#fic: semblance

[xadoheandterra]

Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

The House of Mar has big shoes to fill.

The city moved like a living organism before Jak’s eyes. He watched, hands clasped behind his back and face carefully blank, from the windows high above the city. People—Krimson Guard and Underground alike—came and went from the building in droves. They flowed with the populace who watched outside with undisguised curiosity, broke away, and came together again before transport vehicles. Jak watched the hellcats descend and loaded up; the transport vehicles filled. Normally the KG outposts, barracks, or the prison itself would be where they received their marching orders. Each of those locations were lost or within a district that still wasn’t recovered, and so the relief efforts—and the orders they received for those efforts—began here at the palace.

The movement itself did not lean toward subtlety, but Jak didn’t quite care. This place may be hell, and definitely Jak considered it to be his hell, but he’d found himself placed in charge of it and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t take care of it. The people were his responsibility now, for better or worse, and Jak refused to leave them be. He refused to keep over half of his city in ruins, to leave more than half of its populace to face threats that they were more than capable of being defended from. The very sense of purpose burned deep within him—despite everything Jak silently swore to protect the people of this city, the home of his ancestors, and the home of his pain. He silently swore that if he had to he’d rebuild Haven from the ground up.

On his shoulder Daxter quietly mimicked Jak. He stood tall, feet planted firmly, and hands clasped behind his back at parade rest. The ottsel’s face also schooled carefully blank as they both observed the ground below. Torn and Ashelin worked quick, Jak and Daxter had to give them that. They’d gotten the Krimson Guard mobilized pretty fast, and what Underground agents were on hand shifted into the groups they were directed without a fight. Jak found himself surprised to not see any of the expected infighting between the two groups given their history, but then he and Daxter both knew how some causes were important enough to leave grudges behind.

“Torn always was good at commanding,” Samos said tiredly from a few paces over. Jak glanced to him. “It’s why I left him in charge as often as I did.”

Jak glanced back to the world below. “He’d make a good leader,” the teen noted. “Why isn’t he in charge of the Krimson Guard?”

Samos tapped his cane and hummed in thought. “You have been informed about their formation?” the elderly sage questioned. “The original purpose for the Guard?”

“You mean aside from the spelling illiterate?” Daxter snarked. The seriousness of the ottsel teen’s stance stopped Samos from actually rasping the boy with his cane as he raised his eyebrows ever higher.

“The original spelling was ‘Crimson,’,” Jak clarified. “Before they became known as the ‘Crimson Guard’ they were the ‘Red Eco Knights’ under command of the red sage’s lineage.” Jak turned toward Samos. “When Baron Praxis took command the name changed to ‘Krimson’ so as to differentiate their new, more militarized objective. Correct?”

Samos hummed in agreement.

“Traditionally the Guard has been commanded by the red sage line,” Samos said calmly. “Just as the agricultural and hospitals were cared for by the green sage.”

“The blue sage maintained the shield wall and eco stores,” Daxter continued in thought. “Yellow did…what? Ballistics? Entertainment?”

Samos snorted. “The yellow sage lines focused where they were needed. They kept a pointed, social view and worked more on infrastructure. They did set up the supply chains that flow throughout the city, and then maintained the ballistics and outfitting of the Guard in every sector, but primarily the yellow sage line kept the day-to-day moving along like a well-oiled machine.”

“And above everything stood the line of Mar,” Jak continued. He looked back over the city. “They kept an ever vigilant watch, listened to the pleas of the people, and stood as the beacon of hope…a metaphysical barrier between the people, and the suffering caused by the metal heads.” He sounded contemplative about the words he spoke. A part of Jak always found his family history something of a curiosity, even before Haven Jak wondered where he came from. Now he knew.

“You have been paying attention,” Samos sounded completely pleased with Jak’s assessment. “You are correct. House Mar stood before the people as the beacon of hope, the ones who beat back the darkness and shielded the city from the suffering of the world at large.”

Jak let a small smile slip through at Samos’ praise. Daxter chuckled from his shoulder. “Zoe’s a good teacher,” the ottsel agreed calmly.

Neither noticed Samos start in surprise at Zoe’s name.

“She did always go on about Mar,” Jak agreed. “How important House Mar always was to Haven. The things that House Mar did, how they helped people…how they kept peace and hope and light for Haven.”

If anything Samos didn’t find that too surprising. The blue sage line stood closest to Mar’s line. House Asul and House Mar built the shield wall, worked closest with the eco stores of Haven, and there’d always been some sort of comradery or respect between the two families. Why if Zoe or Vin ever had a child Damas’ age Samos doubted the coup would even have worked in the first place. House Asul would have revolted against the other Houses, Samos was certain. As it was they already looked down on the rest of the sage lines for following through with the coup.

Samos squashed down the small bit of guilt that burned through him for the actions of his foolish youth. Instead he focused onto Jak who kept silent, almost contemplative. The boy certainly had grown over the years in Haven. Samos couldn’t be sure if he could say Jak finally started growing into the man he’d always meant to be, or if it were more that the man he was finally began to mature a little. At any rate Samos found himself rather proud of who Jak slowly became, and who he would eventually become. The years might not have been kind, Samos wasn’t blind he could see the old hurts that Jak tried to hide, but Jak still came out of everything stronger for it.

“It’s almost time,” Samos spoke up, and Jak sighed. He turned from the window and surveyed the room. Samos surveyed Jak.

They were in the highest point of the palace. The room itself had rarely been used over the years for its intended purpose. Samos, nor Jak, knew what Praxis used the space for, but both were fully aware of what the room was meant to be. Surrounded by a single full wall of glass to stare down at the world below, computer systems along another wall, chairs, and a central table that practically lit up from the number of lights and screens that littered it. The room itself existed as something more like a command center—stark and utilitarian in its design, but it also stood sleek and intuitive. Jak made his way over to the seat at the head of the table. He flicked his fingers across the screen there and began to draw up maps of Haven city, the buildings, and the sewer system as well as schematics for the shield wall.

Samos calmly sat himself down into the seat typically reserved for the green sage line and followed Jak’s example. He also pulled out the reports from the council, the KG, and the Underground on the state of the city beyond the reclaimed districts. What he read made him frown; over sixty percent of the city actually remained in ruins. Eighty percent of the population wasn’t even counted for, and seventy-five percent of Haven’s forces were missing, presumed dead.

Daxter and Jak spoke without speaking while Samos read through what he could. They’d gesture and tilt their heads, twist their mouths as they worked through the schematics. Together they discussed what could be done—how best to tackle the situation at hand. Where best to deploy the forces they did have available, and what best to do to repel the metal heads that still lurked within the city walls.

It was this silence that Zoe stepped into. Jak looked up when she entered the room, offered her a small sort of grimace, and Zoe gave a nod back. She looked worse for wear, and Jak didn’t doubt that she hadn’t had any time to get cleaned up. If anything he figured she had enough time to bring Vin the rest of the way home and little else. Jak watched Zoe take her seat, watched how with a few quick gestures she turned on the holographic projector. The city maps and the reports both began to scroll, the computer working out most of the details.

The next to enter the room was Koray Aksoy of the yellow sage line. Jak glanced at him, gave a short nod, and then went back to what he was looking over. Daxter leaned toward Zoe and said something in low tones that nobody but Jak could understand. Out of the corner of his eye Jak watched as Koray took the seat for the head of House Karga and he fought down a a frown.

Logically Jak knew that Erol’s position in the government, in the Dark Warrior Program, and within the KG actually signified something far more important. He knew, somewhere, that Erol was the heir to House Karga, and as such the direct descendent of the yellow sage. Knowing, and accepting, were two different things. The fact that Koray looked almost exactly like Erol—not necessarily in coloring; Koray’s skin was a bit darker and his eyes a shade more orange, plus his hair was completely the wrong texture, but he stood like Erol and he talked like Erol—didn’t help matters.

