#the point here is that there's the risk that next generations would loose this ability and that has me thinking a lot

[layraket]

i can't stop thinking about that my literature teacher today told us that a lot of people (including my class) was loosing the ability of reading comprehension and he has a really strong point

i feel like more and more people take the words more literally, not really stopping to imagine and try to comprehend the meaning behind them. Not all words will mean the same or be used in a literal way

You, as a reader, have to imagine the scene and try to put in place the word and its meaning to fit in a logic way into a specific action or dialoge

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Dancing 'til the break of dawn - Pt8

<Pt7

(TWST zombie apocalypse au for all your crack-fic needs)

It was hard to tell who was the least amused by their current situation. Ace, who was stuck in a radio tower until Yuu was in good enough condition to safely travel again, with the guy who had shot Yuu, whom he was currently forbidden from stabbing? Deuce, who really wanted to use the radio tower to try and contact the outside world but didn’t want to risk being impolite to Yuu by showing he had other priorities? Grim, a monster who wanted to know for sure whether Yuu was as okay as he claimed? Cater, who now had to deal with way more zombies, crowding around the outside of the building, surrounding them, trying their damndest to figure out how window locks and doorknobs worked?

Well, the obvious answer was Yuu, who had been fucking shot.

No, he was not going to get over that anytime soon, thank you very much. Mostly because the day after he had gotten shot it rained, and he learned very abruptly that injuries hurt approximately ten times worse during rainy days because – like – God or something. Who knows. All he knows is that it sucked.

Not as much as shirts, though.

Shirts were made by the oppressive class, Yuu had decided. He glowered at Ace when the boy tried to hand him a clean one. He laid back, spreading out on the floor. He had learned his lesson earlier that day. If he were to sit up, Ace and Deuce would tag team him to get a shirt over his head.

He had no real excuse not to use it, since the towels they had taken from the store to be used as bandages were finding good use, and would (mostly) keep the shirt from being dirtied. But also. Ow. He’d rather just die. It certainly felt like dying, when he attempted to force his arm through the holes, might as well finish the job.

“Yuu, it’s indecent,” Deuce reminded him.

“Your face is indecent,” Yuu sulked.

“Oooooh, good one,” said Ace, sarcastically.

Yuu sulked harder. If there were a teacher around who could grade people’s sulking abilities, he’d get extra credit.

“It is a good one, Yuu-chan,” Cater lied through his teeth. “Are you feeling better?”

Yuu was briefly distracted from his hatred of shirts, giving Cater a flat look. First of all, he didn’t need to be patronized. He could, probably, forgive shooting him. He had forgiven Ace for attempting to kill him, after all. Being a condescending dick, however, he would never let go. Second of all, it seemed like Cater was doing this in hopes that, if Yuu was feeling better, they would get out of his hair.

As if they wanted to be there.

Yuu stared down Cater for a solid half a minute. And then he pushed himself up to try and stand.

If Ace hadn’t been next to him, or if he’d had slower reflexes, then Yuu’s knees buckling would have been much more of a problem. As it was, he was saved before he could make things worse by giving himself a concussion, too.

Gotta love blood loss-induced anemia. It was really good for proving points. Also for scaring his friends into forgetting that he needed a shirt.

~

“We have guests today,” Cater said into the microphone, undeniably peppier than they were used to him being.

But, then again, this was the guy who complained about not being able to sleep because people were screaming, in the cheeriest tone of voice Yuu had ever heard. Clearly, the guy just had a few screws loose.

So, it wasn’t that hard for them to go along with it, despite the change in demeanor:

“Nice to meet you, listeners, I’m Deuce Spade,” said Deuce.

“Listeners is probably a little generous,” Ace sneered. He was not taking kindly to Yuu telling him that he was not allowed to commit murder. “Hello, listener – if you even exist – I’m Ace Trappola.”

Cater sent Ace an unimpressed look.

“Ironic, coming from the guys who only came here because they heard my broadcast!”

Ace’s nose scrunched up. He did not, it seemed, appreciate the logic being presented to him. Or maybe it was because the cheerful voice now felt slightly condescending.

Deuce sighed. A finger poked Yuu in the side.

Yuu blinked, tiredly, his head starting to lift from where he’d been leaning on Deuce’s shoulder, before he thought better of it. He’d been more or less able to think clearly after a day, but that didn’t change the fact that healing up was tiring. Stupid… homo… goblins…? Whatever Cater said, he hated them.

Another poke in the side, this time more insistent.

He shifted just enough to mumble that his name was “Yuu”. He wasn’t sure whether the microphone managed to catch it, but that sounded like the audience’s problem.

But probably not the audience’s main problem, because he would argue that the audience’s nonexistence was probably far more concerning to them. They should probably solve that first before they bothered trying to figure out his name.

A bottle of coconut water was handed to him. Yuu’s expression soured. He took a reluctant sip. Agh. Health. He’d had a vegetable, like, three weeks ago. It had been a novelty then. Now he was just suffering. He could feel his carefully curated stomach acids churn, unsure what to do about the new threat in their midst.

“It helps with blood loss,” said Cater, looking much more tired than his voice suggested.

Yuu shook his head. “Doesn’t.”

“That’s… not how that works! :D!”

Yuu scowled. He was going back to sleep. At least he was always right in his dreams.

Wait did Cater just say ‘:D’ aloud what the fuck –?!

~

Yuu ate a lot of cereal, vitamin C tablets, and coconut water. It was a diet geared towards making sure that his blood loss was treated as soon as possible. And towards curbing the nausea that had made it its life’s mission to make him throw up (he had not thrown up since second grade, he was not going to let the stomach acids win).

By day 5, he was starting to wonder if cannibalism really was that bad. Like, sure, morals, but also… at least it tasted better.

When he told Ace this, the boy lit up.

Cater retaliated by dumping the coconut water into his cereal. Because Yuu was ‘having a hard time with it’ and ‘it might be faster to combine the two’.

It was not, in fact, faster, because Yuu had to choke down every bite.

But he sure as hell stopped complaining about it, so Cater didn’t seem to care.

~

“So, is this guy just – like – a zombie magnet or something?” Cater finally broke. The zombies had managed to find their way up to the roof. He did not seem to appreciate this.

“Yes,” said Deuce.

“Pretty much zombie catnip,” said Ace. He must have thought he was hilarious.

Yuu decided to ignore him. “Hey, if anything they usually avoid me because they don’t want to risk biting me! I’m, like… an anti-magnet!”

“... you are still describing a magnet,” said Cater. “Just the opposite pole.”

Yuu did not like Cater. The list of people he was ignoring was growing by the second. Deuce, don’t mess this up.

He wanted to cross his arms over his chest but his bullet wound would not appreciate this.

Well, he didn’t appreciate it, either, but he didn’t complain nearly as much as it did.

Do not scroll up and see all of the times he had complained, it is not relevant to the case, your honor.

He settled for leaning against Ace. At least he could ensure that other people were annoyed, too.

Ace glared at him, but made no moves to push him off. Yuu wasn’t sure whether to laugh over his injury privileges or be upset that Ace wasn’t reacting.

In fact, Ace was quick to let his attention stray from him entirely, up to the banging sounds coming from the roof. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many zombies before.”

“They’d probably go away if we sent Yuu out to confirm he’s okay,” Deuce said. “But… I don’t know. I’m not sure we should do that.”

Yuu blinked. Deuce had never really expressed this kind of wariness about the zombies. He’d never looked… scared like that. Not for Yuu, anyway.

Deuce started to bite one of his nails, only to stop with a grimace and shove it back into his pockets. Ah, the apocalypse, breaking bad habits since March of 2020.

“It’s just… how much of a hivemind are they?”

The other three boys were just confused.

Cater was the most confused out of all of them, as he was not in the loop: “They’re a hivemind? They have minds – er… a mind?”

But they ignored him.

Yuu frowned. “They have to be a hivemind. If they don’t have a collective consciousness then I would have to deal with zombies trying to kill me just like the rest of you plebs – people, I said people.”

Thankfully, they were all too concerned with what was going on to retaliate at the moment.

“And we know that Grim’s own desires affect what the zombies do,” Ace reminded Deuce, so confused that he had even forgotten to be condescending. “All of the female zombies steer clear for whatever reason. Some of the zombies try to talk to him, some follow him to keep him safe.”

Deuce pointed at him like Ace had just proven his point by accident. “Some of the zombies try to talk to him, some follow him to keep him safe. But why not all of them? The other day, when we saw that group of zombies, only one of them waved at Yuu. Why?”

“... redundancy?” Yuu offered.

Deuce didn’t seem to hear him. “And you mentioned a fan club, didn’t you?”

Yuu nodded, slowly.

“Do the members swap out?”

He shook his head. There was a core group of three members that had been steadily added to overtime. Now, he was pretty sure he was approaching ten consistent stalkers.

That he knew of…

He shook his head again, harder, to clear it, and focused instead on Deuce, who was grinning widely.

“Those few zombies are forgoing eating in order to follow you around as much as possible. But swapping out every few hours would make more sense, right? Which suggests there is a personality element to it. That those ones are particularly obsessive. Probably because they were obsessive during their original lives, too.”

Yuu had never really thought about it. He was… a little embarrassed, a little jealous. He had spent months on end with Grim, he should have noticed this. And Deuce wasn’t even all that smart! When he finally spoke, it was to petulantly grumble, “So what? What does it matter if they keep a bit of their original personalities?”

Deuce’s amusement faded. He hugged himself uncomfortably. “Well… obviously, Grim is… very attached to you. And that means all of the zombies like you a lot. Which is fine, for the most part – helpful. Most people won’t take it too far, because most people aren’t, like, evil. But what about the ones that are?”

The room went deadly silent.

“You think that there are probably ex-serial killers that are obsessed with him,” Ace summed up, his face pale.

“Hypocrite,” Yuu murmured, but his heart wasn’t really in it.

He liked to consider himself largely untouchable, especially nowadays, because he also had Ace and Deuce to help him where Grim fell short.

But, if Deuce was right, and Grim didn’t just immediately know and have any zombies with ill-intent dispatched…

“If we pushed Yuu out into that crowd… well, statistically, one of them might show their obsession in a... less nice way,” Cater finally caught on. Yuu might have commended him for being able to piece things together as quickly as he had, but that was hardly what he was concentrating on.

Yuu, slowly, pressed his face into his hands. “None of us can leave.”

~

“Can we use this radio tower to try and get help from other countries?” Deuce asked, as polite as he possibly could be.

Ace and Yuu’s eyes widened. They had mostly forgotten about that particular, unfortunate plot point. They hadn’t yet figured out a way to stop that. No explanation that wouldn’t devastate Deuce, no way to ‘casually’ mess up all of the settings on the radio tower in a way that would alleviate suspicion. Yuu had thought of making Grim do it, blaming ‘cat instincts’ for him needing to mess with cables, but Grim wasn’t allowed inside.

But it was then, as they watched Cater for his response, their minds racing, that they noticed something:

Cater’s smile had wavered.

Ace and Yuu realized, abruptly, that Cater knew it was a bad idea, too.

Immediately, their expressions shifted from mildly panicked to hopeful. They didn’t even have to fake it, though they were certainly faking the reason for it.

Unfortunately for them, Cater knew that there was no way all three of them were that stupid. He eyed Ace and Yuu suspiciously.

“You are not pinning this on me,” he said.

Yuu had been expecting it, but he still winced.

Deuce’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Pinning what on him –?”

They were interrupted by a loud banging sound, far closer than anything they’d heard over the past few days.

The vent cover popped off, and out spilled a zombie, curled in a tight ball.

Around Grim.

Yuu gasped and rushed to scoop up Grim, hugging his baby to his chest. His baby his baby his baby!

