changsik smiled, watching y/n nod and do so.

after a few minutes, y/n finished and announced he was ready to check out. changsik’s eyes met one of the cctv cameras before settling on y/n. 

“alright, let’s go check out.” 

as they walked toward the front, they reached the hallway that led to the exit. just as y/n was going to walk past, toward the checkout counter, a hand forcefully grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back. he looked behind him, in a startled manner, thinking changsik had just forgotten something. however, a deeper fear struck when changsik’s hand moved to clench at the back of his collar. 

“don’t make a sound.”

the second the cold blade touched the skin of y/n’s neck, the surgeon knew to stay quiet. there was a burning in his throat as he struggled to swallow, scared to trigger any abrupt movement. his frantic mind jumbled about, words of scolding placed toward himself and the situation while trying to get a grip. he thought of using the in-ear to alert jongho, but it would risk exposure of the communication device: in any case… he’d be dead by then.

“what is taking him so long?” jongho grunted, tapping his foot in impatience. it’d already been about 10 minutes since y/n entered the store—it shouldn’t take that long for a surgieron to find equipment that’s of medicinal standard!

tapping his in-ear and calling out the doctor’s name, he got no response. placing his face mask on, he rushed into the store, beckoning the cashier. “have you seen a man, about 6’3” with h/c hair?”

the cashier stared at him with a shocked look, “yes, but he went back toward the restrooms. is he dangerous?”

jongho shook his head before running toward the back of the store. he shoved against the restroom door, shouting out the older’s name as he threw open each stall door. finally admitting the fact that the older had disappeared, he tapped his in-ear once more, calling out for anyone.

“jongho, what’s going on?” hongjoong had intercepted the connection, hearing jongho’s worried voice.

the bodyguard had no time to register the primal fear that would settle itself in his bones once faced with the leader, “it’s y/n, hyung. he ran away.” 

jongho returned to the headquarters after scoping out the area once more and had just entered through the front door when he was met with the sight of the whole group. 

hongjoong was staring at him with his jaw clenched and an almost empty whiskey glass settled in his lax hand. jongho had never seen a look so severe in hongjoong’s eyes—he’d never messed up this bad. and apparently, the leader wasn’t the only one emotionally affected by his mistake, because before hongjoong could even physically express his own anger, san had snatched the glass from his hand and launched it at jongho, missing his head by less than an inch.

everyone was shocked at his silent outburst, san even going as far to ignore the immense pain in his abdomen and on his shoulder, but hongjoong simply sent the younger a look, causing him to cower back in the slightest. jongho, however, was enraged at what had just happened. what gave san, who had no superiority over him, the right to do that?

“what the fuck was that?” he had stormed over to the boy, grabbing his shirt with both fists. san didn’t back down, sticking his jaw out toward the youngest.

“how could you lose y/n?”

“i was told no matter what to avoid cameras, so i stayed outside! i didn’t exactly think the fucker would have the balls to run away!” 

everyone watched the two, eyeing when to step in and pull them apart. but hongjoong let them run their mouths. the longer someone talks, the more something is revealed. what he was looking to be revealed, he didn’t know; but something would come up.

san pushed back against jongho, “y/n hyung wouldn’t run away. he’d never do that!” 

‘oh,’ hongjoong perked in interest.

the younger scoffed, “what makes you so sure?”

san’s next words came as a bit of a shock, leaving the others with silent questions, “he promised he’d come back.”

bingo!

an awkward silence filled the room as they all stared, speechless at how hopelessly fond their brother had become for their hostage. as much as some of them hated to admit it, y/n was only a hostage to them at the end of the day. and for san to fall into a reversal stockholm syndrome of sorts was nothing short of  a disappointment. however, that couldn’t be the main focus, y/n was missing and they didn’t know how strong his resolve would be in the event of torturing.

“run us back on what happened, will you?” hongjoong told jongho, trying to get a clear picture on what went down because the first thing they needed to know was why y/n was taken, much less, who took him. was it by the same person who’d been running their mouths in the streets? 

and right in the middle of his explanation, an alarm went off on yeosang’s phone; it was a message. the others kept talking, figuring yeosang could handle whatever message he’d received. 

it was when he promptly stood up that all attention had been placed on him. 

“it’s him! it’s dongwoo!”

a soft whimper sounded as y/n was thrown to the ground, hands bound and eyes blinded by some piece of cloth.

“boss,” y/n’s kidnapper spoke in a submissive wave, causing y/n to assume the guy had straightened his spine and was saluting him in some way.

a moment later, a gruff voice broke through the eerie silence in the room, “and who is this?” his voice wasn’t angered or bewildered at all, and that’s what scared y/n. he sounded intrigued; like even he wasn’t expecting to be a part of this situation.

“someone with connections to ateez— saw that bodyguard walking around with him.” 

the other man hummed, “the bodyguard didn’t follow you, did he?”

“no, no. i found them by the pharmacy; i know the area pretty well because i do the runs for sowon— i knew the camera blindspots!” his abductor seemed to be a bit on the simpler side when it came to this “boss” of his, y/n concluded. this was a completely different personality than when he was being abducted at the scene…

“good job. and you know what, changsik-ah,” his voice seemed to be getting more intrigued, y/n’s heart beating even faster in response, “since you bought in such a valuable hostage, i’ll let you have the honors of obtaining information from him.”

y/n felt the air beside him shift, changsik bowing a full 90 degrees at his boss’s blessing, “thank you!”

a sickeningly hearty laugh resonated and the creaking of a chair sounded before the boss’s next words seemed to be the final straw for y/n’s pounding heart.

“i want him alive.” 

“he better be alive,” san growled at jongho.

“we might get to him alive if you two would quit bickering. we’re wasting time because of you two, so shut it and sit down!” hongjoong had had enough of the two. he knew it was a sensitive time for san and jongho, different reasons for both, of course, but they would only get nowhere if they weren’t level-headed.

the two boys bowed their heads at their leader, san still sending a side-eyed glare at the younger before sitting down in his chair. 

it’d been two days since y/n was kidnapped and they still hadn’t been able to come up with a plan to get y/n back. 

wooyoung tried to trace where the text message came from within the first minute it was received, but surprise, surprise! it was a burner phone— so back to square one; checking all of the cctv footage in the area and trying to spot a suspect that wasn’t even visible from the first frame. 

the cameras in the pharmacy showed only y/n, the pharmacist, clerk, and four other customers. of those four, only one person never entered through the front door. and within those 48 hours, he’d managed to single out a vehicle that had arrived in the frame of one of the street cams showing the alleyway behind the pharmacy, and left the same way not even 5 minutes later. it was a suspicious vehicle too; white van, no windows in the back, and paper license plates. the paper plates hinted that they were most likely changed recently or are changed frequently.

and so after hours of having to witness his best friend be so uncharacteristically frantic and down, wooyoung, unfortunately, decided to do what he thought was smartest—save y/n himself to make his best friend happy again.

his intentions may have been well, but in stories like these, doesn’t something always go wrong?

“help me set the table guys,” seonghwa cleared his throat, hand on his hip as he stirred the soup on the stove. the steam from the boiling liquid sent another cloud to his tired face, a sheen of sweat and condensation forming.

“i really don’t understand why we are acting like we have the time to set a table and eat home cooked meals when we don’t!” san exasperated, pacing around the dining room. 

mingi gave a sympathetic smile, patting him on the back before going to help seonghwa. 

while mingi was more on the understanding side of san’s worries, jongho disagreed, “how exactly do you expect us to find him if we don’t take care of ourselves?”

“all i’m saying is food and sleep shouldn’t be this consistently on your minds when we’re all in this situation!”

jongho scoffed, finding the utmost absurdities in san’s words, “why are you acting like he’s so important? he doesn’t know anything about us or our weaknesses— for fuck’s sake, it’s not like we can’t just get another doc—”

a fist had flown toward jongho’s cheek, cutting off his words, before san’s thrashing body was being pulled back by mingi and yeosang.

“go to hell choi jongho!” san screamed, trying to force his way through the barrier the two had made with their bodies. the boy could feel his stitches tearing as he fought, but he didn’t care. jongho had been a bitch since the very first moment y/n was around, and for what reason?

“cut it out, san!” yeosang hollered, voice brute as he pushed against the boy.

“no, let me at him. he wants to keep being a little shit, i’ll show him shitty!”

“stop it! you haven’t even noticed, have you?”

san didn’t stop trying to break the barrier, focusing on getting to jongho and the other’s words, “notice what?”

“wooyoung’s missing,” yeosang began, san whipping his head toward him and trying to disagree, but yeosang was having none of it, “and you haven’t done anything but antagonize everyone here for not doing their jobs at your pace!”

“oh, excuse me for trying to be as quick as possible in finding him!”

“yeah, and who ever said quick was the efficient route to go? we’re dealing with people we know nothing about, but they seem to know a little too much about us, no? so stop getting on everyone’s asses and—”

“shut the hell up! please!” seonghwa had slammed his hands down on the table, screaming at the top of his lungs. every person in the room had immediately gone silent, words left on the tips of their tongues in a desperate attempt to fly about.

“you’re all going to shut it, sit down, and eat this meal like the civilized people we are and come up with a plan to get y/n back as safely as possible,” he gave a quick glare at everyone, blowing a puff of air at the lock of hair that had settled over his eyelids.

“am i clear?”

"yes, sir."

[talpup]

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud.  He knew there would be trails.  He knew trouble would come his way.  Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant.  What he didn’t know.  Didn’t expect.  Was that literal Chaos would come his way.  That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble.  Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers.  For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Chapter 89

“Why do I have to go?”  Yami questioned yet again.

“Cause your the one that found the girl and you haven’t seen her since Bran’s family took her in.”  Venice said as they flew.

“You say that like it answers my question.”  Yami said.

Aggravated herself, Teris didn’t have the patience to deal with Yami’s foul mood.  Flying beside him, she said.  “How about cause Jax said you had to go.”

At Yami’s deepening frown, Tobin offered.  “How about this?  It’s a reason to slack off and drink.”

“I can do that at home.”  Yami said.

“You people are going about this all wrong.”  Olsen said.  He looked over at Yami.  “Even if the Captain wasn’t making you go.  You’d be going anyway.  Why?  Because your lovely lady is going.”

Yami glared at the Water Mage but said nothing.

“See?” Olsen smiled at the others.  “Easy.”

Yami resisted the urge to knock Olsen off his broom.  Instead, he found something else to complain about.  “Why is the Lion Cub coming?”

“Because Vanessa invited him.”  Teris’ tempered tone put an end to that complaint.

“And your letter of Vanessa’s invitation said that Zora would be there too.”  Fuegoleon added, interested in seeing how both Vanessa and Zora were fairing.

Teris scowled at her cousin, none too please by his presence either.  She flew closer beside Yami.  “Why are you in such a mood?”

“Just hate flying.  That’s about all Bronn was good for.”  Yami grumbled, not sure why he was so irritable.

“Can you please refrain from comments like that?  Gilly will be there.” Teris said.

Yami huffed.  “It’s not like Gilly didn’t know Bronn was an ass.”

“Yami.” Teris scolded.

Yami looked at her expectantly.

Teris’ expression harden.  What was with him today?  Finally she said.  “If you don’t have something nice to say, just don’t speak at all.”

The Black Bulls shared various expressions of amusement.  Even Fuegoleon raised a wry eyebrow.

Tobin outright laughed.  “He’ll never talk again.”

Ignoring Tobin, Teris told Yami.  “Just in Bronn’s case.  Just for today. For Gilly and Jax.  Please.”

Olsen opened his mouth to tell Teris she’d get better results asking Yami to behave for her; but Yami silenced him.

“Shut up, Water Fairy.”  Yami looked back at Teris.  His angry expression softening slightly.  “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”  Teris breathed.  Yami trying was the best she could hope for given his terrible mood.

Teris wondered what had put Yami in such a bad mood.  Whatever it was had to have happened upstairs in the guys wing; because Yami had been sour since the moment he sat down for breakfast.  Jax bailing out on coming to Vanessa’s birthday party while telling Yami he had to go, certainly hadn’t helped.  Neither had Fuegoleon’s appearance. Though admittedly Fuegoleon’s attendance hadn’t helped her mood either.

Yami flew closer to Teris.  “What’s with you?”

Teris turned to him and scoffed.  “Me?”

“You’ve been quiet and testy all day.”  Yami said.