Ashelin came into the room with Torn not long after, and Jak presumed that meant the situation on the ground had so far been handled. Koray looked up and pursed his lips into a frown when he saw Torn beside Ashelin.

“Jak,” Ashelin nodded and slipped into her seat. Torn shifted, and then took up position behind Jak. Jak glanced to him, noted how Torn stood stiff with his hands clasped behind his back, and then glanced to Koray.

“Do you feel unsafe here?” Koray questioned. He leaned forward and placed his elbows onto the table, something that made Zoe look at him sharply, a silent sort of reprimand.

“No,” Jak replied pointedly.

“Then why is your bodyguard present?” Koray sneered. “Torn is not fit to be in this meeting. He isn’t of a sage line.”

Ashelin snorted and shifted in her seat.

“Commander,” she stressed the word, “Torn is here at my, and House Hagai’s request. His knowledge will be beneficial for the purpose of this meeting.”

Koray sneered at Ashelin, and short a glance to Samos.

“And what, might I ask, is this meeting about?” Koray quarried. Samos, from his spot, harrumphed.

“We’re not all here, boy,” the elderly sage uttered sharply.

“Samos is quite right, child,” Zoe said primly. “Hold your tongue, and do have care with what you say.” She looked at Koray like he was an errant little kidchild before she calmly focused back on the screens and the holographic display before her. Ashelin from her spot began to input numbers and Jak shifted toward Torn.

“How is the ground?” Jak questioned in low tones as he kept half an eye on Koray. He didn’t want his experiences with Erol to cloud his judgement, but something about the older man rubbed him completely raw.

Torn visibly seemed to sag for a second as he muttered back, exhaustedly, “Terrible.” Jak arched an eyebrow. “More of our men are missing than anyone initially realized, those we could gather were less than thrilled to have their daily lives upset once more.” Jak raised the other eyebrow. “Yes, mostly the KG forces.”

“Any issues with your command?” Jak questioned.

“None so far,” Torn replied back. “Although Ashelin vouching for me appears to have helped a great deal.” Torn paused, then added softer, “She might not look it but she really is grateful you’ve discovered this whole mess. It’s been dragging on her.”

Jak scrubbed his face with one hand and said under his breath, “Thank Zoe. If anyone else had their way I would’ve remained in the dark.”

Torn snorted. “Ashe wouldn’t have gone for that. She’d pushed back eventually.”

“She’d have just manipulated me into fixing the issue without telling me,” Jak grunted and by the twitch of Torn’s lips he hit the nail on the head. For a moment nobody said anything, and then Jak sighed. “Who else are we waiting on?” he asked softly. He couldn’t think of anyone off of the top of his head, but then he still felt more buzzed up on dark eco than anything.

Jak lamented the fact that he put this meeting ahead of actually getting out to waste some of the eco stores he’d built up gathering Vin’s body for a moment. He felt half ready to go off on a hair trigger as it was.

“Keira,” Samos spoke up calmly. “As well as Alyín.”

Alyín; Jak didn’t recognize that name, but given the way Koray actually jerked I surprise the other man quite obviously did.

“Alyín is dead,” Koray practically growled out.

“Alyín is perfectly alive,” Torn countered calmly. “If I understand the situation she is ensuring Lady Hagai will make it here.” He glanced to Samos, and Jak glanced between them. Something else was going on here, apparentlyapparenty, and he disliked the lack of understanding what that was.

“She has been missing presumed dead for years now,” Koray sneered. “Or have you forgotten, Commander Torn?”

Torn didn’t reply, but then again he didn’t need to. Jak’s mouth fell open slightly as he breathed out an ‘oh’ when Alyín stepped into the room with Keira, a dark look on her face. Of course the connection in retrospect was rather obvious. Jak knew she looked a lot like Erol, it unnerved him how much so in fact although the different eyes often threw him off. He felt like he looked into a weird, and skewered mirror image of Erol whenever he saw her.

“Really, Koray?” Alyín sneered back, lips curled up. “And here I thought you mistook me for Rahmi in the elevator not even a week ago.”

Koray twisted, his face pale.

“I believe you are in my seat?” Alyín continued blithely as she showed Keira to a seat next to Samos. Keira, Jak noted, kept oddly silent.

“You’re dead,” Koray said numbly.

“Not as dead as Erol wanted people to believe,” Alyín countered. “Now, my seat?”

The shuffle didn’t take long, and when everything was done Alyín calmly started the introductions. Jak knew in the end the whole affair was settled more for Keira’s sake than his own—he knew which families each person came from already thanks to a combination of Ashelin, Vin, Zoe, and Samos.

“Alyín of House Karga,” Alyín stated calmly. “Alyín of House Karga, present,” Alyín stated calmly. She looked Jak directly in the eye as she dipped her head. “I would like to apologize on behalf of my brother’s actions against you, King Jak. “I would like to apologize on behalf of my brother’s past actions against you, King Jak. His, at the time, ignorance to who you are is not an excuse.”

Daxter twisted.

Erol was her brother?!

Yes, Dax. Obviously.

Jak breathed out through his nose and kept his voice even as he replied—although he couldn’t stop the way his ears twisted down or how his hands shook—his voice rather tight, “Any grievances against House Karga are forgiven.”

“Koray Aksoy,” Koray said smoothly, face rather pinched. “Sire,” he added at a sharp look from over half the table. Jak nodded.

“Ashelin of House Praxis,” Ashelin nodded. “I hope we get the matter resolved quickly, King Jak.”

“As do I,” Jak uttered tiredly.

“Zoe of House Asul,” Zoe nodded, and gave a smile toward Keira. “Vin would’ve loved to be in this room again, Jak…thank you for bringing him home.”

“Samos of House Hagai, with my daughter Keira,” Samos nodded. “As our guest, as well as the guest of House Praxis, we’ve included Commander Torn of the Underground and the Krimson Guard.”

Torn gave a short nod to everyone but kept a stiff stance behind Jak now that proceedings finally started.

“Thank you,” Jak said. “Listen, I’m going to toss aside pretenses here. The issue is this: Haven is in ruins and we damn well need to get it fixed.”

Zoe twittered faintly and pulled up the statistics. Koray pulled a face as Jak tossed aside the stiff formalities.

“Correct,” she said quickly. “Over half of the city still remains under threat from the metal heads. The shield wall stands to cover the Waterfront and Main Town. Everywhere else still suffers from metal head attacks or are at risk of metal head attacks despite that we’ve repelled them.” A few quick taps of her fingers highlighted the danger areas of Haven. Koray and Keira both paled at the large swath of red coloring on the map. Everyone else already had a bit of a cursory understanding of the mess they were in.

“It gets worse,” Torn said exhaustedly. He leaned around Jak and quickly pulled up the information on Haven’s forces from Jak’s terminal. From the way his lips quirked at Koray’s almost scandalized face over on the yellow sage’s side of the room, Torn did this intentionally. “Over seventy percent of the Krimson Guard remain within the danger zone, and we haven’t been capable of getting proper supplies to them for days. We’ve been holding by the thread of our teeth.” Torn paused, then added gruffly. “In some cases quite literally.”

A small part of Jak wondered what those cases were, the rest of him decided it’d be better not to know. He did exchange a glance with Daxter that surmised of how and what?

“Underground agents have been ferrying supplies from the sewer systems,” Samos agreed, “but the risk hasas made the drops hard to complete. Any air support or air drops of supplies has left the Underground numbers practically decimated.”