(He ignored Ace, Deuce, and Cater, who were busy dispatching the zombie with ruthless efficiency. Fire was the only way to kill a zombie, as they regenerated seemingly without end, but you could still make it very hard for it to chase you. Slice a few tendons, break a couple of joints, put a gun in its mouth and get rid of its only weapon… well, three-on-one was hardly a fair fight, especially when the zombie wasn’t even bothering to fight back.)

He pressed kisses to his darling’s furry little head. He realized, with an odd sense of pride, that Grim’s second eye was beginning to grow back. Yuu cooed.

Grim, for his part, just curled up in his arms, purring, his tail snaking its way around his bicep as if to hold him, too.

He thought, dully, that he might just cry at the sight.

Because it was cute.

Don’t pay attention to Ace’s disgust and Deuce’s poorly-hidden wariness, who cares about them?

Not Yuu, not when Grim was there.

But he did lift his head when Cater gave a pained cry, more out of curiosity than anything.

The vent had been right over the control panel for the radio station. And, when the zombies had come crashing inside, they had smashed into the controls.

Yuu pressed his face back into Grim’s fur to hide his laughter.

Looks like Grim really had messed up the wires for him, after all.

~~~~~

Pt9>

[inscrutable-shadow]

Whumptober 2023 Day 5 - What's the Worst That Could Happen?

@whumptober-archive

No. 5: “You better pray I don’t get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It’s broken.”

also available on ao3!

Jack yanked hard on the Doctor’s lab coat. “Get down, Doc, unless you want to catch one of those bullets in your teeth!”

The Doctor crashed to all fours, panting hard. “Apologies, I am not moving as quickly as in my younger days. I suppose there is no longer any chance of reaching our destination on time?”

“Sure as fuck not. Is the First Quarter always like this? Seems like every other week I’m getting myself caught in a shootout.” He pulled another magazine out of his belt and slid it into his pistol in a practiced motion. The suppressive fire didn’t seem to deter their pursuers any.

“I cannot say it is uncommon, at least in this area. I had hoped my return to the land of my birth would be less… hectic. If only the gangs here had a Queen of Diamonds to unify them.”

Jack scoffed. “Yeah, I think we’re good with just the one.” He poked his head around the concrete barrier and immediately pulled it back. “Mother’s veil, these guys don’t give up…”

“I don’t imagine so. Astra Group would likely send any number of men to ensure my premature demise,” the Doctor said mildly, adjusting their glasses. For someone who had a hit squad out for them, they sure seemed much more concerned with how much exercise they’d been getting than the actual bullets. Standard Doc.

Jack checked his surroundings. Narrow access tunnel, and the pod car was around a corner about thirty meters away. He’d give the Doc a moment to catch their breath and then they’d run for it. They were slower than he was and he’d have to take a few calculated risks if he wanted to keep them intact. Well, if there was one thing the procedure had done, it was make him better at math.

“Okay, Doc, we’re gonna make a break for the pod car. Don’t look back, just keep running.”

The Doctor, still sweating and panting, looked up at him in dismay. “That distance? I cannot keep up with you, Jack, I will be left behind—”

“No, you won’t. I’ll keep pace with you. Just trust me, okay? Keep moving and you won’t get hit.”

“I find that incredibly unlikely—”

“And go!” He hauled them up by the lab coat and pushed them out of the cover of the barrier, but not too far, giving them a chance to right themselves. The Doctor let loose with a colourful stream of curses, but started running anyway, which was the point.

Jack allowed himself a bit of a laugh. The “hitmen” couldn’t aim for shit compared to a Suit’s evasion ability, even protecting another person. He was, for the most part, able to keep his important parts out of the path of the bullets, and he only had to yank the Doctor to the side twice. He clicked the key fob to open the pod car’s hatch as soon as it came into view.

The Doctor was flagging by this point, their pace steadily decreasing despite their best efforts. Jack was going to have to do something about it. “Forgive me for this, Doc, yeah?”

“Eh? Ack!” They flew the last ten feet through the hatch opening, landing with their face on the far seat. Jack dived in after them and scrambled to pull the hatch closed. Glasses hanging askance from their face next to a slowly oozing bullet graze, they rounded on him, furious. “You could have killed me, Jack! I am not a sack of potatoes to be hauled around as—!” They stopped short. “I say, is that blood?”

“Well, yeah. Got hit a couple of times. ‘M fine, just give me a second and I can drive.” It really wasn’t that big of a deal. He needed to get the car in gear so they could get the hell out of here. The electric engine clicked worryingly the first couple of times he began the startup sequence, but eventually it began to hum.

“At least have a booster, Jack, no? You know where we are going, I do not.” Well. At least they had their priorities straight.

general taglist: @athenswrites

fcd taglist: @youareshauni, @arieadil

doc taglist: @i-eat-worlds

[tarotlogy]

The Chariot (VII)

Here we take The Fool takes the next stage of his journey through life as we meet The Chariot.  A man rides out-of-town in a chariot, standing tall, strong and determined. He is dressed in battle attire and holds a wand in one hand. One his shoulders rest crescent moons with blue faces. His belt and lower garments are decorated with symbols. A star covered veil acts as a canopy over the chariot. The front of the chariot is decorated with blue wings and below the wings is the symbol of Isis who is the ancient Egyptian goddess of magic and mothers.

Two sphinxes pull the chariot forward. One is black and one is white which is a reminder of the pillars in The High Priestess . These sphinxes once again represent duality or opposing forces. The Chariot appears to rest partially in water and on land again representing duality. In order for him to keep his chariot moving forward the man will have to gain control of these opposing forces. This is no easy job. One sphinx represents the heart and the other, the head so we have a mix of emotions and practicality, masculine and feminine. The man is mature enough to understand that he will get no where in life unless he learns how to control both his animal instincts and his emotions. His battle dress suggests that he is prepared to put in the necessary hard work to do just this.

If he lets the black sphinx have his way then he risks becoming too emotional and letting worries and his imagination run riot. He will achieve nothing. If he lets the white sphinx have free-rein well he may end up in trouble and many battles as he becomes aggressive and lacks compassion. Tenacity and self-discipline is indicated in his strong and determined stance.

The Chariot card in a number VII and with all the sevens in the Tarot the message is to not give up, to hang on in there and be determined. Keep going and through sheer hard work and commitment he will succeed or be victorious. He must maintain a forward momentum. He must not doubt himself or his abilities, he must not let the sphinxes know of his fears. He must keep the wheels of The Chariot turning.

The man in The Chariot has control of great power at this point and whatever this card is connected to in life it demands completion. The journey he has set out on has got to be completed. Commitments need to be fulfilled. His success depends on his steely nerve now and on his control. Unless he is prepared for this journey and the hard work and effort it will demand of him he should not commit himself to it. It will be too late to change his mind halfway down the road when he looses control of the sphinxes.    He has learnt a lot so far in his journey and carries with him the knowledge of all the preceding cards. The wreath he wears around his head once again confirms his victory and success. He is master of his own destiny as he drives his chariot forward.

The Chariot along with The Moon card and any of the Cups Court Cards represents the sign of Cancer.  As we have already discovered with Cancer, part of the challenge they face in life is to control their emotions. Because this card represents Cancer and the fact that Cancerians are generally emotional, gentle and nurturing it seems out-of-place that they be represented by an apparent strong masculine card. However, Cancerians also are known for their sometimes frosty,  hard exterior as in the crabs shell (the crab being the symbol of Cancer).

The Chariot may then suggest that appearances can be deceiving. This man may have the presence of a hard disciplined soldier in charge of these strong beasts but beneath it he is soft and emotional. Behind that hard exterior he may be crying out for help. Or maybe, he, like the crab, has his defences up for some reason or other.

The Chariot struggles to keep his feelings and fears under control. The sphinxes just see life in black and white and given the chance would dash off in opposite directions. The man in The Chariot positions himself between the two which allows him a better chance to listen to their individual needs, thus allowing him to balance the energies and drive them forward to a common goal.

If you look closely you will notice that there appears to be no reins connecting the sphinxes to The Chariot. How does he control his chariot we may well ask? He controls it through the mastery of self-discipline and self-control. When using his mind to make a decision he also takes into consideration his feelings. By allowing both the black and the white sphinx a say he keeps their temperaments under control and they in turn happy that they are individually taken care of and considered allow the man to dictate their direction.

Strong leadership is suggested with The Chariot but the man cannot drive the chariot alone. He must rely on the support and cooperation of others as symbolised by the two sphinxes in order to be successful. There is strong evidence of teamwork involved with The Chariot.  A firm but gentle hand may be the best approach.

MEANING

Victory and success, but as a result of hard work and determination. The reins are in your hands now and great power has been given to you. Others are waiting to see what you will do with it. The Chariot often indicates travel, usually by car or overland.  It can also suggest the purchase of a car and car related issues. You might be taking a journey or moving to a new location. You may feel torn in two directions. You need to use your mind to sort out this problem but also take your feelings and other’s feelings into consideration when making your decision.

The Chariot is a masculine card and a strong, powerful, successful man is suggested by his presence. This man is tenacious and doesn’t give up. Success can yours through self-discipline and control. You may be moving ahead in your career. You may have mastered a new skill and are applying it to your life or career. You are overcoming difficulties and obstacles in your life and feel in control. Look around you and see what needs to be completed.  There may be left projects unfinished or arguments unresolved. Finish what you start. Don’t commit to something that you cannot finish. When involved in teamwork, make sure you are all singing from the same hymn sheet. Maintain balance and harmony within a group or team by listening to people’s needs and feelings while staying in charge and in control.   Be strong but not forceful.

The Chariot can also suggest that you may be hiding behind a mask to hide your vulnerability.  You may also be acting defensively and aggressively.  Are you hiding behind your defences.  Have you declared war on somebody, as dressed for battle, you ride out to conquer all? The Chariot augurs well for success in competition or sport.

The Chariot as discussed earlier can represent a Cancerian person.  In relationships The Chariot would suggest that in order for your relationship to succeed you may have to control your emotions. Don’t give up but work to reconcile any opposing forces in the relationship it will be worthwhile. Don’t let your imagination or fears get the better of you. Calmly use your logic and reason to sort out any emotional upheavals. Things may not be as they appear, may not be as bad as you think. A disciplined confident man who keeps his emotions under control or hidden can be suggested by The Chariot in a relationship reading.  It may take some time to break through his defences if you want to get closer to him.

[ladylynse]

Dimensional Displacement [FFN | AO3]: Danny has a love-hate relationship with the Fenton Booo-merang. This time, it didn’t do him any favours. This time, it knocked him through a portal—and from what he can glean from the Water Tribe siblings he meets, odds are, there’s a reason for that.

-|-

For @geronimo-alonzi as a thank you for donating to my ko-fi. (Yes, they won my fic giveaway, but I finished this one first.) Loosely based on this three sentence fic.

-|-

Danny had been clobbered in the head by the Fenton Booo-merang more often than he’d like to admit, let alone count, but this was the first time it had knocked him through a portal.

That wouldn’t have been a particularly bad thing if the portal hadn’t immediately closed behind him.

One minute, he’d been minding his own business in the Ghost Zone, coming back from a visit with Frostbite that Jazz must have forgotten about if she’d sent the Booo-merang after him. (Sam was stuck with her parents at some fancy dinner party thing somewhere and Tucker was working on designing a computer game for his comp sci assignment, a class neither Sam nor Danny was in, so it had to have been Jazz.)

The next minute, Danny was…. He didn’t even know where he was. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He’d caught the Booo-merang before either he or it had hit the ground, but once he’d righted himself to look around, there was no familiar skyline or something equally useful to him. There were only trees and rocks and dirt roads as far as the eye could see, even from a considerable distance up in the air.