Teris blinked, unable to believe Yami’s nerve at calling her testy when he’d been nothing short of an angry bear all day.  He had literally growled at Tobin for accidentally elbowing him at the breakfast table before they left for Bran’s family home before sunrise this morning.

“Well? You gonna tell me what’s up?”  Yami asked, impatient with her silence.

Teris ground her teeth.  “Only if you tell me why you’ve been such an ass.”

“Language, Teris.” Fuegoleon rebuked.

“Screw you.”  Teris snapped.

Fuegoleon opened his mouth to scold again but was stopped by Tobin.

“I’d leave it, Lion Cub.  Teris has been in a mood since morning.” Tobin said.

Venice frowned at her boyfriend.  “As if Yami’s been any better.”

“They’ve both been angry ass’.”  Abril said.

“Excuse you.”  Fuegoleon turned to Abril in clear disapproval.  He and Teris may not have made up since their fight before the Star Awards over a month ago.  But they were still family and nobody bad mouthed his family.

“Irritable.” Olsen said, soothing the offense. “They’ve both been irritable.”

“We can hear you, you know.”  Teris said.

“So then tell us.  What’s the matter with you two? You have a fight or something?”  Tobin asked.

“Don’t be stupid.”  Yami snapped.

They flew in silence after that.

Teris thought of Zora.  Bran’s parents had been kind enough to let her invite him.  And Zora’s Aunt had said Zora could go.  It would be her first time seeing Zora since she learned the truth of Zara’s murder.  She hoped Zora wouldn’t ask about Magic Investigations supposed findings and conclusion.  Teris didn’t want to perpetuate the falsehood. Nor did she think she could look Zora in the eye and repeat such a lie. But the truth was so terrible Teris didn’t think she could tell Zora that either.  She had been tempted not to invite Zora at all just to avoid the chance of such questions.  But she needed to see him.  Friend bond bracelet or not, she had promised to be Zora’s friend.  Zara had been her friend.  She owed it to Zara to make sure his son was doing alright.

“We’re here!”  Bran sped on ahead with Abril right behind him.

Gendry’s already brooding expression darkened.

Teris tilted her head in Gendry’s direction and asked Yami.  “What’s the matter with him?”

Yami glanced at Gendry and shrugged.  “How should I know?”

“Cause he’s one of your closest friends.”  Teris said.

Yami looked her over.  “You’re my closest friend.”

Teris ducked her head trying to hide her blush; but her hair had been tied back for the flight.  “Fine.  Cause he’s one of your close friends.”

“Don’t pay much attention to my close friends.  Just my closest friend.” Yami toyed.

Teris shook her head.  “You’re impossible, Sukehiro.”

“And you’re beautiful.”  Yami told, loving how her blush deepened and spread to her neck and ears.

Landing their brooms, Yami was once again struck at how child-like Bran could still be.  The guy was just a couple months out from turning seventeen.  Yet the excitable way Bran pulled his mother along to meet them reminded Yami of the way Julius got when he saw new magic.

“Mum. This is Yami”  Bran introduced.

There was a moment of silence.

Yami’s eyes darted to Teris; the rest of the Black Bulls waiting for Bran to go on.

Attempting to cover for her son, Melody Host smiled at Yami.  “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Is this some met the parents dinner date we didn’t know about?  Yami, I thought you were with Teris not Bran.”  Tobin joked.

Yami elbowed Tobin in the gut, and rubbed the back of his neck.  He had known Bran idolized him; but hadn’t realized it was this bad.  The way Bran introduced him and his mother said it was nice to finally meet him made it seem as if Bran wrote home about him.  Oh mana please, he hoped Bran didn’t write home about him.

“And this is Teris, Julius Nova’s sister.”  Bran belatedly went on, embarrassed blush in his cheeks.

“She’s also co-Vice Captain and the woman I’m gonna marry.”  Yami added.

Tobin, Venice, Abril, and Olsen cheered in various levels.  Fuegoleon frowned.

Teris turned beet red.  Yami might’ve confessed that he wanted to marry her a year ago, but they hadn’t talked about it since; a fact she was thankful for.  She didn’t want to pull Yami into the mess of her refusing to wed Nozel, and still thought she could avoid doing so.  Finding her voice, she told.  “And a person in my own right.”

“That too.”  Yami grinned, loving her red cheeks and sputtering response. Tearing his eyes away from Teris, he turned back to Bran’s mother. “Nice to meet you Bran’s Mom.”

“Melody. Please.”  Melody said.

“Yeah. I’m not gonna remember that.”  Yami said.

“Yami.” Teris scolded.

“What? I’m just being honest. You’ve heard him tell how big his family is.” Yami said.

“Yami’s right.  There’s no way I’m going to remember all those names.” Tobin agreed.

Teris turned back to Melody.  “Thank you for taking Vanessa in.  We’re sorry our Captain couldn’t make it.”

“Vanessa’s been… interesting.”  Melody said.  She looked the rest of the Black Bulls over.  “Forgive me.  But I’m with Yami and this other young man.  There’s little chance I’ll remember all of your names with a single introduction, so why don’t you just make yourselves at home until it’s supper time.”

Teris’ eyes widened.  “Oh.  We can’t do that.”  She glanced at Yami and Tobin in particular.  “It’s best we think of ourselves as guests.”

Melody patted Teris’ hand.  “This farm has survived my children, and my husbands siblings before that.  There isn’t a wall in that farmhouse or any of the outbuildings that hasn’t been rebuilt because of a little roughhousing.  So don’t you worry about your people breaking things.”

“Where’s Papa?”  Bran asked.

“Where’s Ricte?”  Abril questioned.

“Where’s Vanessa?”  Yami wondered.

Venice looked at Abril.  “Who’s Ricte?”

Melody eyed Bran.  “Have you forgotten what a proper workday looks like? Your father's out in the fields.  He’ll be in at the usually dinner time come sundown.”

It struck Teris that they might've disturbed the Host family's regular schedule since the dinner they’d been invited to for Vanessa would start in a couple hours, well before sundown.

Answering Venice, Abril told.  “He’s Bran’s friend.  I met him when we came to drop off Vanessa.  We’ve been writing each other ever since.”

“Writing to each other.”  Venice echoed, casting a glance toward Gendry.

Well that explained Gendry's ill-humor, Teris thought.

“It’s not like that!”  Abril asserted.  She looked at Gendry, growling when he avoided her gaze.

Looking at Yami, Melody answered.  “Vanessa is--”

“Yami!”

“--right there.”  Melody finished.

89.2

It was late afternoon and the Black Bulls base was quiet for once.  Jax sat in his favored chair in the great room trying to read.  It was actually too quiet. ��All of the Bulls except he and Iban had gone to Bran’s parents.  The flight there long enough that they would be staying the night and wouldn’t return until just before supper time tomorrow.

Jax had stayed because he wasn’t ready to see Gilly again.  But in the houses silence, his thoughts were too loud to ignore. Had he been wrong to stay home?  Surely Bronn would've wanted him to go check in on Gilly.  Make sure what she said in her letters about doing alright was true.  But Jax didn’t want to go.  He didn’t want to see her and be reminded of the happiness he had taken from her.

Book forgotten, Jax sat talking himself sick with the same argument he’d been having with himself for three days straight.  Finally he got to his feet.  It was pointless to think about it anymore. He had made his choice.  The others would soon arrive at Bran’s parents, if they weren’t there already.

Leaving the book on the chair, Jax made his way down to Iban’s lab.

Though the lab shared a wall and blocked door to the kitchens, the place was cold and dark even in the middle of summer.  He ducked beneath rows of herbs hung to dry and came face to face with the golden eyed Blood Mage.

“Captain. What an unexpected surprise.”

“Tell me exactly how you and Yami are getting along.”  Jax ordered.

Work, Jax thought.  If he focused on his job as Captain he wouldn’t have to deal with haunting memories, or shame-filled regret.

“He hasn’t cut off anymore of my fingers.”  Iban offered.

A wry smile tugged at Jax’s lips. “Always a good thing.  Other than not cutting off parts of your anatomy, how are things between the two of you?”

“Out of self preservation and respect for the force that is strengthening within him, I do my best to stay out of co-Vice Captain Yami’s way. That, along with following his decree to stay away from co-Vice Captain Teris has seen us exist amicably enough.”

A cold prickle shot up Jax’s spine. “You said the force that’s strengthening inside him.”

Iban inclined his head.

“That sounds like terminology the Agents of Chaos would use.”

Iban’s eyes glittered darkly in the low light.  “Trust me, Captain.  The Agents of Chaos currently interested in Yami and Teris are far from the first to speak in such ways.”

Jax stood stock still, dazed for a moment.  The barest vibration rumbled underneath the men's boots.  The Black Bulls Captain ran a hand roughly over his face, struggling to get his mana under control.

Never once had Iban spoke of knowing the beliefs the Agents of Chaos held about Yami and Teris.  Never once had he mentioned anything about the supposed Light and Darkness that was in them.  Not even when he had questioned Iban after the Summer Solstice; asking if he had ever heard or knew the meaning of a seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son.

Then again that wasn’t how Iban Halvor worked.  The Blood Mage didn’t volunteer information.  Even when questioned directly, Iban often spoke in riddles.

This was his fault, Jax thought.  He should've asked.  It didn’t matter that he had no reason to question Iban.  He was Captain.  He should have known.

Gathering himself enough to speak, Jax asked. “What do you know of it?”

“Only what my Grandmother told me.”  Iban said.

Jax’s eyes lifted.  “What did she tell you?”

“A lot of things--”

Jax grabbed Iban’s shirt collar, pushing him back against the opposite worktable.  Disturbed clay jars and glass vials rolled along the tables surface.  A couple fell to the floor, breaking.

“Don’t toy with me!  I’ll don’t care what memory mage I have to use. I’ll know everything you do even if it leaves you drooling and catatonic.”  Jax said.

“Just make sure you don’t call upon Advisor Ellara Shaw.”  Iban said, hands lifted in yielding submission.

Jax’s eyes widened.  Then widened again when he realized he had physically attacked a member of his squad.  He released Iban’s shirt and stepped back.  He didn’t apologize.  Though he did scold himself for the outburst.

Iban straightened.  He didn’t bother smoothing his hair or clothes. Instead he turned to the tipped over jars and vials, tisking at the mess.

Righting some of the more costly and difficult to make brews, Iban stated. “You have questions, Captain.”

“Damn right I do!”

Iban turned back to him.  “All you need to do is ask.  I’ll gladly tell you whatever you wish to know.”

“No.” Jax scowled.  “We’re not playing your games.  Not in this. People have died.”

“Ah, yes.  Bronn.  It’s a shame the Vice Captain died for nothing.”

The house trembled around them.  Jax swallowed thickly, battling his own will.  A part of him didn’t want to get control of his mana.

The exterior stone wall of the partially subterranean room opened up to the outside. The stones reshaped to form into a stairway leading up to the back lawn. It would be safer for the both of them if they continued this outside.

“Climb.” Jax ordered.

Outside, Jax faced Iban and demanded.  “Tell me everything.”

“There’s not much I can tell.”

“I highly doubt that.  Now talk.”

Taking a deep breath, Iban told the Captain the same thing he had told Yami about his family’s past.

“Your third great grandfather was the Leader of those crazies!”  Jax stormed when Iban was finished.

“They were hardly the radicals you are currently dealing with who are foolish enough to believe ending this existence will bring about the next.”  Iban said.

Jax thought back to the information Sir Jorah and Marx had said the Clover Kingdom had on the Agents of Chaos.  That over a hundred years ago there was a change in the group that saw the Agents of Chaos going dark.  That it led many to think the group had disbanded or been taken out by a rival faction; leaving the group to eventually be forgotten about entirely, until now.

He shook his head, the Agents of Chaos’ past didn’t matter.  What mattered was Iban could tell them Alowishus’ plans.

“If you think I can help you, Captain, I am sorry to say you are sorely mistaken.”

“Your family was a part of them.  Your grandmother’s grandfather the Master of the group.  You know about force strengthening inside Yami.”

Iban rolled his head, sighing.  “I know-- how is it those of this kingdom phrase it?”

Jax didn’t say that Iban and his parents were of this kingdom.  He knew Iban and his family kept to themselves and refused to assimilate. It’s why Iban still had a Spade Kingdom accent despite him and his parents being born and raised in the Clover Kingdom.

“I know enough to get myself in trouble.”  Iban said, recalling the phrase.

“In trouble with who?”  Jax asked.