“Beyond that,” Zoe continued, “most of the city population is also unaccounted for. What little surveying we could do shows that more buildings are collapsed now than last week.. Corpses litter roads and are spreading disease, increasing the risk to survivors and our forces.. The amount of dark eco pooled in the very streets has become a hazard, not to mention the risk to the water supply—which affects all of Haven and not just the areas currently under attack.. Even if we can mount a successful rescue operation our hospitals will quickly become overwhelmed by the amount of sick and infirm.”

“And without that shield wall back up and running we’re basically sitting ducks for a larger attack,” Ashelin frowned in thought. “Although reports we have been able to get show that the metal heads aren’t nearly as well coordinated as they’ve been in the past.”

“Can we use that lack of coordination to our advantage?” Alyín questioned, thoughtfully.

“At first we did,” Torn agreed, a small smile flashed briefly in approval of Alyín’s tactical analysis.countered. He nodded to Zoe who pulled up the past reports on how various sections of the city had been reclaimed. “We were able to push back metal head forces here, here, and here.” He pointed to areas on the map and the lit up green. “However now their erratic movements are working against us. We’ve lost all communication with the Water Slums, and over half of the Slums themselves.” Those areas lit up a dark red, almost the color of blood. Jak grimaced. “We’ve probably honestly completely lost the Water Slumswater slums like we did Dead Town at this point, too.”

“Great,” Alyín cursed.

Jak noted how everyone grimaced at the mention of Dead Town; he hadn’t quite realize that the loss still affected such a large group of ‘nobility’ years afterward. Given the way even Koray scowled in distaste—and Daxter’s silent message in the twist of his hands—the majority of Haven’s noble lines probably still felt something over the loss.

“We can house the majority of the refugees in the Stadium,” Keira mused allowed, and then flushed when all eyes turned on her. “We have plenty of room!” she insisted. “There’s the race track itself, the under track, and then the underground garages. Damage to the Stadium was by far minimal considering the metal heads had to go through most of the city to get there. Plus the zoomer garages themselves have more than enough space, and then the courtyard….”

“Good idea, Keira,” Samos agreed.

“Even better we can handle the risk of the spread of diseases far more easily in the garages themselves too,” Alyín agreed. “The pits we use to work on zoomers can become an effective mass grave site in the interim so that we can cleanse the city more easily enough.”

“Can we spare the green eco?” Koray questioned.

“Fire cleanses just as well as green eco,” Jak mused. “It’ll stop the spread of disease in the short term.”

“Yeah!” Daxter nodded. “We only then have to perform a green eco cleanse of the pits once we’ve finished with the fires.”

“The people will object,” Koray pointed out.

Alyín disagreed. “Not if we phrase it for their safety.” She breathed out heavily. “Honestly cremation at this point is the better option. Not only will it ensure the safety of the rest of the populace but we also don’t have enough space for burials in the size we should expect given how much of Haven is still under siege.”

They bandied back and forth for a while longer, discussed various options and regards toward safety. Jak pointed out the Waterfront would be a good place for refugee’s as well, specifically those who show no sign of illness. Ideas were brought up and tossed aside rather quickly—and at one point Koray even demanded to know how they would pay for this entire operation but found himself shut down quite quickly.

Everything worked out far more smoothly than Jak expected, all things considered, and for the first time in a while Jak began to feel something like hope. Hope for the future—hope for a future. He prayed he didn’t come to regret the feeling later. 

 Torn sighed exasperatedly as he worked through the information that Zoe and the rest of the emergency council wanted to review. Nothing, ultimately, had been enacted after the whole meeting. They made plans for the eventuality—plans Torn figured Jak would go through with even if the others disagreed—and now he sloughed through notes, blueprints, and anything else Zoe and Samos deemed important for the logistics of the whole thing.

At the very least Torn’s position in keeping an eye on Jak meant he had plenty of time to review the documents. Moments like right now, outside of Haven’s walls in the forest landscape, nestled into a little out-of-the-way corner while Jak went all merry-hell on the place and the potential infestation within it. Distantly Torn could hear another roar, another crash, and scrubbed at his forehead to fight away the incoming migraine.

Daxter hadn’t felt it prudent to mention the amount of dark eco Jak just so happened to absorb on his jaunt into the Industrial District for Zoe until well after the meeting ended. Torn had no idea how the kid held things together as well as he did considering the hair trigger Jak contained when too much eco built up into his system.

“You should be thankful he didn’t destroy the palace, Torn,” the no-longer-ex-Commander grumbled. He’d born witness enough to the type of destruction Jak could get up to. He’d also born witness to the eventual fallout. Another howl, another crash, and Torn held back a wince. Daxter, hopefully, would steer Jak away from anything important along the outside wall.

Torn flicked his finger along the data tablet and tried to focus on the work before him. He had the blueprints up for the Stadium, including the amount of people they could seat, the dimensions of when the thing was built—everything and anything that Zoe could dig up on the place Torn had at his fingertips. He hadn’t known how vastly large the Stadium actually was until he’d been handed the tablet. Sure he knew the races got a good turnout—a couple hundred, sometimes just shy of half-a-thousand, attendee’s at a time. However, they needed to be certain what type of occupancy the building could withstand.

Out of the majority of the places available, the Stadium would be the forerunner for the refugee’s from the lost parts of the city. Torn noted down the probable equipment they’d have to find a temporary new home for, and he made a slight suggestion at using the forest. The metal head population would be highly decimated after today, and with proper barricades at choke points they could keep this section fairly secure.

Near silent footsteps caught Torn’s attention and with trained reflexes Torn pulled up a smaller version of Jak’s morph gun. He aimed it toward the entrance to his little section next to the wall and waited until the intruder came into his sights. When he saw orange fur Torn set the gun back down.

“Did he finally tire out?” the commander rasped, gaze once more focused on the work before him.

“Yeah,” Daxter sighed. “He’s collapsed a couple ‘a feet away, recouperatin’.” Torn nodded. “Y’know you didn’t need to follow us, right?”

“Currently my job description is to keep Jak’s ass out of trouble,” Torn snorted. He jotted down a quick note about the occupancy size and pulled up the dimensions and blueprints for the Waterfront to compare.

“Well yer doin’ a shitty job,” Daxter scowled.

“It’d be easier if he stayed put,” Torn replied.

“We ain’t gonna just sit around doin’ nothin’!” Daxter countered.

Torn arched an eyebrow and peered at the two-foot-tall rat with a look that pretty much had Daxter turning away, feet scuffed against the ground sheepishly.

“Jak’s the best at what he does,” Daxter mumbled. “That’s all I meant.”

Torn sighed, set the tablet down, and leaned forward.

“I know,” Torn said. “But even he will burn out eventually.” When Daxter didn’t reply Torn let himself have a self-satisfied smirk. ��Besides, I’d never keep Jak away from the fighting if he didn’t wish me to.”

Daxter glanced over at him with a narrow eyed stare, a silent question that Torn found easier and easier to read the longer he spent in Jak and the rodent’s presence.

“He needs a break,” Torn pointed out. “Otherwise if I really wanted to I could’ve just walked into the Ottsel and dragged him back by his ear. You guys weren’t really subtle.” Daxter looked down towards his feet, chagrined. “I kept Ashelin off of his back for you two, distracted the Shadow for you both.” Torn massaged his forehead tiredly. “Mar-be-damned but I want this to go right.”

“You guys went an’ made him king,” Daxter grumbled. “Ain’t nothin’ right ‘bout that.”

Torn sighed out a, “No,” of agreement. He’d had his own doubts, concerns, but more out of a sense of care for Jak that he’d come to hold in the same way that he cared for each and every one of his men. “But it was the only choice we had at the time.” The only choice they still had.

“An’ the kid?”

