#he does dark and brooding so well but he's a ball of sunshine

[alphabetboyluvr]

dance with the devil | jjk

REQUEST | jktaee3 on wp

VIBES | angst, royalty - bridgerton vibes, childhood friends to enemies to ?luvrs?

SOUNDTRACK | die for you - joji

HOLLY'S NOTE | (originally posted april 2023) so fun facts, i've never watched bridgerton. i actually put it on in the background as i was writing, which is where the lil line about being diamond comes from. i also do fuck all world-building in this, so just... use your imagination lol. i have no idea if this is like... correct? i dont read nor write period pieces and haven't done since school so.... go easy on me hahaha <33

also!! went for jeongguk instead of jungkook. feels more dramatic? time appropriate?? idk! mix of eng and Korean inspo for titles / locations!!

WORD COUNT | 2.5k

There are easily a hundred pairs of eyes on you as you walk into the ballroom. Maybe more. The room is grand, gilded in gold—grotesque in its display of wealth, but nothing new to you. You've been in a dozen rooms like this within the last month alone. More money than taste—but you can't buy class.

Despite the influx of unwelcome stares, there's just one you can actually feel. It comes from a pair of deep brown eyes in the corner of the room; a glass of red in one hand, the gloved fingers of your least favourite cousin in the other.

Dark and brooding, Jeon Jeongguk has no right to look at you in the way that he does. Duke of Busan, womaniser of more counties than you care to imagine, he's troubled wrapped up in a waistcoat and ruby-encrusted signet rings.

But you've always liked trouble. Shame.

The grip that Lord Min of Daegu has on your hand tightens. He can notice it too; Jeongguk's stare. Your satin gloves are silky against Lord Min's skin, and he must admit he enjoys being the focus of Jeon Jeongguk's envy. He thinks it's about time that the over-egotistical tyrant of hearts had his comeuppance.

"Remember," Lord Min whispers quietly to you as the crowd watches on. He's a trusted confidant; not suited for marriage. At least not with you. It's the county's worst-kept secret that he retires to the boudoir with Master Park each and every evening. No one at the ball is under any illusion that he is a suitor of yours. "You're a diamond in a mine of sapphires."

"Oh, but sapphires are far prettier than diamonds," you pout, voice dulcet as you scan the room. It's approaching your birthday, and time is running out. A suitor needs to be found, and found promptly. Too much time squandered on frivolous pursuits during your youth had prevented such a search.

It's something you're reminded of whenever your eyes catch Jeongguk's. Endless days spent under beating midsummer sunshine; burnt skin and freckled cheeks. Youth well-spent. Youth wasted.

"So? It matters not." Lord Min smiles. "Diamonds are far stronger. Sharper. And still just as exquisite as sapphires. Do not sell yourself short."

And by that, you know exactly what he implies: steer clear of the Duke of Busan.

It would be a fruitless endeavour. No good would come from it.

Years of your childhood had been spent in a whimsical land with him, full of castles and fairies, and witches and warlocks. Potions had been made in his garden using his mother's best perfumes and items stolen from the pantry; make-believe scenarios came to life in the forest between your family's estates.

Summers had been frittered away together by the sea; Winterton Manor the backdrop of your dreams, your hopes, your fears.

But the Duke did as Dukes so often do; embroiled himself in debauchery and distasteful pleasures.

You had watched on, bemused for the most part, and also intrigued by what compelled him.

Had you not been enough?

Grapevines whisper, and Jeongguk had spent far too much time frolicking in vineyards. Drunk on the delights of his youth, he'd forgotten that there would be life beyond the present.

It's a price he pays, now. A debt he hadn't realised he had racked up.

One that he's reminded of every single time you glance his way. He cannot afford a diamond.

Somehow, however, he can seem to afford the audacity of approaching you in the powder room towards the end of the evening.

You've had lacklustre dances with half a dozen bachelors, and they've all been uninspiring. Only two of them managed to make it through the waltz without stepping on your toes.

Time is running out.

And Jeongguk?

He's running in circles trying to get you out of his head.

Seems apt that he'd bump into you at some point.

Not like he sought you out. Not at all.

Not like he handed the maids by the staircase a few silver coins to divert other partygoers elsewhere, either. He wouldn't dream of doing such a thing.

The Duke of Busan knows you well.

Knows that it takes all of your might to not glance in his direction as he makes his presence known.

"Really?" He asks with a cocked brow and arrogant smirk, leaning against the doorframe. You're preening at your hair. Making sure your pins remain in place. "That's what you chose to wear? To a ball of this grandeur?"

You're wearing white. It's tight against your chest. Too tight. Pleated beneath the satin ribbon under your bust, encrusted with sequins and finished with lace. It's beautiful. Matches the white satin gloves that finish just above the crease of your elbow. You carry yourself with elegance.

In fact, your posture is so well-poised that Jeongguk is the only attendee of the ball who has noticed the split in your skirt. When stood, it is hidden by the pleats. When dancing, it is camouflaged by the lace. When you lift your skirt to meander up the stairs? He becomes reacquainted with the curve of your ankle. The split is no larger than the length of a letter inviting him to tea, but it feels overwhelmingly large.

As far as the Duke is concerned, you may as well be wearing lingerie.

You smooth the skirt of your dress and consider rearranging your tits just to give him something to stare at. You decide against it. Think he would enjoy it far too much.

"Oh precisely," you respond with an equally arrogant grin, before turning to face him. You're haughty in the way you position your body, almost as if you're trying to entice him. "Haven't you heard? I've a suitor to find."

He scoffs. "And you think dressing like a whore is going to find you one of any value?"

A whore.

Very rich of him, you think, as if the entire party doesn't know what he gets up to in the dark. And the daylight. And just about any time of the day, actually.

What they really don't know?

That he used to get up to it with you.

"Absolutely not," you smile. Your father might want you married off, but there's no suitor here for you. Not tonight. If you have to bring a man home, it unquestionably has to be one that your father won't approve of. "That's the point—although, now I come to think of it—this dress did seem to find you, didn't it, Jeongguk?"

He stays quiet for a moment. He doesn't enjoy you being correct. It's part of the reason you bicker so much. You're always correct.

"White really isn't your colour," he tells you with an ambivalent shrug. "We both know that."

Innocence. Purity. Virginity.

For once, The Duke is correct. It really isn't your colour.

Humorous, how he's dressed head to toe in black. Perhaps you should be, too.

"And green isn't yours," you tease, walking towards him. "Yet you seemed to be full of it when I entered the ballroom with the Lord of Daegu."

He remains silent. Can sense you have more to declare.

"Moreover," you hum, proving him right as you pause beside him, "as I'm sure you're well aware, Duke, it's the colour beneath the dress that counts."

"And what is beneath the dress?" Jeongguk husks, not looking over towards you. He doesn't want to let you know how much you affect him, still.

"The same lace that greeted you last summer in the stables of Winterton Manor."

Red. Fuck.

His favourite.

"Tell me, Duke," you tease. He deserves it, you think. "Does the Viscount of Gwangju like red?"

"Hoseok?" Jeongguk scoffs, addressing him by name, not title. The lack of respect shown by the young Duke is asinine, truly. A show of his immaturity. "Despises it."

Truthfully, he has no idea of Viscount of Gwangju's preferences.

"Good," you taunt. "I'm enthralled by the prospect of a challenge."

Jeongguk will be damned if you end up betrothed to the Viscount of fucking Gwangju.

"He concedes easily," he says. This is another lie. He just doesn't want to give you any further ideas. "Do not expect a challenge. Anticipate disappointment."

"Oh, but Duke," you laugh and it's so exquisite that he thinks he might just melt. "Disappointment has always been your forte, has it not?"

During the balls of recent years, where Jeongguk would only ever offer his hand to other women, and never you? Yes. Disappointing.

In the smoky parlours, where he laughs and jokes with the other gentlemen, about which debutantes are simply destined to become spinsters? Oh, incredibly disappointing.

In the drawing room adjacent to his bedroom, while you had waited beneath his sheets for his return, as he was agreeing to court your cousin instead of you? Perhaps the most disappointing he'd ever been.

It's been a year—the worst of your life.

"You've made your bed, Duke. Sleep in it."

"I've tried," he says sternly. He doesn't want to joke any more. Doesn't want to flirt. "I cannot bear to sleep in it without you."

You shake your head. Such a devil.

"You seem well rested enough."

"It's a facade."

And you find yourself quite annoyed; frustrated by his apparent disdain for a life he chose. A destiny brought upon you both by his inability to be discreet—though you're unaware of this caveat.

You see, everyone does know of his reputation, but he always kept your pursuits of passion hidden. Private. To the world, you're pristine.

"What do you require, Duke? My pity?"

He knows he doesn't deserve it.

"I require nothing of you."

"Then seek me out no longer. Do not pursue what you cannot commandeer, Jeongguk."

It's a lesson he would have done well to learn many moons ago; one remembered by you even if it was lost on him.

And yet, at quarter past twelve, as he loosens the black satin bow of his collar in his bedroom, Jeongguk pauses.

A knock has just sounded at his door. His chambermaid, he assumes, just checking on the fire—or maybe Master Park's chambermaid, instead (though Jeongguk's business with Master Park's staff isn't ever entirely 'business').

Regretfully, he thinks it could be Lord Kim Namjoon of Ilsan, here to reprimand him for his manners. His mentor in all fashions, Namjoon is always the first to discipline the young Duke following his nights of debauchery—though all things considered, he feels he's been quite well-behaved tonight.

He sighs as he rests a palm flat against his bedpost, and bellows, "Enter."

A sternness settles on his brows, hard and uncompromising, as he turns to the door. There's a dishevelled nature to his hair, undone and falling slightly over his dark eyes. His loosened collar and unbuttoned waistcoat only aid to make him look even more rugged.

He's marred in vulnerability, though. His pretty pink lips rest ajar, as his eyes fall on the intruder of his thoughts.

Amusing, you think, how the bedroom is where he domineers best, and yet is always where he seems the most unfortified.

Perhaps he hadn't been lying about his facade.

Perhaps he really doesn't sleep well without you.

Perhaps—just perhaps—you might indulge him one last time.

"Tell me, Duke"— You walk into his room and close the door behind you, eyes not leaving his —"Do any of them compare?"

He watches you strut past him and crawl on the luxe quilt on his bed. Oh, how you've missed it.

"Any of who?"

"The maids," you shrug. You aren't naive. You know exactly what he does, and who he does it with. "Master Park's maids? Surely Lord Kim's, too. And the working girls. The debutantes—need I go on?"

"No," he says, watching as you loosen your heels and kick them to the floor. They land with a thud. He knows the noise will have echoed throughout the house. "You needn't."

The truth of the matter is that his escapades are well-known amongst high society. He has a reputation, which is why his courtship with your cousin was forced upon him.

You're surely too good for him, but he's of too much value to remain without an heir.

A marriage is needed for him before the end of the year. His father says so.

Contrarily, your father would never agree to the Duke of Busan proclaiming you as his Dutchess.

Jeongguk knows this, for he's already asked.

Of course he has.

Last spring. Kept his mother's ring in his pocket just in case. A proposal was planned for early summer, before your trip to Paris.

He thought perhaps he would go with you—a pre-honeymoon, maybe—but your father had refused his request for your hand, and who was Jeongguk to go against the will of the man who had raised you?

Jeongguk won't burden you with this knowledge. Your life will be far more fruitful if you remain silently furious with him for never giving you what you deserved.

"And do they?" You enquire once more. unaware of his anguish. "Do they compare?"

Jeongguk leans down to his boots. Unties his laces and stands on his heels to remove them. He kicks them away. Is just as undressed as you are. Equal.

"Do you think my bed would be empty right now if they did?"

"It isn't empty," you tease.

"No," he acknowledges. "But it has been. It's been empty for months."

"Months?"

You don't believe him.

"I've had an empty bed since I returned from Winterton last summer," he declares.

"Though your hands have been full?" You sneer, painfully reminded of the way he'd held the hand of another woman in the ballroom that evening. You've had to bear witness to it on multiple occasions by now. It never gets any easier. Your fucking cousin, of all people.

"Pay no mind to the fact my hands have not been empty in ballrooms," he speaks quietly, shame washing over his features. Yes, it would be far more desirable if you were to be furious with him, but he wants to alleviate the hurt that you are quite clearly encumbered with. "As I said, it's a facade."

"Why? What are you hiding, Duke?"

As if you don't know—he laments—that I'm utterly besotted with you.

He glances away from you to watch the fire as it crackles in his hearth. He wonders if it would be less painful to tear his heart from his chest and roast it in the flames, than it is to be in love with you.

"I hide nothing from you," he says with a broad smile as he turns to face you once more. Jeongguk is adept at falsifying his discretions. "But I am without at a dance."

You grin, now. "A dance?"

"I'd love one," he smirks as he holds out his hand. He twists your words almost as elegantly as he used to twist you around on empty ballroom floors; just two of you after the parties had died down and the revellers had hung up their dancing shoes.

He strides to the side of the bed. Satisfaction sinks into his features when your gloved hand slips into his palm. He pulls you up. Pulls you closer. Rests a hand upon your waist and positions himself perfectly for you. He was raised a gentleman after all, even if grew up to be a rogue.

"May I have this dance?" He says quietly, only needing to whisper.

You're so close you probably count the beat of his heart.

One, two.

Does anyone dance better than I do?

Three, four.

Do you lose your breath when someone else draws you closer?

Five, six.

I could dance with you forever.

Seven, eight.

Would that be agreeable?

Nine, ten.

As if you can read his thoughts, you just nod.

"You may."

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Being Nekoma’s Emo Manager

Nekoma x Fem! Manager (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: probably swearing 🤷🏻‍♀️ idk if that’s even a warning

AN: this is an anon request! I realized I had it labeled from Spooky Anon but it wasn’t signed from Spooky anon 😅 so idk who it’s from.

*aggressively hits G note on piano and stares into your soul*

If you unaware of the song that made an entire generation, please google it

Also I will not argue this point because I have both age and vintage Emo on my side 😌

Now for a mini history lesson, the Emo I’m going to be referring to today was popular from the late 90s to late 2000s and into the 2010s

This means heavy black eyeliner, hair that defied gravity, neckties being used as anything but neckties

Black with hints of accent colors such as, but not limited too, pinks, orange, white, etc.

The days when TRL and MTV were the way to “stream” new music and hot topic was the source of all band t-shirts

Now that I’ve covered a small history lesson, let’s strap in shall we!

So get your check board belts and fingerless gloves ready kids!

Because it’s time to get EMOtional 😂

N E Ways- let’s just say, you classified yourself as an “Emo kid”

It wasn’t super unheard of to be different fashionably in school but you, well you were definitely a sight

Your hair was teased to the rafters, bows of every color along with skulls littered your hair

Your eye liner was the blackest black, and you skin looked like you hadn’t seen sun in decades 😅

You wore fishnet tights with vans or perhaps another skateboarding shoe

You looked pretty intimidating to most people who didn’t know you

I mean, your style doesn’t exactly scream approachable

However, the people who did know you, knew that your style of “dark and brooding” didn’t measure up AT ALL to your personality

You were a complete sunshine ☀️

A literal sweetheart and absolute Angel!

Unfortunately a lot of kids didn’t get to know you ☹️

But luckily, there was one guy who didn’t care about looks

He really didn’t care about much actually 👀

And that happened to be our favorite setter Kenma!

Because Kenma honestly does not care about looks or superficial things like that

Actually, when you first got teamed up with Kenma to work on a project, a lot of kids thought it was a strange combo

But somehow, you two managed to make it work and in fact, you got the best grade in the class

After that, you and Kenma became partners for every project

There was just something he enjoyed about you

Probably your weird similarity to Hinata honestly 😏

Soon you and Kenma started hanging out after school

You both loved video games as well as had similar styles in music

Look at me and tell me Kenma wouldn’t be into Emo rock 👁️👄👁️

Fall out boy, Paramore, Taking Back Sunday, THE USED!!!!

Anyways, soon Kuroo joins and he’s confused about your friendship with Kenma

Like you and Kenma are complete opposites but you get along super well

Eventually Kuroo starts taking a liking to you as well

Kuroo has natural Emo hair so it’s fate 💅

Kuroo soon figures out why Kenma enjoys your company as you are a literal dark ball of sunshine

Eventually you start accompanying out kitty cats to practice in order to hang out with Kuroo and Kenma

Upon entering the gym, everyone stares at you

You low key kinda scare the first years, Inuoka and Shibayama

Yaku and Kai are super interested as in why you are there

Yamamoto is just dead because there’s a girl in the gym 🙄

And Lev, well Lev can’t keep his mouth shut

“Hey you’re that weird chick that wears black and has crazy hair. I’ve heard a lot about you!” Lev screams

Yaku please 😌

“LEV SHUT UP!” Kuroo yells as Yaku kicks him

You just giggle, a sound nobody was expecting, as you say, “I’m Yn! I guess I kind of do get a little bit of a reputation but I promise, I’m not evil or something!”

“She’s actually kind of cute in a different way,” Kai says as Fukunaga and Yaku nodd in agreement.