“The truth is, Captain.  I do not know what Alowishus Spade’s plan is passed that of using Vice Captain's Yami and Teris to awaken Chaos.”

“Isn’t that enough.”  Jax growled.

“Not if you are wanting details.  My Grandmother was young when they were cast out of Sanctuary.  And though she did her best to teach me the family’s ways, the Agents of Chaos my Grandmother came from is quite different from the Agents of Chaos you are facing.  My grandmother’s grandfather was the third sequential Master of Chaos who didn’t agree with a long ago and previous Master who sought to awaken Chaos.  As such he was the third Master to steer the group away from such apocalyptic aims.”

“So what?  The Agents of Chaos your ancestor led wanted to save the world from hell and create a utopia?”  Jax scoffed, in disbelief.

“Utopia could still be hell depending on whose utopia is brought about.” Iban said.  Watching the Captain, he told.  “The order of the Agents of Chaos is old.  Ancient.  And every subsequent Master since the Master of Master's has sought to mold the group into their own interpretation of what the Master of Master's taught.”

“And what is that?”

“That Chaos is the beginning and the end.  And it is only a matter of Time before Death’s rise and Chaos descends.”

Jax tamped down a shiver.  Silly as it was, he wondered if that was capital ‘t’ time; as if time was some primordial force.  Though no one had ever mentioned time was a primordial force, nor had any group of crazies even shown an interest in Julius; Jax opened his mouth to ask.

Before he could pose the questioned, Iban spoke first.

Looking about the yard, Iban sighed.  “I can tell you what my grandmother’s grandfather believed, but it has no significance on what interests you.  More then that, I literally cannot tell you what little I know of previous Master’s of Chaos or what I suppose Alowishus Spade might be planning.  I cannot even speak my Grandmother’s name or her grandfather’s name.”

Jax’s eyebrows pulled together, his question forgotten for another.  “Why?”

“Remember what I said about knowing enough to get myself in trouble?”

Jax’s breath caught, realization dawning.  “Alowishus came to you.  Threatened, or did something to you.”

“Yes. He came and offered a deal I could not refuse.  A binding vow that took the words from me so I cannot speak or write them.  And if I were to try despite not being able to, my family whom he so graciously allows to live, would die.”

“We can find a way around it.  To stop or undo it.”  Jax said.

“There is no way, Captain.  It was binding vow made in blood.  For the sake of my family, I went into it willingly.”

“If your family was threatened you were hardly willing.”  Jax argued.

Iban smiled at the Captain's innocence.  “Do you truly think black magic vows stop to consider such inconsequential things as morals or coercion?  No, Captain.  For the sake of my family, I will be of no help to you.  Though take heart, whatever help I could have provided would not have been of any significance anyway.  Truly, I know no details of his plans.  That said, there is something that might be of assistance.”

89.3

Though Melody Host had been against it, saying no guest of hers would be put to work, Yami had gone out with Bran to help repair a downed fence. Fuegoleon, Tobin, and Gendry had offered to assist, Olsen’s offer notably absent; but Yami had waved them off.  He had been meaning to speak to Bran, and with Bran at ease on the farm he grew up on, Yami figured now was the perfect time.

Walking through the field back to the farmhouse, Bran glanced over at Yami. “Thanks for helping.  My brother-in-laws would usually see to the repair before my father had a chance to ask for help.  But it’s a busy time of year for all of them.”

Uncomfortable at the gratitude, Yami replied.  “You’re their eldest son and I’m your Vice Captain.”  As if that alone was enough to explained why Bran should see to the matter and why he had helped him.

“Still. It means a lot.”  Bran persisted.

“Stop.”

Bran stopped walking.

“No.” Yami snapped.  “Stop thanking me.  Stop venerating me.  I’m no one to look up to.”

Bran’s expression fell.  “I just want to be your friend.”

“I have three friends too many already.”  Yami huffed, thinking of Tobin, Gendry, and Jack.

“You can never have too many friends.”  Bran said.

Yami’s eyes narrowed.  “Since when did you start challenging me?”

Bran’s eyes widened.  “I didn’t mean to!  I—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  If you wanna be my friend you gotta have a backbone.  Know when to stand up to me.”

“But you just said you had too many--”

“And when not to talk back.”  Yami added over him.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve got a job for you.”

Bran’s head lifted, eyes full of hopeful excitement.

Looking over the twilight field, Yami went on.  “It’s off books. Personal.  So you don’t have to take it.”

“I’ll take it!”

“Hold your horses.  You don’t even know what it is.”

“If it’s for you its got to be important.”

“Have you met me?”  Yami laughed.  “If it’s for me.  Chances are it’s to fetch me another ale.”

“Is it to fetch you an ale?”

Yami couldn’t tell if Bran was being sarcastic or honestly asking and willing to get him one. After skipping out on the Host’s early family dinner to fix that fence, he could sure use a drink.  He shook away the tempting thought.  “It could land you in trouble.  Possibly in danger if you’re caught.”

Bran sobered at that.

“Still want to say yes without knowing what it is?”  Yami questioned.

“If it’s for you.  I’ll do it.”  Bran told, firmly.

Irritated, Yami darkened.  “What did I just tell you about venerating me?”

“This has nothing to do with looking up to you.”  Bran argued.  “I trust you.  And not just cause you’re my Vice Captain.  If you’re asking me to do something dangerous that might get me in trouble there has to be a reason.  It must be important.”

Yami sighed.  Bran was right in that.  If it weren’t important, he wouldn’t be asking.  He didn’t like asking others for help.  Didn’t like putting people in dangerous, potentially deadly situations.  He realized that that was what being a Magic Knights Captain pretty much was.  Sending your squad out on missions they might never return from.  Bronn didn’t come back and the bastard had been Jax’s best friend.

“Loyal idiot.”  Yami muttered, about both Bran and Bronn.  Looking at Bran, he grumbled.  “Fine.”

“Why are you acting like this is a favor for me?”

“Who said anything about favors?”

“Well, if it’s personal and off the books…”  Bran said with a shrug.

“Shut up.  This isn’t a favor.  If you do this, I owe you nothing.” Yami said.

“I wasn’t asking for anything.  I only said--”

“I told you to shut up.”

Bran clamped his mouth shut.

“I need you to keep an eye on Olsen and Iban.”

Bran’s eyes widened.  “Why?  What are they--”

Yami scowled.

Bran fell silent.

“You can spy, right?  Watch and listen in on stuff with your magic while controlling mice and bugs and stuff?”

“Bees are best for listening.  They’re really sensitive to vibrations and I can somehow interpret it when people speak.  I’ve tried listening with smaller mammals.  But their higher brain function and awareness makes it hard.  I can’t listen in through them for long and it takes a lot of mana.”

Yami frowned.  So maybe this wouldn’t be as perfect and easy as he had hoped.

“Why do you want me to listen in on Olsen and Iban?”  Bran asked.

“I need you to tell me if and when they meet with Advisor Ellara.”

“Advisor Ellara!”  Bran balked.

“And if either of them say anything about the Agents of Chaos or Teris and I.”  Yami went on.

“To Advisor Ellara?”  Bran asked.

“In general.”

“Do you think--”

“I can’t tell you more than that.”  Yami interrupted.

Yami’s jaw tightened, hands curling into fists.  He remembered how secrets had been keep from him and Teris.  He told himself that this was different.  That none of this was about Bran.  That none of this concerned him.  But if Bran agreed to do this, then if would concern him.

“Sorry.” Yami apologized, hating how he felt like a total hypocrite.

“Don’t be.  I know there’s a lot of stuff surrounding you and Teris that can’t be talked about.  I’m just sorry that it sounds like Iban and Olsen might be suspect.  Especially Olsen.”

“Yeah. Iban’s a creepy bastard.  There’s not a bad thing I wouldn’t suspect him of.”  Yami muttered.

“Is it true he used his magic on you and Teris during your first year? That you’re the reason he’s missing some of his fingers?”  Bran asked.

“He hurt Teris.”  Yami said, by way of explaining why he had done such a thing.

Bran nodded in understanding.  “You really love her.”

Yami open his mouth to say he loved Teris more than life itself.  That he would do anything for her.  But he caught and stopped himself.  Easy to talk to brat, Yami thought scowling at Bran.  “So will you do it?”

“I already said I would.”  Bran told.

“That was before you knew what I was asking.”

“You’re my Vice Captain.  Personal or not.  I’ll do what you ask.”

“Loyal idiot.”  Yami said again, hoping he wouldn’t get Bran killed.

“I take it no one can know.”

“No one.”  Yami said.

“Even Teris?”

Yami thought of Teris’ insatiable curiosity.  Of what she might do if she learned about Iban’s past family connection to the Agents of Chaos.  Of what she might think of him if she learned that he had considered whatever black magic thing Iban said would allow him to remember the communicative dreams with the page of Chaos.

Looking at Bran, Yami told.  “Especially not Teris.”

89.3.2

Teris sat next to Zora under a tree. With most of Bran’s family having returned to their homes an hour or so after supper, things had finally settled down enough for the two to have a quiet moment.

“Have you been able to talk to Fuegoleon at all?”  She asked.

“A bit.”  Zora muttered.

Teris looked across the open field.  Fireflies blinking in and out of the darkening twilight.  She wasn’t a mother figure.  She hadn’t the faintest idea what to say.  Still, the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable as one would have thought.

Finally, Zora mumbled.  “They said they couldn’t find my father’s killers.”

Teris frowned.  Getting justice for Zara was an added reason why she had to make Magic Knights Commander.  Swallowing her anger and guilt, she told.  “It may not be how either of us would’ve liked.  But I promise.  I’ll see him avenged.”

“Not if I get to them first.”  Zora gritted, fists clenching.

Teris turned him.  “And how would you go about that?”

“By killing the men who killed him.”  Zora said.

Teris blinked, breath catching in surprised dread.  “If the report said--”

“I don’t need no report.”  Zora seethed.  “I just need to see them again.  I’ll know them when I see them.”

Hope welled in Teris’ chest.  “You saw them?  When?  That night? Zora.  If you know something--”

“You think they’ll believe me? A peasant?”  Zora spat, thinking of the laughing nobles he had seen and heard at his father's grave sight. “They’ll just call me a liar and cover up the truth.”  His eyes lowered, the toe of his boot kicking at a tuft of grass.  “The life of a peasant, even one who’s a Magic Knight, means nothing compared to a nobles.”

Teris reached out, hand hovering over his shoulder a moment before she pulled back.  “Zora...”

“I’m not asking anything of you!”  Zora yelled, fists trembling.  He took a shaky breath and looked away.  “I don’t need you.  I don’t need anyone.”

“We all need someone, Zora.  I promised to be your friend.  Remember?”

“You want to be my friend?  Then train me.”

“Train you?  Train you in what?”

Zora glared out over the field.  “You’re a Magic Knight.  You have to work by the law.  Abide by what they say.  I don’t.”

“Zora!”

“I don’t need you!  I certainly don’t need your approval!  I just need you to train me.”  Zora said, fiercely.

Zora’s outburst took her back to the first time Julius had returned home after their mother’s death.  She had yet to go live with the Vermillion’s.  And though Fyntch rarely came out of their father's office, he had made her life miserable in the orders and expectations he had for her.  She had shouted something similar at her eldest brother.  Telling Julius that she didn’t want him home.  That they didn’t need him.  And then begged him to stay.

The contradiction didn’t strike her then, just as it probably didn’t strike Zora.  Zora’s words made her realize just how heart wrenching her own words to Julius had been.  Cause even though she knew Zora didn’t mean what he said about not needing her; it showed just how much he was hurting.

“When I turn fifteen and get my grimoire, I’ll begin my search.  Till then I’ll bide my time working on my technique and strengthening my natural magic.”

Teris released a breath.  If Zora meant what he said, that at least gave her a few years before she had to worry about him striking out to get revenge.  The plan was honestly fairly mindful.  Most would have simply acted already and gotten themselves arrested or killed.

“You’re right.  Because I’m a Magic Knight there’s little I can do.  But if ever I become Knights Commander--”  Teris shook her head. Telling Zora her own plans would only get his hopes up and possibly endanger him.

“I don’t blame you.”  Zora told.

Teris’ shoulders eased some at that.  “I see you still wear the friend bond bracelet I gave you.”

Blue eyes darted to her wrist.  It was the first thing Zora had noticed upon seeing her again.  That she still wore the thread bracelet he made and given her.  “If you’re really my friend, you’d help train me.”

