#rotating him in my head at maximum speed

[jajatoc]

Bilbo with the Arkenstone! A little tribute to my childhood's comfort book and movies <3

[marlynnofmany]

Food Choices

Normally when I’m in a room with the entire crew of the courier ship, it’s either for an important debriefing by the captain or because of some emergency. We’d never all been at a restaurant together before. I kept having moments of worry that the ship was unattended, and having to remind myself that it was fully locked. Any of our biometrics could unlock it, and no one else would get past the hatch. It was fine. We could celebrate how good business had been — with the captain paying for everyone’s food — and there was no need to fret.

It was still bizarre, though. Almost as bizarre as some of the food I’d seen on other tables as we made our way to this one. The city was a cultural hub like few others. (Well, probably like many others, but they were very proud of themselves on that count. And this restaurant was a fine example.)

“The server will bring appetizers first,” said Captain Sunlight, scaly hands folded on the table in front of her with infinite dignity. “There’s no charge for these, and the server will likely decide for you what you want. They were pretty good at guessing last time I was here.”

“We shall see,” Zhee said with a flick of his antennae. He sat on an angled mat instead of a chair, since the restaurant had seating accommodations for all body types, including praying-mantis-shaped bug aliens. The mats were even adjustable, which was good because Trrili was taller than he was. She sat on the other side of the circular table — whether that was for more elbow room for the pinchers, or to make a maximum tripping hazard for people walking past, I couldn’t say. Either seemed in character for her.

“What’s the panel in the floor for?” Paint wanted to know. She sat next to the captain, scales a shiny orange to Sunlight’s yellow. I think she polished them before leaving the ship. She pointed now at the seam that I hadn’t noticed: a smaller circle inside the open center of the table.

Captain Sunlight said, “That’s the server’s entrance. They bring the food up from the kitchen downstairs.”

“Oh, nice!”

At my left, Mimi the mechanic grumbled about what an unnecessarily flashy choice that was, and how the restaurant had better keep on top of their maintenance. He gestured with his tentacles as he talked, sounding like he spoke from experience. “Anything that moves can stop moving, and usually at the worst time.” He also sounded like he gargled with engine grease, but he always sounded like that.

Fast-moving tentacles from further down turned out to be Wio and Mur, who’d discovered a game I didn’t recognize on the digital menu panel set into the tabletop. They were slapping away at something with competitive speed, and Mur seemed to be winning. Which was probably nice for him, given how often he lost at card games against the captain.

On my other side, Blip wrinkled her fishy nose. “I was about to say something smells good, but…”

“Then you smelled that?” asked Blop. “What is that?” He turned to look at neighboring tables, nearly elbowing Coals in the head and immediately apologizing. It was a good thing he’d missed, since that much muscle would have hurt.

“No harm done,” said Coals with his usual calm. I don’t think I’d ever seen the little lizardy guy upset. Which was probably for the best, given that he worked on translations with Trrili, and that had to be an exercise in patience.

Eggskin sat on his other side, similarly scaly and calm, but with far more opinions about food, since they were the ship’s cook as well as medic. I was only catching snatches of conversation from where Eggskin discussed the menu with Kavlae, but it sounded like a lengthy explanation for something. Kavlae didn’t look bored, though (head frills waving with interest), so it was probably good information. As a pilot, she didn’t spend much time on food prep.

I’d helped Eggskin in the kitchen plenty, both as part of the assistance rotation and because I found it interesting. The crew ate a range of foods, and most of it was edible for humans, though there were a few dishes that I wouldn’t touch on a dare.

A gentle chime sounded. Before I could ask what it was, the trapdoor sank down an inch then slid aside. A column rose into view that turned out to be a Waterwill, the gelatinous aliens that followed very few biological rules that I was familiar with. This one had less murky innards than most, with a bunch of things floating in there that could have been organs, recent meals, or personal belongings. The voice sounded vaguely male, and it hardly burbled at all.

“I hope you are all having an excellent day/night cycle! May your experience here only improve things.” He kept raising up, then when the platform cleared the floor, it folded out into a ring of serving dishes. The Waterwill sank back down in the center and everything locked into place. “Now, whose idea was it to dine at our fine establishment?”

Everyone pointed at Captain Sunlight.

“Ah, then I will serve you first!” The Waterwill didn’t turn, since he didn’t have visible eyes or even a mouth to be talking with, but somehow I got the impression that he had focused his attention in that direction. A stubby armlike shape reached out to set a bowl in front of the captain. “Our finest Heatseeker cuisine. And for you as well, madam. Also you, and you; don’t think I missed you over there.” Several arms passed out similar dishes to the other lizardy members of the crew.

I tried to peek around Blip and Blop for a look at Coals’ food, but couldn’t get a good angle. Might have been pasta and meatballs; might have been worms and worse.

“And!” announced the Waterwill, turning back to Zhee, “I hope this will be to your liking. And yours as well.” Goo arms set identical plates in front of the two Mesmers, and I could see from a distance that they held dead animals with the heads removed.

Zhee’s antennae were doing a complicated dance, but I couldn’t figure out if he was pleased or not before the server moved on.

“Only our best for the Frillians present!” He set festive arrangements of shrimp-things in front of Blip, Blop, and Kavlae. Really artistic; good presentation. The variety of colors and sizes made the plates into works of art. I hoped they tasted as good as they looked.

I murmured, “Ooh, fancy,” as the server came up with three more dishes.

“The Strongarm special!” he announced, laying them out in front of the three tentacle aliens to my left. Meat and plants of some sort; I couldn’t tell what.

Then he was back in front of me, and I realized I was the only one without food yet.

“Last but not least,” he said, “Featuring ingredients straight from Earth, we have a meal our chef has named the ‘Mother and Child Reunion.’”

The plate held a chicken breast, a hardboiled egg, and a pile of corn.

While Captain Sunlight thanked him generously, I stared at the plate with my hand over my mouth. When the server had packed everything up and disappeared back into the floor, I still didn’t know what to say.

Mimi spoke up from my left. “All right, why is it called that?”

I pointed. “This is the unhatched young of that species. And this is food they eat.”

Mimi tilted his octopuslike head to get a look at whatever expression I was making. “Isn’t that a weird thing to name it? Aren’t humans famous for pack-bonding with animals?”

“Yes and yes,” I admitted.

His rough voice was gentle. “Should we get you something else?”

“No, it’s okay,” I said, forcing a laugh. “It’s just a name. This is human food; I just wasn’t used to thinking about it like that.”

“If you’re sure.”

I looked around the table, expecting to find the rest of the crew enjoying their food. To my surprise, there were complaints.

“They overcooked the worms and the fruit!” Paint said. “And these beetles aren’t even shelled. Who eats something with that many spikes straight?”

Wio grumbled, “How do they know enough to pick out shorebirds and air lettuce, but not enough to know what an insulting assumption that is?”

“Right?” Mur agreed. “No self-respecting Strongarm would choose something from the shore when there are inland foods available just a little farther away.”

The pair of them griped about the species’ history of walking out of the sea, and everything that meant to them, while Mimi added murmurs of agreement.

Zhee, meanwhile, was complaining louder. “They took out the good parts! What nonsense is this? Did they mean to put the intestines in a separate dish and forget?”

He looked across the table for agreement from Trrili, and found her scooping paste out of a jar that had come with the meal. She dumped the last of it onto her plate and spread it around while Zhee sputtered. “Really, Trrili? That much? Would you like some fursqueak with your sauce?”

“Soursauce is the only reason to eat fursqueak,” Trrili retorted. “If you don’t want yours, pass it down.”

Zhee exclaimed that the brains were everyone’s favorite where he came from, which was clearly more cultured than whatever backwater moon she was hatched on, and they bickered across the table.

I peeked over my shoulder at the other restaurantgoers, hoping they weren’t glaring at us. I found a pair of elderly Heatseekers watching with interest, for all the world like they had been hoping to get dinner and a show. Their plates held something that looked like green popcorn.

Next to me, Blip heaved a sigh. “I’m actually kind of tired of shrimp.”

Blop laughed. “I know what you mean. It’s great! The best food out there! But… I don’t know, I guess I was looking forward to something more exotic.”

I eyed the fancy plates. “Ever tried chicken?”

They both looked at me. “No,” said Blip. “Does it have a strong flavor?”

“I wouldn’t say so. It is good, though. Popular on Earth for a reason. Here, I’ll trade you a bit.” I separated a chunk and handed it over while Blip put a bright pink jumbo shrimp on my plate.

“Can I try the egg?” Blop asked tentatively. “Is that okay? It looks so different from fish eggs.”

“Sure!”

Captain Sunlight caught sight of what we were doing, and loudly asked if Wio wanted to trade seabird for worm jerky. She did.

After that it was a cheerful chaos of swapping and sampling. Mur thought Zhee’s fursqueak was tasty, if tough; Zhee happily cracked open Paint’s spiky beetles; Trrili found that her favorite sauce was also good on shrimp; Eggskin and Coals both liked the corn. Kavlae said that a wrapping of Mur’s air lettuce elevated her shrimp from tasty to god-tier.

