#one she had left after all the other orphans escaped and left her behind. and obvs he exploited this. 😐

[yinyuedijun]

had the funniest lore realization about situationship mc and also the saddest one and they're really fighting like two wolves in my head rn

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal Au.

Chapter 7:

Summary: Your escape from Joker doesn't go unnoticed, and you bear the consequences of attracting the attention of the bats.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

----

Burning green blinded him, searing his veins and twisting. His very breath was strained, broken and turning into what he could only describe as boiling rage.

He did the only thing he could do.

Murder the clown.

Strike after strike bore down upon the clown’s heaving body, his guns left behind on the floor, long forgotten. Any little trick up the clown's sleeve was swiftly discarded by Jason’s primal force.

The clown’s leg was held in his gloved hands, he twisted, pulling and pulling until there was an abrupt snap. The other leg was subject to the whims of his iron toe boots, breaking under the pressure.

He itched and burned to do more, fists turning into a flurry of blows upon the now unconscious clown. The clown could still cry out in pain, and that satisfied him.

Jason kept going, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough, not until he wrapped his hands around and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed and the clown finally popped.

Jason let out a breath, hands forming into an instinctive fist and aimed, until hands wrapped around his arms to pull him back.

He struggled, trying to jab out with his elbow to no avail. A voice interrupted the Green, calling out to him.

“Jason! Jason, come on!” The voice called out, demanding and desperate and somehow just enough for him to break through.

“Steph…?” He mumbled, regaining focus of the world around him. There was blood on his gloves.. his boots too. 

The clown as if a train had run him over- several times. Every part of his face was bruised, green, purple and black. His limbs were in no better shape, twisted and broken into pieces that seemed like agony for doctors to put back together.

He didn't envy Joker’s recovery period.

“Shit..” Batgirl muttered, at his side. “Batman won't be happy about this.” 

“Fuck Batman.” Was his instinctive response.

“Indeed..” She replied. “Well… I’ll take him back to Arkham, or actually, to the nearest doctor that won’t try to finish him off. Cass?”

A sudden movement in the shadow (that definitely didn't make Jason jump) revealed Cass, as she walked closer, a golden cage in one of her hands and Jason’s soul form in the other.

“Hurt.” Cass stated, pointing down at his soul form. Jason whistled, looking at the damage. 

His soul form had always been a durable little thing, no doubt a result of his own upbringing, but this amount of damage was definitely rare. The bird’s wings were twisted, a sign that they were broken, and its breaths were slightly ragged, indicating some internal injuries.

It’d be alright, ultimately. Soul animals healed much faster than humans, as a result of them being magic. 

He was mostly just glad he had bond distancing training, feeling those injuries wouldn't be fun at all. There was a dull pain in his back already, no doubt a result of his soul form’s injuries.

He sighed, kicking at the clown a bit as he did so. “Well that’s a problem.” 

“Your soul animal shouldn't be out of the cave Hood, how did it get here?” Batgirl spoke, turning to look at Orphan, as the hero unlocked the cage a bat was glooming in.

“And how did Bats get here either? Out of all of us, he's had the best training, his soul animal should know the most about how important it is to our identities for them to not leave.” Batgirl frowned, confusion painted on her face.

Batman’s soul animal flitted up to rest on Orphan’s shoulder, a vision of silent solitude. Orphan gave it a little scritch on its ears.

Jason paused, considering how to word what he was about to say. The Green had mostly cleared up, but it still fogged him a little, especially as he thought of the scene he witnessed.

“There was a civilian, Joker’s victim. Tied to a chair and about to be smashed on the head by a crowbar. My soul animal appeared and took the hit.” He stuck to the facts, they were wasting too much time as is. Damn, if not for the pit rage he could have found them by now!

Batgirl gasped. Orphan shifted a little. “Wait, do you think..?” Batgirl struggled to voice the question, knowing how much it meant to them all.

“Yes.” Jason answered, blunt. “That was our soulmate.”

Abrupt movement from the window interrupted their shock, as Red Robin swooped in with a brisk move. 

“Hey.” Red Robin called out, taking in their depressed faces. He paused. “What happened?”

—-

You were not having a good night. Your head hurt, your feet ached, and you would basically give anything at this point to get back home and collapse on your bed. Nothing had gone the way you had hoped for. In fact, it was now the absolute worst case scenario, other than being dead.

Now you have been exposed to two of your soulmates, potentially all of them now if they were feeling like sharing that information.

Oh and of course, you couldn't forget the Joker. Your newly acquired head injury certainly wouldn't be forgetting about it anytime soon.

You groaned, the world before you turning into brief spinning fuzz, as you trudged on. 

“Why me…” You muttered, narrowly avoiding stepping in some rain water. You walked through an alleyway, vaguely guessing the direction of your house. In all honesty, you had barely the slightest inkling of where you were at this point, but you had to try.

The shadows behind you stirred, and you whipped around, making eye contact with one of your worst nightmares. Nightwing.

You shifted backwards, aiming to run away, but he caught onto the fleeing posture of your stance.

“Hey! Hey, calm down.” He spoke reassuringly, as if he was talking to a scared citizen. “I'm not going to hurt you. The inmates of Arkham Asylum have broken out, and it's not safe to be roaming the streets right now.”

He smiled, a charming little gesture, and held a hand out to you. “I can take you home, you'll be safer indoors.”

You shook your head, words failing to escape in your fear of this new problem.

He frowned. “I’m sorry but, I'm going to have to insist. It's really not safe. I’d hate for you to get hurt.” He perked up a little as he spoke the next few words. “Are you injured? I know someone who can help, her name is Leslie, she's a very safe doctor. Or if you don't have anywhere to go, I can escort you to a safe place?”

You shook your head desperately. You wanted nothing more than to get away. Your legs were shaking.

Any further time spent in the presence of your soulmates was a risk. At any point one of them could tell him and you'd be doomed. Hell, he might already know!  

“I… I want to leave.” The words tumbled out, clumsy. “But not with you.”

The smile stayed on his face this time, plastered on. “It won’t be an inconvenience-” He tried.

“Please leave me alone.”

“It's really unsaf-”.

“Please leave me alone.”

“It will only take five-”.

“I said LEAVE ME ALONE!” You screamed, frustration and agony eclipsing into a fearful shout. You regretted it immediately, as it echoed through the streets. Tears welled up in your eyes. Your breath ran short.

Nightwing stood there, finally looking unsure. A part of you reveled in it, finally seeing how you always felt around them reflected on their form.

A fluttering sound broke the uncomfortable silence, a little robin flying down onto Nightwing’s shoulder.

“Robin..?” He muttered, more to himself than you. “Why are you here?”.

You meant to take the opportunity for what it was, to turn and run while you had the chance, but beady eyes turned towards you at the first movement you made.

Robin fluttered towards you, landing on your trembling hand. It gave a little coo, tilting its head a bit to stare at you. It seemed like it noticed your anxiety. It was admittedly a very cute gesture, something that acted like a balm to your scratched and raw mental state, but it didn't last for long.

“Wait…”. 

Your blood froze in your veins. Everything stopped.

“Are… are you…?”

You couldn't respond to his question. Your head spun, an undercurrent of anxiety questioning every option you could make. Your shakes increased. It was noticeable.

“Ah, hey!” It seemed he spotted it. “Don’t worry so much, I know you're so terrified because of what's going on, but now I know I can keep you safe.” His hands grabbed yours, a constricting grip. You tried to take a step back, but he kept you there, not budging from his grasp. Robin shifted a little in displeasure.

“We… can keep you safe.” His eyes beamed into yours, trying to convey a feeling of safety, of reassurance.

You were numb to everything but terror.

“I've told you this once.” You muttered. “And I didn't want to say it again.” You ripped his hands from yours, pushing him away. You grabbed Robin.

“JUST LEAVE ME ALONE ALREADY!” You screamed, primal agony laced in your tone, your last efforts giving out.

Then, in a moment of desperation, you grabbed Robin, your littlest soul animal. And you threw him at Nightwing’s face.

His startled scream was music to your ears, as you raced out of the alleyway and down the street. If you were lucky, maybe Robin would be startled enough to give him a few scratches.

Things were finally, finally looking up. It had taken a lot. Gosh, it has taken so much from you. You couldn't go home anymore, both vigilante and villain now knew your name, but at the very least…

You could escape.

It was a mantra you chanted to yourself.

“I can escape. I can escape. I can escape.”

It remained in your brain as you ducked under windows and hid behind cars.

I can escape I can escape I can escape.

A slip of blue in the shadows was your only warning, before cruel pain pierced your arm. 

“Ack!” You clutched at it, noticing what could only be a dart now embedded in you. You ripped it out as you ran, hoping that would be it.

IcanescapeIcanescapeIcanescape-

The world started falling to pieces before your very eyes, a black void stealing the places of buildings, cars, wherever you looked.

Your rush turned into a stumble.

Escape-escape-escape-

You were limping through an alleyway when your limbs finally gave up on you. The adrenaline finally losing to the tranquiliser.

“Escape…” You mumbled.

You glanced up.

A dark shadow was the only thing you could see. A giant figure, clad in a long cape.

A resentful part of you thought that the cape would be a rather warm thing to snuggle up to.

A hand reached out from the darkness.

You passed out.

----

Happy Halloween!!

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! Actually, there won't be too many chapters left now, we're coming to the end of Reader's struggle. Ofc, I will be going extra's that aren't actual chapters, and they'll have some extra details that are excluded from Reader's pov.

Also, I definitely have to apologise for how long this one took. I do have my reasons! Had an ear infection, then a holiday (that was pretty neat actually) and currently I have COVID lol. So I was a bit busy there.

But Halloween deserves to be celebrated just as much as everyone deserves another chapter, so here you go!

It is a bit of a shame I won't be able to make an actual Halloween piece. Maybe I'll make something a few days after Halloween? How do people feel about a coraline inspired DC oneshot?

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr @realifezompire @lunaluz432 @nickey-diano @sukiiluvs @sara0055 @alleakimlala @kdidgg @paperhermits @alishii @emmbny @sirenetheblogger @fantasy-angelo @andrasia @vinnvinnvintage @nyra-42 @armystaysatnct @beyond-your-stars @starsdotalk @adeptusxia0 @jailbimbo @yandereheros @sxftiebee @i-have-three-feelings @toast-on-dandelioms @lyl-3 @sitepathos @pato-spoiler-27 @ghostdoodlen @phoenixgurl030 @problematicreblogger

@sociallyakwardpanda @imaginarydreams @zanzie @yuyuzi-ling @soriansick @f1lover4ever @kiikkey @elizzsush @raincxtter @luoyi85 @yune1337 @erikasurfer @thekingofsimps @chaosbeanuwu @snowy-violet @nommingonfood @yandere-enthusiast @nb-babygirl @demonqueen-1 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @winter67890-blog

Tumblr just told me I can't tag anyone else, so the list ends here. I'll add the others in a comment!

[vampiric-tempt]

When Kenshi, Jonnhy, Kung Lao and Reader (female or GN, if you don't like writing a female reader) go after Shang Tsung and arrive at the Tarkatan camp, while the three men are fighting against the soldiers and Tarkatans, the reader is chasing Shang Tsung when her attention is diverted by a soldier hurting a child (orphan or with parents also infected). The reader, instead of continuing his pursuit, decides to save the child, calming him down (perhaps in a very maternal way?), picking him up without fear (may or may not know about the infection, and have immunity?) and return to the camp. And then the attraction of Baraka would begin.

request by @multiverse-fandoms-2001

❝ [kind, even to monsters] ❞

✦ oneshot : baraka x fem!reader

(♡) synopsis: During the event of trying to capture Shang Tsung, your pursuit was halted as a child infected with tarkat was seen being harmed. You stopped everything to help him and someone had witnessed your kind actions. . . but why help people like them?

a/n: Hiii lovely! I enjoyed writing this, but I'm a bit worried it was not what you asked for. I hope you like it and please, tell me if I did anything wrong. Thank you and I appreciate the request!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ "Y/n! Go after Shang Tsung, we can handle this here!" Kenshi yelled from across the field.

You nodded and quickly chased after the creature you were sure Shang Tsung had shifted into. You tried your best swerving past as many as you could. Many of them trying to attack from all sides. It was troublesome to say the least, but just as you were about to snag a hand around Shang's arm, a small child-like scream could be heard.

Your feet dug into the ground as your head shot in the direction of the scream. One of Shang's soldiers had a sword held up to one of the child creatures. You hissed and made a dash toward the two, your body crashing into the child just as he swung his blade down.

A guttural scream leaves your throat, the sword cutting open a large gash into your calf.

The soldier glared at you as you tried to crawl away from him with the child in your arms. The kid had no idea who you were, but couldn't help but cling to your body as your arms shielded him. "It's okay," You whispered. "It's okay, everything is going to be alright." Your hand caressed the little boy's head in an attempt to comfort him.

Your breathe hitched, arms tightening around the boy as you watched the soldier raise his blade above his head, ready to swing down on you.

You heard the boy crying into your shoulder and all you could do was whisper comforting words as you prepared for the swing. However, it never came. Another one of those creatures had came just in time to stab the soldier dead.

Unable to be sure whether he would attack you next, you refrained from putting down your guard.

"I will do you no harm." He says.

You squinted your eyes at him until the footsteps of your teammates came rushing forward from behind.

"He's right, we made an agreement." Kenshi says, but pauses as he notices your bleeding leg. "Y/n! What happened?!"

You groan a little, the little boy still huddled in your arms. "I'm sorry, I let Shang Tsung escape... I just couldn't-"

Baraka steps forward, his eyes holding a look of confusion. "She had saved one of our own." He says.

Kenshi and the others all look down to see the young tarkatan in your arms.

You revealed the boy with a small smile. "I couldn't just let a child get hurt...you understand right?"

Kenshi nods, slowly wrapping a fabric around your leg. "It's okay, we can still track him down. You should be more careful though."

The young tarkatan had left your arms, running toward Baraka. Baraka knelt down and made sure the boy was unharmed.

"You are unharmed?" He asks the kid. The young tarkatan nods and then turns slightly to see you being tended by Kenshi. "That woman...why did she help me, we're monsters aren't we?" The boy casts a forlorn look to the ground. Baraka frowns and pats the boy's head.

"I do not know. She is. . .an odd one"

The boy's eyes flicker to you once again before leaving to his own parents. Baraka watches him leave and then turns back to the earthrealmers and after conversing with them, he had agreed to lead them to Shang Tsung's laboratory in hopes of aiding their mission.

And ever since that event, you couldn't help but notice how Baraka would stare at you. Especially during your walk to Shang Tsung's laboratory. Even after that, during the incident of being captured and thrown into a cell. He seemed to hover over you. You noticed how he would strike down opponents who would steer too close to you and give you a nod of acknowledgement every time.

Now, as you walked through the forest of souls, Baraka let you lean on his body to support your leg with Kung Lao and Johnny aiding Kenshi.

Baraka didn't spare you any glances this time. His gaze only forward. You so badly wanted to speak to him, your eyes glued to your feet as you limped. You pursed your lips and finally mustered up the courage to speak to the tarkatan. "I should thank you." You say softly.

"For what." His raspy voice reaches your ears, yet as rough a it sounded, he bore no malice in it.

You smile a little. " You saved me from one of Shang's soldiers back there. And not only that... I've noticed you've been protecting me. Is there a reason why?"

Baraka let's out a low growl. "You are a strange woman. Never once have I seen someone risk their lives to save us."

"You mean tarkatans?" You quirk a brow.

"Yes."

You hum. "I don't see why not. It's not like you guys chose to be infected. It's not right to disregard your lives because of it, plus, I couldn't let a child die. Whether that child is of a different species, infected, or just different . . . a child is a child."

Baraka's eyes finally meet yours and you suddenly felt embarrassed by his gaze. "A strange woman indeed, but admirable." He notes. "I did what I did because I felt drawn to your presence. I had never seen what you did before happen."

A warm wave rushed to your face. You didn't know why, but something about Baraka started to draw you to him too. "I see." You say.

It was then, after everything, you would be heading back home with your friends along with two new allies, Syzoth and Ashrah.

Your eyes lingered on the tarkatan as he turned to head back to his colony and your feet began to move on it's own, rushing after the man.

"Baraka wait!" Your hand grips onto his wrist. His red orbs turn to look into your own, waiting for you to speak.

"I," You hesitate for a moment. "It was nice getting to meet you, perhaps one day, we could meet again... under different circumstances."

He nods. "Yes, I agree."

"And," You end up grabbing both of his hands this time, holding them in your own. There was a notable difference in the size of your hands and you felt embarrassed once again. "I would like to get to know you more the next time we meet. . . in a more meaningful matter."

If Baraka could look just as embarrassed as you, he would, but his face had remained unmoved.

"I would love that." He says, thumbs brushing over your hands. Even his ears looked slightly more upwards, somewhat like a happy cat. "I will be awaiting your visit, y/n."

You smile and bow, leaving to catch up with the others.

Johnny's eyes flash between you and Baraka's departing figure, a disturbed look on his face. "Don't tell me that you and-"

"Shut it Cage." You hiss.

He raises his hands up in defense. "Okay crazy lady, whatever floats your boat."

╰┈➤ masterlist

[slaymitchabernathy]

The Arrangement

| this drabble contains sexual content ;) | this was honestly just word vomit, idk what's happening here, but i hope y'all enjoy it |

An arranged marriage is nothing strange in the Capitol. It's a surefire way for both parties to get exactly what they want out of a marriage. Most of the time, they're arranged by the parents who wish to align their family with another family, tying their names together in the name of love.

Or something along those lines.

Soarynn thought that since both her parents were dead, she'd be safe from an arranged marriage. But the adults around her had other plans. A year after she graduated from the Academy, she was invited to tea by Ms. Eudora Trinket, a woman who had watched over Soarynn since she could remember.

Soarynn wouldn't exactly call Eudora a mother, more like a chaperone to keep her out of trouble. Not that Soarynn ever gets into trouble, she's a good girl, keeps to herself, minds her business. She rarely ever leaves her townhouse on Cornelia Street.

Eudora told Soarynn that she was finally at the appropriate age to start courting, to start planning for her future. The future being to get married and have children. Soarynn thought she might continue her education at the University, but apparently not. Eudora had waved off such childish thoughts and notions in an instant once she brought them up.

Over the course of the year, Soarynn went on a few chaperoned dates with potential suitors, none of which she inherently liked or suited her preferences. Soarynn wanted someone kind, someone patient who wouldn't see her shy nature as a bad thing.

She's mentioned this to Eudora before, how she worries that her timidness might scare off men, but Eudora has assured her that a quiet wife is exactly what men are after these days.

Soarynn doesn't know what to believe these days, let alone who. She's been on countless dates, and none of them have stuck. Soarynn is beginning to worry that she might be the problem.

She knows how this will go if she doesn't get married sooner or later. Soarynn will be shunned from society, the town pariah, a story for mothers to tell their daughters when they put up a fuss about having to court someone. No one wants to be the girl who couldn't find a husband. And Soarynn knows how many people expect this of her, how Eudora has been searching high and low for the man who is willing to marry Soarynn.

She sits in her home library, reading her worries away as she so often does. She's always enjoyed reading, and after the tragic car accident that killed both her parents, it's been her one true escape in a world like this.

Soarynn remembers that stormy night well. She remembers her parents leaving to go on a date, promising to tuck her in if she was still awake when they got back. Obviously, she stayed awake all night waiting for them to return, but they never did. Early the next morning, the knock and the news came as a blow to her.

Both parents dead at the age of ten.

Soarynn was an orphan by all means, but a rich orphan who inherited all her family's wealth in a single day. Since she wasn't begging for scraps, she was kept in school until she graduated last year and turned eighteen. Now, she has access to all the assets her father left behind. Bank accounts, stocks, investments, properties.

She really doesn't have a clue as to what she should do with all of it. Soarynn never displayed any interest in what her father did for work, and as a woman, it's not really her place to learn. All she cared about was keeping her townhouse, her childhood home, her safe oasis.

Her sacred space becomes a lot noisier when the phone rings out in the hallway. Petunia, her cat, wakes up at the sound and meows in annoyance. "I know, I know," Soarynn sighs, standing up from the sofa and setting down her book.

She pads out into the hallway with Petunia right on her heels. Petunia follows Soarynn everywhere. She hopes that her future husband likes cats.

Soarynn picks up the phone, mentally bracing herself for whatever might be on the other end of the line. "Nightingale residence."

"Soarynn? It's Eudora, dear."

Her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. Soarynn dreams of the day when she will no longer be Eudora's problem and vice versa. The woman has to be sick of caring for her. Eudora has her own daughter, Effie, who is a very sweet girl despite her mother's constant need to stick to a planned schedule.

"Hello, Eudora, how are you this evening?"

"I'm well, dear, I'm well. I'm calling you because I found another potential suitor!"

Soarynn does her best to sound excited even though she just wants to disappear. When she was very little, maybe five, she used to think that if she held perfectly still, she'd turn invisible. Turns out that wasn't true, but Soarynn still finds herself acting as if it is.

"Oh, how wonderful," she says softly, wrapping the phone cord around her thumb, "who is he?"

"He's a Snow."

That gets her attention. Soarynn might not pay much attention to the news, but everyone knows the Snows and how important they are. The Snows are as close to royalty as you can get. So, one showing interest in her is somewhat questionable. Soarynn didn't even realize they had a son who wasn't married already. Men like that tend to get swooped up as soon as possible.

"A Snow? Who, who is he? Have I met him before?"

Eudora chuckles on the other line. "No dear, you haven't met him yet. He's been doing some traveling in the Districts for work, but he's back in the Capitol now, and his parents want him to settle down as soon as possible, and they think you'd be the perfect match!"

Soarynn bites her lip, is she really the perfect match, or is she just the closest thing they can get to marrying someone of equal status?

The Nightingales weren't far off from the Snows before both her parents passed away, and Soarynn has done little for her family name since their deaths. She rarely goes to parties, galas, or events.

If she doesn't get married, her family name and legacy will die with her.

"I've made arrangements for you to meet him tomorrow night, we'll all have dinner at the..." Eudora keeps talking, but Soarynn stops listening, for some reason, this date feels real. Like this might lead to something.

She just doesn't know what.

꧁ ꧂

When walking up to the restaurant, Eudora reminds Soarynn of what to do and, more importantly, what not to do.

"Don't speak unless spoken to," Eudora continues, rattling off reminders, "eyes bright, chin up, smiles on." Soarynn has gotten good at tuning out Eudora while she rambles. Not that her efforts have gone unappreciated, but she can often be a little...overbearing.

They've never been to this restaurant, and Soarynn has been to plenty over the years. She fusses with her dress one last time. Eudora picked it out for tonight, it's a blush pink color, made of silk. It complements Soarynn's hair and her complexion without drawing too much attention to herself. Eudora had the maids pull some of Soarynn's hair back from her face and added the tiniest hint of blush to her nose and cheeks.

They walk into the restaurant and are immediately greeted by a chipper hostess. "Good evening, how may I help you ladies?"

Eudora answers for them. "We're meeting the Snow family for dinner."

"Of course, ma'am, right this way."

The hostess leads them in the opposite direction of what Soarynn assumes to be the main dining room. Her nerves start to bubble up more and more the longer they walk. Soarynn didn't ask any more questions about her potential match, but maybe she should have learned his name.

They're led to a large set of wooden doors. "Please let us know if you need anything else," the hostess says, opening the doors. Eudora and Soarynn walk into the room, and Soarynn realizes that this is a private dining room, booked just for their small party tonight. The room itself is large with a dining table, a sitting area, a billiard table, and a private bar with a parlor.

It's the type of treatment the Snows would expect for themselves.

Three people sit at the dining table. Two men and a woman, all whom stand up once Soarynn and Eudora walk in.

Soarynn keeps her eyes trained on the floor while Eudora greets the table. She shakes the men's hands and gives the woman a polite hug and kiss on the cheek. "So wonderful to see you again," Mrs. Snow gushes, at least, that's who Soarynn assumes she is. This woman has auburn hair and blue eyes. She is very pretty.

"Likewise, Mrs. Snow. So glad we could all meet and discuss the children's future," Eudora agrees, turning to look at Soarynn. "Allow me to introduce Soarynn Nightingale."