Thinking aloud, Teris murmured.  “It’s not like I can lock you away or stop you from doing what you think you must.”

Zora looked at her with expectant, hope filled eyes.

Teris stared back, expression stern.  “I need you to promise me, Zora Ideale.  Promise that you’ll wait to do anything.  At least until you get your grimoire.  Even if you see one of them before that.  You wait.”

“And what do you promise in return?”  Zora asked.

Teris blinked at his boldness.  Then again, if her father had been murdered...

Zora took her moment of silence as hesitance and pressed.  “Train me. It doesn’t have to be often.  So long as we meet up at least twice, preferably four times a year.  You can evaluate me and give me tips and pointers.  Agree to that and I’ll agree to wait until I get my grimoire no matter what.”

“Zora. Proper training takes more than two to four meet ups a year.”

“Fine. Then don’t call it training.  Call it instruction. Direction. Whatever you like.  Start giving me homework in the letters you write. I promise I’ll start writing back.  Tell me what I’m doing wrong and how to fix it.  What I have to do to get better.  Give me goals to reach.  Books to read.  Give me battle scenario’s that I have to figure out so I learn how to think about and look at stuff. Please, Teris.  I swear I’ll be the best student you ever had.”

“Even if this were to work.  Which it won’t.  This isn’t right.  Your father wouldn’t want this.  Me training you to get revenge...”

“It’s better than me trying to learn on my own.  Getting my grimoire and going after them.”  Zora argued. “I’d likely die at the hands of the first person I faced. You think my father would want you to leave me to that fate?”

Teris looked away.  She knew Zara would want what was best for his son.  But she could talk herself dizzy trying to figure out what Zara would've considered best for Zora in this situation.  If she did as Zora asked, he’d likely get himself killed or imprisoned.  But if she didn’t help him, he’d definitely get himself killed or imprisoned.  Rubbing her forehead she wondered what Julius would do.  No.  In this circumstance, that wasn’t the right question.  What would Commander Greywright or Jax do?

“Alright.” Teris said, at length.  “But you have to keep your word.  No seeking these people out.  No doing anything against them.  Even if they cross your path.  Not until you’re fifteen and have your grimoire.”

Zora held out his hand.  “Deal.”

Teris looked at the friend bond bracelet hanging on the wrist of his outstretched hand.  Squinting a grimacing eye shut, she silently apologized to Zara and shook Zora’s hand.

89.4

Julius exited his office, grateful to call it an early day.  “Commander?” His heart dropped at Greywright’s brooding expression.  “What’s going on?”

Greywright pushed passed Julius to enter the Azure Deers Captain's office, sitting heavily before the desk.

Julius and Jon shared a look.  The Captain turned and stepped back into his office, while Jon sighed and returned to his desk outside his Captain's office, keeping watch.

“Can I get you anything, sir?”  Julius offered, closing the door.

“Answers.”

“Sir?” Julius moved around the desk.

“What are you and Jax up to?  I clearly remember stating I wanted to know any and everything the two of you learned, dealt with, or planned regarding the Agents of Chaos or this mess with Ellara.”

Julius stared at the Knights Commander in confusion as he sank into the chair behind his desk.

“Jax took off.”  Greywright told.

“Well there was that party for the young Witch Yami found--”

“I know about that.”  Greywright snapped, temper made short in his concern.  “Who do you think approved his ask to give all but one member of his squad two days off so they could go to that thing.”

“Jax was debating about going himself.  Gilly was going to be there. Maybe he decided to go last minute?”  Julius continued after the Commander's interruption.

Greywright frowned, realizing Julius knew nothing of Jax’s plans.  Though relieved that the two Captain's hadn’t disobeyed and kept anything from him; he was also further distressed.

“No.” The Knights Commander pulled Jax’s hastily penned letter from his cloak.  “I returned to my office a couple hours ago to find this. Lucky for Jax, he was already long gone.”  He handed Julius the letter.

Julius opened the missive and read: Learned of something that might help.  Going to fetch it.  Be back in a few days.

“Learned of what?”  Julius asked, brows furrowed.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“I figured out that much, Julius, thank you.”

Julius read the three short sentences over again.  “He doesn’t even give a date for his return.  Just saying he’ll be back in a few days.”

“I’m aware.”  Greywright said, tapping down his worry.  After losing Bronn to this mess, Jax going off on his own, without giving date of his expected return…

Julius dropped the letter on his desk and simmered.  “He’s going to get an earful when he gets back.  Going off on his own without saying where he’s going, for what, or when he’ll be back…  He knows better.  With everything’s that’s happened and dangers still out there--”  He stopped, not wanting to voice his fears as if doing so would bring them to fruition.  “This isn’t what friend's do.”

Comments are VERY MUCH appreciated and really make my day.  Thank you to those who have left hearts.  And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently commented or re-blogged. It really means a lot.

Next chapter snippet:

Eager to get back to Teris, Yami closed and latched the gate.  “It doesn’t matter.  Let’s go back.”

Dark eyes glinting in the moonlight, Ellara told.  “You’re not going anywhere, Vice Captain.”

[ghost-chance]

Excerpt from "The Demon King and the Half-Breed Hermit"

Gotta log off for a while after this but first, I wanted to share this (unedited and incomplete) scene. It's for an upcoming (in-the-works) chapter of my Piccolo/OC-centric ▶Dragon Ball post-GT◀ fic, found on my FFnet account. Why am I sharing it? Firstly, it's proof I'm still writing (...trying...) and despite the long wait for new chapters, DK&HBH has NOT been abandoned. (NOTHING has been abandoned!) Secondly, THIS is what happens when I tell myself "I need to start writing characters who can effectively communicate and deal with their emotions like functional adults!" 😑 Yes...AUBERGINE happens.

Hopefully the "Queen of Issues" can make someone smile.

🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲

Life as a single mother was generally a struggle; as a single mother of two half-Saiyan boys, life was a never-ending catastrophe. Fortunately for Son Chi-Chi, both her boys were grown men capable of running their own lives; unfortunately, that left her to manage her household alone. Oh, sure, Gohan and Videl regularly offered to move her into their home and take care of her, but she wasn't quite ready to accept that offer. She was quite capable of taking care of herself…at least, that is, when she wasn't weighed down with groceries and being chased down by a saber-toothed wildcat.

Winded, she stumbled and landed hard on her knees, her bags falling and the contents scattering. One moment she could practically feel the beast's rancid breath on her neck; the next a warning shout split the air, quickly followed by a pained yelp. Chi-Chi scrambled onto her back and stilled at the familiar silhouette cast by the afternoon sun through the trees. Black hair as ragged as ever and eyes dark as pitch, Aubergine held the struggling wildcat by the throat, leaching away its strength. She drained it a little longer before letting it slink away in shame, then looked to her fallen sister-in-law over her shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Chi-Chi answered as she gathered the spilled goods, then belatedly added "thank you." Aubrey shrugged and hoisted the bags onto her shoulder as the black faded from her eyes.

"Well, someone's got to shield the squishies," she replied instead. The familiar retort used to irritate Chi-Chi, but now she recognized it for what it was: you're welcome. I don't mind. Aubergine's long silences, half-answers, and silence took a while to adjust to but by now it was like a second language to her sister in-law. 

The remainder of the journey to Chi-Chi's home passed in a silence midway between comfortable and awkward, and before she knew it, the matron was stowing away her groceries. Aubergine sat at the table, brooding and fiddling with a small shaker jar from the revolving rack in the middle. Recognizing the speckled contents, she pried the lid open, sniffed at the contents, and sneezed; her eyes and sinuses burned in protest as she jammed it closed and shoved it back on the rack. Yes, she identified it correctly. "So how's Piccolo settling in?" At the resulting silence, she turned to find Aubergine scowling like someone who just chewed five lemons in a row without stopping to sweeten them. "That well, huh?" Chi-Chi teased. I

Aubergine shot her a deadpan glower then exchanged the speckled powder for a jar full of tiny seeds. As if it explained everything, she grunted, "he's not dead yet." These seeds didn't burn her nose but they had a rather unpleasant smell somewhat like rank body odor. Nose scrunching at the stink, Aubrey exchanged the jar for a tall shaker full of tiny white crystals with a much sweeter scent. Over by the table, Chi-Chi gave a knowing smile as the half-breed examined her spices. "I don't understand how one person can require so many of these things," Aubergine muttered surveying the multitude of tiny jars and shakers on the Lazy-Susan. "What's the point of all this crap?" 

"Spices?" Chi-Chi asked, and upon receiving a blank look added, "they make food taste good. As for the number, different dishes require different spices—you can't cook everything with the same ingredients." Aubrey stilled, eyes wide and locked on the three jars she investigated before. "What brought you here anyway?" If Chi-Chi didn't know any better, she'd say the half-breed was embarrassed.

"He quit complaining," Aubrey mumbled. "He used to whine that I was poisoning him; now he doesn't say anything…but…he doesn't have to. I thought…" She fell silent, cleared her throat, then collected the other two bottles and shoved the lot toward Chi-Chi. "Fish. It was worse than usual."

Chi-Chi was used to getting only half the picture from her half-Saiyan sister-in-law but this was even less information than usual. Those three spices were never used in the same dish; then again, this was Aubergine, and Aubergine was quite possibly the worst cook in the realms. "Correct me if I'm wrong," Chi-Chi asked, "but are you saying you cooked fish…with black pepper, cumin, and sugar…?" The half-breed glanced at the jars, read the fading labels, and gave a wary nod; Chi-Chi felt her breakfast threaten reappearance. "No wonder, then," she sighed. "Cumin and pepper can be used on fish but generally not together, and you don't use sugar on seafood."

"This is so stupid." …and so began Aubrey's usual response to statements regarding food as anything beyond life-preserving sustenance. After so many years of hearing the same thing over and over again, Chi-Chi easily tuned out the increasingly loud rant and gathered a few more appropriate seasonings for fish. "Food doesn't have to taste good!" Aubergine spat without regard. "Its only purpose is to keep you from dying of hunger, anything beyond that is friv—" Finally, she went silent. Of course, taking Chi-Chi's frying pan to the skull would shut anyone up.

"There's more to life than just existing," Chi-Chi scolded as Aubergine rubbed the already swelling lump on her skull and growled under her breath. "There's more to life than just survival. We were put on this Earth to thrive, not just not die."

"We were put on this Earth because my dumbass brother didn't have the balls to kill that midget Pilaf from the start." This time she ducked the frying pan. 

"You're missing the point as always," Chi-Chi huffed. "I swear, you're so much like my Goku. Aubergine, when your life's over, you'll have an eternity to look back on what you did. If all you have to look back on is not dying, then what's the point?" Aubergine went silent, glaring at the wall beside her as if blaming it for everything that ever went wrong in her life. It didn't escape Chi-Chi that said wall stood between her kitchen and the home Goku and Aubergine grew up in. Not for the first time, she wondered what the half-breed's life was like in those early years, and what molded her into the distant, bristly woman she was now.

"Life was always enough before." The admission was quiet—half-muffled in Aubrey's mostly flat chest and aimed into the polished tabletop—but to the human matron it had the same impact as a battle cry. "Stay out of danger," the half-saiyan muttered as though reciting some sort of task list. "Find and maintain shelter, locate reliable sustenance, protect your brother…" ..wait for me to come find you. I promise, I'll come find you! Bardock may have been a visionary, but an honest Saiyan, he was not. He never came for them… "That used to be enough…" …until said brother ran off with a blue-haired teenager in search of adventure and left Aubergine behind. Sure, she caught up after a while and tagged along for a few misadventures—living alone in the wilds got boring, after all—but at the end of the day, she couldn't even accomplish the most important of these tasks. She couldn't protect Goku. One hand strayed up to brush her bangs out of her dead eye. She couldn't even protect herself. "Why isn't that enough anymore?"

"Perhaps it never really was enough." Chi-Chi's smile held no judgment and her voice no censure. "Perhaps you're only just realizing it now." Perhaps…Aubergine turned to the window, eyes trained on the distant misty peak of Mt. Paozu. After so many years of feeling stuck in place, maybe it was time to change. "I've offered before and the offer stands—I'll teach you to cook if you'll let me." For the first time, the offer was answered with a long silence instead of some bitter retort or evasive remark, proof in Chi-Chi's mind that the other was finally considering it.