By the time the server appeared again to take our orders for the rest of the meal, we were all ready. I have never seen a Waterwill look that surprised as when he heard some of our choices.

~~~

(The meal name comes from the Paul Simon song, which was apparently inspired by something on a Chinese restaurant menu.)

Anyways, these are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[slxtmeri]

THE THOUGHT OF SCHLATT (schlut) WEARING A COMPRESSION SHIRT IM DROOLING I JUDT DROPPED DEAD.

imagine fwb roommate!schlatt leaving his room to go get food while you are watching tv.... sparing him a small glance then fully rotating your head at maximum speed getting whiplash in the process.. tight ass shirt and sweatpants that show his bulge so good. schlatt looks your way and sees you absolutely gobsmacked. eyes wide, mouth open, cereal leaking out of your mouth

"wear that more often please."

"ill wear it more if you wear that lace lingerie more"

someone call an ambulance bc my heart just stopped working... BRO.

imagine he was trying to leave someplace in that outfit but you stop him. grabbing his hand and pulling him to the bedroom.

"what the fuck, i was about to leave!"

"not before i get a taste of you, big guy."

[rottencoreflesh101]

I came up with a random ass design in my head while I was coloring a commission and he popped in…. My lil meow meow, my lil star breathing dork

I wont finish his ref since comms are my up most priority.

Sum more about Hoshi!

Hoshi is one of Uzui Tengen’s sons.

Hoshi was a very troublesome child and gave Uzui and his wives their daily doze of exercise trying to keep him steady. He is very active!

Hoshi couldn’t fit into sound breathing requirements so he learnt basic swordsman and ninja skills.

Tengen visited the corp and tried his best to talk to the hashiras if they could teach his son a breathing technique but most of them were quite busy and just couldn’t take him since his troublesome record.

Mayumi approached Tengen and she decided she would be happy to take Hoshi as her tsugoku. Hoshi learnt his own breathing technique, star breathing thanks to Mayu, the moon hashira.

Mayu actually needs a companion in her missions, she gets a stuffy nose pretty easy when its cold so she cant pick up scents which is something she relies on most so having Hoshi with her helps her a lot so its a win/win.

Hoshi does makeup, does his hair, always smells nice, haves skin routines etc etc just like his father. He is always flashy but don’t underestimate him, he isn’t afraid to get dirty.

His top is very revealing but it’s just because his breathing techniques required a serious amount of flexibility and he often ripped apart his uniform while performing so they chopped it off.

Star Breathing forms

Morning Star: series of extremely fast slashes causing star sparks. This action causes the blade to heat up and when in contact it burns like the sun to demon. Tho this technique takes a lot of stamina and strength.

Star catcher: N/A

Shooting star: The user must carry a throwable weapon connected with a chain/rope to be able to use this form. The user will throw the weapon(in this case, Hoshi’s spike rings) to the target with maximum speed, the weapon will stab it’s victim and quickly inject poison. The user will have a short amount of time to manipulate the victim’s movements forcing them to the chain’s submission.

Spark clash: N/A

Reflecting moon: N/A

Sparkle poi: This is very similar to “string performance” from sound breathing. The user will hold onto the weapon’s chain and start rotating the weapons in high speeds but make sure the weapon is slighting hitting the ground to start a series of fire star sparks which would set the weapon on a series of blinding spark rotations. THO! Please be aware that if not done right, the user can suffer blindness.

Star injection: N/A

Flash Bang: the user will start swinging the twin weapons in a rotational motion and start causing lots amounts of star sparks and once the spark are strong enough (till they start creating heat waves) the user will swing the twin weapon down at the ground creating a huge flash bang stunting those around witnessing it for about 5-7 minutes. If the user isn’t trained enough for this form, it can stunt themselves.

[cielomist]

This is very much not april fools related i genuinely want to hear your thoughts /srs but i am begging you can i Pls have a full ass rant abt all your vexen thoughts im backreading through propaganda and youre making me go OUGH - @fuckable-kh-men-battle

HOUGH

i want to preface this by saying i am not super articulate, i am very much a person that just rotates characters in my head at high speeds and doesn't form super coherent thoughts, but by god i know i have a lot of vexen thoughts its just gonna take some time to put them into like, understandable words

under a cut bc im sure its gonna get long. also im sorry that this is so incredibly disorganized.

OK SO

i have loved vexen. ever since i was a kid. i never even played com i just saw him in the kh2 journal and was like "THAT ONE"

(i was also deep in the like… 2009-era deviantart kh fandom, but… 😬)

but getting into the deeper stuff, vexen has this fun little dichotomy of somehow being incredibly cringefail but also EXTREMELY accomplished. he brags about how smart he is, he giggles to himself about it in the castle in days, and it comes across as this pathetic little man just being full of himself, but he also can like, legitimately back it up? he just MADE another riku. he MADE xion, and xion is absolutely extraordinary because she was not supposed to develop as her own person, but he was just so damn good at making just real ass PEOPLE that xion became her own person with her own thoughts and feelings and dreams

one of my favourite scenes is this one. first of all i live for all interactions between vexen/even and zexion/ienzo because GOD. i'm fucking obsessed with dad!even as a concept and i love thinking of the dynamics between ienzo and all his dads and i need to stop myself here or i'm gonna go off on a whole other tangent about ienzo specifically and how fucked his entire life was--

anyway that scene is one of my favs because i just love vexen running through the castle, yelling for his son, because his boss is actively avoiding him. i just assume this is how it always is with him.

also it's been pointed out that vexen, when talking with zexion, will often bend so he's eye level with him and i love that. i adore that.

also speaking of vexen/even and zexion/ienzo, THIS

god sorry i just read ienzo's character file and he mentioned even would scold atw for buying ienzo so much ice cream and i love that mental image. atw is literally king of radiant garden and even's bitching him out for spoiling his 8-year-old

and god VEXEN'S CHARACTER FILE... "I had lost sight of why I wanted to be clever in the first place. I wanted to be clever because I wanted to be helpful to someone." HHHHHHHH even became a scientist in the first place because he waanted to HELP PEOPLE and he got in this spiral of "i need to be smart to help people" and he worked HARD to become smarter and eventually dropped the "to help people" presumably because of xehanort and then when he was recompleted the first time he REMEMBERED WHY he wanted to do all the things he wanted to do in the first place, and in order to help people he gave up his heart, his humanity, what the original organization had been WORKING TOWARDS THE WHOLE TIME and i just. ough.

also in birth by sleep even talks to ven for like, two minutes maximum and from that is able to just deduce that ven's heart is not only completely devoid of darkness, but also that any darkness he DID have was forcibly removed. i don't know where to fit this tidbit in but i think about it a lot.

i mentioned in one of my propaganda asks a post that theorized about vexen's shield, and while i still can't find that post i did remember a fic i read based of of it

i somehow don't have coherent thoughts on his redemption arc in kh3. i get distracted by how pretty he looks when he says he wants to atone i think. but his little monologue when he's trying to convince demyx to help him out... ough. i am personally of the opinion that even was the apprentice with an actual like, medical phd. i think all of the apprentices specialized in different things, and i don't really have a solidified idea for anyone else (though dilan is shown to like flowers in his character file, though i think that gardening is a hobby for him rather than his professional field) but that's my Even's Professional Career headcanon. he absolutely has the entire ICD manual memorized. and rememorizes it every time it updates.

i also think post-kh3 when he was re-humaned he just straight up euthanized himself to be recompleted. he didn't want to wait to regrow a heart and it beat the hell out of immolation, axel

anyway i really wish people wouldn't reduce vexen/even to just being a creepy weirdo; he has SO MUCH to him, but ultimately i think people overlook him because he's not an anime prettyboy and i and the other vexenfuckers are stronger and smarter and sexier than everyone else

for now that's all i've got. if i think of more things i will rb with more vexen thoughts. thank u for your patience as i go insane writing this. <3

(fun fact! when i was in middle school (maybe high school?) i set his japanese laugh as my alarm and to this day i remember it bleeding into one of my dreams via a man in a parking lot laughing at me until i woke up and realized it was my alarm going off for school)

[starlitangels]

Broken Feathers

@lostinanothersmemories​​ has been doing a lot of posts recently about our favorite shifter pack having wings and I’ve always been a sucker for avian-human stories... so have a bit of this AU I might do another one of these because I have more ideas... 2.9k words

—

The storm lashed at my exposed skin and feathers as I flew through it. I hated flight goggles with a fiery passion but I wouldn’t be able to see in a storm if I didn’t wear them, so I had to squint through them as streaks cascaded down the glass. Well—not really glass. They were made of plexiglass so they wouldn’t be as likely to break.

Come on, Ash, where are you, you idiot? I thought as I banked sharply to the left, looking below at the field. The storm made wind difficult to coast on. It whipped in every direction and changed without warning.

No one else was stupid enough to fly in this weather.

Up ahead, a faint... fuzzy line of grey drifted up from the ground. Too dark to be mist from the summer warmth evaporating rain off asphalt.

Smoke.

I rolled over a gust that wanted to shoot me backward and beat my wings hard, pushing forward against the wind. If that smoke wasn’t Asher, I would be surprised. I could already hear the defensiveness in his tone that he’d have when I landed.

What, get struck by lightning, bird brain?

No! The sky decided to kiss me.

I’m telling your mate you’re cheating on them with the sky.

No, wait, don’t!

I snorted at the thought.

As I got closer, my eyebrows knitted together. The smoke... nearby, I could see flickers of light. Hear bursts of sound not usually heard in a storm. I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders and tilting my neck side-to-side to pop it.

“Alright. Putting on a show, are we?” I muttered under my breath to myself.

I shot past the smoke, catching a glimpse of Asher sprawled flat on his back in a mess of broken feathers. Three dark figures in the long grass a few wingspans away, stalking closer.

I banked sharply, my primary feathers’ turn-point the circumference of a small coin. I wasn’t as powerful in the air as David but I was certainly more nimble. Ash had tried to call me “Fancy Feathers” once when we were younger after I moved to Dahlia and showed off some tricks I knew.

Emphasis on once.

I went just past Asher and U-turned again, twisting into a steep dive and plunging toward the ground, tucking my wings in close to my body.

Rain streaked over my skin and feathers, rushing up my goggle lenses rather than down with the speed of my dive.

When I was definitely pushing the limits of safety, I rotated so my feet were going toward the ground and flared out my wings, feeling them fill with cold, yet humid air and slow me down. I yanked my goggles down my face and let them dangle around my neck.

—

Ash watched—not even bothering to hide his slack jaw—as a figure in black slammed into the ground between him and the people who’d shot him out of the sky. It was a wonder they didn’t royally screw up their knees. Then again... “Took you long enough, Tank,” he joked.

A scoff. “I’m here, aren’t I? Shut up,” they retorted, not even turning to look at him. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

“Where else am I gonna go?” Ash asked.

Tank flipped him off as they stomped forward, keeping their wings halfway between furled and extended so that they took up their maximum amount of space from the ground up to their tallest joints.

“Holy hell,” Asher said breathlessly.

Most of the flock considered David’s wings to be the most imposing. Huge eagle wings, thick feathers, towering over his head by nearly a foot, even when furled against his back. The flock was right—

But Tank, dressed in all black, powerful shoulders and arms exposed by a tank top, loose hairs plastered to their forehead, massive black wings so dark in the storm they were practically a pair of voids leaking shadow—God, they looked like an avenging angel straight out of a nightmare.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” they snapped at the three Energetics who’d shot Asher out of the sky. Ash could only bend his neck up a little without a ton of pain to watch. The Electro had a small ball of lightning dancing between his claw-bent fingers. Tank didn’t look at all intimidated. Indeed, they were the one cutting the most imposing figure here.

The Electro hurled some lightning.

Tank’s wing lashed, wrapping around their own body, and deflected the ball of electricity off into the distance where it dissipated.

“Holy hell,” Asher repeated.

—

The other two Energetics—a Sonal and a Graviton, if I recognized their auras as well as I hoped I did—glanced at the Electro. “Dude, let’s get outta here,” the Graviton said. “I’m not messin’ with an Avian who just shrugs off a ball of lightning.”

I glowered at the three of them. “Avians protect their flocks. So I suggest you three get lost before you find out whether or not the stories are true about Avian wings being strong enough to shatter a human spine.”

I flared my wings out just a little—and a burst of luck meant a gust of wind smashed into them, puffing them up and making the feathers quiver as streams of rain fell from the lowest point of each feather. Coupled with my clenched jaw and glower, the Energetics looked pretty intimidated.

“Dude, let’s go!” the Graviton said again. He grabbed the Sonal and Electro’s arms and started to drag them away. I smirked in smug satisfaction as they ran off. 

I watched them go until they were out of sight before whirling and stomping back to Asher. “Three Energetics, really?” I asked.

“Nice to see you too.”

“What, did the Electro hit you and knock you out of the sky?” I gestured to the smoking patch of feathers that had led me to him.

“No,” Asher grunted, trying to sit up but wincing and flopping back down before he could. “Sonal hit me first. Disoriented me. Graviton dragged me down. Electro didn’t get me until halfway between. To make sure I wouldn’t get up, probably.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t break anything. Your bones are hollow, dipstick. You could have splintered one.”

“Trust me, I know,” he groaned. “I’ve done it before. Suffice to say, Milo’s ma wasn’t particularly thrilled with me that day.” I snorted and helped haul him to his feet, taking care to drag one of his wings up with me so he was only under the weight of one of them instead of both. “Thanks, by the way. For coming to get me.”

“Well, you’re not far from my place and God knows the rest of the flock wouldn’t fly in this storm.” Slinging his arm over my shoulders, we hobbled toward the edge of the field. “But, seriously, dude. If all it takes to get you out of the sky is three Energetics, you need some remedial flight lessons.”

“Well maybe you can give them to me, Fancy Feathers. Teach me some of those funky maneuvers you seem to know so well.”

“Call me that again, and I’ll dump your ass in the river and tell David I couldn’t find you and the only conclusion I could draw was you were cooked chicken by some lightning,” I snapped.

Asher snorted. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Truce.”

—

David and his mate were waiting outside the door to my apartment when I half-dragged Asher down the windway. David’s wings were cloaked. As were mine and Asher’s, though I could feel Asher’s Core struggling to keep up with the magic. I passed Asher to David so I could unlock my door and let us all inside. “Is Asher okay?” David’s mate asked me, concern in their eyes, as I opened the door wide to allow for everyone to get inside. David had to duck slightly to accommodate his wings even though they weren’t visible.

“He’s fine. Got downed by three Energetics. He wasn’t even struck by real lightning,” I replied sarcastically, shutting the door behind the four of us. The three of us Avians all dropped the cloak on our wings. Asher groaned as David flopped him onto my sofa.

“I’ll call Marie,” he grumbled. “Angel, do you want to help me preen the burnt feathers?”

David’s mate blinked owlishly at him. “You... you want me to help?” they asked, disbelieving.

“Yes. You have a gentle hand. You’ve helped me with mine. You know how.” David shot me a sharp look. “This one—” meaning me, “—just yanks their feathers out when they need to be preened.”

“What?” I demanded. “It’s the fastest method.”

“It’s destructive.”

“Have you met me, Shaw?”

David scoffed and shook his head. I pretended not to hear him muttering, “Pain in the ass,” under his breath. Instead I started to get some coffee made for Asher and me to get our bodies warmed up more after being thoroughly soaked out in the rain. If I reacted to David, we’d get in a fight, and after battling the winds to find Asher I was too tired to get in a fight with David.

Asher yelped each time David or his mate preened one of the burnt feathers.

A knock echoed off the door. I scrunched my eyebrows. It was way too early for Milo’s mother to have made it to my place. The Greers lived halfway across Dahlia.

I crossed to the door and peered through the peephole.

“Ash,” I announced. “Brace yourself.”

“Why?” Ash asked, voice strained, as David’s mate plucked a feather.

I opened the door.

“Did that bird brain really fall outta the sky?” Milo asked excitedly, like he couldn’t wait to lord this over Asher’s head for the rest of our lives.

I let him in, gesturing with a sweep of my arm toward the couch. Milo cackled and went right past me over to where Ash was bent over the arm of the sofa so his wing could extend across the rest of the couch—and well beyond it. Asher’s wings were long and slim. A falcon’s wings built for speed. As soon as the door shut behind him, Milo’s sparrow wings appeared.

“Ash! What the hell, man?” Milo demanded, still beaming widely like this was the funniest thing in the world. Asher groaned again. “What self-respecting Avian falls outta the sky?”