Soarynn puts on a polite smile and greets Mrs. Snow first since she's closest to her. To her surprise, Mrs. Snow pulls her in for a hug as well. "Oh, she's gorgeous! I mean, I've seen the pictures, but they truly don't do her justice, wouldn't you agree, Crassus?"

Soarynn pulls away from the hug just in time to see Crassus Snow, the husband and father, eyeing her in a nerve-wracking manner. It's as if he's examining her for damage. "She looks just like her mother," he replies. His eyes are cold and bright blue, like a frigid ocean Soarynn would easily drown in if she stared for too long.

She looks back at Mrs. Snow, who is already the safest person to be around right now. Mrs. Snow holds Soarynn's face in her warm hands. "You really do, darling. We were good friends with your mother back in the day. We all went to school together!" Soarynn's eyes widen, she hadn't expected her mother to be brought into this.

"It's good to see that Cera passed down her beauty to you. It would have been such a shame if she hadn't. And this hair! Have you ever seen such a color?" No one answers her, but Mrs. Snow must ask a lot of rhetorical questions because she's not even phased by the silence.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Snow," Soarynn finally says, trying to keep her voice steady. Most mothers give her scrutinizing looks as if she could never be good enough for their sons. Mrs. Snow seems to be different, though.

"Call me Mother," Mrs. Snow insists, "we're to be family soon. Are we not?" Eudora sighs in relief, already one foot in the door by her books. "I hope so," Soarynn says quietly. She hasn't even looked at the man she came to see.

"Soarynn, this is Mr. Snow," Eudora tells her, nodding at Crassus, who is also very tall. Soarynn has to tilt her head to look up at him. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Snow." He doesn't insist on her calling him anything else, and Soarynn is perfectly okay with that.

"Ms. Trinket has told us many things about you, young lady," he tells her, "I hope they're all true."

Soarynn just hopes that Eudora didn't bend the truth for the sake of securing a first date. She can be many things, but Soarynn is no liar.

She turns her gaze to the end of the table where he stands. Soarynn has seen him before in the paper, usually in the section that discusses business and politics, both things she stays far away from. His eyes are the same as his father's, cold and bright blue, but more interested in her.

"This is our son, Coriolanus."

Mrs. Snow hums, "Our pride and joy."

Coriolanus Snow, what a name.

Soarynn swallows, wishing no one was watching her right now, but everyone is watching her right now. Because she doesn't want to send Eudora to an early grave, she takes two steps towards Coriolanus, who also towers over her, clearly taking after his father when it comes to physical appearance.

Thankfully, Coriolanus takes charge. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Soarynn." He holds out his large hand for Soarynn to place hers, and she does just that, feeling how cold it is. He wraps his fingers around her hand and presses a polite kiss to the back of it.

A true gentleman.

"Let's all sit down," Eudora suggests, taking her seat. The others follow her lead, and Coriolanus pulls out the chair next to him for Soarynn to sit. She gives Eudora a panicked look, thinking she'd sit next to Eudora like she always does.

Eudora does not seem to share her panic and starts up a conversation with Mrs. Snow about wedding dresses, leaving Soarynn with no choice but to sit next to Coriolanus.

Soarynn doesn’t say a word while drinks are brought out, wine for the ladies and whiskey for the men. She doesn't even touch her glass. Soarynn remains silent while the adults talk about boring things such as politics and work. From time to time, she sneaks a look at Coriolanus, who chimes in occasionally with his own input.

She wonders how old he is, if he's allowed to travel by himself, and through the Districts of all places.

The first course is brought out, a lemon soup. Soarynn makes sure not to spill on her dress while Crassus opens up a conversation about family lineage.

"It's important to secure the bloodline," he says, giving Coriolanus a knowing look. Perhaps he's put pressure on Coriolanus to have children. Which will, of course, put pressure on Soarynn to give him children if this all works out in the end.

"Yes," Mrs. Snow agrees, already on her second glass of wine. "We've been very selective on potential wives for Coriolanus. We can't just have anyone carrying around the heir to the Snow fortune."

They all look at Soarynn, causing her to blush. She's on birth control until further notice and hasn't ever kissed a man per Eudora's instructions to remain as pure as possible for her future husband.

"Soarynn would make a wonderful mother," Eudora tells them, "and with that blonde hair and those blue eyes, she'll give him beautiful children. I'm sure of it."

Mrs. Snow nods, but her husband isn't easily persuaded or convinced. "Do you tan easily, Soarynn?"

Eudora turns pale, and Soarynn feels very confused right now. What does tanning have to do with children?

"I...I don't tan," she answers, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Crassus looks her up and down, "I see. Well, that is certainly something we will need to take into consideration."

Soarynn realizes what he means a moment later. Her skin is much darker than the man sitting next to her, and the Snows clearly want their image to remain intact. If she were to give Coriolanus children, there would be a risk of them looking more like her than him.

Soarynn feels so small right now.

Coriolanus clears his throat, taking a sip of his whiskey. "It's not a problem where I'm concerned." His father shoots him a look, "Well, you should be concerned. She clearly took after her mother when it came to looks, what's to say a child of yours won't do the same?"

Coriolanus shrugs, not at all intimidated by his father's words or demeanor. "Our children will have a different father, they'll look just like me, I'm sure of it." Eudora eagerly nods, jumping onto the bandwagon. "Yes! Yes, male genes are more dominant than female genes. Soarynn will give him beautiful children, I'm sure of it as well."

"It's not something we can control either way, darling," Mrs. Snow reminds her husband, "Coriolanus could have come out looking just like me, and then what would you have done?"

Soarynn didn't expect this many people to come to her defense, and while she's grateful, it only makes Crassus dislike her more than he did ten minutes ago. To their relief, the second course comes through to ease the growing tension in the room.

Soarynn eats her food while more topics are discussed, half-listening. "What do you like to spend your time on, Soarynn?"

Mrs. Snow's voice is kinder than her husband's, so Soarynn feels better about answering her. "I enjoy reading and drawing, and playing with my cat, Petunia."

"How sweet," Mrs. Snow croons, "I've never had much of an artistic hand, I'm more of a social butterfly myself."

Soarynn opens her mouth, but Coriolanus beats her to the punch. "How old is your cat?" His focus is on her, and Soarynn can smell roses all of a sudden, an overwhelming scent of roses.

"She's three years old."

"I always wanted a dog," Coriolanus says, looking at his father, "but I was never allowed to get one."

Crassus scoffs, waving him off. "Dogs bite and carry diseases. You'll understand when you have a family of your own someday." Soarynn is glad that Petunia is an indoor cat. She'd be so worried if she were always outside on her own.

"Coriolanus, your mother mentioned you got a promotion when we spoke over the phone," Eudora recalls, "is that why you were traveling?"

Coriolanus nods, he is very handsome, just like his father. Soarynn just hopes that he's not half as mean as his father, though. "Yes, part of my job is to visit other plants to check on production."

Mrs. Snow places a hand over her heart, a proud mother if Soarynn's ever seen one. "He's achieved so much in such a short time. We're immensely proud of him." Soarynn asks the next question before she can stop herself. "How old are you?" Coriolanus doesn't look offended by her question, rather surprised that she was bold enough to ask.

"I turn twenty-seven in November."

He's almost eight years older than her. Is this what Eudora thinks is suitable for Soarynn?

"How old are you again, darling?"

"I just turned nineteen last month," Soarynn answers Mrs. Snow, who nods. "The perfect age to start settling down," she decides.

Soarynn doesn't say anything else for the rest of the night.

꧁ ꧂

The night ends after several more courses and drinks. They all stand on the restraunt steps, waiting for their cars to pull around to pick them up. "So lovely to see you all," Eudora says, "we'll be in touch."

The women share another hug and a few whispered words. Soarynn hopes she did well tonight.

Crassus doesn't even regard her when the car pulls around to take her and Eudora home.

"I hope to see you again soon," Coriolanus says to her, confident and sure of himself. Soarynn is not so sure of herself, but nods anyway, going along with the plan that's been set out for her for a decade now. "I'd like that very much."

Eudora gets into the car before her so that Coriolanus can help Soarynn get into the backseat. His bright blue eyes bore into her stormy ones, filled with so many thoughts and emotions. "Sleep well," he says before closing the door.

Soarynn sighs, slouching in her seat. She might not sleep at all after tonight. "Don't slouch, dear," Eudora reminds her, "we're going to Cornelia Street first." The driver pulls away from the curb, causing the Snows to become small, little dots.

"That went surprisingly well, don't you think?"

Soarynn sits up straight so she doesn't get reprimanded again. "I guess. I don't think Crassus likes me very much."

Eudora waves her off as if her potential father-in-law is the least of her worries. "Don't worry about that right now, dear, the important thing is that Coriolanus likes you."

"How do you know that? He barely said a word to me."

"Trust me," Eudora says, "if he didn't like you, he wouldn't have said that he wants to see you again. He's in this for the same reasons you are."

Oh.

That doesn't make Soarynn feel any better to know that he's also being pressured into this. Shouldn't people find love the real way? Or has she been reading too many fairy tales?

꧁ ꧂

The next time Soarynn sees Coriolanus, it's over tea.

Eudora and Mrs. Snow come as well but sit at another table, chatting about who knows what while Soarynn and Coriolanus remain quiet. A lovely spread of tea and crumpets have been laid out in front of them, and the summer breeze flows through the courtyard of the resturaunt.

Soarynn wore a pretty dress with little flowers embroidered into the fabric, with her hair pulled into a ponytail. Coriolanus also dressed a little less formally, wearing trousers, a dress shirt, and shiny leather shoes.

"How's your tea?"

Soarynn pulls herself from her daydreaming long enough to answer his question. "Good."

Coriolanus had greeted her the same way he did last week, with a kiss on the back of her hand, while his mother embraced her as if they were already married.

"You've barely touched your food," he points out, his plate already cleared of the small pastries. Soarynn shrugs, not really in the mood to eat right now. "I'm more partial to fruits."

"I can have the server bring you some."

Coriolanus goes to flag down their waiter but Soarynn quickly puts a stop to the chivalrous act. "That won't be necessary, thank you."

Soarynn is honestly worried that she might throw up if she eats anything. She's still so nervous to be around him.

"Do you like being outside?"

She does when it's warm. When it's cold, Soarynn loves to curl up in bed with a book, Petunia, and some hot chocolate.

"Most of the time," she replies, taking a small sip of her tea.

They go quiet again, and Soarynn feels pressured to ask him a question. Coriolanus has been guiding them through this date, and it's going at a painfully slow pace.

"Why do you let your mother chaperone you on dates if you're so old?"

Probably the worst thing she could ask him, but she's curious. If Coriolanus is so grown up, then certainly he doesn't require the supervison that she does.

He tilts his head, looking over at his mother for a moment. She wore a very big hat today with a feather sticking out of the top.

"My mother is very traditional, as am I. This is simply how things are done."

"But why?" She presses, desperate for someone to explain to her why she must go through with all of this. "Why all this work for a miserable marriage?"

Coriolanus gives her a funny look. This is the most she's spoken since they met. "I'd like to think that we'd have a pleasant marriage," he muses out loud, "maybe not a happy one, but those are so rare."

Soarynn scrunches her nose, this isn't a very appropriate conversation to be having right now, but she's already on a roll. "Don't you want to be happy?"

"I want to be content," he explains, "my parents aren't always happy, but they're content with the lives they've built with one another. When you're content with the life you have, you're rarely left feeling unhappy." Soarynn begs to differ, she has everything she could ever need, and she's very unhappy.

"Maybe there's something wrong with me then," she mumbles, setting her teacup down, "I could never be happy in an arranged marriage."

Not that she hasn't given it some thought, but Soarynn just finds it impossible to be genuinely happy with something she never agreed to.

"What would make you happy then?"

That's a question no one has ever asked her before, but Soarynn has thought about it a million times over the years.

"To live in my house," she says, picturing it now, "to read my books, and play with my cat, and marry someone kind who loves me for who I am."

Coriolanus hums and looks across the courtyard again, staring at his mother. "I am not a kind man," he admits, "neither is my father, which you learned rather quickly last week. But I do believe myself to be a good man. I could take very good care of you, and you'd be able to have all those things. For the most part."

"What do you mean by that?"

He sighs, for someone so far in life, he seems very tired of it already. "When a man and woman get married, the woman moves in with him. You'd live with me in my penthouse on the Corso. As for marrying someone who's kind and who loves you, well, I'm sorry Soarynn, but I don't see that happening considering your position."

"My position?"

"Yes," he nods as if it's clear as day, "you're young, you're very beautiful and your parents are dead. The decisons have already been made for you. The best you can hope for is that a good man," he gestures to himself, "comes along and agrees to marry you."

There was a stupid part of her that hoped Coriolanus would turn out to be kind, that he'd understand her dilemma, but he's just like the rest of them. He's much more honest than the rest, but he's still the same.

"You'd be well looked after," he adds when he sees her crestfallen face, "I'd never lay a hand on you. My penthouse has a library and is fully staffed. You'd never lift a finger if you married me. I'd take good care of you."

Of course, Coriolanus has his own motives, his own agenda. He needs to get married soon, he needs to settle down, and secure his bloodline. Soarynn is the perfect candidate for him. No wonder his mother is so thrilled about all of this.

"I'd be kept in your world, though," she says, "with your family and your friends. I wouldn't have a life of my own anymore."

His lips almost twitch into a smile. "Forgive my bluntness, but from what I've heard, you don't have much of a life to begin with." Soarynn is stunned by his hurtful words. Whether they hurt because they're true or not doesn't matter right now.

"Your hobbies include reading, drawing, and playing with your cat, darling. That's not a life. And any man would be a fool to let something like you ever leave the house to work. It's not traditional. But you'd go to galas, to lunches, and you could shop to your heart's content."

Some traditions might need to be broken, the more she thinks about it.

"I may not be kind, but I am honest," he tells her, "I won't ever lie to you. I'll be a good husband and, when the time comes, a good father. I promise you, it won't get any better than me. I'm a Snow, who else could compare?"

He's right. Soarynn is horrified, and he's right. Out of all the men she's met, he is by far the most handsome, most truthful, and most important. If she were to walk away from this, the entire Capitol would think she's a fool.

"You're too beautiful to be kept away in that townhouse of yours. A woman like you should be seen, adored by all who meet her. Not wilting away like a dead rose. Let me court you, and I'll show you what your future will look like. A future of luxury and open doors that you didn't even know existed."

Coriolanus sounds so sure of himself, so confident. Some might see it as arrogance, but not Soarynn. She sees it as her ticket to the future, the future that she cannot get to on her own. She might be beautiful and kind, but that can only get her so far. Being a woman has it's challenges and getting married can make a lot of them disappear.

Coriolanus seems like a good man...for the most part. Someone who's respected by society. Isn't that good enough? Are her expectations too high? Most girls would kill a family member for an oppurtinity like this.

She should be grateful. Agree to this arrangement.

"Alright," she whispers, causing his eyebrows to raise. "Alright?" He repeats.

"I'll let you court me," she elaborates, "I'd be a fool not to."

Coriolanus grins, he looks younger when he smiles. "Good, good. I'm glad you've come around to this, darling. Now, eat something, I can't have you wasting away."

Soarynn does as she's told, nibbling away at a crumpet while he tells her about his travels. This won't be her fantasy, but it'll be what everyone wanted. She supposes it's for the best.

꧁ ꧂

The next several months pass by like a blur.

Soarynn goes on countless dates with Coriolanus Snow, her now-fiancé, who proposed three weeks ago, making headlines. Soarynn had been expecting it for a while, he wasn't one to waste time or an opportunity.

When she read the paper the next morning, their faces were plastered on the front cover. 'Snow Lands On Top! Coriolanus Snow engaged to Soarynn Nightingale.'

She's so glad she could provide them with a good cover story.

Now it's all about wedding planning. They're to be married in the winter per Snow family tradition. Soarynn didn't even try to argue with anyone about it, letting Coriolanus set the date and make the big decisions. He's left her to make all of the small ones, though, including her dress, the colors, the theme, and the cake.

Mother says it's going to be all anyone can talk about.

Soarynn sits next to her as they flip through catalogs of wedding dresses, trying to find the perfect dress for her perfect day. Soarynn has found a strange sort of comfort around Mrs. Snow, whom she now refers to as Mother per her many requests. Once she got engaged, she stopped fighting it.

While she isn't her mother, she's kind and has been so very welcoming to Soarynn. Crassus has remained cold, but Coriolanus says he's that way with everyone. Soarynn has learned not to take anything he says personally.

"What about this one?" Mother points at a specific dress in the catalog she's looking at. "We could take in the waist, of course, and it's in style." Soarynn looks at the dress she likes and doesn't share the same sentiment. It's pretty, but it's not her.

It actually looks a lot like Mother's wedding dress. Soarynn has only seen the pictures a thousand times. No wonder she's so drawn to this style.

"I don't know," Soarynn says with a tired sigh, "there's so many and so little time." She's been feeling a little stressed, if she's being honest. So many decisions to make and so many opinions about which ones she should choose.

Soarynn hoped that Eudora would take charge since she's done that for everything else in her life, but Eudora told her that her work was "done" and that she'd be sitting in the front row at the wedding.

Soarynn is on her own.

"We have plenty of time," Mother insists, flipping to the next page, "maybe you just need to try some on. That might help."

"What might help?"

They both look up at the sound of Coriolanus walking into the dining room, which has turned into their wedding planning room for the time being. Soarynn didn't think he'd be stopping by his parents' apartment today, but apparently he has.

He looks handsome as always, curls gelled back, top two buttons on his shirt undone. He makes her so nervous.

"Soarynn needs to try on some dresses for inspiration, darling," Mother explains to him, smiling when he leans down to kiss her cheek. Coriolanus is many things, but he's very affectionate with his Mother for someone so serious.

"I see. My suit is almost done at the tailors."

Soarynn refrains from telling him that he is not helping right now, but his kissing her on the cheek smooths things over rather quickly. He smells so good, like roses and his favorite cologne.

"You look pretty," he says, his lips brushing her ear.

Soarynn presses her thighs together. He really isn't helping right now.

"Thank you," she whispers shakily, looking him in the eyes, "how was your meeting?" He smirks at the effect he has on her. "Good. It went according to plan, that is. There's still work to be done, like always."

Mother shakes her head. "So dreadful that you had to take a meeting on a Saturday. Does no one respect time off anymore?"

Coriolanus chuckles, standing back up to his full height. "It's a necessary evil, Mother. Someone has to pay for this dress." Mother playfully swats at his arm, always so flippant when it comes to money. "We already said we'd pay for the dress, Coriolanus. Now stop bothering us and go get something to eat from the kitchen. The cook made lamb stew for lunch about an hour ago."

The second, Soarynn revealed that her favorite meal was lamb stew, they started having it almost every week at the Snow penthouse.

She finds it endearing that Mother wants her to feel welcome, especially since her husband doesn't seem to go to any trouble. Soarynn has dinner with Coriolanus and his parents at least three times a week, sometimes more, depending on the men's work schedules.

When they started courting, Coriolanus made it very clear that being together was a big priority to him. "There's strength in numbers," he had explained on a walk, "Snows stick together."

She's gotten over the initial discomfort of eating with her future in-laws, so Soarynn doesn't bat an eye at it anymore. If she and Coriolanus aren't at his apartment or her townhouse, they're here in the Snow ancestral penthouse.

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll leave you ladies to it then. Is father home?"

"In his study, darling."

Soarynn watches him go, even from behind, he looks good with his shirt tucked in and his curls perfectly styled. Coriolanus takes great pride in his appearance, so Soarynn does as well.

"What were you thinking of for the bouquet?"

Soarynn's been so focused on the dress that she forgot all about the bouquet. It seems so minor in comparison to other things, like the cake. "Roses," she chooses the easy answer.

The Snows are known for their beautiful roses they grow on the penthouse roof. Apparently, they're highly coveted and a family tradition. Soarynn won't be one to break it.

"Oh, wouldn't that be a darling name for a baby girl? Rose?"

Once again, Soarynn chooses the easy answer. "Yes, it would."

She can't even think about children's names right now because to have children, you have to have sex, and Soarynn is terrified of that. She and Coriolanus have only kissed, nothing more. He's taken it as far as she's let him, which has occasionally included a shirt coming unbuttoned or her sitting in his lap. Most kisses are short and sweet. The other ones leave her longing for more.

Soarynn knows what her body wants, she knows that she's attracted to him. But she's terrified of losing her virginity. What if it hurts? What if she doesn't bleed? What if she bleeds too much? What if she's not good at it?

These are the questions that keep her up at night. No wonder she's so tired and stressed out.

For the sake of her sleep schedule, Soarynn decides right now that she'll cross that bridge when she gets to it. For the sake of the wedding, of course.

꧁ ꧂

"My Mother wanted me to ask you if there was any more shopping you wanted to do tomorrow," Coriolanus calls from the living room. Soarynn furrows her brows in the kitchen. She came in here to make some tea, but even in her own home, she is plagued with wedding decisions. She drops a tea bag into the cup and walks back into the living room where Coriolanus is watching television.

It's a rather domestic sight to see him in her childhood home. Whenever they're at his apartment, it's so...formal. He operates so differently here. Petunia lies next to him on the couch, fast asleep after a long day of sleeping and doing nothing. Soarynn is glad the two of them get along. He already agreed that Petunia could live in his apartment as long as she doesn't tear up his furniture.

"Shopping for what?" Soarynn asks, setting her cup down on the coffee table. She changed out of her dress when they got here, slipping into some comfortable pajamas since they, for once, don't have any plans tonight.

It's rare for Coriolanus to not have something planned, but because of his meeting, he needed to keep the whole day wide open in case something else came up. Soarynn certainly isn't complaining, she loves staying in and being at home. Coriolanus is the social butterfly in their relationship.

"Shoes, veils, bags, lingerie," he throws out, smirking when her cheeks turn pink. He's been thinking about it too, their wedding night, the sex, taking her virginity.

Coriolanus isn't a virgin, but he relishes the fact that she is.

He's told her more than once how attractive it is that she hasn't had sex yet. How it turns him on more than she can ever imagine to know that soon, she'll fully belong to him. Soarynn hadn't expected him to be so vulgar, he's usually so polite and proper. But every man has his secrets.

"I don't think your Mother wants to take me lingerie shopping," is all she says, sitting down next to him, "it would be very strange." Coriolanus wraps an arm around her, settling his hand on her waist. "You'd be surprised as to what my Mother would be up for when it comes to this wedding. It might be the highlight of her life."

Soarynn laughs, at least someone will enjoy the big day. She hopes she will as well. So much time and money have gone into this wedding, into this relationship, this arranged marriage.

"I think I'll do that shopping on my own."

Soarynn would prefer to not go shopping at all for lingerie, but she doesn't really have anything of her own. Not that sexy and provocative, at least. Her brassiers and panties are dainty, with bows or frills.

His hand slips under her silk shirt, grazing her bare skin, causing goosebumps to form wherever his fingers go. "I like bows," he says, sliding his hand under the waistband of her silk pajama shorts. Soarynn whimpers, they won't do anything, but he can still tease her.

His fingers slide under the waistband of her lace panties, so close yet so far to the area that's been getting more and more apparent as the days grow nearer to their wedding. "I like lace," he continues, nosing her ear, "or silk, or pearls." Soarynn closes her eyes, unable to look at him or anything else without losing her mind.

His teeth close around the shell of her ear, and Soarynn trembles under his touch. Coriolanus has become utterly intoxicating since they started courting, keeping his word to give her the world.

He spoils her with gifts. Clothes, books, jewelry. He's surprisingly affectionate for someone who can be so cold. He can be cold, too. Soarynn remembers the first time she experienced that side of him, making her think she had done something wrong. Something to deserve such curt, cold answers.

The next day, he warmed up again, became kinder, more patient. Soarynn does her best to keep that side of him around.

"Whatever you want," she breathes, gripping the sofa for dear life. He likes it when she does what he tells her to do, and while he'd never admit it, Coriolanus is a control freak. Everything has to be done perfectly, and it has to be done his way.

He groans and presses his lips to the nape of her neck, gently kissing her soft skin. Soarynn tilts her head, giving him better access to the column of her throat. His other hand pushes the thin strap of her shirt off her shoulder, then the other in a methodical fashion.

Soarynn whimpers. "We can't," she tells him, knowing what would happen if she gave in to him right now. She feels him smile against the skin of her neck. "But you'd let me, right? You'd spread your legs and give me what's rightfully mine if I asked, wouldn't you, darling?"