Soon, you are coming to every practice and helping where you can

Setting up chairs, filling water balls, handing out towels

The boys quickly adore you and soon you just naturally become apart of the team

Kuroo officially asks you the teams manager which you gladly accept

It’s hard finding a club with your specific tastes and since you could still express your style and personality, volleyball club seemed perfect!

You enjoyed playing music, listening to music and writing which were all supported by Nekoma

Our progressive Kings 👑

Honestly they were so supportive of their Emo scene queen!

They loved when you added little touches of red to your outfits and even made a hair bow that specifically said “Nekoma” on it 🥹

Of course, they were still boys so they all found you super cute and adorable

Yamamoto was your personal body guard for everything

It didn’t matter what, he always walked you to every class and if anyone made any comments about you, he would challenge them to a “rumble”

Language you later learned, was picked up from Karasuno 🙄

You had heard about Karasuno and you were honestly so excited to meet them!

Kenma had told you about Karasuno’s tiny middle blocker

On the way to training camp, our sweet boys let you play the music

Honestly Coach Nekomata was way into it 😂

He was such a hip coach and he knew you kids were into some weird stuff

Please he was too 🤚🏻

Anyways, he’s just happy you bring so much joy to the team

And honestly you match Nekoma’s cat-like mysterious vibes

So when you showed up, the other teams just kind of stared at you

Obviously you kinda stood out like a sore thumb Yn, sorry to say

But don’t worry, Yamamoto is on the case 🫡

“WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT? HAVENT UOU EVEN SEEN A GORGEOUS GIRL BEFORE?!?” He screams

You rn 👉🏻😐

Yaku 👉🏻 YAMAMOTO STOP BEING AN IDIOT

You just roll your eyes and smile, bowing to the teams and greeting them

Almost instantly, they melted 🥰

Because like how are you both adorable and scary???

Literally Emo culture mkay

“Come on Yn, let’s go,” Kenma says as you wave and walk away

Eventually you get introduced to all the teams, including Karasuno

You end up making eye contact with Hinata several times as he observes you

Finally, he makes his move

“Hi there! I really like your style! I see your friends with Kenma and the pretty girl manager for Nekoma! I’m Shoyo Hinata and I’m a middle blocker!” He shouts

You smile back and greet him, “Kenma had told me so much about you! It’s so great time finally meet you!”

Kuroo and Daichi watch you both and shake their heads

“Boy short stuff really can make friends with anyone can’t he?”

“You new manager looks super sweet and outgoing, albeit a little interesting,” Daichi says as Kuroo nods

Soon you and Hinata, and by consequence Bokuto, become besties

Honestly you really enjoy hanging out with Akaashi but we won’t tell Bokuto that 😶

You share your knowledge as well as your unique style of cheering with the boys

You wrote cute little cheers and even inspirational poetry to share with the boys

Bokuto and Hinata loved your fancy words : D

And even when Bokuto went into his own Emo modes, the teams knew exactly who to call!

“YN HALPPPP!” Akaashi would silently communicate to you with his eyes

You 👉🏻 NEVER FEAR OUR SCENE QUEEN IS HERE 🦸🏻‍♀️

“Bokuto would you like to listen to some music or maybe we can talk about your feelings?” You say as you rub his back

“I could use a hug,” Bokuto 🥺

You 👉🏻😌🥰 of course-

Akaashi doesn’t get it, Nekoma doesn’t get it but they appreciate it!!

[cherryblossomriot]

i had a dream the other day that was basically a dinluke cowboy au and it has been HAUNTING me, so just allow me to deposit it upon you like my subconscious drop kicked it onto me:

Luke is a disabled veteran who has returned from war one hand lighter and several scars heavier. When he returns, his family, who are heavily involved in the politics/military of this fictional land, don’t understand his now jaded and melancholic view of both the world, but also the ideologies that they so strongly believe in, leading him to constantly feel like an outcast even among the people that he so dearly loves. They’re all passionate and strong-willed, but they still don’t understand, not his struggles with mental health or his new perspective, and it just makes things worse and worse and worse. Anakin is a general, and though he’s seen the gruesomeness of war firsthand, he’s also become desensitized to it and has anger-management issues, so he often almost finds a sort of refuge within the chaos of battle, so he clearly cannot even fathom the emotions and trauma that Luke is trying to sort through, much less know how to deal with them properly. Padme is a senator and cares deeply about the crimes and seemingly senseless violence occurring during the war, but she’s also a politician and knows how to play the long game, so when Luke comes to her, he leaves feeling misunderstood and pushed aside. Leia is the only one who seemingly understands, as the pair of them have a deep, intrinsic bond, but she doesn’t fully grasp Luke’s moods and doesn’t handle his breakdowns and flashbacks well. So everyone feels a little upset, a little unsettled, and a lot like they don’t understand why and how Luke has changed, which leads to Luke feeling more and more out of place within his own family. The war ends relatively soon after Luke’s return, which leads to parades which leads to awards which leads to balls and banquets, all of which Luke is forced to attend, his heart dragging but his head held high, because he’s an Amidala-Skywalker goddammit, and we have a certain responsibility and image to maintain to the public and everyone who endured so much. So Luke has to sit there through awards and boasts of glory and mentions of battle scars and it goes on and on and on, and he has to smile and bear it and accept the medal that they’re giving him because he did such a great service to his country and-he has a panic attack. A nasty one that leads to him having to flee from a ballroom, and outside to the gardens. Once he’s there, he realizes that he doesn’t want to go back in. At all. So he runs away. He just picks a direction and goes, stealing a car on the way (this is a modern au but also fictional countries because I don’t want to get into real politics, hooo boy no siree). In the middle of nowhere, he gets caught in a storm and basically crashes his car and passes out. 

But when he wakes up! That’s when the fun begins. 

He’s in this cozy sort of bedroom, and this hot guy is fast asleep in the chair beside his bed, and is that a little kid in his lap? Anyway, the hot guy wakes up, introduces himself as Din Djarin in the softest, most attractive voice Luke has ever heard with his own two ears, and doesn’t ask him where he’s from or what he was doing driving in the middle of bumfuck nowhere at 3 in the morning, so Luke is obligated to have a lil crush on him, even though he’s not sure about the kid. So he asks, and Din introduces him to his son Grogu, who waves at him and signs hello, because, as Din explains, he doesn’t speak much, and the foster system wasn’t too kind to him, so he’s got a little bit of trauma to work through. And Luke just, instantly falls in love with this soft dad and his cute little son who can shift his features from the biggest, most pleading puppy eyes ever to the face of a demented gremlin who will try to eat the frog he caught in the backyard, no matter how slimy it is, or how hard it tries to wriggle out of his hands. Din tells Luke that he can stay for however long he needs, because Luke’s kinda injured from his accident, and anyway, once he’s healed up, they always could use another hand on the farm. So Luke stays, and he meets all of Din’s other farm hands (and shitty friends). There’s Boba, who doesn’t talk much, but when he does it’s always something slightly ominous and menacing, and Luke thinks that his name sounds familiar...hey wasn’t he on the news for robbing a couple banks a few years back?...no, surely not..., Fennec, who speaks even less than Boba, and manages to be far, far more intimidating, but also helps Luke with his prosthetic and gives him fun little tips that always sound more like she’s cut off a lot more limbs than she’s lost. Cara Dune (who is not gina carano but i digress) is also there, and she’s just constantly a harbinger of chaos, but will babysit Grogu whenever Din wants to brood and stare longingly into the distance (or at Luke who’s also brooding as the sun sets but shhh). Bo-Katan and the gang are there, and while Bo-Katan grumbles about how the old ranch boss had different/better methods on how to run things, she still follows Din’s lead and helps him with the finances and taxes. They all take to Luke like a wildfire, because Luke is a sunshine boy who can make friends with literally anyone and somehow manages to make Din not only smile but laugh, but also because they can tell he’s got a lot of trauma and pain bubbling just under the surface, and they all silently but collectively agreed a long time ago that they are the patron saints of troubled and lost souls. 

When Luke gets better and starts to help out, he’s constantly upset with himself because he used to help out at his aunt and uncle’s farm in the summers when he was a kid, and he knows how to do this stuff, but his prosthetic is really throwing him off and his body has sustained a lot of other injuries that make doing manual labor a much more different experience than it used to be, but everyone is really patient with him and helps him out, especially Din. At one point, Din is so nice that Luke just loses it, because he doesn’t understand how Din can be so kind and so patient, and care about him so much, and kind of calls himself broken and useless in front of Din, and Din gets super protective and grabs his hands (real and prosthetic) and tells him that he’s not broken or useless, and you’re so sweet and wonderful, and can’t you see? Ever since you’ve been here, everyone’s been so much happier, so much lighter. You’ve brought something precious to us, but most of all to me. And they’re standing really close and for a second Luke thinks Din is going to kiss him, but instead, Luke realizes that he’s crying, and Din just wraps his arms around him and holds him.

After that, time sort of blurs, marked by things like Grogu climbing into Luke’s bed because he sensed that he was having a nightmare, and Din waking up to find the pair of them coloring in a serene silence, Luke getting the hang of ranch life and his prosthetic and dealing with his panic attacks and flashbacks as they come, and Din enduring relentless badgering from his friends because hey, if you don’t marry Luke, I will and Fennec, you’re a lesbian and that doesn’t matter, it’ll be a marriage of twink and butch solidarity. And all the while, Din and Luke are spinning closer and closer towards each other, two suns hurtling in their orbit to the other with an inescapable certainty. 

When it finally happens, they’ve just gotten back from one of those cowboy dances (idk what they’re called...hoedowns? yeah okay) (and yes, I wanted to hit all of the cliches in the book, thank you very much), and Grogu’s fallen fast asleep on Luke’s shoulder. After they tuck him up all snug in his bed, they head out to the porch, because it’s raining outside, and the steady thrum of water droplets splattering on the roof and on the grass is the most soothing sound Luke has ever heard (aside from Din’s voice), and he’s a little too afraid to go to sleep and ruin his perfect night with a nightmare. They stand there for a while, silence binding them together, shoulders brushing every now and then, hesitant and questioning. Luke thinks about how Din had asked him to dance earlier, his lips tilted in a teasing, but achingly soft smile, and how his heart had pounded a tattoo to the shape of his ribs when they’d pushed up so close together, the fast, rowdy dances of the beginning of the night having faded to something lasting, something meaningful. Luke remembers the ball he’d run away from, how the dancing had been cold, almost jeering in a way, and Luke realizes how far he’s come, how different it is here. And suddenly, there isn’t a question in his mind anymore. He turns toward Din, who turns toward him, and when he leans forward, Din breathes an uncertain “Luke-”, but he doesn’t get to finish the thought. Luke kisses him, and he kisses back, and it’s just them. There are hands in hair and noses nudged together, and at some point, they move, without either of them releasing the other, into the house and into Din’s bedroom. Buttons are unbuttoned, and whole stretches of skin are kissed, and when it’s over, they curl up together, Din tucking his head into the crook of Luke’s neck and falling asleep there. 

When they wake up, Luke explains why he came here, why he ran away, all the while Din looks at him with his beautiful dark eyes and runs his hands through Luke’s hair, which is catching the sunlight filtering in through the window and making him look like he has a halo, all the while never once condemning him for keeping it a secret this whole time. After he’s finished, he expects some sort of shocked reaction-after all, his family’s pretty famous, but all Din does is kiss him and ask, “Wait, so you have a twin?” 

It’s so unexpected that Luke throws his head back and bursts into uncontrollable, and very contagious peals of laughter, and when he’s finally able to breathe again, he kisses Din’s forehead and murmurs, “I love you.” 

Din, who has been touch starved and lonely for years (no time for relationships when you’ve got a business to run and a toddler to raise), tears up and kisses him, too overwhelmed for words. But Luke understands.  

And then Grogu pushes his way into the room holding up a box of Frosted Flakes above his head and shaking it, as if to say, I’d like to eat now, please. 

Din and Luke stifle their smiles into the other’s shoulder, and when they get up, Luke can’t help but think that he’s finally where he belongs.

----

It takes approximately .5 seconds for all the others to figure out they’re together now, and Cara and Bo-Katan (of all people) start cheering immediately, to Din and Luke’s shock. Boba and Fennec grumble and begrudgingly hand over a huge wad of cash each to Cara and Bo-Katan because they thought it would take them at least another two weeks to get together. Din’s very done with his friends at this point, but he takes one look at Luke’s flustered but smiling face and decides he won’t kill them all this time. 

And if everyone thought Luke was a lot of excitement for a humble ranch in the middle of nowhere, then they are in no way, shape, or form, prepared for when his very angry twin sister shows up with a himbo with a shit-eating grin and his 7 foot tall best friend she hired to track her brother down. 

(needless to say, Boba punches Han within two minutes of interaction).

[of-a-chaotic-mind]

Trouble

Summary: Reader meets trouble at a little party thing with their cousin Caroline and her friends.

TW/CW: Legal alcohol consumption but just briefly mentioned. Damon Salvatore x Reader

Requested?: No

Word Count: 688

A/N: I tweaked the prompt a little bit but it’ll be bolded. Anyway, Requests are still open and as always love to all!

Your POV

    The bright sunshine does nothing to ease the chill of the fresh winter air as Caroline and I step into the warmth of Mystic Grill. My younger cousin insisted that I come to this gathering she and her friends are having since I’m in town. As we approach said friends, I already feel like the odd ball. Caroline makes her rounds and introduces me to everyone and I politely smile and nod as we go.  

    Once we finally sit down, I take a moment to observe the room. Everything is how I remember it from the last time I was here. I take in the warm atmosphere and try to ignore Caroline and her friends in hopes of not attracting attention to myself. Aside from our group, there’s only the employees and one lone man sitting at the bar. I remember Caroline telling me that they rented the place out for a few hours before they’re supposed to open so the only customers in here should be with our group.

    The man at the bar is quite attractive. His dark hair is messy and every now and then his brilliant blue eyes dart over in our direction before returning to the whiskey he’s sipping on. I elbow Caroline gently in the ribs to get her attention. When she turns her head to me, I discretely point across the room at the man and ask, “Who’s that?”

    She sighs, “Someone you don’t want to mess with. He’s...” Too late. I was already winding my way through the tables and chairs towards him. Telling me I don’t want to mess with him just made me more intrigued.  

    I pull my ID out of my wallet and show it to the bartender, “Jim Bean, on the rocks, please.” He nods and turns around to make my drink as I hop onto the bar stool a couple down from mystery man.

    “They bore you already?” he asks, referring to the group I had just departed from, “Or maybe I interest you more than some high schoolers and their drama?”

    I laugh, “Eavesdropping?” He shrugs. As the bartender drops off my bourbon I take a sip before answering his earlier question, “If you must know, yes. You interest me more than they do.”

    “Well, you should know, Caroline is right, you probably don’t want to mess with me,” he responds, looking over at me with a Cheshire Cat grin on his face and mischief twinkling in his eyes, “I’m trouble.”  

    “Well, you should know, I can handle trouble,” I tilt my head and match his grin, “Often times I enjoy trouble. It’s a lot more interesting than order.”

    He chuckles, “What’s your name?”

    “(Y/N),” I answer, “Yours?”

    “Damon Salvatore.”

    “Ah the older brother of Stefan Salvatore, I presume?”

    “Yes, but what makes you assume that I’m older?”

    “He's over there with the high schoolers and you’re over here sipping whiskey and brooding.”

    He chuckles yet again, “Fair point.” We fall into a comfortable silence in which I observe him. I can already tell that if I venture further in getting to know him that I will either severely regret it or absolutely love it, there is no in between.  

    My thoughts are interrupted as Caroline walks up, “Hey you two. Bonding over being broody? Come join the fun.”

    I laugh and roll my eyes at her and look at Damon, “Yay or nay?”

    He shrugs, “Why not?” And so we get up from the bar and make our way back over to the group.  

    For the rest of the day, Damon and I just kind of sat off to ourselves and made small talk. When it was time to wrap it up and head home, Damon pulled me over to the side, “Listen, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out sometime? You seem pretty cool and I’d love to hang out again.”

    I smiled, “I’d love to!” I grab a napkin off a nearby table and nab a pen from Caroline’s purse before writing my number down, “Call me.” With this I follow Caroline out and leave behind a grinning Damon.

Masterlist

Everything Taglist: 

The Vampire Diaries Taglist: @akshi8278​

Damon Salvatore Taglist: 

[hateswifi]

Making Do (With What Life Give Us): Part 4

So last part, don’t be afraid to talk to me, I love interacting with you all. I hope you enjoyed this short (15k word) fic. Without further ado, I give you Part 4.

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

As her friendship with Adrien grew she realized that he and Chat Noir are the same person. They had kissed during Dark Cupid, turns out they both remember it and found it awkward and decided on being friends. They would have won the gaming competition if Marinette hadn't given her spot up to Max. She had won his father's hat competition without prior knowledge of their friendship, in fact, Gabriel had offered a scholarship which she would have taken if not had it been for her need to disappear to be Ladybug. But she did take commissions from her new uncle, Jagged Stone. Chloe and she had become co-class presidents together again and everyone was quite happy. She also joined them in battle as Queen Bee with the promise of secrecy. Adrien and Chloe had officially unofficially adopted the two blondes into their family. Her parents are super protective over them especially after hearing about their nightly escapades as heroes. As a group, they were close, with the help of her family, to figuring out who Hawkmoth is. 