"A year ago none of this would've…" Aubergine fell silent; again, she was driven to brush her bangs away from her blind eye though they weren't impairing her sight. That nervous tic would be the death of her someday… She cleared her throat and tried again. "Nothing mattered a year ago. It still shouldn't matter." Chi-Chi faltered. She recognized where this topic was leading as easily as she knew how Aubergine must have reacted to Piccolo's resurrection. She smoothed the skirt of her long dress and seated herself at the table. The rest of the groceries could wait a bit longer.

"The first time I lost Goku…" I lost Goku. Even after so many times of saying those words, her throat still caught around them; even after how many times Goku died, the very mention still triggered an echo of the day Krillin brought her the news. Her son, missing – her husband, dead – worst of all, the threat wasn't even over. "Well, I was a mess," Chi-Chi finished mildly. The past was in the past—let it lie there in peace. "Every time I lost him, I felt sure it was my fault for not being strong enough to keep him. Every time he came back, I tried harder than before to make him stay…and every time, I lost him again anyway…the last time, for good. He refused to be revived." Even now, the words made her eyes burn and her throat clench, so it was a comfort when Aubergine broke the tense silence.

"He was an idiot like that." The dry remark earned a weak chuckle.

"Indeed. Even now, were he to walk through that door, I'd still take him back. He left us all behind when he refused resurrection, but I'd still welcome him home with open arms." She hummed softly, leaning on her elbows and looking out the nearest window. Already the blue of the sky was deepening and the days, shortening—harvest time might come early this year. "For all his faults, and there were many, Goku was always so much stronger than I ever could be. I could never leave behind those I love, even to keep them safe…he did so without a second thought."

"But when the danger's gone, how does staying dead solve anything?" Aubergine cut in—an unusually long sentence from an unusually brief speaker. "The people he left behind—they still needed him—they depended on him, and he turned his back on them!" Chi-Chi hazarded a glance at her company; Aubergine was off in another world, her vision trained somewhere far beyond the woodgrain of the tabletop. "Didn't he know? Didn't it matter?" Chi-Chi's wrinkle-framed lips tilted into a sly smile.

"He knew there were such people, I'm sure," she answered. "I have a feeling he didn't quite understand what it would put you through." Aubergine gave a faint nod, eyes distant, then startled as she realized the subject change. Both women knew they were no longer talking about Goku; neither was ready to admit it, either. The half-Saiyan's cheeks darkened in embarrassment, but the effect was lessened by the venomous glare aimed out the window. "You never told him, did you?" Chi-Chi pressed.

"Why bother?" Aubergine muttered. "He knew what he was doing. He had to know I'd—" She fell short, remembering vividly the searing pain in her chest from the day the earth was destroyed—the fracturing of a heart timed to the shattering of a planet. From the first wince to the last breath, she felt Piccolo die, and it was a feeling she'd never forget…or forgive. "...I never should have marked the bastard."

Once again, Chi-Chi was given only bits and pieces, but this time she was content with it. If the scars on Aubergine's throat were any indication, the whole picture wasn't one she cared to see.

[adscititious-cacoethes]

Petrichor (12/12)

Pairing: Trevor C./Reader; other background/hinted relationships Chapter: 12 of 12 Warnings: Swearing, danger, violence, death (SPOILER: not major character or RT employee), also happiness and fluff and all that good stuff, vampires and werewolves and things that go bump in the night (PG-13) Word Counts: Chapter: 4,340 Total: 43,539 A/N: Here it is! Final chapter! Part of this is kind of dark, lots of climatic stuff, so if you’re worried please send me a note and I can explain what happens. If there’s something else you think I need to tag that I forgot, also please let me know! Thanks everyone for reading and sticking around for the ride, I really have grown attached to and love this world - please let me know if you want to see more of it! (even if reader is a different character). Also! I am going to be posting this on ao3 momentarily, once I fix a couple of typos and mistakes that I’ve caught since posting them on tumblr. So those of you who read fic on both tumblr and ao3, don’t fret! I promise it really is me and not someone stealing my work. I added a pseud to my account for specifically reader insert work, which is TurtleAds.  I take prompts now! (see here for details).  Reminder that this has a bunch of supernatural-y stuff, and also that this would not have seen the light of day (pun intended), if it weren’t for @chefgeofframsay.  P.S. - Feedback would be cool P. P. S. - sorry if any chapters end kind of weird, this was written as one long thing and then I decided to break it up.  Previous

It had been nearly a week since Blaine and Mica had been brought into “quarantine” at the penthouse with you, and you could tell they were both getting antsy. You had more than enough interaction with people every day to keep you satisfied, and plenty of books to keep your mind occupied, and, about once a day, you would try to meditate to trigger another Prediction, but none had come. However, since Blaine and Mica had (quickly) grown tired of poking fun at you (aka trying to get you and Trevor together) due to the only reaction out of you being eye rolls and glares and Trevor not even seeming to notice at all, they had begun to get on edge. And with Novus having seemingly gone off the grid, there was no immediate end in sight.

“Can’t I just go visit my dad in Egypt until this blows over?” Mica had nearly whined at breakfast that morning.

“But then you’d be leaving me here!” Blaine argued. You just shook your head and shared a look with Jeremy, who kept scratching his nose and had decided to continue reading Wolves! Were?: A New Wolf’s Guide to His Inner Beast that day.

“I can take you with me, Gibson, but you probably wouldn’t like the heat.”

“Anything to get me out of this damn penthouse!”

“What are you dicks damning my penthouse for?” Geoff’s raspy voice made everyone except for Jeremy jump (the werewolf, of course, smelling the warlock the moment he walked in the room).

“I’m sorry for my friends, Geoff.” You told him at the same time Mica declared, “We’re getting stir crazy in this place!”

“Well, tough luck, unless you can teleport there, which I doubt either of you can do. Even though Novus is after [Y/N], we have no idea what exactly he can do, and since some fae can possess people, I don’t want to take any chances.” Geoff stated as he poured himself some coffee, resulting in annoyed grumbling noises from your best friends.

Jeremy scratched his nose again, “What should I do, Geoff?” he inquired, looking up from his book at the warlock.

“If we don’t resolve this tonight, we may have to stick you in the basement this time. Sorry, buddy.” Geoff said with a sympathetic smile. Jeremy frowned and his shoulders slumped, but he nodded regardless.

“Wait, what? What’s going on?” Blaine asked, gaze bouncing between the two men. You reached out and softly cuffed him upside the head.

“Ow!” He exclaimed, hand flying to the back of his head, “What was that for?”

“The full moon’s tomorrow night, idiot.” You admonished him with a shake of your head, watching as understanding dawned in his eyes.

“It’s alright, [Y/N].” Jeremy reassured you, shifting in his seat a little.

Mica and Blaine weren’t the only ones getting restless, just for a different reason.  

So, naturally, you spent the majority of the day hiding, reading to Gus and avoiding your friends because while you knew they didn’t blame you, you certainly felt shitty and responsible for their misery. And, on top of that, Jeremy would probably have to spend about twenty-four hours in a basement instead of running around doing wolfy things, and that made it even worse, because you were now a hassle to the people trying to protect you, too.

The only solace for the day, really, was a cheerful-as-ever Trevor (heh. That rhymed), who had brought dinner to you without you even asking. The two of you ate in silence, you on the bed and him at the desk, and then Trevor was scooping up your plate and waltzing out the door with a sing-song “Be right back!”

You went into the bathroom and washed your hands, humming something sort of tuneless as you dried your hands with a towel and walked back into the bedroom.

“You know, you’re almost more trouble than your worth.” A thin voice sneered, and you whipped your head up to see a fae that you knew could only be Novus, with pointed teeth and only one and a half wings sitting on your bed, rolling the hilt of a dagger between his hands. His friend, the Unseelie from the alley, was leaning up against the door, sneering at you with pointed teeth and a predatory look in his eyes. Your heart pounded in your chest and all the wind felt like it had been sucked out of you, all at once.

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. Your panicked mind tried to deny it, but you also knew there was no denying the fact that somehow, the fae in front of you had teleported (presumably) into Geoff’s penthouse.

Geoff’s. Fuck. You had been spending your time – all of you had been spending your time – assuming that Geoff’s penthouse, which was essentially his fortress, was impenetrable, and yet you were staring at proof otherwise.

Wait. The rational side of your brain caught up with you, Trevor said he’d be right back. All you have to do is stall.

“You know, your big friend over here said that to me the first time, and if I remember correctly, that ended up with him getting shot.” You finally retorted, sounding much calmer than you felt. You stood up a little straighter, letting your feet lift off the ground slightly.

Big Sharp Teeth growled at you and lunged forward, and you instinctively hurled up a barrier, your energy pooling in your hands and being thrown into the air in front of you before you could think about the consequences. He didn’t reach your barrier, however, because Novus stopped him with a hand on his chest before he could get that far.

“Now, now, Aven, calm down.” Novus tutted, seemingly unperturbed by the defenses you had just constructed, and you realized belatedly that if he was a teleporter like Big Sharp Teeth (Aven), he could easily bypass it entirely. You dropped the barrier and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Do you want to know why you’re more trouble than your worth? All I wanted to do was kill Robin [Y/L/N]’s precious daughter, his only child, so he could begin the pain I’ve felt, the pain he solidified by ensuring that I was imprisoned. I was on top of the world, and had lost everything! And he had no pity for me, because I found a better, more rewarding lifestyle in rejecting the Seelie Court. It was going to be simple: Aven and his friend would capture you, and bring you to me, and then I was going to drop your dead body on your father’s doorstep for him to discover when he got back from vacation. But nooooo, you had to go and happen to run into some of Ramsey’s pets, and the bloodsuckers helped you get away. Fine. So then I was going to use my special talents and possess one of your friends to get around Ramsey’s guard dogs, but then the stupid goddess’s security system detected Aven’s entry. So I had to resort to this. Do you know how long it took to find someone who we could fly in at a moment’s notice, who could send us through Geoff fucking Ramsey’s barriers!” Novus was seething, hissing and spitting as he shouted at you, and you were paralyzed, terrified that if you so much as flinched he would be throwing that iron dagger straight into your chest.

But Novus’ ranting, raving speech also reminded you that they were in Geoff’s house, and Geoff always knew when people entered and exited his home, and if Geoff knew, then everyone knew, unless whoever they had found to get them through Geoff’s protective spells and barriers could also mask their existence from the warlock entirely. It was highly improbable, considering Geoff’s apparent magical strength, but not impossible.

“Sorry not sorry?” You offered, frowning a bit at the fact that Novus just cackled, the sound dark and thick and menacing, washing over you like tar and sticking to your bones.

Underneath his maniacal laughter, you hear shouting from down the hall, and then a thud against your door the force of it pitched Aven forward and bent the door. Novus immediately sobered up, and in the blink of an eye, he was in front of you, pushing you against the wall, one arm across your chest to pin you there and the iron dagger resting against your neck. You immediately started to feel it burning your skin, and you did your best to pull your head away, but there was nowhere for you to go with the wall at your back.

“What did you do? How did you alert them so fast?” Novus spit in your face, eyes wild.

Thud.

“Boss! What do I do?”

“Just hold the door, dipshit.”

Novus pushed the knife into your skin, just a little bit, and just underneath his chin, you could see Aven’s magical energy flaring to life, most likely trying to reinforce the door.

Thud. Creak.

You felt blood welling up against the dagger, the blade searing hot against your skin, and the burning smell started to waft into your nose.

“Better do this quick, then.” Novus sneered, eyes glinting with hunger and malice.

Smash!

The door shattered, and Novus’s head blocked your view, but the thud that immediately followed was probably Aven.

“[Y/N]!” It was Trevor, thank fuck it was Trevor, of course it was Trevor, and you watched Novus’s eyes go wide and nearly bug out of his head as he was quite literally ripped away from you. You covered your injured neck (why was it always your neck?) with your hand and slid down the wall, landing on your ass and looking up to see Trevor, eyes a dark red and fangs glinting, scrape his teeth against Novus’s neck while his hands wrapped around the Unseelie’s forearms with a crushing strength, the knife dropping out of his fingers. Behind him, a hulking demon stood, shoulders hunched and horns scraping across the ceiling, one clawed foot holding down and crushing the wings of an unmoving Aven.

Novus shrieked and thrashed, but Trevor was stronger, and you heard the sickening crunch of his bones cracking in the vampire’s grip.