“Also wasn’t my idea,” Torn pointed out. “If I could’ve had a say in that I would’ve gotten him to a good home and kept him well away from any of this…shit.” He waved his hand to imply the metaphorical shit he spoke about.

“So you’ve got a heart then,” Daxter concluded.

“I always have,” Torn replied. “I just prefer to keep it under lock and key.”

“With plenty of booze,” Daxter snarked back.

“Best way to keep things hidden,” Torn agreed, and he had the surreal thought on how this was his life now—joking and agreeing with the pet rat of the boy-king that he’d recruited on a drunken whim. Torn picked up the tablet and decided it’d be best to get back to work. “Let me know when Jak’s ready to return to the city.”

Daxter eyed him, then asked, “We gonna go back through the sewers?”

“Until we’ve got a safer passageway, yes,” Torn countered. Daxter grimaced, and then flounced back to Jak loudly lamenting that Torn planned to pull them through the sewers, again. Torn’s ears perked up when he caught the faint, exhausted laughter from Jak. His lips twitched into a small smile. 

 Torn slipped into Ashelin’s quarter’s only after he’d been assured that Jak planned to simply sleep and not sneak out in the middle of the night. The teen often did so back in the Underground headquarters that Torn felt justified in double checking. The frustrated, completely-not-amused look the teen gave him might have also been a few bonus points. Torn liked to screw around a bit with the kids—he had to get his kicks somewhere in this mess of a city; at least he didn’t screw with people in the way other ex-KG might’ve.

Of course that brought to mind Erol, and promptly any good humor Torn felt died a rather abrupt death. He fought down the melancholy that wanted to grab hold of him as he stepped further into Ashelin’s rooms. His finger’s lingered along the scar on his own neck, lips tugged a bit down, but resolutely Torn didn’t think of Erol. He didn’t think of how it hurt to breath, of the biting feel of his own knife against his neck—the feel of warm blood as it slipped down to his collarbones, the hollow scream that echoed in his own head—

“Torn.”

Torn jerked. His eyes snapped open wide, as he saw Ashelin right in his face, eyes practically shining with concern.

“Ashe?” Torn croaked, then winced when it registered just how sore his throat felt. He didn’t even bother to protest as Ashelin grabbed his hands with one hand, and the respirator with another. She knelt down in front of him and carefully tugged the device over his face and ensured that it would do its job.

“We’re good now?” Ashelin asked carefully. She let go of Torn’s hands only when he nodded, and with a sharp movement Torn grasped at the mask and pressed it a bit more firmly against his face. Ashelin seemed to slump in on erself as she rocked back onto her heels, and then fell roughly onto her ass. “Thank Mar.”

“How bad?” Torn wheezed.

Ashelin snorted and gave Torn a look that he knew all too well. He sighed exhaustedly as Ashelin gestured to the room, pointed out the overturned lamp—funny Torn didn’t feel like he’d hit the lamp—and then Torn saw the disheveled couch. Everything clicked.

“Where?” he questioned, leaned in, and tried to calculate just where Ashelin hit the lamp.

“It’s not even a bruise,” Ashelin snapped out. “I’m more worried about that knife of yours.”

Torn made a semi-strangled noise. He hadn’t even unsheathed the damn thing and she worried about his knife? Another look and Torn handed over the weapon grumpily.

“It’s not like I haven’t had a flashback before,” Torn grumbled. “I’m not going to hurt myself Ashe, for Mar’s fucking sake.” It took him a second to parse why he suddenly felt a bit weird, but when he realized it Torn pulled a bit of a face.

“Just breathe, you asshole,” Ashelin sighed.

“I’m breathing,” Torn muttered back, and from the way the mask muffled his voice it turned out fairly incomprehensible. Ashelin shifted until their knees touched, and she leaned back to stare up at the ceiling with an almost contemplative look across her face. Torn recognized the look to mean that the red headed noble girl in front of him was considering something.

“What now?” Torn asked tiredly, shoulders slumped. He might’ve nudged his knees a bit closer against hers until it was their legs pressed against one another.

Ashelin glanced at him, and then back to the ceiling. She hummed in thought, and then gave Torn a bit of a small grin.

“You know for having such a fucked up set of voice chords, you can scream pretty damn loud,” she said eventually.

Torn laughed, then winced, then coughed.

“Oh, ow,” he breathed as the coughing turned into wheezing. “Fuck. Mar. Ow.”

“Mar?” Ashelin quirked her eyebrow in the way she did when she found something he said absolutely hilarious. “Really? Hm, maybe I should use that.”

Torn blinked, then cursed. Ashelin shot him a teasing smile, got to her feet, and sauntered over to her bedroom.

“Ashe! Ashe don’t you fucking dare!” Torn yelled, and he unsteadily got to his feet. He continued to shout after the younger girl as he followed after her, mask still pressed firmly to his face. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Why don’t you make me, Commander?” Ashelin laughed.

Torn huffed, but he let a small, grimace sort of smile cross his face as he passed by the couch. She’d fallen asleep on it, covered in a blanket, surrounded by documents and updates from the troops on the ground. How terribly like her when she was focused on something; if nothing Ashelin’s dedication certainly Torn found an endearing quality.

“Well, Commander?”

Torn scowled. Unless, of course, she used it like now.

“I’m coming, you Mar-be-damned woman!”

“He went and had me damned? For shame, when shall I expect the execution then?”

“Oh fuck you!”

Ashelin just laughed, and Torn found himself somewhat grinning behind his grimace. Laughing he decided, really hurt right now.

[canisalbus]

I read the entire "novella" novel and I cried at the Canon ending, but I was really happy at the modern coda ending:))

10/10.

.

[ghost-bxrd]

“It ain’t a pony ride out there, boss,” he says, tone neutral, but Jason can hear the undercurrent of bitterness in it, “Ain’t nobody lookin’ to hire one like me ‘cept crooks. Penguin had decent enough pay and didn’t have us doin’ gutter work, ‘s more than I’d coulda asked.”

Jason hums, coming to a slow stop in front of the man to stare him down through the expressionless lenses of his helmet. Behind him, loading a truck advertising “Daisy’s Floral Florist” full of drugs hidden in boxes packed with plastic bouquets, his goons pretend like they’re not listening with rapt attention to the exchange taking place.

Jason nods, tilts his head, nods again, and then jams the barrel of a gun into the soft underside Dave’s jaw, “I don’t believe you.”

Dave, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Just keeps staring straight ahead, stance open, like they hadn’t first met each other when Jason was drenched in blood and chucked his predecessor’s head at him with a dry “Congrats on your promotion.” Like the Red Hood isn’t the definition of violence waiting to happen.

It fucking pisses him off.

Jason snorts and holsters the gun in one smooth motion, stepping back.

“But you’re in luck. I need a second pair of hands to run things for the next job when I’m-“ picking my kid up from school and make sure he hasn’t burned the whole thing down in the meantime, “…unavailable.”

— The Antithesis of Magic, Chpt 6 sneak peek

[ambient-arena]

what if the narrative wasn't so horrifically fond of gideon. what if instead of the lobotomy harrow just straight up tore herself apart trying to pry gideons soul away from hers. what if she resorted to the same violent, animal desperation john did when trying to consume the earth but instead of trying to destroy she was trying to recover. what if harrow in an unimaginable fit of despair forced her entire soul and necromantic capabilities to their intense limits but it doing so inadvertently rendered the task she was trying to complete impossible. like trying so so hard to use necromancy to give gideon's soul back that she accidentally ended up cementing its place inside her as an eternal furnace even more. and then what if she just lived like that with gideons soul and memory inside her and it was terrible and everlasting. yeah what if also my brain is rotting out of my skull

[marshmellowrio]

Semblance of Control | Masterlist

A Fourth Wing fanfic.