Well.

That wasn’t quite fair. He could see a silver river cutting through the trees in a path roughly parallel to the road, but in terms of helpful things, he was coming up empty.

He didn’t even know which direction he’d need to fly to get to a city. It was too light out to see any distant glow of city lights against the scattered clouds, and all he could smell when he breathed in was fresh air and pine needles and something else—moss? The general mix that was pretty much mulch on the forest floor?—that was decidedly natural, not the signs of human activity he’d been hoping for. Sure, following the road or even the river would get him somewhere sooner or later, but what was he supposed to do, pick a random direction or go eenie meenie minie moe?

Danny did another loop above the trees, looking for some sign of anything, and came up with nothing.

“Come on!” Danny yelled at the patch of blue sky where the portal had closed. He spun in a circle, the Booo-merang clutched tightly in his fist, but it didn’t pull in any direction, and he didn’t catch so much as a glimmer of the familiar green of the Ghost Zone. “Just open up again already!” It was as effective as he’d expected it to be, which was not at all, but screaming out his frustrations made him feel a bit better. “Now! Please?”

Unsurprisingly, the portal didn’t listen.

Out of appealing options, Danny threw the Booo-merang. Logically, he knew it wasn’t the Infi-Map. Logically, he knew that the universe did not often do what was convenient for him, even if he sometimes got incredibly lucky in a fight. Logically, he knew that the chances of the Booo-merang deciding to reprogram itself to find portals just because it had done it this one time (likely coincidentally) were slim to none.

Illogically, he didn’t expect the stupid thing to circle around and hit him in the back of the head again.

Danny cursed and landed to retrieve the fallen Booo-mang from the roadway, muttering under his breath about how much he’d like to just dismantle the thing and hide the pieces. He wouldn’t, of course. It worked too well to risk Sam, Tucker, and Jazz losing the ability to find him if they really needed to. It had been dicey enough the few times his parents had decided to try to ‘fix’ it, only for disaster (Vlad) to strike in the meantime.

That didn’t mean Danny couldn’t fantasize about bashing it against a rock, though. There were plenty of those around.

“That’s a weird looking boomerang,” someone said from behind him, and Danny nearly jumped into the air right there.

He didn’t, mostly because he was getting used to Sam and Tucker trying to surprise him, but it was a near thing.

He wasn’t used to people sneaking up on him. His ghost sense was reliable, Dash made more noise walking around than even Jack Fenton, and, well, most of the people who hunted him couldn’t be subtle if they tried, especially since a good chunk of them liked hearing their own voice. He’d only ever really had to worry about Jazz, and self-preservation in the face of tickle attacks had given him the ability to be extra sensitive to her presence whenever she was in a certain mood.

The two who’d caught him by surprise now must have come from the trees on the other side of the road, and he hoped that meant they hadn’t seen him do anything particularly ghostly. Granted, neither of them was screaming, so he should be safe. They didn’t look terrified, either. Wary, maybe, but not scared.

Danny guessed that they were both somewhere around his age. Siblings, by the looks of them, but probably not twins even if they’d both decided to leave the house wearing oddly styled blue clothes today, at least compared to the usual jeans and T-shirt combo Danny was used to seeing. Unless he wasn’t anywhere near the States anymore? Or unless he’d been flung through to a different time. But the boy had spoken English, and it hadn’t sounded funny to Danny’s ears, no lilt of a foreign accent or strange phrasing that he associated with Shakespeare or something.

The girl was his height, the boy a bit taller, and they were both staring at him.

They probably thought he was the one who was dressed strangely.

The boy pointed. “Your boomerang,” he repeated. “It looks weird.”

The girl elbowed him in the gut—none too gently, judging by his immediate wheeze—and hissed, “Sokka!”

Yeah, those two were definitely siblings. And even if the girl wasn’t older, she definitely had the annoying (and annoyed) sister tone down pat. Danny had heard (and been on the receiving end of) the same from similar exchanges with Jazz more than once.

“Sokka’s going to apologize, right, Sokka?”

The boy frowned and then threw up his hands. “Right. I apologize for saying your boomerang looks weird. It looks interesting.”

The girl stepped on his foot, and he yelped. “What was that for?”

“You know what that was for!”

“It’s fine,” Danny said. He still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. Maybe the portal had dumped him out in the middle of some historical re-enactment thing. Granted, there should really be more people around if that were the case—or at least hidden cameras. He was better at spotting them now. Vlad and his creepy spy tendencies aside, Danny had gotten good at noticing (and avoiding) cameras so he didn’t let his secret get caught on tape. (There were a surprising number of places in Amity Park not under video surveillance, or at least not under real video surveillance even if they had fake cameras out; he could practically transform in the middle of the street sometimes.)

Still, nothing about this felt staged. It didn’t even feel like one of his enemy’s tricks, some giant setup that was meant to trap him or whatever. That’s not to say Danny was wholly convinced this meeting, whatever it was, was merely chance—he didn’t particularly trust Clockwork not to arrange things as he saw fit without warning anyone—but it didn’t feel overly contrived, either. There was just….

Something felt off, and he couldn’t explain what it was.

“It’s fine,” Danny repeated, since the two were looking at him dubiously, but the familiar phrase felt strange on his tongue, almost like—

Wait.

“Okay, this is going to sound like a weird question, but where are we?”

The boy, Sokka, blinked. “Did you hit your head or something? We’re in the Earth Kingdom. Or, wait, do you mean where in the Earth Kingdom? Look, if you need new supplies, there’s not much in the last few villages, but we’re about a day from—”

The girl elbowed him again, and he fell silent. Danny could see the growing suspicion on her face for what it was, could see suspicion settling on the boy’s face as well, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he’d asked the wrong question or because he’d asked something at all. He’d been paying attention this time, watching Sokka’s lips, and Danny didn’t have to be a good lip reader to know that he hadn’t been saying the words Danny had heard.

Well.

More accurately, he hadn’t been saying them in English.

And Danny, in answering, had somehow not been speaking English.

That was not, as far as Danny was aware, something Clockwork could do to him.

He didn’t know a ghost who had power over language, though, unless the Ghostwriter had something else up his sleeve and this mess was it. Nocturne would be able to pull anything in a dream, but Danny couldn’t see why he’d bother including something that would be an obvious tell like this, so it shouldn’t be him even if he had decided to come back. More likely, it was someone he hadn’t fought before, someone who had targeted him, seen an opportunity when the Booo-merang had hit him and seized upon it to throw him…here.

Wherever here was.

The Earth Kingdom, apparently.

“Um.” The girl still looked like she expected him to start fighting, and her stance…. Danny didn’t recognize it, but he did know that she looked ready to move at any moment. Her brother had taken her cue and, while Danny hadn’t been paying attention, pulled out a boomerang of his own. That couldn’t be good. “Look. I know how this sounds.” How he sounded, more like. If he had some accent he couldn’t hear because he wasn’t speaking their language properly, whatever it was, this had to be a setup after all.

Someone had sent him here to be dealt with. By this world, this dimension or construct or whatever it was, if not necessarily by these two people.

Granted, Danny wasn’t sure why someone would go to the trouble of letting him understand and be understood in the first place if that were the case, since he could get in just as much trouble without speaking the native language.

Surely he wasn’t actually supposed to help someone here, right? This wasn’t even his world. Or the Ghost Zone. Whatever was going on here was most definitely not his business.

Except now he was in the middle of it, so if there was something going on, it would be beneficial to find out what it was sooner rather than later.

This wasn’t some Jumanji kind of thing where he’d been tossed into a game and had to do whatever it was to get out again, was it? It didn’t feel like the time he’d gone into Doomed, but that had been intentional, and this….

Okay, no, he didn’t have enough information to speculate, which meant he needed to get some information out of these two in order to get somewhere. “I just…. I was kidnapped and dumped here for some reason, and I’m trying to find my way home.” That was close enough to the truth that it shouldn’t raise any red flags. Hopefully. “My name is Danny.” Introducing himself as Phantom, even in ghost mode, wasn’t something he wanted to do when he had no idea how these people felt about ghosts. Besides, it wasn’t like they’d ever see him as Fenton. He just needed to stick to the ground and pretend to be a normal human being, which he could most definitely do—at least when the sun was bright enough that his slight glow was basically nonexistent. He doubted it would be terribly noticeable even under the cover of trees.

“Danny,” the girl repeated, not relaxing her stance. “That’s an unusual name.”

Sokka just cocked his head at Danny. “Why would anyone kidnap you?”

It was spoken like it was an innocent, thoughtless question, something that could be brushed away with a laugh, but Danny could read an underlying tension in each of their faces. Sokka was waiting on his answer, and so was his sister. Danny’s response might very well determine what happened next.

Consequently, Danny didn’t miss the fact that Sokka didn’t offer up any potential explanations that he could jump on.

Another lie wasn’t going to do him any favours, not when he knew so little. “I don’t know.” He could guess, but he didn’t know. From the looks of it, though, these two wouldn’t be satisfied with that. Chances were good they wouldn’t be particularly satisfied with his suspicions, either, which was that someone wanted him out of the way for whatever they were planning—or maybe that someone had decided they wanted to have a little fun with him at his expense, if world domination wasn’t on the table. “My parents are inventors. Maybe that’s why?”

“That doesn’t explain why whoever took you would leave you here,” Sokka pointed out, and Danny wished these two weren’t so smart. “If you were taken because you were valuable, you wouldn’t have been left behind unguarded.”

“So maybe they kidnapped the wrong person and realized that I wasn’t who they wanted?”

Sokka exchanged glances with his sister before murmuring, “We can ask Toph. I mean, it’s possible they found us, but if he is really a Fire Nation plant picked solely for his eye colour, they’d have at least dyed his hair and given him some normal clothes.”

Danny decided not to ask who the heck picked people for something based on eye colour and not skill or merit or experience or something normal like that. Aside from derailing the conversation from anything potentially useful, Danny was pretty sure Sokka hadn’t realized he’d been overheard, and it wouldn’t be in Danny’s best interests to let them know how good his hearing was.

Still, he took the opportunity to tuck away the Booo-merang before they could ask any questions about it that he wasn’t up to answering. Maybe it would make him seem like less of a threat if they didn’t think he was ready to use it as a weapon—not that he knew how to use a boomerang as a weapon, but he was pretty sure Sokka hadn’t pulled his out to see which of them could throw it farther or throw it properly—and maybe then they’d trust him enough to answer his questions. Hopefully. He was perfectly willing to meet this Toph if it meant figuring out where he was and how to get home, especially since it would be easy enough for him to cut and run later.

The movement was enough to draw the attention of the siblings, though, and both pairs of eyebrows rose. Had they not expected him to make what he hoped would be taken as a gesture of trust or were they wondering how the heck he’d gotten it into his pocket? Maybe they thought he was trying to hide it, which wouldn’t help matters at all. Then again, if they thought that he thought it had been a subtle move, then maybe—

No.

He had to stop doing this. He didn’t know enough about these two to try to guess their thoughts, let alone what actions they might take against him.

Danny shifted on his feet, glad they hadn’t jumped to attacking and that they weren’t even asking questions about the Booo-merang, since practically anything about it would be difficult to answer. At least they hadn’t seen him flying. Even for people familiar with ghosts, unknown ones tended to be cause for concern until their threat level was assessed, and Danny didn’t want to invite trouble and immediately find out what this world had that messed with ghosts. Sure, he wanted to know what could hurt him here, but finding out while it wasn’t actively being used against him was infinitely preferable.

“Where did you say you were from?” the girl asked after a beat, even though they all knew he’d never said anything about that.

“Nowhere you would know,” he hedged, which was true enough.

“We travel a lot,” the girl said, and her brother snorted.

“What Katara means is, try us. If we can help you get back to your family, what do you have to lose?” Sokka offered Danny a grin, and his stance had visibly relaxed, even if he hadn’t put his boomerang away. It might be just for show, especially since he still had a weapon out, but at least the girl hadn’t drawn any knives or something like that. “Look, from one guy to another, you don’t need to make up some crazy story if you’re a runaway or something like that. We’re basically runaways.”