He's so, so, so cocky.

He goes to push down her shirt when the telephone rings. Both of them pull away, his hand slides out of her shorts, and Soarynn slips the straps back over her shoulders, flustered and hot. "I'll get it," he says, rising from the sofa. Soarynn nods, pulling her knees to her chest to calm herself down.

She almost lost control, almost gave in to him. Even though they're going to get married soon, that's no excuse to have sex before marriage. Soarynn can hear muffled conversation from the hallway, his voice is so deep and stern.

Petunia finally wakes up, purring when Soarynn scratches behind her ears. "You sleep through everything, little lady," Soarynn says to her. Petunia is the sleepiest cat in the world, but she supposes that it's better than having a cat who never sleeps.

Coriolanus appears a minute later, looking less cocky than before. He looks tired and stressed. "That was my father. I need to head back to their apartment to go over some paperwork for the wedding."

Sorynn never knew so much paperwork went into getting married, but apparently, there is.

"Okay."

Soarynn turns off the television so she can walk him to the door. Once he leaves, she'll take a bath and imagine him touching her again. She should really get a diary or something because this cannot be normal.

Coriolanus tugs his coat on, preparing for the cold winter weather. "I'll come by and pick you up tomorrow with my Mother."

"Alright. Sleep well."

Coriolaus hums, pulling her in by her waist. "Thank you, darling, for always keeping me entertained." Soarynn knows what he means by that, but she doesn't want to be entertaining. She wants to be taken seriously in this relationship.

Still, she says nothing and smiles sweetly when he kisses her. He goes in a little deeper, gripping her waist tightly, and Soarynn rests a hand on his shoulder. They'll be living together soon, no more car rides back and forth, no more phone calls, no more townhouse.

Soarynn doesn't want to think about leaving her childhood home behind.

There's so much to leave behind when you marry a Snow.

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn's wedding day comes with a flurry of emotions. Some good, some not so good. There's no time to back out now. She's got the dress, her shoes, the veil, the bouquet, and yes, she's got the lingerie.

Walking down the aisle didn't seem like a big deal until she realized this morning that she'd be walking down with Crassus. That's the thing about having a dead father: he's not here to celebrate your big day.

Soarynn has already mourned the absence of her parents, though. Coriolanus requested it, actually. He had pulled her to the side three days ago when they were visiting his parents and spoke in a hushed voice. "I'd appreciate it if you could keep the wedding free of any grief or self-pity."

It had been such a bold and incorrect thing to say that Soarynn just nodded and kept her mouth shut. Of course, he didn't want their big day to be overshadowed by her grief.

"Almost ready," Mother trills, fluffing out the train of the dress. Soarynn found the dress of her dreams on the first day they went dress shopping. It was perfect for her. Made of silk, clinging to her figure in a tasteful way that she felt comfortable in. It showed off her collarbones and made her skin appear brighter.

For hair and makeup, she wanted to look as natural as possible. Photos would be taken, so she knew that she'd have to wear some makeup, but she still wanted to feel like herself. Soarynn's hair was twisted into an intricate bun that would be taken out after the ceremony for the reception dinner.

Her makeup was kept light and glowy. Her lips were rosy, and her cheeks had a warm pink hue to them. Most of her freckles were still visible, but she did give in to Mother's request for her eyes to be lined with black liner. It made her eyes pop.

Soarynn is amazed that she's able to feel pretty considering how stressed she's been about all of this. She nervously holds her bouquet, watching everyone else run around her to do the finishing touches.

Crassus stands by the doors that lead to the room where she'll get married. He looks bored. Soarynn wishes she could get him to like her, but apparently it's impossible, according to Coriolanus.

At least Mother likes her. That has to count for something.

"Soarynn, darling, remember to smile!" Soarynn gives Mother a big smile, too fake to be genuine, but she supposes that's the point of this whole thing. She doesn't love Coriolanus, and he doesn't love her. It's all so artificial. So arranged.

She's luckier than most, though, to be marrying someone like him. A good, honest man who will take care of her. It's good that he talked some sense into her all those months ago. Unless...unless that's what he wants her to think.

"Here we go!"

Too late now.

꧁ ꧂

"Such a beautiful bride," another woman says as Soarynn and Coriolanus walk through the crowded ballroom. Soarynn is so tired, so socially drained, and they're not even close to being done yet.

"Thank you," Coriolanus says, flashing her a bright smile, tightening his grip on Soarynn's waist. Now that they're married, he hasn't let go of her once. There's no reason to, not when they're married, not when she's his wife.

They're about to have their first dance, and they've taken so many lessons that Soarynn could probably do it in her sleep. Coriolanus looks dashing in his tailored suit, fitting him like a glove with a white rose pinned to his lapel.

He had looked so pleased when his father handed her off to him. Soarynn worried he might not like the dress, or her hair, or her makeup. But he's only sung her praises thus far.

Being the center of attention is nothing new to Coriolanus, but it is to Soarynn, so dancing in front of hundreds of people is a little nerve-wracking. Soarynn tried for a small guest list, but the Snows weren't having it. Anyone who ran in their circles was invited, no questions asked.

"People can't get enough of you," he tells her, guiding them to the center of the ballroom floor. Soarynn blushes, she likes to think that most people are here for him. It's not like she's done a whole lot of social networking in the twenty years she's been alive.

After the death of her parents, she became a recluse of sorts, hiding away until Eudora dragged her out for a date, only to hide back away in her home afterwards.

Her childhood home is empty, well, it's empty to her. Since it was left in her name, it was legally up to her as to what would happen to it. Coriolanus and Crassus both suggested selling it, which horrified Soarynn. She opted to keep the house in her name. Selling it meant getting rid of her parents' things. It meant that they were really gone.

All of her things have already been moved into the apartment she will live in for the rest of her life. Coriolanus made room in his massive closet for all of her clothes, and she unpacked the last of her boxes last night. Anything to keep her mind off the wedding.

But the wedding is here, and everyone is watching.

The music starts to play, and they fall in tandem with one another, doing the steps they've done a thousand times. Coriolanus holds her tightly against him, staring down at her with his bright blue eyes. Soarynn wonders if their future son will look like him.

Soarynn keeps her eyes on Coriolanus, too nervous to look around at the onlookers. She hears whispers, though, whispers about her dress, her family, how young she is compared to Coriolanus.

An eight-year age gap is nothing to sneeze at, but clearly not that much of a deal breaker in high society. If Soarynn hadn't had such rotten luck before courting Coriolanus, then she's sure that she would've been married off at eighteen. Eudora must be pleased about all of this. She got what she was after, and now Soarynn is no longer her responsibility.

Soarynn glances over at the crowd and finds Eudora and Mother watching with misty eyes. Eudora is most likely tearing up in relief, whereas Mother is tearing up because she cries at almost everything these days.

Soarynn looks back up at Coriolanus, doing her best to look irrecoverably in love with him. He is her husband, after all. Till death do them part.

They finish the dance with him dipping her down, sliding his hand up her back while he leans down, pressing a kiss to her lips. Soarynn sighs at the kiss, the first of many tonight. They still have dinner, then speeches, then more dancing, then cake. And then they go home and have sex.

Soarynn is so fucking nervous it's not even funny.

She hasn't had anyone to talk to about these fears. She has no friends, and it's not like the women around her remember their first time like it was yesterday. Soarynn has read enough romance novels to know that it will hurt at first, but then, hopefully, start to feel good.

Coriolanus looks like he knows what he's doing, and that brings her a small sense of comfort.

They're given a loud round of applause, and Coriolanus leads Soarynn over to a group of what she presumes to be his colleagues and their wives.

"Congratulations," one of them says to Soarynn, flashing her a big smile. This woman is very pretty with her dark brown hair twisted into an updo. She's on a curly-haired man's arm, both dressed in shades of green. Soarynn returns the smile, "Thank you."

Coriolanus slides his arm around Soarynn's waist, keeping her pressed to his side. "I think we might have outdone your first dance, Creed."

Soarynn tries to remember if she's ever heard that last name before, but she's heard so many in the past few months. Mother went over the guest list with her so many times, and then the invitations had to be sent out as well. She'll have to rely on Coriolanus to remember these people.

His friend scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Please, our first dance was one for the books, don't you agree, Persephone?"

Persephone nods, taking a sip of champagne. "Hard to believe that was almost five years ago." Five years ago, Soarynn was still a child. How strange to think about the past now that she's married.

"Will you be traveling for your honeymoon?" Persephone asks her while the men continue talking about weddings. Soarynn shyly nods, the news came as a bit of a surprise to her when Coriolanus announced they'd be going on a trip. "We're going to District Four," she tells her, "Coriolanus has traveled there before for work."

He's told her all about his travels and about the resorts and hotels he's stayed at. "The District Four resort is by far the best we have to offer," he had explained one night over dinner. Soarynn already has her bags packed, and Mother has promised to look after Petunia, who immediately took a liking to the older woman.

"Oh, Festus and I went there for our honeymoon as well! How exciting! You have to go to the spa, they offer the best seaweed massage and make sure to ask for..."

Persephone keeps talking, but Soarynn stops listening. She looks around the room and realizes that no one is here for her. Eudora came simply to ensure that her work was done. But not one person came here to support Soarynn.

They're all here for him.

"Darling?"

Soarynn looks up at her husband, and the noise floods back into her ears. "Yes?"

Coriolanus doesn't look too pleased that she was zoning out, but she can't help it. Soarynn gets anxious around large groups of people. "Persephone invited you to tea when we get back from our honeymoon." Soarynn does her best to look thrilled at the prospect of having tea with a Capitol wife. This will be her new life: tea, lunch, dinner, repeat.

"That sounds lovely," she looks back over at Persephone, "I'd love to join you."

"Perfect! Oh, and I'll invite Livia and Clemensia too. It's so wonderful to finally have a fourth in our little circle," she says to Soarynn as if this is something Soarynn should know about. "Isn't Livia pregnant?" Coriolanus asks, rubbing his hand up and down her side. Soarynn subconsciously leans into his touch, she may not love him, but she does find comfort in him.

"Allegedly," Festus replies, finishing off his drink, "but they haven't confirmed anything."

"Well, they ought to say something soon. No good in hiding it."

Everyone nods, there's no use in hiding a pregnancy, planned or unplanned.

"Soarynn will be carrying our first sooner than later," Coriolanus boasts proudly, "a boy." Soarynn hopes for the sake of their marriage that she can give him a boy right away. Coriolanus has made it very clear that he wants a boy, not a girl.

They'll just have to wait and see.

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn has been in this bedroom a total of five times since she met Coriolanus. Now it's her bedroom. It's much bigger than her childhood room, this one is so grown-up and mature. There's a fireplace, a sitting area, and he even has a small cart of alcohol in case he needs a drink before bed. Soarynn notes a small bookshelf tucked away in the corner, already filled with her favorite books.

She fidgets with her nightgown and smiles to herself. At least he kept his word about taking care of her. Coriolanus might be cold and stern, but he's not negligent.

He certainly won't be negligent tonight when he takes her virginity. They got home half an hour ago, well past midnight. Coriolanus disappeared to make some last-minute arrangements for their trip tomorrow, and Soarynn went to change into her lingerie.

She felt so silly putting it on. When she tried it on at the boutique, the saleswoman said that Coriolanus wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her. Soarynn isn't so sure that's a good thing where her husband is concerned.

The lingerie is all white. Her brassier pushes her breasts up, giving the illusion of a full chest. The fabric is covered in lace patterns with a small bow in the middle of her breasts. Her panties, well, they barely cover a thing. It's a good thing she got waxed three days ago. Soarynn thought she knew pain before she had every inch of hair stripped from her body in under ten minutes.

Soarynn also purchased a white sheer nightgown to wear over the lingerie, as if it makes her any more clothed than she already is. She glances at her high heels lying on the floor, kicked off the second she got into the room.

He'll be here any minute now, and then there is no going back.

Soarynn listens for his voice but doesn't hear anything. He was on the phone a minute ago, confirming the departure of their train. Soarynn slides off the bed, deciding to check her appearance one more time in the bathroom mirror before it's too late, but the doors to their bedroom open and she freezes.

Coriolanus has taken his tie off, and his gelled curls have broken free from their cast after a night of drinking and dancing. Tonight was the most relaxed she's ever seen him. He laughed, danced, and drank; he became a different version of himself. Perhaps she'll have sex with the nicer version tonight.

"Look at you," he says, closing the doors behind him, drinking her all in.

Soarynn has nowhere to hide now. Her body is his body, he can stare all he likes.

His eyes travel up and down her figure, analyzing every inch of her body. Soarynn has never paid much attention to her physical appearance, she's been told she's beautiful before, but now she's painfully aware of how she looks. Her figure is spare in some places where she'd like to be fuller. Looking at the mannequins in the boutique window sure didn't help. They had all the right curves in all the right places.

Even the women at her wedding looked better than she did when it came to figure. That's the difference between her and them. Soarynn is still a girl, whereas everyone else is a woman.

"Is everything settled with the train tickets?" She asks quietly, hoping to take some of the attention off of her. But it's pointless, he can't look away from her or think of anything else but her. "Hmm? Oh, yes, the tickets, it's all settled."

He steps towards her, closing the distance, flooding her senses with the smell of roses and expensive cologne. "That's good," she says shakily. Soarynn has done all she can to prepare for this moment. She even prayed.

"It's very good," he agrees, setting his hands on her hips, "very, very good. Is this new?" He pinches the fabric of her nightgown between his fingers. Coriolanus has seen a few of her nightgowns before, and now they're all hanging up in the closet. Soarynn nods, looking down at the floor, at his large hands on her hips.

"So pretty. So soft and delicate, just like you."

He gathers the nightgown in his hands, bunching it up and pulling it up. Soarynn lifts her arms, and her flimsy piece of clothing is taken off and thrown to the floor. Coriolanus doesn't immediately flinch at the sight of her scarcely clothed body, so she takes that as a good sign. Apparently, she's not horrid to look at.

"Are you, are you going to get undressed too?" She asks with a breathy tone, it only seems fair for him to be undressed as well. Coriolanus smirks, reaching down to touch the little bow that sits between her pushed-up breasts. "Eager to see me naked?"

Not really.

"It's just not fair that you're still wearing your clothes," she explains, already flustered. Coriolanus has a way of making the air around Soarynn turn into nothing. It's like she can't think, can't breathe, can't talk. She is completely at his mercy whenever they're alone together.

"Oh, so we're wanting to play fair tonight?"

Uh-oh.

Soarynn turns shy, not wanting to play mind games while losing her virginity. "So for every orgasm I give you, I'll get one in return?" He presses, grabbing her right breast. Soarynn gasps at his cold hands and the insinuation that she'll have to pleasure him tonight. She thought he'd just fuck her and that would be that.

"No," she gets out, taking a step back, "no, I didn't mean it like that. I just, I'm just nervous." It's painful to admit, but better than ending up in an undesired position. Coriolanus looks somewhat considerate about her nervousness, but he'll still go through with the act, she knows that much.

"You're so nervous that you're doubting your husband's abilities in the bedroom?"

"No."

"Good. Then get onto the bed, darling. Up you go."

Soarynn is glad to put some distance between them and climbs back into bed, watching as he slowly and methodically gets undressed. Soarynn hasn't ever seen what he looks like without a shirt, but he's very well sculpted with a chiseled abdomen. His shoulders are broad and look as if they could carry the weight of the world on them. His arms are huge, and his biceps, well, his biceps are something else.

Soarynn sits back on her knees, hands in her lap, while her husband gets evenly undressed. When he's left in just his boxers, she can see how well-formed he is down there. His cock is straining against his boxers.

This is good, she tells herself, it means he's attracted to you.

Many things can go wrong on your wedding night, but your husband not being able to get it up has to be one of the worst things a bride can experience.

He approaches the bed slowly with his bright eyes trained on her as if he's a predator stalking its prey. Soarynn watches, frozen in her spot on the bed. Coriolanus places one hand on the mattress, causing it to sink down and for him to lower down, almost at eye level with her.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Snow."

꧁ ꧂

The train ride to Four takes about a day.

Soarynn sleeps through most of it, too tired from last night to keep her eyes open for more than five minutes. She doesn't know how Coriolanus is awake, but he is, looking out the large window of their private car. She didn't realize he booked them an entire car, fit with a small bed, an eating area, and a sitting area.

They arrived at the station early this morning, carrying their bags, which were immediately taken away by the attendants. They had knocked about an hour ago, saying something about arriving soon. Soarynn finally rouses herself from her sleep, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

She dressed comfortably for the trip, it is winter after all.

Coriolanus looks over at her on the bed, most likely remembering how she looked when she was pinned under him, gasping as he slid into her for the first time. Soarynn didn't know that type of pain existed before last night. She thought it might be uncomfortable, but instead, it was an unbearable stretch that brought several tears to her eyes.

Coriolanus, to his credit, didn't move while she writhed in pain under him, trying to gain her bearings. Once he did start to move, more pain subsided until it eventually went away, and the pleasure took over. Soarynn hadn't known what to do, what to say during the act, but Coriolanus took the lead.

He said all the right things, plus a few crude things since he's a man at the end of the day. He kept one hand on her hip and the other between her legs, rubbing at her clit. Soarynn never touched herself, so the second his thumb brushed against that sensitive button, she knew she was done for.

Coriolanus brought her to two orgasms before finishing inside of her and staying there for a good ten minutes. "We wouldn't want to be wasteful," he had said, pecking her lips. Soarynn was too tired to argue, so she just lay there, completely at his mercy.

He washed them off in the tub, put on a new nightgown, and tucked her into bed. Her first night as a Snow was in the books.

"Look who's finally awake."

Soarynn has the decency to look guilty, he probably thought she'd keep him company on the train ride. "Did I wear you out that badly last night?" Soarynn clears her throat, while she is no longer a virgin, this type of talk still makes her blush. Which means he's going to do it all the time.

"Are we almost there?" She asks, changing the topic. Soarynn swings her feet over the side of the bed. It's close quarters in their little room. Coriolanus nods, gazing back out the window, he has what looks like the leftovers of lunch in front of him on the table. Soarynn pads over to him, and her stomach growls. Sex takes a lot of work and energy.

"Sit here," he instructs, pulling her by the wrist to sit in his lap. Soarynn doesn't protest, allowing him to wrap an arm around her waist while he rests his chin on her shoulder. "Eat something, I can't have you flying away if it gets too windy at the resort."

Soarynn reaches for a bread roll. Now that the wedding is over, her appetite has been restored. "Do you want me to order anything else? I can call for a menu to be brought."

"No, thank you," she shakes her head, "this is more than enough."

When they leave the train, all this food will be thrown out while people in District Four work their fingers to the bone to afford one single roll that she so casually bites into. Soarynn knows how Coriolanus feels about the people in the Districts. He often refers to them as "scum," and tells her how selfish and greedy they are.

Soarynn remembers her mother telling her that her entire predicament was based on sheer geographical luck. "We were lucky to be born here and not our there," her mother had explained to her, "it's all up to chance whether or not you'll be seen as rich or underserving of human decency." Soarynn had been so young at the time, not fully understanding what her mother meant.

She does now, though. But she also knows better than to voice her opinion against her husbands. It's a foolish thing to do when she's been so lucky. Soarynn has the family name, the ring, the husband, and soon, the child.

As miserable as she might be, it's hard to be upset with the arrangement.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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[inasbdtblogrealnoscam]

🖤

"A prisoner of the subconscious mind

Searching for an answer, oh, what does he find?

Unending deception, lies built upon lies

Behind it, he stands, unveiling disguise

Rain bleeds from the sky, a bloody pouring red

Poor blue blur, held captive in his own little head"

The self-proclaimed "fastest thing alive", known to his enemies and allies alike simply as "the Blue Blur", Sonic the Hedgehog! Dedicated Freedom Fighter, he's been there from the very beginning. Nowadays, though? Trapped within the vast expanse of his own mind, a demon using him as a vessel for their own purpose... all he can do is pray things will turn out fine. Pray, and strike back when he can.

For more information about him, read below the line!

Backstory:

Little is known about Sonic's early upbringing, other than the fact he was orphaned at a young age. As a child, he also met and befriended a young chipmunk named Sally Nettle. The two would spend a lot of time together, always having eachother's back.

When the Robotniks first spawned in Mobius, back when he was seven, Sally was quick to deem them hostile and a threat to the current status quo. Determined to "fix" that situation, she formed the Freedom Fighters. Sonic, swayed by her arguments, joined as its second ever member. The first two weeks of the organization's existence weren't anything too out of the ordinary, with its members simply going out and destroying any "dangerous" technology made by the doctor. However, things were about to change...

One fateful night, Sonic and a few others were sent out on a special night mission. The order was simple - infiltrate one of Robotnik's bases, destroy any tech inside, don't leave out anything. The deployed split up, and the hedgehog was left alone. As he spindashed through the various agressive-looking robots, he started to get into a rhythm, enjoying the sound of metal clanking down to the ground and the feeling of doing right by the world. That feeling soon dissipated, though, as he felt the splash of something cold hitting his quills. A squelch, and a scream.

Terrified, the hedgehog immediately halted his movements, slowly backtracking to see just what happened. It was not a pretty sight. A body, nearly ripped to pieces by the impact of a full-speed spindash. Despite all that damage, though, he recognized it. He recognized that purple dress and those cog-shaped hair clips. He... just killed a child. And not just any child - the daughter of the man he, and everyone, else, were fighting against. Still... she was an innocent. She didn't do all those things Sally was talking about- and, come to think of it, Robotnik didn't, either...

Time seemed to freeze, as Sonic found himself unable to do anything, to even move his eyes away from the corpse. Eventually, though, some other Freedom Fighter made it to the same room (tripping up pretty much every anti-intruder alarm the place had on their way). What followed was something he could never fully recall. Sonic only remembered some bits of it - the anguish and fury of the doctor, staring down at what remained of his daughter. A frantic escape, the feeling of being dragged away by someone else. The praise from the Freedom Fighters and the declaration of war. It all happened so quickly... quicker than even he could handle.

Ever since that day, he grew disillusioned with the Freedom Fighters, and Sally Nettle herself. Sure, NOW her concerns were valid, but they wouldn't be had she just given the dimension travellers a chance to explain themselves. They wouldn't be, had he not blindly believed in her ideals. In her.

He still stuck around, seeing as he was promoted to head of the second unit, as well as the fact that Robotnik was now actually a threat. After the "Vanilla incident", any chance of him and Sally mending their broken friendship was rendered null, as she only grew more cold, distant and paranoid. Forever dissatisfied with life, Sonic slowly accepted that this is just the way things are now, probably.

Having reached the beginning of his twenties, Sonic's life didn't change in any notable way from how it was. Sure, he did make some new alliances, such as the guardian of the Master Emerald, Knuckles, but ultimately, life was just as miserable as always. That was until he met Tails, a young fox who wanted to join the Freedom Fighters to get revenge for his recently-killed parents. Initially only a recruit assigned to Sonic's unit, the two quickly developed a brotherly bond.

Finally, life started to have meaning again. Thanks to their genuine friendship, Sonic started to feel alive again. No longer just going through the motions of life because too many people are depending on him for him to give up, he once again found an idea worth fighting for. Tails deserved a better world, a better life than the one this poor 12-year old had to endure now. And, by Chaos, he was going to give him that life.

Then the Descent happened. Suddenly, everything he was used to toppled as he found himself trapped within his own mind. Unaware of the situation outside, he could only make educated guesses from the brief flashes of reality. Very unpleasant guesses, to put it bluntly.

Yet, somehow, reality found a way to do even worse. When Tails managed to figure out how to spawn within Sonic's subconscious, he was relieved to see his friend after so long. Relief turned to horror, however, as Tails began to describe the situation outside. Sure, he was being suspiciously vague, but consise enough for Sonic to understand what he meant. Almost too vague... as if he was hiding something from him. Determined to know the truth once and for all, the hedgehog began to rapidly start questions, trying to get any sort of specifics out of his younger friend, something, anything. The latter kept pleading, telling his older friend to stop prying too deep into things (which had the exact opposite effect). And then, suddenly...