“Coming from the guy with the shortest wingspan in the flock, you don’t have room to be laughing at me, Greer,” Ash retorted—hissing as David plucked another burnt feather. I leaned against my door, arms folded, watching the chaos that was about to unfold.

That turned Milo’s expression sour. “Now listen here, you little sh—”

“Enough,” David interrupted. “Now’s not the time.”

Ash pressed his face into his forearm. “Is my mate on their way?”

“Yes. You’re not flying home on injuries like that.”

“Fabulous,” Asher choked out.

Realizing Milo wasn’t about to beat Asher up for teasing him about his wingspan again, I pushed off the door and crossed to my small kitchen. I went and poured a mug for Asher and another for me, holding up the pot in invitation to Milo. He waved it off. 

“Besides,” I put in, handing Asher his mug. “Missing that many feathers, you’d be lucky to take off.”

“They’ll grow back, Tank,” Ash snapped. His voice softened. “Thanks, by the way.”

David’s mate finished plucking the last burnt feather. Ash yelped.

“No problem, you big baby.” I didn’t even drink the coffee. It was still too hot. I just held the warm mug, letting its heat spread up my arms from my hands. I set the mug down long enough to boost myself up onto my counter island.

I mostly tuned out the lecture David was giving Ash about flying during a storm and making it so I had to go rescue him, blah, blah, blah—up until David turned that sharp, vibrant green gaze on me. “Now, as for you, Tank,” he began. I scoffed and set my mug down on the counter beside me.

“Don’t even bother, big guy,” I said. “You already know I’m not going to listen.”

He grunted.

Another knock echoed off the door. I rolled my eyes and hopped off the counter. “Hosting a damn flock party,” I muttered under my breath. I peeked through the peephole again. “Ash, it’s your mate.” I opened the door quickly, keeping out of sight so I wouldn’t have to cloak my wings again. His mate rushed in, ignoring me apart from a quick greeting, and rushing to Asher. I shut the door behind them. I didn’t blame them for their concern. I’d been told mates shared a deep, powerful bond.

“Ash! Are you okay, baby?” they asked, perching on my sofa beside him.

I wandered to my bedroom and shut the door behind me. Locking it. I needed a few minutes alone. With five other people in my small apartment, I was starting to feel cramped. Most Avians hated enclosed spaces. We were built for wide-open skies. And I was already pushing that flighty instinct with the size of my apartment as it was. Having other people in it was making me want to be alone.

I flopped down onto my bed. “Bed” was a generous term. It was a round mattress on the floor with blankets and pillows and cushions scattered around. I liked spreading out my wings.

I closed my eyes and just laid there. My clothes were still damp but dried enough that I didn’t care about getting my blankets wet.

Laughter resounded through the door from the living room. Asher’s laughter.

“Glad they’re having fun,” I muttered.

—

Two Years Later...

—

I ground my teeth as I preened my feathers. “God, I hate molting season,” I muttered under my breath, throwing a handful of feathers into the trash can.

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock!

Scrunching my eyebrows, I crossed to the door and peered through the peephole.

I yanked the door open a second later after cloaking my wings. “Am I in trouble?” I asked.

Sam chuckled. “No, darlin’, you’re not in trouble,” he replied. “May I?”

I opened the door wider to let him in. Once it was shut, I decloaked my wings. “Okay then. To what do I owe the unannounced visit? You never show up without telling me first.”

“I know. But I wanted to surprise you.”

“Congratulations. You succeeded. What’s up?”

Sam just kept smiling. “It’s moltin’ season, ain’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I thought I’d come keep you company while you preen. And offer to help, if you’d like me to.”

I gaped at him like a fish. “I... I, uh... uh...”

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he asked gently.

“Well, I mean, it’s just... no one... no one has... ever... uh... offered to help me preen my feathers. Like, ever. It’s always just been me. And... I can’t reach the spots closest to my spine so they... they’re always a little messy for a while.” I cleared my throat. “I, uh... I’d actually really appreciate your help, Sam. Just... just be gentle. I’m not used to having someone else... touch them.”

“Of course, darlin’. I’ll be careful. Show me what to do.”

“Uh... okay.” I brought my wing around to the front. “So. Molting lasts a couple weeks, once-a-year. We shed pretty much all of our feathers as new ones grow in. It’s a mess.” I gestured to the mostly-full trash can, my black feathers poking out of it. Some of them bent at odd angles from how I pulled them out. “So, uh, I’ll show you how I do it. But I’m gonna need you to be kinda gentle when you help. It hurts more when someone else is doing the plucking.”

“I will.” He nodded in determination.

After a brief demonstration, Sam started to help me pluck the falling feathers. I could get most of them, but I needed his help plucking the ones closest to my spine. I exposed my back to him, trying to keep my apprehension in check. I wasn’t sure I’d ever let someone get this close to my wings when they were at their most vulnerable. I trust you. I trust you, I trust you, I trust you, I thought, taking a deep breath as he started to help.

Sam’s fingers slipped softly in and amongst my ruffled falling feathers. So incredibly gentle that I could barely feel his fingertips, ghosting over the places where feathers joined to the wing. I couldn’t help it: I shuddered. No one else had touched my wings in a long time—and no one had ever been as gentle as Sam.

A brief flash of broken black feathers clenched tightly in Quinn’s fist as he pinned me down by my wings flashed through my mind. I shook my head to clear it. Sam’s not like that, I reminded myself.

My wings were sensitive, and grew even more so the closer they got to my body. Sam was quite literally touching the feathers that triggered my fight-or-flight (literally) easier than anything else, and all I wanted was for him to run his hands all over. Primaries, secondaries—everywhere.

“Y’alright, darlin’? You went kinda... rigid.”

Only because if I didn’t I’d be melting, rather than molting, I thought. “I’m fine. Tickles a little,” I said instead.

“If you say so. Just let me know if you want me to stop.”

Never. I never want you to stop.

[fuj0]

Help I need to scream about my ocs incoherently they are in my head and they wont shut up I am already rotating them in my mind at maximum speed 😭😭 Anyway have an Arteolio sketch dump so the post looks bigger or something idk.

I cant get rid of him he's screaming the loudest rn. Help

[magnusvale]

So, my first written bit for this AU was leaning more bittersweet, since while there was a reunion, Ingo still had to go through some rough stuff to get there, so please have some shenanigans regarding unintentional levitation and plotting for the future. I'm hoping I can focus most of this AU on zany ghost power antics, since I want happy stuff to happen to my favorite characters after the angst torrent subsides.

Writing below the cut!

Emmet flails awake from another nightmare about his brother’s disappearance. Too often his mind likes to repeat the footage from the security camera that night, where Ingo is there one moment and vanishes in a burst of static and shadows. Emmet shudders in the cool air of his Snowpoint hotel room, rubbing his arms in an attempt to disperse the Swanna bumps on his skin. He should be fine now, Ingo is here now, right?

He glances over to the other bed in the hotel room and jumps in panic when he sees it empty.

Ingo is missing again.

Ingo is gone.

Ingo is…

Ingo is floating about two feet below the ceiling, the hotel’s ugly blankets draped over him making him look like the world’s least fashionable bedsheet ghost. Emmet observes his brother for a moment, momentary panic subsiding before grabbing the dangling edge of one of the blankets and pulling him back towards the bed. Ingo’s floating form drifts along, following the pull of the blankets like a strange balloon, while the man remains blissfully asleep and unaware of his travels.

Emmet considers the possibilities for a moment, before using one hand to gently push his brother forwards. The momentum carries Ingo forwards a few feet before he drifts to a stop, hovering just above the hotel bed. Emmet cackles to himself, rubbing his hands together. Somewhere, a Houndoom howls at the moon. Emmet grabs his brother’s leg, leans back for maximum wind up, and spins Ingo like a pinwheel in a wind turbine. Emmet’s enthusiasm and Ingo’s weightlessness combined results in the poor man rotating at rapid speed.

Partway through his third or fourth rotation, Ingo startles awake from the sudden motion. His momentum and surprise cause him to lose his grip on the blankets, which whip off him and onto a nearby armchair. The sudden lack of blanket weight sends Ingo off kilter, and he briefly soars upwards before his conscious mind reasserts gravity on himself and sends him crashing back onto the bed below. Ingo latches onto the fitted sheet for some modicum of stability, and stares wide eyed at Emmet, who at this point is practically rolling on the floor, breathless with laughter.

“S-sorry!” Emmet chokes out, between gasps. “I couldn’t resist, you were just floating there!”

Ingo gapes at his brother in the confused manner of one who has suddenly been awakened from a sound slumber by unexpected and unwanted acceleration. Past experience has taught Ingo well, however, and there is clearly only one response to a hysterical sibling who has given into the instinct to visit mayhem upon one’s own blood. Grabbing one of the nearby pillows, Ingo wings it at Emmet’s head, scoring a hit directly to his face which knocks him over with a muffled yelp. Satisfied, Ingo retrieves the thrown blankets and dumps them over Emmet who was just barely sitting up from the pillow missile assault and knocks him back over again. As Emmet attempts to untangle himself from his fabric prison, Ingo flops back down on the bed, grabs the remaining pillows, and waits.

Emmet finally wiggles free from his confinement, takes one look at his brother and his pile of hotel pillows, and holds his hands up in surrender. He might like winning more than anything else, but even he knows when to bow out gracefully. Or as gracefully as one getting smacked in the face by a second pillow can be.

Ingo huffs and rolls back over to go back to sleep, leaving his brother to his deserved feathery fate. Even as strange as things are, he can’t help the corners of his mouth quirking up into his own unique type of smile.

Come morning, Ingo is floating gently across the room when Emmet wakes up again. Grinning, Emmet stands on the bed, and shakes his brother gently into wakefulness. Ingo groggily stares at his brother for a few moments before Emmet points downwards. Ingo glances downward at the bed several feet below him for several seconds before awakening enough to realize that he’s currently defying the will of gravity. Giving into the perils of normal logic that technically no longer applies to his ghostly body, Ingo drops again, subconsciously grateful that the only hotel in Snowpoint has decent mattresses.

Satisfied that his brother isn’t going to drift off and get stuck in a corner like some abandoned birthday party decoration, Emmet waltzes out of the room, letting Ingo know that he’s going to pick them up some breakfast at the continental buffet. Humming happily to himself, he grabs several bagels and muffins, packages of jelly and butter, a few bottles of Oran berry juice, and plastic knives, before absconding with his haul back to the room. Emmet sits down on the bed, handing a plate to Ingo before chowing down eagerly on a Bluk berry muffin. After a moment, he pauses when he realizes that his brother isn’t eating.

Ingo is staring at his breakfast with a faraway look in his eyes.

“I haven’t had a bagel in over three years,” he muses absently, picking up one of the halves and smearing Razz berry jelly on it with one of the knives. Emmet puts down the Bluk berry muffin for a moment.

“Technically, you haven’t had a bagel in over three hundred years,” Emmet mentions offhandedly. Ingo freezes a moment in his smearing of jelly, considering.

“Do years being dead count?” Ingo wonders aloud, mildly horrified. Emmet, equally horrified, shudders.

“Nevermind, let’s not think about it!” Emmet says, wincing, and shoves the rest of the muffin in his mouth. Almost immediately, he starts choking on the crumbs, and Ingo passes over one of the juice bottles. Emmet downs half the bottle, coughing and clearing his throat.

Crisis averted, Emmet watches Ingo enjoy the first bagel he’s had in ‘I don’t want to consider it’ years. He also doesn’t want to consider where exactly that bagel is going right now, considering that his brother is currently some sort of humanized haunted lantern, and he’s not exactly sure if he even has internal organs at the moment. Emmet decides that he’s never tried too hard to determine the logistics of how their Chandelure consumes the berries and food that it eats, and that he should probably just apply the same willful ignorance to his brother’s current state for the sake of his own sanity.

Having finished breakfast, the brothers agree that it’s time to change out of pajamas and get ready for the long trip back to Unova. Ingo folds the strange clothes that he had reappeared in and his borrowed sleepwear into Emmet’s suitcase and grabs some of the extra warm clothing that Emmet had packed for the trip.

The brighter light of day and thickness of the sweater mostly hides the fact that Ingo is glowing in some places, and Emmet assumes that most people won’t be looking at the two of them hard enough to notice that something’s off. In the light of day, the strange wispiness of Ingo’s hair is barely noticeable, although the paleness of his skin does make him look a bit sickly. The long sleeves of his sweater and the gloves hide his strange nails and the marks on his wrist, and a winter scarf covering the lower half of his face is enough to disguise the marking around his mouth.

“We’ll have to have Elesa give us makeup lessons again for when we’re back in Nimbasa and not in weather a million degrees below zero,” Emmet comments, pointing at the edge of the mark disappearing into Ingo’s hairline. Ingo softly mutters in agreement, before shrugging into a spare pair of his brother’s boots. The only remaining issue is the pair of softly hovering fiery ghost orbs that don’t seem to want to leave Ingo’s side. Ingo and Emmet consider them for a moment, Emmet gently poking at one with a gloved finger, before settling on an idea.

“Let’s pretend that they belong to Chandelure instead of you?” Ingo nods, nobody would have any reason to think that they didn’t belong to their companion Pokémon. Chandelure chimes happily, eager to help out, and herds the orbs around Ingo in a circle for a few moments.

Finally, the brothers are ready to leave for the long-awaited trip home. Emmet, filled with gratitude that this trip had changed from a memorial to a reunion, drags his brother by the hand into the cold mountain air and towards the future ahead of them.

[856764864568]

The prince gave her a curious look

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[nalgenewhore]

A rogue storm had her presumed dead and stranded on the red planet. Left on her own, astronaut Aelin Galathynius has four years to make it to the next drop-site, some two thousand miles. Armed with her smarts and dwindling supplies, Aelin attempts to survive on an inhospitable planet, when the nearest help is only millions of miles away.

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Her question stared at them.

LTN: How’d the crew take it when they found out I was alive?

She typed a new one,

LTN: Are you there? 

Sartaq whispered to Gavriel, “She needs to know now.”

Gavriel swallowed, hard, and ignored the fact that his hands were shaking as he replied.

TNSB: We haven’t told the crew you’re alive.

TNSB: We need them to stay focused on the mission.

It took awhile for her to respond and when she did…

LTN: They don’t know I’m alive?

LTN: What the fuck is wrong with you?

LTN: Are you fucking shitting me right now?

LTN: If you are, fuck you, that shit’s not funny.

Uneasy laughter erupted across the room and Gavriel hastily answered.

TNSB: Aelin, please, watch your language

TNSB: This conversation is being broadcasted worldwide

LTN: Oh worldwide, really?

LTN: Worldwide can suck my fucking dick

LTN: I’m stranded on a fucking planet and my crew thinks I’m dead and you want me to watch my language?

LTN: Get fucked

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Manon walked into Weylan’s office with Asterin, a look of ‘I told you so’ on her face. He held up a finger and pointed to the phone, speaking into it, “Yes, ma’am. Yes, I agree. She’s under a lot of stress… we understand. We’re dealing with it… Thank you, ma’am.”

He hung up and looked at Manon, “I just had to apologize to the gods-damned prime minister of Terrasen for Aelin’s crass language. What is it?”

“Aelin is right. It’s only going to get worse the longer we wait.”

“You’re only bringing this up because Gavriel’s in Perranth and can’t argue against it,” Weylan commented, a determined set to his jaw.

Manon made a sound of disgust, “I shouldn’t have to clear it with Gavriel or anyone else for that matter, not even you. It’s time, Weylan.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Lorcan was in the ship’s gym, raising himself to the bar and lowering himself again, sweat running down his body.

He had his earbuds in and the music stopped, Nesryn’s voice coming through, “Commander?”

Dropping to the floor and landing neatly, he grabbed the hand towel and wiped his face, breathing hard, “Go ahead, Faliq.”

“Data dump is almost complete,” she said, referencing the private emails and other things that the crew had been sent.

“Copy. Coming to you.” He entered the zero-gravity corridor, rendezvousing with Fenrys, “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

The man grinned a giddy grin, “Nehemia had her six-month ultrasound yesterday, she said she’d sent the pictures.”

Lorcan smiled easily, he was happy for the couple. “Tell her congrats for me and also send along my condolences.”

Fenrys furrowed his brow as he pushed himself forward using the rungs alongside the walls, “Why condolences?”

“Because it’s probably just set in that she’s having your child,” he laughed and easily evaded Fenrys’ poor attempt to hit him as the rotating craft synthesized gravity and they slid down to the rec room, where everyone had gathered.

Lorcan paused by Elide, where she was sitting curled on a couch with her personal laptop on her lap, to crouch before her and take her hand in both of his, murmuring words too low for the rest of the crew to hear.