“We’re running towards something, not away from it.”

“We were almost runaways.” To Danny, Sokka added, “Gran caught us, but she let us go.”

Katara rolled her eyes, and Danny looked between the two of them as Sokka continued talking. It was obvious that they’d changed tack for some reason, no doubt trying to get him to trust them, but the blatant switch made him uneasy. Did they not realize how obvious that was or was this just their usual dynamic?

“I’m from Amity,” Danny eventually interrupted. He knew from the way that they were looking at him that neither of them had forgotten he had yet to answer the question. He’d already told them they wouldn’t know the place, so technically he could’ve said Amity Park, but for all he knew, these two had been sent to get information out of him, and the less he told a potential enemy, the better.

Come to think of it, maybe he shouldn’t have told them his real name, and maybe he should’ve just made up a village name rather than dropping heavy hints about his hometown.

“Which is near—?”

Danny ignored Sokka’s prompt. He didn’t even have a good enough idea of the geography of this place to make that up, especially when there was a chance they knew the area, runaways or no. “Do you know where I could get some water? I haven’t found any since I woke up.” That wasn’t true, but they wouldn’t know that unless they were getting some more intel about him from someone unseen.

The siblings looked at each other again, and then Katara faced him and said, “We’re headed to the river. Come with us. You can get your water, and we can share our catch if we get anything.”

“Wait, I didn’t agree to share my meat!” Sokka exclaimed. Katara’s only answer was a dirty look, but it was enough to have Sokka subsiding into grumbles.

“I’m not hungry yet,” Danny said, which also strictly wasn’t true, but he knew he didn’t need to eat much.

“You might be hungry by the time we’re finished,” Katara said over Sokka’s griping.

Danny hesitated, trying to figure out how weird it would be if he made up some excuse not to go with them. What were the chances that this was a trap when he’d brought up the river—or at least water—before they had? It wasn’t that he thought they’d be able to take him out if it came to that, even if Jazz had more experience fighting normally than he did, since he typically relied a lot on his powers when he could.

These two might be better fighters than him—there were almost certainly better hunters, given how silently they could walk—but he’d always have something like intangibility in his back pocket if it came to it, and they wouldn’t. Still, when it came down to it, he wasn’t used to fighting humans. What if he didn’t pull his punches enough and seriously hurt one of them?

“You can tell us about Amity,” Katara added. “We’ve never been there.”

Danny really hoped that was true and that there wasn’t a place in this world called Amity that they knew well. Still, when they started walking, spreading out so he was always in sight and they never had their backs to him, even when they hit the trees on the other side of the road, he kept pace with them. “It’s pretty much like you’d expect.” Except for the ghosts. At least his ghost sense hadn’t gone off here. Yet. “This is probably the farthest I’ve ever travelled from home.” He couldn’t get much farther away than a completely different dimension that (probably) wasn’t as connected to his world as it was to the Ghost Zone, anyway—unless he counted when he’d time travelled, but he wasn’t about to bring that up.

Katara opened her mouth to ask another question, maybe to press him for details, so Danny cut her off. “What about you two?”

They looked at each other again. How many times were they going to do that? Hadn’t they already decided how far to trust him? Danny knew it wasn’t very far, but they’d clearly decided he wasn’t going to straight up attack them at this precise moment, so even if they didn’t tell him the whole truth—

Sokka gestured at their clothes. “We’re Water Tribe.”

He said it like it was obvious, like Danny should’ve known already, but of course it explained absolutely nothing.

“Southern Water Tribe,” Katara added unhelpfully, despite Sokka’s frown. “We wanted to see the world, and now we are.”

As cover stories went, it was better than Danny’s. Barely. “Right,” he said, wondering again why he’d been dumped in the path of these two. “It’s a nice world to see.”

Somehow, that was the wrong thing to say, because they were both looking at him like they’d expected him to say anything but that. “What?”

“There’s a war on, you’re supposedly kidnapped and dropped off somewhere in occupied territory without any of the proper paperwork, and the best you can come up with is it’s a nice world to see?” Sokka turned his incredulous look from Danny to Katara. “He cannot be Fire Nation. This kid is more sheltered than Toph was supposed to be.”

Danny, who had stumbled at the word war, kept walking and hoped they hadn’t noticed. If they had, maybe they’d think he’d tripped over a tree root or fallen branch or hole or something. They weren’t following a trail, so that was a perfectly reasonable explanation, right?

“It’s all right,” Katara said as she reached out to touch his arm, and, okay, from that gentle tone, which was a complete change from anything earlier, it must mean she had noticed, knew he hadn’t tripped over anything in the terrain, and—from how she was looking at him now—thought it wasn’t surprise that had tripped Danny up, either. “Trust me, I know what it’s like to be a little naïve until you have a chance to leave home for the first time, but unless you’re got a camp around here, you’re not prepared at all.”

Sokka finally put his boomerang away and smirked at Danny. “We at least left home with supplies.”

“Did you have to run without any warning?” Katara asked, giving her brother a pointed look.

“Oh, uh, kinda.” Danny winced, knowing that had to sound like a lie. “I…I didn’t really plan on leaving when I did. This just…happened.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow, but Katara said, “You don’t have to worry. We’re the last people who would turn you in to the Fire Nation.”

Right. So the Fire Nation were the bad guys, at least according to the Water Tribe and, if he was putting things together correctly, the Earth Kingdom, where they were. Meaning the Fire Nation had invaded the Earth Kingdom if this was occupied territory. Danny thought about asking why these two had come into occupied territory themselves and then decided he didn’t want to risk getting into a discussion that would show off how little he knew. If they had decided he was a runaway who knew practically nothing about the world, well, that worked in his favour.

“Thanks.” Danny wasn’t sure what else to say. “Why are you helping me, though? Won’t that put you in danger?” That had to be a fair question in this situation.

“We can’t help everyone,” Katara said quietly, “but we can help some people, even if it’s just a tiny bit. Sometimes, that has to be enough.”

Danny really didn’t know what to say to that, because she certainly wouldn’t understand if he said he knew the feeling, so he smiled weakly in thanks and let the conversation drop.

They were still watching him, but they were more subtle about it now, and it didn’t look like they were watching him more closely than they were watching everything else.

Being downgraded from a threat was a win, though. Danny hoped he didn’t do anything to mess it up.

“There’s no shame in being a refugee,” Sokka said after a moment. “Being from a richer family might’ve bought you an isolated childhood, but it wouldn’t guarantee your safety.”

“We won’t try to hold you for ransom if you tell us where you’re really from,” added Katara.

Danny glanced at her. “I said I was from Amity.”

“I could say I have a platypus bear as a pet,” Sokka interjected. “That doesn’t make it true.”

“We know what it’s like, thinking you understand the way things are and then realizing how little you know,” Katara said quietly. “It can be overwhelming.”

“And it would explain why you’re in your nightclothes,” Sokka said. He’d come in range of Katara’s fist, but he danced out of the way as she swung in his direction. He hadn’t even needed to look at her to know it was coming. “You didn’t know enough to keep your valuables hidden and got robbed your first night on your own, didn’t you?”

“I—” Danny knew it was an excuse for his ignorance being handed to him on a silver platter, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep up with a lie like that when he knew so little. “These aren’t my pajamas,” he said instead. Let them believe what they wanted to believe; that would make his life easier. Even if it blew up in his face somehow, he could truthfully say he’d never said they were right.

They might be suspicious that he hadn’t outright denied it, but then again, he’d already told them something a lot closer to the truth.

“Uh huh.” Sokka glanced at Katara again, and she gave a slight shake her head that Danny didn’t understand.

“Let’s get you some food and water first,” Katara said. “Then we can see about finding you other supplies.”

Danny decided not to point out that they’d already told him it was slim pickings for supplies around here. Not that he had the money to pay for anything, but Sokka had already guessed that. Besides, they thought he was running around in his pjs.

Judging by the sour look on Sokka’s face, he’d evidently translated his sister’s words to mean that she wanted to give him some of their supplies, something Sokka clearly wasn’t sure he approved of.

Katara must have had similar thoughts on Sokka’s expression, since she murmured, “It’s this or bring him with us, and you know what’s safer.”

Katara might not have minded that Danny could overhear her last words, but Sokka closed the distance between them, pulling his sister farther away from Danny before hissing, “It’s not the only option, and you know it. We can’t afford to give away any of our supplies, and just because Toph can make sure he’s not coming in with the intention of stabbing us in the back, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t blab to anyone once he figures out who we’re travelling with. You know as well as I do that that wouldn’t take very long.”

“He’s just kid.”

“Technically, like Aang keeps reminding us, we’re just kids. Who very much cannot afford to so much as drop him off in the next village. Show him the river and teach him how to catch and cook his meals? Fine. Picking him up as a stray when he’s not bringing anything to the table? Not fine.”

“He’s lost.”

“So? He’s not hurt. He’s already in a better position than some refugees. He’ll survive until he can walk to the nearest settlement. Then he can try to get help from people who can actually give it.”

Katara bit her lip and slowed to a stop. “There’s something else.”

“What?”

Danny very much wanted to know the answer to that—what had Katara figured out?—but he tried not to react so they didn’t know he’d been listening in. He deliberately turned away and stared around the trees instead, a mix of deciduous and evergreen. He couldn’t pick out any specific types of trees—nothing distinctive like oak leaves that he could see—and, as far as he could tell, the woods were utterly devoid of critters. He had no idea if that was because this world wasn’t real or if it was simply because all the animals in the region had had warning of their coming and hidden accordingly.

Danny knew his disinterest wouldn’t be very convincing, but if he was lucky, they’d think he’d given up on trying to eavesdrop.

“There’s something…off about him. Not necessarily something wrong, but something different. I can’t…. When he asked about water, I wanted to make sure he wasn’t hiding any on him or nearby in case it was a trap, and— He didn’t feel the same as you or me. I can’t explain it. Toph might have a better idea than I do. Or…or Aang.” The last word was a barely audible whisper.

“You think this might be a spirit thing?” Sokka’s response was closer to a suppressed shriek than anything else, and Danny winced.

“I think he might be spirit touched,” Katara answered, and Sokka’s sharp inhalation was painfully audible. “I wasn’t good enough back then to notice anything about Yue, but—”

“Fine.” Sokka’s voice had gone flat. “I don’t want to shun someone and accidentally anger the spirits. I’ll teach him to fish. You go back and interrupt advanced earthbending practice and pick a meeting place, but make sure everyone’s packed in case this doesn’t go the way you think it’ll go.”

“I know to be careful.”

“We all know to be careful. Some of us just need more reminding than others.”

Katara didn’t say anything else, but she must have nodded or done something similar because Danny heard Sokka stalk back over to him. “Katara’s going back to talk to the rest of our group about what we might be able to spare,” he said as Danny turned back to face him, “and I’ll show you how to fish in the meantime. If you don’t catch anything, I’ll give you one of mine.”

Danny wasn’t about to admit that he’d overheard their entire conversation, so he smiled and said, “That sounds great, thanks.” It didn’t stop the uneasiness from settling in his gut, though. Sure, now he knew these people believed in ghosts, and Sokka’s response made it clear he didn’t want to get on their bad side, but Danny had no idea what being spirit touched meant. He didn’t know if that was seen as a good thing or a bad thing.

More to the point, if it was a bad thing, he didn’t know if these people had something suitable with which to attack spirit touched people, since if they did, chances were good that it would work on him.

He was not lucky enough to get a free pass here.

Still, the odds were good that he’d be able to escape if they did attack since he’d know to be on watch for something, and he wasn’t about to turn down an offer of food. He had no idea when a portal would open and he’d be able to go home. Until then, the best he could do was survive.