...suddenly he wasn't talking to Tails anymore. The entity LOOKED like him, but it was grey, had its own entrails wrapped around itself, had insane-looking black eyes with the most dilated red pupils he had ever seen- and it was trying to KILL HIM, for Chaos's sake! During his self-defense, Sonic made it clear about what he thought about demons killing and replacing his friend- he'd never forgive them for it. Never. And whoever was behind it, he'd make them pay. As soon as he figured out how to leave his prison, he'd avenge his fallen friends. He'd kill every single demon he got his hands on.

Personality:

On the outside, Sonic seems like a cocky and sassy individual, taking great pride in his speed and skills alike. He enjoys a good fight and a well-delivered quip at his opponent. To the average person, he seems like the ideal hero - optimistic despite everything. Powerful, but only using that power for good. (If only that was entirely true.)

Sonic was always into the idea of freedom and justice above all else. He prioritizes those two things equally, and considers them intertwined. To him, there's no freedom without justice, and no justice without freedom. It's why continues to stick around the Freedom Fighters, despite finding Sally's ideals to be "a load of shit" - it's because of him that the conflict escalated. Freedom says he could just leave them, but justice says he has to fix his wrongdoings. That, and he's undoubtedly one of the FF's best soldiers. If he left, the very idea of freedom could get shattered by Robotnik's quest for revenge.

My personal lore and design thoughts:

His energetic and sassy attitude is a cover for how he really feels about the world - apathethic and nihillistic. Ever since that night (when he was seven), he's lost pretty much all faith in the world (reaffirmed during the Vanilla incident). His friendship with Tails was the one thing keeping him going, not just following the motions of life without a thought. He doesn't get that luxury anymore, though.

The second I estabilished how the subconscious will work in BDT, I was like "I need to redesign this guy". With that in mind, I started thinking "how would he look like in there?". The phrase "blue blur" came to mind and I just KNEW I had to interpret that literally. The second part was simple, just a bit of motion blur. The blue, however, was a struggle. I wanted it to be extremely vibrant, but it just wasn't looking vibrant enough. To counter that, I simply desaturated the rest of his colors. Modern problems require modern solutions 😎

I kept the black and white eyes, because in my opinion, that's a good way to convey that he's currently possessed, but not actually demonized.

He was still looking a bit too simple, however, so I started to look for things to add. I settled for yoinking the bandages that Boom!Sonic wears. I think it was a good call, makes his design that bit more distinct from his NU counterpart.

As for his lore, I honestly admit I forgot about it for a long while 😭

I thought it'd be fun to make him more involved in the whole beginning of the war. Gives Eggman a reason to hate him a particular, gives Sonic lifelong trauma - it's a lose-lose scenario for both sides and I love it!

Other than that, though, he just sorta... sticks around. Sorry to be so uncreative, but even NU itself isn't creative in that regard, either... Although, his existence during round 1 takes a lot from Sonic.EXE; Retribution (in the sense that he gets brief flashes of the real world, but is ultimately unaware of what's happening), so something interesting is still there, I guess. That, and when I first saw him talking to Tails in the subconscious, I KNEW I had to include it. The context differs a lot (no Chaos Hunter in BDT, which is a shame because I wanted to include him, but couldn't find a feasible way to do so), but the scene idea itself remains. It's why Sonic snaps into control much more during the events of Round 2 - Tails made him aware of the situation outside of his subconscious. It also had the unfortunate side effect of making Green Hill zone resemble its redder NU counterpart that much more. Quite sad.

If I had to describe him in one word, it would be "fierce".

also my friend asked me to add this when I post him

[keeping-writing-frosty]

Teenage Wasteland, Chap. 3, Snippet 2

“Well, if it isn’t the queer squad of Simpsonville,” Lisa laughed at her own joke. “Father says people like you are going to burn in hell. He even says we used to take fags and dykes, and hang ‘em from the railroad bridge down off Lake Harris.”

“Fuck off,” Samantha shot back. “You are just cookie-cutter bitches. Looking like every other unimaginative poser jackass."

Doing her best to direct the pair away from the bullies, Robin shot looks at the twins, who kept egging them on and on. As they kept following the trio, the twins directed insult after insult towards them.

“Hey, unwanted girl, you’re not a dyke, right?” Lisa pushed Tegan’s shoulder from behind, which had Tegan clenching both her jaw and fists. “You pretend to also like guys, right? Or is it that you actually just like guys, but no one wanted you, right?”

Tegan didn’t reply. She did her best to just walk away, to take the higher road. Breathing increasing, thoughts ran through her head at a thousand miles per hour. Not too long ago, she would have struck out against this bully. It’s the last day of school; why not just escape from these confines?

Lisa continued, pushing against Tegan’s shoulder again despite her brother’s protests to stop. “Like your piece of shit mother who left you at the orphanage, she couldn’t even stand you. So, instead of being alone forever. You decide to get with the local dyke, right?”

“Not everyone opens their legs for anything with a dick!” Samantha growled, her face turning a bright red, her fists clenched and veins bulging.

“Too ugly and unwanted for a proper boyfriend, is that it? I think I figured you out,” Lisa mocked, pushing Tegan once more. Samantha moved to stop, but Robin held Sam in place. Sam gave Robin a look but remained silent.

“Come on, just ignore her,” Robin tried her best to soothe the pair. “Let’s just get out of here. Fuck them. Not worth the problems.”

“At least Samantha and Robin are dykes. They know what they are. What the fuck are you, orphan bitch? Just some unwanted girl who had to settle for a—” Lisa had no chance to finish her insult. She had gone on far-too-long.

Turning on her heels, and using all her weight, Tegan punched Lisa right in her Romanesque nose as hard as she could. A clear crunch shook her hand and forced the smaller teen backwards into the arms of her twin brother. Much like a broken dam, there came forth a deluge of blood that covered Lisa’s face and onto her name-brand shirt. Before either twin could react, or even a teacher, the three ran out into the hot early summer. Teachers hot on their tail, but they didn’t follow them out into the parking lot. Lisa did have a reputation for running her mouth.

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @bardic-tales

@dyrewrites

[aanya16071]

Everything Would Have Been Different - Chapter 1

Lauren Sinclair was taken by the Phantom Scythe at the ATST, Kieran White was a Greychapel orphan turned detective turned officer. Both were haunted by the same, young boy. How would things go for THIS Lune?

(I promise I did more than just interchange the names [hopefully], I know what the description looks like)

Basically a rewrite of PH with Lauren as the PH and Kieran as the cop

CW: suc*dial thoughts, mild cursing

(NOTE: no longer posting on Tumblr, updates on AO3)

---x---

The sky was twinkling with distant stars behind the shade of the clouds which Ardhalis rarely ever lost. Lady Grayson had just closed the curtains, about to get back to the paperwork awaiting her.

Fwoosh.

A hand reached for her, clamping her mouth shut.

Rosa… Clara… felt the same fear she had the day men in mask approached her house. To tell her that her father was dead.

She would never know if it was a good thing she didn't have too much time to elaborate on this thought.

Clara felt something metallic on her throat and then nothing.

---x---

BANG!

Robert De La Rocca still had more sense, the killer thought. The gun could have saved him, if it was a lesser assassin sent after him.

Unfortunately for Robert, it was not.

A purple hyacinth fell in the blood, dropped by a gloved hand.

'Greeting from the Leader,' the assassin muttered under her breath.

---x---

7 HOURS AGO

Lauren smirked to herself as she saw the pained smile on the man sitting on the next table. She contemplated offering him her special services for a second. He certainly looked like he would appreciate it.

'Kieran? Are you listening?'

'Hm?' the man, Kieran, seemed to snap back to reality.

'You seem rather lost, dear,' Ms Evans shot him what she apparently thought was a charming smile. 'It should be me lost in your pretty blue eyes. These must have left a trail of swooning women.'

She thought he was lost in her eyes? Lauren snickered, sipping her coffee. The bitterness visibly gave her life.

Kieran, on the other hand, was not even remotely amused by this. He had not felt this much of a need to run since… his last date. Damn, he really needed better taste in women.

'Haha, thank you, Ms Evans, but I highly doubt it,' Kieran laughed politely. He did not doubt it. He was, by all accounts, a flirt. 'Even if they did, I must have been too absorbed in work.'

'Oh, it's the same for me!' the woman lied far too easily for his taste. 'My parents have tried their best to make me into a fitting heir for the company and I'm happy to say they succeeded.'

Kieran barely suppressed an eye-roll. He wondered whether she would be this interested in him if she knew he was from Greychapel. Surely the "fitting heir of the Evans company" wouldn't deign to talk to him, a lowly orphan.

'Ah and yet…' Ms Evans sighed dramatically. 'All they now care about is how I'm twenty-eight and unmarried.'

Gods she's cheating. He was just about to give her a flimsy excuse to escape when he saw the excuse walking by.

Kym locked eyes with him and immediately, a comically large grin, like the one on a toddler's face after getting a sweet, appeared on her face.

'I really appreciate all that police officers do for our city,' Ms Evans did not notice Kieran's wince at "officers", continuing her very real anecdote. 'Once I was shopping and some vagrant came in and pointed a gun at the cashier. He didn't expect a woman to do something, so I took the opportunity and was able to save that poor man! It was just instinct, you know?'

Save me, please.

Kym saluted smartly. And rushed into the cafe.

'Officer White! Emergency! There's a raccoon in my chimney again!'

Could you not have thought of a better excuse, Kym?

'Ah, I'm so sorry, Ms Evans,' No, he wasn't. 'It looks like I'll have to help. It was great meeting you!' If he could hear his own lies, this one would be so bad, he'd be able to see it flashing red in his mind.

'You can't just run off like that! Don't make me waste my time!' the woman actually shrieked, grabbing his hand. Kieran noted uncomfortably that her grip was unusually strong.

Still, he wasn't a det- officer, for nothing. He pulled her hand off with ease.

'You're right. You shouldn't waste your time on me,' his voice was cold now. Almost dangerous. 'Maybe actually try to be this "fitting heir". Or… spend more time with your husband?'

Ms Evans gaped at him. 'What?'

'But you know, even though you're such a human disgrace,' Kieran almost spat the words out. These type of people were exempted from the law, when-

The streets had been so bloody. His parents' bodies lay there among so many others. The cops hadn't even cared. Same for Dylan… they never even tried to find his body.

'I've still dedicated my life to protecting ungrateful cowards like you. It's just instinct, you know?' He bowed. 'Have a lovely evening, Ms Evans.'

Meanwhile, Lauren grinned into her now-empty cup. Heh. Nobles getting bashed had always been her favourite scene. It was the only entertainment at those boring parties.

As a child, she'd sworn to Dylan she'd never grow into one of these hateful people.

Something was peculiar about the man. Kieran. Officer White? Perhaps it hadn't been too hard a guess, but to accuse someone of cheating with such conviction…

She could have a chance to look in more closely if he came to her… job… tonight.

---x---

Kieran groaned as he sat down. Pencils and scraps of paper littered his desk.

It's been ten years and I…

He couldn't bring himself to be glad that he had never witnessed the explosion. He could have found something.

Tristan had been kind to him after that day. He had known that Dylan had a friend who came to meet him on Sinclair property. He didn't know the other two people who lived there. Tristan's brother and sister-in-law. They had died only shortly after.

Both Kieran and Tristan had officially lost everything. Maybe that's why Tristan had always treated him like a son. Even convinced the cop school to give him a chance (which he wasted. An officer. Tch).

He should be happy. Grateful. And he was.

And yet… he couldn't let him go.

The phone rung.

'Hello?' he answered, coughing the rasp away. 'Officer White here. An emergency? What happened?'

He got the bare minimum. '45 Whiteriver Street? Yes. I'll be there.'

He swung the coat on. The mask was secured on his face. His gun was safely tucked in the holster.

I've got a bad feeling about tonight.

---x---

Lauren opened the door to her wardrobe. Behind all the dresses, was an ugly sight.

Her sword was, objectively, a beautiful weapon. Of course, that would only be an opinion agreed upon if it laid in a museum, used by some long-forgotten murderer who the police never found.

Well.

Ardhalis was not bound to forget the Purple Hyacinth anytime soon.

They may have forgotten about Lauren Sinclair. A noble girl caught in the ATST. Yes. Very tragic. Moving on.

But the memories of those cursed flowers, bathed in blood…

They would haunt this city for centuries to come.

Just like he would her. His picture hung in the midst of the overcrowded bulletin board, just next to the wardrobe.

Not even after all the blood I have shed…

She pulled the mask over her face, the sword hidden behind her cloak. A hood hid her flaming red hair.

The two flowers in her pocket felt heavy.

It's been ten years and I… still couldn't do anything for you.

---x---

Assassins.

For a decade, we have terrorized Ardhalis City.

No one has ever seen our leader.

Terrorists. Thieves. Killers.

We seem so united.

Together… we are the Phantom Scythe.

Tch.

No one in Ardhalis could ever call the name pretty. But it was, wasn't it?

Too pretty for the rot underneath.

Lauren left a little more of her humanity drenched in blood and covered by that goddamned flower. The bullet De La Rocca had shot hadn't even grazed her. She wished it had.

Not for the first time, she considered just putting that stupid sword through her chest.

She was knocked out of her pleasant thoughts when she heard a yell of, 'Over there!'

Wow, the APD only scores a 9 on the incompetence test today!

'Someone escaped through the window!' some officers began pursuit. She almost laughed. Did they think they'd be able to catch her on foot?

The APD clearly knew nothing of the Phantom Scythe. And their training methods.

'Kieran wait!' some blonde guy was shouting. 'Goddamnit.'

He turned to snatch his mask off his face, barking orders. 'Ladell, follow me! They might still be alive!'

Yeah, fat chance. But wait…

Lauren almost stumbled.

WILL?

She was shaken out of it when she noticed a dark haired officer gaining on her. Well fuck.

She jumped to the next rooftop. The man followed, with a little difficulty.

---x---

Shit, he's actually fast.

Kieran winced a little at what Will would have to say about him running after the suspect without orders.

The alleged murderer seemed to hesitate a little at Will's snapping voice. That Lieutenant's commands even slow down killers.

The assailant came to a stop when rooftops close enough to leap over finished. His hood had been thrown back, likely by all the running.

Brilliant crimson hair blew across his face. Was it a he?

Even with the mask on, Kieran could see the smirk on the killer's face.

Before he (she? they?) leapt down the fucking building.

'If you think I'll let you slip through my fingers…' he muttered under his breath, before following.

He chased the redhead to a dead end.

Ha! I've got you now.

The assassin began to climb the wall with unnerving ease. Kieran leapt, boot striking the face mid-ascent. He held on, before a knife shot out, forcing him to let go. Both of them tumbled down, Kieran's gun falling away.

The assassin dodged all his strikes, pushing him back to a wall, before drawing a sword and coming at him.

Crap. They'll kill me at this rate.

With two (dramatic) kicks, both masks were flung off.

---x---

Lauren's suspicions were confirmed. This was the man from the cafe.

They both stared at each other, shock evident. Her sword was drawn to his neck.

She was supposed to slash, get it done with, but-

The electric blue eyes triggered a memory. Dylan had been animatedly talking about his new friend.

'His eyes look so weird,' he had giggled. 'In a good way!'

A thin line of blood appeared on the man's neck.

---x---

On that night…

You could have killed me.

But you hesitated.

And I didn't know why.

If only I did…

Everything would have been different.

[ikeprinces-stuff]

Since her series is out now-

𝑀𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑐 : 𝑅𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛 (𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑖)

Rhapsody Of Life

“𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦,

𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯...”

Name : Romarin ?????? (always keep an eye on the ??????)

Paired with : Leon Dompteur 🦁

Relationship : Romantic (?)

Age : 27

Height : 180 cm (5'9 ft) (like... Super tall)

Hair colour : Snow-white hair

Eye colour : Jadean green

Nicknames: Dollface, Birdie, Romy, future sister-in-law, bird-lady

She's usually associated to birds such as crows, doves and sparrows, for she shares some of these birds attributes and symbolisms.

Romarin, a musician with a wandering spirit, has managed to remain an enigma across the continent. Despite her fame, her identity remains unknown to many: who are her parents, where did she come from, what was she like before becoming an itinerant musician? And what motivates her?

Despite her humble beginnings, Romarin captures not only the ears of audiences through her music, but also their hearts. While her talent has gained her many fans and admirers, it's unexpected that she would also catch the eye of someone who is just as adept at winning hearts.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Early life :

A mysterious baby girl was found abandoned in front of a nursing home for orphans and foundlings, leaving the workers at the facility in a state of shock and confusion. The baby had a necklace with a gemstone in the middle and letter next to her with her name written on it. The contents of the letter left the workers wondering, as it only contained a musical note.

From a young age, Romarin had a special connection with music, and she began to play the violin and the piano at just six years old. As she grew up, She began to gain determination to know her identity and where she came from, she learned that there was a musical note left near her when she was left in front of the orphanage. This note and necklace became Romarin's most prized possessions, treasuring them dearly, holding on to the hope that it would one day lead her to the truth.

Romarin, determined to uncover the truth about her identity and the meaning behind the musical note, aside from the fact that she discovered the dark truth about the place she once called home, made the difficult decision at the age of 10 to run away from the orphanage and embark on a journey as an itinerant musician. With her violin and her musical intuition as her only guide, Romarin set out on a quest to find the answers to her most pressing questions, and to discover the hidden truths about her past and her destiny.

Her arrival to Rhodolite :

The noble houses in Rhodolite found an exceptional talent in Romarin's breathtaking playing. Her skills at the violin and piano won hearts and invitations to play for others, and she entered the circles of nobility in the kingdom. One night, however, Romarin found herself in a precarious situation... After receiving an invitation to play for one noble family, she gave the last concert that they would hear.

The events that took place at the noble house were beyond Romarin's wildest imagination. Her beautiful music was drowned out by the chaos and bloodshed that erupted around her, leaving her as the sole survivor of the massacre. To her horror, she realized that she had unintentionally become the sole witness to the gruesome crime. The individuals responsible for the killings were acutely aware of Romarin's presence and were now searching for her.

Romarin found herself in a grave situation. The revelation of her eyewitness status sparked a hunt for her, putting her in great peril. She grew increasingly suspicious of being followed and carefully kept a distance from any and all male figures. Each passing day became a race for survival against her unknown stalkers as Romarin battled to stay alive and escape the clutches of those who sought her silence.

Meeting Leon :

Despite facing a difficult decision that led to him being crowned king at a heavy cost, Leon's attention was drawn to a enchanting sound of a violin. As he listened, his ears were captivated by the music, but his eyes and heart were even more captivated by the performer who was playing it, and their eyes met on that bright night. Romarin, who has grown accustomed to being eyed by fans and admirers and also cautious of any being approaches her, remained wary of Leon despite feeling no negative intentions emanating from him.

Romarin and Leon first met near the capital's fountain, and since then it has become their go-to meeting spot. Whenever the two wish to rendezvous, either Leon or Romarin can be seen waiting there for the other.

It began with a deception: Romarin fake-kissed Leon, claiming it was a ploy to throw off a stalker, but the act backfired, leading others to believe that the two were in love - a conclusion that was witnessed by the eyes of a royal figure, Prince Yves Kloss.

Romarin had an established reputation in Rhodolite that she cherished, and she feared it would be sullied by the false display and foolish courtship she had engaged in with Leon, who she found out also had a notable reputation amongst the populace. Furthermore, Romarin didn't wish to humiliate the person who had gone along with the charade and stain his reputation as well. As a result, she resolved to keep up the pretense of being a couple.

Although the facade was intended to deceive people, its sincerity was evident to Romarin and Leon. Leon, having learned about love and the joy of being loved, clung to Romarin, wishing to experience that bliss once more. Romarin continued to resist, yet she always failed, as Leon truly was a one-of-a-kind. Despite her travels and interactions with other charming men, none of them compared to him.

But the most significant obstacle between them is their recognition of one another's honest nature. Leon kept his true identity as the king of Rhodolite a secret from Romarin, and this was to be expected, given his position. Romarin, on the other hand, remained shrouded in mystery, and she was still to uncover the truth about herself.

The fact that she had a mysterious past that she wasn't fully aware of, coupled with her anxiety that she would've to give up her current life, which she had worked hard to build, often weighed heavily upon her mind. Yet, her goal to unravel this past remained her first and last priority, and she refused to allow anything or anyone to distract her from it, even when it came to love.

About herself :

She has an impulsive personality, but this doesn't affect her calmness and intelligence. She always likes to have the upper hand, which makes people think that she's domineering and arrogant, but all of this is so that they don't underestimate her because of her gender (No! She is not a feminist!)

She has a cautious nature when it comes to strangers who want to approach her, just like a crow, she has conditions for trusting a person that she doesn't reveal publicly but rather prefers to see whether the stranger matches the conditions or not, but when she met Leon, she felt a familiar feeling, even though it was the first time she saw him, there was something telling her that she should trust him without hesitation.

She cherishes music like the air she breathes, because thanks to it her dream of traveling and seeing the world became more accessible, but of course with a few obstacles. She gets very upset when she doesn't play the violin as if it were a daily necessity for her, some people might say she's a violin nut.

Her weapons that helped her survive and develop all these years is her sweet and bitter tongue, her shrewdness and quick wit, and her violin, whether musical or literal. She likes to threaten to beat someone with the violin bow without hesitation. (She literally smacked someone with her violin DUH!!)

OC TAGS : @reborn-elven-spirit @citrusmornings @aquagirl1978 @chirp-a-chirp @wistfulwanderingone

[stardust948]

Fire Family in Castlevania Nocturne AU

Azula was Head Priestess of the Sun Warriors in charge tending to the great Sun Spirit Agni's mortal form, a huge dragon. After he died, his hearts were stolen by vampire raiders before Azula could finish the ceremony. The surviving Sun Warriors left the city to settle down elsewhere, including her children, but Azula chose to stay behind. She eventually killed a vampire and drank his blood to become one herself. Azula embarked on a new journey to revive Agni and enact her revenge.

A few hundred years later, Azula broke into the dungeons under the Fire Palace to meet the Ex-Firelord Ozai; the world's cruelest Firelord. Under his reign, the Air Nomads were genocide, Water Tribes nearly wiped out, and Earth Kingdom thrown into chaos; all in the name of the strongest element Fire. Ozai was recently overthrown by his son Zuko and was awaiting execution. Azula was impressed by his accomplishments but not surprise since Ozai was one of her descendants. She offered him a chance he couldn't refuse.

To become a god.

After drinking Agni's blood, Ozai turned into a vampire and reclaimed his throne. Zuko sacrificed himself to give his family time to escape. The Fire Nation is thrown into a Civil War as people rebel against the self-proclaim Vampire Messiah but with Azula's help, the rebellions are squashed and influence spread.

Zuko's family formed a Vampire hunting clan called the White Lotus. They were the strongest vampire hunters with the most powerful firebending. They also had their special heirloom weapon, dual sword wielded by Firelord Zuko himself. But over the years they were picked off by Ozai and Azula's army until only a few remained; Iroh and his family.

Iroh and Ursa are siblings in this AU. They were orphaned at a young age, so Iroh raised Ursa and taught her everything he knew. They were an unstoppable team until Iroh's son Lu Ten was captured and turned into a vampire. Iroh killed him out of mercy and fell into a deep depression afterwards. But Iroh never told Ursa what happened so from her perspective it looked like he just gave up. They split over this.

Ursa took the dual swords and left the Fire Nation. She eventually had a son and named after Firelord Zuko. Ursa trained him how to fight vampires and firebend also.

Things get very dangerous in the Earth Kingdom as people rebel against their vampire masters. Ursa planned to send Zuko to a small village in the Fire Nation where their distant cousin clan, the Beifongs, live. Zuko wanted to stay with Ursa and help with the rebellions but on their way to the boats, they're attacked by no other than Ozai himself. He heard rumors of his son's decedents still alive and came to kill them personally.

Ursa hid Zuko then fights Ozai. It's a close battle until Zuko stepped in to aid his mother. This distracted Ursa which gave Ozai the upper hand. He cruelly killed Ursa and drank her blood in front of Zuko, who was too frozen with fear to move. Ozai was amused to learn the boy was named after his own traitorous son. So instead of outright killing Zuko, Ozai branded his face then told him they will meet again. Distraught, Zuko takes the dual swords from his mother's corpse then ran to the boat heading towards the Fire Nation.