After an awkward conversation that Marinette did not in fact like Nino more than a friend, he joined the friend group with the later addition of Alya, his new girlfriend. Throughout it all, Damian and her family had started to come to Paris more, thankfully no one from her friends besides Chloe and Adrien had met them. She didn't want to tell Nino and Alya because of the Ladyblog, Alya had a tendency to stretch the truth and to do practically anything to get a good story. She didn't fully trust them and with good reason and it all started at the beginning of her third year in Paris.

A new student joined the class, which would have been fine besides the lies she was constantly telling. "I'll meet you in the park in ten minutes," she had said to Adrien.

"You wouldn't believe what she just said," Adrien snickers to Marinette as she comes out of hiding.

"How'd you know I was there?" Marinette asks, sitting beside him.

"Chloe texted me saying you felt something suspicious about her," Adrien said.

"And with good intention, she's clearly lying," Marinette pouted.

"Obviously, she's best friends with Ladybug even though she just moved here? How does that even make sense?" Adrien asks. "So I'm not saying that you should, but I'm going to meet up with 'Ladybug's best friend' I feel like she would LOVE to catch up with her, don't you think?"

"I'll let you know what my dear friend says," Marinette smirks. Adrien and the rest of her brothers had started to rub off on her.

"I don't recommend it, I would wait to see what she says first," Tikki whispers from Mari's purse. "Or you could interrupt as you depending on what she says."

"We'll see," Marinette said, standing up. As she entered the park she heard the liar talking. 

She coos. "Ladybug isn't even the most powerful hero, it's Volpina, the holder of the fox miraculous." She pauses while she pulls out her necklace. "This is the fox miraculous, it used to be my grandmother's, but she passed it down to me. I let Ladybug have her time to make a name for herself because we're best friends."

"You've been here for like two days," Adrien started.

"And," Marinette says, walking up. "That was a necklace released in Gabriel's last line. Also why would you tell a total stranger about something, 'so important' something that is supposed to be a secret," Marinette said, sitting down beside Adrien.

"Sabine, Tom, and Chloe are waiting at home for lunch, want to come?" Marinette asks Adrien.

"I would love to!" the liar interrupted, standing up.

"And you are?" Marinette asks.

"Sorry Mari, my dad wants me to come home today," Adrien said, standing.

"It's fine, just remember mama and papa would be heartbroken if they don't see you soon," Marinette said walking towards the entrance.

"Hey I've been busy, could you imagine how much more busy I would be if we hadn't threatened to dye my hair?" Adrien laughs, remembering that wonderful weekend.

"What do you mean?" Lila asked, racing up behind them.

"A couple of weeks ago, Adrien wanted to have a sleepover with our friend group, but his dad was being himself and decided that he couldn't," Marinette started, prompting Adrien to finish. "They snuck in through the window with some semi-permanent dye and the dyed my hair lime green. I threatened to shave my head if he kept forcing me to stay in the house."

"You're a bad influence on him!" Lila shouts, grabbing her arm.

"All I'm showing him is that he doesn't have to live his life as a prisoner in his own house," Marinette responds, pulling her arm from Lila's clutch.

"And I couldn't be happier," Adrien says as his car pulls up. "Bye Mari, we still on for after school?"

"Yes, Mama said if you don't learn how to back soon she'll disown me," Marinette laughs, hugging him.

"She can't disown you and even if she did Bruce would be more than happy to take you back," Adrien snickers.

"So are we never going to talk about this again?" Lila asked, the two friends stopping in their tracks.

"As long as you don't lie, we could start a friendship," Marinette smiles. "See you in class, Lila. Welcome to our class." They wave and walk there separate ways.

Stuff started to go downhill from there, Alya and Nino believed Lila lies over Marinette and their friend group them. It was a dark time in Marinette's life, everyone besides Chloe and Adrien. The retaliation that the class set against them was beyond tolerable. Gabriel still made Adrien deal with Lila because apparently 'she is all the rage right now.' Marinette had been more unhappy than usual so Marinette's parents decided that she needed a break from the drama, but on her last day before her vacation when everything went to hell. 

"I can't believe she was even let into this school!" Alya loudly exclaimed during lunch. 

Lila's sniffled, she had been distressed because Marinette 'supposedly' made fun of her for her past, "What do you mean?"

"Well before she became a jealous wench we were best friends, I just so happen to know almost everything about her," Alya snickers.

"What do you mean? She has secrets?" Lila asks, rubbing her eyes to wipe her tears away.

"She used to live in America, where her dad left her before she was born. Her mother was a stripper and died because she couldn't pay for her drugs and was shot," Alya laughs. "She lived on the streets until Sabine and Tom adopted her. Then she became friends with Chloe and Adrien for their money and connection, obviously. She then manipulated Adrien, Lila's soulmate, to hate her."

"I recommend you silence yourself before I break your elbows and give them to Titus," A voice comes from the entry of the cafeteria. "You're saying only the bad, most of them exaggerated and false.

"And you are... someone she paid to pretend to like her?" Lila asked.

"No, she doesn't need to pay me, even if she could she wouldn't be able to. She is my best friend," he said.

"Ummmm... No! I'm her best friend and she's never spoken of you," Alya said, crossing her arms.

"A real friend would check her statements before announcing these lies. Speaking of the Angel, where is she?" he asked.

"You must not be talking about her because she's an actual demon," Lila sniffles. "Have you heard the things she's done to me?"

"And I don't believe you," He said.

"Thanks, Demon. I never needed any of them all I needed was my closest and most trustworthy friends," Marinette said after she had run and hugged him.

"Hey, Angel, it's good to see you again," he said into her hair.

"And who are you, 'Demon', you never answered," Alya asked, putting air quotes around 'Demon'.

"I'm Damian, Marinette's best friend," Damian said, an arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"That's debatable, we both know I'm her better friend," Adrien snickers.

"Nope. I was her first friend," Damian answers.

"But first is the worst, and as being her second friend, I'm the best," Chloe says, smiling.

"Come on guys, you get to spend all the time with me, let me spend some time with Damian. I haven't seen him since Thanksgiving," Marinette says, snuggling into his embrace.

"Good job making the conversation all about you," Lila remarks.

"Whatever... come on let's go to class, the sooner this ends, the sooner I can leave," Marinette says and they turn to walk to class. 

"Who the hell does she think she is?" Lila said, crossing her arms.

"A jealous, psychotic, gold-digging, wench," Alya answers.

"With good tastes though, did you see that hot piece of man that defended her," Lila said.

"Dark and brooding," Alya adds before they head to class. The lesson was normal, glares and disappointing glances sent her way, as she designed. With fifteen minutes before dismissal for the day, a knock came at the door. 

"I'm here for Marinette," Damian said, entering the room.

"Oh thank God, I don't know how much more of this crap I can take," She responds in English. "Bye Chloe, Adrien, love you both, see you next week." She hears her friends respond with a bye as the door closes.

The trip went well and the time was well spent. Marinette released her first line while in Gotham under, the alias she used to be known as, Sunshine. They had a party held in her honor where for the first time ever, she showed her face to the public and the Ice Prince and Princess Sunshine became an official couple. She melted his heart, as said by a majority of the news outlets. 

She had also made a speech at the closing of the ball. "So honestly, I just want to thank Bruce, who was kind enough to foster for me, Damian, who was a supportive food friend turned boyfriend, my brother, Jason, Tim and Drake, who taught me to live my life. Along with my two best friends, who I met in Paris, Chloe Bourgeois and Adrien Agreste. My adopted parents, Tom and Sabine, who only have my best interest at heart. Last but not least I would love to thank my antagonists all my classmates, who I'm too mature to call out by name, especially the liar, you know who you are."

The girls watch in disbelief. Lila was crying actual tears as she saw her lie-kingdom begin to fall. Alya cries as she sees her career end. 

When Marinette returned a couple of days later, Marinette walked into class early, smiling. Alya stood there, arms crossed and glared ready. "You are a petty waste of--"

"I could have been petty and released all your names," Marinette says, trying to walk past the red-head.

"No, that is just common courtesy, it was just petty to bring us up in your lies," Lila said.

"You want to see petty, fine," Marinette said, dropping her bag on Bustier's desk. She pulls out her notebook and rips it.

"So... why should we care," Lila asked.

"That. That right there ripped up and at the bottom of the waste bin is our end of the year trip," Marinette said, pointing to the waste bin.

"You! You petty bitch!" Lila screams.

"Yep, and proud of it," Marinette smiles and takes a seat, but not before placing a stack of papers on their desk.

"Also this is for you," Adrien says, walking into class. He places a stack of papers on Alya and Lila's desk.

"And what are those," Lila says, significantly paler than normal.

"Well from me, those are lawsuits from my parents, Jagged Stone, and the Waynes," Marinette said, smiling as she took a seat.

"Mine is a court-mandated cease and desist order for your Ladyblog, for spreading rumors about the Agreste Brand. For you, Lila, your papers are termination papers, for spreading false rumors," Adrien said.

"W... What, you can't do this the Ladyblog is my life work!" Alya screamed.

"Who cares about you!? My mum is going to send me back to military school if she finds out I got in trouble for lying, please don't do this," Lila exclaimed, falling on the ground.

"I gave you a way out last year, you didn't take it," Adrien said, sitting beside Chloe and Marinette.

"It's all your fault! If you hadn't been such a bad influence on him I could have had it all," Lila screamed, attempting to jump at him.

"Nope! you couldn't have," Damian said entering the room.

"Lila Rossi, you're under arrest for working the terrorist, Hawkmoth and using celebrities' names to get free things," the officer said.

"Damian, what are you doing here?" Marinette asks, standing up to greet her boyfriend.

"Father and I are here on business," he responds hugging her,

"And does any of that business have to do with you helping me?" Marinette asks, smiling into his embrace.

"Some of it the other half was actual, WE work. I'm going to be working in this wing of WE when I graduate," Damian smiles.

"Sounds great, Demon," Marinette says, breaking the embrace to look him in the eyes.

"I can't wait to start this next chapter of my life with you by my side, Angel," Damian said, kissing the crown of her head.

Extra (how Damian realized Marinette was definitely not just a friend):

Marinette had come to the ball (not really party just really big party) wearing a light blue off the shoulder cocktail dress, looking as beautiful as normal. He had been enjoying himself until he saw it. Normally he’s not one to be jealous, but the way she was smiling at this guy was bothering him. Damian found Jason and told him. “I have a suspicious feeling about that guy.”

“Are you it’s not because how he’s making her smile?” Jason asks, nudging him with his elbow. 

“And why would that bother me!” Damian asks. 

“Well remember that time in the gym, right after Marinette became Ladybug and you found out she had a partner,” Jason asks, Damian gave a nod, yes. “Well today could be that day. The longer you wait the less chance you have with her.” He finishes before walking away. 

Extra (how they became a couple):

He was utterly and completely hecked --gotta keep it family friendly ( ; -- he was in love with his best friend and it looks like someone had already beaten him to it. At the thought he walked away to the balcony, failing to notice the bluenette, who had seen him sad and decided to check up on him.

When she found him he was leaning on the guardrail he was holding a glass of grape juice, not being the legal drinking his brothers found it funny to give him it. “What’s the matter Dami?” Marinette asks, putting a hold on his shoulder. 

“It nothing, I just realized that I’ve been missing who's been in front of me this whole time and now its too late,” he sighs, taking a swig from his glass.

“Missing who?” Marinette asks, placing her head on his shoulder.

“You, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me and it’s too late now,”  Damian explained.

“What do you mean it’s too late?” Marinette said, lifting her head. 

“Didn’t that guy ask you out?” Damian asks, standing up straighter. 

“What? No Dami. He’s a client,” Marinette explained, pulling him into a hug. 

“Wait seriously?” Damian says. “God, I’m so stupid.”

“Yes Damian, if you hadn’t noticed I’m head over hill for you,” Marinette says, kissing his cheek. 

“Seriously!?” Damian asks, picking her up in a spin. 

“If I didn’t know Adrien I would say you’re the most oblivious person I know,” Marinette giggles into his embrace.

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

Tag list:

@northernbluetongue @chocolatecatstheron @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @gwennex @abrx2002 @sonif50 @silvergold-swirl @sturchling @rosep16 @toodaloo-kangaroo @captainmac6 @crazylittlemunchkin @tired-butterfly @emo-elaine13 @book-lover-2006 @weird-pale-blonde-person @rebecarojas07 @dahjokester @jessigurl-design @vixen-uchiha @daminett4life @cici-schnee @clumsy-owl-4178 @lavenderchaitea @grimmhallow31

[shaniahnoel]

Buttercup Pt 6/?

Word Count: 2045

Warnings: Swearing?

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four| Part Five | Part Seven

An hour passed as she waited for the phone to light up. As the rain calmed she strained her ears, hoping to hear the roar of his engine. A second rejection, it turned out, hurt a hell of a lot worse than the first. She took her blanket and curled up in a chair on the front porch, soaking in the smell of the rain. Her eyes closed as she listened to the gentle rumble in the sky. The gravel crunched, but she didn’t open her eyes until she heard Fangs start on the steps.

“You look like hell” she gasped, scrambling to her feet.

“P looks shittier than I do.” Fangs chuckled, glancing over his shoulder. Sophia followed his gaze to the Serpent who leaned back against her cousin’s car. Her jaw fell as she took in his blackened eye and cracked lip.

“Okay get your stupid selves in the house.” Fangs moved immediately, but Sweet Pea trailed behind more slowly.

Their injuries were more prominent in the glow of the kitchen, but Sweet Pea was the worse for the wear. Fangs had a scrape across his face that she dabbed gently with the peroxide. He lifted his shirt and she gently coaxed gravel out of the deeper marks. His breath hissed through his teeth.

“Y’know what? Just go take a shower and then I’ll clean you up. There’s too much dirt to have this even matter.”

As his footsteps faded up the stairs, Sophia turned to Sweet Pea. He was leaned against the counter, his gaze down at his feet. One of his hands was swollen and cracked. She stepped in between his legs and angled her face to see him. He closed his eyes as she brought her hand to his chin and pulled his face upwards. He grimaced as her thumb stroked over his lip.

“C’mon,” she muttered, pulling him to a chair. He sat heavily and watched her, his expression unreadable. “What the hell were you doing?”

“Northsider showed up with a gun the other day. No one disrespects the Serpents, especially not on our turf.”

“You went after some one who had a gun?” She dropped the cotton ball she was holding, but he caught it quickly.

“Relax,” he said as he handed it back to her, “There were no weapons. Well, except for the idiot who stabbed himself.”

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes as he took in her startled expression.

“You could have been hurt, P.”

She’d meant the words to sound annoyed, but there was no denying the fear in her voice. Sweet Pea didn’t answer and so Sophia continued to triage in silence. He winced as she dabbed at his face. When she finished there, she looked over the rest of him. Sweet Pea shrugged off his jacket and she took his hand in hers. The knuckles were swollen and beginning to bruise. Of course, Sweet Pea looked like hell, he’d clearly been in the thick of it. Throwing some ice in a bag she wrapped it around his hand, making him hold it as she went to find something to wrap it with. When she returned with his bandana, he pierced her with a curious stare. Her face reddened a little, but she said nothing as she wrapped it.

He stood up when she’d finished, and Sophia tripped as she stepped backwards. Instinctively Sweet Pea’s hands snaked around her waist, pulling her towards him. Her hands gripped his broad shoulders to steady herself. They stood there, suspended in time, a fire between them. The stairs creaking snapped Sophia to awareness and she slid back out of his grip.

“I think I’ve got some of your clothes here from the last time you crashed,” Fang said looking at Sweet Pea, oblivious or ignoring the moment he’d walked in on.

When Sweet Pea went to change, Sophia snuck up to her room.  Throwing herself onto the bed, she sighed. She stared at the ceiling, waiting to hear them pull out of the drive. With the way he’d been lately, she didn’t let herself think for a second that Sweet Pea would hang around. There was a knock at her door and she sat up.

“Come in.”

Sweet Pea opened the door slowly. Her mouth opened in surprise, but he paid her no mind as he threw himself on the floor. He laid back on his elbows and played with the carpet. Seemingly fascinated by the texture, he didn’t look up as he spoke to her.

“So, what did you want to talk about, Northsider?”

The words were meant to sound rough, but she knew it was forced—she remembered when he’d said that name with venom. If he wanted to play that game, she could too.

“Oh, so you did get my message?”

“Sorry, I was a little busy at the moment.”

“Yeah, been busy the whole month, haven’t ya?”

Her question hung in the air. Once again, she hated how weak her voice sounded. Sweet Pea groaned and threw his head back.

“What?” she snapped. “I can’t be upset that, after the roughest night of my life, you avoid me like the plague? Then, once I finally start to get over that you just show up everywhere—not to apologize, no of course not, but to annoy the hell out of me silently.”

“I’m not kind, Soph.” He said forcefully.

“Yeah, that’s sure as hell apparent.”

“I’m glad I could convince you.”  His voice was a little softer.

“What are you talking about?” the acid slipped from her voice. It was there in his face again, a hint of that vulnerability.