Nesryn addressed everyone, “Dump is complete and sending out personals right… now. I don’t need to see Fen’s weird pregnancy fetish shit; I’m scarred for life after the incident.” The incident in question was when Nesryn had accidentally mixed up an email and had opened his and Nehemia’s rather… heated conversation. Rowan huffed a laugh at the memory and everyone shared a look; this was the happiest they’d seen him in the three months since they’d aborted the mission without Aelin.

Fenrys groaned, “I told you, second trimester hormones are a bitch.”

“Whatever does it for you, just keep me out of it,” she said, laughter in her dark eyes, “Oh, huh. There’s a video message from Manon, addressed to the whole crew.”

Everyone made their way over to the computer, crowding around as Nesryn clicked on the video.

Manon’s face appeared on the screen and the video began to play, her voice coming through the speakers, “Lani, this is Manon Blackbeak. I have some news to share, there’s no easy way to put this: Aelin Galathynius is alive.”

The knowledge hit the crew like a freight train at full speed and they remained in shock as the message continued, “We know that’s a big surprise and you’ll have a lot of questions but as for the basics: she’s healthy and alive. We found out two months ago and I was ordered not to tell you. We’re telling you now because we have reliable communication with her and a rescue plan. We’ll send you a full write-up of what happened but know that this is not your fault. Aelin has heavily stressed this: it is not your fault. Take time to absorb this, your schedules have been cleared for the next two days. Send all your questions and we’ll answer them. Blackbeak out.”

“She’s…she’s alive?” Elide whispered, voice barely heard.

Fenrys was the first to crack, a slow smile spreading across his face, relief in his eyes, “G-Money lives.”

Nesryn and Elide both huffed laughs and the latter wiped her eyes, shaking their heads. “She’s alive,” Nesryn confirmed, a ghost of a smile on her face.

They all turned to Rowan, his façade slipping enough that there was an upwards tilt to the corners of his mouth. “Holy shit.” The doctor turned to Lorcan, who had remained silent, “Lor?”

“I left her behind.”

Fenrys shook his head decidedly, “We all left, L. All of us.”

The stone-faced commander clenched his jaw, his brow furrowing, “You were following orders.” His eyes shattered and when Elide reached for his hand, he shifted, keeping his gaze on the computer screen. “I left her.”

The group traded glances, not sure what to say. Elide rested her hand on his bicep and without another word, he shook off her hold and exited the room.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Nesryn wasn’t paying attention and her wife could tell. The green-eyed beauty paused in her retelling of their teenaged daughter’s, Evangeline, first date. “Nes?”

“Hmm?”

Lysandra chuckled, “You still there?”

“Oh,” Nesryn sat up straighter and smiled sheepishly at Lysandra, nodding, “yeah, it’s just… been a long day. Weird day too.”

Her wife tilted her head to the side, her brilliant eyes missing nothing, “You okay? Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” she said, her smile growing as a redheaded girl popped her head upside down in the frame, her citrine eyes pressed up against the camera.

“Mama!” Evangeline sat down on the couch next to Lysandra, the fifteen-year-old wearing Nesryn’s TNSB hoodie, the scarred-over slashes on her cheeks stretching as she grinned. She pressed her hand against the screen and Nesryn copied the motion, her eyes watering.

“Hi, my darling,” she whispered, “how are you?”

“I’m good. I miss you, Ma,” she pouted, but soon enough her lips pulled into that brilliant smile of hers again, “I can’t wait to see you.”

“I miss the both of you so much and I can’t wait to see you either,” Nesryn replied, the sight of her family so happy and healthy mending her heart, even if it was just a bit. “Evie, your mother tells me you went on a date?”

Lysandra and Nesryn laughed as their daughter’s cheeks went bright red, her scars stark white against her flushed skin. “…maybe.”

“Tell me all about it.”

“Are you sure? It was a boy,” Evangeline said, a wrinkle to her button nose.

Nesryn faked a gagging sound and inhaled deeply, “I think I can handle it.”

The joyful chatter of their daughter soon spilled from the speakers and Nesryn gave her wife a soft look, mouthing I love you as she let the perfectness of her two favourite people in the world wash over her and strip away the day’s events. 

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

When Lorcan didn’t return for the rest of the night, the sadness that had erupted in Elide’s chest turned to anger and she sought him out, finding him in his bunk, staring at nothing.

He didn’t acknowledge her as she climbed up so she did what any sensible person would do.

She jabbed him in the side with her index and middle finger, finding the soft flesh beneath his ribcage, glaring at him when he cried out in shock and pain. He met her angered gaze with one of his own, irritation rippling in his dark irises beneath lowered brows. 

Elide shook her head, “Don’t know why the fuck you’re pissy with me now.”

He sighed, “What do you want?”

She raised a brow, tilting her head to the side and tracking his face with watchful eyes. “You’re being a dick and I’m not putting up with it so…” she made to leave, blinking back tears, but his hand shot out and wrapped around hers.

“Don’t go, I’m sorry,” he said, tugging her back into his lap. The bunk was already a tight fit for Lorcan, who at six-foot-four and two-hundred and ten pounds was at the maximum size restrictions to be an astronaut, so with Elide as well, it became even smaller. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that,” she murmured, twisting to straddle his lap and brush his hair back from his eyes. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I left the woman my brother loves on a planet, with practically no way to survive. Fuck,” he muttered, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. “I don’t- I love you so much. I can barely breathe right without knowing you’re safe and I… I can’t help feeling guilty for condemning her to death. El.” He opened his eyes and flicked his gaze down to her necklace, where his dog tags laid between her breasts. The weight of her mother’s wedding band hanging on his own necklace had never felt more pronounced. “She might die, alright? And if she does, it will be my fault and I just… I can’t live with the knowledge of breaking Rowan’s heart like that.”

He took a deep breath, not used to speaking that much all at once. Elide offered him a gentle smile and framed his face with her hands, her eyes searching his, “I love you so much. Right now, Ae is alive and healthy, ok? That’s all we need to think about right now. If she dies, it will never be your fault and yes, it will hurt so much – more than anything. If she dies, the whole crew will be broken. We’ll be there for each other and for Ro, too.” She pressed her lips to his, kissing him so softly, it was heartbreaking. “Ok?”

All Lorcan could do was cup the back of her head and kiss her harder, selfishly thanking every god that it wasn’t Elide in Aelin’s place.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: welp....now they know! and as always, lovies, comment/send me an ask to be added/removed from the tag list! 

@mythicaitt​ @kandasboi​ @schmlip-scribble​ @the-regal-warrior​ @westofmoon​ @empire-of-wildfire​ @rhysands-highlady​ @city-of-fae​ @shyvioletcat​ @alifletcher2012​ @tangledraysofsunshine​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @tswaney17​ @ourbooksuniverse​ @flora-and-fae​ @queenofxhearts​ @that-other-pineapple​ @sleeping-and-books​ @superspiritfestival​ @faerie-queen-fireheart​ @chemicha​ @rowaelin-cressworth​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @candid-confetti​ @bat-wing-rhys​ @the-reading-obsessed-stitchbear​ @feyrethedarklady​ @booklover41802​ @rowaelinforeverworld​ @jamesxdaisy​ @julemmaes​ @hellas-himself​

[cat-medals]

Blinx: The Time Sweeper - S+ Rank Walkthrough (Round 8)

This is Mod Banana comin’ at ya with Round 8 of the S+ rank walkthrough!

I did some explanations of what this guide’s all about over on the Round 1 section, but for the sake of posterity, I’ll explain some things here too: this is a definitive list of all S+ rank times in Blinx: The Time Sweeper. If you wanna use this guide to get every S+ rank time in the game, I strongly suggest you go check out that list, as I’ve detailed some tips and tricks to getting S+ rank times there that I will be using to create this walkthrough!

Now, on with the show!

Round 8: Forge of Hours –

Stage 1 - S+ rank time (4:20) My personal best: 2:19:96 YOU WILL NEED: 2 slows, 1 record, 5 spike bullets, TS-2000 Freeze

Here it is: the final round! This round really cracks down with the hardest difficulty of all - which is at least fitting for a final stage! The time monsters are very scant (actually falling between Rounds 2 and 3 in terms of monster density, which is pretty crazy), but what time monsters are around are the toughest of them all. Like in Round 5, the difficulty is meant to come more from environmental traps and hazards, but unlike Round 5, it actually succeeds, creating an utterly brutal gauntlet of platforming challenges with instant death explosions, fireballs, molten metal, spinning blades and arc-lightning at every turn. Following this general increase in difficulty, the time limits are also less forgiving than in Round 7, but - in the later stages at least - if you know what you’re doing, you can still achieve S+ ranks without even trying. This Round also features the return of the Fire Dragons, which is why you’ll notice I’ve recommended the TS-2000 Freeze for each stage. It’s not as necessary here in Stage 1, but it’ll still save you a bunch of time.

Start by dropping off the ledge in front of you, falling all the way to the bottom of the area. Sweep up the broken car behind the Dust Herder down here, then hit your record to score a shot on it, dispatch the two Octoballoons, and fire out the rest of your spike bullets to be picked back up in real time. Once you’ve swept them up in normal time, you should have a total of 8 spike bullets in your sweeper, plus a broken car. Suck up one piece of trash to finish off the Dust Herder, then head on through the door to the next area. Slabs of molten metal whizz by on a moving floor, but if you turn your camera to see where they’re coming from, you can easily make it across the danger zone without using a time control. However, you will need to use one after you’ve stepped on that switch at the other end of the field: it drains the molten metal from the room up ahead, but it’ll refill before you can fully cross it, so once it’s as empty as it’ll get, head along the metal walkway and hit your first slow as you approach the corner. This should give you enough time to finish making your way across the ledges, and back up out of the room, where you’ll find yourself... on the other side of the grating where the metal slabs were speeding by.

Start by just ignoring the switch next to you, as its only purpose is to lower the level of the molten metal in the previous room in case you want to backtrack for... some reason. The slow should still be active, so proceed past the sheets of molten metal and take out the Octoballoon on the other side. Heading into the next area, you’ll need to activate another slow in order to steal a part from the level 2 Magic Golem. These guys aren’t any more difficult to kill than their level 1 variants, but they have broken clocks which rotate around them, making them slightly more deadly. It’ll also completely mess up your trash routing if you hit one of them by accident, but luckily they’re not very easy to hit... what a weird sentence. Anyway, ditch the Magic Golem part once it’s no longer able to be assimilated, and get to work on the other time monsters in this area: a Tyfoen and a level 4 Spike Blob. Be careful of the arc-lightning machine in the centre of this area as you go around killing things - it shoots in a fixed pattern, but you’ll probably be better off just jumping over its firing lines whether it’s actually firing or not.

When all the time monsters have been taken care of, shoot the target above the molten lake to raise some gears out of it. There’ll be fireballs arcing overhead, but as long as you don’t jump into the one that spawns closes to the start, you should be fine without the need for a time control. Once you’re on the other side, take a right to press down the switch. It stops a pair of gears that you’ll subsequently have to jump across (but which will start moving again if you’re not quick enough). Again, with the gears stopped for the maximum amount of time, you can hop safely across without using a time control. Up ahead is a rolling field of bombs and two Octoballoons. Intimidating, if you don’t know where they explode and don’t have spike bullets handy, but if you’re following this guide then that’s not an issue! The bombs mostly explode on the lava, and on the furthest edge of the next platform you’ll need to jump on, so as long as you stay close-ish to the lava (but outside the blast radius) and keep an eye on where the bombs are rolling from (like the molten metal slabs from earlier in the stage), you can make it to the platform easily, dispatching the two Octoballoons once you do.

Finally, the goal gate is just up ahead, guarded by a Fire Dragon and a Tyfoen. Just like before, there are fireballs arcing overhead on the run up towards them, but if you don’t immediately get smacked by the first fireball you can run into, then the rest should past harmlessly overtop of you as you go. Spike bullet the Tyfoen, use some of the trash lying around to freeze the Fire Dragon to death, and hop into the waiting goal gate!

Stage 2 - S+ rank time (6:45) My personal best: 2:23:53 YOU WILL NEED: 1 slow, 2 spike bullets - 1 super bomb - 1 spike bullet (in order of firing), TS-2000 Freeze

A sudden jump in goal time means you have a lot more room for error when getting S+ here. I still beat this stage in six minutes flat just using the TS-2000 Freeze and with no extra trash.

Start off by turning to your left and dispatching the Tyfoen with a spike bullet. Sweep up the large car nearby, and use it plus your second spike bullet to take care of the Spike Blob in this little starting pit. Sweep up the rusty engine, then jump out of the pit and fire it just to the right of the little entrance visible across the molten metal stream, where you can retrieve it once you’re over there. Speaking of which, hop onto the gear, then make like a funk artist and let the groove carry you to the other side. Fire off your super bomb into the room full of time monsters, sweep up the rusty engine you sent over earlier, then once the bomb has done its damage, head on inside to finish off any stragglers with the small trash lying around. Congratulations, we’re one paragraph in and you’ve already beaten over half of the time monsters in this level. Don’t forget to step on the switch in the corner to raise some moving platforms that you’ll have to cross after you leave this room.

Once said moving platforms have been traversed, you’ll have to make a rather mean jump (in that Blinx’s jump distance only just barely covers it) to a nearby platform. As you run ahead, a TomTom will spawn behind you, but just let him have his fun stealing the gold as you proceed up the stairs to a switch, timing your passage to dodge a fireball. The switch will stop some rotating gears up ahead for you to cross, and while they will eventually start moving again, the time limit is extremely generous - no time control required. You should make it onto the next ledge with just barely enough time to run forward and sweep up a part from the Magic Golem, but once you’ve done so and discarded it, you’ll want to ignore the Magic Golem entirely. Instead, sweep up the large piece of trash next to it, turn around, and get two trickshots on the red Octoballoon and the Tyfoen across the chasm. Doing this saves you at least one time control, a good twenty or thirty seconds, and a massive headache of trying to contend with the spinning platform that would usually get you across to that area.

Once that’s done, turn back around and spike bullet the Magic Golem, then sweep up two small pieces of trash. Now, see the gear attached to the wall behind you, above by where you jumped up to get to this ledge? Go ahead and jump into the groove of this gear, and let it carry you up to your next time monster, a Fire Dragon. The two pieces of trash you just grabbed will take care of it. Sweep up the large car and one more small piece of trash, then hop along the gears behind where the Fire Dragon was stood. You’ll see your final two targets on a ledge up ahead, but with the conveyors working against you and a lightning machine to dodge as you go, you’ll want to go ahead and activate your slow as you reach the final conveyor and hop onto the platform. Use the small trash to break the Fire Dragon’s illusion, and use the slowed time to steal a piece of the Magic Golem, then stand in a place where you won’t get zapped. Use either that Golem part or another piece of small trash on the Fire Dragon’s true form, and the broken car on the Golem, and with that, every time monster has been defeated. The goal gate is waiting for you on a walkway just beside this platform that overlooks the whole stage, so run on over and complete the sweep!

This stage also cuts off my replays after like a minute. Very annoying.

Stage 3 - S+ rank time (7:00) My personal best: 2:25:26 I RECOMMEND: 2 records (1 required), 1 pause, 2 slows, 2 spike bullets - 1 super bomb - 3 spike bullets (in order of firing), TS-2000 Freeze

So, here it is: the final stage of the game. You’ll notice that I’ve changed ‘you will need’ to ‘I recommend’. The reason for this is that... well, this stage is really buggy. It comes as a result of the stage design being very compact and layered into multiple ‘floors’, which can cause things from upper floors to adversely affect things on lower floors (or vice versa). As such, it’s impossible to route trash for this stage with complete consistency, so I can only offer my usual suggestions with the added proviso that you may have to ad lib things halfway through the stage because an enemy dropped off a ledge and onto your head.

First up in this stage is another field of bombs. Taking even a single step forward will get you blown up by the nearest of the bomb pits, but you’ve got spike bullets and you’ve got time controls; you don’t need to deal with this. Hit your pause as soon as you emerge in the stage, use the trash cans in from of you as pedestals to spike bullet the Octoballoons, and cross the frozen field to a frozen gear on your right. Make use of stopped time to not have to deal with the rotating spikes that sweep over the top of it, and land in the next area: a maze of swinging axes and Spike Blobs (plus a Dust Herder). The nearby button just stops the axes, which you’ll want to press to line up a shot with your super bomb, aiming for the middle of the three Spike Blobs at the back of the area. Once the damaged Spike Blobs have targeted you for steamrolling, hit your first record to let them pass harmlessly through you, then turn around and spike bullet them in the back. Take out the Dust Herder in real time, then proceed to the end of the platform.