A/N: Here's the aesthetic for my new fanfic on Fourth Wing along with a sneak peek preview of the dialogue. When I post a new chapter, you'll also be able to find them here. I'll also update my Masterlist to include both this story and Flight of the Night.

Disclaimer: I do not own these pictures, nor do I own Fourth Wing. Those rights go to Rebecca Yarros. However, the story of my character and how she is interwoven into the story is all mine.

"Are you insane?" My breath catches in my throat. I can almost hear the laughter in his voice as he responds, "Do you really want me to answer that, love?"

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

I gasp at the quiet. The void. And drop to my knees, not caring Xaden is right beside me, trying to hold on to me.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

"Oh, so I'm second choice? All right, I see how it is." She winks and the two of them laugh.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

"If you want to fight me, just say so. You don't have to be mean about it."

Last update: 09/13/2024 Total chapters: 4

★・・・・・・★

Chapter 1 05/08/2024 Chapter 2 05/25/2024 Chapter 3 06/10/2024 Chapter 4 09/13/2024 Chapter 5 - in progress

★・・・・・・★

[solomiracle]

beginning of lesson 11 where solomon wants to rip belphie to shreds but he can't because his most powerful spells require two hands and he refuses to move his arm that's protectively wrapped around you

[locklylemybeloved]

guuuess whose back on her merlin bullshit!!! (send help.)

[sidesteppostinghours]

do you think julia wouldve grown her hair back out as easily as ricardo shaved his mustache if step asked her to.

[raisans-art]

Every day I get closer to posting April 24th and every day I have another heart attack

[xadoheandterra]

Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Jak takes a trip up to the power station. He is not pleased.

​“Bring him home, Jak.”

Jak breathed out heavily as he stared at the wreck that was the Industrial District. Daxter, on his shoulder, remained eerily silent as they looked out at the wreckage. Half-on-fire zoomers still littered the ground alongside metal head bodies, puddles of dark eco, and elfin corpses alike. When Ashelin and Torn flew Jak and the others back into the city nobody got a really good look at the damage except for the Stadium, Main Town, and the Waterfront. He focused on the immediate, and by the time they’d gotten back anyway most of the cleanup they already found accomplished. Now Jak couldn’t help but wonder if putting off this expedition for so long merely meant he attempted to hide from what he knew to be there.

Nobody mentioned the other districts, really, and Jak doubted they’d even want to. Not if the Industrial district looked like this. Jak fought down the urge to flinch and instead picked his way around the zoomers and corpses. Each time he passed a pool of dark eco he could feel his lungs burn as his body subconscious absorbed everything within reach.

“You gonna be okay?” Daxter asked quietly to his ear, but in the silence the words were frighteningly loud.

“Yeah,” Jak replied through gritted teeth.

“My fur itches,” Daxter complained.

“My skin burns,” Jak said back, and then they lapsed into silence. “We gotta do this.”

“Vin deserves it,” Daxter agreed, and ducked his head.

“They all deserve it,” Jak countered as he stepped around a mangled corpse pinned underneath a zoomer.

“What do you think the slums looks like?” Daxter asked, voice a bit faint. “The water slums?”

“I don’t want to think about it, Dax,” Jak whispered.

They continued the trek in silence, and Jak wondered how many people knew the state of the rest of Haven. Did Ashelin know the extent of the destruction? Did Torn? How many survivors were stuck behind walls and barricades of red, green, and yellow? Jak clenched his hands tight around his gun and girt his teeth. This was his city for better or worse, now, and nobody thought fit to tell him a thing. They were more worried about his knowledge of the political scene.

“Shit, Jak,” Daxter breathed as they inched their way up to the second level. Whole sections of the walkway appeared to have collapsed, probably from some abnormally large metal bug. Jak sucked in a sharp breath and picked his way across the crumbling path. He made sure to set each jump down as gingerly as he could, and swallowed heavily at each ruined wall and zoomer.

“Yeah,” Jak said hoarsely.

“D’you think anyone’s trapped?” Daxter questioned as they slipped around a still on-fire Hellcat—how they remained on fire Jak didn’t want to know. All of the flames by now should be burnt out, right? “D’you think the fighting’s even stopped here?”

“I don’t know, Dax,” Jak replied. “I don’t know.”

“This’ gotta change.”

“Yeah.”

Toward the last stretch before the power station, and Jak wondered how they even got the communications tower back up and running if the Industrial district still looked this bad, Jak monkeyed himself over a few construction beams that helped hold the walkway up in the first place, and slipped around yet another crashed zoomer. His ears twitched, some sort of faint sniffling sound—a gas leak, or water leak, or something—caught his attention.

“You hear that?” Jak asked lowly. He crouched down and shifted his feet so that they were a bit wider as his fingers adjusted the mod on the gun.

“Sounds like cryin’,” Daxter said back. “You think there’s a kid?”

“I was thinking more like a gas leak,” Jak muttered and carefully stepped around the zoomer. He nudged the wreck with his gun and winced at the unholy sound it unleashed, which almost drowned out the frightened scream. Daxter bolted from his shoulder and Jak jerked with a shout of, “Dax!”

“Jak there’s a kid!” Daxter hollered back from the hole he’d wiggled into. Jak cursed loudly and quickly holstered the gun.

“Alright, alright,” he breathed out sharply and tried to shove down the twist of the dark eco, the rage at this mess from overwhelming him. “Kid okay? Kid hurt? C’mon Dax, speak to me.”

“Scraped and banged up,” Daxter called back. “Broken wrist? Arm? I can’t tell. S’too dark.”

Jak scrubbed a hand down his face and closed his eyes. His breath shuddered and he tried to think of someone, anyone, that could be a calming influence. His mind kept on jumping over to Ashelin and Torn and the Council and possibly ripping people a whole new one. He grit his teeth.

“Okay,” Jak said. “Okay. Can you get the kid out?”

“Maybe?”

“Get ‘em over to a zoomer,” Jak instructed. “One of the wrecks, we’ll salvage it. Or something. I’ll check out the Power Station, find Vin. We’ll…figure something out.” Jak cursed. “Precursors!” He stomped over to the door to Vin’s Power Station a bit unneeded, but it helped burn off the twisted feeling beneath his skin.

Jak flexed his fingers and wanted to curse as the tips burned with the same intensity of his mouth. He didn’t doubted that his nails were now blackened, or that his canines elongated. He didn’t even question it, because the sparks of dark eco that leaped off of him as he reached toward the rubble that blocked the doorway told him enough already. He could feel his head throb, feel the burn of horns that itched beneath his skull. Jak let out a frightening roar as he tossed aside what blocked the doorway, eyes dark as pitch. He heaved, his arms and legs shook. Off in the distance he could hear a resounding crash and winced—he wondered if he’d hit a survivor? Perhaps killed someone again without thinking, without realizing—Jak hissed between his teeth and gripped at his ears—his scarf prevented him from actually grabbing his hair—and pushed the burn down.

Not now. Not now precursors damn it all. It felt like a thousand ants raced along his veins and muscular tissue. Each breath felt like he breathed in gravel. Jak shuddered and moved toward the door—he couldn’t lose control here. Outside, outside of Haven, away from people maybe. Maybe. The Forest no doubt—he could find metal bugs aplenty there and truly let loose, truly let everything he forced himself to seal away now free. With that silent promise Jak shouldered the rest of the way into the Power Station and had to stop.

Metal heads, metal bugs, dark eco by what felt like tankards. Jak stumbled, dizzy. The mere scent of it all so overwhelmingly painful it forced him to his knees. He let out a faint keening cry and tried to rub his hands over his face, tried to ignore the way his body felt bloated and ballooned around his skeleton. Jak bit his lip, tried to focus on the pain and past the mess—past the burnt out consoles and the sparking electronics.