“Nothing,” he snapped, the mask back again. She recoiled reflexively, pulling her knees to her chest. Sweet Pea’s eyes narrowed and then softened. “This is exactly what I wanted to avoid,” he muttered.

“What are you talking about, P.” Sophia responded more forcefully. She wasn’t letting it go. He grumbled something incoherent and pulled himself into a sitting position, arms resting on his knees staring a hole into the carpet.

“At the diner. When those Northsiders started to slam us, you said that I was smart…and kind. But I’m not.” He waved a hand in her direction, gesturing to her still tense posture as evidence. Reflexively she released her knees. Sweet Pea took in a deep breath. He hadn’t talked about this in years. Letting it out in a huff, he continued quickly. Maybe it’d hurt less, like ripping off a band-aid.

“When I saw you lose control, it reminded me of my mom. She’s the sweetest woman you’ll ever meet, but she was always nervous, always anxious. She couldn’t handle the Serpent life, never knowing when my dad would come home or what mood he’d be in. She couldn’t cope with it, with the violence and the anger. She left when I was 10, and my dad never tried to stop her. He loved her, but he loved the Serpents more.”

Sweet Pea bit his lip and Sophia slipped to the floor beside him.

“I’ve seen her sometimes, and she looks like she’s happy. It pisses me off a little, but I can’t ask her to come back to this. Just like I can’t ask you to come into it. I like you, Sophia.” He paused her, turning to meet her eyes. “And it’s because I like you that I’ve been an ass… well mostly, I’ve always been a bit of an ass.” He laughed weakly at his own joke.

Sophia didn’t answer at first, averting her gaze. At first, she was annoyed that he thought her unable to handle it. Then she was relieved that he didn’t actually hate her. She was still trying to put a name to the third emotion, when he gently placed one of his large hands over hers. It was affection, she realized, affection for the boy who wanted what was best for her. Toni’s words made sense now.

“Soph?” His shoulders were a little tense, bracing himself for rejection.

“You wanted to protect me?”

“I’m a Serpent, and I always will be. I’ll get into fights, I’ll lose my temper. Hell, the other day I was going to build a pipe bomb,” he rolled his eyes, almost like he realized the stupidity of that and then continued, “anyways, my point is that with my way of life I’m not a good match for someone so…”

“So…?” She gestured for him to continue, bracing herself for him to tell her she was too much.

“Bright.” He replied simply, “You’re like sunshine. Always so optimistic, even when things are shitty. I couldn’t bring that down.”

“And you think that some brooding tall dark and handsome can kill my vibe? Hmm, I think it was the smart part that I was wrong about.”

His eyes flew up to her face and his breath caught in his throat. She was smiling at him, a teasing glint in her eye. Her face flushed slightly as his lips turned up in a smile. Without thinking about it, he raised a hand to push her hair back; his hand lingered on her cheek and she curled her fingers around it. The seconds ticked by and her gaze flicked down to his lips. The cut looked bad.

“I’m a Serpent for Pete’s sake,” he muttered, rolling his eyes before he raised his lips to hers. She leaned into him and their lips met gently in the middle. He broke from the kiss first wearing the brightest smile she’d ever seen. Grabbing her hands in his, he pulled her up as he stood. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her so neither had to strain and kissed her again. They both felt the fire that burned between them.

When Fangs boots sounded on the steps, Sweet Pea released her reluctantly. Now, Sweet Pea didn’t tower that much over her, but she still stumbled as her feet found the floor. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into him once more. She felt his lips on the top of her head. Fangs coughed in the doorway, and Sophia turned within his arms to look at her cousin. For a moment, it looked like Fangs was going to play protective cousin, but he simply rolled his eyes.

“I freaking told you, P,” was all he said before turning back down the stairs. Sophia raised her eyes to Sweet Pea in question.

“So, I may have told him why I wasn’t going to talk to you after I dropped you off that night. And he may have said it was a dumb ass decision.”

“And Toni?”

“There were no dissenters.”

Sophia laughed, and he joined her. It felt nice to laugh with him again, to be in his arms. There was a strange weight in her gut, though and her laughter faded. She didn’t want to pop her own bubble, but relationships were rocky waters for her. Everything needed outlined.

“So… what does this all mean?”

The question confused him. His eyebrows pulled together as he raised their intertwined hands as if the answer was obvious. Sophia bit her lip and took a step back from him in order to see his eyes more easily.

“No, P. I mean…you’re a Serpent, I’m not a Serpent. How does that work?”

“Well,” he began, clearly not having thought this far. “I thought it meant this couldn’t work. I mean you clearly wanted nothing to do with the rest of the Serpents, but you seem not to mind now?”

Sophia knew he was referencing her late nights at the quarry and recounted her conversation with Toni. It felt as though she was popping his bubble as she talked, but she was determined to finish.

“So basically, I realized that I was being dumb. I don’t want to join up, but I wanna hang around. Especially with you,” she added, lacing their fingers together again.

“I dunno, Soph.” There was a sadness in his voice.

“Hey, I…I can’t make you any promises, but I want to try. I’m sure we can figure it out!” Her smile was bright, infectious, and soon he was smiling too. Sophia pulled him down to bring his lips to hers and kissed him softly.

A/N: Obviously I don’t own any of the Riverdale characters, but Sophia and her relationship with our beloved Sweet Pea are my personal creation as well as the plot lines herein. There may be some basis on events currently happening in Riverdale, but not necessarily. 

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Little Saint

Arc of the Little Saint

Walking in the world again felt good, the sun on her face, the sound of leaves through the trees, the desert air dry with a slight breeze. The early dawn air was cool still, Eha having yet to give way to Sol. Demi did not know where she was in the palace complex, she hoped outside the harem so she might escape. Following the dock led her to a garden, looking to be a lesser one telling by the over grown nature of it.

In the shade of banana leaves and palm fronds were gnomes, the little creatures hiding about and looking around without any obvious purpose. Demi ignored them and continued on the garden path, looking for something familiar or an exit. The garden was small and coming out of it Demi found herself in the wide-open lawn before the palace itself. She paused, unsure what course to take before she decided to face Akeem. No matter what she was going to need him to fight the Pridesmen.

She marched up to the palace, heading for the lavish front door where two guards stood at attention. They saw her and appeared unsettled, neither moved until she reached the closed doors.

“Open the doors,” Demi said, both men staring at her in what she hoped was awe and not just confusion. “I need to speak with the King.”

“Yes Prophet,” one of the guards said as they both bowed deeply. It took them both to open the doors leading into a grand hall. “The King rests upon his throne this morning Prophet.”

“Thank you,” Demi said, deciding to do nothing about the title. She marched into the grand hallway, recognizing it from her first visit so she thankfully knew the way to the throne room. The throne room was a buzz in the early morning sunshine, courtiers and lords gathered about like a flock of colorful birds as servants drifted around with the morning meal. Conversation died instantly as everyone saw Demi enter, she ignored them as she marched up to the throne.

Akeem sat on the giant divan in a slumped posture as he tore apart an almond pastry. When he saw Demi the blood drained from his face as he leapt to his feet. He was down the dais in three strides, throwing aside Rashad’s restraining arm. He looked reading to sweep Demi up in an embrace but Vega hissed and spread her wings when he got close, stopping him dead.

“Demi,” Akeem said wild eyed. “We thought you dead, it has been months! The guards all saw you slip into the lake. That bastard Zar Ne Zar escaped and continues to lay siege…”

Demi held up a hand and Akeem stopped talking, the young King staring at her in awe.

“Come with me,” Demi said as she started to turn when Rashad spoke.

“Where?” He said with fear, voice cracking.

“To the walls,” Demi said. “To the Holy City of Evalon where his people live and die.”

“No Demi, I can’t…”

“Akeem!” Demi said whirling around to face him, raising the staff and Vega who spread her wings and hissed louder. “War is upon us, all of the Kingdoms are at war. If you do not face it then I will, give me the power to do so Akeem.”

He gaped at her, shaking his head slowly as he backed away. Sighing Demi turned away from him and faced the court, and the guards that stood along the walls.

“What loyalty we all hold is to what we hold dear,” Demi said loudly. “Our oaths are to Xin, to Evalon, to all the peoples of the desert and beyond, to life itself. We can and shall fight those who wish to do so, follow me.”

Demi walked out then, the crowd of courtiers parting to let her pass. She feared no one would follow her, yet as she walked others fell into step behind her. Guards, servants, even some of the nobles fell into step behind her. Demi marched out of the palace, whispers and word spreading in her wake. She left the palace and the grounds to the docks, finding a ferry already being prepared for departure. She and her cobbled army boarded and the ferry set off over the lake.

Demi stood at the prow of the vessel until a man stepped up behind her and knelt. Demi turned to see it was a captain of the First Battalion, his bronze breastplate and regalia marking him. He was a man in his later years, white streaking his great beard and a scar running over his left cheek bone. His gold eyes looked up at her with relief and hesitance, hope in his eyes.

“I am surprised to see you here Captain,” Demi said and he nodded. “I cannot imagine Fadil is pleased.”

“He does not yet know, he will soon,” the Captain answered. “I am Captain Jinan of the First Battalion. I have sent orders already to the First to muster and await your orders Prophet.”

“Why? Does the first not stand to protect the Palace?”

“No longer Prophet,” Jinan answered. “You have missed much. The First has become those who watch.”

“Those who watch Captain?” Demi asked puzzled.

“We have watched from the walls the city below Prophet,” Jinan said a tremor in his voice. “Watched and did nothing for we were ordered to stay put. We have watched.”

“Have the walls held?” Demi asked afraid.  

“It has cost us the third and sixth Battalions, and soon the fourth,” Jinan said and Demi felt her knees go weak. Three Battalions gone?

“And the Pridesmen?” Demi asked. “Surely the cost to them must be higher.”

“Prophet, Zar Ne Zar has gathered all the tribes of the Pridesmen,” Jinan said. “They number fifteen thousand strong, having lost three thousand so far in engagement. They are not alone however. Nighttime attacks have come from creatures of dark skin and riding up on the Hyena of the northern plains. Their numbers are unknown, but we have begun to call them the Bone Breakers.”

Even with unknown numbers of the enemy Demi knew the Battalions were outnumbered. Each Battalion only held a thousand men, twelve battalions in all and now three were gone. She knew little of strategy, little of armies, and little of sieges.

“What are your orders Prophet?” Jinan asked, Demi trying not to wince at the hope in his voice.

“The Grand Sect Samson, where is he?” Demi asked.

“He has taken command of the Battalions in the city,” Jinan answered. “Fadil has let him to avoid the blame for the loss of lives. He can be found at the south wall among the nomad camps.”

“How fair the camps in all this?” Demi asked afraid.

“They have taken up the most arms, and theirs is the most blood spilled.”

“What of the slaves?” Demi asked.

“Fadil ordered a thousand slaves let out of the walls as fodder at the beginning of the siege,” Jinan answered. “When all this did was feed the Panthra, Samson ordered the slave district closed. The slaves do not fight.”

“That will change,” Demi said. “For they are slaves no longer.”

Jinan said nothing but Demi sensed the silence one of awe not disapproval. She turned back to look out over the lake, they were just approaching the tower gates that stood at the lake mouth that fed into the Ark. Two massive towers stood at each side of the river, reeds and water abutting their bases. The ferry halted as signal flags were waved to the towers. Demi heard a grating noise and looked around for the source, but saw nothing.

“There is a chain Prophet, under the water,” Jinan said pointing down into the water. “Each link as thick as my thigh and as tall as you, studded with spikes. No ship passes through until it is lowered enough or it gouges the belly of the ship.”

“What if one were to swim the lake?” Demi asked and Jinan looked to her. “On a Panthra could one not swim over the chain?”

“Yes, we believe Zar Ne Zar did just that,” Jinan answered, Demi feeling his question hovering between them unspoken. Demi did not want to lie to the man, but she doubted he would believe the truth. Then she realized there was a lie that was in one way a truth, one that though fantastic would give Jinan hope.

“The gods saved me Jinan,” Demi said looking up to the Captain. “They saved me to guide us into battle against those who seek to destroy the holy city. Have faith Jinan, the Gods have not abandoned us.”

Demi watched his golden eyes shimmer, and saw his belief blossom in his eyes.

“I never had faith Prophet,” Jinan said in a whisper, shame in his tone. “Never did I cast my prayers to the Gods for I did not think they would answer. I have it now.”

“Do not think faith a blind trust Jinan,” Demi said. “The Gods are not watching us to see to our every whim or need. Prayer is more than just demands for victory or wealth. Prayer is thanksgiving, prayer is seeking guidance, prayer is the silent cry of anguish for all that is lost. The gods see it all, they take it all into their names, and we are renewed again in the cathartic outcry of our pain and joy.”

Tears were spilling down Jinan’s cheeks now and glancing back Demi saw there was an audience listening to her now. Demi looked to Cael’s realm and realized it was time for Pale Hour prayers.

“Come, let us pray,” Demi said and knelt, setting Vega down so she could raise her hands to the sky. She heard he others follow her, and as they waited for the chain to lower and the ferry to set off once more, they prayed. Demi made the signs of fear and hope to Cael, praying for his guidance and strength in the coming trials. She finished and turned to see many with heads still bowed, some having the look of epiphany, others looking confused and lost. She stood and faced ahead again, the ferry setting out onto the river.

The river was lined with palms and reeds, giving way to vast forests of gardens which hid the private homes of the nobles. Other skiffs and gondolas skimmed the river, vessels of the nobles where they languished fanned by slaves and eating delicacies. Looking at them as they passed made it seem like the city was not at siege at all.

“Prophet are you hungry?” Demi turned to see a servant stood behind her, Jinan having left her silently to her brooding. The servant held a tray which held delicate fruit juices in glasses, as well as chilled balled melon. Only then did she realize her hunger and thirst, she had not eaten since she had awoken.

“Yes, please something of a hardier fair than this however,” Demi said taking a glass.

“Follow me, a meal is being served as we speak,” the servant said pleased. Demi took a drink of the juice, finding it a blend of several various fruits hard to identify just one. She followed the servant to middeck where an awning stood over a low table. The few nobles that had followed her sat there, all quickly standing when they saw her. Demi sat at the table alone now as servants hurried forward with a meal.

Trays of food were set before her, fine delicacies of fresh fruits, olives, humus, pastries, and breads. It was a feast fit for Akeem himself, but Demi hesitated as she looked up at the crowd around her. All were standing back watching her, as if they hung on her every move.

“Come, eat,” Demi said waving at the food before her. They hesitated and then one of the nobles sat nearby. Demi looked up at the servants as well and addressed them. “All are welcome at my table. Come and eat.”

Demi saw the nobles pause at this breach of conduct and the servants hesitated. Jinan broke the stand off by sitting at the table at Demi’s right side.

“So the Prophet evens man,” Jinan said.

“I simply wish to share my fair with those who chose to follow me,” Demi answered taking a loaf of flat bread and tearing a piece off. She passed the bread to Jinan casually, who took it and tore off his own piece. Others joined them, both servant, soldier, and slave, the nobles last to join at the table. Bread was broken and everyone ate, soft murmurings of conversation which slowly grew as bellies were filled and ease came to those at the table.

An outcry from the bow and conversation ended, they had arrived at the docks. Demi stood as servants hurried about to clear the table. Demi ignored her followers as they tried to fall in behind her, Jinan taking a place to her right and dissuading any other from her side. She went and retrieved Vega, who had patiently been waiting at the prow. With the palm nut vulture over her shoulder and Jinan at her right side Demi disembarked the ferry.

On the docks sailors were busy securing the ferry, while others stood by and stared at the arrival of a royal ferry. They had arrived at the heart of the merchant’s district; the largest dockyards of the city surrounded them. The docks were crowded with ships, the merchants and ships had not been able to leave since the siege began, trade coming to a halt for the city. Demi could not imagine what this meant for all of Evalon or Xin; she suspected a great loss of wealth and crops.

“Where will Sect Samson be?” Demi asked.

“South, he has set up in the temple of Mercore,” Jinan answered.

“Not Mavors and Saepit?” Demi asked worried that the temple of the two demi gods of war and protection had fallen.

“No, the temple tower still stands and holds, but Samson seems to have chosen a more centralized place of command,” Jinan answered. “You will have to ask him to explain his intentions, I am not privy to them, I only guess.”

“I see,” Demi said.

“I will send a servant to find a palanquin Prophet,” Jinan said.

“No need,” Demi said starting off. “I know the way, and I would prefer to walk.”

Startled Jinan followed her, her followers hurrying to keep up. Demi walked along the streets, the crowds before her melting away as if they knew a parade was marching through. People stopped and stared, some fell to their knees, others wept, but all took note of her passing. Whispers rose of the Prophet of the Sands, and whispers became cheers. Demi walked through it with an outer calm, but inside she felt the weight of their hope and feared she would not be able to meet it.

Walking south through the merchant district brought her to the Old Wall. The wall used to mark the border of the city, until expansion and the nomad camp grew to such levels that a newer outer wall had been built. The Old Wall though was still in good repair, but Demi stopped when she saw soldiers up on the battlements and the gates were closed. She turned to Jinan who seemed to understand her glance.

“The outer wall has been breeched enough that the Old Wall has become manned,” he answered gravely. “The invaders are often driven off or killed, with many losses.”