A Magic Golem may drop onto you from above here depending on what mood the butterfly of chaos theory is in. Take it out if it does appear, then hop onto the gear up ahead and activate your slow, giving you time to jump onto the axle of the next gear, and from there to the top of the gear, and then onto the next platform. This area has a Fire Dragon and a Tyfoen for you to deal with, plus a large piece of trash to help you out. Watch out for the floor in general here: some obvious marked spots will crumble away when you step on them, but in some areas it’s also possible for the explosions from the bomb field below you to clip through the floor and kill you. Like I said, buggy stage. When all the time monsters have been cleared out, head over to the next set of gears and activate your second slow to help avoid the spike bar as you cross them.

This platform is where the Magic Golem will be sitting if it didn’t fall on your head earlier in the stage. The nearby button stops all the gears and the lightning machine, so if you need to take the Magic Golem out now, you may want to use it. Otherwise, carry on to the next spinning gear staircase, taking out the lone blue Octoballoon as you go. Finally, you’ll reach the last regular time monster in the game: one final Magic Golem. Take it out, hop over the large pipe... vent... whatever that thing is, and you’ll find a rather neat puzzle, the only one of its kind in the game. It’s a simple record puzzle, but it makes use of the fact that your recording is invincible to stand on an insta-death molten metal seesaw to slide a platform over to you, and then run across the seesaw to slide it back, ferrying your real-time self to the platform where the goal gate awaits you!

Boss - S+ rank time (4:00) My personal best: 2:57:46 YOU WILL NEED: 1 fast-forward, 3 records, 4 spike bullets

This boss has perhaps the most complex strategy of them all. Things start off simple: hit your fast-forward, run to the right to dodge the boss’ charge, shoot it with a spike bullet when it becomes vulnerable.

After that though, things get interesting. Unlike the Round 5 boss fight, this guy won’t become vulnerable again until you shoot all the little junk orbs he spawns. This is where your recording comes in: with your remaining spike bullets and the small trash that drops into the stage, activate a recording to take out the junk orbs, then just misdirect the boss while your real-time self chills out elsewhere. Repeat to score the second and third hits on the boss. The final phase of the boss will involve it jumping around the stage and destroying parts of the platform you stand on, but with your recording taking care of the junk orbs, the boss won’t end up doing a whole lot to you. Dodge out of the way of one more charge attack, then score the final hit to beat the boss!

Do note that the goal platform appears on one edge of the arena, but it does not stop rotating even after the boss is dead. Take care as you jump into the goal gate!

–

Time sweep complete!

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer IV: The Wife of Chu Zihang

The moon shined bright, surrounding each of the pink blossoms of Chizuru in a bright halo. I leaned against the bark, sitting against one of the hundred year old trees, gazing upwards, letting my mind relax, while little Ru’Yi satisfied her hunger, pulling greedily at my breast, curling her fingers against my skin, gulping milk like a little pig.

I should be grateful. If she didn’t wake up to eat, it got painful to move around. She was too much of a good thing however. Even though I was reluctant to pull her off early, she had no self control. If I didn’t stop her, she would eat too much, burp and spit up everywhere. Right now, I had nowhere to bathe.

So I pulled her away, wiped myself with  my shirt and flipped my bra up.

At least the night wasn’t as cold.

The Cherry Blossom park was already getting ready to open the Hanami Matsuri later this month, the same one Chu Zihang and I had visited. It was a moment that existed only in our memory. According to official record, I had been in Paris on assignment with the principal. They didn’t know about my teleporting.

I climbed to my feet, rocking and patting Ru’Yi. I’d appeared just at this spot. This was the picture Johann had sent me as a reference point. A wide cobblestone path lined on both sides with the oldest trees in the park. I’d appeared there and he saw me.

I closed my eyes picturing the bright spring scene. I remembered how wide his eyes were behind his glasses. He didn’t believe what he was seeing. He ran to me, hugged me tight.

I squeezed Ru’Yi to myself in recollection. His hand slipped under my chin. He kissed me. My body grew hot like a furnace. I gasped for breath.

I opened my eyes and the tears slipped down my face. “Johann... I miss you.”

The tears continued to fall as I made my way through the memory. We didn’t hold hands. He stayed close at my side, and only our pinky fingers hooked together. We listened to the traditional music and listened to people recite haikus. Girls took selfies in their yukatas with their friends.

At the end of the path was the large mirror pond that reflected the glory of the flowers, doubling their brilliance against the sky. Johann said that the water reflected on my face, that I had cherry petals in my hair. I reached up and pulled down a flower. I crushed it in my palm and sprinkled it on my head. Then I looked up at someone who wasn’t there.

I froze. Adrenaline coursed like lightning through me. Someone was there.

I lowered one hand to Spider Fang and settled Ru’Yi into the soft grass. I gripped the hilt, unlocking it from its sheath. I’d broken out into a cold sweat, trembling. I shuddered, just like when Chisei had released his Soul Skill earlier that day. There was a powerful enemy very nearby.

Even though there was no one around, my body reacted like there was a knife to my throat.

The tall ancient cherry trees cast shifting shadows and my eyes darted to every movement. I knew there were Soul Skills that used shadows and made someone invisible, but those were relatively rare.

Johann occasionally had me train with him blindfolded to help me hone my other senses. It wasn’t about necessarily having super hearing or being able to smell your opponent’s breath. But more about process of elimination and spotting the anomaly in the surroundings.

My eyes slowly shifted to the pond. It reflected light from the moon in the water and the water was still like a mirror. It reflected the shadow of a person crouched low, his face turned not to me... but to Ru’Yi.

I rotated out from behind the tree, drawing the sword in an upward arc while my fist swung close behind it. Another blade met mine.  We exchanged blows four times in quick succession before I consciously realized who this person was.

I recognized him first by the blade he carried, the hunter’s blade, Dictator. My murderous intent receded like a tide and we broke away from each other.

“What were you thinking, trying to snatch Ru’Yi?” I was breathing hard, more out of an angry fear than exhaustion.

“Because I knew if I had her you would have no choice but to come peacefully.” He was smiling at me, but without malice or arrogance. He was dressed in a fine button down shirt, black vest and slacks, like he was going to a dinner party. “Unfortunately, your instincts were a little too good.”

“You were careless.” I shot back.

His smile faded. “I came all the way here for you... for a reason. Things are going to get very bad for Lu Mingfei and I’d rather not have the Academy targeting you.”

“Tell the Academy that my only aim is to find the one who disappeared Chu Zihang! I don’t have the skeleton, I don’t know where Mingfei is, and I don’t know who harmed the principal. Leave me alone!” 

“We can’t leave a mentally unstable hybrid just wandering around, Carli.”

I immediately brought my guard up. Caesar came running, extremely fast. While my technique matched his, I couldn’t equal his raw physical strength. He smashed Spider fang to the ground and stepped on it with this foot. I staggered back, stumbling over a tree root.

It was a chance Caesar couldn’t resist. His shadow descended on me.

Tongzi’s edge tore through the fabric of his shirt, knicking his skin in a long curving line. Dictator came up in a belated attempt to block a strike I’d already made.

For a moment, his side was left open. If I wanted, I could have drilled Tongzi straight into his heart with an Alchemy blade that negated a Hybrid’s healing factor and scrambled Dragon blood. Instead, I cut him again and fled, hurrying to retrieve Spider Fang.

But there was no need to hurry.

Caesar stood, raising one hand to his chest, his fingers coming away red.

Caesar had graduated from Cassell College shortly after my marriage to Johann. He was sent to man the helm at the Executive Department in Italy. He’d married Nono and settled down easily into the job. Everyone respected him as a dragonslayer, the killer of Dragon King Norton. Since the Student Union members were so numerous, he had influence over commissioners who were members and stationed in areas all over the world. One could honestly say that he was an Emperor out of Cassell.

And yet, this emperor had been cut twice in quick succession by a junior student 6 years younger.

I swallowed hard, wondering if he was going easy on me the way Mingfei did when we were playing Street Thug together. So I didn’t gloat over this accomplishment. Caesar was Chu Zihang’s greatest rival for a reason.

His expression had grown quite a bit more serious. The amusement in his eyes became mixed with irritation. “I wouldn’t be doing this, if Lu Mingfei hadn’t gotten Nono involved.”

“By running with an accused traitor, she risks her own future. I would rather get this over with as soon as possible.”

I took a deep breath. “Then you understand why I have to stay free. Chu Zihang is to me like Nono is to you. Every day he’s missing is painful!”

“Chu Zihang is not real.”  He said this slowly, firmly.

“If he’s not real, then how come I can cut you?” Caesar was Chu Zihang’s greatest rival, but what was Caesar without Chu Zihang? While Caesar was in a coma, Johann lamented to me how his skills had gone down without Caesar to push him to greater heights. This Caesar with out Chu Zihang was slower, because the one advantages he had over Caesar was speed!

I shot out like an arrow, bringing the sword down and up, dancing around him, one maneuver seamlessly followed by another.

It was how Johann and I always practiced, a long series of strikes that were like a dance to us. It helped us maintain a sense of an attack range while at the same time, maintaining a sense of staying just out of range of the opponent, looking for a single opening that would land a hit.

A sword master might go seven strikes or ten strikes in a row with much practice. But before I was too pregnant to move, Johann and I had gotten up to twenty five without a break or a breather.

The Caesar I knew was the only one who could stand up to such an aggressive, unrelenting series of attacks. But this wasn’t the Caesar I knew. This was a weak Caesar, a fake Caesar! That’s why Spider Fang stung his knuckles, cut along his wrist, bit his shoulder. He grew increasingly confounded while I settled into the rhythm. My eyes grew colder, more contemptuous.

I’d backed him against the edge of the mirror pond, panting from the effort. “You’re nothing without Chu Zihang to challenge you. No one can challenge you like he did.”

“Except for you. Because you’re his wife?”  Caesar smiled, tilting his head. He used Dictator to cut a length from the vest that probably cost a thousand dollars but had been ruined in the fight. He tied it, putting pressure on where I’d cut his wrist. 

Did I go too far? I didn’t want to seriously hurt him. “Do you believe me now?” I asked.

“You make a good point. But that doesn’t change your current predicament. The Academy grows increasingly impatient with Mingfei. They’re going to go all out on him. I’d hate for you and your daughter to get caught in the crossfire. If you want to continue your investigation, you can do so from the Gattuso residence.”

“No thank you.”

“You’re out of strength, Carli. Your heart is beating to its maximum capacity. Don’t try and attack me again.”

I suddenly realized that the Soul Skill was sensing was Wind Devil. He knew where I was because he could hear my heartbeat and my breathing. “How long were you watching me?”

“While you wandered the park like a mad woman you mean? Talking to an invisible person?” The mocking light had left his eyes.

My face grew hot. He wasn’t supposed to see that. When I acted that way, I knew I looked crazy. “It’s the only way I can keep his memory alive in a world that has forgotten him. Okay? This place has special meaning to us.”

“If everyone forgot about Nono, would you willingly date someone else? Or be married to someone else, even if no one else believed you? Or would you try to find her no matter what anyone else said?” I asked.

The words seemed to have an effect, but not the one I intended. It was only because I was already keyed up that I saw his hand to his holster, where Desert Eagle rested and I dove to one side rolling behind a tree to escape. But he’d already followed me, kicking out my legs from under me and following me down to the ground. I landed hard on my back, winded.

He pinned me under his weight and pressed his forearm against my throat so hard I thought my windpipe would collapse. His blond hair rested against my forehead and his blue eyes gazed sadly into mine as my lungs heaved but failed to draw in any air.

I had to escape, but without oxygen my muscles and mind grew heavy. I reached for the last resort.

Caesar would have seen my eyes blaze and shine with a yellow light. My pupils would constrict into sharp vertical sickles. My skin itched as scales feathered down my arms. 

My hands went from scratching, to clawing with nails sharp as knives.

Power surged through my muscles and I tossed him off me. He went sailing through the air and landing hard, scrambling to his feet. I rushed toward him, howling like a storm wind. His form came at me in my vision. I collided with him, with both hands and feet  like an animal bringing him down again.

I heard him scream. My claws had hooked around his ribs. 

Blood rage increased dragon blood purity, which also intensified the desire to kill the object of that fury. Shocked, and wondering if I had pierced his heart, I pulled my fingers from his body. 

His hands wrapped my neck and he slammed his head into mine so hard my vision exploded into stars. He grabbed my neck again and punched me hard, pummeling me in an effort to bring me down.

I lifted my hand and caught his fist, my claws digging in. I smashed my other hand into the wound I’d created in his chest, funneling all my strength into it. HIs ribs collapsed under the blow and he fell, unable to rise again.

I blinked, dizzy with one too many blows to the head. But I heard him ask, grunting with the pain. “Blood Rage.... where did you learn it? That’s a forbidden technique!”

I leaned against the trunk of a tree, staggering to make my way back to Ru’Yi. 

“Chu Zihang taught me.”

[nevergiveupneverrun]

Bodyguard - Chapter Fifty-Four “Endgame”

Hello everybody, how are you? Here is chapter Fifty-four of my Story Bodyguard, yay!! I hope you will like this chapter.

I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

                  –––––––––––––––––––––––

Cold blood.

Responsiveness and speed.

Three skills that stick to my skin: that saved my life dozens of times or saved the lives of others.

Plunged into semi-darkness and stuck in Alex’s garage, I breathe calmly and deeply to help me thing and find a way out… a solution…

I still had trouble realizing what had just happened in a few seconds: the mystery that had occupied us for long months had finally been revealed… the identity of Amelia’s stalker was no longer in doubt.

He was not a stranger, not a psychologically disturbed fan, but a man whom Amelia had had the opportunity to rub shoulders with on several occasions, who had done everything to be special in the eyes of the singer… without success.

This man who used to have everything he wants without effort, without resistance, had he lost his reason and crossed the limits in front of this contempt and this little interest that Amelia returned to him?

Indifference can have dreadful consequences…

.

My eyes, now adapted to the low level of light in the room, allow me to study more precisely the place where I am.

I scrutinize the room, my senses alert, and attentive to every detail… every element that could give me an exit key… to escape as quickly as possible, time was running out.

My gaze then identifies a very specific section of the room… from which stands out a weak skylight…

I notice then for the first time, a net reflecting the light of day.

I go forward, letting myself be guided towards this light source, like a lost and thirsty soul, called by a mirage in the middle of the desert.

I thus arrive in front of a huge cupboard which seems to hide what then constitutes my only hope, a window… a window which I hope will be wide enough for me to sneak.

I put myself to the side of the metal piece of furniture and take care to rotate it. I can only move it a few centimeters, the weight of the furniture prevents me from sliding it easily on the floor. I then open the piece of furniture and discover that it is filled with bulky tools and accessories from cars such as, batteries, exhaust pipes, having heavy and massive elements that bother me to lift the cupboard from the ground.

I do not take any special care and drop to the ground the maximum of accessories possibles, without paying attention if I break or damage anything in the operation.

After having cleared a large part of the shelves of the cupboard, I take a position next to it: a shrill squeak rises in the room as I shift the furniture… I position it perpendicular to the wall and I discover my glimmer of hope: a window located about two meters from the ground.

A window not in use, without a handle, about 30 centimeters high: the breach to escape like a prisoner.

I was going to have to contort myself but I had to try: it was my most direct and quick way out.

.

I take off my leather jacket and my suit-jacket that I had worn over a black T-shirt to give a touch of simple elegance for this visit.

I wrap my jacket around my right hand, then grab the window sill by my left hand. I stealthily hoist myself up with my free hand and throw a sharp, abrupt punch into the window. I happily realize that this is not double glazing and the glass breaks easily under my action.

The splinters fall partly on the ground around me, but I do not pay attention to it and rise again to break the window more widely, triggering a new rain of debris.

I look up above me: it is an empty dial which now reveals and lets me directly see the light and the outside landscape. I even perceive the lapping of drops as the rain seems to have taken hold of the sky.

I position myself on tiptoe and slide my jacket against the window sill, removing as much broken glass as possible. Satisfied with the result, I throw the garment to the ground without remorse: filled with shards of glass and torn, it was no longer of any use to me, and it was the least of my worries.