He’d survived this much, and his life had hardly been a walk in the park since the accident, let alone before. He wasn’t about to let some ghost fling him into an unknown world and succeed in taking him down. He needed to get out of this to kick their butt and prove to them that they couldn’t get rid of him that easily.

Assuming this wasn’t all a series of genuine coincidences and not the result of the careful manipulation of events.

Danny didn’t want to think about that, though.

He had a much better chance of getting home if there was someone he could beat, and he was going to get home.

Somehow.

(see more fics)

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Apocalypse - Ch 12

Ok! this was the last chapter I wrote so now quality will vary wildly and also hopefully I will write for next week but who knows, also it's whumptober soooo yes. wish me luck

-

You woke. This time you were certain you woke first. Laying on your side, you glanced over your shoulder and though your legs were slightly stretched out, Loki was somehow curled around and into you. At the same time. You really weren’t sure how he managed it. He had both arms wrapped around your waist and his face nuzzled into your neck. As you moved to look at him, there was a soft mewl of protest from his sleeping form.

Wiggling, very slowly, stopping any time his hands tightened around your abdomen just a bit too much, you eventually managed to roll over. Now you were facing him. You bit your lip, at some point Loki had straightened out so he was no longer curled into you and for that you were grateful. However, he was still pressed tightly against you as he kept his arms wrapped around your torso.

You pulled your head back to look at his face, smooth and peaceful. There were only a few moments to appreciate the calmness on his face, the finally healed injuries now that he had his full abilities back, and the lush black curls that had come free of the product that kept it feathered back while he was awake. Then he seemed to miss the absence of your warmth subconsciously, or perhaps just you in general and he pulled himself back towards you, nuzzling his face against your throat. A small smile curled on his face.

You hadn’t expected the god to be so clingy in his sleep and yet, you found you liked it. Freeing an arm, you stroked his back over the soft green cape. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he had purred. Feeling yourself grow tired, you thought about laying back down. What if the two of you stayed here for the day? Just one day of rest? You had walked so far yesterday… And Loki’s strong muscular arms holding you felt so right…

Loki’s eyes opened and he blinked, his hand smoothing over the material of the garment he had given you. He frowned tilting his head.

“Hey.” You broke the silence, your voice squeaky.

“Hey.” Loki replied, his voice low and husky, thick with sleep.

You swallowed hard, Loki’s hands were still wrapped around you, as were your hands on his back. Slowly you continued the soothing circles on his back, searching his face for any signs of discontent.

Loki lowered his head to press his forehead to yours. His hands slid up your back, fingers dragging up the clothes he had given you. Sliding up your neck, and tangling in your hair, he held you close.

You gazed up into his blank red eyes, your breaths mingling as both of you began to breathe faster and faster, hearts pounding in yours and his chest. Nervously, you licked your lips, pressing your teeth down as you stared up at him. Loki slid his nails along your scalp, loosely tugging at your hair, before sliding down along your face and cupping your cheeks. He smoothed his thumbs along your cheekbones, holding your face.

Loki’s hands were slightly calloused. You figured they would be, he was skilled with his daggers, but there was a softness to them, too. You recalled the scholar he had been, the spells he was known to use.

Swallowing hard, you followed his large hands with long slender fingers feeling your face. Delicately and feather light, he traced the pads of his thumbs over your cheeks, up your temples, and then across your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered closed as he smoothed his fingers over your eyelids and back down your cheeks to your lips. Slowly you reopened your eyes as Loki’s thumbs slid over your lips, a smile crossing his face. Separating his thumbs and sliding them to opposite corners of your mouth, he leaned forward and tilted his head. The corners of your mouth turned up and you would have met him halfway but you were content to let him know where you were.

You let your eyes drift shut and his mouth met yours in a soft, needy kiss. Sighing you deepened the kiss, sucking his lower lip and moving your mouths in sync. You pulled your arm from his back, Loki’s hands never leaving your face as the two of you continued to kiss.

Finally you were forced to pull back for breath, “Don’t let go.” You whispered.

Loki raised his eyebrow quizzically but complied.

You rolled over and pushed him onto his back, rolling with him so you straddled his hard muscled stomach. Keeping your face low to him, you smiled down at him, moving one hand up to guide his thumbs to let him know you were smiling.

Loki smiled back at you. He gazed up at you adoringly, even though he saw nothing. You slid your hand over his forehead and smoothed back his curly hair, attempting to tame it for him, while also dragging your fingers along his scalp. As Loki opened his mouth slightly to moan, you captured his mouth in a kiss, your other hand gripping his broad shoulder and pressing your body into him.

Snaking your tongue into his mouth, you tried to curl it around his tongue, delving into his mouth and exploring. For a moment, it seemed you dominated the kiss and you were surprised. It seemed he was humoring you for a dark chuckle ran through his body, vibrating through you and he quickly overwhelmed you. His tongue forced itself into your mouth, tangling around yours and demanding to be wherever he wanted. Part of you squeaked before moaning a deep throaty sound into the kiss.

Once again, you were forced to part. Pulling back gasping, you were pleased to see that Loki was also panting. His hands fell away from your face as he hung them limply at your side, chest heaving. A dazed smile stayed on his face as he gazed up at the ceiling, his lips slightly puffy.

You touched your own swollen lips, unable to stop yourself biting your lower lip nervously as you still sat on his stomach.

“Where’d that come from?” You asked shyly.

“I could ask you the same.” Loki tilted his head up.

“You started it.”

Loki smiled lazily and hummed, “I suppose I did.”

You looked around and took his hand in yours, pressing a soft kiss to the palm as you pressed it to your face. “So do you remember what I look like?”

Loki slowly sat up, all but knocking you off him.

“Oof.” You grunted as you fell off.

Loki glanced in your direction apologetically as he pulled his knees to his chest. “It’s not the same.”

“Hey, Loki.” You reached over and cupped his cheek in your hand, turning him towards you. “I can’t imagine it is, but what you did instead…” You trailed off shaking your head.

Loki waited in silence.

“That,” You swallowed hard, feeling your cheeks heat up as you searched for words.

Loki raised his eyebrow. “Was?” He offered slowly.

“It was really nice.” You whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

You expected a smirk, maybe that shit-eating grin he usually had, but instead, it was just a genuine warm smile. And somehow, for the butterflies in your flipflopping stomach, that was so much worse.

Loki took your hand touching his face and laced his fingers through the back of it, kissing the palm gently. “Good.”

“Should we get going? I know it’s midday so we’ll not get as far as yesterday but I guess when we make camp next we’ll know what to expect.”

“Good idea.” Loki replied straightening up.

You turned away from Loki, readjusting the blanket and your hood, “And maybe, when we camp next, we could have proper sleeping clothes. This armor isn’t exactly comfortable for sleeping in, or practical.” You trailed off, stealing a glance at Loki as you spoke.

Loki was looking in your direction, his cheeks flushed red. “No, I suppose it’s not.” He replied in a strangled voice.

You smiled sweetly, knowing he would hear it in your response. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” For the moment you were glad he couldn’t see, couldn’t feel the heat rising on your cheeks.

In moments the two of you were out of the tent, back into the bitter cold, huddled together. All thought of warmth was but a distant memory as you continued your trek through the suburbs of New Jersey and out towards a rural area. Somewhere with a wide expanse of fields where frost giants might have gathered or rested for their camps, somewhere where the target on Loki’s back might become immensely visible.

You would make it there just by nightfall but with threat of frost giants close by… You tried to push that thought away. If they attacked your tent while it was dark and you were forced out into the cold. You swallowed hard.

Risking a glance back at Loki, you wondered if he had the same thought on his mind.

Nothing to do now, you were nearing the gauntlet, the mouth of the beast and danger was getting closer and closer. You steeled your resolved, humanity needed you, Loki needed you.

[englass]

Hello ❤ hope you have a nice day 💖 can i request #14 from the dark prompts please?

Heya hun!!! Honestly, the day has been hot, but we push on. I hope your day has been good!! 💖 Hope you don't mind, but I went for a Fantasy AU for this one; I was super struggling with the prompt and the only thing I could think of was, "oooh, John as a mage..." so we kinda get that. The whole thing is more set up then anything else, but I didn't want to delete anything...

14. “You’re too sweet, darling. What type of monster would I be without you?”

- - -

There had been tales, whispers amongst the women and men of people going missing; of them being snatched off darkened paths and empty roads. Some reckoned it was a beast, spoke of a monster that was stealing people away to fuel their wicked appetite. Others thought it to be bandits, or other unscrupulous groups looking to profit off of the lives of inconspicuous civilians. But there were a handful, the few like yourself, that felt the shift in the air; that could feel the remnants of something foul and forbidden coiled around the scenes.

It had worried you greatly, the thought of such dark magic set loose in the town you had made a home of. Often you found yourself lost in your own mounting anxieties as the reports grew more and more frequent, and rumours gradianted into a much dreaded possibility. Even though you were no stranger to the darker arts, proficient as you are in the art of Summoning, you had never delved too far into its catalogue. In fact, Summoning was about all you ever touched and even then, amongst some other magically inclined individuals, it was considered somewhat of a lesser art; not as destructive and therefore not as notable as others.

However, just because you never strayed into more questionable arts doesn’t mean you know not of them. You’re aware that there are some dark arts that are a bit more accepted amongst the magically inclined than others, used for educational purposes and approved of as a means to protect oneself. Really dark arts are just offensive abilities, so no matter what there is always an element of wariness when it comes to the potential of such arts. As long as you utilise them in an acceptable manner there will be no questioning, no inquiries into your character.

For those not accepted though it is typically because they cross some form of moral or ethical line, taking an individual down a path that alters them irremediably. Stains the core of their aura with the makings of something dreadful, corrupts them until they lose all that makes them as they are.

Admittedly, if not studied correctly or the thirst for knowledge becomes too consuming, then any art can destroy a person; can set them down that very smart path. And sometimes a person can destroy the values of the art and stretch it into something it is not designed to be. There are many stories of Healers’ playing Maker, of a Conjurers’ calling going terribly wrong, of Astrologians’ going insane from their divinations. Once you were almost entranced by your own Summon; a rookie mistake, terribly embarrassing to recall.

Magic in general is a dangerous art and care will always need to be taken. But there are some arts where that danger is part of the art, and those are forbidden. They will always cross the line, and they will never fail to destroy a person; and that person will never fail to destroy others.

That’s what scared you so much about the recent happenings of the town. To think that such a person was lurching about the place, taking people off the street for who knows what nefarious reasons, terrified you. The idea that you could be next, that the stability of your own aura could be at risk because of this rogue caster sickened you. It tore you apart.

And John saw that.

It was a relatively small town, filled with all types of people coming in and out from across the region and the different towns within it. For a long time though the only people you knew that did magic was a spirited Pyromancer called Sharky and some eccentric Apothecary who lived on the outskirts called Larry (you were convinced the man tested his own potions on himself). The first you met when you had summoned a Kelpie to help you put out a fire he had accidentally caused a bit too close to your home, while the latter you had met by chance while looking for ingredients.

That had changed once the Seed brothers had moved in close to the town. They were surprisingly open about their magical inclinations and while the town wasn’t outrightly hostile they were openly suspicious of the three. You had even been a little suspicious of the three, not understanding their reasons for being so forward to a none magically inclined town; it could be dangerous to do so. Ultimately though they suffered little consequence of their reveal, other than strange looks and quiet gossip made of them. You had been envious of that freedom, to be forthright about what you were, but thought better of it. To reveal such a truth after so long would spell disaster for you.