“Open the gates,” Demi said grimly as she turned back to the gates, her heart laden with fear for what lay beyond. Jinan shouted orders and the soldiers hurried to comply. Demi stood like a statue in the middle of the road until the gates finally creaked open. Demi walked through the gates and once her eyes adjusted again from the gloom of the gate she saw what had become of the nomad camp beyond.

The tents bore signs of fire, some blackened, others gone leaving nothing but ash to mix with the desert sand. Few people were about when the camps should have been bustling, Demi smelling ash and blood on the still air. Dogs roamed free in packs, more than was common for the city and Demi sensed a ferial air about them as they stopped to watch her. Others of the camps took note of her as well, stopping dead to stare at her.

The Dunesmen owned the land right by the wall, none but the old women and young children left behind in the camp. Demi felt their hungry gaze as she walked out with Jinan at her back. Demi realized the gaze they gave her was not in awe, not in anger, not in fear, but as if they knew she had been coming. As Demi walked one old woman stepped forward, limping heavily on her right leg. Demi realized she limped because she was injured, not because of age.

“Prophet of the Sands,” the woman said offering the hand sign of greeting. “You have come at last.”

“I have, you have seen battle,” Demi said.

“The battle is such that not even the young or old are spared,” the woman answered. “I am Sahar rah Nahra, elder of the Eastern Dunes. Come.”

Demi knew of the Eastern Dunes, it was the largest territory held by the Dunesmen. She followed Sahar through the camp, children and elders stopping to watch. Here there were no cheers; there was only the silence of sorrow. That silence slowly ended as they reached Mercore’s Temple. Tents by the thousands huddled close to the protection of the Demi God of travelers. In those tents and out about the camps were the wounded. The sounds of pain were as variant as bird cries, everything from low whimpering to piercing cries of anguish. Elders and children moved about healing and treating those they could.

Demi walked through this, her heart breaking as she approached the steps of the temple. There she found Samson sitting with his head in his hands. Feeling her shadow upon him he raised his head and met her eyes. For a moment he seemed to see right through her, as if he didn’t fully understand she stood before him. Then confusion lit his eyes and he stood looking down at her astonished.

“How?” he said in a mere whisper.

“The Gods answered my prayers,” Demi answered, deciding to leave Kur out of this. And the Gods could explain things to give people strength.

“The Gods are not real,” Samson said in denial shaking his head.

“They are, and I am their messenger,” Demi said. “Have faith Samson.”

She saw the effect of these words, a man of cynicism trying to accept faith as it stood before him. Demi walked past him ascending the stairs of the temple until she stood midway above all but not so high. She knew not to insult the God of travelers by standing at the apex of his temple. She raised Vega higher and the palm nut vulture spread her wings slightly and raised her head high fluffing her feathers.

“Hail to the warriors!” Demi shouted, a traditional greeting of the nomads to warriors of battle. Silence reigned and Demi saw the crowd grow still, even the moans of the wounded quieted. Demi saw her words rippled through the crowd, realizing they could all hear her, beyond the normal limit of the voice. She chose to ignore this and continued on.

“Battles have been waged but not won as you stand alone against the winds at our walls. No longer, all of the Battalions will now stand at your sides, but this I know is not enough. I will travel beyond the walls and out into the Sía-Be Róza to gather the tribes. Together we will face this war.”

Silence and then murmurs of disbelief as Demi descended the steps, Samson and Jinan awaited her.

“You cannot leave,” Samson said immediately. Jinan said nothing but Demi could tell by his frown he agreed with Samson.

“I have a plan Samson and I am the only one who can go,” Demi said calmly. “My journey through the Sía-Be Róza prepared me; I am maybe the only one to have spoken and visited all the nomads of the desert.”

Samson opened his mouth then closed it, obviously trying to think of an argument to the perfectly sound fact.

“That does not mean they will listen to you,” he said at last.

“No, but they will hear me out,” Demi answered.

“But how will you travel the sands?” Samson asked. “How will you even leave the city?”

“The gods will aid me,” Demi answered, but she knew it was not the gods who would help her. “I will spend a night here speaking to those who wish it, but I will set out at dawn tomorrow. Spread the word.”

“Yes Prophet,” Jinan said and Samson glared at the man. Demi knew Jinan was not pleased she was leaving, but he obviously had faith in her. Demi sat on the steps of the temple and set Vega down as Jinan set out to organize the crowd who were obviously waiting to speak with her.  

Soon she had people kneeling before her, asking for blessings or if they could touch her feet. Demi allowed them to touch her feet and offered what words she could, though it felt paltry. Many who came to her were wounded, and those Demi reached out to and touched them gently on the forehead with the tips of her fingers. She felt a tingle in her fingertips when she did this, but the people she touched left in the same state they had come in. She hid her disappointment that her new powers did not include healing the wounded; she could see their pain in their eyes as they looked up at her with hope.

“Demi.”

She looked up at her name and saw her mother standing before her, her eyes warm and lit with pride. Demi leapt to her feet and very nearly ran into her mother’s arms but stopped aware of all those watching.

“Come now child,” Hemi said with a wry grin, “No one will deny you have the right to your mother’s embrace. Any that would do not hold true faith.”

Smiling while tears rose Demi stepped into her mother’s arms, her familiar scent filling her and spilling her tears. For several blissful heartbeats Demi was safe in her mother’s arms, before a cry went up from the gathered crowd. Regretfully Demi turned from her mother’s arms to look and see what was happening. A call to arms had gone up and people were rushing to weapons as they hurried to the wall.

“The gate is near breach again,” Samson said sounding tired, too tired to make an effort it seemed.

“Then I will close it,” Demi said. She felt her mother’s arms tighten over her shoulders and looked up at her. Demi saw Hemi’s fear, not just for Demi but of Demi. Looking away Demi stepped out from under her arm, and knew she could not truly return there. What could she tell her mother? That she was a goddess in disguise?

Demi walked ahead and Hemi fell into step behind her, Samson joining them. The crowds parted to let them pass even as they approached the wall and the southern gate. Shouts and cries filled the air with the dust kicked up by thousands of feet. Chaos reigned as wounded were carried away and others rushed to fill their places on the wall and gate. The gates still held, but Demi could see the wood splintering and iron bars bending.

Demi’s eyes weren’t on the battle however, but on the wall itself. Gnomes crawled about in the stone itself, their movements languid and calm despite the chaos around them. Where stone had shattered from the wall, gnomes lay in a dazed confused state looking like the shattering of stone had shattered their wits. She watched the gnomes and a plan formed in her mind. Unsure if it could be done, Demi walked forward towards the buckling gate.

“Demi!” Hemi shouted startled, her hands plucking at Demi’s robes but she ignored her mother and walked on. People stumbled from her path, as if sensing her coming towards them and knew to get out of the way. Hemi and Samson were lost however in the press and Demi arrived at the gate alone.

There stood three men alone, Dunesmen, waiting for the gates to buckle and their battle to begin. One turned at Demi and shouted something, but she could not hear him over the tumult. She put her hand on the stone of the gate and gnomes pooled around her fingers, their faces formed of the stone.

“You must move,” Demi said to them. “Become one, cover the hole.”

She felt their response of disinclination; they did not have the power or desire to move. Stone did not move.

“I will give you the power to move,” Demi said, though she did not know how. “Cover the hole and you can be strong.”

Interest from the gnomes as well as doubt, they had never moved except in stone. Demi answered by closing her eyes and concentrating on the feeling she had gained from Kur. The life in her was a burning flame and she opened that flame to the gnomes. The stone under her hand warmed and began to ripple, the gnomes swarming about.

A cry made Demi open her eyes to look up at the gate. A great gap was in the gate, a Panthra snarling as it worked at making the hole larger. It loomed just over her, and Demi could see its rider working to try to squeeze past the Panthra. His eyes widened to see her and Demi smiled up at him.

“Tell the King of Kings the Prophet of the Sands has returned,” Demi said. “And she will not give up the holy city.”

She felt the stone warp then and the earth under her feet trembled. A cracking noise rang as dust filled the air, Demi forced to stumble back covering her eyes. Someone grabbed hold of her and pulled her back as stone rumbled and dust flew. At last the dust settled and Demi looked up at her handy work. The gate was sealed, the wall made one as if the gate had never been there. She heard shouts and cries on both sides of the wall, but the battle was dissolving like mist in the sun.

Demi turned to see one of the Dunesmen had been the one to pull her back, a handsome man if not for the cruel scar covering his right cheek.

“Are you alright Prophet?” he asked lowly. Demi nodded as she stood, brushing the dust from her robes. She turned to see the other two Dunesmen hovering nearby with weapons still drawn. The sight of them reminded Demi these three had stood in the maw of the gate, ready to give their lives at the first charge in order to hold the gate.

“Thank you for your bravery,” Demi said to the three men. “The gate is no more and the stones will hold. You will live on in Sol’s light.”

Her words shocked them, and all three slowly knelt before her.

“Prophet,” the one that had saved her spoke. “My name is Hamza, and these are my brothers Faris and Qadir. We swear our lives to you and your protection. We will follow you where ever you go.”

“Thank you again,” Demi said. “But you will not be able to follow me on my path, only I can walk it. Instead I ask you guard my mother, she is here in the city. Will you do me this favor?”

“We will Prophet,” Hamza said. Demi nodded and turned to see Samson and Hemi hurrying over to them. Her mother looked like she was about to embrace Demi but stopped herself before she did. Demi could see her mother’s worry, and it broke her heart to see her torn between comforting her and the appearance of it. Demi was no longer the little girl she once was.

“Mother, this is Hamza, Faris, and Qadir,” Demi said. “I have asked them to be your guards while I am on my quest.”

“I see,” Hemi said hesitantly past the distance that now stood between them. “Why will they not go with you?”

“The means of my travel will be beyond anyone but myself,” Demi answered. “The gods will give me wings. For now, let us see to our defenses. I will leave tomorrow.”

Her mother did not look pleased, but where she would have argued before she kept silent. Demi felt the distance between them grow wider, and did not know how to breach it again. She had grown, and for parents it was sometimes hard to let go of their child’s hand. Demi looked at Samson and saw he was looking at her much as her mother had. She wondered that Samson should feel so attached to her, and felt sad to distance herself.

“Where is the Prophet!” The shout came from the top of the wall and Demi turned to see people milling about up there. Rather than answer she hurried to the ladder and started to climb up the wall. There were shouts behind her, but she ignored them as she climbed up and joined the defenders on the wall. Demi looked out over the wall to see the milling army of Pridesmen and their Panthra. They were retreating, but Demi saw not from the walls.

Zar Ne Zar cut through his armies, Panthra and Pridesmen shying away from Dakarai as he snarled and snapped. Zar Ne Zar had a dark glare, a glaive resting on his shoulder the blade gleaming in the sun. He saw Demi and stood, balancing on Dakarai’s back with ease. He said nothing as he raised his glaive and hurled it. Shouts rang out as the weapon arched through the sky straight for her, no normal man could make such a throw.

Someone tried to grab her and pull her back, but Demi threw her weight against them and rushed to meet the flying weapon, leaping up onto the merlons to catch it midair. It was heavy, but Demi slung it over her shoulder and kept her balance perched up on the wall. Vega swooped down and took her perch on the glaive, glaring out at the gathered Panthra with sharp eyes. Silence reigned and Demi met Zar Ne Zar’s furious glare with cool contempt.

“Leave this place Zar Ne Zar,” Demi said her voice carrying. “Divide the Pridesmen into their tribes once more as it should be. Take no more slaves. Hunt the wild game not those who walk upon the sands. Do this and all will have peace.”

“I do not want peace Prophet,” Zar Ne Zar growled. “Nor do the Pridesmen, we want blood. We will feast until there is nothing left.”

“Then your doom is upon you King of Kings,” Demi said sadly. “As is that of the Pridesmen. The only blood you shall have shall be your own.”

Growls and roars rose from the gathered Pridesmen, the humans shouting battle cries as their Panthra roared their defiance. Movement drew Demi’s eye and she saw another figure making its way through the gathering to join Zar Ne Zar. A man slumped on the humped back of a hyena, the bone eater cackling at the gathered Panthra who growled and snapped at it. The man wore a tattered burlap blanket thrown over his shoulders, Demi recognizing him. Jerimiah of Delton, the man she had seen in Kurone attack a High Sect before Zar Ne Zar attacked the village. She was not surprised to see the two in league, however Zar Ne Zar looked at Jerimiah with contempt.

“It seemed the Gods of Aeri still have a false Prophet,” Jerimiah wheezed. He had seemed to age years since Demi last saw him, flies buzzing about him as they feasted on his rotting flesh.

“Leave here slave,” Zar Ne Zar spat. “This is between me and the Prophet.”

“No, your anger is for the King Nejem,” Jerimiah said. “Mine is with the false Prophet.”

Zar Ne Zar back handed him sending his head snapping back with an audible crack, Jerimiah tumbling from the hyena’s bare back. Dakarai snarled at the hyena, sending it scurrying back with its tail between its legs. Demi thought Zar Ne Zar had killed the man until he sat up and straitened his head, the hyena trotting back to his side. He scratched it on its wide head and gave Zar Ne Zar a bow.

“As powerful as ever I defer to you King of Kings,” Jerimiah said. “I only meant to throw my own threat at the Prophet, the promise of my god.”

“You and your ilk can lick your gods feet for all you like,” Zar Ne Zar said mildly. “I will not bow to this Kal Ba’el, he will bow to me.”

“You may take that up with him,” Jerimiah said. “Do I have your permission then to speak with the false Prophet?”

Zar Ne Zar waved his hand in permission, seeming to not care yet Demi saw the glint in his eye. He was hoping Jerimiah would wound her, or she him. It seemed this was not a stable alliance. Jerimiah turned to her, his eyes as dark and mad as they had been before.

“I greet you in the name of Kal Ba’el Prophet,” Jerimiah said. “And offer you the truth of the world. Kal Ba’el is the one true god, the others lies fabricated by men to appease their lust for power and wealth. Kal Ba’el offers you the truth of his embrace Prophet of the Sands, if you but turn away from the false gods you worship.”

Demi glanced at Zar Ne Zar and saw this was not what he had expected but he didn’t look shaken. Rather he looked disappointed; he knew she would reject such an offer. She looked back at Jerimiah to answer his offer.

“I have met a real god,” Demi said carefully, well aware there were people on both sides of the wall listening to what she would say. “I have walked the vault of Empyria and beyond. The God I met there told me of your so called god Kal Ba’el, or as he called him the Crippled One.”

Demi saw Jerimiah flinch, not at her title of the Crippled One that she had easily linked to the dark god, but from something within.

“The Crippled One is little more than a soul eater, lurking the places between worlds and prying on those that cross them. He is no god, his is barely whole.”

“And who are you to say this to me?” Jerimiah rasped, flies buzzing around him in a gathering cloud. “What do you know of gods?”

“I have met one as I said,” Demi answered, seeing the cloud of flies grow greater around Jerimiah, darkness gathering around the man. The hyena flinched and writhed from its rider, even Dakarai retreating from what was happening to Jerimiah.

“No,” he said in a sibilant murmur. “You are more than mortal. I smell it, you have awoken your true nature but it is young and so sweet. Finally, I feast!”

Jerimiah leapt from the hyena, the beast screeching and shuddering as it died. He flew up into the air, nothing but a dark blot of flies now. Cries came from those gathered on the wall but Demi raised the glaive as the darkness closed. Just as Jerimiah was about to strike her Demi lashed out with the glaive, hearing a hiss of pain as the cloud of flies scattered.

The body fell before the wall with a heavy thump, impaled by the glaive Jerimiah lay dead at the foot of the wall. The flies had abandoned him, the dark spirit gone. Demi looked out to Zar Ne Zar and saw he was pensive but not angry. She wasn’t surprised; Jerimiah must have been a thorn in his side.

“The fool falls,” Zar Ne Zar said with distain. “And so I am free of his stupidity. Do not think this changes anything Prophet.”

“No, do not think you can win this battle Zar Ne Zar,” Demi answered. “Listen and heed my words all of you!” Demi shouted to the gathered Pridesmen. “Leave here and return to the desert, this is my warning to you all.”

With that she turned and leapt down back onto the walkway of the wall, getting the last word over Zar Ne Zar. Warriors crowded her then and she was hurried off the wall and back through the camps to the temple again. A tent had been erected by the servants and the nobles that had followed her out of the palace and Demi was led into a spacious room of the tent. An opulent pile of cushions waited for her there, but Demi distributed them so everyone had something to sit on.

Food began being served and Demi wondered at the servant’s abilities to pull things out of thin air. This time Demi did not have to order the nobles to mix with the servants and lesser castes as they were outnumbered here. They tried to cluster together but with so many people they were soon pulled apart. The food was a simple fare this time, flat bread, humus, and dried seeds. Demi ate again, pleased that she could still enjoy something as simple yet connecting as food.

Movement drew her eye and she turned to see Hemi join her, sitting at her side. Her mother looked at her and nodded, no longer in fear or fear for her daughter Demi was surprised to see faith in her mother’s eyes.

“Mother…” Demi said and Hemi smiled.