A decade later, he does run into Ozai again. Zuko froze up like the first time as Ozai taunted him. Katara saved him then scolded him for freezing like that. They fight and Zuko ran off to clear his head. He found himself in a tea shop and watched the owner take out a couple of vampires like it was nothing. Zuko was amazed and struck up a conversation with him. It's eventually revived the owner was Zuko's Uncle Iroh who had been hiding out here for years. After some tension, he decided to rejoin the fight alongside his nephew.

With Katara, Toph, and a Vampire Family friend (I still haven't decided who yet), they take on Ozai and Azula and finally defeat them for good.

[rainwingmarvel7]

Teenage Wasteland/My Ordinary Life - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - They Tell Me I’m A God

Tags: @weltsarchives (let me know if you want to be added!)

         Everything was falling apart. Only hours after Asgard had been destroyed by Surtur in order to defeat Fenrir’s aunt, who he had only recently become aware of, the Mad Titan, Thanos, had arrived on their ship, slaughtering half of the Asgardians left. Fenrir had been lucky to escape, along with his sisters, Idun and Skadi, with the other half chosen to survive, but his parents had been left behind, along with his uncle Thor and several others.

            They had still been alive when they had been separated. But then, as he watched, the part of the ship his parents were on had exploded. The chances of anyone surviving that blast was almost none, and he knew that. As far as he knew, his parents were dead, and he was now an orphan.

            But the day wasn’t done yet. Eventually, after several more hours of waiting, the survivors had arrived at their destination, Earth. But before they had a chance to celebrate their small victory, tragedy struck again.

            Something had happened, Fenrir assumed it was Thanos, and people started disappearing, turning to dust right before his eyes. And that included his sisters.

            “Fenrir…” Idun murmured, looking down at her hands as they began to crumble away into dust. “Something is wrong. I don’t know what’s happening-”

            A terrified shriek interrupted her, and Fenrir followed her gaze to their little sister, Skadi, barely even two years old, as she became a cloud of dust, the last thing to disappear being her scared face. “No…” Fenrir muttered, tears welling in his eyes.

            “Fenrir, listen to me,” Idun said, her voice stronger now. “Don’t be scared. It’s OK. You can get through this.” Her eyes glinted with sadness, and now she had almost completely turned to dust. “I know you can.”

            And then she was gone. Fenrir sank to his knees, letting out a choked sob. Only ten years old and he was already alone. Why did he have to be the only one left?

            He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up, rubbing his nose with his sleeve, to see Valkyrie, the woman who had helped his uncle escape Sakaar and then to defeat Hela. “Hey kid,” she said, her voice gentle. “We’re going to figure this out, OK?”

            Fenrir nodded weakly, then reached out to hug her, looking for any source of comfort he could find. After a moment, he felt her arms wrap around him, and for a moment, they just sat there, Fenrir crying into Valkyrie’s shoulder as she held him close, letting him get it all out.

            He was finally able to settle down and pull away after several moments, although his cheeks were still stained with tears and he could feel more threatening to spill out. Valkyrie wiped one from his face, offering him a small, sad smile, and ruffled his hair, standing up straight again.

            But before anything else could happen, they were interrupted by a group of beings, dressed in all black and carrying strange-looking sticks with glowing points, emerging from a portal that had suddenly appeared right next to them.

           The leader, a large woman with dark skin and a hard expression, stopped in front of Fenrir and Valkyrie, holding her weapon threateningly. “Fenrir Lokison, on behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the Sacred Timeline.”

           Fenrir took a step back, confused, and more than a little terrified, and looked up at Valkyrie, hoping she would know what to do. She already had her sword drawn and was moving to stand in front of him protectively. “You’re not taking the kid.”

           The woman was unfazed. “Ma’am, please step aside.” Valkyrie didn’t move. “Alright, fine, we gave you a choice, but now I’m afraid I’m going to have to use force.”

          “You can try,” Valkyrie responded, readying her Dragonfang, and Fenrir took a step closer to her.

           The woman made a gesture with her hand, and the agents behind her fanned out, surrounding Fenrir and Valkyrie. “Don’t worry, Fenrir,” Valkyrie murmured to him. “I won’t let them take you.”

          The agents started to close in, their weapons ready, glowing tips pointed towards Valkyrie and Fenrir. Valkyrie struck out, but they were ready for her. The agent she had been aiming for raised her stick to stop the attack, and Valkyrie’s Dragonfang collided with it harmlessly.

         The agent shoved back at her, knocking Valkyrie off balance, then kicked out, catching her in the midsection. Valkyrie stumbled backwards with a gasp, but managed to recover in time to block another agent's weapon with her blade. “Fenrir, run!”

         Fenrir obeyed, turning around to make a run for it, but he didn’t make it very far before one of the agents - the leader - grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back towards her. “Not so fast, kid. You’re coming with us.”

         “Let me go!” Fenrir cried, trying to summon magic - any form of it he knew - to free himself, but unlike his father, he was not very good at it yet, and so the only thing that happened was his fingertips turning green, and even that lasted only a few seconds.

          So instead, he resorted to the traditional method of kicking and screaming, thrashing around in the hopes that the agent would let him go, but she had an iron grip on him. Even as he fought against her, she continued to drag him closer to the portal she and the other agents had come from, and he realized he only had one hope left. Valkyrie.

         “Valkyrie! Help!” he shouted, reaching out frantically for her. She turned to look at him at his call, still locked in combat with the other agents, and her eyes widened as she realized just how close they were to taking Fenrir.

          “Hang on, Fenrir!” she cried, shoving one of the agents away and spinning to kick another in the face. “I’m coming!” But she never made it.

         One of the agents took advantage of her distraction and jabbed the glowing end of his stick into her back. Valkyrie jerked forward, surprised, then, as Fenrir watched, she began to disintegrate - not like Idun and Skadi had - into a cloud of colorful smoke, until she was gone. “NOOOO!” Fenrir screamed, tears blurring his vision once again.         

         He threw himself towards the spot she had just been in, but the agent’s grip on him was too strong, so he was immediately jerked back into her, his head banging against her chest plate painfully.

        “Place the charges,” the agent ordered, snapping some kind of band around his neck, and Fenrir watched, no longer trying to struggle, since there was no one to save him anymore, as four of the agents produced strange looking cylinders that glowed purple, and put them at various places on the ground.

        The agents pressed down on the tops of them and twisted, and from where they were inserted into the ground, the same vibrant, sparking wave of energy that had taken Valkyrie was now spreading across the ground, leaving no sign of any disturbance behind. But Fenrir didn’t get to see what happened after that.

        He was pulled through the portal and emerged in a lobby of some sort, the lead agent still gripping him by the arm. No one reacted to the arrival of the terrified, sobbing ten-year old Asgardian boy, except for a few quick, uninterested glances in his direction as people took note of his presence, but even then, most people didn’t even do that.

        It was strange to go from the chaos of the fight that had just played out to the quiet of the sparsely populated lobby, and it took Fenrir a minute to reorientate himself. His sobs now seemed incredibly loud in the silence, and he suddenly felt terribly embarrassed.

       The woman holding him dragged him forward past the giant circle desk in the middle of the room, where a man dressed in business casual in a dress shirt with pens clipped to the pocket and tan work pants was waiting with a sympathetic look on his face.

      “Hello ma’am, hey there, kid,” he greeted as they walked by, offering him a smile. “Welcome to the TVA.” He gave Fenrir a little wave before he was led into the next room.

      The agent released him as he stepped inside, and as he spun around to see what was happening, the door slid shut, locking him in. He felt another jolt of panic at being stuck inside such a small, dark, and unknown space, and tried desperately not to start crying again.

      He heard a booping noise, followed by the sound of something metal moving, from behind him, and he froze, hoping whatever it was wasn’t hostile. He felt something cold and metallic touch his shoulder, and he spun around to see a now-activated robot looking back at him.

      The lights flickered on as it stared at him, metal arms clicking as it studied him. It poked at his clothing for a moment, inspecting the armor, before retracting its arms again. Fenrir watched it with wide eyes, not willing to move in case it had some sort of attack programming that might kick in.

       It looked at him for a moment, booping to itself as it continued to study him, giving him the quick message to “hold very still”, before a bright orange light suddenly shot out from what appeared to be a sort of laser gun attachment, passing over Fenrir’s body, searing off all his clothes, including the undergarments, leaving him completely naked.

       Fenrir blinked, surprised, and stared up at the robot’s screen face, before suddenly the floor opened up under him and he fell. When he landed, he was in an entirely new set of clothes, a tan jumpsuit accented by orange, with the abbreviation “TVA” written over his chest on the right, and a grayish-blue shirt, also with orange accents, on underneath. It was a bit baggy, especially at the bottom, but other than that it fit perfectly.

       In this room, there was a bored-looking man sitting at a desk behind a large stack of paper with a pen sitting on it. He looked down at Fenrir, pushing his glasses further up his face. Fenrir just looked at him and sniffled, wiping the snot still running from his nose with his hand. He felt something weave between his legs and looked down to see a brown-furred tabby cat staring back up at him. It meowed at him in greeting, and then went back to weaving around him.

       The man cleared his throat, and Fenrir looked back up at him. “Please sign to verify that this is everything you’ve ever said,” the man instructed, pushing the stack of papers towards him.   

        Without a word, Fenrir obediently took the pen and, standing up a little on his tip-toes, signed his name on the line indicated for him to do so. Once he was done, he took a step back, and then the floor opened up out from underneath him once again, dropping him into yet another room.

        This one was empty, except for some sort of detector in the middle of the room, and a small, also bored-looking man with a clipboard in one hand. He glanced up at Fenrir as he landed, then back down at his clipboard, waiting for Fenrir to approach.

        The young boy got to his feet, having fallen over during the landing, and slowly stepped forward, eyeing the detector nervously. “Come on, kid,” the man said impatiently. “Let’s get you checked out.”

      “What are you going to do?” Fenrir asked quietly, aware that he was shaking a little.

      “Oh, don’t worry about it, kid,” the man said dismissively. “It’s just procedure. Now, please confirm to your knowledge that you are not a fully robotic being, were born an organic creature, and do in fact possess what most cultures would call a soul.”

       Fenrir blinked at him. “Why? What happens if I’m a robot?”

       The man checked something on his clipboard. “You’ll be fine. Just step through, please.”

       Hesitantly, Fenrir obeyed, taking slow, careful steps until he was standing in the detector. He held his breath as he did, anxious as to what would happen, but nothing did. The only thing that did happen was a buzzing sound followed by a quick flash of light, and then what looked to be a photograph of some sort slid out of a little slot beside the man, and he took it. After a few seconds, the photograph became visible, although Fenrir didn’t understand what the splotches of red, blue, green, and yellow actually meant.

      “What is that?” he asked, unable to hide his curiosity.

       “Your temporal aura,” the man responded casually, as if he had had to explain this many times, which he probably had, Fenrir realized. There must have been dozens, if not hundreds or thousands, of beings who came through here on a regular basis.

      “What’s a temporal aura?” Fenrir asked. He felt like he was asking too many questions, and the man seemed to think so too.

      “Please, through the door,” the man said, gesturing towards the door in front of Fenrir on the other side of the detector. It opened to reveal another, larger room, that was much brighter, although still rather empty.

      Fenrir did as he was told and stepped through into the room, and he found that it was a waiting area. There were only a few other beings there, besides the guard waiting for him by the door behind a booth and another at the other end of the room by a row of even more bored-looking staff workers all seated behind a glass window, most of them appearing to be human or near-human.

       Fenrir stepped up to the first guard, who barely even glanced down at him as he approached. In front of the boy was a dispenser with the words “Take Tab” on it for instructions.

       He glanced over at the guard, waiting for instructions, but he didn’t seem to notice. Hesitantly, Fenrir moved over to the dispenser and pulled a ticket, as instructed. The guard still didn’t react. Unsure of what to do next, Fenrir decided to take a risk.

      “Uh, excuse me, sir?” he asked timidly. Now, the guard looked down at him.

      “Yeah, what is it kid?” he asked, not unkindly.

      “What am I supposed to do with this ticket?” Fenrir inquired.

      “Just go through the line and show it to one of the people over there,” he responded, pointing at the staff workers on the other side of the room.

       “OK, thank you,” Fenrir said, and the guard nodded.

       “Of course, kid, no problem. And by the way, good luck.”

        “Good luck with what?” Fenrir asked, a little worried as to what that meant.

       “You’ll see,” the guard responded simply. Well that didn’t make him feel any better. But he did as the guard said and made his way through the maze of line dividers over to the staff workers.

        The one closest to him, a middle-aged woman with light brown hair tied back into a ponytail, showing off a few gray streaks, looked up at him as he approached. “You have your ticket?”

        Fenrir nodded and held out his ticket for her to see. The woman took it for a moment, studied it, and then nodded and passed it back to him. “You’re good. Now go show this to him, please.” She indicated the guard near them, by the door on that side of the room.

        “OK, thank you,” Fenrir said again politely. He did as the woman said, and moved over to the other guard, who looked down at him as he approached, more alert than the one on the other side of the room where he had come in.

       “Got your ticket, kid?” the guard asked.

       “Yes, sir,” Fenrir responded, showing him the ticket. The guard took it from him and scanned it closely, then nodded, satisfied, and stepped aside. “Go on in, kid.”

        Again, Fenrir did as he was told. He moved through the door, into the next room, which appeared to be a courtroom. It was practically empty, except for a few guards standing in various places around the room, and the judge seated at her bench, looming over the rest of the room, and Fenrir felt her judgmental gaze burning into him as he approached the podium where one of the guards directed him to stand. There was also a man in a tan suit with peppered white hair seated on one of the benches, watching him closely.

       Fenrir stopped when he reached the podium, and looked up at the judge. She stared down at him for a moment, then began reading off of a piece of paper she held in her hands. “Fenrir Lokison, you have been accused of crimes against the Sacred Timeline. How do you plead?”

       “I don’t know what I did,” Fenrir responded nervously. He still didn’t know why he was here.

       “You disrupted the flow of the Sacred Timeline, which is a punishable crime,” the judge responded flatly. “How do you plead?”

        Fenrir still didn’t understand. “I-I don’t-”

        “Guilty,” the judge decided, banging her gavel decisively. She motioned for the guard standing by Fenrir to move over to him, but before he could, pulling out his orange-tipped stick menacingly, the man in the tan suit suddenly stood up.

       “Wait!” he exclaimed, and the guard stopped, as everyone, including Fenrir and the judge, turned their attention towards him.

       “What is it, Mobius?” the judge asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

        “He’s just a kid, Ravonna,” the man, Mobius, said, gesturing to Fenrir. “Give him a chance.”

         Ravonna raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re just saying that because he’s Loki’s son.”

       Mobius shrugged. “I mean yeah, kind of,” he admitted. “But he’s still a kid. He doesn’t even know what he did. Are you even gonna tell him why he’s here?”

        Ravonna didn’t respond, grinding her jaw with frustration as she thought. Fenrir looked to Mobius, who saw him and gave him a reassuring wink, whispering, “I got this.” He turned to Ravonna, then said, louder. “Let me take care of him.”

       “Mobius-” Ravonna started, but Mobius kept talking over her.

       “I can handle this, trust me,” he insisted. “I’ll teach him what to do. Maybe he can even help us, I don’t know, and we won’t know unless we give him a chance.”

       Ravonna sighed, defeated. He wasn’t going to give up on this, she knew. “Alright, fine, Mobius, but if anything goes wrong, it’s on you.”

       “I understand,” Mobius said with a nod, putting his hands in his pant pockets. “Thanks, Ravonna.”

       She gave him a nod of acknowledgement, her lips set in a thin line. She banged her gavel again. “Case dismissed. Next!”

       The guard standing by Fenrir, no longer brandishing his stick, directed him towards Mobius, who waved for the boy to follow him out of the room, which Fenrir was quick to do.

       “Come on, kid,” Mobius said as they started to walk out of the room, putting a hand on Fenrir’s back to lead him along.

           They ended up in an elevator, with just the two of them, and Fenrir looked out in amazement at the entire city that could be seen through the glass of the elevator. It was both strange and magnificent at the same time, seeming both stuck in the past and far in the future, all of it golden and glorious.

       “Wow,” Fenrir muttered quietly. “This is…amazing.”

       “Yeah, it’s pretty incredible,” Mobius agreed from behind him. “And you’ll be seeing it every day.”

        The elevator came to a stop, and with a ding, the doors slid open, revealing a long hallway, with stone walls and fluorescent lights running all the way down. Mobius stepped out and began walking at a brisk, purposeful pace, and Fenrir hurried to keep up with him.

       “Where are we going?” he asked, looking up at the man curiously.

       Mobius paused in front of a room with large, secure-looking doors, and Fenrir did the same. “There’s something I want to show you, Fenrir, and it’s pretty darn important.”

[mommyofkittens]

A Court of Fallen Heroes: Chapter 13 - The Weight of What Remains

Chapter 13

The Weight of What Remains

          The flames had left nothing but charred bones and collapsed buildings, smoke still rising in thick black plumes over the ruins of Thaibar. The remains sizzled as the city's remaining guards nearly emptied the wells in a desperate attempt to salvage something. A lone shadow paused at the edge of an ash-covered street and watched as survivors crawled through the rubble, their faces streaked with soot and desperation. Orphaned children cried in the arms of strangers, women in tattered clothes tried to dig out the bodies of their loved ones, and men, drained of all strength, lifted hollow eyes to the palace guards who eyed them with a mixture of contempt and indifference.

          Azriel flexed his wings, hesitated for a moment before pulling back his blood- and dust-stained boot. His gaze drifted to the smoldering farm. No one rushed to see if there was anyone left to save, though he knew the grim truth. He couldn't blame them - these people were drowning in their own grief. After cutting down a few brave soldiers who had tried to hunt him down, he had fled to the stables, freeing the few animals that had survived the night. 

          " Order! Stop crowding! " One of the captains shouted, shoving an old man who groaned in pain as his burned skin peeled off onto the heated stones. " And get rid of those who are no longer useful! "

          Chaos broke out between the guards, who had lost their last shred of humanity and patience, and the helpless citizens, who had lost everything. Some demanded justice, shouting that whoever had done this should be brought to justice and that they deserved compensation. Others whispered that the king had gone mad and set fire to the haystacks in the middle of the night. And those caught between life and death spoke of magic.

          A man dressed in royal purple, an envoy of the king, cleared his throat and stepped onto a crate to be heard. " Brothers! Listen to me! " He struggled to rise above the chorus of agonized groans and the workers turning over corpses and muttering to each other. " I beg your attention! Brothers and sisters! "

          But no one seemed to care - until his armed escort, whose sword was far too sharp for this kind of gathering, grabbed a woman by the arm and pressed the blade to her throat.

          " If you do not stop and listen, you will all end up like this! " His authoritative growl instantly silenced the square. Then, with a violent shove, he released the dust-covered woman and motioned for the royal messenger to proceed. 

          " Look around you - see what our invisible enemies are capable of! The very ones we have fought for centuries to eradicate! One of these creatures escaped last night and is roaming freely among us, spreading chaos and destruction! This is the work of a witch! See what magic does, see what those who wield this forbidden weapon are capable of! A madwoman of immense power, hiding among the peasants in the hills, has burned your village to the ground! She slaughtered your brothers and sisters, your mothers and fathers! Look what she has left behind - blood and ruin! But do not fear. King Draegan assures you that he will find her and bring justice. You will be compensated for your losses. The culprit will be caught and brought to justice! "

          Lies.

          Azriel clenched his jaw and scanned the captive faces around him. He understood that most of them could not even read, but they should not have been so easily fooled - especially when they knew only too well the suffering Draegan had inflicted on them over the years. The king himself was the architect of this massacre, and now he was twisting history, manipulating the crowd to wash away his sins and place the blame on a scapegoat.

          " We will seek help, we will spread this message beyond our borders, we will find the culprit! " The envoy declared, his voice dropping to a solemn tone, as if they were about to execute the last survivor of this disaster. " In the meantime, all those present will be welcomed to the palace for... a more thorough investigation. "

          He let the words sink in like a noose around their throat before adding, almost as an afterthought. " And, of course, for medical care! " His voice rose again, feigning reassurance. Then he smiled and led them into neat rows where they were searched under the pretense of looking for injuries.

          Azriel stood there, his hands now bound, and watched as the people surrendered, willingly walking toward their slaughter like pigs, unaware of the butcher's blade. 

          If he tore through the guards now, cutting their throats in a swift storm of steel, it would do no one any good. Not him, not the survivors - for what then? He had no way to save them all, no one would come to their aid in time. And to the rest of the world, he would look like the villain of this tragedy, not its witness.

          So this time, he would watch as their sentence was signed in blood.

          A scent of dried herbs and freshly bloomed lilac drifted around him like a ghostly whisper. Cautiously, he brushed his middle finger imperceptibly against the dagger strapped to his hip. He didn't turn around, even though the stranger had already overstepped every reasonable boundary, too close to his comfort zone. His shadows stirred, rising like the gossamer folds of a veil, curling protectively around him.

          " You've been following me ever since I set foot on this continent. " The Shadowsinger's words were muffled behind his black mask.

          " I would rather call it leading, not following. Following is... scary. Not really my thing. " The woman smiled, her violet eyes flicking over his broad shoulders to the people lined up - the place she once called home. " I wanted to talk to you, but you're frustratingly hard to catch. And besides, you make more mistakes than you care to admit. "

          " If you were trying to impress me, you chose the wrong approach. " Azriel turned slightly, one ear to the sounds of the ruined city, the other to the stranger standing an arm's length away. He swallowed a curse as he finally caught sight of her, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and interest. His voice fell to something grim. " I don't talk to strangers. Especially witches. "

          Bitterness bubbled up in his chest, smothered only by the creeping unease that always came from being within five paces of a witch. He hadn't encountered many of them in his five hundred years, but that nagging feeling - the unease they brought - was unmistakable.

          He'd tried to dissect this feeling over the centuries. To understand why it had taken root in his ribs like a parasitic vine. The most plausible explanation was simple: witches were born of chaos. Their magic - wild, unfettered - was unlike anything he'd seen from High Lords or fae warriors. And he had no idea how their power manifested itself. Did it come from personality? From something deeper? He had no idea. 

          With High Fae, you might expect elemental abilities- fire, ice, air, something within a known range. But witches? Witches could use fire and necromancy. Water and blood magic. You never knew what trick they had hidden up those billowing sleeves.

          Just as he had no idea what kind of glittering, nightmarish thing the woman before him might unleash, whether she would strip his mind bare, freeze him in place, or turn him into a pathetic little toad.

          Her smile curled lazily under the black hood that shadowed her hair. " You say it like it's a bad word, witch. Your mother's line draws its seer powers from bitches like me and many others. It's like cursing your own family, boy. "

          Azriel's dark eyebrows knitted together, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth almost ground against each other. " Quit talking about my mother while you still have that tongue behind your teeth. "

          " Her powers come from the oldest among us - dead, of course. Sybil the Seeress. The fucking faes gouged out her eyes. They only know how to destroy, anyway... " She continued uninterrupted, even disgusted, tilting her chin toward the still-smoldering city. Not even the sun could penetrate the thick, black clouds that loomed over the former Thaibar. Then again, it had never really shone here- the barren fields had always failed to produce enough grain to feed the people, making imports crucial. But now it was even worse.

          " I'm aware that your kind have not been treated very... lively? " The man murmured thoughtfully, the sarcasm leaving a foul taste on his tongue. " How many of you are left? A thousand, maybe two? "

          Her crimson lips snaked at one corner, as if to say that as long as they lived, they could still rule the world. " Five hundred and seventy-six. " The words scattered into the wind, and the remnants of a charred building suddenly burst into nervous flames, sending the villagers screaming in terror. " Seventy-seven today, if all goes well... But I do not mourn. The greatest among us are still hiding, waiting. "

          " A witch's pride- always something I admired... and the very reason you were all burned alive. " The illyrian inhaled the scent of charred flesh, the acrid stench stinging his senses and reminding him of the grotesque way Rhysand's father had dealt with witches. He hated them with every fiber of his being, all because of a prophecy - a prophecy that had finally come true. That hatred had driven him to exterminate most of them.

          And that was why Azriel tortured and slaughtered nearly as many witches - under his orders. Did this woman know that the blood of her sisters still sizzled on his skin?