Not even a full lunar cycle had passed before Joseph, the middle brother of the three, had made a point to come seek you out, introducing himself and his brothers to you. It had been a wholly uncomfortable encounter, especially the instance where he had suddenly questioned what arts you had studied. Desperately you had tried to deny it but thankfully the oldest brother, Jacob, had merely sighed and apologised on Joseph’s behalf. As an ex-Paladin turned Enchanter he had fully understood your need for secrecy and had been your saving grace during the whole thing. From then on the brothers become quick acquaintances to you, whether you wanted them to be or not.

Joseph was… okay. He made for interesting conversation no doubt and oftentimes his words gave you pause to think on things, but he could be a touch preachy at times, especially about his beliefs and divinations. Jacob on the other hand had become a confidante of sorts. You didn’t often talk, but when you did the conversation held well enough and his advice was always sound. He was also honest about his thoughts and opinions on a matter, and while you didn’t like being called out when you messed up you did respect his outlook. Your relationship with the youngest brother, John, however was a special one.

It had taken him a few days after the initial introduction to strike up a conversation with you, and for the most part he had purely asked you about yourself. But somewhere between admitting how long you’ve lived here and him nervously revealing himself to be a Conjurer, you had developed a fast trust of the man. It was unexplainable, completely foolish of you, but there was just something about him that you thought was pleasant; a believability to him. He was the first you deliberately told about your darker studies and thankfully, being of similar arts, he had taken it exceedingly well. You had even bonded over the differences and similarities between your chosen studies. He had become a dear friend, and only became dearer as the years went by.

So John noticing when your worries began to eat at you didn’t surprise you. He knew you extraordinarily well, sometimes it was even a little spooky how well he knew you, but it was also an odd comfort. He knew just what to say to put you at ease, to assure you that you would be safe and even going so far as promising that he himself would protect you from such a fate as those missing. You still had doubts, but his care was touching.

If only you had learned the truth sooner.

“My friend, please,” you cry, wrists shackled uncomfortably above you, the metal cutting into your skin, “I beg of thee, stop this! Such practises are a blight to the soul, you will doom yourself if you continue. I know not what it is you wish to accomplish, but please spare them this torture! Spare yourself! Surely there has to be another way, John; surely!”

John merely chuckles quietly, slowly shaking his head as he does so. “Oh, you’re too sweet, darling. Even now, as you are, you still think of me and my well being before yourself. Not to imply you have anything to fear, of course; you know I would never hurt you. I merely mean it as an observation. It is a charming trait, that sweetness of yours. It’s part of why I fell for you so.” He turns to you then, up to his elbows covered in blood. The person before him is still alive, but barely, their breaths shallow and their skin a deathly pallor. To think he was a Hemomancer this whole time…

“But why waste words on their behalf when they would never deign to do the same for you? You had to hide yourself, deny what you truly are just to be accepted by these lowly worms for years. Tell me, where is the fairness in that? In what world should we sequest ourselves away from those weaker than us, those deemed less worthy by the Maker themselves?”

Crossing the space in a few long strides he stops before you, bloody hands cupping your cheeks gently even as you try to turn away from him, bringing you back to stare helplessly into his sparkling eyes, “Don’t you see, sweet one? You are beautiful, in every part, as you are. We were blessed by the Maker, but they will never see that, blinded as they are. They will never appreciate our arts, our gifts, or even us as people, no matter what we may do or sacrifice for them. If I need to subject myself to risk to show them their place, to create a world that you need not hide in any longer, then I’ll do so gladly and without hesitation.”

Shaking your head softly, face still captured within his hands, a tear slips unbidden down your cheek. “But it will consume you. You’ll become a monster.”

“Maybe,” he admits, tone oddly calm as he carefully brushes beneath your eye with his thumb, smearing blood through the track of your tear, “but I wonder, what type of monster would I be without you, do you think?”

Perhaps it is vain of you, but something tells you that he would be another beast entirely without you chained to him as you now are…

[seriouslyhooked]

The Best Bad Idea

Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories. 

Available on FF Here and AO3 Here. 

A/N: Hey all! Here is a little something I made instead of being a responsible writer and finishing my other projects. I’ll be back to my other WIPs soon (God willing), but in the meantime here’s my 1000th attempt at writing a Captain Swan meet cute. I needed to get some words on the page, and this is the result. Hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading!

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, Thump. Steady, sure, and even. A solid pulsing sound with no inconsistencies and no delays or false starts.

In this particular patient, that fourth set of beats was the most important. Prior to his recent operation, Earl MacDonald’s heart had been weak and skipping needed pulses, then constricting far too harshly on every fourth measure. That type of arrhythmia had potentially disastrous consequences, but those worrying beats were seemingly behind them. The rhythm Emma heard through the stethoscope was a regularly circulating drumline, the tell-tale song of a heart that was working, and working well. Her surgical intervention had been successful.

She gently released the breath she was holding, a sign of the stress that she carried while waiting for patients to recuperate. Emma never let the patients see her sweat, but she had been worried on multiple levels in this case. Earl was going on 80, and not a logical contender for intensive cardiac mediation, but Emma’s gut had told her he could handle it, and she was rarely ever wrong. Earl forged through the surgery like a much younger man, and his outputs post-operation had all been extremely encouraging. It was shaping up to be another win, another life saved thanks to the power of medicine, and that filled Emma with real joy. She always did her absolute best to create good outcomes, and this time there was so much more on the line than one life. This was a man who was loved and cherished by the people closest to him, and who would be sorely missed if something were to happen.

“Anything you want me to note for the chart, Doctor Swan?” 

Emma bit back a witty retort at the pointed use of the word ‘Doctor.’ She was one of the few surgeons in this hospital who didn’t care what people called her, as long as they called on her early enough to actually save the patient’s life. But with Belle, a person Emma considered a dear and true friend, there was an added lilt of sass when using her title. Her friend was one of the nurse practitioners that Emma had been working with for years, since the day she landed here as a medical intern, but despite their differences in degrees, Belle was easily the most well-read and brilliant resource when it came to medical literature in this hospital.

“Just that Mr. MacDonald is healing nicely.”

“Did you hear that Lorraine?” Earl asked, with a Cheshire cat smile on his face, and the glint of true pride in his eyes. “Doctor Emma says I’m healing nicely.”

“Hard not to hear, seeing as I’m right beside you,” Loraine quipped, but she squeezed his hand affectionately, and offered a warm smile to her husband all the same.

“You know, usually being dubbed ‘nice’ is the kiss of death for a man.”

“Earl!” Loraine chastised, clearly not liking his word choice. Earl smiled wider, looking almost boyish in his delight.

“Well, so to speak. But I was going to say that I think we can make an exception this time. I’ve never been so happy to be referred to as ‘nice’ in my life.”

“Technically Doctor Swan was referring to your vital signs, Earl,” Belle taunted from across the room, holding back a smile Emma knew she was bound to let loose soon enough.

“Aw come on, you both know I am your favorite patient. I mean I’m not exactly pressed for competition. Have you seen the people on this floor? Good grief.”

“Ignore him, ladies. He’s all talk. He hasn’t left this room since we got here,” Loraine said, rolling her eyes, as if these antics were a constant occurrence. Based on her small window of experience with Earl, Emma would believe it. “Every meal, every visit, every moment has been within these four walls. Even his PT has been in here.”

“His PT has been here?” Emma asked, surprised that Mary Margaret, their head Occupational Therapist, had allowed for that. She was normally a by-the-book professional, and Emma never knew her friend to provide rehab consults outside of her studio.

“Yup. I told Miss Mary Margaret that I had a wife to keep an eye on and she relented.”

“No, actually what you said was, ‘Excuse me, Ms. Blanchard? You probably heard I just had heart surgery. Well, the thing is, my heart is sitting in this room. I’d like to be with her. Doesn’t seem right to be separated so soon, given what we’ve been through.’ Then you pointed at me, and used your puppy dog eyes on her. Next thing I knew, she had lugged enough equipment to fill the room here. No questions, just action.”

“I bet she ate that right up,” Belle said with a wink. “Mary Margaret loves nothing more than love itself.”

Belle and Mrs. MacDonald discussed Mary Margaret’s love of love, and Earl’s improved mobility, for a few more minutes while Emma continued checking his stats, but ultimately Earl’s patience was wearing thin. He really only had one thing on his mind, and he was now determined to ask about it. Emma was honestly shocked that he managed to wait this long. She knew it was only a matter of time and she was ready for the showdown.

“So, what do you think, Doc? Am I making it home in time for the party?”

“The one for your grandson on Sunday?” she asked, noting the three-day window between now and then. She had heard about this party non-stop, since the moment Earl woke up from the procedure. It was a central fixation for the old man, a celebration that would host his entire family, and a goal he had been carrying for over a week. Earl nodded and Emma hesitated for a few seconds, before smiling and giving the good news away. “Yes, I am confident that Jayden’s ‘Pop Pops’ will be in attendance when he turns four. But you know the rules…”

“I know, I know: no good food, no strenuous exercise, no having fun.”

“Earl.” Just the utterance of the old man’s name from his wife was enough to have him looking like a kid with his hand caught in the candy jar. Emma and Belle both chuckled at that child-like expression. It was hard not to; the old married couple was just too sweet.

“I’m sorry. I know this is serious, but what is life if you can’t have a little fun?”

“Fun comes in all shapes and sizes, Mr. MacDonald, and despite what you may think about your prescribed lifestyle changes, you’re forgetting two things. First, most of these less-alluring prescriptions will be temporary, and second, you’re a man who clearly loves a challenge.”

“Oh yeah? And how do you know that, Doc?” 

“Well for one thing, you somehow landed a lady as remarkable as Loraine. There’s no way she came easy with these corny jokes of yours. You must have worked harder than you ever worked in your life to persuade her to give you a chance.”

The laughter from the older couple was boisterous and heartwarming, and Emma knew she was right on the money. At this point, she had the ability to sniff out true affection, and these two had it in spades. Many couples she saw facing emergency room disasters together didn’t have the same good luck.

“You got that right, Doc. You know the first time we met was at the -,”

Earl’s story was unceremoniously interrupted by the crackling of the PA system specific to this room. It buzzed for a few moments before a message was delivered in a saccharine sweet voice that sounded nothing like the announcer’s normal tone.

“Paging Doctor Swan to the Nurse’s station. Doctor Swan to the Nurse’s station, code 741.”

Emma waited for the feed to cut off and began to tell Earl to please go on with the story, but the call came out again.

“Paging Doctor Swan to the Nurse’s station. Doctor Swan, code 741.”

“You know she’s just going to keep doing that until she gets her way,” Belle murmured. Emma nodded. It was no use. What Ruby Lucas wanted, Ruby Lucas got. That just seemed to be the way of the world.

“Belle, would you mind telling Ruby I’m with a patient at the moment? I will be there when I can. She can always proceed without me.”

Belle snorted out a laugh, knowing that last part would never happen, but gave a swift affirmation that she would relay the message before waving goodbye to the MacDonald’s and promising to see them soon. As her friend headed out, Emma sighed, knowing there was no way Ruby was going to give things up that easily. She had a matter of moments before some new tactic would be deployed.

“I’m sorry about that. You were saying?”

“Eh it’s kind of a long story, and you’ve got places to be, Doc. Just know, true love won out in the end with me and my Loraine. It always does.”

Emma couldn’t deny that their love appeared true even after their fifty plus years together. She personally had never experienced a love like that, but she was wondering more and more if maybe it was out there, somewhere in the later chapters of her story. For years she thought herself above that kind of need. She found validation in herself and in her work. She dedicated herself to helping others, and that had always been enough. But the loneliness that became a constant when she was growing up in foster care still lingered, and she wondered if someone might ever come along who could inspire her to take a chance and risk her heart.