“You are no longer a child Demi,” Hemi answered. “I see that and I am glad. I know now you can face the road you have ahead. And know that I will be here waiting for you.”

Demi nodded overcome, trying not to shed tears before those gathered here. Hemi took her hand and patted it, the familiar warm calloused hand soothing Demi’s heart. Day turned to night slowly as Demi spoke and consoled the people of the city and leading prayers throughout the day. Eventually she was let go to sleep, feeling exhausted now.

She dreamed once more, walking into the aether and the lines. She walked with purpose, though what purpose she did not know. She just felt she had a destination, following a thread. At last she reached a tower, the structure standing in the middle of water so still it looked like glass. Demi walked out into the water, having to swim to reach the tower. Then she climbed, pulling herself up into the room at the top of the tower.

A woman sat tangled in threads and looking down into a pool of water. She was knotting and weaving the threads around her, her eyes never leaving the mirrored surface before her.

“It seems I have had more visitors than ever before,” the woman said. “Another of my chosen has come, or I suppose I should call you the chooser since you were the one to come to me.”

“I am Demi rah Kartal.”

“So it would seem. I am Arke, the Color Weaver.”

“You called me the chooser.”

“Yes, of all those I chose, you were the only one to come to me seeking my powers.”

“I am a divinity,” Demi said and Arke nodded.

“Of a sort,” Arke answered. “I do not know where you came from or what you seek. You came to me and asked for my powers as a weaver, to be rewoven into a mortal spirit. What you sought by this I do not know as you would not reveal the answer to me. I set the price that you would be one of my chosen, one whose luck I pull to push onto the path I seek for the March of the Phay. You agreed to this price and so I set you upon For’s Wheel.”

“And here I stand now not knowing why I have chosen this path,” Demi said sadly and Arke simply nodded. “What is it you gaze at?”

“The Well of Segais,” Arke answered. “It is the mirror of knowledge and wisdom. To gaze into it is to know beyond the bounds of time.”  

Demi hesitated, part of her knowing she should look into the mirror and part of her afraid to gaze into it. She stepped forward slowly, half expecting Arke to warn her away. The Phay woman did not stop her as she reached the pool’s edge and looked down into it. All she saw was her own reflection.

“I don’t understand,” Demi said. “It is just a mirror.”

“To a mortal, even you now in this form, it is just that,” Arke said. “A deep spirit lets one look deeper into the well beyond the surface.”

“So that is why you did not warn me,” Demi said leaning back to look at Arke. “Why do you not look away?”

“I cannot, I made an oath as the guardian of this place,” Arke answered. “To turn away means my death.”

“You are trapped here then,” Demi said and Arke nodded.

“I will never join my kin again, even should they march,” Arke said.

“They will march and you will join them,” Demi said. “I will see you freed from this oath.”

“You make many promises Little Saint,” Arke said. “And take many pains. Will you see all the world’s hurts tended?”

“I will see to what I can,” Demi answered. “It is all any of us can do.”

Arke did not answer so Demi turned away, taking a step her feet tangled in the threads and she tripped. Her fall woke her to the pale touch of dawn on the tent walls. Demi sat a moment in her disappointment for so little answers from Arke. So she had chosen this path, yet she had forgotten the purpose of it. Was she seeking to aid the Phay in their March? No, if she were she could have told that to Arke as she would have accepted that answer. Why would a god chose to become a mortal?

Demi shook her head and pushed back her blanket, alone in the tent she had been given Demi washed her face before changing into clean simple robes of a Pinmen once more. Outside her tent stood Faris and Qadir, both were awake and alert. They bowed to her and she nodded in turn before turning to the dawn sky to prey her Rising Hour prayers. When she finished she stood and went to the larger meeting tent, her two guards in tow.

Inside she found her mother, Samson, and Jinan already being served the morning meal with some of the other nobles. Demi joined them and she was served a simple meal of flat bread, yogurt, and banana. Kaffa was poured and served as well, Demi gratefully drinking the bitter brew. There were little words spoken, but Demi sensed the dread had returned once more to those gathered here. The night had been silent but Demi could tell that had only thickened the fear of the combatants.

“It is time I take my leave,” Demi said once the meal had finished and dishes were cleared away. This announcement was greeted with a silence of dread, Demi sensing many wishing to speak but none had the courage.

“We will hold the city,” Jinan said like he was uttering a mantra to boost his faith.

“We will do all we can Jinan,” Demi said sadly. “It is all the gods ask.”

“That is it then?” Samson said bitterly. “You’ll leave us and the city will fall.”

The silence this time was painful and brittle, to be shattered by a weary sigh from Demi.

“Samson your faith has ever waivered.”

“I cannot believe I can only know,” Samson answered. “I knew from the beginning death would come to the city.”

“It will not,” Demi said as she stood. “And I will show you why.”

She stood and left the tent, Samson, Hemi, Jinan, and a few other nobles falling in step behind her. She walked through the tents of the nomads, keeping her eyes cast forward as many people stopped to stare. They moved out of her way, some bowing and some even kneeling as she passed. Demi did not have the time to raise them to their feet so she kept walking.

She walked through the tent city and to the canal, over the bridge into the slave district. There she met the gates which were bared and closed. She stopped and turned to Samson.

“We could not spare the guards to hold the district,” Samson said softly in fear. “So we sealed it.”

“How long?” Demi asked but Samson shook his head. “Open the gates,” Demi said, her voice hard. Again Samson shook his head, Demi looking at him with reproach.

“We cannot open them,” he said. “They have been sealed.

Demi looked back to the gates and as she had done with the gate before she gathered her power. The gnomes took note once more, the stone sealing the gate alive with the creatures. This time the power she granted them was not to make whole, but to sunder. Dust flew and Demi stepped back as the stone of the gate crumbled, the wood doors even turned to dust. The rubble settled and the dust cleared, Demi walking forward into the slave district.

She had expected carnage, dead, the suffering of thousands. Instead in the courtyard beyond stood one single man, Demi knew him. The first man she had healed during the slave riots stood alone, his eyes sad.

“Zackary was my brother, more than in the brotherhood we found but in blood as well,” the man said. “You healed me and you healed him, you set us free from ourselves and the suffering we thought we deserved. I thank you.”

He bowed as she stepped forward and she waited for him to rise.

“Your brother was taken was he not?” Demi asked.

“He was, I still do not know what has become of him,” he said. “My name is Lazarus.”

“Captain Jinan, where is Captain Makar?” Demi asked turning to Jinan. “He will know what happened to this man’s brother.”

“Makar is holding the western walls,” Jinan said. “Along with the rest of the fifth. He would have delivered any criminal to the Sect for questioning.”

“He was taken to the Sect of Sol,” Samson said. “He said nothing so was executed.”

Demi turned back to Lazarus to see he stood with his eyes closed as if absorbing this news. Then he nodded once and turned away.

“Come, you must break our chains for that is why you are here,” he said calmly turning his back on her.

“I do not free the slaves Lazarus,” Demi said. “I only give them more chains to bind them. Battle awaits.”

“That is where you are wrong Prophet,” Lazarus said not turning back to her. “You give us ourselves back, and that is true freedom. Come.”  

Beyond the courtyard he led her into the slave district where camps had been set up. The people were gaunt and withered, but they looked on with hope and life. Demi saw they had been organized; none of the chaos of slaughter marked their eyes with fear or deprivation. Instead the people seemed to burn with what their survival had brought them.

“We have water but the last of the food was eaten days ago,” Lazarus said.

“Captain Jinan see that food and supplies are brought here,” Demi said. “Once these people are fed and hale again they will fight alongside the defenders. Not as fodder either, as free men and women.”

“Yes Prophet,” Jinan said bowing to her.

“There is much to do here,” Lazarus said. “Yet you will not be the one to guide us will you?”

“I must gather the tribes,” Demi said regretfully. “You knew all along.”

“I knew you had a purpose,” Lazarus answered. “I did not know if it was here or beyond the walls. You came here with intent Prophet, that intent did not matter to me as long as the suffering here would end.”

“End it will but the only end may come in death I fear,” Demi said sadly.

“So it must always Prophet,” Lazarus said and Demi nodded, he had a point. “Safe travels to you Prophet.”

“May life find you Lazarus,” Demi answered. She turned to leave then, Jinan, Samson, and her mother following. A servant handed her a pack of supplies she had ordered and she shouldered it ready to leave again. Demi headed then for the tower of Saepit and Mavors. The guard tower still stood and many soldiers manned the tower. Demi saw the marks of fire and blood along the tower and knew it had seen the brunt of battle.

None stopped her as she marched up to the tower and into the maze of its inner workings. There were many levels and layers to the tower, making it hard to gain control of it entirely. Demi walked through the tower having little knowledge of the inner workings of war of the place. She just followed her instincts until she reached the top of the tower.

The top of the tower was open with a wall as tall as Demi. Four ballista sat at the corners of the tower, a catapult resting in the center. The floor here was scared and stained from battle, yet the soldiers held here. Demi marched to the wall and looked through the gap out into the Pridesmen below. The Panthra paced, their riders watching the walls for weaknesses.

Demi leapt up onto the wall, hearing gasps and shouts behind her. The Panthra leapt back in surprise at her sudden appearance, and then rushed forward eagerly. The Pridesmen shouted and raised their spears, but none were bold enough to let fly.

“Demi!” her mother’s shout broke her heart and Demi turned to her. Hemi stood with hands raised as if to grab her but held back afraid.

“Mother, I am going now,” Demi said. “May Cael watch over you and Saepit guard you.”

“Demi please get down from there,” Samson said crossly like he was scolding her.

“Hold well and the Gods favor you,” Demi said in answer.

She raised her arms and once again sent out her power. Sylphs came to her call, the winds they rode roaring to life. Demi was plucked off the wall by the winds, feeling the little hands of the Sylph on her. She could see them now swarming around her, feathery bodies moving too swiftly for her to see details.

She flew out over the walls, dust flying and faces turning up to watch her. Then she flew out over the Pridesmen, watching as they turned up at her in awe. She saw Zar Ne Zar look up at her, fear and anger in his eyes. That look made Demi fear for those in the city, Zar Ne Zar would be desperate now to take Evalon.

She turned away to the horizon, the winds carrying her once more as Vega joined her flying at her side once more.

[siriusblacksgirl]

Year 5: Sirius Black x Reader

Ok I have like a series of this for every year but basically reader is pureblood with a powerful father, and started learning magic early on bc of that. She knows Sirius likes her but wants to encourage him to ask her out properly, since hes always sabotaging her dates.

There’s something about her, he thought to himself. There’s something bewitching about watching her when she’s unaware, engrossed in a book, lost in the tales of worlds more enticing than her own. Her eyes squinted from the effort of focusing on words lit only by the dim glow of the crackling fireplace. He admired the way a strand freed itself from the make-shift bun she had created, held weakly together by a pencil, and curled around her face. He couldn’t help but smile softly as she scrunched up her nose in frustration, swatting the strand away from her face with the back of her hand, eyes hungrily scanning the page for her spot.  From the way she curled up on the armchair in the otherwise empty Common Room, a tiny ball wrapped in a red Christmas sweater two sizes too big for her, a half empty cup of hot chocolate forgotten on the side table, he could tell he was witnessing a rare moment; a moment in which the flame that burned so bright inside her seemed tamed, her usual self, fierce and burning with energy, enjoying settling down into embers for a night.

A  stinging sensation startled Sirius out of his thoughts as James’s hand collided with his back.

“Oi what was that for?!” Sirius exclaimed.

“Did you hear any of what I just said? I’ve been wasting my breath for a solid ten minutes!”, retorted James.

Sirius rolled his eyes, a smirk creeping its way onto his face.

“Let me guess. Hmmm let’s see here, could you possibly be whining about a certain red-headed Gryffindor who has a knack for ignoring you?”

James huffed, clearly annoyed at the accurate analyzation of a story that even more clearly had passed completely over his best mate’s head.

“At least I don’t watch her when she’s not looking”, he teased, smiling slyly, gesturing towards the brunette lost in the pages of her novel.

“Yes Prongs, yes you do”, Sirius shot back, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, “And for your information, I was not watching her, I was just shocked at how quiet she’s being tonight. A bit odd for someone who never shuts up.” He declared the last bit louder than necessary, eliciting a glare from the subject of the conversation, Y/N. She contemplated for a second whether Sirius’s goading deserved a reaction, decided against it, and with a roll of her eyes, returned her attention to the adventures of her favorite fantasy, much to Sirius’s chagrin.

“Besides, you know I’m a lone wolf Prongs”, his eyes glinted mischievously, his voice still a touch louder than necessary.

“That’s funny, I thought Moony was the wolf here. You’re more of a dog, really. Have you ever thought about making your transformations permanent?”, Y/N piped up lazily, her eyes still trained on the book in her lap. At this, James choked with laughter as Sirius’s gaze returned to her, amused, his lips tugging upwards.

“Unfortunately, staying in my Animagus form would cause Hogwarts to have a bestiality problem on its hands. Even as a dog, I’m irresistible. You, on the other hand, can’t even seem to find a guy to want you in your human form”, Sirius countered, knowing he’d strike a chord with Y/N .

A loud bang echoed in the Gryffindor Common Room as Y/N ’s book landed on the ground and she leapt to her feet, whirling to face Sirius.

“Maybe if you lot stayed out of my business, boys would stick around for longer than a month”, she shrieked.

“Yeah, and maybe you’re the problem. Or wow, here’s another thought, maybe the guys you’re interested in are prats.”, he countered.

She narrowed her eyes, a dangerous look flashing through them before she clenched her jaws, knelt down to retrieve her book, and without another word, stomped up the spiralling stone staircase towards the girls dormitories.

James watched his best friend curiously. Sirius’s expression was one of quiet anger as he struggled to maintain a nonchalant demeanor, betrayed only by his clenched fists.

Treading carefully, James murmured, “She’s right to be angry you know. How is it that you have a ‘run in’ with every boy that’s ever asked her out?”

Sirius closed his eyes and breathed in, before opening them to study his friend who was watching him with a look of concern.

“I care about her”, he whispered. Breathing out, his confident exterior returned and he stood up to stretch, turning his back to James. “But not the way that you think”.

“Yeah? ‘Cuz we all care about her too but it’s Y/N we’re talking about here. If anyone can take care of themselves, it’s her. She’s the most talented witch in our year and you know it as well as I do Pads. Besides, you know how much she hates people treating her like she’s helpless. She probably hasn’t backed down from a fight since the day she was born”

“Whatever. She’ll get over it by tomorrow morning. She always does.” he sighed. He turned back around to face James, running a hand through his long black locks. “Wanna head upstairs? I bet Moony and Wormtail are done their Potions assignment by now”

Unappeased but left with no choice, James followed his friend up the other stone staircase, hoping that Sirius was right. While Sirius and Y/N were usually partners in crime, their fights could certainly get dirty.

——————————————————————————————————

Y/N whined in protest as the curtains were ripped out of the way, streaming sunshine into the room and startling  her awake.

“Get up or we’re gonna miss breakfast!”, Lily cried, tugging Y/N until her upper body was sprawled on the ground, her legs still wrapped around the blankets in her bed. Y/N groaned, shoving her head in her hand and pushing her curls out of her eyes. The events of the previous day returned to her, anger once again bubbling to the surface. Dragging her legs into the shower, she brooded over the events of the past year in the solace of the warm water and the quiet of the bathroom. Sirius had stumbled upon the hobby of tormenting every guy who asked Y/N to Hogsmeade, or danced with her at parties, or flirted with her in class. He’d hexed poor Bertram Aubrey’s head to twice its original size, and Lucius Malfoy’s hair had been dyed bright pink for weeks. Because of his pesky interference coupled with her father’s reputation, Y/N was now 16 with no real experience in a relationship. She fumed at Sirius’s childish, and pathetically transparent, antics.

She recalled with a soft smile the time he had asked her out in 4th year. Y/N and Sirius had gotten remarkably close over the past 4 years. They both had revelled in spreading mischief, easing the tension in the air when exams rolled around, or giving the students staying back during holiday something to laugh about. They also kept each other in check. Y/N seemed to excel in her classes effortlessly, having knowledge of spells and charms well above her level, challenging Sirius’s natural talent. Sirius, despite having no taste for the glory quidditch could provide, gave her a run for her money as he’d learnt to fly at a remarkably young age. It came as no shock to anyone when the two started displaying more than typical, friendly affection for one another.

It was common knowledge that, with his long, dark hair, contrasted against his creamy complexion, highlighting his high cheek bones,  and stormy grey eyes, Sirius was no stranger to girls’ attention. He could often be found chatting up a girl in the corner of a quidditch after-party, her too-loud giggles a source of envy for the many other girls in the room. He never, however, took it past innocent flirting.  When questioned, he’d simply shrug and with a lazy smile claim that he wasn’t ready to be tied down just yet. He didn’t think he ever would be, as relationships seemed to be too many rules, too much tiptoeing around one another, for his liking.

“Guess how many girls have asked me to Hogsmeade”, he had mused, happily.

Y/N turned to glare at him, annoyance spelled out across her face. He had recently become aware of the affect he was having on girls, and their usefulness in filling the hole in his heart his parents had carved.

“I’ll pass”

“Don’t be jealous, Y/N . I, for one, plan on taking you to Hogsmeade.”