          " I have better things to talk about than my people. I know about your mother's powers, and before you ask, no, I have no idea where she is. So spare me of your spymaster interrogation techniques and let me tell you why I stopped you. I want nothing from you, and I promise we'll never meet again. Unless the fates decide otherwise... " She whispered, raising her ring-laden fingers to the sky. " There is something evil- something trying to tear our world apart from within. And only a few can prevent it, or stop it before it's too late. You are one of them. "

         " You speak in riddles, and I prefer clear answers... " Azriel turned fully towards the woman, almost cornering her, barely restraining himself from crushing her throat with his gloved fingers. For a moment he thought she was mad, but something in her desperate violet gaze made him believe she was telling the truth.

          " I know what you're looking for. Or rather, who. You won't find her with simple magic tricks, not even with the powerless Messenger you have back home trying her best. There's only one woman - closer to Death than any of you - who might be able to help. But only if she can outgrow her own persona and stops being a bitch in the meantime. "

          She raised a hand, stopping him before he could strike. " And before you kill me, I'll give you one last piece of information. Priceless, I'd say. The girl you're after is guarded by two ancient women. There is no way that you or any other Illyrian could ever defeat one in battle and the other with magic. Here's my advice: Poison them first.  " The stranger spoke calmly, gently grabbing Azriel's fist before placing a small vial in his broad palm. " They won't die. But it's the only way to get you all together. "

          His fingers clenched around the tiny glass bottle, barely half the size of his finger. He watched the greenish liquid swirl within, tiny specks of herbs still dissolving, restless. Azriel lifted his angry gaze, his mind racing through the woman's cryptic words- but she was gone. Instead, a flock of ravens took flight, heading for Prythian.

          A bold, shadowed tongue curled protectively around the vial before it vanished into the realm of darkness.. 

          Convallaria majalis, master - Lilies of the Valley.

          With one last look at the destruction he had left behind, he unfurled his wings and soared into the sky, tearing himself away from the despair that lay like a heavy shroud over the horizon. The ocean stretched bellow him, a vast sheet of metallic blue, battered by harsh winds.

          Azriel didn't understand how it was always him who had to make the hardest decisions, the most painful crossroads- almost as if misfortune had become one of his brothers. He clenched his jaw and spread his wings wider, feeling the tension in his muscles.

          His mother. The vision of that woman cut into his mind like a well-honed blade- her eyes, the same amber hue as his, filled with secrets she never shared. The man could still remember the nights he'd caught her whispering into the darkness, murmuring names he didn't know, predicting fates no one wanted to hear.

          The Shadowsunger remembered how desperate he'd been to put her to sleep in those moments, haunted by the grotesque thought that they could kill her at any time, based solely on the accusation of madness.

          How much of his mother's legacy was buried within him? Could he have seen the future if he hadn't been so trapped in the shadows of the past? And above all, how did this woman know one of the best-kept secrets between him and his mother? Why had he remained so impassive in front of this witch, listening to all the nonsense she had fed him?

          But are they nonsense, Master?

          Azriel's mind wandered to another dilemma as the wind cut across his face and the clouds cast their shadows below.

           " A woman closer to Death than any of you. "

          Could it be Elain? With her delicate skin, her eyes filled with innocence and an insatiable desire to see the beauty in the world. She was a spring flower, something he felt he should never touch. And yet, at the same time, he felt that she looked at him with silent expectation, as if she wanted him close, but was too afraid to ask.

          Then there was Nesta, who seemed to defy everyone even when she spoke no words. Nesta, who lived on the border between fury and silence, between hatred and a fragility that only a few could see..

          Azriel felt his mind tightening, cornered. Was there truth hidden in the stranger's words? Elain had the gift of foresight, she could sense the shadows of the future. But Nesta... Nesta had seized Death by the collar and stolen a piece of its essence.

          And beyond that, something else was gnawing at him- the old woman from the night before, the one who reeked of prison. She seemed to know more about the Illyrian code of honor than any ordinary person. She had been neither afraid of his wings nor impressed by his presence, as if she had seen his kind countless times over the centuries and would've liked to spit at his feet. She had spoken too confidently, held her back too straight for a mere creature and rode like a warrior thirsty for blood.

          That was it—the way she gripped the reins, the slight forward lean to gain speed in battle, her right hand lax at her side. A habit. The instinct of someone who always carried a sword.

          She was something else entirely.

          And beyond that, Azriel had willingly given him the very thing he had traveled so far for— the comet woman, the one who had lain limp in his arms for endless minutes, the one he'd fought like a monster to protect against dozens of soldiers, and yet, he had still been too late

          Azriel could still feel her life slipping between his gloved fingers, he could still see those gray eyes staring at him—empty, freed from the malice they held just hours ago. He could reconstruct her features in his mind, though they remained hard to recognize through all the beating she endured. Azriel could only guess her full lips and the oval shape of her face with a strong nose in the middle of it and a pair of thick eyebrows to crown those hypnotic irises. He wouldn't have called her beautiful—not by the standards he was used to. But perhaps he was mistaken.

          Fortunately, the ash had formed a dense layer over his suit. Otherwise, he might have suffocated from the haunting scent of amber— spilled all over him by the stranger's blood.

          Azriel arrived at the land he called home faster than expected, and just as quickly flew over Rosehall, with its green towers and fragrant gardens. His heart clenched as an overwhelming desire nearly paralyzed his wings and sent him crashing headlong into the only window with a flickering lamp. With difficulty, he forced his muscles to move, keeping himself from crashing through the church walls with all his strength.

         Night had fallen, and from upstairs all the women looked like tiny ants gathering at the sound of the bells. He imagined his mother waiting for him at the lighted window, behind the blue curtains, probably mending one of the garments that had torn during the day, sewing tirelessly. He'd promised her that he would visit her when he returned from his trip to Hybern, but he couldn't afford to put his mother - or this sacred place - in danger. Not after the stunts he pulled in Thaibar and the whirlwind of events that unfolded.

         Azriel recalled what the witch had said about his mother, about her legacies, about her connection to Sybil the Seeress. He'd never heard that name before, not even from his mother's lips, but he hoped her fate wouldn't be the same as her ancestor's. If it was true— and it was— his shadows detected no trace of a lie in the woman's dizzying words.

          Azriel took one last look at the shadows moving behind the window before he flew away with renewed focus, putting his duty before his heart once again. As long as his mother remained in Rosehall, she would be safe.

           There was news to deliver in Prythian and many matters to attend to. He still hadn't found out anything about the box in Autumn Court or, more importantly, why he'd caught Eris lingering in Hybern. If Beron had made a deal with Draegan and the Human Queens, things were far worse than he'd imagined.

          But the question that gnawed at him the most was why. Why were these three great powers talking, and more importantly, what did they have to gain? Was another war brewing? Were they looking for something in particular?

          After what happened in Hybern, it would take less than a day for both the Autumn Court and the Queens to learn about the woman that fell from the sky. Then it would become a real competition - who would claim the grand prize first?

          Azriel dug his fingers harshly into his eyes as the girl's gaze flashed in his memory, filled with blood-stained promises. If she really had the powers Hybern now accused her of, she could probably melt him right there with those irises alone.

          Azriel was beginning to think that Cassian had been right all along - he'd been surrounded by women all his life. But even now he wasn't sure which he preferred: the ones who adored him or the ones who looked at him with nothing but contempt.

          When he arrived in Velaris, he wasn't the least bit surprised to see Rhysand waiting for him on the balcony, dressed in the same black suit, embroidered with lilac along the edges. " Not even a second later than you promised, brother. Your timing amazes me. " He stepped aside to let Azriel land before leading the way to the main room of the river house.

          Velaris was alive. Even at this hour, people flitted from bar to bar, laughing, oblivious to the dangers from which Rhysand had protected them for centuries. The faint sound of music drifted up to the windows -a violin playing an oriental rhythm, accompanied by a series of drums.

          " It's something you should learn from him. " Feyre rolled her eyes, dropping a paint-stained bag onto the floor before greeting him with a small bow of her head. " Welcome home, Az! I hope you're not hurt! "

          I'd rather be physically hurt than mentally.  " Good evening, Feyre... " His reply came out more monotonous than he had intended, the syllables so dry on his lips they barely left his throat. " You look well. Have you been painting? "

          " I'm building a painting studio, yes. " She shrugged off her green cloak, tossing it over the back of the couch, revealing a casual outfit—brown trousers and a matching shirt. " I want to create a space where people who love this type of art can feel relaxed and at home. After everything they've been through, maybe they need some time off. " Almost instantly, her clothes and bag disappeared, teleported to their proper places by the house's magic. A moment later, a few cups and a letter with a broken seal appeared on the low glass table.

         Azriel walked across the wooden floor with slow, heavy steps, making it creak beneath his weight. With a single finger, he gracefully removed his suffocating mask. The pleasant aroma of freshly prepared dinner— duck, with something citrusy, like oranges— filled his nose, making his stomach growl softly. He gave a dramatically exaggerated bow before turning to Rhysand.

          " She's just angry I was five minutes late to a bakery opening. " 

          " Fifteen. " Feyre corrected him before sinking into the soft pillows, pouring herself a steaming cup of tea that smelled of lavender leaves and cranberries.

          " Forgive me, my darling. " Rhysand kissed the back of her hand before lifting the strange envelope between two fingers.  " This is the reason I was waiting for you. You know curiosity gets the best of me but - What the fuck happened in that village, Azriel? "

          The Shadowsinger straightened into a near-military stance, arms clasped behind his back, chest pushed forward. He glanced at Feyre, unsure if she could hear this conversation. His High Lady met his gaze before closing her blue eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to organize her thoughts to a more proper state, throwing the light-handed work she's done and coming in her ruler mentality. If she had one. 

          Right now, all he wanted was one hour of rest — mental, spiritual, physical— any kind of damn break that would let him cleanse all the filth crawling beneath his skin.

          " The whole place burned. That should answear your question. "

         " You look like you need more than just a sit, Az. Do you want something to drink? " Feyre turned fully toward the Spymaster, watching him gently as she reached for an extra cup.

          " Would you like a foot massage while you're at it? Gods forbid we rush you into explaining why we might all be royally screwed. " 

          Azriel's expression remained indifferent as he turned to Rhysand, who had just lounged gracefully against the headrest of the couch, arms crossed. His black hair, usually impeccably styled, was now tousled— as if he had run his hands through it a hundred times.

          " Rhys! " Feyre scolded him, lightly smacking his forearm. " He traveled hundreds of miles. "

          Hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway, and within seconds, Amren's sharp fangs glinted as she appeared. " Where's the girl? "

          " Is this really the first thing you ask him? " Feyre immediately jumped to his defense, setting her cup down, shocked by their reaction.

          " That's the reason he went all the way to Hybern—to find that woman. " Amren circled them a few times, radiating agitation from every pore, so much so that Azriel nearly took off again just to get away.

          " See? " Rhysand turned to his wife, then back to his Shadowsinger. " Please, continue. Make my night. " 

          Despite being caught off guard by his family's utter lack of concern for him, Azriel betrayed nothing— not the turmoil burning in his lungs, not even when the blood in his veins seemed to freeze. Instead, he chose to return the favor— letting Rhysand stew in his curiosity just a little longer.

         " What's inside the letter? " Azriel asked in return, his expression remaining unchanged. The walls around his mind— built from dense layers of black smoke and nightmares— shuddered as Rhys slammed against his gates with force.

          The High Lord hesitated, his gaze fixed for several minutes on the embers smoldering in the fireplace, making Azriel sweat from every angle. " A letter from the new King of Hybern, Draegan, I believe he's called. He's asking for our help. "

          Feyre turned her head at an uncomfortable angle, one thin eyebrow arching in disbelief. " We just fought a war against them... not long ago. "

          " Yes, but the war was carried under his father's name. " Amren felt the need to clarify for Feyre, as if she hadn't been there herself. Then, with deliberate patience, she began plucking at invisible lint on her black two-piece suit, adorned with gleaming garnet-like stones. " He wants to create the illusion that there's a chance to build new bridges. "

          " After everything that happened, I doubt this is about importing grains. " The Spymaster added, his shadows already whispering pieces of the truth in his ears.

          A few tense seconds passed as the two males locked eyes in a silent, razor-sharp battle of wills. They had done this before—this invisible game of assessing dominance. The results had always varied, depending on the circumstances. When necessary, the Spymaster relented, conceding defeat. But Rhysand was different—there was always a certain stubbornness in him.

          This time, however, Azriel's stare remained as it was—icy, all-consuming, emotionless like a piece of stone. And, much to everyone's relief, Rhysand was the first to break.

          " A bounty has been placed on the heads of two women, declared guilty of the fire in Thaibar and the massacre of thousands of villagers. " His tone dropped drastically as he said the entire sentence in a single breath. 

          " She didn't do it. " Azriel spoke almost instantly, driven by a reckless instinct to protect something— or someone— he barely even knew. " Besides, I heard Draegan giving the order to burn the forests. Even the village, if necessary. "

          Feyre shot a bewildered look at everyone in the room, blinking rapidly, as if trying to rid her eyes of an invisible speck of dust. Though she was often disinterested in political matters, she had, on more than one occasion, come up with more honorable ideas than most.

           " Or maybe she did. " Amren interjected just as quickly, her crimson nails sinking into the velvet upholstery. " If she truly turned into a Vespertus, her mind is unclear. She doesn't distinguish between good and evil. If she wasn't positively influenced, there's a high chance she did everything she's being accused of. "

         " I don't know what to tell you, Az. " Rhysand exhaled, his head tilting downward, as if he were about to bore a hole into the polished wooden floor. " We don't know this girl or what she's capable of. "

          " So you'd rather believe our enemies?" Feyre spoke, a sharp edge creeping into her voice, her stomach twisting with the unmistakable burn of fury. " Hybern killed... " My father, she wished to say. " Half of us. "

          " We saw what Hybern is capable of, we know how they operate. " Rhysand countered, attempting to defend his position as he met his wife's piercing gaze. " If Amren is right— "

          " She is. " Amren snapped, referring to herself in the third person, her glare sharp as a blade.

          " Then we have no idea what we're signing up for if we choose to assume she's innocent. "

" She wasn't turned into a Vespertus. They burned the village before they killed her. " Azriel nearly rolled his eyes with desperation but stopped himself, remembering that he hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of the real information. " She reeked of human blood from miles away. What kind of human could possibly possess such power? "

          " She died?! " Amren blurted out, paler than usual. A goblet filled with deep red wine floated beside her on a silver tray, and she snatched it up in a dizzying motion, downing it in one gulp. " Just wondering how deep this particular pit of shit goes. "

" Maybe she had help... " Feyre chimed in, sounding more dazed than usual. Her eyebrows knit together at the center of her forehead, and her lips hung slightly open, her entire expression consumed by doubt.

          A faint scent of withered lavender drifted through the air. The tea had long since gone cold, leaving behind a stale aroma—one that only worsened the already tense atmosphere pressing down on them. Not even the warm glow of Velaris' lights, flickering through the windows, could soften the tension gnawing at their insides.

          Azriel liked to believe he wasn't the kind of man easily swayed by those around him. And yet, here he was, watching his own perception of this woman shift with alarming speed, despite having evidence—cold, solid evidence—that she had not been the one who intended to bring down all of Thaibar. The shadows curled tightly around him, steadier than he was, seething as if to remind him to keep his emotions and his judgments in check.

          His mind kept circling back to the way he had seen her running—like a madwoman—through the flames. How she had escaped. How he had spotted Eris and that blonde woman darting in the opposite direction. Perhaps he had missed something—a flicker of fire at her fingertips, a strange glow around her. But even his shadows hadn't detected any shift in her aura.

          And yet, caught up in the whirlwind of her, of this entire situation, he had somehow forgotten about Eris. The same Eris who had been willing to sacrifice a servant for her. The one he'd caught whispering to her, exchanging those knowing glances. The male who pulled her from the clutches of Azriel's own shadows.

          All of that—and something else.

          Even his dagger had missed her.

           " The shithole is deep enough that Eris was there, too. " Azriel muttered, allowing his shadows to thicken, to cool the heat rippling down his spine. He rolled his shoulders absentmindedly, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles, the ache threatening to snap in the vertebrae of his neck.

  " Eris? " Feyre tilted her head, her braid slipping over her shoulder. Something about the way it moved—perhaps the scrape of it against the fabric—itched at Azriel's senses. His sharp gaze flicked to the splattered paint staining the cotton of his High Lady's tunic before he forced himself to look elsewhere—at Amren's impatient fingers tapping against the armrest.

" Oh, wonderful. Because what we needed in this mess was a man with daddy issues. " Rhysand drawled, arching a brow as he sank further into the couch, utterly unimpressed. His tongue flicked over his teeth, a lazy smirk curling at the edge of his lips. He could feign indifference all he wanted, but Azriel saw the almost imperceptible shift in his violet eyes—the way they flickered, scanning the room as if already calculating the weight of this revelation.

          Feyre ran a hand through her hair, uncertain. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, but hesitation held her back. Finally, she inhaled deeply and turned to Azriel. " Are you sure it was him? "

          The Shadowsinger merely inclined his head—a single, grave nod.

          Rhysand let out a dramatic sigh and tossed the letter onto the table. The envelope slid across the glass surface, spinning once before coming to a stop.

     " So let me get this straight. We have an Emperor crying for our help, a village turned to ash, a supposedly dead girl who may or may not have been framed, and now Eris, who—let me guess—is playing his own game? "

  " Or his father's. " Feyre added with a careless shrug. " I'd put my money on Beron. He never liked this alliance with the other courts. Eris is just a pawn, like always. "

          Amren shook her head, her black hair sweeping against her sharp cheekbones with precise, controlled movements. Her brows furrowed slightly, irritation flashing across her features. " You all sound shocked that Eris could be playing his own game. Or his father's, for all I care. "

          Azriel's amber eyes narrowed. His chest rose with a slow, measured inhale, though the movement did little to temper the heat rising beneath his skin.

 " You should care. " he said, voice steady, edged in warning. " As far as we know, Eris won this woman's trust. If he catches her first, I doubt anyone would be surprised where her loyalties might fall. " His fingers clenched involuntarily around the dark fabric of his clothes, as if he could still feel the ash clinging to his skin.

          " I'll write everything down in a report. " Azriel muttered, as if the words themselves tasted bitter. He was losing patience—both with this conversation and with the sheer weight of doubt pressing down on him from all sides. " I believe witches are involved too. One of them followed me through all the villages before I reached Thaibar. "

         " My father exterminated them centuries ago. " Rhysand said promptly, with another heavy cloud hanging over his head now. He fell into a dream, with his eyes wide open, as if he saw every wood thrown into the fire that had killed them. " I thought they were hiding. The last of them that remained were too few to even fend for themselves. "

         " Your father only killed those who lived in Prythian. " Amren corrected, her cunning voice laced with something more— perhaps a rebuke, though she knew full well that Rhysand hadn't possessed enough power back then to stop him. " And not just them, but all the other mixed-blooded species. "

          Feyre glanced between the two of them, lost in the conversation, her half-empty teacup hovering near her dry lips. It seemed her husband had never told her about the massacre her father-in-law had orchestrated all those years ago.

          The Shadowsinger pushed past the memory of the dark-haired woman at the farm—who now, most likely, lay reduced to nothing but ash. His jaw twitched at the thought, at the way he'd caught a final glimpse of her face, drained of life, her eyes hollowed out with rage. " Eris was already there when I arrived. More than that—he had already ensnared the woman we were searching for. "

        " This woman might be very charming. " Amren said, shifting the blame once more onto the unknown female. Her heavy-lidded eyes masked her distaste, but the sharpness in her voice remained. " That's how she was made—to beguile and to lead others to ruin. She can't be trusted. Eris probably fell straight into her trap. "

          " Eris is not that easy to fool. " Rhysand countered, straightening his spine. " But maybe he knows. Maybe he's after her. "

          " He gave her something— a map. "

  " Was it the same as— "

" No. It led to a prison. "

           " Fuck... " Amren whispered, turning her back to them. She stared out at the city, watching the streetlamps cast golden light against the darkening sky. 

           Azriel's shadows curled around him, detecting the sudden stiffness in her small frame—as if fear had sunk its claws into her muscles, into her very thoughts. In that moment, the Shadowsinger was certain of one thing. She knew more than she let on. But Amren had never been one to share much of her past.

          " While I was searching for her, I overheard a conversation between Draegan and a boy—one who had slaughtered his entire family. Then something about The Dark One and a Tiamat. After that, he collapsed. Poisoned. "

         " Did she do it? " Feyre suddenly asked, whipping around to face Azriel. " The girl, I mean—did she poison the king? "

          " I have no idea. "

          Rhysand, however, remained silent, staring at his Spymaster—his mouth slightly parted—before casting a furtive glance at Amren, though she seemed too lost in her own thoughts to notice.

 " You said this woman died? " Amren pressed, her tone sharpening, her agitation flaring like a live wire. " Is that why you didn't catch her? Because they managed to turn her into a Tiamat? "

          " Eris saved her before I could get to her. " Azriel's voice darkened. Then my own dagger failed me. His jaw tensed. " The last time I saw her, she was dead. An old woman came and took her. "

          " And you're certain she was dead at that point? " Amren stepped closer, her gaze sharp as a blade.

          " The body was unrecognizable. Bloated. Twisted. Her chest swelled like a dying animal's final breath, and her spine... " Azriel's voice dropped, rough with restrained fury. " It cracked like shattered porcelain. " The grotesque images flooded his mind like a plague, making his tone harsher than intended. " Is this what you want to hear? "

          Amren gave a small nod, retreating slightly. " The heartbreak. The family that boy killed was surely hers as well. " She mused, slowly shaking her head.

          " Wait—you said an old woman took her. " Rhysand frowned, pressing his fingers against his temple. " Did you give her away willingly? "

    " No. " Yes. " I was ambushed. " It felt right.

          " So we have no idea if she's truly a Tiamat or if Draegan took it that far and burned his own village to the ground. " Amren concluded, pouring herself another glass of wine. " We can work this out. "

 " What do we do? Send help, then? " Feyre looked up at Rhysand, her gaze glossy, almost pleading—like a dog seeking reassurance. " I suppose the other courts got the same letter. "

" Maybe. " Rhysand held back from saying more, placing a hand on his High Lady's shoulder. " Something about this sudden plea for help doesn't sit right with me. Tomorrow, we need to pay a visit to Helion. Maybe even Tarquin and Kallias. "

          " I think he's afraid of this girl and just wants her caught and killed. " Amren straightened, preparing to leave. " But if he sent the letter only to us, it could stir conflict in the alliance we built. Anyone could accuse us of treason. " She exhaled. " I'll do some research and reach out. Maybe I can help you come to a decision. "

          " Draegan doesn't want help. " Azriel finally spoke, moving for the first time since the conversation began. " He wants chaos. He knows about this woman, and he wants her handed over easily. All the courts will go mad with a pyromaniac on the loose, so he's counting on them to pour their resources into finding her. "

          " A distraction of some sorts. " Rhysand aproved. " Instead of trying to build their strength back, they will be thinking twice of what criminal lurks between them. It will create a sense of tension inside the court's inhabitants. "

       " Aren't we being too harsh? " Feyre asked curiously. " She's just a girl, after all. How old is she, anyway? "

           " She might be entirely innocent. No one will ever know the real truth, and no one will believe her as long as they have an entire city and countless brainwashed people as proof against her. " Amren tossed her opinion over her shoulder, her gaze flicking toward the entrance door with something akin to longing. Was Varyan waiting for her at home? Is that why she was so eager to leave? " A girl capable of burning down an entire village in a single night without getting caught will raise a lot of questions. Maybe that's exactly what she's counting on. "

          " I'll wait for your report, Az. Then we'll figure out how to handle this as quietly as possible. " Rhysand rose to his feet, extending a hand to Feyre, preparing to leave as well. " Have you heard anything from your spies about the map the Autumn Court has? "

          " I wasn't in the right position to contact them without exposing both myself and them. I'll handle it as soon as possible. "

          Azriel clenched his jaw once, trying to relieve the pressure gnawing at his temples. Exhaustion weighed heavy in his bones, making him feel like he could sleep for centuries just to rid himself of the burden he carried. He forced his legs to move, swaying slightly as he dragged himself up the endless stairs. A few worried glances flickered in his direction when his hand latched onto the carved black metal railing, and he exhaled deeply from the depths of his lungs.

          A frayed piece of his soot-stained cloak snagged on one of the curved stars embedded in the railing's intricate design. His shadows—his ever-watchful companions—reacted instantly, carefully freeing the charred fabric and weaving a dense shield around their master.