I take a few seconds, take a deep breath, then hoist myself with both hands against the window sill: I feel tiny shards of glass sticking under the skin of my fingers, but I ignore the pain, focused on my goal… get out of here as soon as possible.

With a quick movement, I slide my head into the window frame, while positioning myself slightly to the side, letting my torso rest on the ledge. My hands stretch outward: fresh breath and heavy drops touch my skin. My fingers seek the contact of the facade and I slide and sit on the windowsill.

I still feel imperceptibly splinters register under my skin, fingers, chest, thighs, but I am not sensitive to tingling and these cuts, even if I can see a flow extending along with my right hand… probable bleeding.

I finally manage to get out of the window completely and I jump without hesitation outside: I receive myself without too much difficulty on the gravel of the central courtyard. 

The light rain turns in a few seconds into the pouring rain and I run at full speed towards the entrance of the castle while feeling the water runoff and stick my T-shirt against my chest.

.

I find the porch of the huge building and grab the handle of the wooden door sealing the split between outside and inside the castle.

I turn the handle, effortless, almost surprised that the building is open, but in his eagerness, Alex did not take care to lock behind him.

I carefully take the first step inside: I discover a majestic and bright entrance.

A crystal chandelier adorns the center of this hall, like a decorative accessory, finely thought out and staged to mark visitors from the first seconds. My gaze is however automatically directed towards an imposing marble staircase, skirting a wall highlighting a magnificent tapestry.

The inside of the house is almost more striking than the outside of the house and clearly shows the status of the Karev family. However, I do not allow myself to be destabilized by this environment of luxury and refinement: I immediately focus on the slightest noise I can pick up while grabbling the gun I had taken care to attach to my right ankle.

My gun firmly in hand, my fingers alert and perfectly positioned, I advance cautiously in the direction of the stairs: I distinguish at this moment steps and very weak echoes of voice which reach me from the floors, comforting me on my intuition to engage on the stairs.

I calmly climb the steps but with a lively and controlled step. I let myself be guided by the intensity of the sounds around me and stop at the fourth floor: I then discover in front of me, a half-open door, through which the echoes of voices are intensified.

I walk quietly towards this room and I quickly perceive much more precise exchanges and snippets of conversations.

.

- It bothers me a lot you know asking you that…

Amelia’s voice reaches my ears: her tone seems embarrassed, a little overwhelmed by emotion, but I cannot discern any hint of distrust or fear.

- I would do a lot for you, you know, Amelia… this time I need you to prove to me that I am right to do it, however…

- Of course, what do you expect from me?

- You know well…

Alex’s answer suddenly tenses me up when I have my ear at the door: the way he expresses himself at this moment, with an almost dangerous mysterious scale makes me react immediately.

I push the door open with my foot and move into the room, the gun is firmly pointed, ready to shoot.

My irruption causes a first silhouette to turn around which is none other than Amelia while Alex stands proudly in front of me a few tens of meters.

I notice that he is sitting on the edge of the desk, a bookcase for decoration behind him while Amelia is standing, near a French window overlooking a large balcony, from which we can see the spectacle of the storm.

My gaze directly captures that of Amelia and I recognize a big surprise in her eyes which watches me with disbelief.

- Owen, what is wrong with you? She asks me with support, the piercing look. And what happened to you? Did you hurt yourself? She continues, a hint of concern in her voice, her attention fixed on my skinned hands and forearms.

- Owen? I thought your friend’s name was Jackson, Alex wonders, bouncing off Amelia’s spontaneous reaction.

The singer makes me big eyes at this moment, ashamed of her mistake and sending me back partly the fault of having revealed herself with this uncalculated reaction.

- Amelia, come close to me, please, I ask firmly, lowering my head slightly to make her understand to stand behind me.

- Owen, I don’t understand, what is happening? She bids without moving. You’re scaring me…

A heavy silence is established for a few moments.

I intensely fix my gaze on that of Alex and hold it carefully. My eyes reflect a touch of threat and mistrust revealing to him that his secret is revealed.

I can see a spark sparking within his pupils and the color of his eyes suddenly change.

And it’s his whole face that darkens and hardens.

- Yes, Owen, I don’t understand, what is happening? Alex repeats in a suddenly mocking and almost chilling voice.

Amelia immediately redirects her attention to the host and scrutinized him intensely.

As dumbfounded by this complete change of attitude and expression.

The man who had just spoken suddenly seemed radically different.

- Alex, don’t come near her!…

He only has to extend his arm to touch Amelia: his proximity worried me while I am still several tens of steps away… His eyes slyly find mind and I read a clear hint of challenge. 

- And you, don’t come near, either, he claims while staring at me.

The silhouette of Amelia stands out in the field of my vision, and I perceive her face moving back and forth between Alex and myself as she seems to lose all her bearings, paralyzed by the unexpected turn of the exchange.

- Alex… 

- What, Alex? He resumes, interrupting her dryly. Who do you think you are Amelia? I did everything for you, I would have done everything for you and you didn’t see me… and today, you come to see me, suppliant, trying to coax me, almost using your charms, to achieve your ends, to use me…

- No, it’s not…

- You treated me like less than nothing… he continues violently… me, Alex Karev… you dared to reject me, to ignore me, without considering who you were dealing with… who you were making suffer…

- Leave her alone, don’t force me to act, I go on firmly, taking two quick steps, to put an end to this exchange, which was starting to intensify dangerously.

- You do not consider me, and yet, I am worth a thousand times more than all the men you have met, Amelia, he continues without paying me the slightest glance. I have noble blood flowing in my veins… I belong to a family who worked for the United States, who struggled to wear their colors loud and clear… but family is a concept that is strangely strange to you, I think… like many other things, obviously…

Amelia freezes on the spot, the pale complexion, and the face marked by the violence of the words against her. Her hands start to tremble and her pupils fill with tears.

- It was… you who killed Richard? Who runs over April?

- Poor thing, you are so manipulable and blind… it was almost too easy… like now…

Alex’s eyes meet mine then, and in a breath he reaches out and takes Amelia, pinning her between his arms, a paper cutter slipped under the young woman’s neck.

- And like that, are you still going to act, Mr. Bodyguard? He asks in a loud and haughty tone.

I look for the look of Amelia who observes me with frightened eyes and filled in tears, as the paper cutter blade grazes her skin and she finds herself trapped under the threat of Alex.

- I wonder what she finds you, what you have more than me… the young man murmurs while studying me.

- Alex, let her go, don’t force me to use my gun, I said while gauging the situation… shooting could be tricky and dangerous for Amelia, as she is used by Alex as a shield in front of him.

He steps back slowly, leading the singer with him in his arms: he opens the door to the balcony with a kick, and continues to back away, entering the balcony and in the pouring rain.

I follow them carefully: I go ahead and reach in my turn this section of the castle open to the outside while I understand that he is heading towards the stone railing…

The heavy rain blurs my eyesight and the coolness immediately makes my muscles already tense.

My eyes, however, find those of Amelia and do not leave them during these few steps made in the rain: her eyes are reddened and reveal a real terror… I try to send her by my gaze all my reassurance and my confidence.

- Do you find it normal the attitude of a woman who ignores you in this way? Who avoids you? Who doesn’t even give you a look or attention while you’re madly in love with her? Alex asserts by letting his voice carry beyond the wind and the rain which mechanically lashes around us.

I notice that he continues to approach the edge of the balcony: I feel my fingers stretch out on my gun, my eyes widen, and focus more clearly between the drops.

- Love cannot be ordered… or bought, I answer in a calm voice.

Despite myself, his story resonates imperceptibly: a flouted love… the suffering created by a feeling so pure but also so dangerous… that it can destroy us… I cannot remain insensitive to the suffering which he expresses… but it was another life, I was another man…

Amelia struggles slightly: I perceive Alex tightening his grip and the pressure of the paper cutter against her neck to calm her.

The emotion quickly takes hold of the young woman and I distinguish despite the rain, the tears running down her cheeks. I quickly lose all sensitivity for the man in front of me.

I have only one obsession: to free Amelia from his grip: to keep her close to me, safe and sound…

The singer’s movement thus gives me an unexpected opportunity when Alex’s left shoulder is now discovered.

- I did not ask for much, however, he said suddenly in a weak voice.

- There are other ways of doing it… reactions don’t provoke like this, you shouldn’t have come to such extremes…

- She hurt me… I wanted to reach her back… and have her in my turn, he explains, slipping an arm against Amelia’s belly and circling her waist firmly.

- Alex, you can stop all this, you have this power, I proposed, focusing on the young man’s silhouette and fixing a precise point between the drops.

- I want her for myself only, forever, and now I have her with me… he says, snuggling up against the balcony lede.

The drops parade before my eyes. My sight tries to cling to a mark on the left shoulder of Alex, detached from Amelia.

His last words scare me, I’m afraid of understanding the outcome he has in mind, the action he plans…

My index finger slightly pulls the trigger in advance.

- You can make a difference, you can be stronger than those voices within you that dictate your behavior….

- I don’t want to, he whispers.

I discern a slight movement on his part, like an attempt to press on the pad, one more signal as my sniper senses goes on alert.

My sight suddenly settles.

My hands come to a stop and brake the vibrations caused by the wind. 

My whole body tightens in a quarter of second, Alex’s shoulder in the crosshairs.

My index finger activates the trigger…

A cry of pain pierces the breath of the wind and the lapping of the water.

Two silhouettes sand out in a fraction of a second: one presence steps back from the edge of the balcony a few steps while the other loses balance and tips over the stone ledge.

I watch helplessly Alex’s body leave my field of vision when the wound I just brought him destabilized him.

.

I put my gun away by pinning it in the belt of my pant and I run immediately, panicked by what I just saw.

I put an arm on Amelia’s back to reassure her then lean over without waiting overboard, alarmed by the scene I have just observed.

Alex is hanging a little over a meter from me, one handheld on a window sill.

I notice that he keeps his second arm dangling while his shirt takes on a red tint, colored by blood…

I position myself against the stone railing and lie down as much as possible towards Alex by holding out my hand.

- Hold on for a few seconds with both hands, and hold out your unscathed arm to me, Alex… I shouted against him.

My hand is a few inches from the one he holds firmly against the window sill, but I can’t grab it directly to help him.

I feel a presence near me.

Focused on Alex, I don’t have the opportunity to turn my head but I know that this is Amelia by my side. I slide a little more, my body being three-quarters in a vacuum and I distinguish at this moment a hand resting on my back and pulling on my t-shirt as if to prevent myself from falling.

- Give me your hand, I said more firmly.

- I want to see her, one last time, he answers calmly.

- I’m here Alex, Amelia specifies, whose voice stands out more clearly on my right and her silhouette stands out against the ledge. Listen, Owen…

- It’s a beautiful last image to see you like that above me Amelia, Alex said, slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on the young woman.

- Grab my hand, damn it! Hurry up! I repeat as I begin to weaken in this uncomfortable position, exposed directly to the wind and rain.

- I know I can’t have you now, but it’s soon Amelia… we’ll see you soon… in just a week, you will be mine…

- We can help you, be reasonable, I say as a last resort, worried by the words of Alex.

- In a week, we will love each other forever, I will wait for you… on the other side, he declared in a calm and deep voice.

He smiles widely while keeping his attention on the singer.

- Alex! I launched as a final call to order, my gingers stretched out towards him, my hand stretching out full length.

But he doesn’t listen to me anymore and I watch with dread, his fingers come off one by one from the stone ledge. 

His body falls as if carried by the wind in the void… without a noise, without a cry, if not a reaction of horror from Amelia who immediately hides her face against me, behind my back.

I stay fixed on the silhouette of Alex who falls, attracted towards the ground, with this list expression dressing his face.

.

A smiling, serene face almost soothed.

.

Like the smile of a happy and loving man, waiting for the time to find the chosen one of his heart.

.

And accessing the fullness of another world. 

                 –––––––––––––––––––––––

Thank you for reading. Have a great week 💛

[janeofcakes]

Keep Your Friends Close and Your Enemies Ten Feet from the Pack

OMG OMG HERE IT IS! I’m so excited to bring this to you and absolutely terrified that none of you will like it. It’s a Johnlock AU with the roller derby as the setting and I’m so nervous about posting it I can’t even begin to express my feelings right now. I am freaking out. I keep thinking “I hope it’s not complete rubbish. I hope it’s not complete rubbish.”

Okay. Okay. Calm down, Jane. Just a few terms before we begin. I’ll throw in more of these in subsequent chapters when necessary. It’ll just help you understand things.

Terms:

Pack - the largest group of blockers from both teams skating within ten feet of each other.

Blocker - a skater who tries to prevent the jammer from skating around the track and scoring points.

Jammer - the skater who skates around the track and aims to pass all of the blockers on the opposite team. A point is scored for each opposing team blocker the jammer passes. 

Lead jammer - the jammer who breaks through the pack first (no points are scored on the initial break through. The lead jammer controls the jam and can call it off at any time, unless in the penalty box.

Jam - or round. Each jam lasts a maximum of two minutes, if the lead jammer does not call it off. Blockers and jammers may be swapped out in between each jam.

Quads - roller skates with four wheels.

And now, here we go...

Chapter 1

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality. Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see.                                         --Queen, Bohemian Rhapsody

Sharp grey eyes study the five skaters as they race around the track. Wheels glide smoothly over concrete, one leg crossing over the other on the straight aways, knees bent to keep low around the turns. Bodies bent slightly at the waist and spines arched with shoulders back in perfect derby stance. They make each pass with ease and undeniable focus. Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody plays loudly from a portable speaker laying in the center of the track. A short woman off skates stands next to it with a timer, shouting out every minute as each one ticks away. The only other sounds that interrupt Freddie’s voice are the occasional cries of 5, 10, 15, as well as shouts of encouragement from the stationary skaters positioned around the inside of the track as they count their teammate’s laps.

The dark curls that frame his face flutter artfully in the cool breeze created by the fast-moving skaters not twenty feet in front of him. He watches yet not seeing at all, his mind visualizing strategies and scoring tactics playing out on the track before him.

Come into the pack signalling lane one, a quick flick of the wrist indicating the real plan and jetting to three at the last second. Hit, spin, shove and twist, roll around the pack to one if necessary and break through.

A few shouts of support start from the group of skaters working on core exercises on the outer left side of the track. More join in, along with the group doing squats on the right side, just after the timer yells one minute. As the time ticks down, Freddie and crew are all but drown out by the voices of a team joined in a common goal. Training is key. Training together, helping each teammate reach for something better - one more lap, skimming off one more second, slipping past for one more point - that is a true team. A team of equals, partners. That is what he has always worked toward and that emphasis has made his team unique.

Increase speed just before reaching the pack, nod to a blocker, signal with a fist. The blocker slams into an opposing blocker as the jammer shoots by and crashes into the pack, ideally knocking the most immediate blocker to the ground and rocketing through.

His eyes narrow as he considers his jammers to determine which ones fit with each strategy. He shuffles through individual tactics and assigns the ones that play directly to each woman’s strengths and personality. All of this is easy for him because he is a master at reading people and knowing what he shouldn’t know with only a look or two. He reads every strength and weakness after observing two trips around the track. He can see everything about one’s personal life as well, but turns that part of his brain off with the team so as to avoid invading their privacy. Mutual respect is also important in a successful team.

His eyes slip closed as he carefully analyzes each strategy against each jammer. His hands steepled with fingertips just touching his lips, every sound filling the stadium fading away as he enters his mind palace. This is the place where all the information is stored and every skill will match up with his ideas.

Witch Hazel, a jammer of such an elusive nature that blockers scarcely realize she is bumping against them before she has slipped past, as though she has cast a spell.

The Woman, who sidles up and presses herself on blockers with more weight than her lithe body would dictate. Then she twists and dodges with unexpected speed, bouncing from one blocker to another as she twirls around the pack, delivering hit after hit as she goes.