Vin. He came here for Vin. Jak breathed in sharply, coughed hard enough to burst a blood vessel in his throat and spat out what little blood gathered in his mouth. He shoved aside the metal heads nearest to him and looked hard for wherever Vin could be. He had to be here somewhere—somewhere—

A boot. Jak reached blindly for it, shoved away the two metal heads that blocked his view, and unearthed pants, a leg, an arm—Jak grit his teeth. He shoved away what he could and—there, there Vin lay.

“H-Hey buddy,” Jak mumbled. “Sorry it took…so long.” He didn’t know what Vin wore on his head, but it looked tacky and the design bulky. Jak figured it for some kind of last defense Vin made, not that it did any good once the shield wall went down. “Gonna…take you back home, okay?”

Despite the ruined state of the room, electronics, and the numerous corpses Vin looked almost pristine. Even with the tears in his clothes and the obvious killing blow Jak couldn’t find anything that even suggested the metal heads got any further than just hitting him the once. He breathed out heavily and grasped at Vin’s corpse, before he hailed it up and onto his shoulder. Exhausted, dizzy, and definitely oversaturated with more dark eco than he could remember getting stuffed into his body for a long time, Jak stumbled out of the power station.

He stumbled all the way over to the zoomer Daxter hotwired, carefully arranged Vin in the backseat, behind the sniffling kid, and picked his way back toward the Palace.

Ashelin came tearing out of the Palace the minute Jak pulled up in the stolen and hotwired zoomer. She looked infuriated, but Jak ignored her in favor of the kid in the front seat, and Vin in the back. He helped Daxter get the kid out of the zoomer, and then reached over and hauled Vin up onto his shoulder.

“Where the hell have you been?!” Ashelin demanded. Jak brushed past her with Vin, one hand gently guiding the trembling child while Daxter held the kid’s uninjured arm and chatted soothingly away. “Five days Jak! I’ve been looking everywhere for you for five days and don’t you dare ignore me!”

Jak slipped through the open doors to the Palace, carefully laid Vin down on one of the couches in the open foyer that served both as a trophy room for Baron Praxis back when he had control, and a receiving room that intimidated guests. The woman behind the front counter gasped at the sight of the corpse, and at the way Jak carefully handled it. Not even a second after making sure Vin’s body lay comfortably did the elevator doors open and Zoe come tearing through them faster than anyone her age should. Jak looked up at her, still ignoring Ashelin’s continued tirade, and tiredly spoke up for the first time since he unearthed Vin’s corpse.

“I brought him home, Zoe,” Jak breathed out. Ashelin fell completely silent when he spoke. “Like I promised.”

Zoe stumbled as she slowed down, and then without heed to her clothes or how it might look to others, she threw herself over towards Vin’s corpse and let herself cry. Jak closed his eyes, pressed his lips together, and breathed out sharply through his nose. When he opened his eyes he directed them right to Ashelin, and she could see the purple bleeding black that began to overtake them.

“We need to talk,” Jak said, and his voice sounded a bit rougher. “Now, Ashelin.”

Ashelin swallowed heavily, glanced to Vin and the sobbing Matriarch that named Jak King back in the council chambers almost a week ago, and without a word promptly turned on heel and headed toward the elevators. Jak nudged the boy at his side along and gestured to the receptionist calmly.

“Lyra, get a hold of Samos and bring him here,” Jak said, eyes hard as he tugged his scarf off from his head. “Have a couple of packs of green eco delivered upstairs with him.”

Lyra the receptionist nodded quickly and Jak followed Ashelin into the elevator with the kid and Daxter. Ashelin stood stiff off to the side, and she looked fit to burst but kept her mouth shut. Jak felt grateful for that; he knew he looked frightening at the moment. With forced calm Jak settled against the back rail of the elevator, watched the doors slid shut, and waited. It didn’t even take a minute before Ashelin whirled around.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me that half the city remained in ruins?” Jak said slowly. He side-eyed Ashelin who looked like she swallowed a lemon for a moment. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that half the city hadn’t been cleaned up?”

“We’ve been busy—” Ashelin started.

“Going over useless crap,” Jak spat. “How many people are trapped, Ashelin, without food, water, or supplies?” He turned fully this time, teeth ground together. “How many injured? How many dead?”

“Jak that isn’t—”

“You made me King!”

Ashelin jerked back, and the kid at Jak’s side whimpered. Jak breathed out slowly, closed his eyes, and forced the burn of eco back. He clenched one hand at his side and kept the other relaxed enough to rub soothing circles against the kid’s back.

“You made me King, Ashelin,” Jak said softer. When he opened his eyes they were barely tinged purple. “You put me in charge of this entire city. Do you think I care about learning the most prominent families when there are still people dying out there?”

“We drop supplies regularly,” Ashelin said. She kept her voice soft, almost soothing. “Shipments of food, water, anything we can spare.”

“Spare?” Jak shook his head. “Out of all the districts which ones do you think were hit the hardest? Main Town? The noble houses? The Waterfront? The Stadium? Or was it the Industrial district? The Bazaar? The slums?”

Ashelin swallowed.

“How many people are trapped in buildings half collapsed, starving and drying from disease and dark eco poisoning? How many children?” Jak questioned, lips pressed thin. “The shield wall hasn’t even been fully repaired yet, how many metal heads still roam streets? How many people die while you force me to learn useless facts about a government that sits on its laurals?”

“Jak…” Ashelin picked her words carefully. “You have…you can’t make changes so easily. There’s protocols…the council has to approve things—I have a point to this, Jak. I do.”

Jak turned away.

“Get together the Underground, their KG minders, and start cleaning up the other districts,” Jak said. He completely ignored Ashelin’s words. “Starting with the industrial sections. We need that shield up and fully functional. Move refugees to the Waterfront and Stadium, and Main Town.”

“Jak you can’t—”

“Are you in charge of the KG or not, Lady Praxis?” Jak demanded sharply and Ashelin fell silent. “Am I not your King?” She swallowed, the doors to the elevator opened, and Jak carefully ushered the kid out. “Go and start recovery efforts. We’ve wasted enough time.”

“But what will we—”

“I’ll handle it.”

Ashelin shoved herself toward the elevator doors before they could close.

“How?!” she demanded. “How will you handle it?”

Jak paused, then glanced back at her. “You have three hours to get the KG and the Underground moving. In three hours everyone from the Sage lines will meet here for an emergency session. Am I clear?”

“But—”

“Am I clear, Ashelin?” Jak demanded, tone a bit sharper, and Ashelin jerked.

“Yes,” she bit out. Jak nodded, turned back around, and led the kid toward his rooms. He kept the careful façade of calm the rest of the way. There was way too much to do, right now, and first priority was to make sure the kid was healed up and had a place to go. He’d deal with everything else—and whether they listened—after that.

Ashelin stomped into her rooms within the Palace, a veritable cloud of rage storming around her. She breezed past the couch where Torn lounged, face drawn and tired as he stared at the television without really seeing it. She practically stomped all the way to her office and slammed the door shut with a loud bang. On the couch Torn pulled his hands over his face, twisted around, and got to his feet.

“Ashe?” Torn called. He leaned his back against the office door and knocked. “Ashe?” He could hear a thump, and the door rattled a bit. Torn sighed. “Don’t throw shit at the door, Ashe.”

“Fuck off!”

Torn groaned. “Ashelin what is going on?” The door shook again, and this time Torn could hear something shatter. Within the office Ashelin cursed, and wisely Torn shifted from the path of the doorway just in time for a knife to slice through it. “Ashelin what the hell is going on?”