          He barely registered when he reached his own door, only realizing he was in the right suite when the familiar scent filled his lungs. On a low blackwood table, a steaming feast still awaited him, making his stomach twist with hunger.

          With half-lidded eyes and sluggish movements he peeled off his clothes and discarded them into a corner of the bath chamber, disappearing from sight in an instant before sinking into the massive tub. He forced every invasive thought from his mind—the ones stabbing at his consciousness like a thousand daggers—held his breath, and let the water swallow his eyelids. His shadows hummed around him, as if they too relished these brief moments of respite before they would be called upon again.

          He scrubbed every inch of his skin with slow, deliberate care, as if he could wash away the scorched memories Thaibar had left seared into him. At the very least, the stench of amber was gone. Otherwise, he might have left everything behind and built himself a cabin in the forest, far away from everyone.

          For now, he refused to think about the guilt weighing over that woman's fate. About the mistake of letting her go. About Eris, Draegan, the strange old woman, or the bold witch. He let them all drain away with the bathwater.

          After eating ravenously—without even tasting the spices—he slumped into the plush chair, making it creak under his weight. His spine cracked in protest as he rolled his shoulders, loosening a stiff knot in his back. Naked in his own solitude, still half-damp from the bath, he gazed absently out the opaque window at the city slowly drifting to sleep, counting the dimming lights.

          A gnawing feeling settled in his gut—a near-silent ache twisting at his heart. One of his shadows curled around his neck, desperate to offer him the one thing Azriel truly lacked.

          Company.

          His gaze drifted to the door leading into his reading chamber, where the dim light of the fireplace barely illuminated his desk and bookshelves. The black pouch, soaked in dried blood, still sat atop the stack of unfinished reports, whispering to him in the quiet. He could almost see, in the depths of his mind, the lingering turquoise tendrils of amber wrapping around him, beckoning.

          He stood, moving as if intoxicated, and in just two long strides, he was at the window where moonlight poured in like a silver tide.

          The light of the celestial body seemed to hungrily kiss his freckled shoulders and slack wings, lifting him like a god into the heavens. Yet, Azriel was utterly oblivious to the regal treatment the goddess bestowed upon him.

          He greedily unwrapped the fabric and lifted into the light the few strands of hair he had torn from the corpse's head. He swallowed hard, a shiver of fear tracing a cold finger down his spine to the small of his back. Then—something strange. A hunger. It gripped him, and absentmindedly, he brought his blood-stained fingers to his nose.

          The scent caught in his throat, as if his own body rejected the intoxicating amber that poured in dense vapors from the three strands of hair. His knees nearly buckled when the phantom weight of the woman pressed against his lower limbs. He shut his eyes, trying to make peace with this newfound fear, and— almost in a gesture of reverence—brought the strands of hair to his forehead.

          What the hell was happening to him? What was he rejecting so fiercely? What was rebelling so violently inside him? What was it that he couldn't accept?

          Swallowing down his emotions once again, he threw the small pouch into a box and locked it with a key, then placed it as close to the window as possible, hoping that, from there, the scent would never reach him again. When he had time, he needed to get rid of them—take them to Amren or burn them if she found no use for them.

          He pulled on a simple training suit. He didn't bother drying his hair—he'd only sweat again and need another bath.

          The cold night air was the first to greet him, nipping at the skin of his arms in an almost adoring gesture. He stretched his wings, which felt like they weighed a ton this time, and took flight, reveling in the scents of bread, wine, and flowers that enriched the city even at this hour. He hadn't thought a few days in that abandoned, sorrowful village would make him miss his beloved Velaris this much.

          A gust of wind lifted his unkempt curls as he glided daringly between the sleeping rooftops of the houses. He needed something to anchor him in the present—pain, effort, even drunkenness. Anything, as long as it freed him from the images haunting his mind and the restless thoughts lining up impatiently, waiting to be acknowledged and analyzed. The sooner he finished his reports, the sooner he could erase all those details from his memory.

          As he prepared to land on the auxiliary training grounds, another winged silhouette already seemed to have claimed the space, throwing irritated punches and kicks at a wooden mannequin.

          Cassian.

          Azriel landed more silently than he intended, right on the cracked steps. He hesitated for a few seconds, debating whether he should turn back home to finish his reports or escape into the forest, where he could use as many trees as he wanted for target practice.

          But it was too late.

          Cassian spun around abruptly, panting heavily and drenched in sweat. The leather guards on his hands were already torn in places, and his knuckles had begun to bleed. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and flashed his brother a relaxed smile.

          " I haven't seen you this brooding since Rhys made you dance at that ball in the Day Court. " Cassian teased, raising a thick eyebrow. His hair had come loose from its bun, damp strands clinging to his forehead and temples.

          " There are no women here. Why are you not wearing a shirt? " Azriel shot back, trying to match his tone, though it was harder than he expected. Besides, he wasn't in the mood for conversation, and Cassian could be particularly chatty when caught in the right mood. " Or maybe Nesta's hiding somewhere around. "

          He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside, left only in a thin tunic that clung to his still-tense skin. He strolled towards the table stacked with weapons and bandages, securing a pair of hand wraps with practiced ease.

          Cassian sighed theatrically, but something in his brief moment of hesitation told Azriel he had struck a more sensitive nerve than intended. " Great. You came to take your anger out on me? At least give me a warning before you break my ribs. "

          " Keep up, and you might walk away in one piece. " Azriel replied curtly, stepping forward with determined strides toward his new opponent. It wasn't the first time the two had used each other as a means to vent.

          At least not in this way.

          Cassian let out a short laugh but said nothing more. He knew Azriel too well to keep pressing. The only way to get him to release tension after a long, grueling mission was to let him burn it off in motion.

          The man was already warmed up from all his hours in the ring, so he rolled his shoulders, observing his older brother's physical state with sharp attention. Of course, Azriel never let anything show. If he were injured, he would shift his weight onto his good side to create a false impression. If he were exhausted, he would hit lighter—not enough to seem weak, but just enough to avoid looking rushed.

          He was a machine of death, and now he was studying Cassian hungrily, counting his breaths, tracking every muscle twitch betraying his fatigue.

          " I've got muscle soreness in my right leg. " Cassian joked, feeling the need to break the tension.

          Azriel locked eyes with him, utterly unfazed. He didn't take the bait, merely spreading his feet apart with careful precision, lowering his center of gravity into a stable stance. He raised his fists—one extended slightly forward, the other near his chin—just as he had been trained for centuries. Then, he inhaled deeply.

          Cassian sighed and shook his head but quickly fell into position, knees slightly bent, feet parallel, ready to absorb the shock.

          They waited. Neither attacked immediately.

          They circled each other slowly, testing the ground, analyzing every shift in balance, every muscle fiber poised to give away an incoming strike. Their breaths unconsciously aligned, air filling their lungs in a synchronized rhythm.

          Cassian, impulsive as ever, struck first.

          A quick right hook—testing Azriel's defenses. Azriel dodged easily, stepping sideways, but Cassian had anticipated it, already sending a knee toward his ribs. Azriel barely managed to lower his arm in time to block it, but the impact's force made him slide slightly across the training ground.

          Cassian was stronger. He always had been.

          But Azriel was faster.

          He countered with a left hook aimed at Cassian's sternum, knowing it was one of his weaker spots. But Cassian tensed his abdomen, absorbing the impact, and in return, sent a short uppercut toward Azriel's chin.

          Azriel leaned back at the last moment, feeling the rush of air as the punch grazed past his skin. In a split second, he twisted and drove his elbow into Cassian's liver.

          Cassian let out a sharp curse and stepped back, his broad chest rising and falling as he sucked in air. His large eyes gleamed with something almost sadistic. " That one hurt. " He huffed, but the grin never left his face.

          Azriel didn't respond. His attacks came faster, sharper. Every movement was calculated, every strike had a purpose—to exhaust, to demoralize, to control the pace of the fight. He forced Cassian onto the defensive, made him shift strategies. But Cassian knew his tactics better than most. After centuries of training together, he could recognize the exact moment Azriel grew tired—he could tell just by how he breathed.

          For all of Azriel's speed, Cassian was relentless. He dropped his guard intentionally, luring Azriel into thinking he had an opening. And the moment Azriel struck, Cassian caught his wrist, twisted it, and sent him crashing to the ground.

          Azriel managed to roll and land on his palms, pushing himself upright in an instant—but Cassian was already on him. A straight punch exploded against Azriel's shoulder, numbing his arm. He staggered back, but Cassian didn't let up. A sharp kick to his thigh threw off his balance, and before he could recover, another hook slammed into his chest.

         Pain radiated through him, but Azriel barely registered it. Not the way he should have. Thaibar still burned in his mind. The dead woman's body still weighed on his legs. A scream was lodged in his throat, and rage fueled his muscles.

          Before Cassian could land another hit, Azriel pivoted, dodged the next strike, and drove his knee straight into Cassian's stomach. Cassian dropped to one knee, shaking his head. Azriel was already on him, a fist aimed right for his temple—

          But he stopped.

          His breathing was ragged, uneven. His pulse thundered in his ears, but the fury was gone. All that remained was exhaustion.

          Cassian glanced up at him, raising a hand in surrender. " Alright. " He muttered, pushing himself to his feet. " I think that's all you needed. "

          Azriel didn't answer right away. He let his hands drop, inhaling deeply. And that's when he realized—for the first time in hours—his mind was quiet. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair and straightened, feeling every muscle ache for rest.

           Cassian clapped him lightly on the shoulder, wincing when he felt the soreness from that brutal liver shot. " Next time, try not to kill me. " He grumbled, exhaling as if he'd been running for hours.

           Azriel just nodded and lifted his gaze to the dark sky. Maybe physical pain wasn't a solution. But for a few minutes, at least, it had given him the illusion of an escape.

          " How's the training going? " Azriel asked after a beat, not looking at Cassian as he unwrapped the bloodied bandages from his wrists. " Have you reached any kind of agreement? "

          " It's not going anywhere. " Cassian kneaded the spot where Azriel's knee had nearly crushed his liver before dropping onto the ground beside him. " She won't even look at me. She's stubborn, pissed off, impulsive— "

          " She's scared. " Azriel cut him off, leaning back on his elbows, letting the last of the tension drain from his body. " Something's stopping her from training here. Maybe it's the other Illyrians. Have you thought about that? "

          " No. " Cassian rubbed his jaw absently, his brows drawing together. " Even if the only thing I've thought about was her, no. I never considered that. " He ran a hand through his sweat-drenched hair, then sighed. " I haven't really seen much of her either. I screwed up this morning. "

          Azriel remained silent, waiting.

          " She wouldn't eat anything. She's so thin. I told her starving herself wouldn't bring her father back. " Cassian exhaled sharply. " She cursed me out. "

          " As she should have. " Azriel's mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smile—the first real emotion he'd shown all night. Then he sighed. " Give her time. Offer solutions to her problems, not orders to follow. She's not a soldier, Cass. She used to be human, and much like you, she liked to run her home the way you like to run your armies. "

          Cassian shot him a sideways look. " Since when do you give advice? "

          Azriel let out a breath, closing his eyes for a moment. " Since you needed it. "

P.S.: There might be some mistakes, I think there's a line in my language that I forgot to translate but I can't seem to find it anymore, I don't know what happened with it.

[creative-type]

Revelation

Rating: Gen Word Count: 3000 Summary: “I thought it looked like a sun,” Koala said.

For the first time, emotion flashed across his face. Shock, perhaps. It was gone too quickly for Koala to place it. But a smile came after, and he said,

“Oh, so you do know the stories.”

AO3

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When Koala was fourteen, she left for the Revolution. There had been no sudden breaking point, no hastily packed bags in the dead of night. Koala might have felt better if there had. Instead, after spending so many years yearning for her return, she was left with the slow, inextricable realization that home was no longer home. Where closeness once existed was now an unbridgeable chasm, with Fisher Tiger at the center of the divide.

Or perhaps it had always been there, and finding out the secret behind her miraculous return only exposed the distance that already existed, the way the sun exposed the slime on the underbelly of an overturned rock. 

She had tried to speak to her mother about it, once. The fact that she hadn’t understood only solidified what Koala already knew. 

So she left. Not without tears or heartache; Koala mourned the loss of those she left behind but didn’t regret the leaving. The injustice burned onto her back weighed too heavily for that.

Her mother hadn’t understood that, either, and the horror on her face when she’d seen what Fisher Tiger had done was Koala’s first clue that something between them was not right, and never would be again.  

Koala hadn’t known her destination at first, but in time stumbled onto the white sands of Baltigo. She was surprised to see other children, some even younger than she was. Most were war orphans, but some had sought out the Revolution just as she had. Together they ate, slept, and trained, eagerly waiting for the day the Army required their services. 

But there was distance here, too, this time one Koala didn’t understand. Out of everyone she felt most comfortable with her master in Fishman Karate. Hack would shoo her out of the dojo with instructions to spend time with her peers and future compatriots, leaving Koala at a loss. 

She wasn’t the only one with nightmares. She wasn’t even the only one with scars, as proved by the blond boy who’d begun to pester her. But even so, it’d been so long since she’d felt close to anyone, Koala wasn’t sure how. She could feel her own awkwardness when she smiled, the defenses she learned as a child creeping back despite her best efforts. It would show at the most inopportune times, her smile, in response to her gnawing anxiety. At the best of times it made people smile back, just as awkward, in a stilted effort to be polite. More often the others would ask what the hell was wrong with her.

In those first months, Koala spent her free time walking the cavernous halls of the Revolutionary headquarters. To get familiar with things, she told Hack when he asked, lying only a little. Koala felt better knowing the bases’s escape routes, and interacting with grown adults was easier than with children her own age. 

It was lonely. Just as lonely as home had been, despite the crush of people all around. Sometimes she was so overwhelmed with it Koala would have to find a place to hide, and in those moments she was five years old again praying her masters wouldn’t find her. 

The first time this happened, Koala stumbled into what she’d assumed to be an old storage room. It was small and dimly lit, with a few dusty boxes shoved forlornly in a corner, forgotten. The room was unlocked, and there seemed to be none of the top secret and sensitive information that the Revolution dealt in anywhere to be seen. Koala shut the door behind her and pressed her back against it before sliding to the ground. Fighting the urge to make herself as little as possible, she squeezed her eyes closed and forced herself to breathe. 

It was something Aladdine had taught her back on Fisher Tiger’s ship. Back then he’d told her to focus on the smell of the sea and the warmth of the sun on her skin. That was the memory Koala clung to now, naming all the men on Fisher’s crew to distract from the pounding of her heart and the roar in her ears. 

Minutes seemed to stretch into eternity, but eventually Koala was able to wrest back control over her senses. She took an extra moment to just sit, feeling the cold slick of perspiration on her forehead. Each breath still felt ragged in her throat, and when Koala felt safe enough to open her eyes her vision was blurred with unshed tears.

She always felt so stupid and small when these moments came. Baltigo was not Mariejois, the kindness of the Revolutionary Army nothing like the pointless cruelty of the Celestial Dragons. But it was a feeling Koala couldn’t shake, no matter how much she tried. The rictus smile of her childhood haunted her even now, making the scar on her back itch. 

With a small hiccough, Koala wiped her eyes, feeling strangely hollow. It was supposed to be better now that she’d left home. She’d hoped that finally doing something to fight the injustices  of the world would ease the weight of Fisher Tiger’s death. But that burden remained just as heavy, and Koala was starting to think that nothing she did would right that wrong. 

Her vision cleared, Koala noticed for the first time that something had been painted on the opposite wall. A large golden cross with a series of circles in the center dominated the wall. 

It was odd. Koala had never seen anything like it before in her life, and trying to puzzle out what the symbol meant took her mind away from the pulse racing in her throat. There was a church back home that had a cross hanging on top of its steeple, but her family had never been religious and she’d never gone. It didn’t have those inner circles, though. Like little planets revolving around the sun. 

She liked that idea, and despite herself Koala smiled. 

xxx

It was with a heavy heart that Kuma walked the halls of Baltigo for the final time. He’d come to deliver his last message to Dragon, and now that that duty was done there was nothing left for him but to return to Vegapunk and submit himself to the authority of the Government. 

He was surprised that they hadn’t made him give up this place yet, and afraid of what would happen when they made him fight against his former comrades. It seemed inevitable to him that he would. Kuma the great weapon of the World Government, the man-made-machine, would bring peace to all. There was no place in the Government’s peaceful world for Dragon or his Revolution. The thought made Kuma’s insides twist, but at least he’d warned them. At least Dragon understood. 

As far as comforts went, it was small and cold, but Kuma clung to it anyway. He had to. He couldn’t lose hope or give into despair. For Bonny’s sake, if not his own. 

His father’s words echoed in his mind as he wandered the halls he’d helped carve. Someday Nika would come, bringing freedom to the oppressed with a smile on His face and a dance in His step. They must keep the faith, because someday…someday…

Someday they would be free. 

The bible in Kuma’s hand felt heavy as a stone, but he made himself smile. Someday . He might not live to see it, but perhaps his daughter would. He would have given his mind and soul to the Government a thousand times over if it meant Bonny would one day see the True Sun.

His feet took him down a familiar path to the chapel Dragon had graciously allowed him to erect during their early days on the island together. Kuma doubted it got much use these days; it’d been so long since he’d been on Baltigo long enough to pray, and the Revolution kept everyone busy enough that he rarely had time to speak on matters of the faith. Not that he ever felt comfortable preaching. It was so much easier for him to express his belief through acts of service, and he found it more and more difficult to speak outside his increasingly-small circle of friends and family. Ginny used to laugh at him for getting all flustered and tongue-tied when he tried, saying it was stupid for someone as powerful as himself to let himself get trampled over by the little old grannies who came to the church for healing. His words of encouragement always sounded so hollow to his own ears, but he could take their pain for himself. It was the only thing he could do in the twisted, unfair world in which they suffered together. 

Soon he wouldn’t be able to do even that, and Kuma sighed heavily as he opened the chapel door. At once he came to a stop, startled to notice that it was occupied. 

“Bon—?” Kuma managed to stop himself just in time. The girl had a passing resemblance to his daughter and nothing else. She was older than Bonny by a few years, with a slight frame that looked as fragile as a sparrow’s. He’d clearly startled her as much as she’d startled him, and the hastily-wiped tears tracks told Kuma that she’d recently been crying. 

“Sorry,” the girl said. “I didn’t mean to be someplace I wasn’t supposed to. I got…lost.”

Kuma wasn’t sure how to respond to this, so he said nothing. 

“I’ll leave.”

Beyond the tears, Kuma sensed a deep sadness in the girl. He wasn’t surprised. Children as young as her didn’t find the Revolution because they were happy. Still, his heart broke for her, as it broke for all the children whose lives were upended by senseless cruelty. Before she could sneak out of the door, Kuma knelt in front of the cross and said, “You may pray if you wish. This place was made to be a sanctuary for all.”

He’d meant Baltigo, but it didn’t come out right, and the girl’s anxiety melted to confusion. “Sanctuary?”

“A place of refuge, to quiet the mind and still the soul.”

Confusion shifted to embarrassment. “Sorry, I’m not really sure I believe in God.”

“Many don’t,” Kuma said, “but you don’t have to in order to search for peace.”

That made the girl pause and her soul scream. A stricken look flashed across her face. “I’m not sure I believe in that, either.”

“Many don’t,” Kuma said again, “but that shouldn’t keep you from searching.”

xxx

Koala wasn’t sure what to make of the giant man in the paw-printed hat. His expression was serene but otherwise as unfathomable as the cryptic words in which he spoke. If she were perfectly honest, he looked a little silly, kneeling on his disproportionately small knees while giving reverence to the strange symbol painted on the wall. In his hands was some sort of holy book, a similar design printed on its spine. 

Despite herself, Koala kneeled too. She’d never prayed before, at least, not the way priests prayed. Every slave she’d ever met cried out for a salvation that rarely came outside of death. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him put his hands together, and she copied his motions. 

The man spoke of peace, of quietness of mind. For as long as she could remember Koala searched for a way to answer the ghosts that haunted her past. She waited for something, anything to happen, but all that came was embarrassment, and heat flooded her cheeks and all the way down to the back of her neck. It was too late to leave now, somehow disrespectful to the man sitting silently beside her. Instead she asked, “What does it mean, that cross?”

“It can mean many things to many people, but for me…” His quiet, solemn voice trailed off, and Koala worried that she’d somehow made a mistake. That she’d crossed some line of formality with this person whose name she didn’t even know. But before she could apologize, he said, 

“For me it means hope.”

“I thought it looked like a sun,” Koala said. 

For the first time, emotion flashed across his face. Shock, perhaps. It was gone too quickly for Koala to place it. But a smile came after, and he said, “Oh, so you do know the stories.”

“What stories?”

The man looked down, this time his surprise firmly stamped on his severe features. “There’s a tale whispered among the world’s downtrodden, the slaves and the oppressed, of a sun god named Nika. You haven’t heard?”

Numbly, Koala shook her head.

The bear-man rose to his feet. “The knowledge is dangerous. The World Government has tried to erase the stories from history. It might be more dangerous than being a part of the Revolution. See?”

He held up his holy book and showed it to Koala. She could see now that the symbol on its spine wasn’t quite the same as the one on the wall, matching instead the almost bullseye pattern on his shirt. The cross was incomplete, the central circle—sun?--missing. 

“His name is Nika,” the man continued. Amazingly, he started to dance, and if Koala wasn’t so befuddled she would have laughed. “His presence is announced with the beat of the Drums of Liberation, His face white as the shining sun. When He appears, He will free every slave, and every man will be able to dance with a smile on their face.” 

He stopped, his expression turning sheepish, as if suddenly self-aware of how ridiculous he looked. But Koala scarcely noticed. Her heart pounded a steady beat against her ribs. While she’d never before heard of this god, what this man said was too similar to Fisher Tiger to be a coincidence. The brand on her back itched like fire and her heart pounded even harder, a drum beat unto itself. 

Was this why Fisher had fought so hard? Is it why he took the sun as his symbol? Despite herself, Koala once again began to cry. 

The man instantly stooped down beside her. “I’m sorry!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Gently he wiped away her tears. Koala shook her head. It wasn’t sadness or fear that overwhelmed her, but a revelation. She gripped the priest’s hands with her own. For so long she’d been searching, and finally it seemed she’d found someone with answers. “Please, tell me more. I want to know.”

Once again there was astonishment, followed by a kind and gentle smile. Kneeling together under the symbol of the sun, he began to preach.

xxx

Kuma didn’t know how much time had passed before the door to the chapel burst open. Young Sabo came bursting through like a thunderbolt, and at the sight of them exclaimed, “There you are!”

Both Kuma and Koala looked up, then at each other, unsure which of them he had been referring to. The girl’s tears had long-since dried, and over the course of their conversation a genuine smile had teased its way out of her soul. She really was nothing like his Bonny, either in looks or personality, but there was something that reminded him of her anyway. Perhaps it was just his own longing, but he didn’t think so. For years he’d walked the halls of Baltigo, and no one had danced with him at the thought of Nika’s return like she did. There was a kinship there, forged through similar flames of suffering and hope.

“Hack was looking for you,” Sabo said, addressing Koala directly. 

“Oh,” Koala said. She stood, dusting off her pants, and looked up at Kuma shyly. “Thank you, Mr. Kuma.”

Sabo looked from Koala to Kuma and back again. Despite the fires of revolution that were stoked inside his heart, he’d never been moved by gods or religion. It was people, he said, that would change the world for good, not some mystical being beyond their comprehension. 

Kuma understood, and didn’t push. The boy had talent and drive in spades, and needed no extra motivation during their impromptu sparring matches, and it warmed his heart to see that he seemed to have made friends with this lost, lonely soul. 

At the same time, there was so much he hadn’t said, stories of Nika and the hope He brought that had guided Kuma through countless storms and struggles. He didn’t have the heart to tell Koala that they would never meet again, and in any case wouldn’t have been able to explain if she had asked why. 

Kuma smiled as Sabo gathered her under his wing and guided her out the door. Koala paused a moment, looking back one final time. Her look of grateful appreciation said more than a thousand words, and then she was gone. The soft click of the closed latch separating the two kindred spirits forever. 