“Now, now, none of that, stop your screaming, you kretin.” You heard Gavin say, and while you felt a little bit of the pull of the siren’s call, it wasn’t aimed at you. Novus immediately fell silent, whipping his head around to look at Gavin. You turned, too, craning your neck around your dresser to see the doorway, where Gavin stood, fist clenched and chest heaving. You could hear the footsteps and shouts of the others getting closer. Gavin didn’t move from the doorway until Geoff laid a hand on his shoulder, and even then he only stepped aside, not breaking eye contact to let a furious-looking Geoff and a stone-faced Lindsay through.

It was then that you finally registered the slick blood slowly leaking through your fingers, and even then, it was only because Mica had appeared in the doorway and was staring at you, horrified.

Geoff bent down and picked up the dagger. You could tell that he was holding his tongue, you could tell he wanted to scream and curse and flay the bastard that Trevor was holding alive with that knife. But instead, he held the dagger in an open palm, and turned to Lindsay.

She stared at Novus, “Your time has come.” She said, but her voice was not her own, booming and it seemed like it echoed tenfold, and you swore you could see an outline of a bird’s wings spreading out from her back. Geoff nodded, and a deep purple glow surrounded the dagger, before it thrusted itself (well, Geoff did it, but magically, not physically) deep into the Unseelie’s chest, right through the heart. Novus gurgled blue blood and dropped to the ground as Trevor let go of him, the demon slowly turning back into Michael in the background, Gavin closing his eyes and giving his head a firm shake. Trevor immediately turned towards you, falling to his knees in front of you and cradling your face in his hands.

“Are you okay?” He asked, earnestly, and his eyes were their normal, soft, earthy brown as they scanned your face, fangs retracting as his lips dropped into a concerned frown.

You nodded as best you could with your face in his hands, before a dark hand was on Trevor’s shoulder, pulling him back and kneeling beside you. Trevor made a move to protest but Mica just glared at him before blocking your line of sight to him with your head.

“Need you to move your hand so I can work my magic, girl.” She murmured, voice soft and soothing, and you let your bloody hand fall into your lap. Her own fingertips immediately pressed against where the dagger bit your flesh, and you could feel her warm, healing magic at work. Mica’s eyes slid shut and she muttered under her breath in a language you couldn’t comprehend (ancient Egyptian, probably), and after a few long moments, her eyes flickered open and she dropped her hands.

“You’ll probably still have a little scar, since it’s iron that did it, but you’re good now, [Y/N].” She stood and moved to offer you a hand up, but Trevor was faster.

The vampire darted forward and scooped you up into his arms, pulling you to his chest and burying his face in your hair. You could feel his lips moving, but it took you a moment to figure out what he was saying, but the muffled “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” was unmistakable once you’d deciphered it, and you wrapped your own arms around his midsection. You could hear the others chattering in the background; Michael and Jeremy hauling bodies out the door; Geoff was on the phone with someone. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was Trevor, right then, right there. Trevor who was the first one in the room. Trevor who pulled Novus off you. Trevor who came to your rescue when you were too scared to do anything but hope help would come and try to buy yourself time. Trevor who was holding you like you were his lifeline. Trevor whose tears were falling into your hair.

You would later find out that whoever it was that had helped Novus and Aven get in had put a “blinder,” of sorts, on Geoff’s alarm, which would delay, temporarily, the activation of the charm that told him when people entered and exited the penthouse. Trevor would tell you that he had heard Novus speaking when he went to open your door, so he shouted for help and rammed his shoulder against it when the knob wouldn’t turn. Michael would tell you that he had heard Trevor from inside his room three doors down and, upon rushing into the hallway and seeing Trevor slamming his body into the door, immediately pulled the emergency alarm and shifted into his demon form, shoving Trevor out of the way to break the door down. Jeremy would tell you that he could smell Trevor’s rage and fear from down the hall, so strong, and he was unprepared enough that it made him stagger back and he would’ve fallen over if it wasn’t for Ryan stepping up behind him and catching him around the waist.

All of that was later, though. Right then, in that moment, Trevor was crying, so you pulled away a little to look up at him, reached up to wipe away a stray tear. One of his hands immediately slid to cup your face again, and when he gently rubbed his thumb across your cheek, you realized that you were crying, too.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered again, resting his forehead against yours, gaze drifting across your face, like he was searching for something and you held the answer.

“I’m okay.” You said, smiling a slightly watery smile at him, unsure of what else to say. And you were. You could still feel the phantom burn of Novus’s blade, and your wings ached from being slammed against the wall, but Mica had healed your wound and you had been quick enough to spread your wings open so that they didn’t get crumpled against the wall when Novus pushed you back. And Trevor was there, now, and maybe it was the fact that you liked him more than you had liked anyone in the world, ever, but you felt unbelievably safe when being held in his arms.

“Okay.” He breathed, and then you felt him square his shoulders, like he was preparing for something, and then the hand on your chin was tilting your chin up while his head dipped forward and then you were kissing.

Trevor was kissing you.

His lips were soft and his kisses gentle, just barely a brush of skin against skin. You almost couldn’t believe it, you felt like you were floating, but you reminded yourself to kiss back, damnit and then you were actually floating (if Trevor’s hands sliding to your hips and holding you there was any indication). As soon as he felt you respond and your arms reached up and wrapped around the back of his neck the kiss turned deeper, like he was desperate – like you were the air and he needed to breathe, but you were the one that needed air, not him, and you had to reluctantly break away and suck in some air.

The others in the room (because there were others, but you’d forgotten they were there) had politely allowed the two of you to have that moment, but as soon as she saw you pull away, Mica let out a loud wolf-whistle. You blushed and pressed your face into Trevor’s chest, but he just chuckled and smoothed a hand down your hair, whispering promises of safety and protection in your ear.

You stayed in Trevor’s room that night – your first time entering his room, actually, although you’re not sure why that panned out that way – and you barely had the words “Can you stay?” out of your mouth before Trevor was sliding into bed next to you, pulling you against his chest and pressing a kiss to your forehead with a mumbled “Of course.”

The next morning, your stomach churning at the thought of entering “your” room in the penthouse ever again, you timidly asked Geoff if it was possible to make the room just…go away. Geoff smiled a kind, sleepy smile, and Michael and Gavin graciously offered to take Gus and all of your stuff out of your room and deposit it in Trevor’s for you (Lindsay offered to supervise). After breakfast, you and Trevor and Geoff drove to the airport in a large passenger van, with the intent of picking up Jack, Ashley, and your parents. Although you knew it was over and everyone was fine, you still couldn’t stop yourself from pacing, shifting from foot to foot, regardless of how many times Geoff told you to cool it.

Trevor, eventually, took matters into his own hands (literally), pulling you into his side and wrapping an arm around your waist. When you looked up to question him, he just took the opportunity to lean down and press a kiss to your forehead. Geoff was noticeably less annoyed after that, but you could tell that he was trying (and failing) to subtly take pictures of the two of you.

The reunion with your parents and Ashley felt like something out of a movie. You saw them before they saw you, so you called their names and waved your hand in the air. Trevor let go of you and took a step backwards seconds before your father scooped you up into a hug, tears in his eyes as he spun you around. When he finally set you back on the ground, you saw your mom and Ashley standing there, waiting, the former with teary eyes and both with knowing smirks on their faces. You took turns hugging them both, your mom whispering to you about how proud of you she was and how brave you were.

You sheepishly introduced your parents to Trevor, who seemed pretty relaxed about it until your mother denied the offer of his hand in favor of a hug. His eyes went wide and he stared at you in fear over top of your mom’s head, which caused you and Ashley to dissolve into tittering giggles.

A few minutes later, Jack and a blonde woman you didn’t recognize – but you assumed was the warlock friend of Geoff’s – joined the group, having apparently elected to get the checked baggage before meeting up with you. You were too busy trying to tell your dad that you and Trevor were dating without being too obvious or giving him room to make a scene about it to notice the fact that Geoff nearly cried when he saw her, but you made a mental note to ask Trevor about it later when Geoff let Jack drive in favor of holding her hand in the backseat.

You smiled up at Trevor, who leaned down and kissed your nose, and nothing had felt more right in your life.

A week later, after your parents had gone home and Books and More Books had resumed business, you and Trevor were sitting on your bed (in your apartment – you didn’t want to give it up just yet in fear of making it seem like things were going “too fast,” even though the Mark on your shoulder told you that at the very least, the two of you would be “together” for a long time), in a familiar pose. The TV was on and the two of you were just talking about nothing, only instead of sitting side-by-side, you were curled up in his lap, your head on his chest, one of his arms around your waist and the other idly playing with your wings.

“Hey Trevor?” You started, lifting your head a little to look up at him (even though from your angle, you couldn’t see much more than his stubbly chin).

“Hmm?”

“Want to know a secret?” You asked, and Trevor pulled you away from his chest a bit so he could look you in the eye.

“Of course, I’m always down for secrets, especially when it’s you.” He said, a fond smile on his face. He punctuated ‘you’ with a long, cool finger reaching up to gently boop you on the nose.

You nodded, and took a deep breath, and then you willed your illusion away. Trevor’s eyes went wide, and you could see the faint glow you knew you were giving off reflected in them.

“You’re beautiful.” He breathed as he reached out to touch you, then hesitated, hand hanging in mid-air, and looked to your face, asking a silent question and searching for the answer. You nodded, smiling a little, and Trevor’s fingers were immediately tracing the vines on your skin (you were suddenly very happy that you had decided to wear a tank-top today). You let him explore for a moment in silence, until his fingers gravitated towards the large, fat leaf on your shoulder and sort of stayed there, tracing around the edges.

“That’s the secret,” You said, finally, reaching up to still his fingers, pressing his palm down until it perfectly covered the Mark, “that’s you.”

You smiled up at Trevor, and he gaped at you, gently lifting his hand so he could peer at the Mark underneath.

“That’s me?” He asked, voice filled with joy and wonder, and you giggled a little bit when you nodded.

“Marks appear and grow and stuff when important things and people happen in our lives. That one’s you.” You explained, and Trevor sort-of nodded absent-mindedly.

“But – not to like, not believe you, because I do, but I’m curious – how do you know?”

You wrinkled your nose up, trying to determine the best way to phrase it, “Besides it showing up after I met and got to know you, and besides the fact that “shoulder-touching” is your favorite form of non-PDA reassuring contact, I just kind of…do? Once you see it, on your body, you just know.”

Trevor nodded, his thumb tracing the leaf – his leaf – one more time before he cupped your jaw with his hands and pulled you into a soft, loving kiss. You melted against him when he pulled away, and the two of you stayed there like that, you not bothering to cover your Marks again once assured by Trevor that no, the glowy-ness did not mess up his sightline to the TV.

“Hey [Y/N], do you want to know a secret?” Trevor asked a couple hours later, when your eyelids were starting to droop with sleep.

“Mmhmm.”

“Geoff walked up to me this morning and started a conversation just so that he could tell me that when we get married, he wants to transfigure Gus into a person for the wedding. And that Geoff wants to officiate in one of those blue glitter tuxes.” Trevor did a good job of keeping a straight face as he spoke, but as soon as he was finished you both burst out into laughter.

“I can’t believe – Geoff…really?!”

Trevor nodded, “I thought he was – he was joking, but nope! Dead – dead serious!”

Eventually, your laughter subsided, and you rearranged yourselves so that you were laying down, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

You fell asleep quickly, so you didn’t hear Trevor’s whispered “I think I love you” against your hair, but that night you had a dream.

A dream where your vision was misty around the edges, where you stood and watched yourself in a white dress stand across from Trevor, looking dapper in a tailored black tuxedo, auras shining as bright as your grins, while a be-glittered Geoff in a blue suit stood between the two of you, reading from a small leather book.

[thiskryptonite]

Good Company

Tagging: August Knight & Mikhail Cao @mikhailxcao

Time Frame: February 2nd, 2019 (Day 2 of Imbolc Festival)

Location: Gabaroche Farm (Imbolc Festival)

Word Count: 2036

Trigger Warning: Drinking & References to Violent Themes

Notes: August and Mikhail discuss the Sarau at the Imbolc Festival before sharing a few drinks and enjoying the shared company.