For a moment, silence, and then the door yanked open and Ashelin stared at Torn with fury. The red of her eyes almost twisted with the eco Torn knew resided within her very blood, and Torn wanted to grimace. Out of everyone that he or Ashelin knew only a small handful of people could get her this worked up, and given the way things recently worked out Torn could bet on at least two people who pissed Ashelin off.

“Where is he?” Torn asked, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t even dressed for this shit right.

“In his rooms,” Ashelin ground out.

“And what did he do?” Torn asked. Besides disappear for five days. Ashelin stared at Torn for a long moment, then closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. Torn relaxed the slightest bit; if Ashelin was trying to calm herself then whatever it was definitely meant good things down the road.

That didn’t mean of course whatever got her pissed wasn’t good for the immediate situation.

“I have been commanded to move out the Underground and the KG,” Ashelin said, and her teeth were grit together.

Torn breathed out heavily and closed his eyes. “Well,” he said tiredly, “it was only a matter of time before he found out.”

“We don’t have the manpower for a rescue!” Ashelin practically shrieked. Torn jerked away from her and frowned.

“We don’t have the manpower because over half of our forces are still trapped and in need of that rescue, Ashe.” Ashelin’s mouth clicked shut. “You and I both know that we should have taken care of the other districts over a week ago.”

“But the council—” Ashelin protested.

“The council only cares for its own interests,” Torn pointed out. “Ashe, you know this.”

Ashelin looked away and scowled.

“Are you upset he gave you an order, or are you upset you couldn’t get this done yourself?” Torn quarried, one eyebrow raised.

“Shut up, Torn,” Ashelin grumbled. Torn smirked and Ashelin punched him in the arm. “Help me get the word out. I’ve got less than three hours.”

Torn blinked. Jak put a time limit on this? That the Commander hadn’t expected. Cautiously he asked, “Why?”

“Jak’s called an emergency session for the Sage lines,” Ashelin breathed out slowly. “All remaining direct descendants are required to attend.”

Torn nodded. If anything it made sense, although he wondered how Jak knew to even call for an emergency session. Ashelin hadn’t gotten around to discussing what emergency sessions entailed, or the reasons to even call on them yet as far as Torn knew. He cokced his head as he thought about that, and then as the reason for the session abruptly clicked. Torn wanted to laugh.

“Fuck, Mar, no wonder the kid doesn’t want to listen to political ramblings,” he said as he scrubbed his hand through his hair.

Ashelin, halfway back into her office, turned around. “What does that mean?!”

“Ashe, he knows Zoe,” Torn said with a snort. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. Mar.” Ashelin blinked, took a second to think it over, then cursed.

“Why didn’t you tell me this, Torn!?” she demanded, decided it wouldn’t be worth it to have the argument when she had work to do, and turned around to finish fishing out the jury-rigged communications system that’d gotten buried.

“I didn’t think of it,” Torn protested. “Mar, I didn’t even realize how much like King Damas Jak even looked until after I finished up his hair. Put him in front of Zoe, someone who knew King Damas as a kid?” In retrospect the whole thing was actually obvious, but Torn couldn’t fault himself for not knowing. King Damas had been ousted when he was a kid and he could barely remember what the last monarch looked like—almost all materials on him had been removed. Plus Torn’s duties kept growing—keep Jak safe, deal with the emergency protocols and responses for the KG and the Underground, help with rescue operations—so he couldn’t be aware of everything.

“Fine! I wasted a week then!”

Torn rolled his eyes and moved back over toward the couch. He picked up his jacket and the breathing apparatus that attached to it, and calmly began to shrug the clothing back on. “Do you want me to say sorry?”

“Torn, just get the word out!”

“Yes ma’am,” Torn replied sarcastically. He slipped out the door before Ashelin could say anything, fingers already tightening the jacket closed. He shook his head; Jak never ceased to amaze him on the amount of trouble he got into.

[melodyatlas]

i wrote 1800+ words tonight on that jaytimroy thing and i /cooouuuuld/ write more tonight but its almost 2am and i still need to shower so im forcing myself to stop 😂 tomorrow tho 👀👀

[marshmellowrio]

Semblance of Control | Chapter 1

A/N: First chapter is up! I can't wait for all of you to discover my OC and what she's capable of!

Word count: 1K

Reaching the top of the stairs, the woman takes in her surroundings. She’s one of the first up on the turret, about three candidates standing in front of her now. Her eyes move to the man in front of her, he’s tall with muscles in all the right places, he definitely spent the better part of his teenage years training to be in the Rider’s Quadrant. The relic on his arm catches her attention, the swirls covering his wrist crawl up his arm, disappearing under his sleeve towards his shoulder. Her own arms are covered up by long sleeves and fingerless gloves on both of her hands.

Another candidate steps onto the Parapet and the line moves up. As the girl steps forward, she glances up again and locks eyes with one of the three riders. His dark eyes look familiar and she furrows her brows almost unnoticeably, she can’t remember where she’s seen them before. It definitely isn’t the man standing before her now, she’s sure she hasn’t seen his handsome face before. His arm also bears a relic, giving away some indication to his heritage. His dark hair blowing in the increasing wind, in her peripheral she sees the storm clouds rolling in. Here’s to hoping it doesn’t hit until after she makes her way across the Parapet.

The line moves up again, she gives a small nod to the rider she has been eyeing and steps forward, focusing on the Parapet. Only the tall blond in front of her remains, she hears him say his name to the roll keeper, “Liam Mairi.”

She doublechecks all of her weapons to make sure they’re secure enough to cross the Parapet safely, something she’s done five times since she wrote down her name at the base of the tower. Two daggers at her belt, along with a satchel with her throwing stars and another dagger strapped to her right thigh. Easily accessed by her dominant hand.

Liam steps onto the covered part of the Parapet, he doesn’t hesitate one second before he’s off.

“Name?” The roll keeper asks her as she steps up to the Parapet.

“Colette Wilder.”

The rider to her right glances to the Parapet and nods in her direction. “Off you go.” Colette closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and opens her eyes again. Then she steps into the open air of the Parapet, arms wide.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Colette steps off the Parapet, onto the courtyard, breathing heavily. Heavier than after any other workout she's done before. Parapet was scarier than she had anticipated, she’s not exactly afraid of heights but she is afraid of falling. Might not be a good personality trait for someone who just entered a quadrant where she’ll have to ride a flying dragon, miles up in the air, but it is what it is, right?

She doesn’t remember most of the Parapet because of the adrenaline taking over her senses as soon as she stepped on. Only now it was slowly ebbing away, leaving her out of breath and slightly shaky on her feet.

The redheaded rider next to her, asks for her name and Colette repeats her name for the third time today. The rider jots down her name, claiming her as alive. The rainclouds that were moving in before, finally reach the Parapet, soaking everything in rain in seconds. The rider with the scroll sighs, looking up at the sky and covering up the paper.

Colette welcomes the cold rain, cooling down her flushed skin.

“Congrats, you made it.” The other rider says without any enthusiasm. Yeah, Colette understands there’s not much to be enthusiastic about in a college surrounded by death. While also getting drenched in rain standing around waiting for candidates to pass the Parapet and join that very same college. If she survives until the end of the year, she’ll probably be right here, doing the exact same thing as him.

She gives him a small nod in acknowledgment, before moving on to lean against a wall not far from the end of the Parapet. As she approaches the wall, she recognizes the guy that went in front of her, Liam. She stands next to him, leaving an acceptable distance between the two of them.

The young woman finally gets to catch her breath again, slowly regaining some of her strength after being drained by all of the adrenaline.

“Scary right?”