Y/N felt her stomach flip, as she sucked her lips into her mouth to conceal the smile making her way on to her face. She wasn’t immune to Sirius’s charm, but it was different for her. She didn’t care for what he looked like; she liked him for the twinkle of anticipation in his eyes just before a prank, or the way he looked with his hair falling forward onto his face when he’s on the ground, clutching his stomach in hysteric laughter. She liked him for the pout his lips would form when he concentrated really hard on learning a charm, or the glint of playfulness in his eyes when he spiralled on his broom, cutting her off from reaching the snitch during practices. More than anything else, however, she liked him for the soft side of him that he seemed to reserve for after dark. The way he’d timidly slink down the stairs from his dormitory, knowing Y/N slept almost as little as him, wrapping the both of them in blankets and spending the early hours of the night talking about their hearts desires; the soft light the fire cast on his face making her melt, as he whispered to her how he hoped to change the world, how he desperately hoped to be different. The rare show of shyness as he talked about his fears, his constant battle between his love for his brother Regulus, and his hate for his family’s ways. It warmed her heart the most to discover him on the astronomy tower the nights after Remus’s transformation, eyes filled to the brim with the frustration of not being able to do anything to quell his friend’s pain; the way he’d reach out to her, his body hungry for any source of comfort.

So, when he seemed to ask her out on a date, her heart had soared, and then plummeted. She searched desperately in his eyes for the warmth she had fallen for, and came out empty handed. She was one of the few girls in the school who refused to throw herself at him, refused to acknowledge or react to his incessant flirting. She wasn’t a quest; to be conquered and then boasted about, like the rest of his girls, and she refused to be another number. She refused to come as easy as everyone else to him. She was worth more than that. So, ignoring the ache of longing her heart, she turned back towards her food.

“Who says I don’t already have a date?”, she asked, raising an eyebrow at her friend, aware of Remus and James whistling in the background. Sirius frowned, clearly taken by surprise.

“Who’s taking you?”, he questioned, eyes devoid of his usual humour.

“Alphard”, she stated casually, picking at her food.

Alphard McLaggen ended up being the first victim to the line of guys who had attempted their chance with Y/N , and then mysteriously had a terrifying encounter with the marauders’ infamous pranks. At the end of the day, when forced to choose between her friends and her not-yet boyfriend, she chose her friends. Sirius never asked her out again.

Turning off the shower, Y/N was struck with an idea. What if, Sirius couldn’t make her choose between the boy she chose to see and her best friends? What if he was one and the same? With the gears in her head churning, she pulled on her black and red robes and skipped down to breakfast.

She spotted the familiar flame of red hair surrounded by 4 boys immediately, and made her way to their table. Instead of assuming her usual spot in between Sirius and Lily, she approached Remus, hugging him from behind and placing her head on his. Remus looked up in surprise, choking on the milk he was downing, and Sirius raised an eyebrow in their direction.

“Reemmmm”, she whined, pouting her lower lip.

Just as she’d hoped, he grabbed her hand pulling her into the seat next to him. Confused, he turned towards her.  “What’s going on, Y/N ?”

“Will you accompany me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?”, she asked, her voice bouncing musically, laced with a sickly sweetness. She used one hand to tuck a piece of her wet hair behind her ear, as she squeezed his hand, willing him just this once to use that witty mind of his and side with her.

“I thought you were going with Amos”, he said cautiously. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter watching the two of them with a mixture of awe and confusion, Lily smirking at her knowingly, and James glaring at her. Sirius’s stance, though tense before, relaxed slightly at the mention of Amos and Remus’s apparent rejection.

Shifting herself closer to Remus so that she was almost on his lap, she rested her head in her hand, giving him her undivided attention, and biting her lip.

“Yeah…but when Sirius set his robes on fire, I realized I wasn’t even disappointed. He isn’t the person I really wanted to go with anyway”, she declared, boring her eyes into his, willing him to understand.

A flicker of recognition, and then mischief flashed in Remus’s eyes before he gasped, engulfing Y/N in a hug.

“And here I thought I didn’t stand a chance”, Remus fake whispered, loud enough for their friends to hear.

She finally detached herself from Remus, daring to look at Sirius. The sight she was met with caused her stomach to knot in a mixture of anxiety and hope. His jaw was clenched, his complexion paler than usual. His grey eyes seemed to darken as the two of them made eye contact, and her heart leapt.

“I should thank you I guess Siri. I know you’re a prat, but if you hadn’t pranked Amos, I’d never have the courage to ask Remus. So, thanks Pads.”

Lily snickered across from her, shooting James a warning glance just as Y/N got up, throwing her hair behind her as she turned to leave. She hadn’t made it far before she felt a tug on her wrist, and looked down to meet the eyes of Remus, a sly smile adorning his face. He held out a muffin.

“Don’t forget breakfast, love”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, forcing back the giggle of amusement that threatened to escape. She swooped down, placing a kiss on Remus’s cheek, whispering a quick thank you in his ear, before waving good bye to the rest of the crew.

——————————————————————————————————

Sirius watched the back of Y/N ’s head, her hair swaying slightly as she strutted away. He was clutching the fork in his hand so hard, his knuckles had started to turn white from the strain. It wasn’t until Peter coughed that Sirius’s attention was brought back to the table.

“Wow! Remus, I didn’t know you and Y/N were a thing! This is great, she’s beautiful, you deserve this buddy”, Peter erupted, beaming with happiness.

“Yeah”, let out Sirius, carefully measuring his next words on his tongue. “I didn’t know you and Y/N were a thing. Why didn’t I know? James, did you know?”

“I-er-no I guess not but-“

“Lily, did you know?”

“Actually,” Lily started, grinning evilly as her eyes connected with Remus’s. “I did, know. Y/N talks about him nonstop.”

Sirius returned his intense gaze to Remus, unaware of James shaking his head and hiding it in between his hands as Lily leaned down to whisper a warning in his ear.

Remus grinned. It wasn’t every day he discovered a way to actually get to his friend. This was going to be fun.

——————————————————————————��———————

“They’re just doing it mess with you. Don’t do something you’ll regret!”

“You’ve been saying that for days now! How is it they’re still together then, huh?.”

It had been three days since Y/N ’s brilliant plan, which was losing it’s appeal rapidly. James, unable to hide anything from his best friend, had told Sirius about his hunch regarding Y/N ’s relationship, encouraging him to withhold any sort of reaction. Remus and Y/N had met up with Lily in the library in between classes that first day, making sure they all had their backstories in check and understood that as soon as anyone’s feelings were in genuine danger, the plan gets called off. However, Sirius had actively avoided being in the presence of the supposed couple since their initial meeting at breakfast, putting a damper on their little project. In desperation, Y/N found herself at a new low: eavesdropping outside the boys’ dorm in hopes of finding the inspiration to continue on with their little charade.

She heard steps making their way up to the door she was crouching in front of and, opting to face the boys inside the dorm rather than be caught outside, she pushed open the door. She found Sirius sitting cross-legged on his bed, his hair hanging messily around his shoulders, red and gold tie swaying loosely on his untucked shirt. James sat on the opposite bed, his legs swinging underneath him, a snitch hovering in the air above him.

Sirius turned to look at Y/N momentarily, before growling, “Get. Out.”

“This is my boyfriend’s dorm as much as yours, and, seeing as how I can’t seem to find him, I’m going to wait for him here.”

“Like hell you are,” muttered Sirius. Y/N almost felt bad for him, before his eyes lit up and swiveled around once again to meet her own. “You wanna know something odd that James here was just telling me, Y/N ?”

Y/N felt her cheeks grow hot, knowing perfectly well what the pair had just been discussing. Slowly, she nodded her head, eyes jumping from Sirius to a very nervous-looking James.

Sirius jumped up from his bed, pushing a hand through his hair before approaching Y/N , eyes glinting with malice. “James here seems to be under the impression that you and Moony are only pretending to date.”

Y/N refused to let her gaze falter, raising her chin defiantly and narrowing her eyes, answering in a voice so dangerously low that James had to physically lean forward to catch the next few words. “Yeah? And why, exactly, would I be doing that?”

“Well”, drawled Sirius, voice dripping with hostility. His eyes flickered momentarily to the door behind you, but he continued. “James thinks it’s because you’re trying to make me jealous.”

Frozen in place, Y/N ’s voice trembled as she choked out her response. “What do you think Sirius?”

At this, Sirius laughed, a bark-like, bitter laugh. Taking another step closer to her so that they were standing so close she could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and had to tilt her head slightly to meet the icy grey of his eyes.

“Well, I think you can’t possibly be stupid enough to think going out with Remus would make me jealous. I mean, just look at me”, he stated, hands gesturing up and down his body. “I have all the most beautiful girls of the student body at my disposal, and you really think I could possibly be looking at you? Please, you may not be a looker but you have brains, I’ll give you that. There’s no way you think you can make me jealous.”

Y/N had to restrain herself from clutching her chest at the effect his words had had on her. She could feel her heart breaking, could feel each and every crack, his words like a hammer landing blow after blow on her porcelain heart, the pain spreading across her chest. She clenched her fists so tightly, blood stained the places her nails met the flesh of her palm. Against her will, her breathing quickened, the large lump in her throat and unease in her stomach pulling her into a wave of nausea. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried. It wasn’t when she found out her brother, her closest family, was moving away indefinitely to Bulgaria, it wasn’t when her father told her not to come home for the holidays as he didn’t have time-nor the desire, as she knew all too well- to be with her. It wasn’t even when she herself had been shipped off to Belgium at the ripe age of 7, nobody asking her how she felt about leaving her friends and family behind, her only contact being a rare letter once every couple months. No, Y/N was not one to cry, so it came as an unpleasant shock to her when, despite her attempts to dispel the tears pricking her eyes, grinding her teeth in determination to not let Sirius see her so weak, she still felt the warm, wetness on her cheek seconds later. Shutting her eyes, swallowing back a sob, she turned to leave the room, running straight into the chest of Remus, who had been standing in the doorway during Sirius’s rampage. He looked at her, eyes full of concern, opening his mouth to say something but Y/N didn’t give him a chance. She shoved him out of the way before sprinting down the stone stairwell. Moments later, the trio of boys heard the portrait door slam shut, leaving them in a stunned silence.

“You really are a twat Sirius, you know that?”, Remus claimed angrily.

Remorse bloomed in Sirius’s stomach. Y/N was the strongest person he knew. Despite the nights the two had spent discussing his life, his dilemmas and goals, she had never once disclosed any real personal pains of her own. She always sported a bright smile, her face glowing with happiness, her person radiating warmth. In their 4 years of friendship, he’d never once seen her cry, never once seen such raw pain coloring her face.

“Aren’t you going to go after your girlfriend?”, Sirius responded weakly, all the animosity drained from his voice, replaced by regret.

Remus felt around under his bed for chocolate, stuffing some in his mouth before casually responding with, “She’s not my girlfriend”, causing James to smirk with triumph.

Sirius stared at him in a mixture of shock, relief, and guilt, waiting for him to elaborate. Instead, Remus raised his eyebrows towards the door, then looked back at Sirius expectantly.

——————————————————————————————————

He found her in her usual sanctuary, sitting in the windowsill of the astronomy tower, looking out into a courtyard. Her knees were brought up to her chest wrapped under her arms, chin resting on them. She  was no longer crying but there was no mistaking the puffiness of her sorrowful eyes. She really was quite radiant, with her curls gathered on one side of her body, the half-moon illuminating her golden eyes, casting a enchanting glow on her. She turned slightly at the sound of shoes scraping against the cold ground.

“Go away”, she whispered, her voice stripped of conviction.

Instead, Sirius took his place opposite her on the same windowsill, watching her with large, puppy dog eyes.

They sat in silence, Y/N determined to keep her eyes focused on the uncanny stillness of a Hogwarts courtyard after hours. After what seemed like ages, Sirius leaned forward slowly, afraid any sudden action would compromise his next move. Gently, he took her hand in his, pulling her closer to him. She let him, stopping herself just before their bodies touched. This time, she studied the pattern of the stones on the ground. She had no doubt in her mind that Remus had told Sirius the truth already.

“I’m kind of an idiot aren’t I?”, he whispered.

Y/N let out a soft, sad laugh. “Kind of.”

“I’m sorry Y/N ”, he started, squeezing her hand slightly. “You know I didn’t mean any of that right?”

She didn’t respond, so he continued, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“I’d be the luckiest boy in this school if you had agreed to go out with me last year. I just-you rejected me, so seeing you with Remus, I felt jealous and inadequate and-“

“I didn’t want to be one of them”, Y/N squeaked out, so quietly that Sirius almost missed it.

“What was that?”, he asked, nose scrunching in confusion.

“Every girl in this castle throws herself at you. I didn’t want to be one of them; I didn’t want to turn into just another girl on your list. I want to be more than stolen kisses and hands held under the cover of the night”, she breathed out.

“Okay, first of all, I haven’t graced any girls with my lips just yet”, he teased, earning an amused glare from Y/N.

“-and second of all, you could never be just another anything. You burn brighter than anyone I’ve ever met, Y/N. You’re the wild of a storm and the calm after the storm, all bundled into one person. You’re the arms that rocked me softly on nights I didn’t know how to be me anymore, and you’re the arms that steadied mine when they shook from excitement those moments before a prank. You’re as big a part of me as my own lungs. And I’m sorry.” He took a breath. “I’m sorry for ever hurting you. There’s absolutely no excuse for me to behave like that, no matter how I feel about you. But for whatever it’s worth, I think you’re breathtaking. inside and out.” He looked at her with pleading eyes. Y/N stared back, wide eyed, a slight pink blush decorating her face. She bit her lip trying to contain her joy.

Gaining courage from her positive response, Sirius scooted closer, holding both her hands in his. “Do you forgive me?”

Smiling slyly, Y/N looked out into the courtyard once more. “Oh, I don’t know, You hurt me pretty bad back there, I feel like you owe me.”

At this, Sirius pulled her even closer, one of his hands making its way down to her waist, the other cradling her head.

“What do you want?”, he whispered, lips so close she could feel his hot breath on her own, the hairs at the back of her neck rising in anticipation. She was sure he could hear the pounding of her heart and the way her eyes struggled to stay open. She parted her lips slightly, wracking her brain for a witty answer, but before she could say anything, Sirius closed the distance between them.

His lips were soft and warm, sparking a shiver up her spine. She responded immediately, burying her hands in his silky black locks, pulling him even closer as her lips moved rhythmically against his. She felt his hand clutch her waist tightly as he poured all the unexpressed emotion into her lips, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. He’d wanted this for so long, his body hungered for hers. Y/N smiled into the kiss, pulling away and resting her forehead against his, every atom in her body conscious of how close they were, of the way her lips burned with desire as Sirius’s thumb traced them softly.

[midnightluck]

ive beenthinking about writing some marcoacesabo, but im struggling to get a feel for the characters or how they interact

You definitely should! If you’re ever thinking about writing something, always do it! The worst that can happen is you hate it and delete it, but even then you learn from it, right? I mean, I do. There’s so much I’ve started and hated, but then I think about why I hate it and try to not do that particular thing again.

But as far as advice goes, lol I’m the worst person to ask. I prefer to start with a plot, personally, because then the character interaction is already pretty determined–if we wanna end up here, he’s gotta talk to her who’s at this place with them, and then work up from there. Helpful, I know. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

As for the characters, well, keep in mind this is all subjective. And it got long, so I sure hope you wanted an essay! More in-depth under the cut, but tl;dr:

Ace is pretty even-tempered most days, hardworking, playful, polite, and likes to laugh. He reacts defensively and emotionally, doesn’t believe he’s worth loving, and cannot take a compliment well.

Sabo is very aware of everything he does, and says what he means and means what he says. He’s focused on duty and justice, reacts offensively and with overkill, and whatever’s going on? He’s probably, in some way, shape or form, the instigator.

Marco is quieter and more chill, and is very balanced. He has the weight of experience and authority behind him, and he’s careful not to abuse it. He reacts quietly and actually listens to things, likes the status quo, is mindful of consequences, and is willing to put himself at risk to fix things.

Ace is pretty easy, I think: his priorities go: his people -> adventure /proving he’s not his father ->  his massive anger at everything -> his life -> other people. He is bright, strong, cheerful, polite, and happy with where he is. He used to be a little ball of anger and neurosis and is mildly better these days. Ace likes to joke and laugh and tease other people, and he can handle teasing, even if he might brood about it later, but honest complements are met with scorn or fluster, depending on how much he believes them. An easy way to win any argument with Ace is to compliment him and mean it, because he gets angry and embarrassed and stomps off.

He pays his debts and loves his brothers and is loyal beyond reason.I figure Ace rarely accepts people (he has to attempt a bit of murder, at minimum), but once he does, he accepts them truly and utterly and trusts them on an amazingly deep level for someone so scarred. So, his bros, his crew, Pops–he doesn’t care where they are or who they were or why, they’re his to protect and keeping any single one of them happy is of course worth more than his whole life. He’ll try to actively not die in bad situations, he has lots of stuff to do still! But if he did, well, whatever, that’s life, and if he saves/helps one of his, yeah, negative hesitation there. It’s not that he’s suicidal, he just doesn’t place much value on himself? 