Trixie Belt’em, one of their most aggressive and foul-mouthed skaters, uses wider hips to her advantage. Slamming into anyone in her way, she knocks women to the floor with one powerful whack.

Similarly, Bloody Mary breaks through the pack to earn lead jammer nearly every time and pumps her legs all the way around the track. She comes in hot and slams into the blocker she has deemed the weakest link. She is seldom mistaken.

Finally, their most skilled jammer and captain, Mollycious Intent embodies all the skills of her fellow jammers. Her speed and power are equally measured to her quick dodges and sharp turns. She comes in hot only to stop on a dime and prance her way around the pack on her toe stops. Just as steady on the stops as on wheels, she still delivers precise blows to the opposition, but saves the real power for the most critical hits. 

Molly’s strategy and intellect closely match that of their coach, making them a perfect force to lead the team to its place as number one in the nation. It is a title the Detroit Rock City Rollers once held for ten years from the late 1970s into the 1980s. One the team’s owner never thought they would see again after The Fall. One they regained when they were revolutionized by a budding young coach called Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock shuffles his feet as he thinks, visualizes each play and all possible outcomes. His feet slide back and forth easily on his quads. Sherlock often dons his own workout gear and black skates for practice. He prefers to skate with the ladies rather than lord over them from the sidelines, providing critiques like most coaches. But he has always been unconventional. His unusual ideas and knowledge of the sport factored heavily into the Rock City comeback after a 23 year slump. In the 49 years since the inception of the Detroit Rock City Rollers, there had never been such a coach and there is still no other coach like him in all of the league.

“Coach!”

A loud voice echoes through the stadium and pulls him from his thoughts. Sherlock’s eyes fly open to see the skaters loitering around the track and drinking from their water bottles. The music was turned off after the last workout rotation and no longer blares across the track, marking the beginning of drills. Sherlock typically leads the drills and scrimmages, but the ladies are more than capable of regulating themselves when he is pulled away. Or delves too far into his mind palace, as the case may be.

“Hey, Coach!” Harry ‘HardOn Skates’ Dewhurst calls from the track. He shifts his gaze to her in response. “You know your phone is ringing, right? Turned up the volume so you wouldn’t miss a call from Lestrade, wasn’t it?”

Sherlock studies her knowing smirk and narrows his eyes as the ring of his phone finally reaches his ears and the doors to the strategy wing in his mind palace close. He pulls it from his pocket and sees the name Greg Lestrade, general manager of the team in bright digital lettering. He turns and looks back at the ladies.

“Twenty laps for being a smartass,” he announces.

“My pleasure, Captain,” Harry salutes and skates to the outside edge of the track with a broad grin on her face.

“Molly.”

“Sherlock?”

“Get started with drills.”

“Got it.”

Sherlock turns his head to face away from the track, glancing at the clock. He puts the phone to his ear.

“Really, Lestrade,” Sherlock begins with a smile on his face and an exaggerated tone of irritation in his voice, “I cannot maintain any level of success if you continue to interrupt practices.”

“She’s done it again,” Greg replies, ignoring the jibe and deathly serious.

“No,” Sherlock’s eyes are wide.

“She hired a doctor she met at the conference,” Greg pauses, hoping Sherlock will not start shouting like last time. However, this is almost worse. It is never good when the man goes quiet. Greg bites his lip and goes on. “He starts on Thursday.”

Sherlock closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, his fingers resting precisely on the two little wrinkles that traverse the top of his nose when he furrows his brow. He sighs in both frustration and anger.

“For god sake,” Sherlock mutters. He opens his eyes and looks toward the team, catching Molly’s eye almost immediately. “I’ll be back.”

“Got it,” she replies with a nod.

Without a thought to his footwear or the floors, Sherlock skates from his position near the track and across the stadium to the exit closest to the team offices. Once up the elevator and in the hall, he continues to skate along the fairly flat carpeting until he bursts into Greg’s office. It shouldn’t take the man by surprise because he has stormed the office before, not to mention they were just speaking on the phone, but somehow it does and Greg jumps slightly when Sherlock rolls in. Greg rests his elbows on his desk and tilts his head warily to watch the wheeled man pace back and forth before him.

“What the hell is she doing, Greg?” Sherlock is already asking. “Did she learn nothing from the disaster that was Phillip Anderson?”

“I know, Sherlock. I know.”

“You gave me every assurance that this would not happen again.”

“Sherlock,” Greg replies sternly, gesturing at the man, who finally comes to a stop directly in front of the desk, “need I remind you that Martha Hudson owns the team? She can hire anyone she likes.”

“Yes, of course she can,” Sherlock scowls impatiently, “but I expected to be consulted first.”

“Honestly,” Greg runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair, shaking his head in exasperation,  “I did too. But she obviously didn’t. I just got off the phone with her. She’s on her way here and thinks this doctor is the answer to our troubles. We can’t play without a team doctor and the season is about to start.“

“I am well aware of that. Thank you,” Sherlock answers haughtily. “What do you know about him?”

“His name is John Watson.”

Sherlock stares at him, expectant and annoyed. He even jerks his head forward to punctuate the unspoken addition. Well?

“That’s it,” Greg shrugs.

“Oh my god,” he rolls his eyes before fixing Greg with a glare and pointing an accusatory finger. “We must find out all we can. If he touches anyone on the team…”

“I’m sure Martha took that into consideration when she hired him, Sherlock. No one wants another situation like Anderson. We can thank him for opening all our eyes, the bastard.”

There is a light rap on the office door and in walks the woman of the hour, Mrs. Martha Hudson. With a smile on her face, she lets the door swing wide before turning to close it with a solid click. When she faces them again, it is with a motherly smile.

Mrs. Hudson and her husband founded the Detroit Rock City Rollers in 1970. By ‘78, the team was at the top of its game. Money was rolling in and Edward Hudson didn’t always use it for the best, or even legal, exploits. In spite of her own moral principles, Mrs. Hudson generally looked the other way because her focus was on the skaters. She made sure they had whatever they needed and even muscled men out of the organization if they proved to be disrespectful in any way. As it turned out, she should have extended the same treatment to her husband.

The dream, and marriage, ended in 1987 when Mr. Hudson was arrested for larceny, embezzlement, drug and sex trafficking, and murder. Some of his crimes were directly related to the team and some not. For her part, Mrs. Hudson testified against him and sealed his fate with a smile on her face. After her husband’s conviction, Mrs. Hudson spent the next six years doing everything in her power to rid Rock City of disgrace. She fired everyone on staff and dismissed every team member proven to be willingly involved. With the rubbish cleared out, she rebuilt from the ground up. She slowly re-established her own reputation and the team’s along with it. When she finished what had once seemed impossible, she was finally in a position to attract talented newcomers again. One such young upstart was Gregory Lestrade.

Greg was the first to come into the fold as an expert and honest general manager. He revolutionized every aspect of team business, making it professional and accountable once again. Together, he and Mrs. Hudson hired a most accomplished staff for the team to depend upon. It was his demeanor more than his experience that made Mrs. Hudson trust his judgement implicitly, in spite of being roughly 25 years her junior.

“Goodness, boys, settle down, settle down,” she clucks. “I could hear you all the way down the hall.”

“That, Mrs. Hudson, is a boldfaced lie,” Sherlock snaps, “but if you’d like to hear my objections to this farce at full volume I will be happy to accommodate.”

“Sherlock!” Greg rises from his chair and glares at the taller man. He is not at all surprised at the insubordination, nor is Mrs. Hudson - Sherlock Holmes has spoken his mind since day one - but he is typically more diplomatic with the team’s owner.

Sherlock keeps his icy gaze on the older woman, pointedly ignoring Greg. Mrs. Hudson herself just looks at them both fondly. She has never made a secret of the fact that she views them as the sons she never had. Greg holds the place of firstborn - polite, responsible, authoritative. Sherlock is the little brother who will always be quietly satisfied that he is taller. He is just as responsible and an excellent coach, but is also petulant, disagreeable and a bit of a shit. Both men are friendly and talented and won over Mrs. Hudson nearly the moment she met them. Martha is nothing if not an excellent judge of character. It’s like a sixth sense and she prides herself on it, so how she failed to notice Anderson’s complete lack of ethics is beyond her.

“Sherlock,” she begins in a motherly, but stern tone, “surely you trust me to make sure nothing like Anderson ever happens again.”

“I did, yes,” he straightens to his full height, which with the skates is impressive, “until you hired someone to replace him on a whim.”

“Sherlock,” Greg growls in warning.

“It wasn’t a whim, dear. John Watson is a good and honorable man, and an excellent doctor,” Mrs. Hudson answers, smile never faltering.

“Well, we are delighted to hear that. Aren’t you delighted, Greg?” he answers sarcastically, finally glancing at the GM and ignoring his incredulous frown. “Has this man worked in derby before you so graciously added him to our ranks?”

“No.”

“Then why, may I ask, was he at the conference? Trolling for new victims?”

“That’s enough!” Greg slams his fist on the desk. The room is silent, all attention on him. “Why do I always find myself reminding you that, while your input is very important, Mrs. Hudson owns this team. She does not have to explain herself to you.”

“It’s all right, Greg,” Mrs. Hudson says easily. “I expected it. I expected you’d both be angry I didn’t put it up for discussion, but I knew John Watson was the doctor for our team as soon as we were introduced. Spending so much time with him at the conference only sealed the deal.”

“Good, good,” some of the edge fades from Greg’s voice and he eyes the other two as he continues. “Why don’t we all have a seat, shall we? Talk like civilized adults. I’m sure Sherlock wants to know more about Dr. Watson as much as I do, if he can behave himself.”

Sherlock glares daggers at him and Greg is certain the man is considering a full-on strop. He watches Sherlock with a hard, commanding and unrelenting gaze. Finally, the taller man sighs and grabs the small chair tucked next to a filing cabinet, leaving the more comfortable and prominent one for Mrs. Hudson.

“Fine,” he mutters and sits with a thunk.

“Thank you,” Greg replies, some tension seeping from his body. “Mrs. Hudson?”

“Thank you, Greg,” she smiles, taking a seat. Greg follows suit. “We met on the morning of the second day. Charles Griffin and I got to breakfast late and he was sitting at a table on his own.”

“Griffy introduced you then?” Greg asks with interest.

“Yes. He’s known John for years. Charles was his advisor in medical school.”

“In London?”

“Yes, of course.”

Greg’s eyes dart to meet Sherlock’s. The thin man is on the edge of his seat, elbows perched on his knees and fingers joined beneath his chin. The position makes his limbs look impossibly long. The skates on his feet don’t help either. Unable to stop himself, Greg rolls his eyes and returns his gaze to Mrs. Hudson.

“So he’s a surgeon then,” Sherlock speculates, but it is more of a statement than a question.

“Since he graduated,” Mrs. Hudson agrees, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Charles resigned shortly thereafter and relocated to the United States for the derby. They kept making jokes about John driving him out of the university with his shenanigans.”

“He’s been a surgeon in London for ten years,” Sherlock states and Greg’s eyes dart to him again. How the hell would he know that? But Greg doesn’t have much time to wonder before Mrs. Hudson continues.

“Oh, longer than that, dear,” she laughs. “How do they say it over there? He’s ‘bloody brilliant’?”

“He graduated in record time.”

“A full three years ahead of schedule,” she grins like any proud mother would. “Seems he has the same head for medicine that you have for observation.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen and sparkle with intrigue. Neither Mrs. Hudson nor Greg has ever seen him so invested in a person who wasn’t on wheels. Mrs. Hudson snickers.

“Surprised, dear? I do listen to your rants, you know. ‘You see, but do not observe’. I’m excited to see if you meet your match in him.”

She has a mischievous gleam in her eye. If she was anyone else, Sherlock would be in a rage, but Mrs. Hudson has always been different. He is well aware she thinks of him as a son and, with his own parents dead for nearly five years, he is inclined to think of her as a sort of surrogate mother. He has known her for a long time and, truth be told, trusts her to a fault. The decision to hire Anderson was one that had to be made quickly. Deadlines were looming and they wouldn’t have been allowed to compete for nearly an entire season without a team doctor. By the time they learned what he was doing to one of the ladies, they were in the championships and the season was almost over. Mrs. Hudson fired him on the spot, in spite of potential disqualification. After her husband’s legacy, maintaining a high level of professionalism and strict adherence to rules, both the league’s and her own, were of the utmost importance. She also had the police outside her door to arrest him as soon as he left the room.

“John and I spent the rest of the conference together,” Mrs. Hudson is saying when Sherlock tables his thoughts and returns to the conversation. “It was one of the best conferences I’ve attended, I must say. He is very genuine and honest, and very friendly. I think you will both like him once you meet him.”

“I can’t deny that Griffy vouching for him doesn’t lend credence to that, but I would like to have met him first,” Greg says carefully. “Asked him some of my own questions. Maybe had the opportunity to factor into the decision.”

“I know, Greg, I know,” she shakes her head. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“More to Greg’s point,” Sherlock finally speaks again, “what guarantee do we have that this Watson won’t show the same disregard for ethics that Anderson did?”

“Oh, no, no, no. He would never do anything like that,” she shakes her head emphatically.

“Why not? He isn’t aged.”

“Sherlock!” Greg’s voice is quiet, but dangerous.

“He’s your age, dear,” Mrs. Hudson ignores both men and what should be an insulting remark on her advanced age. Sherlock continues to frown.

“Is he gay?”

“SHERLOCK HOLMES.”

The room is deathly silent. Mrs. Hudson has risen from her chair and crowded forward to glower down at Sherlock. There aren’t many people in the stadium who are taller than Sherlock and none when he has skates on, so when the rare opportunity to use height against him arises, everyone takes it. 

“You are impetuous and driven,” Mrs. Hudson’s tone and expression are stern. Greg can’t help but think of his mother’s face during what she used to call Come to Jesus moments. “It is what makes you the best coach I have ever seen. But sometimes you’re an asshole.”

Greg’s torso lurches forward just a bit, his shoulders hunching as he bites back the bark of laughter threatening to burst from his mouth. He coughs a little, clearing his throat, trying to cover. Sherlock gives him a pointed look, clearly not buying it. Greg recovers quickly and glances from one to the other as they stare each other down.

“Sherlock, we have worked together for a long time. All of us, and we’re used to your flights of fancy. You know I could care less if you act like a spoiled school boy from time to time because, ultimately, you truly do respect everyone associated with this team,” Mrs. Hudson takes a small step back, allowing the man a little breathing room. “But you will not behave this way straight out of the gate. John has done nothing to deserve your suspicion and his credentials are impeccable. Just trust me.”

She puts her hands on her hips, but one is soon on his shoulder. Sherlock stares up at her, weighing her words carefully. He finally dips his chin in a shallow nod.

“Fine,” the word sounds like a curse on his lips, “but I want to see these ‘impeccable’ credentials for myself.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing them as well,” Greg adds.

“Of course!” Mrs. Hudson’s draconian persona melts away and she turns for the door in a flurry. She looks back at them as she opens it. “I’ll have Allie give it to you this afternoon. We’ll talk again then. Oh! I’m late for a lunch with Daniel and Craig.”

She slips out the door, waving and pulling it shut behind. Sherlock purses his lips and turns his head to face Greg, who frowns back at him. The GM holds out a cautioning hand to Sherlock upon seeing his expression.

“Just wait until we see his file, all right.”

“This is ridiculous,” Sherlock pushes out of the chair and glides to the door. “I have a practice on.”

“She’s right, you know,” Greg says just as Sherlock’s fingers reach the knob. The coach drops his hand and looks at the ceiling.

“I know,” he replies like a sullen teenager. He meets Greg’s eyes and already knows what he is going to say next. Rolling his own eyes, he blows out a breath that flutters the curls resting on his forehead. “I’ll be nice.”

Greg lets out a huff of breath with a quiet laugh dancing around its edges and Sherlock joins with a small smile. A moment later, he opens the door to leave and Greg briefly stops him again.

“Come to my office this afternoon. Allie will have it to us within the hour,” Greg tells him. He gets a quick nod from Sherlock as he walks out the door.

*****

That’s it! I hope you liked it. My plan is to post a new chapter every Friday, or (failing that) every weekend. The story itself is finished, but I’m still typing and editing. Yes, I write on paper first. I’m old school that way. Haha. 

Let me know what you think! I’m happy the hear from you and even happier to reply. Also, I’m trying to tag everyone who asked and who wanted to be tagged for Saving John Watson, but my only list is on my computer at work. ARG! Sorry! If you would like to be added or removed, please let me know. Thanks, y’all for your undying support.