Colette turns her head slightly to take in the blond next to her, looking him up and down again, seeing his face for the first time. Meeting his shiny blue eyes, she nods, “You can say that again.”

“Wait,” she shakes her head lightly, “you were already halfway across when I got on and I stepped on, like 10 seconds after you.” Her brows furrowed.

He extends his hand with a smile, “Liam.” He chooses to ignore her statement all together.

“Colette.” She takes his much bigger hand in hers, it engulfs hers almost completely.

“Nice to meet you Colette.”

She nods and lets go of his hand. “Likewise.”

Liam pushes off of the wall, “See you around.” With that he walks off further into the courtyard. Colette nods her head again, now that she’s alone it started to sink in that she belongs to the Rider’s quadrant from now on. She’s a cadet. At the mercy of her superiors. And dragons.

Suddenly a woman rushes off the Parapet, a broad man hot on her heels.

Colette lifts her head at the commotion, she raises her eyebrows and cocks her head slightly to get a better view. She sees the woman holding a dagger against the man’s breeches. Impressive.

“Violet Sorrengail.”

Colette straightens when she hears the name coming from the small woman’s lips. While the man pushes past her, Colette catches a glimpse of her face and hair. She turns to the teardrop shaped courtyard and walks away.

She’s not in the mood to get into that sort of drama on day zero of this first year in the war college.

A/N: Let me know what you think in the comments! This will be a Bodhi Durran fanfic, since I've been gravitating towards his character and the votes were pretty close together. If anyone's interested in a taglist, please comment below!

Chapter 2 click here.

[doom-dreaming]

Cheerful Oblivion

Thought that I was hungry for love… Maybe I was just hungry for blood. **********

I met a woman in a club once. Years ago. Can’t get her out of my head. If I didn’t still have the napkin with her number on it… Well. Would’ve been easy to assume I dreamed the whole thing up.

It was a miserable night to be out. Rain was coming down in buckets, flooding the streets. Could almost hear it over the music, pelting the roof. But there she was. Filling the entire doorway. No coat. No umbrella. Nothing but a black tank top and jeans that looked too tight to be comfortable. Soaked to the bone, dripping wet, faded blue-raspberry-bright hair plastered to her neck. She looked like she’d dragged herself straight out of the ocean. In hindsight, maybe she had.

********** England is only ever gray or green. The girls glitter, Striding glorious and coatless in the rain. I remember falling through these streets, Somewhat out of place, if not for the drunkenness… It makes my chest hurt to think of it, Not of regret, but of missing that… …cheerful oblivion… **********

I remember the way she stood there, caught under spotlight rays of blue and green, the rain on her face sparkling like diamonds… She looked like an angel. Could’ve been. Probably wasn’t. More than likely…something else.

She didn't belong there. In the club. I don’t mean that in a judgmental way. Maybe philosophical. She didn't really seem like she belonged anywhere. But I could see it in her eyes, almost fluorescent blue under the lights. To her, it didn’t matter where she belonged. What mattered was where she wanted to be. And she wanted to be there. In that club. On that night.

I’d never been afraid of being noticed by a beautiful woman. I craved it. Don’t we all? This was different. She was different. Never felt my blood run colder than the second our eyes locked. It felt like being hunted.

********** It was not all pain and pavement slick with rain, And shining under lights from shitty clubs, And doing shitty drugs, And hugging girls that smelled like Britney Spears and…coconuts… **********

She flowed through the crowd like water, parting the proverbial sea, leaving a wake of awestruck stares. If she knew she was the center of attention, she didn’t care. She was a full head taller than anyone else, a titan amongst mere mortals. Muscles rippled when she moved. Wet skin shimmered. I tried not to stare, I really did. Couldn’t help myself. I could’ve watched her for days.

She swept ashore at the bar, smelling like petrichor and oil slicks. Ordered a drink. Smiled down at me, sitting so small a million miles beneath her. There was nothing human about that razor-sharp flash of teeth.

She asked if I wanted another drink. Hadn’t realized I’d finished the one in my hand. I nodded. Couldn’t find my voice. Tab’s on me, she’d said. Not here for long, least I can do. After tonight, you’ll never see me again.

********** And with your mermaid hair and your teeth so sharp, You crawled from the sea to break that sailor’s heart. You only get one night upon the shore, So dance like you’ve never danced before. And the dance floor is filling up with blood, But, oh Lord, you’ve never been so in love… **********

I asked her where she was from. She laughed, a harsh bark of a thing that ripped out of her throat like it hurt. Nowhere. I asked for her name. She didn’t answer. But that animal grin flashed back, a bright white scar across her face. For no reason, I thought about moths. And flames.

We stopped talking. Kept drinking. Started dancing. God, the way she moved. Like a machine. Like a predator. Like a ballerina. Equal parts precision, power, beauty.

I couldn’t keep up. She didn’t seem to care. I was a prop. A plaything. An entertaining little toy, something to keep her distracted. From what, I didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. It felt like an honor.

********** And the mermaids they come once a year, They climb the struts of Brighton Pier, They come to drink, they come to dance, To sacrifice a human heart. And the world is so much wilder than you think. You haven’t seen nothin’ ‘til you seen an English girl drink… **********

I do still see her. Sometimes. In my dreams. In those hazy amber-clad memories. It’s hard to know what was real. Don’t know who she was. Or what she was.

Never did call that number. Not sure she’d really wanted me to. Probably for the best. I get the feeling that if we’d been in that club alone together… She would’ve eaten me alive.

And I think I would've let her.

[sugarsnappeases]

kara | she/her | twenty

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jen @quillkiller ‘s number one fan and stalker

[tennessoui]

i just read "use my body to break your fall" for the first time and i'm absolutely enamored with your writing, which is equal parts hilariously in character (you perfectly nail the dynamics of Disaster Lineage) and genuinely romantic. why do these "i'd destroy the universe for you" type loves make me so hot and bothered when i abhor jealousy more than any other trait in my irl relationship? Force knows. anyway this fic was so SEXY.... sith!obi is so fucking chefs kiss as a concept and yours is truly flawless execution. "a pleasure to meet you, my pretty little liar...." be still my heart. with writers as talented as you keeping their love alive i'm sure i'll never get tired of watching these silly guys fall in love again and again and again...ok time to read everything else you've ever written hehe

Glad to hear you enjoyed it!! That fic will always have a special place in my heart lol it really brought me into fandom before I even knew much about obikin and the fandom 🥰🙏

i have a ton of stuff posted on ao3, but if you’re looking for more specifically sith obi-wan/dark obi-wan, may I recommend you my 2 other dark obi-wan fics, lost to a sea of troubles (based in the gffa, ft Jedi Anakin & sith Obi-Wan) and pretty bird and the mob boss (set in a modern au and based off of ewan mcgregor’s acting in birds of prey)

if you’re looking for more jealousy and sexy obi-wan or anakin, I’d suggest when all we have are shadows (modern au where obi-wan is a bartender; no stakes) and stay til the dawn, I’ll give you the sun (set in the gffa where obi-wan is king of stewjon; there are stakes, also possessiveness)

They’re not dark/evil/actively burning the world down for the other in these two, but they’re definitely….unreasonable about each other in those 2 fics

And if you want just classic tennessoui silly guys falling in love in silly ways, check out: sun, sun, sun, here it comes; put your money where your mouth is; but a number; give a little, get a little; fixer-upper; the size of the fight in the dog; recipe for disaster; come on baby, sweep me off my feet

[gabriestat]

i do like the change of vampires being able to have sex in the show adaptation but sometimes one does miss the book and fandom creativity to make those creatures go at it while anne rice was not watching. armand and daniel in devil minion era were inviting new ways of necrophilia you could never imagine...but "clothes off, face down in the coffin" is too perfect to deny it