Kuma stood in that silence for a moment, allowing it to wash over him. He didn’t weep. Vegapunk made sure he no longer had the capacity for tears long ago, but he allowed himself to mourn his lost future. Bonny, he thought, would have liked her. 

Silently, he left his bible on one of the unused shelves for Koala to find. He had others, and even in their redacted form, he thought she could find the same comfort in those words that he had. 

In doing so a smile stretched across his face. He might be damned, but the next generation didn’t have to be, and in the distant corners of his mind, he thought he heard the Drums of Liberation sound.

[aishangotome]

Alfons Sylvatica: Chapter 17

Chapter 16

♡———♡

**Alfon's POV** I left Kate in the back room of the tavern, drank some alcohol, played around in the night town, and as soon as I returned to the castle, Roger gave me an unpleasant lecture.

I dealt with the situation appropriately, took a nap in my room to pay for the night out, and before I knew it, it was morning.

-

Alfons: "Yet you continued to tease her, for your own convenience"....

Lying in bed, I ruminate on last night's unpleasant remark.

It's unpleasant because it's true.

Alfons: ...I must admit, I was having too much fun teasing her that I didn't realize how close we were getting.

Alfons: She doesn't need a "convenient illusion," as she can follow me around to dangerous scenes without flinching and fight in flames.

Alfons: She is a person who can live seriously in reality, love someone, and be happy.

--Unlike me.

**flashback to Alfons' past**

Alfons: Haa... haa...

I left the boy who called himself Roger and headed for the orphanage I had been kicked out of.

"To die without being remembered by anyone."

In other words, a life where "neither my birth nor my death will leave any trace."

The moment I heard those words, I remembered the corpses of nameless children thrown away like garbage, and I was so scared I couldn't stand still.

(But the cat will surely remember.)

(He won't forget me.)

I just wanted to confirm that, to stroke that warmth again, so I kept running.

I knocked on the shabby door of the orphanage, and the matron came out.

And from behind her--the cat came.

Cat: What's all the commotion?

Alfons: ...Oh, good... hey, you remember me--

Cat: ...You--!

Before I could ask if he remembered me, the cat punched me.

Alfons: ...!? Wh-why...?

Cats can't punch people.

No, cats don't wear clothes in the first place. They don't talk.

(Why is the cat wearing clothes and talking?)

I get a pounding headache and close my eyes.

When I open my eyelids again, there he is--the director, with an ugly look on his face.

(Oh... that's right.)

(That's how it was.)

(My cat is already...)

-

One day, I made a trivial mistake.

The orphanage director, not finding it amusing to torment me, targeted the cat I cherished.

Seeing the cat turn into a lump of flesh before my eyes, my head pounded.

(This isn't real. That's not my cat...)

I always told myself, "It's not me who's being hurt."

To escape into a convenient delusion.

That habit, at that time--showed me a convenient illusion.

(My cat won't be killed by the director!)

(The cat... the director...)

(That's right... the cat killed the director.)

The director, who had been crying just moments ago, suddenly lost all expression and approached me irritably.

--To me, he looked like a cat.

Alfons: Good job, my cat.

And as usual, I gently stroked his neck.

After that--the matron, who came to peek into the quiet room, screamed.

The cat was purring as I stroked him.

In the matron's eyes, she must have seen the director on all fours, being petted and purring.

How pitiful.

But for me--the director was killed by the cat, and the cat was alive.

-

---Awakened from a convenient dream, until now, this moment.

Director: Are you here to beat me up again!? You... monster––!!

(That's right)

(The cat is dead)

(I... I couldn't bear it)

(Just to escape the suffering, to ease the pain––)

(--I pretended her death didn't happen.)

Even though I loved her and wished she would remember me even after I died.

---Callously, I forgot the cat's death for my own sake.

I heard somewhere in a church sermon that "love is not given in expectation of something in return."

In the end, I was just pretending to love her to distract myself from my own suffering.

I used the cat's life for my own convenience and abandoned her... I was no different from those who used and abandoned the orphans.

-

I don't remember how or where I walked.

When I came to my senses, I had left the orphanage and was wandering through the night streets of London.

(I shouldn't have gone back to check... I could have convinced myself that "the cat is still alive and remembers me.")

(Then I could have remained "me, the one who can love the cat.")

(It would have been better to stay crazy...)

(I shouldn't have gone to confirm the truth.)

If you hate reality, you can run away.

If you can't run away, you have no choice but to go crazy.

-

I suppose I abandoned any intention of living a decent life, any desire for so-called worldly happiness, at that time.

I started wandering the night streets on a whim, showing people the fleeting dreams they desired.

To survive in this cruel world, you need an escape.

I thought that for those who flocked to me, the convenient illusions I offered were just that.

(Why am I doing this?)

(Showing sweet dreams to weak people with my cursed power... Am I trying to feel like a savior?)

"Let's forget reality and have fun," I said in a cold voice as I pasted on a smile and touched the nape of their necks.

I was tired of my unchanging self, clinging to the pretense of love.

(But well... it doesn't matter anymore, does it?)

If I'm going to disappear and be forgotten anyway... I might as well wrap myself in sweet dreams like a piece of candy while I'm alive.

And if possible, I want to disappear without leaving a trace in anyone's heart.

Because the more traces I leave behind, the deeper the hole I dig that can't be filled.

**back to present**

Alfons: ...I'm not going to be a part of this damn sob story anymore.

-Back to Kate's POV-

("To die without being remembered by anyone" - that's Alfons' fate.)

I was scared the whole time I listened to Roger's story.

It was as if a black darkness that swallowed everything was creeping up on me.

(When Alfons dies...)

(Me, the people of the Crown, Alfons' playmates, the people of the slums, everyone...)

(We'll all forget about Alfons.)

His name, his appearance, his scent... everything, even the fact that he existed.

Roger: ...Among the testimonies of people who unnaturally lost their memories,

Roger: Some said they had a lingering feeling in their chest that there was something important they couldn't remember.

Roger: Like, they suddenly decided to enter a "vacant room" in their house and burst into tears.

Kate: ...

Roger: I think they were probably close to the "Mirror Cursed One."

(When I first met Alfons, I must have wanted to forget everything about him...)

Now, just imagining the memories I've made with Alfons slipping through my fingers is an unbearable pain.

At that moment, what came to my mind was--

--CHOICES--

Mallow blue tea

Pie throwing festival

The time we drank together

**flashback to kitchen**

Alfons: It tasted like mallow blue tea.

**end of flashback**

(That was when I was desperately trying to distance myself from Alfons.)

(The conversations we had, the laughter we shared, even the way we touched...)

If he dies, I won't be able to remember.

(So...?)

(So Alfons doesn't let anyone get close to him. He doesn't let anyone in.)

He only tries to form fleeting relationships.

He doesn't connect with anyone or anything.

Because if he makes a place for himself next to someone, in their heart, someday... there will only be a blank space left, where no one can even remember what was there.

Even if I asked him directly, he would just laugh it off, saying, "If you think so, then that's how it is."

But thinking about it this way, his words and actions seemed to make sense.

Kate: ...That fate,

Kate: Can it really be changed?

Roger: Who knows? I don't know either.

Roger: It's under research, as they say.

(Roger said he started his research before he met Alfons.)

Kate: ...For how long has it been "under research?"

Roger: Since I was a five-year-old brat, until today.

(For that long...)

Roger, who is also cursed, has been researching under Her Majesty, where the most research materials on curses are likely accumulated, and yet he still doesn't know how to escape fate.

That fact weighs heavily on my chest.

Kate: ...Thank you for telling me.

Roger: It wasn't for free.

Kate: Huh? ...Whoa!

He pulls me towards him with one hand around my waist and brings his lips close to my ear.

Roger: You owe me one.

He kisses my earlobe as if it's nothing, and I reflexively push him away.

Kate: What are you doing...!?

Roger: I brought you medicine for your hangover, didn't I? I just got my payment for that.

Roger: See you later, lil lady. Take care.

He disappears behind the door with a sly smile, leaving me alone again.

Kate: Alfons' fate...

The illusion-like him, who only grazed my fingertips, will probably disappear from me like an illusion.

For him, who has no attachment to life, it wouldn't matter if it were tomorrow.

Would my feelings for him disappear along with him?

(...I don't want that.)

I was supposed to be looking for a way to bury my feelings.

But no matter how much this love torments me, I don't want to forget it.

I want to hold it in my heart forever--that's how strongly I feel now.

(I don't want these feelings to become an illusion.)

-

--At the same time, in a corner of the palace, a certain conspiracy was beginning to move.

An old gentleman with a blue ring glittering on his finger was surrounded by anxious-looking councilors, whispering among themselves.

Lord Gore: The scoundrels who extinguished the purification fire... haven't you caught their tails yet?

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Chapter 18

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[kyuremking]

Glad to hear that Hades' soul was destroyed without (unnecessary) bloodshed! How do they go about getting Hades' soul out of Shun in TT Pegasus AU, btw? Do some of the Pegasi (like Aleksandros or Ganzorig, maybe?) instruct Saori on how to use her cosmos, so as to use her divine blood to help with the separation of Hades from Shun's body?

When they all go back to Sanctuary, I can only imagine how much more rowdier it's gonna get. In the time between the Galactic Duels, going to Jamir, then back to Greece (is that the right order?), I'd wager that the other Kido orphans have been exposed to Ganzorig long enough that suddenly, having a parental figure doesn't seem so bad. They've gotten a taste of genuine fatherly affection, they ain't ever letting go - sorry Aldebaran, your Temple is gonna be swamped with kids every other day ( ^ w^).

I can almost see Rodorio relaxing just a smidge after fulfilling his goal of killing Hades, remembers Aiolia still has Zeus' soul inside him and goes "Hmm, there's a seal in place, but it be better to deal with it now before it becomes a problem-"

Then Cancer Deathmask walks by, and suddenly, Rodorio's blood pressure spikes. "Nvm, Apollo it is." Meanwhile, Aleksandros is just tuning his harp in the background.

Aleksandros unlike the rest of the pegasus (along with Badru), is not a direct fighter, yes he is still able to perform the techniques of the pegasus and hits like a truck but he is more of a support type.

Techniques that reduce or increase cosmos, that nullify senses, illusions and most importantly(and against his own will) techniques related to souls.

Don't sleep on Aleksandros, after all he is the one who finally killed Bellerephon's murderer.

So it's not difficult to exorcise Hades' soul when he hasn't possessed Shun's body yet and he has a little help from Saori who has received a couple of cosmos control lessons and some of her blood.

So they took out Hades' soul, contained it, Rodorio raised his cosmos to the ninth sense and destroyed Hades definitively. It was a bit anticlimactic, over two thousand years of wars to be resolved in 15 minutes.

Remember, Rodorio sent Isaac and Kanon to the sanctuary via meteor express because he didn't have time to deal with a couple of former apprentice saints in the underwater temple, he had more important things to do.

Camus didn't stick around long enough to know how the situation would develop, he grabbed Isaac by the neck and took off for Japan.

So when he realised where he was, Kanon decided to open his mouth and paint himself as the good guy in the story:

‘I discovered my evil twin brother's plan to assassinate the patriarch and Athena, but when I tried to confront him and get him to come to his senses he locked me up and left me for dead.’

With Isaac gone, no one can tell them that Kanon was acting as sea dragon so as far as they know Poseidon's forces found Kanon and had him imprisoned to get information out of him.

It is official the conflict has broken out in the sanctuary.

Rodorio is waiting for Partita to show up because he wants to have a word with her, break a couple of her bones and fleece her a bit for what she did to his soul during Lost Canvas. He won't kill her but she won't escape unscathed.

Even hiding behind Tenma won't save her from punishment.

Neither Marin nor Camus are happy that Ganzorig is acting this way, yes they are children but they are also saints, they should be treated with the same harshness as any adult in order to survive whatever they face. The difference is that Ganzorig knows perfectly well how to treat a child who is also a saint.

Aldebaran will need to make an extension to the Taurus house or move Ganzorig elsewhere.

The gods in Saint seiya have proven to be like little kids who smack you around and don't expect their actions to have consequences.

If they make one false move Rodorio will bring down those consequences. And they'll do it because they're proud idiots who think the sun shines on their ass.

As for Aioria, he is a marked vessel but he doesn't have Zeus' soul inside, unless he tries to possess Aioria nothing will happen. But there is already a defence seal installed on Aioria courtesy of Aleksandros and which Orisos has decided to reinforce because there is enough trouble in the sanctuary.

[ms-nesbit]

Recover (jason todd x reader)

rating: 15+

warnings: swearing, violence, graphic depictions of injuries, sad jason todd

summary: reader and jason broke up, but jason regrets his decision after a near death experience. Tied to this fic

words: 1.5k

note: im gonna cry

So alone.

Jason undressed at the door, kicking the door behind him. His shoulders slouched - a habit he developed from his torture endured by Joker - yet they felt heavy, burdening more weight than usual.

No other thoughts occupied him: he was alone. Lonely. He knew this when he opened the fridge and the open space stared back at him in disgust, wrinkled ketchup packets scattered mindlessly; he knew this when he dragged his iron feet, tired from running from his fears, all the way to his bed, body crashing onto it.

He entered a one-way staring contest with the ceiling that morning, avoiding shutting his eyes from the vitriol he would meet once he had.

He turned on his phone, ignoring the mental notes he slapped earlier. Scrolling through social media to find any trace of her at all, he was met with his fear-

Nothing. No photos, simple messages, cryptic DMs addressing whatever remnants of him are still left at her apartment. Was Jason necessarily just for his feelings? He hadn’t cut ties with y/n for personal reasons, as he failed to reason with her; he did it for her safety.

Yet he was the one safe in his apartment, away from the drifting waves of the ocean crashing on his feet. Jason sat up on the foot of the bed, deep breaths distracting him from a message from his eldest brother, Dick: Black Mask. Again.

But as all things must, Jason addressed the problem head-on, standing from his rest, and falling into line like the soldier he was.

—

“Go to hell, you bitch.”

The insult hardly left Jason’s sharp tongue before a stray bullet struck his right shoulder, catching him.

Black Mask laughed loudly in response, echoes of his sadistic nature bouncing from the bare walls of the empty building. Jason, hunched in pain, heard a screech of a car door opening and closing - along with the clambering of footsteps - and he assumed defeat, a puddle of blood forming underneath him as he lay wounded, a continental soldier.

So cold.

No other words came to his mind when Dick sprinted to him, inspecting the open flesh wounds before the obvious bullet hole just under his clavicle. “Jason, we can take you to someone to get you patched up, Cass is on my cycle, gaining on Black Mask’s car-”

“Y/n’s place.” Jason wanted to waste no more time, feeling his body heat subside as his consciousness swayed.

Dick shook his head. “But Jason, your shoulder-”

Jason barked at his brother, hiding his fear-stricken eyes underneath his white streaks of hair. “Now.”

Only nodding, Dick lifted Jason to his feet, carrying the injured man to the Orphan’s vehicle. He gingerly laid Jason in the passenger seat, nerves shaken by the dangerous state he was in; Dick knew about y/n and what Jason did - despite Dick’s disapproval - but was terrified that he would again lose his brother before they would make it to her apartment.

It didn’t stop Dick though, flooring the gas pedal and disregarding traffic lights. And once they pulled in front of the stout building, Jason didn’t hesitate to pull on the car door, opening it and dragging himself out and onto the fire escape.

Dick didn’t say a word to his brother, but remained there until Jason reached y/n’s window, pursing his lips when Jason’s bloodied hand faintly knocked on the dirty glass before lifting it, tumbling in through the opening.

—

“Jason, what are you doing here?” y/n forced a whisper, bringing her free hand to a tight fist. “I thought you said you didn’t want to see me anymore.”

Jason whimpered in pain, collapsing on the floor with a final groan. He lay quiet, as silent as y/n had ever seen him, and it evoked panic in her. “Christ, Todd, what did you get yourself into?” She rushed to his side, resting one hand on his left shoulder, and the other taking his hand; she paid no mind to the blood from his body dripping onto her maroon nightgown, nor could she - Jason’s breaths were heavy, labored. “Jason…Todd, why are you here?” y/n asked once more, voice broken, and use of formal name breaking Jason with her.

“I want to spend my life with you,” Jason panted, “or whatever of it I have left.” he shifted carefully, weight falling onto his arms, as he lifted himself from the ground. His jacket was tattered from the knife tears, and the black shirt underneath damp with…blood? Sweat? Tears? Not even Todd knew.

Before Jason’s arms gave out on him, y/n caught him, and guided him to her couch, where he slumped his back and upper body on the armrest. Y/n cursed under her breath when Jason unintentionally exposed the extent of his injuries, and began shuffling to the bathroom to retrieve the oversized first aid kit Dick supplied her with upon their first meeting. As she turned to leave, though, she was stopped by Jason gripping her forearm with whatever strength he conserved. “We can talk about this some other time, Todd, I just have to take care of-”

“No.” he gritted through clenched teeth, tears falling and catching on the scrapes on his cheeks, the salty liquid stinging him. “Just-just listen, okay?” y/n hadn’t heard him this vulnerable, weak…scared.

So scared. “I was scared that they would find you, hurt you, ki…” Jason trailed, vocal chords strained from the harrowing thoughts that washed over him. “I-I can’t lose you.”

Y/n bent down in front of Jason, bringing herself to eye level with him as she pressed her forehead to his. So close she was that she could see that he was crying, the sadness in his hazel eyes calling to her; Jason noticed the terror in y/n’s expression, her tears streaming past her cheeks, and it hurt him more than the bullet wound. He wanted no more than to protect her from pain, but the pain had been his doing, his hands, his actions.

He couldn’t bring himself to forgive his mistakes, so it was a shock to him when his hand felt warmer, softer flesh, and it was y/n’s hand, trembling as it took his. “Please don’t leave again. I can’t lose you.” Y/n’s other hand rested on Jason’s cheek, brushing the tears away as she healed his chest with forgiveness, a medicine he hadn’t quite experienced in his lifetime of agony. “If that means my last day is tomorrow, I don’t care - I want it to be spent with you.” y/n’s lips twitched as she grinned weakly, still overcome with emotion. She wanted to be strong for him, caring for him as nearly nobody else bothered, and it took him nearly dying to see that she believed he was deserving of such prophylactics. “Besides, I’m a strong woman, anyway.”

Jason instinctively smiled at the response, despite the overbearing torment from his wounds. “You are.” He placed his other hand over y/n’s, giving it a weak squeeze. “But I’ll protect you even when you can’t protect yourself. Always.”

The fire in Jason’s eyes burned y/n, like Icarus to the sun, and she felt her steel wings melt and burn into the ocean below her before she, too, fell. Jason was nothing short of serious, and the tone healed the words that shattered her weeks prior.

His eyes rolled back, and he fell unconscious, much to y/n’s dismay, snapping her from her dreadfully short dreamlike state. “Jason? Jay? Jay!” y/n shouted, voice stained with trepidation.

—-

The heart rate monitor beeped overhead.

Jason slumbered soundly on the bed, bare chest covered with bandages and stitches. Y/n placed a tender kiss to his forehead after combing his tuft of hair. She waited hours for him to come to, as the retired doctor noted before her departure, “Y/n, it could be days before he wakes up. Just keep him company.” And y/n did, taking his blood pressure intermittently, and refilling his IV bag.

Her favorite time was at dawn, when she poured herself and Jason dinnertime tea. She picked a book from her nook, and read it. While y/n was reading her collection of Emily Dickinson’s poems, though, out of the corner of her eye, she swore she saw a stir in Jason, but shrugged it off, returning to the stanza.

But when his breathing staggered, and a quiet but needy, “Y/n” left his pale lips, y/n rose to her feet, nearly knocking over her steaming cup of tea. She rushed to Jason’s sight, and the sight of Jason hazily grinning at her overtook her.

“Jay.” she sang softly. “Please don’t do that again.” Jason attempted to adjust his posture on the bed, grunting in pain as he miscalculated his healing. “No, don’t- you have to rest for a while. It was pretty bad.”

Jason looked down at the bullet wound, where it was stitched and heavily bandaged. “I love you.” his voice was sleepy, but as serious as it was before he lost consciousness earlier.

“I know. I love you too.” Y/n was happy she left her window unlocked; Jason laid content with the angel at his bedside, a symbol of hope in his life he feared he could have never restored.

[lookslikethatsallthetimewehave]

You're right about the other villains not having as much depth as Octavian. With most of them, we don’t even know their backstories!

Oh yeah, I said that.

I should make a list of the villains that have somewhat of a backstory/motivation:

Dr. Hare: Dr. Harvey Hare was the lead scientist for NISS (National Institute of Silly Sciences). There he engineered a top-secret mind control device. The device malfunctioned during testing on a bunny rabbit, fusing him with it.

Copy Cat: Copy Cat made millions selling illegally copied music, but she was caught when she offered a bootlegged computer game to an undercover agent.

Sir Rebral: Sir Rebral believes he is descended from royalty. He was apprehended while stealing the crown jewels from the Queen of Arturus from Astro-Knights Island.

Speeding Spike: Spike was a car thief, and loved speeding.

Ratman: Ratman used trained rats to help him steal money and jewels, but his pets "ratted" on him, leading to his imprisonment.

Crusher: Crusher once stole a monster truck and smashed cars in a parking lot for fun.

Betty Jetty: Betty Jetty was a pilot who flew without a license.

Director D: He is bald and is embarrassed that he is bald, so he wants everyone to be bald too.

Vince Graves: Vince is a renegade archaeologist who is often found in Egypt looking for rare artifacts, and is willing to steal artifacts if necessary. When he finds something valuable, he quickly sells it to the highest bidder and then leaves.

Binary Bard: Mordred (Binary Bard's original name) brought technology to the Kingdom of Arturus. His unnatural experiments (aka cyborgs) led to his imprisonment. Mordred escaped prison and fled into space. His unfinished ship crashed on Pewter Moon, where he was gravely injured. He rebuilt himself as part man, part machine in order to survive, becoming the space tyrant Binary Bard.

Gretchen Grimlock: Gretchen Grimlock is the wealthy owner of Gretchen's Beauty Products, Inc. Her company uses endangered plants and animals in its products. One day while searching for a rare orchid she was attacked by Bigfoot, which caused her to start hunting cryptids.

The Shogun: He and his brother Basho trained as Samurai, but Basho decided to become good and left to be a ninja. Basho was angry at his brother for leaving, and stayed with the Samurai, eventually becoming a tyrant ruling over old Japan. 

Mr. Silva: He wanted to be a fireman. But now he's stuck as a science teacher.

Holmes: Holmes was a robot created by the scientist Dr. Harold Langley to compete in game shows. Eventually he became resentful that Langley was getting all the praise.

Henry Flatbottom: Henry was best friends with Valiant, but he also had a crush on Valiant's girlfriend Fiona. Years after Fiona rejected him, Henry used his power (he's the magistrate) to organize Valiant's death so Fiona could choose him instead.

Count Bram: He was turned into a vampire, and tried for years to come up with a cure for it. Eventually his wife died (because she's a human) and Bram lost his mind.

Mark Hertz: Used to work at Poptropica Headquarters, but left for MegaFightingBots because Poptropica wouldn't allow children to type anything in order to chat with each other.

Ringmaster Raven: Bird Boy was an orphan who was born with avian-esque features. He was used as a side-show attraction in a carnival until he was left behind at a town (accidentally or intentionally). Some time later, Bird Boy was accused of burning down a shop, although it is very heavily suggested that he was most likely framed by the real arsonist. He went into hiding until he was caught, and was driven out of the town as a result.

Myron Van Buren: MVB is the last living descendant of the legendary Van Buren hunting family. He became obsessed with proving his worth.

Scheherazade: Scheherazade and her father were poor traders. One day, her father found a genie lamp, and wished to be a sultan and his daughter a princess. The Sultan became obsessed with the genie and his new wealth, forgetting about Scheherazade, causing her to eventually run away and form the Forty Thieves.

Chthonians: The Chthonians were at war with the Mole People for centuries, but only because the Moles took one of their eggs (the Moles not knowing what it was).

Rumpelstiltskin: The Red Queen captured him and kept him locked in the treasury/prison for years.

Dr. Gramston: Dr. Gramston was a dentist on the Blandside, but her business was failing because half of the townspeople (the Goofside residents) refused to brush their teeth. One day Gramston fell through a hole in her office into the sewers, where she discovered the magical crystals that could turn things goofy or bland. She created a plot to turn the entire island bland.