“You know, I actually worked as a nurse before my kids were born,” Loraine commented easily. Emma nodded and smiled as she checked the last of Mr. MacDonald’s IV drips. Emma was aware of the older woman’s solid medical understanding. Loraine had continued to demonstrate it the entire time her husband was admitted in this ward. “I’m trying to remember if I ever ran into a code 741.”

“Oh, uh, I think – well, erm, I mean you probably didn’t,” Emma said, hoping she didn’t turn beet red at the passing comment from the older woman. She was already stuttering, which was completely out of character and eighty shades of embarrassing. Loraine’s words feigned ignorance, but her eyes told a different story. Still Emma tried to play it off. “It’s really not a big deal. Just a non-emergent protocol.”

Another alert sounded, but this time it came through the ceiling unit reserved for announcements to the wider reaches of the hospital. “Attention to all surgical ward personnel. We are paging Doctor Swan to the nurse’s station. Doctor Swan, you are needed at the nurse’s station immediately for a code 741.” The talking stopped, but the air crackled signaling that the line was still live. “Immediately.”

“Sounds pretty urgent to me,” Loraine replied. The curiosity in her gaze told Emma that the older woman was onto them, but it was Earl’s comment that cut too close for comfort.

“When I was in the war, all of our numeric codes corresponded to letters. So 7 was H, 4 was D, 1 was A. H – D – A. HDA, now what could that be….?” Uh oh. Now Emma really had to get out of here before she accidentally admitted Ruby’s code’s meaning – Hot Doctor Alert. That would be the cherry on top of a full-blown mortification sundae.

“All righty, well like I told Belle, all your scans look good. Doctor Whale is on shift this evening during the next series of rounds, so I’ll make sure your file is ready for him.”

“Of course, dear, and good luck with your doctor, er – I mean – code.”

Emma stammered out something like an ‘okay thanks,’ while leaving. She tried to get her bearings once she was out of sight of the room, but she had nowhere to go. Everyone on this floor had just heard her page, and there were bound to be at least a few who understood the meaning. She was so embarrassed, and more than a little ticked at Ruby. She was supposed to be her best friend, but she was always pulling these crazy stunts. They were mostly harmless, but for Emma, who hated being the subject of hospital gossip, it was anxiety inducing to say the least.

“Please tell me that you did not just broadcast that to the entire hospital,” Emma said, arriving at the nurse’s station with a sense of urgency, and watching some of the other nurses scurry off to avoid the confrontation. Ruby, however, was unfazed. Actually, the nurse manager just rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag and phone from her cubby, as if Emma was the one who was annoying and not the other way around.

“And here I was thinking we were the best of friends. Soul sisters, kindred spirits, friends for life. But no, ye of little faith, you actually believe I would broadcast the hot doc alert to all of Mist Haven? What kind of friend would do that?”

“But if you didn’t… then how did you…?” Emma’s questions trailed off, but her arms flailed towards the ceiling and the look on her face spoke for itself – how had Ruby used the hospital wide PA system without actually broadcasting to the entire hospital?

“You know Tink up in nuero?” Emma nodded, well acquainted with the nurse manager who had Ruby’s job on the fifth floor but with a specialization of the brain and nervous system. She was a tiny woman, but she ruled that ward with more than capable hands. “She and I bribed the IT guys to make the nurse managers an override. Now we can circumvent the PA software whenever we want. Bring some of you more stubborn Doctors to heal when it comes to answering our pages.”

“That’s… well, actually that’s genius,” Emma admitted.

“I like to think so,” Ruby teased, offering a genuine smile. The two friends laughed at all of this, and Emma felt so much better knowing that their secret was still relatively secure. The last thing she wanted was everyone knowing how she was spending her lunch breaks these days.  

“Gus, you’re holding down the fort while I’m gone, right?” Ruby asked, her smile turning slightly wicked with the purposeful jest aimed at the new nursing aid sitting behind the desk.

“Me?” The new hire replied, suddenly white as a sheet. Emma had never seen the man so stricken, and as a new nurse he had plenty of high-stress moments to look alarmed during. “I – uh – well – I -,”

“It’s called comedic relief, Gus. Commonly referred to as joking. Do me a favor, learn about it by the end of shift, kay?” Ruby pivoted to the person she actually trusted to man the fort. “Thirty minutes work for you, Belle?”

“I’ve got it handled.”

“Excellent. We’ll return with a full report,” Ruby said, grabbing Emma’s arm and moving them down the hallway before Emma could even say goodbye. “Newbies – can’t live with them, can’t pawn off scut work without them.”

“You are terrible. And yet… the look on his face just now…? Priceless,” Emma acquiesced. “But seriously, Ruby, can we PLEASE find another way to page me for this? My patients are not stupid, and the code isn’t exactly original. It’s kind of…” Ruby’s grin was so big that it stopped Emma in her tracks. She was currently trying to hold her friend to account, but Ruby looked like she’d won the lottery. “What?”

“You are so totally into him! I mean listen to you right now.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Emma said, feeling her cheeks flush against her will. 

“Exactly,” Ruby said. “You’re telling me to be more discreet when I send the bat signal, but you still want me to send it. Do you realize how unlike you that is?”

“Despite what you may think, Ruby. I’m a doctor, I’m not dead. I can appreciate a hot guy now and again.”

“Doubtful. Remember last month when all those pro hockey players were here after Ocheski collapsed on the ice? You had a room full of crazy sexy men. Like virile, hot, muscled men who get paid big money to beat each other up on the ice. Most women would die for that chance, and to make it even better, most of them were hitting on you. And what did you do? Nothing. You didn’t even blink.”

“They were not hitting on me,” Emma affirmed, but the words were hollow. They had been trying to flirt with her. A few had even attempted to get her number.

“They were hitting on you,” Ruby said adamantly.  

“He was a patient, and the rest of them were essentially his family. You know I’d never cross that line. Doesn’t count.”

“Fine, then what about Dr. King? When he came for that conjoined twins case last year, you had no interest. Zero. Zilch.”

“King was an asshole, you know that,” Emma said, belatedly catching her use of profanity and checking that no patients were around. Luckily the coast was clear.

“So? You didn’t have to marry the guy. Hot is hot, honey. That’s just how things are.” 

Emma barked out a laugh at even the thought of marrying someone like that. Arthur King was just about the worst person she could fathom to spend a life with. He was narcissistic and carrying around one of the biggest god-complexes she’d ever seen, and she was a surgeon, so she was an expert on god-complexes. 

“Your face really says it all, Emma. I mean honestly, poker would be a terrible game for you to take up. Your contempt for King is obvious, but, meanwhile, as soon as I mention Doctor Jones… aha! See, totally shifted.”

Emma didn’t know what to say to that. She could try and protest, but her friend knew her too well for that. The best thing to do was say nothing, and she was saved by their arrival at their destination. The coffee cart in the center of the action, near the entrance of Mist Haven. Here was where the wards crossed paths. Her surgical wing met up with the specialties departments, the ER, the community clinic, and more. It was also swarmed with both hospital workers and visitors. Typically, this was the last place she wanted to be, but recently it had become a highlight of her day.

“Emma? Ruby? What’s brought you out here?” a voice asked. It was Mary Margaret, and given her street clothes and jacket, Emma would guess she was just starting her shift.

“Haven’t you heard? There’s fresh meat from the ER. Two showings a day, but we favor the afternoon delight.”

“Oh right,” Mary Margaret said, nodding, like Ruby’s words were totally normal, and for Ruby they were. “I heard about the new ER Chief. Doctor Nolan? I meant to get down there and bring him something to welcome him, but I’ve been so swamped this week. My caseload is crazy at the moment. I hope he won’t think too badly of me for being a bit late.”

“Mary Margaret, literally no one in a hospital brings people cupcakes as a welcome gift, especially not new guys in other departments.” Ruby was not wrong. Hospitals were hardly the most happy-go-lucky of places. At least not usually. “Believe me, the man will be grateful whenever they come. If he even eats them. He’s fit – like fit, fit. Keto diet and a personal trainer fit. The kind of fit that makes you -,”

“Careful, Ruby,” Emma teased. “What if Graham heard you saying that?”

“God, I wish. You know how worked up he gets, and how he works out his frustrations.” Ruby’s tone was dripping in suggestion. “It’s one of the many reasons I live to drive him crazy.”

Emma and Mary Margaret laughed at Ruby’s apt assessment of her relationship with her boyfriend. Ruby had been dating the fireman for almost a year now, since he came in on one of the ambulance bays with a victim he’d rescued from a fire, but Ruby was hardly the predictable type, and Graham seemed to love that about her. They were still going strong despite her willful, wild child nature, and Emma suspected they may be built to last.

“Doctor Nolan must really be something to get you out here, Emma,” Mary Margaret said, moving forward in the line, inching ever closer to the mediocre coffee the cart promised.  

“Ha! Hardly. Emma’s not here for Nolan. She’s here for Jones.”

“Jones?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Girl, where have you been? Doctor Killian Jones, trauma surgeon extraordinaire. Chief Mills brought him here for a ‘collaboration’ with the ER, but she’s totally trying to recruit him for head of his own department. Turns out he and David Nolan are old friends. Same medical school maybe? I don’t know, no one’s gotten me those details yet. Anyway, Regina hardly leaves him alone. She only misses this little window because she’s hooking up with Doctor Locksley in the supply room on the 2nd floor.”

“She’s WHAT?!” Emma and Mary Margaret yelled at the same time and Ruby looked aghast for the first time today. Some other hospital staff in the area glanced over, but no one paid much mind beyond a head nod. Everyone was absorbed in their own need for caffeine, and no one was the wiser of the bombshell Ruby had just dropped.

“Oh shoot, I wasn’t supposed to say that. I promised Ella, damn it!”

“Ella, her assistant? I thought she quit,” Mary Margaret stage whispered.

“Oh she did. Made it a whole two months, which, you know, makes sense given the fact that Regina is a nightmare. But the last week she was here, she learned a crucial secret regarding her Majesty. She spilled last week at The White Rabbit, but I promised her I wouldn’t tell until she’s settled at her new job at GMH. So you did not hear this from me, and I did not hear this from her, capische?”

“I can’t believe the Evil Queen is dating someone,” Mary Margaret said, deeply disturbed by the idea. She shuddered at the thought, and this was someone who loved love. But love and Regina Mills didn’t really feel like concepts that belonged in the same sentence. Scratch that, they didn’t really even belong in the same book. “She’s just so…”

“Evil?” Emma responded. The nickname worked for a reason, after all. The hospital Chief was downright tyrannical.

“Exactly.”

“Well dating is a stretch. She’s screwing someone. But then again, who knows. Ella said she actually saw her smiling in those final days. And not that evil one she’s famous for. Like a real, genuine, I have a heart, smile.”

“No way,” Emma said at the same time Mary Margaret murmured, “Well would you look at that.”

“Don’t worry. I’m on the case. The temp is a totally easy mark – Sydney something. I’m buying him lunch tomorrow. I’ll have the whole story before you know it.”

“Won’t Graham be proud,” Emma chuckled, but her joke fell on deaf ears as something caught Ruby’s attention across the way. Her friend’s countenance changed immediately, putting Emma on alert.

“Ooh, they’re coming! Act normal.”

Normally, Emma would have laughed at that command, but she was too busy feeling the spike of adrenaline at the impending arrival of one Doctor Killian Jones. He really was a world-renowned trauma surgeon, who was working on a number of cutting-edge techniques that saved lives and gave critical care patients better chances to recover. She had actually heard of him a few years ago when reading about a new procedure to treat arrhythmia in patients with traumatic injury. He engineered it in the field, while serving in the British naval forces, and his paper had been circulating in cardiac wings around the country, but she never saw the man before last week when he arrived in Boston.  Suffice it to say she could not have imagined that this marvel of modern medicine would also be so roguishly handsome.

Spotting him today across the great hall, Emma was struck again by just how attractive this man was. She couldn’t even comprehend it really. All she knew was that she had yet to find a fault in him. Every day she’d stolen secret glances, and every time he proved better than her memory. It was crazy, and very reminiscent of schoolgirl crushes and teenage day dreams, but she couldn’t help the way she felt. It was intoxicating, and despite her best efforts, she was powerless to turn Ruby’s invites to the show down when she could witness this each and every day.