Sabo, on the other hand is clever. He is smart and cunning and strong and driven, and has an overdeveloped sense of duty and justice. He overthinks things and gets tangled up in his head when left alone, but for all that, he tends to prefer the simple solution and brute force. He’s reasonable and logical and rational, and is also entirely capable of throwing all that away when someone he loves is in danger.

He likes to tease and banter and poke people to see how they react. Sabo is also the one who will take things too far, because he knows exactly where the border is and either through burning anger or cold logic, he will trample all over it to get what he wants. He has a tendency to like things done correctly the first time. He knows the values and meanings of words and mostly uses them carefully, but in relaxation or happiness he spends them cheaply and easily.

The difference between Sabo and Ace, to keep in mind, is that Sabo reacts offensively while Ace reacts defensively. Verbally, if something hurts Sabo, he attacks back; if something hurts Ace, he retreats because what if it’s true. Ace will generally follow Sabo’s lead unless he’s emotional, and Sabo knows that and will back him up when that happens. They have a history between them, and a bond deeper than friendship, and even ten years of separation isn’t going to change that.

So. Marco. He’s patient and more experienced and the biggest brother of the biggest crew of children. He’s more even-tempered and calm, tries to be fair, and is more prone to trying to see things from other people’s perspectives. He’s known for his strength and his steadfastness, and because of that a lot of the time his family forgets he has weaknesses too. His father is sick and his family relies on him, and he’s operated under a lot of pressure and expectations for a long time. He’s become very practical because of this, and often has to be the voice of reason, no matter how fun or funny the idea would be.

He’s very much got himself into a routine. It’s a crazy routine, but it’s good, and his entire job is keeping that status quo. He’s always looking at the consequences and the bigger picture because the Whitebeard Pirates’ actions have worldwide consequences, and some days it feels like he’s the only one who cares.

Sabo and Marco might get along because they both think ahead. Sabo is more focused on his immediate group and planning to achieve goals, whereas Marco sees more how an action’s consequences will affect others. They can also share the exasperation of dealing with Ace’s unwillingness to do either, and they can share the quiet pain of being in love with someone who family-zoned them both. On the other hand, Sabo shares a history with Ace that Marco can’t touch, but Marco holds a position of respect and authority in Ace’s life that Sabo can’t hope to match.

Ace and Marco are actually really interesting, because we don’t actually see much of them interacting in canon? Marco brings Ace food and answers his questions during his murder spree, and Ace respects Marco for that, and for being open enough to claim a family and strong enough to keep it. Pops gave Ace a family, but Marco gave him a reason to accept it. And Marco sees in Ace a kind of young wonder, someone who got where they are through violence and darkness and can still take joy in the littlest things. So we don’t see much of Ace as part of the Whitebeards, but that’s what fic is for, right?

So, like, I hope this helps, even a bit. I tried to keep it general enough that it’s character based for canon or au, but probably failed. If it doesn’t help or you have specific questions or even just wanna hear more, just let me know! You may get more essays, but I will always ramble about my sunshine favorites if anyone is even remotely willing to listen.

[chicagoindiecritics]

New Review from Jeff York of Creative Screenwriting Magazine: Rian Johnson Hilariously Riffs on Agatha Christie with “Knives Out”

Agatha Christie’s estate in England has made a concerted effort over the past few years to revitalize the late, great author’s works, particularly in adaptations for the big and small screen. Kenneth Branagh and John Malkovich both rebooted Hercule Poirot in various vehicles, and the BBC produced two critically-acclaimed TV movies with And Then There Were None and The Witness for the Prosecution. Still, the greatest reinvigoration of the Christie conceit may very well be filmmaker Rian Johnson’s new comedy-mystery Knives Out. It’s not a sanctioned work of the estate, but it is a homage to the world’s greatest mystery writer from start to finish. It’s also a deconstruction of her tropes too, as well as a savvy slap to all the conventions of the oodles of inferior mysteries that permeate our screens.

Johnson clearly knows his Christie and riffs on her style throughout, while satirizing and twisting it into its own animal too. The filmmaker includes all of her clichés from a long list of possible suspects to a drawing-room finish where the sleuth explains all. He knows her oeuvre so well that he’s able to honor it and screw with it too, ripping apart its pieces, moving them around, and making the hoary conventions of the procedural genre feel almost completely fresh and vital. Further examining Johnson’s accomplishments here will require some mild spoilers, but nothing will be exposed beyond the first 30 minutes. But indeed, what a first half-hour it is.

Daniel Craig

Right off the bat, Johnson tells us who died, how he died, and the motives of every one of the victim’s treacherous family. The victim is Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer, as shrewd as ever), a mega-successful mystery author and patriarch of an affluent East Coast family. He’s been found in his home with his throat cut. The coroner ruled it a suicide, but after hearing the testimony of his awful and entitled kin, we suspect otherwise.

Harlan’s awful brood includes Walt (Michael Shannon), the weak head of the family’s publishing company, cheating son-in-law Richard (Don Johnson) stepping out on his brittle wife Linda (Jamie Lee Curtis), and mooching daughter-in-law Joni (a scene-stealing Toni Collette). She may be all sweetness and sunshine, but she’s been stealing Harlan’s money to prop up her beauty business and pay college tuition for her spoiled teen Meg (Katherine Lankford).

Johnson tweaks Christie’s tropes here, introducing this long list of scoundrels with title cards so we know them instantly. He also immediately exposes their lies through interviews conducted by local cop Lt. Elliott (LaKeith Standfield), aided by the private eye mysteriously hired to investigate Harlan’s death. That P.I. is one Benoit Blanc, and as played by Daniel Craig, he’s a wickedly witty Southern parody of all of Christie’s eccentric sleuths.

Ana de Armas

Blanc speaks with a genteel drawl that would make Foghorn Leghorn sound like Henry Higgins. He fancies tweed suits, 8” cigars, and blunt put-downs he flicks about like so much cigar ash. His loathing of the Thrombey family is instantaneous, as he exposes all of their lies in what it would take Miss Marple two hours to uncover. The only person in the house earning his respect is Harlan’s caretaker Marta (Ana de Armas). She’s such a good soul that she spontaneously vomits if she fails to be honest. Watching the comely de Armas upchuck repeatedly is one of the film’s funniest running gags.

Even quicker than Blanc’s handiwork is the revelation of just how Harlan died. Johnson pulls the first of many rugs out from under the audience by showing what happened in a precise flashback. It’s ballsy and cheeky, suggesting Johnson clearly has a lot more cards to play, and indeed, he does. By removing the who from the whodunnit, Johnson sets up the opportunity to showcase even better mysteries swirling all about the gruesome death.

In the next hour and a half, the shrewd writer/director showcases all kinds of additional skullduggery including another murder, car chases, blackmail schemes, arson, and a secret will. Johnson does well by his cast too, giving a fantastically snide, supporting part to Captain America himself, Chris Evans. Johnson even gives Frank Oz a deliciously droll small part as the family’s long-suffering attorney. All of these machinations play like Christie, albeit on steroids, with so many fun twists and turns that it makes for a hoot and a half.

Chris Evans

Even more surprising than Johnson’s serpentine narrative, his vamping of the genre, and a deft ability to the story in on itself like a virtual mobile strip, is the surprising seriousness he paints around the edges. Plummer and de Armas are fantastic together in a very tense and moving 10-minute scene together, and Johnson ensures that her character injects pathos throughout to counter all the snark around her.

The whole cast excels, though Riki Lindome and Jaeden Martell, as Walt’s wife and son, don’t have nearly enough to do. Some characters, like those of Johnson and Curtis, fade as the story continues on too. Still, Craig has never been so loose and wry onscreen, and he’s clearly having a ball playing such a verbose, country-fried ham. He nails his lengthy drawing-room speech at the end too, one that would surely have amused Christie.

Johnson loves the mystery genre and keeps his camera close to the faces of his characters to catch every nuance of deceit flashing across the mugs of these nasty players. The score, editing, and production design are all bright and fun, never letting things get too dark. And one has to appreciate additional genre touchpoints that Johnson ladles in throughout. Is that Andrew Wyke’s life-size, laughing sailor from 1972’s Sleuth in Nathan’s den? I believe so.

Finding new ways to tell stories is part of every writer or filmmaker’s task and Johnson is exceptional at usurping expectations. He has twisted convention on its ear in noir (Brick in 2005), sci-fi (Looper in 2012), and action-adventure (The Last Jedi in 2017). With Knives Out, he may very well have created his most accessible and entertaining film to date. It’s a crowd-pleaser, one that would’ve delighted Dame Agatha, no mystery about it.

View the trailer of Knives Out below:

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[ikrumcandawyle]

Dunn

I started a D&D campaign with some friends, and my brother, the DM, told me to write out my character’s backstory. Maybe I took it a little too seriously.

Let me tell you of the tragic life of Dunn.

I first met him in a tavern. I came in to escape the rain, and settled by the fire with a warm cup of brandy to dry off. While working a rock out of the heel of my boot with a knife, a trilling tune began across the common room. Seeking to find the source of the music, my vision swept across the room twice before I noticed a small figure hunched in the corner playing a shawm. Once the fire and the drink had brought the warmth back into my cheeks and fingers, I ventured a little closer, and was shocked by what I saw, both by the fact that what I assumed to be a child was actually a Halfling, and even more so when I saw that his face was covered in the thick, streaking lines of a tattoo. Looking closer, I could see the black fingers creeping from underneath his curly dark hair and streaking down his forehead and the bridge of his nose, with shoots breaking off to curl around his cheeks and chin. I could see black tendrils running down his wrists and curling around his fingers. I could only assume that the rest of his body was similarly marred.

My curiosity got the best of me. Once he finished playing, I approached him and introduced myself. He returned my greeting with a grunt, and when I asked his name, he gave a single word: Dunn.

I told him I enjoyed his playing, and he thanked me with a nod. I bought him a drink that he didn’t touch, and I asked him his business in the village. He told me he was playing there for long enough to earn the money to hire a man who knew his way through the Ajari Sands. I told him I was currently on my way to Theramon across the Sands, and had been that way before. When I asked him why he was headed that way, he said he was traveling around, and when I asked him why he was doing that, he said he was looking for an elf.

It took a long time to get to the other side. It took us a fortnight to reach the edge, and the Sands make for slow going. I had plenty of time to get to know Dunn along the way, and he had just as much to get to know me. It took just about the whole time to get his story out of him, but here it is, as near as I can make it:

Dunn is a druid. I’ve met both Halflings and druids before, but he’s unlike either that I have ever met. I’ve never met a Halfling that was so tight-lipped and grim, nor a druid that seemed so wild. He never laughs, and I’ve only seen him smile a handful of times. He carries with him a quarterstaff, a sling, his shawm, and a handful of bare necessities. He never packs food, and he never packs water. The water skin he carried through the desert he’d had to buy with the money he made from the tavern. He lives off of the land, and avoids villages when he can. Sometimes, though, he ventures in, either out of curiosity or from some small part of him seeking an adventure. It takes a lot to make a Halfling this hard, and indeed a lot he went through.

He was born in a Halfling village, most likely somewhere in the south. He remembers sunshine and heat, anyway. He didn’t know if he’d always had the same stoicism as he does now, and I found the idea of a bright and happy boy becoming incredibly grim and brooding so very sad that I imagine him growing up just as he is. He has very few memories of that time. He vaguely remembers his parents, and he remembers getting snatched.

He remembers a river through a forest. A sunny day. The shadow of a tree. Splashing in the water. The shadow moving, growing hands, grabbing him. His friends running, squealing, a hand covering his mouth. A sack engulfing him.

It was a slaver, he reasoned out later. He’d run into others since, each meeting their end shortly after. Men who stalk villages to grab the smallest kid and make a getaway. They then sell to a trader so they can head back out and make another grab. Dunn was bought after about a month of being marched between towns and standing on boxes just outside town limits. He was bought by a wealthy elf merchant, who I was able to identify as a sun elf from his descriptions, named Taennen Inmorial. He joined the ranks of the slaves of the Inmorial estate, and was inducted like the rest of them were.

First, he was stripped and his clothes, his last reminders of home, were burned. Then he was shaved and tattooed. He showed me once. It was his whole body; his face, around and over his head, down his neck, across his shoulders and chest, down his arms and back, and all the way down to end at the knuckles of his toes. I asked him if it hurt, and he told me he remembered screaming when they did it. Every slave received the same treatment. That way, his slave master told them, if any of them were to run there was no way for them to hide, nowhere they could go where they wouldn’t stand out. He was dressed in a simple sackcloth tunic, which was never replaced and eventually became filthy and torn, and he was given a name. Dunn. His own was never to be used or told to anyone else, and eventually it faded from his memory.

He doesn’t know how long Taennen owned him. Years, surely, but he couldn’t figure any more specifically than that. He was the runt of the slave force, often picked on by other slaves and the slave masters, even Taennen himself. As hard as it was to hear about the humiliating tasks and the savage beatings he had been subject to, it wasn’t hard for him to talk about his time as a slave. He wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t uneasy. He was hard with anger.

To say that he escaped is too grand. It wasn’t a thrilling or elaborate run from slavery. It happened on a hot summer night. He was on the way back from his master’s summer cottage, as he took a retinue of slaves with him every year. It took them a week to make the journey each way, two slave drivers driving a carriage and the slaves tramping behind led by chains. They were pushing through the night, as they often did, because the drivers were impatient. About halfway back the road led them through a forest, and this is where Dunn found his deliverance.

Out of the woods came a bear. It was enormous, bigger than any Dunn had seen since, and it was roaring mad. It must have been sick in the head, because bears don’t just attack large groups of people like that. It slammed into the carriage, crushing the two slave drivers under its weight and yanking the slaves off of their feet. Dunn doesn’t know exactly what happened after, if he either hit a rock or got kicked in the head, but the next thing he remembers was sitting up amid the carnage left behind. Every slave had been killed, eaten, or dragged off by the bear.

It took him over an hour to get into the carriage and find a key for his shackles, dragging the mangled corpses of his fellow slaves along with him. Panic and fear gave strength to his small body, allowing him to haul that morbid load, many of the corpses well over twice his size. The stench of death was thick and heavy around him as he worked himself free, and it stayed with him after all those years. You could see in his face that he could still smell it.

After he was free, to have him tell it, he melted into the forest. He became the trees. The forest became both his protector and his ward. He wouldn’t tell me much about how he learned his druidic magic; all I know is that he found secrets out there in the woods. All of his weapons and armor he crafted himself, and he learned to allow the forest to provide him with sustenance. Again, it’s difficult for him to say how many years he lived in that forest. He didn’t care to keep track, because he didn’t see any reason to. He allowed himself to be molded, so he became hard and weathered. He learned how to hunt, track, and harry his prey. The forest made him crafty. In the forest he was at home.

Then why, I asked him, was he here? Why did he leave? This he was most reluctant to talk about, and weighed heaviest on his shoulders: how he was driven out.

It started with a gloom. The mist was thicker in the nights, and the sunlight didn’t pierce the canopy as it used to. Then came a stillness. The forest is calm, quiet, but if you really listen the noise can be deafening, he told me. Gradually, thought, all of the noises- the animals, the breeze through the trees, the flutter of insects- they all died off. Literally. He would find animals in their prime dead on the forest floor with seemingly no cause. Then came the corpses. Undead began patrolling the trees. Dunn hates undead. They make his skin crawl and they- as he put it- smell unnatural.

It was a necromancer. Dunn never saw him, but he knew. Anyone could have figured it out. He was constructing a fortress deep in the wood, in Dunn’s wood, a dark mass rising out of the trees. Slowly and all at once the voices from that region died out, no animals were bringing word of the goings on. Dunn’s eyes there were blind, his ears had gone deaf. He had to investigate himself. That’s when he found the tower.

The trees surrounding it were dead, others nearby were dying. Littered about the base were the carcasses of countless animals that had wandered too close, who had caught the sickly sweet odor of death too late. The necromancer was sucking the life out of the forest, gathering power. Dunn felt the sapping pull himself as soon as he got close enough. That must have been how he noticed Dunn’s presence, because I’ve seen Dunn move through the trees. Nothing sees him unless he wants it to. He knows he was seen, however, because when he looked up at the tower the first thing he saw was a ball of flame leaping from a window.

It missed him, of course. He’s too wily for that. It did strike the trees near him, though, and the dead timber went up like matchsticks, and flames began to spread. The blaze moved quickly, given speed by the dark wizard’s will. Dunn lit out of the forest with the flames licking at his hind legs the whole way. Once he was free of the trees, he kept going. His forest was doomed. There was nothing to return to. He wouldn’t go back unless it was to kill the necromancer.

He wandered far and wide after that, adrift, lost and purposeless for the first time. For the first time he was without parents or a master or a ward. No place that he was bound to.

And now? Does he have a purpose now? When I asked, he met my eyes, and simply answered yes.

We parted ways in Theramon. I asked him where he’d go, and he told me he’d eventually make his way east, towards the coast. I went with him past the northern gate and across the river, and watched as the small figure slowly disappeared into the nighttime forest.

I think of him fairly often now. Every time I hear the howling of a lone wolf, I think of the time I met a lonely, wandering druid named Dunn.