Mikhail

Mikhail was walking his back way from checking on Hart and trying to calculate how many hours he had to fill before he could leave when he caught sight of another familiar face. Perfect. Conversation tended to flow fairly easily around August and that could easily eat up some time, especially if they had any of those weird game-things around that the other was fond of. Stations, or … something. “Hello.” He stopped in front of the area the man was sitting in and pointed next to him. “Mind if I join you? I’m desperate for some company that doesn’t want to sell me things or talk about how good spring will be.” Truth be told, he hadn’t had reason to seek out August’s services - above or under the table lately and he wasn’t all that surprised to find he was curious what the other had gotten up to in his absence. “Find any interesting treasures lately?” It was a safe topic, probably, and he easily fell back into people-watching as he took his seat, hands immediately burrowing into his jacket because he may be dead but he still felt chill. He’d always been the type to get cold easily and had so hoped vampirism would lift that curse, but it did not. “Bigger turnout than I expected.” He added belatedly, drink beginning to settle in and make him a little fuzzy before he turned his full attention back to August and whatever story he’d share.

August

Mikhail was a welcome sight, and one that August hadn’t seen for weeks. Not at all unusual, but as it was Imbolc, August was a little surprised to see the vampire out and about. The old shut-in had been on August’s mind, particularly as of late after their last discussion. The question brought a familiar smile to his face and a smile lightened his otherwise contrite features. These sorts of festivities weren’t usually his style, but the people-watching aspect had always been nice. August leaned easily where he sat, propping himself up on his elbow as his traditional garb hung off of him liberally. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” August smiled, “The High Queen of the Fae invited me to one of her parties just so she could take my friend hostage and use her as leverage to have me go on a treasure hunt for her.” August had no interest in keeping the woman’s secrets, besides, that wasn’t part of their deal. “She was after an obsidian chalice, one with the power to grant a human immortality. You’d have liked it, it was a pretty thing.” He took another drink, probably a little drunk at this point. “Is it too early to retire?”

Mikhail

Mikhail felt his own mood boost a little at the easy smile he got upon his appearance. It was always nice when people were visibly happy to have you crash their previous solitude. And it banished any guilt over dropping down next to him and stealing his attention. Although, to be fair, August nearly immediately stole his attention bringing up the High Queen and hostages and pretty cups. That was a whole lot all at once and part of him was caught trying to figure out how the fuck the High Queen got involved with any of this - was she here too? But eventually he got out the polite, “Is your friend okay?” while trying to narrow down his dozens of rapidly growing questions to just the important ones. “The Queen is here?” He settled on, followed immediately by, “Why would fae want to make humans immortal?” From his experience, the humans weren’t exactly looked upon favorably from the fae he knew, but then again. If there’s going to be a supernatural war against whatever was holding them here, better to throw immortal humans at it than risk the dwindling numbers of fae. Maybe it wasn’t that surprising. But the Queen. Fuck. Mikhail had known it was someone else’s call to burn the church and Dresden was just doing as Dresden did but - fuck. What did that even mean? A war between them? Did she blame the vampires for them being stuck here? None of it made sense. But the last question made him laugh and glance up at the sky. “Uh, probably. I’m not sure it’s after noon yet but would they notice? I mean, you are quite tall and that, but they’re not like taking a roll call to make sure you attend all the events, right?” Grinning, he patted around for his flask and offered a shrug. “I can cover for you, if you need. Work emergency.”

August

August tried to think, contemplation heavy across his face. He could guess why the Queen would want to keep such a thing out of the reach of humans, it was of course a matter of what would have to go into that cup. But the witch couldn't say, there was some personal stake in revealing that much. "She's fine, she's probably here somewhere." August smiled easily, there was some theatrics, of course, "she's resilient." His brow furrowed for a moment, "well, in the Faerielands, at her Court." August's eyes moved towards Mikhail easily at the vampire's follow-up question, Mik was a Cupiditas vampire - most emotionally connected to humans or however that stereotype was supposed to go. He would have thought it'd be obvious to him. "I think her idea is to keep it out of mortal hands, it's a dark artifact, and by keeping it to herself she can make sure nobody uses it." "I meant from this business of objects," August teased, "I am enjoying myself - or at least the refreshments - far too much to leave now."

Mikhail

Resiliency was important. Mikhail was glad somewhere probably that the other was around and fine and walking. Mostly, his thoughts were dominated by trying to figure out what the fuck the Queen was playing at and if it’d be safer to just keep his head down. Probably. He hadn’t realized the faerielands could be accessed through Ashbourne and didn’t quite understand why any of the fae stayed in town then but to each their own and all that. Something about someone pulling strings hidden from them made him supremely uncomfortable but there was little he could do about it. He was just a trapped vampire. A slow eyebrow raise accompanied the witch’s explanation and he merely just tilted his head before taking another sip. “Have you ever met a fae before that night?” Concern for humanity was never high on the list of any fae he’d ever met and he highly doubted this was done as an act of protection, but whatever August had to tell 

August

August thought about Mikhail’s words for a moment, he knew that for a vampire, the blood of the fae was a potent aphrodisiac, but somehow the witch imagined that was not what was not behind the nature of Mikhail’s question. He could think of at least 3 off the top of his head, but there were more in town. The concentration of supernatural energies made it difficult to discern between the species, but there were definitely more fae than he’d been introduced to. “A few in town, one outside, but they were always glamoured, I don’t think she intends to protect it, but fae blood is needed to complete the ritual. If there’s anything I learned about her, it’s that she wants to protect her own.” August took another drink before he moved to sit down, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded. “Sorry, I don’t mean to you know - go off - about this. But, specifically, I think I drank too much wine.” 

Mikhail

Fae blood was needed…in the ritual to make humans immortal? Well, then. That was even more foolish to have taken the object. Two birds one stone. Grab the cup and a fae. One stop shopping. Oh, he had perhaps drunk a bit too much. The idea was hysterical to him but he wisely decided to not share it out loud. A few fae in town. Likely, that included Dresden and Mikhail thought about bringing it up but what purpose would it serve? He did not wish to spend the rest of his afternoon musing and fuming so he just lifted a shoulder as the witch apologized and glanced back over the turnout. “It’s okay. I’m always happy to hear you talk about whatever it is that has got you going, you know that.” Mikhail teased. “At least I know more about fae than…those games you spoke of before.” But growing momentarily serious, Mikhail reached out to pat August’s knee. “I am glad you’re okay though. I can’t remember if it I said it. S’not many I’d miss in this town but … you, I would.”

August

August sighed, a little easier now, his sounding board seemed to think it was more or less not that big of a deal, though he wondered what the vampire would do with the information. He’d hope that the man would keep August’s name from any retelling of the story, but only time would tell. “Do you know very many fae?” August asked, surprised that Mikhail would know many at all. He remembered the Queen’s expressed hatred of the species. It had been irritating him immediately, because the first people August had thought of when he received the letter, he couldn’t bring. Not that Aria hadn’t been fun, but somehow he’d felt like one of those kids in high school who had to bring their cousin to the prom. “It’s a shame you couldn’t have been there, you would have been amazed it was...” August’s eyes went starry for a moment, the earthen kingdom of the fae court was extravagant but the word did not do it justice. “Fountains of gold and silver, dancing unlike any I’ve ever seen, displays of magic and power and wealth and the food. Honestly if I were a fae I would never leave.” He smiled, and also the sex. “it was like the craziest art party I’d ever seen.”

Mikhail

Mikhail gave a small smile at the question before growing distracted by something moving through the air. Or the air…moving? Could he see air? Had he tried before? Maybe it was another quirk of vampiric aging but he pushed past the swirls of color to try and find August’s face again. What had they been talking about? Fae. Yes. “Some of my favorite people are fae.” He shared. “But then again some of my favorite people are witches. And humans. I truly am terrible at being a vampire.” Part of him didn’t want to hear it and part of him was ravenous for details. He hated there was a place Dresden could go without him - a place he couldn’t even fault Dresden for going without him but at least it was worth it. “It sounds…amazing.” Mikhail decided finally, a bit embarrassed by how much sadder the phrase came out than he intended and drunk/potentially rapidly aging him shuffled a little closer to August. He didn’t want to be sad or alone and just found his glass again to knock against the witches. “Happy Imbolc. And to…new beginnings and all that."

August

At least one of his favourite people were fae, but August could not say he really knew many. Still it wasn’t much of a surprise, August was glad however, that for however long the vampire had been in Ashbourne it hadn’t segregated him from other species. The nature of the town seemed to pit them against each other, but for a festival like this at least they could still enjoy the company of others. “Well, I for one am glad you don’t fit into whatever niche vampire stereotype you’re talking about - cuz how boring would that be?” August asked as he playfully nudged his friend with his shoulder. He could stay like this for a while still, August was in no great rush if Mikhail wasn’t. “It was, but I’m glad to be home.” He sighed once more at the sight of the festival that his people had put on. “Happy Imbolc, Mik”

END

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Two

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Monday has finally come! I'm having a lot of fun writing this (even though this chapter is a bit shorter), and I hope it shows. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi

Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains allusions to previous sexual and/or physical abuse. Stay safe!]

"Well," Ezra said some time later, his voice still a little raspy from performing his own interventions, "Damon may not have been overly intelligent, but the man was certainly resourceful." He tilted out from beneath the navigation console, carefully stripping free another lump of tape from the mess of wires. "He must have pawned off nearly every non-essential object under there. And a few that, regrettably, are." The older man squinted up at you, no doubt taking in the hopeless expression you were sure was on your face.

"So I'm stuck here." You breathed.

"Slow down a beat, gentle soul. We're not played out just yet. The Saders may have the bits or bobs we need. Or…" he trailed off, those dark eyes fixed contemplatively on a point above your shoulder. "Damon mentioned the Queen's Lair and those Karolclan mercs. I assume you are already aware of-" He stopped when you shook your head, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Damon talking about it with you was the first time I heard his plan." You confessed. "I had no idea that was why we were here, I just...I mean he told me we were digging of course, b-but I didn't realize it would be...like that." You finished awkwardly. 

"And why would you? Better to keep you in the dark, I suspect. Easier to maintain his grip if you don't know there's a secure payout." Ezra replied sourly. "It's bad business if Karolclan is involved. Them or those Krebine degenerates. No sane man would accept that job."

"Before you got him talking, I didn't even know that he used to have a family crew." You continued, not sure why you were still rattling on. Nerves, probably. "He never mentioned them."

"A man's sins can weigh heavy on him. I imagine he figured there was no harm in tellin' me a few of 'em, since he assumed he would be comin' out on top in our engagement." Ezra said dismissively, rolling the tape into a tight little ball. "That is interestin' though, that he would keep you so far in the black. No trust lost between partners." He cocked his head, fixing you with that thoughtful stare. "Though...I am beginning to suspect 'partner' is an incorrect moniker." He muttered, half to himself. 

The man gritted his teeth after a moment, wrapping a hand around his elbow and cradling his injured arm to his chest. The thrower wound on his bicep, though treated and sealed off, had continued to slowly ooze yellow fluid around the 'cream' foam. Through the tear in his thermal layer, you could see that the skin around the sealant had gone a sickly pink. 

"It would seem," Ezra began, sounding somewhat strained, "that I did not close the wound in time. I am afraid I may have to press our objective to trade with the Saders a little more insistently." He appeared to be making a concerted effort to keep his voice steady. "I apologize, gentle soul."

You had already started to empty the contents of your cumbersome exploration pack out, digging through the tattered pouches for your mending kit. "I'll patch your suit." Ezra gave you a blank look and you shook your kit at him impatiently. "We need to plug the hole in your exosuit. Any sort of loss of integrity is bad, especially if we have to tether. I can fix the rip."

He worked his jaw momentarily, the motion seeming like a bit of a tick. Hopefully it wasn't a leftover from when he had gotten acquainted with your head. "How long will that take?"

"Ten minutes, if that. I'll make it quick." You tapped the bulky chronometer on your wrist. 

After he nodded, you tugged gingerly at the sleeve of his half-peeled exosuit where it hung limp around his waist, donning your gloves before you attempted to wipe the sticky fluid off the thick fabric. Then, you flipped the sleeve inside out as best as you could, noting with a touch of dismay just how much pollen was already embedded in the seams. 

Undoing your patch pack, you quickly measured and snipped out a rectangular piece from the double-sided patch material. Your handheld stitcher buzzed wearily at the tough outer layer of his suit, semi-straight lines of faded khaki thread punching their way through to secure the lurid orange patch. 

"Look at you." Ezra murmured, his voice drawing you out of your focused work. "This is your comfort zone, isn't it?"

You ducked your head down to avoid his gaze, smoothing the rubber sealant backing over the inside of the stitching. "Done." You said quietly. 

He inserted his wounded arm back into the sleeve, dragging his fingers across the freshly-patched hole. "I daresay it's better than new, gentle soul! Much obliged for that, though I know it's not just for my benefit." The older man praised, making you flush. Damon had never thanked you. "With that, I suggest we gather your accoutrements and be on our way."