@zentris @toooldforthissh-stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor​ @technicallywiseoncns​ @underestimatemethatwillbefun​ @jhamishw​ @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot​ @superwholocklmt​ @ladidragonuniverse​ @kittenmadnessandtea​ @srebrnafh​ @welcometomyharddrive​ @annecumberbatch​ @kingdomofbrokenhearts​ @philliphooper​ @whodwantmeasaflatmate​ @gloriascott93​ @vvaticancameoss​ @cow-mow​ @echosilverwolf​ @spazzz32​ @absentmindedstuff 

[norcumii]

Reblogged from the prior journal, originally posted on 11/02/2017. Egged on by @poplitealqueen!

------

WELL I WASN’T PLANNING ON THIS, and in fact have been screeching the entire way I’m not writing RvB crossover with Clone Wars, but then @aces-to-apples HAD to go make a comment and I happened to see it in that sweet spot right between “i am sleeping GO AWAY” and “give me CAFFEINE” where ideas can lodge themselves.

And Grey is. Uh. Loud. So y’all get first pass no nope totally not doing more STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT fic. Timeframe is bullshitting and from my knowledge of only the first 12 seasons (…ok, ok, and 4 episodes into 13. But none of that is relevant, I think). No longer under a cut because we see how well that worked last time.

-----

Kix hadn’t been with the patrol that had returned with an unconscious, armored person, but he heard plenty in the time it took her to wake up. This was supposed to be a quiet little planet, but the locals were working with the Seps to keep it interesting, by which he meant they had a functional base for once, but he spent more of his time at it fixing up brothers than out and about fighting.

Having someone in an unknown type of armor “appear out of thin air” with an “abnormal thunder-crack” only for her to faceplant? Unusual, even for the 501st. He didn’t like having an unknown factor stored among his wounded, but after they’d removed the armor to find what seemed to be a baseline human? Not too many better options. She had one hand shackled to the bed, and meanwhile Kix could keep an eye on her while doing his rounds, and hopefully the natives would be quiet for the next half rotation.

The almost shrill voice cut through the wounded brothers’ murmurs like a knife. “Oh. It looks like transposing the coordinates can make it past the blockade. Score another one for Science!” The woman sat up slowly, giving the binders on her wrist an absent frown. “That’s not Charon tech so – ” She stopped with a sharp inhale, looking around and going wide-eyed. The entire room was watching now, because injured brothers got bored and those who were mobile enough to do weapon and armor maintenance usually enjoyed a distraction.

The woman’s eyes went wider and she squeaked. Kix was already hustling over, but he couldn’t help but wonder at the tone and body language. That didn’t look scared.

“OH MY GOD I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I AM AND LOOK AT YOU!”  Every brother in the blast radius of the screech recoiled because she somehow got even more piercing. “IDENTICAL BONE STRUCTURE AND BUILD AND THERE’S NO WAY THAT COULD BE NATURAL DEVIATION THOUGH YOU AND YOU AND YOU I WANT TO STUDY YOUR DNA AND FIND OUT JUST WHAT MUTATIONS HAPPENED ARE YOU CLONES WHAT DEVIANCE FROM BASELINE WAS CONSIDERED– ”

“Quiet in my med bay,” Kix hissed, having no compunctions about grabbing the nearest scalpel and getting into the woman’s personal space. He had his free hand on her shoulder, ready to dig into a nerve cluster if he had to, and blade held with clear intent. He might be medical but he’d never liked the Kaminoan’s distant view of every one of them as a science experiment. He wasn’t about to take this from a shrieky civilian.

Her volume immediately dropped into a more normal range but she didn’t stop gushing. “– and I don’t know this tech either are you using a nuclear based power or plasma and what kind of battery life does it have and Sweetie if you’re looking to disable my arm you want to move two centimeters to the left for maximum speed and is that a submersion tank I see why is the fluid red is it– ”

Carp – one of the brothers she’d pointed too earlier, possibly due to his green eyes – shook his head. “Lady, your neck isn’t long enough for you to be that Kaminoan.”

“– is that some kind of cultural reference or are– ”

“Quiet,” Kix repeated, this time with mild pressure to the nerve cluster. Which he was not two centimeters off of, because he had a fucking scalpel and that was far better to disable someone with. This was just to get her attention.

Urgh. Something about scientists critiquing his technique instead of an actual trainer always set his hackles up.

The woman shushed for a moment, then gave him an annoyed look. “My emergency teleportation cube fiddling means I’m either in some alternate universe – and since this doesn’t look like Chorus I think not – or I’m someplace far far different which with this radically different level of tech is where I’d put the smart money. And you expect me to not ask questions?”

“You are in my medical facility, so I expect you to have some respect for my patients. That does not include treating us like experiments.”

The annoyance morphed to fond condescension. “Oh Sweetie. I treat everyone like experiments. That’s the only way it’s fun!”

“Well, ad’ika,” he snarled right back, “some of us have standards.”

She sighed. “I know, but it’s statistically impossible for anyone to meet mine. But! We do what we can in the meantime.” She held up the binders that had been around her wrist and a part of the bed.  “By the way was this supposed to be difficult to remove or was that your own little test?”

Kix glared, and he could hear an impressed whistle behind him. He swapped the glare over to the offender, Squint. Good brother, not too bright, but an expert with explosives. Squint also had no healthy fear of medics.

“That was under five minutes.”

That earned Squint the fond look. “Of course it was. Locking mechanisms tend to be the same everywhere, you need to line up the bits with the other bits. I will grant you that this was a bit of a challenge though I am rusty.”

Squint rolled his eyes right back. “That was basic binders. It shouldn’t have taken more than two, even if it’s unfamiliar tech.”

“For a civvie?” someone asked behind Kix where he couldn’t ID the bastard.

Squint shrugged at them. “I dunno, but can you imagine Sergeant Duvell accepting anything over two?”

The woman’s eyes darted among the brothers doing the teasing, then of all the damn things locked back on to Kix. “Two minutes to escape unknown technological levels of handcuffs.”

He couldn’t tell what that tone meant, and some instincts were hard to kick. He answered the damned scientist. “On the outside, for non-human based constructs. Our teachers had high standards.”

For the first time she glared, looking annoyed. “No one learns that fast. *I* don’t learn that fast.”

Squint needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. “We have to. We do.”

Her face lit up and she looked like she was having some kind of religious moment. “Show me.”

Kix couldn’t tell if that was a demand for training or evidence, but he was ‘saved’ by the klaxon that meant incoming wounded. He let out a string of irritated Huttese, because while they had the beds for once they didn’t have the brothers they needed to get the wounded to them. He stepped back from the creepy scientist and his his wrist com. “Everyone who’s still mobile and had either two hours or less than three stims, hit triage now.”

“You don’t have enough medical personnel, do you.”

He glared at the creepy scientist, then stepped close enough to keep his growl quiet. He didn’t need the men to hear this. “If you’re volunteering, I don’t take help from folks who putter around in a lab all day. If you haven’t spent at least a full day wrist deep in living, screaming people and kept more of them alive than not, sit down and badger these brothers and stay away from incoming wounded.”

He didn’t expect a sunny smile, nor the woman hopping to her feet. “I’m shorter than you so it’s sometimes closer to elbows than wrists, but lead the way! I promise not to waste time taking notes while treating patients but I will need something to write on later!”

Within two patients, Kix knew several things.

She was in fact as good as she’d implied. Her bedside manner was useless except for the fact that she seemed like she could keep even Jedi in Medical long enough for treatment, which he wasn’t about to complain.

He couldn’t decide if he wanted to kill her, or adopt her.

~end

[thanidiel]

Dominion

Sometimes, the soldier could force fondness to the ways of which Autumnvale has attempted to adapt to her world.

The pheasant, however, is braised.

The texture too soft and tender; less meat and more sodden. Neither is much appreciation to be had for the tang of white wine in its juices; a waste of drink, if she were to be asked. With every bite of fare, the grains of mustard within sauce had burst against her teeth; annoying, distracting.

Underneath, the cook, Dawnspire native, had attempted to appeal to her tastes. With her knife lifting up the side of the poultry, she discovers a bed of wilted and blanched dark-greens intermixed with a ‘rustic’ chopping of mushrooms - foraged from the woods along the mountainside, she thinks she heard some sod say.

It is, unabashedly, a homage to the woman’s tastes and the culture of cuisine in the colder regions of Quel’Thalas. Unfortunately, it is equally clear that the elves who fed the mouths of soldiers and officials to pass through this feast hall, had never seen such fare in their lives.

If such a combination of foods were to be prepared proper, the bird would have come charred and speckled with the mustard, crushed. On the side, perhaps, the vegetable and fungi would come raw or in a cloudy soup. And the wine would be in goblet than simmered down in a pot.

There is something to be said about effort, such as Thanidiel has preached when it was in turn to say something gracious, or morale-raising. And food, is food, after all.

She isn’t sure how much she appreciates the way this meal parallels with times of old, still.

Another portion to be slid off the curve of her knife and popped into her mouth - just for the etiquette of it - and the plate is pushed off towards the table’s center. A slow shifting of her digits like the movement of a piano’s hammers, and the blade rotates to a rest along the inside of her palm.

The handle is levered forward.

“Elinden, how many?”

Her gaze raises from underbrow to regard the man addressed. He looks tired. She can see it in the weight pressed upon his eyelids, even with the hacked red mussing around his head.

Good, he should be.

“Sixteen from the Thirteenth Regiment. Seven from the Southeast, Hallowleaf, they said.”

“Leaders ‘mongst them?”

“A former Knight-Master, Kielen Duskshield. From your people, they answered to a Ciril Farlong.”

“Aye. Stabled? Watered? Fed?”

“All being attended to, Captain. As of now, they sit cross-legged on the grasses outside of the Village, taking fill of the bread given.”

“Send them here; they will make their introductions to me before given right to make camp. In the meantime, the eastern-side should be cleared for their presence.”

“The whole of them as usual, Captain?”

“Aye. Be…” the Duskward draws off, the trenched gap between her brows closing into a knit. By now, the knife has been lowered the table. Still, her hand spreads over the blade.

“How many are we at now, Elinden? Last month was three-and-half-hundred ‘tween us and them.”

“With these additions, we number at four-hundred-and-six.”

“Growing a bit big for our britches, aye?”

“And the ovens.. and the grasslands, Captain.”

Thanidiel bows her head towards the mopheaded man standing at the table’s end, needing nothing more to convey the militant courtesy extended to the Lieutenant Brightvale. Again, the knife wheels in her grip; to be slid into breast from overhead with her comrade’s swinging hook of ankle around a stool leg.

“We’ll need to let the word spread. Another few dozens - less than a month’s time - and that is how many more I am willing to allow camp along the Village.”

“Twisting a cap on the jar?”

“Mm. I’m interested in maintaining an army, not a Great Herd.”

“S’that not an army?”

“Not my style, not my speed. Allow the Archon and his to lead thousands to battle. We’ll keep ourselves swift and effective for all of those death-defying stunts, aye?”

“You mean you will, Than– Captain. You do all of that, and it’s up to me and Harthen to calm the men behind us and assure them that we are, in fact, going to survive.”

“Give yourself some credit. It took the whole active company to fell the Reaver. If you’re willing to spread the rumour that I picked up and swung about chains the length of a warship twice-over, you are free to that ass-kissing, Elinden.”

“And Tyr’s Hand?”

“Your’s and the boy’s screaming spurred me on like dueling drums. Couldn’t have done it without you two.”

“One breath, you’re telling us both to shut our fucking mouths and keep quiet. Next breath, you’re saying our yapping inspires you. Which is it, Captain?”

“Whatever conveniences me to say at the time. For now? Shut it, duck your head, eat the vile they’ve been trying to feed me, and let’s both get back to proper work - Aye?”

“I can only shovel so much of it in my mouth at one time.”

“I’ve walked in on you placing at least three time’s the amount of breast on that plate, right in your mouth. Lying bitch.”

“Oi, watch yourself, Captain. Talk a lot of shit about who’s warming my bed; I’ve seen you want to shake your comrades bloody for even thinking about your’s.”

“The difference is that I have a woman and you have romps. Bring someone home to me and we’ll try some reverence.”

“Someone good for me?”

“Academy Diploma. Steady career. What else do those fucks at the top look for?”

“A certain paleness to the skin? A maximum of an inch of fat behind the arm?”

“Mm, toss all of that, then. Rubbish.”

The knife scrapes.

“–Eh?”

“Your attention span…” is drawn off. “Come on, get out. Bring them their first orders.”

“And the vile?”

“Give it to the hound on your way out.”

Thanidiel does not keep her eyes on Elinden with his exit from her hall. Her attention draws towards the knife. Coated in fat and spice, and pointed towards her own person. Out of place/misaligned. She grips unto its handle, and, carefully, wipes one of its two surfaces against the cloth placed to the right of her. Then, it flips as the action is repeated in another stroke. Idly, the thought passes on how the motions resemble Goose’s Formation.

In the midst of noise bubbling around her – Elinden’s stool scraping across rock and earth and weed; his footsteps aloud through even the soft dirt as it compresses under his boot; the voices of men and women filtering from the outside; the constant rumble of horse hooves vibrating underneath her feet – another thought materialises.

The Phoenix Guard wonders who, or what, would be caught between its wings.

Awaiting her answer, the tool is returned to the wood’s surface once more. There, it points outward in solemn welcome of every boot that begins to filter into the space before her.

She notes how they mimick army with the loosely packed southern volunteers at its fore, and the Knights at its back in rows. The number looks suffocated, sandwiched by the layout of the feast hall where its tables format in a folding flank. She can see how they shuffle uncomfortably as they are forced to settle over stone, coal, and ash, from the morning fire since-dead.

The audio of their march dies down to the shiftings of their clothing and roll of debris from underneath soles, then ebbs further into stagnant quiet.

And so it stays. For the Duskward does not immediately boom her greetings nor call forth the tradition of introductions to be made to her by each new head. Instead, she studies.

She studies the wear of their shoes, and how much the leather sags down their feet.

She studies how segments of plate strapped over chainmail, felt, and cotton, fit upon each new soldier’s person.

She studies the length of hair flying over their brows, speckling their cheeks and catching through beaming light.

She studies the roundness of them - the fat that builds upon their arms and bellies. Some look well-fed. Most, she can see how, already, the dwindling trade of Quel’Thalas has drained their bowls.

In particular, the soldier studies its leaders.

Such a thing has yet to be announced - nothing has been announced at all. But it is something Thanidiel finds easily determined.

The mountainpeople have not been trained in formal stiffness. They stood outside of the dutiful (painful, at times) parade rest the Knights beside them had adopted. Instead, those of her birth settle with a way known to her as vigourful, and to others, as defiant: a laxness to their shoulders, an uneven settle of the feet. ‘Round the one she has identified as Ciril, those close have all drawn back their adjacent legs. Protective, and hesitant to remove floor.

Kielen’s presence is louder than that. His garb is something bold and distinctive from ‘mongst the more uniform Knights. While his comrades were content with a single swordbreaker, or leather spaulder, strapped against their persons, she notes how plate layers along the length of his upper arms in broad, encompassing, pauldrons. Instead of a practical barbute hanging from underarm or belt like many others, an arrogant faceguard settles over his coif.

Loud.

Even idle, he is fucking loud.

She can sense the pacing of his breath from here; how it desynchronises from the calm of all those around him until the brute moves forward, like that would smear away the scrutinous glint underneath her brows.

“Former Knight-Master–”

“You are dismissed.”

“...Ma’am?”

“You may present yourself to Fury Company in a week’s time.”

The rest does not need to be given to the air between them. Again, the blade is in her hand, and, again, it is offered forth to the man opposite of her. Confidence removed, the Blood Knight reaches forward. It is an action hesitant and disbelieving as the bare iron is slid, and held, against rivets.

“Consider that your ticket.”

“The… men, ma’am?”

“Everyone here will be evaluated for entry. Grain, work, shelter, to be provided immediately thereof. Dismissed.”

The flicker of relief that goes through the harshness of his face is like a light through forest canopy. It is something redeeming to the butchery of his first presentation. Graceful, now, his surrender goes swiftly.

“Blood and Thunder, Kin’taris.”

“Sun at your back.”

With the turn of his body away from her, the Captain crooks her fingers towards the crowd.

“At random. I don’t care about any exploits or titles before you’ve stepped into this tent so I hope you’ve left it all in the field. Names first, then me and your two Lieutenants, Elinden Brightvale and Harthen Sunbright, will determine your skillsets, units, superiors, and standing orders.”

The small thing with as hastily shorn hair as Elinden, at the very back of Kielen’s former company.

“Yenette Sunshield.”

The giant with thick and loose coils, closest to Ciril.

“Byrran Morningheart.”

The man with copper red skin at the very center of the Knights.

“Oridren Bloodmist.”

The half-elf with an axe-bite on her jaw falling out of the southern pack’s formation.

“Shenuile Darro…”