…

Ezra seemed to be in a worse state than he had originally let on. It might have just been the added stress of movement and drawing filtered air, but his staggering was starting to reach a concerning level. At this rate, he would trip over the tether line.

Your gaze trailed down to the inside of your helmet, resting on the gasket barely within your field of view. There was the lone chiclet of Brism gum that you had traded for so many stands ago, taped to the side of the lining. You lazily brought your eyes up again, realizing that Ezra had halted once more. If you took the stimulant-loaded gum, you might be able to…

To what? Overpower him? Outrun him? It wouldn't do you any good now, he was the one who knew where you were going. Better to continue to save the Brism for a real emergency. He had given his word, what little that counted for, and thus far, he hadn't proved himself to be a threat.

To anyone besides Damon, anyway. You recalled how Ezra's shoulders had slumped in defeat when Damon had pressed the pistol to his helmet and forced him to open his trophy case. Knowing how long he must have been here, how difficult it must have been to scrape together what he had found...

You cleared your throat. "Are you-"

"Gentle soul, for both of our sakes--it is best if you do not ask that question." He interrupted, the labored breathing in his helmet com threatening to deafen you. "I am doing my--damnedest not to dwell upon--the uncertainty of my current bodily quandary."

"How do you still manage to use so many words, even when it sounds like your saturation is garbage and you're pulling your air through a filter of mud?" You asked incredulously.

"I am a loquacious fool, gentle soul." He paused to wheeze, then continued on as if to prove his point, "My lighthearted inclination toward palavering has turned into a shortcoming of most grievous impact, given our circumstances." He gave you a curious glance. "I did not anticipate your scathin' query."

You gulped, realizing belatedly how sharp your words had been. "I-I'm sorry, I wasn't-"

"Calm yourself, gentle soul. I did not mean to imply that it was unwelcome." Ezra graced you with a quick, pained grin. "It has been a short eternity since I've had anyone to speak to, you must understand. My extensive vernacular has been languishin' in the rushes." He straightened back up, but continued to cradle his injured arm to his chest. "It's refreshing."

"What about your partner?"

Ezra shook his head at you. "Number Two was mute. Silent as the grave. Whizz at numbers though, could calculate the depth and breadth of just about anythin' if you had parchment to spare."

You hummed in understanding, his overly-wordy terminology suddenly making much more sense. He was used to filling in the silence. Ezra grunted, rubbing a tentative circle around the patch on his suit. "Should...should we put your arm in a sling?" You queried nervously.

"I am afraid it is a mite too late for that, gentle soul." He flexed the fingers on his right hand, swearing softly. "Martyr's malfeasance, that is seizin'. Can barely feel anything south of my elbow. You'd think that would be a blessing." He groused. "Whole thing tingles like a stranger's touch." Ezra looked up and then abruptly halted. "Ah, now here we have some promise." He said, sounding relieved. 

You followed his line of vision and froze when you spotted a black-clad figure in the distance, watching the two of you. 

"Don't move fast. We don't want to spook 'em." Ezra murmured, slowly raising his good arm to hail the individual. They crouched slightly, cautious. You could relate to that. Ezra waved at them, gloved fingers spread wide as if to display that his hand was empty.

The person darted off back into the underbrush after several tense seconds and you heaved out a sigh of relief. It was short-lived however, as Ezra started lumbering in the direction they had gone. "Where are you-"

"As Eurydice attempted to follow her beloved Orpheus out of the Stygian Abyss, so too we must follow our potential benefactor and have faith." Ezra looked back at you, smiling thinly. "Come, gentle soul. Departing the Green is naught but one more Herculean trial for us to conquer."

He held out his hand to you as if you were a small child. You narrowed your eyes at him and he chuckled, letting his arm drop once more. 

"I meant no disrespect. I assumed you needed assurance. You looked ready to take flight like a startled bird."

"I'm fine." You replied stiffly, "I just have the brains to not immediately trust strange people I stumble across in the Bakhroma Green." 

"I resemble that remark, gentle soul." Ezra pointed out quietly. "Yet here you are, tethered up. What does that say about your good sense and sensibilities, I wonder?"

"I'm very adept at ignoring warning signs when it suits me." You snapped before you could think better of it.

Ezra's harsh bark of laughter startled you, his smile weirdly genuine when he aimed it at you this time. "I must say, your changeable explosions of acrid ferocity are keepin' me on my toes!" He exclaimed. If you didn't know any better, you would say he sounded delighted. "You are wonderfully fiery when you forget to be timid, gentle soul."

You bit your lip nervously, uncertain if you ought to display concern over how amused he seemed to be. 

The large dome of his helmet bumped against yours. "You have gone pensive again, like our dear Sol when it hides behind roiling nimbus banks. Perhaps I am too prone to exposition to suit someone of your taciturn nature. Damon did not strike me as a man of many words." His tone was light, but his eyes were serious. You abruptly felt like you couldn't breathe as his body loomed over you.

"Too close." You managed to say, not ready to attempt to actually push him away. 

Confusion flickered across his face, then he seemed to realize that he was leaning his helmet on your own. "Oh! My most sincere apologies, gentle soul. Number Two was a sturdy individual. Afraid I'm overused to restin' a bit of weight where it doesn't belong." He took a large step back, holding his hands out as if to assuage your fears. "I-I meant no disrespect."

His stammer took you by surprise. On someone who seemed so self-assured, it was decidedly out of place. You chewed on your lip and then dared to ask, "What's wrong? You're all...worried."

He stilled, looking away from you and suddenly grimacing in pain. "I...I'm afraid my sands are runnin' low, gentle soul." He admitted quietly. "We have to keep movin', get the lead out."

He trudged forward and before you could reconsider, your hand shot out to grab his. You squeezed it briefly, and then released him. "It'll...it'll all be okay." You tried to assure him, smiling at him like he had at you.

Ezra's expression was unreadable, his heavy brows furrowed deep with thought. He didn't respond to you verbally, just shaking his head after a moment and continuing onward through the Green.

...

The leader of this particular group of Saders, a man named Oruf, welcomed the two of you graciously into his tent once you had stowed your weapons a safe distance away from his village. 

Even in the filtered tent, Ezra's wheezing grew more and more pronounced as the minutes passed. You were actually worried now, just how long had he been limping around with half-functional filtration?

"I was once a man like you, who came with a mind to strike aurelac." Oruf murmured. "But that man died down there in the Green." The other bedraggled inhabitants of the tent were eerily silent as Oruf spoke. He clearly commanded some lofty form of respect. "Born anew amongst friends, bonded into layers beyond the ability of the materialists to perceive." Oruf continued grandly. 

His eyes wandered to you as Ezra stifled another coughing fit, the Sader leader observing your every move with a calm boldness that had you on edge. 

"And now, our son will play for you." The boy, a sullen-looking child with hollow eyes who had been introduced as Fahr, obligingly accepted a strange instrument from his father.

Ezra, who had been almost doggedly focused on Oruf, jerked his eyes down to Fahr at the droning sound of the instrument, the prospector tilting his head to the side. Oruf continued to stare at you and you, in turn, continued to try and ignore the lingering fear currently chewing a hole through your stomach. You couldn't shake the sensation that something was very, very wrong.

There was a woman laying on a pallet off to the side of the main room, and you wondered whether she was ill. She hadn't so much as opened her eyes the entire time you had been there.

The music stopped abruptly and you snapped your gaze back to Oruf, but mercifully he had his eyes closed. 

"That was beautiful." Ezra complimented, his voice seeming deliberately soft. Fahr inclined his head and then got to his feet, retrieving a small tray with two cups on it. 

Ezra perked up visibly, accepting his cup with a nod of thanks. When you received yours though, you felt a bit queasy. The contents looked a little more...viscous than you would have anticipated. 

Ezra sipped from his tumbler far more cautiously than he had imbibed the coffee in the pod. "Juice." He informed you helpfully, no doubt noticing your less-than-thrilled expression. "S'good for you, cleanses the dust."

Another coughing fit rattled his chest and you wondered fearfully just how much dust was in your lungs. The so-called 'juice' felt like an oil slick in your mouth, slimy and wrong, but you gulped it down anyway.

"Thank you for your kindness." Ezra said hoarsely to Oruf as Fahr vanished behind the curtain to the tent's side room. "Now, as you can see, I have sustained a trauma to my shoulder and would much like to flush it with your magic juice." He paused, "and to keep straight, we would also be very interested in proper dressin' and uh, filter refreshers if you have them and can spare them." Ezra tapped the filter that hung slack from his purifier assembly. "In return for your gracious offering, we are prepared to compensate with generosity in equal measure." 

He indicated at the heavy pack you had left beside the tent doorway, filled to the brim with everything and anything from the pod that you hadn't needed (and a few things that you could justify living without).

The young boy emerged from the curtained-off room once again, this time toting a large canister of liquid and a tray of small boxes, balanced on top of one of those all-too-familiar white cases. Fahr carefully laid the items out on the ground in front of you and Ezra, then retreated to sit down beside Oruf. "Here is our offer." The Sader patriarch announced calmly.

Despite the proclaimed direness of his infected wound, you didn't miss the way Ezra skipped over everything that might have been remotely beneficial to him to head straight for the white case. Old habits die hard, you supposed. He shakily flipped up the latches and cracked the lid.

Nine healthy-sized aurelac gems were nestled in the protective foam, all clear shells and amber pearls. 

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Ezra said slowly, a tentative smile quirking his mouth as he glanced up at Oruf. 

"For your woman." Oruf elaborated from across the tent, gesturing down at the white case and then to you. 

The breath stuttered in your lungs. You could have sworn your very heartbeat stopped. Silence reigned in the cramped space as you stared at the Sader man. 

For your woman. 

He was bargaining with Ezra, offering all those supplies and aurelac, for you. You abruptly wanted to puke. In that moment, you wished desperately that you hadn't obeyed them when they demanded you and Ezra to leave your throwers far from their little village.

Ezra appeared just as stunned as you were, finally croaking out, "that is...that is a bold offer."

"It has been determined, but you cannot see because aurelac fills your eyes. It is inevitable all the same, that they will be reborn just like me." The Sader man leaned forward intently. "That is the reason why you were brought here. Not the aurelac."

"What…" Ezra swallowed hard, his voice grating roughly. "W-What do you need her for?"

"We lost our mother." Dread flooded your body anew as Oruf waved a hand towards the woman on the floor. Not sleeping, but dead, you realized. "And the rush past, it is time to rebuild." 

You were absolutely going to be sick. The juice in your stomach writhed queasily, threatening to make a reappearance. They wanted you...as a mother? 

"The Currents have felt our loss, and have pulled you here to reclaim the balance." The man continued relentlessly.

You shot Ezra a panicked look and noted with despair how dark his expression was. He worked his jaw unconsciously, popping it over and over. He was seriously considering this offer, you could see it plain as day on his face. After all, what were you to him? 

You were nothing, just like you had been to Damon. A convenient floater. Freighter scum. And to this man, trapped here for far too long, you were his ticket off the Green.

Hours upon hours spent docked in the clutches of various freighters merged together into a mangled, horrifying mass, each instance worse than the last as you tried futilely to shove them all back down.

"You're a floater, who the fuck would even care?" Damon hissed, unstrapping his flight suit and gesturing downwards with one sharp jut of his wrist. "I picked you up for one fucking reason, you understand?" 

You were going to be sick.

"Scream all you want, no one can hear you. This pussy is mine."

"No one else would help you. I'm the only one. Don't fucking forget that."

You pressed a hand to your mouth and bolted out the flap of the tent, barely remembering to shove your helmet back on as you went. They want a mother. 

No no no no no!

You knew in the back of your mind that it was foolish of you to run off on your own, but the idea of sitting there calmly while Ezra meted out your bodily worth in chunks of aurelac was impossible to consider. 

You heard footsteps pursuing you and as you turned your head to look, your boot caught on a small hummock. You fell to the ground hard, quickly rolling over onto your back before Fahr lunged to land on top of you. The boy held a large, curved knife to your throat but then he paused, glancing backwards. 

You could hear shouting from the tent. You quickly reached up while the child was distracted, tearing free his filter tube and then shoving him off your body. Free once more, you took off pell-mell back into the jungleous expanse. 

Damon's voice echoed in your ears as you fled to where the throwers were hidden.

"You're a floater, who the fuck would even care?"

Part Three