The first thing that she’d noticed about him was his general presence. His posture was strong and straight and assured. He looked ready for anything, but somehow laid back, like he was totally in control. People naturally parted when he walked by, as if he silently willed the flow of the hospital traffic. Ruby called it swagger. Emma called it… well something not quite safe for work. Couple that general aura of authority with the classically gorgeous features of his face, and Emma was lost. On that first day (and okay, maybe on the others as well), she actually felt her knees get weak. She always thought that was a bogus cliché, but nope, it was real, and she was the proof of it. From there she was hooked, and over time she’d chronicled more and more things to like about him.

Yesterday it had been his hair. As she watched him across the atrium, she noticed that the shade shone bright in the sun, but that it was nearer to midnight than any color brown. It was slightly longer than most of the other male doctors wore theirs, but not so long that it looked unkempt or unprofessional, at least not yet. She knew for a fact that the military never would allow for such a style, and it felt like a bit of rebellion, or maybe a lack of care for what others thought. Both sent a delicious thrill through Emma, even though she had no real confirmation one way or another. Maybe he was just lazy, but that wasn’t how she imagined him…

And oh boy did she imagine him. At first she hadn’t meant to. She just had these flashbacks to seeing him that she carried through the day. These visceral visions always started the same: he would walk by, looking downright delicious and impossible to resist, then he would turn his eyes her way here in the middle of the hospital hustle and bustle. She’d feel caught in his stare, sense the hunger even from the distance, and her heart would quicken to a maddening crescendo as he walked her way. The rest of the world would fade from view, and it would feel like they were the only two people alive. Her gaze would stay transfixed on his almost cocky composure and the hard line of his bearded jaw. The attraction in his blue eyes would light a fire in her, and then, without so much as a word like ‘hello’ or ‘nice to meet you,’ he’d pull her into his embrace and kiss her senseless. She could practically taste him on her tongue, and yet she’d never even heard him speak. People who had, who were later interrogated by Ruby, mentioned that he had an accent. British or Irish, or something along those lines. That tidbit had played oh so sweetly in Emma’s mind this week. God, she’d love to hear him say her name -,

“Emma,” a voice beside her said, but it didn’t pull her out of the fog. “Oh my God, Emma, he’s looking right at you.”

“He’s what?” Emma said, blinking back to reality before finding that Doctor Jones was looking this way. She’d been so busy fantasizing, she stopped paying attention to what was right in front of her.

In the middle of the room, the man who had intrigued her for over a week was standing totally still, disregarding the swarm of people on all sides. His entire attention had shifted from the task ahead of him, and he was looking at her, staring with a blend of intrigue and something Emma couldn’t describe. Doctor Nolan had stopped as well, but he was clearly confused as to the delay. He seemed to ask his friend what was wrong, and Emma watched spell bound, as the lips she’d envisioned kissing her moved in some kind of unheard reply. She couldn’t make out his words, but she shivered at the passion and determination etched across his being. David then looked their way, and Emma knew that Doctor Jones – Killian - had asked about them. No, forget that, he had asked about her. He was looking right at her, and that spark of heat and desire she’d always imagined was nowhere near as tantalizing as the real thing. He was looking at her with the same hunger she’d reserved for her wildest imaginings. Holy crap, what was she going to do?

“Ruby?” she asked, her voice squeaked out in alarm. She tore her gaze from the approaching object of her desire and looked to her best friend with overt confusion and mild panic.

“Took him long enough to spot you. It’s been almost a week. I thought I was going to have to hire a marching band or one of those giant arrow guys they have at outlet malls.”

Emma didn’t understand, and then it dawned on her – her friend had planned this. Emma looked at Mary Margaret, but she was still staring in the distance. Only when Emma followed her gaze did she realize that Mary Margaret wasn’t looking at Killian. She was looking at David.

“Hey, ladies, you looking to order, or what? I ain’t got all day!”

The three of them jumped at the barista’s interruption and Mary Margaret surged ahead to the line. She rattled off an order, giving way too much money to the attendant while grabbing her cup with shaky hands. Then she looked at David and back to Emma with an expression that said Mary Margaret may just bolt. Ok, what the actual hell was going on?

Before she could begin to answer that internal question, Doctor Jones and Doctor Nolan were within ear shot. Emma wracked her brain for something to say when they finally got here, but was spared when David broke the ice.

“Doctor Swan,” he said with a head nod and a polite smile. They knew each other peripherally at this point. Emma had consulted on numerous ER cases since Doctor Nolan started his new position. But she wouldn’t call them friends. They were very much acquaintances. “I heard Earl MacDonald is recovering nicely. He most definitely has you to thank for that.”

“And you too,” she said, offering credit where it was due. “A quick diagnosis makes all the difference. I’ve noticed the ER is filled with them since you started.”

“That’s kind of you. I don’t believe you’ve met my friend, Doctor Jones.”

“Killian,” Doctor Jones said immediately, before offering a heart stopping smile of his own. Emma had yet to see the man smile, and her heart skipped a beat, the rhythm of her pulse skittering in an almost blissful way. “A pleasure to meet you, Swan.”

He offered his hand to her, and Emma took it, shaking in greeting even though it was uncommon for doctors or nursing staff to do so. Chief Mills stressed that germ management was a top priority at Mist Haven, and she’d come as close to banning the practice as was legal in the state of Massachusetts. Usually Emma didn’t mind, but germs were the farthest thing from her radar when their fingers touched. Instead, Emma was filled with the zapping sense of promise and a thrill of warmth that made her head swim.

“Emma,” she whispered. A beat passed between them, and Emma lost herself for too long. Only the clearing of a throat beside them brought her back to the moment. She let go of his hand, but tracked the slight disappointment on his face when she did. It filled her with a rush of something long forgotten. A sense of peace and elation she hadn’t tasted in years. “Um these are my friends, Ruby Lucas and Mary Margaret Blanchard. Ruby’s the head nurse in the cardiac unit. And Mary Margaret runs OT for the surgical division.”

Emma tore her gaze from Killian, watching her friends make their greetings. Ruby handled her own completely, and Mary Margaret seemed to have gathered her courage, but now it was David who looked shocked and spell bound. Everyone appeared to be thrown off kilter, and it was only Ruby in control of herself. To say her friend was positively delighted with these new developments would be an understatement. That glee rang out clear as day in her invite to both the attending doctors.

“So… Doctor Nolan, Doctor Jones, any way we could convince you to join us? The coffee’s just all right, but the company’s not half bad.”

Both men agreed immediately, and Emma fought her hardest not to blush. It was hard though, and her pulse was racing in the face of this development. Killian came to stand by her, the space between them so small but still too much to bear. She tried to get her bearings as the cranky barista handed her a latte. She struggled to think of something – anything – to say, but she was tongue tied. Instead, she looked at Killian, finding an openness in his expression that said he felt the same exact way. That gave her comfort and removed some of the tension from the moment.

“The hospital’s been buzzing since you got here,” Emma offered, waiting with him while he ordered a no nonsense coffee of his own. “A lot of people are hoping you’ll stay on past the month.”

“And you, love? Have you such hopes?” his words were earnest but laced with an almost cocky easiness that sent Emma’s mind humming in delight. Still, she played it cool. At least she hoped she did.

“Jury’s still out,” she replied, smiling when he looked a little crestfallen. “Well can you blame me? I hardly even know you. Still haven’t seen what you’re capable of.”

“Only a matter of time, Swan. You can trust in that.”

His words may seem benign, but they were loaded with hidden meaning, and Emma knew he meant each one. She swallowed harshly, thinking of the things he might be capable of. Damn, was it hot in here? Or was it just the devil on her shoulder spinning another one of those dirty dreams of hers?

When they’d all gotten a coffee, the five of them moved off to the patio just outside, reserved for hospital staff. The grounds were manicured beautifully, maintaining an oasis that seemed totally disconnected from the hectic nature of the hospital. This was one of Emma’s favorite places here, and she was surprised to hear that neither David nor Killian had been here yet. They all spent a few minutes making non-threatening small talk, with mostly Ruby moving the conversations along. But despite the fluttering feeling she was grappling with, Emma couldn’t say she hated this building anticipation. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed herself so much. She was seated next to Killian, fully aware that all of his attention was devoted to her, and she reveled in it. At one point, while the others were talking about something with the OT department, Killian whispered to her and her alone.

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…” His eyes looked from hers down to her lips, and Emma wet them absentmindedly. She heard a low growl, and realized it was coming from him. She shifted in her seat, turned on in a way she had never been before. Instinctively she moved closer, sensing the sinfully sweet current between them, like lightning just before it cracked across the summer sky.

“We could…” she continued, hoping he would elaborate and put into words what she herself was wishing for.

“That we could -,”

“Paging all staff to the ER. All staff to the ER for an incoming trauma, category 4.”

This time the PA was most definitely broadcasting a hospital wide announcement, and the irony wasn’t lost on Emma. Ruby looked positively forlorn at the interruption, but it was somewhat poetic after how they’d gotten here.

“Category four,” David repeated, standing immediately, prompting all of them to do the same. “We haven’t had a four since I started. We’re gonna need all hands on deck. Killian?”

“Aye, mate. I’m with you.” He looked back to Emma, and only had time for the swiftest goodbye. “Until next time, love.”

Emma and her friends watched them go, running towards the ER. Belatedly, they realized that if a trauma of that magnitude was coming into the hospital, there were bound to be surgical cases flooding their ward soon enough. They hustled back to their wing, focused once more on their jobs and the lives on the line that they were sworn to help heal and make better. But Emma still carried that moment with her for the rest of the day, and when the shift was over and done, and she’d done all she could to help the people in her care, she was left wondering what exactly Doctor Jones was hoping to ask, and when, oh when, he may try to do so again.

Post-Note: So there we have it. This was originally going to be a oneshot for my CS mixtape series, but alas, the muse wants what she wants, and this time that’s a three part mini-story for all of us to share. Hope that you guys have enjoyed so far and I would love to hear what you think! As always, thanks so much for reading, and I hope you are all staying well in this crazy time! xE

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 5

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Content warnings: None

Morgan awoke to the sound of humming. He stretched, groaning as his muscles protested. Evidently his choice of sleeping positions had not been ideal, but he'd been too tired to care when he'd settled in. The humming stopped, and Deckard Cain turned to him from where he had been tending a pot over a small fire nearby.

"Would you believe," he said, "that none of the Sisterhood would give me your name, friend? Such a strange thing."

He would believe it. He'd learned long ago that it was generally not worth the trouble to correct people once they'd decided what they wanted to call him. The strange thing here was how little Cain seemed to be troubled by his presence. He would enjoy it while it lasted.

"It's Morgan."

"Well, Morgan, we have much to discuss. But before we get started, let us eat. You must be famished after yesterday's events." He held out a bowl of steaming soup, which Morgan accepted gratefully. It was hot and filling, exactly what he hadn't realized he needed. He'd gotten cold overnight.

Morgan briefly summarized the request that had brought him here: to disturb the progress of the unidentified manifestation of darkness taking root in these lands. Cain filled in quite a lot of details while Morgan mainly listened, asking occasional questions for clarification. A great and ancient evil had come to light in Tristram, leading eventually to the tragedy that had befallen the city. Although a hero had been successful in defeating that evil, it seemed he had been unfortunately corrupted by the same. He had fled eastward, but to complicate matters, another powerful demon had arisen to trouble the area.

Cain suspected this new demon to be Andariel, the Maiden of Anguish. Quite a title. He shared what he knew about her: a venomous demon queen with the power to enthrall mortals unlucky or unwise enough to look her full in the eyes. Like most major demons, her power also manifested in a sort of influence that spread out from her like a miasma. By Cain's estimation, this would be apparent through increased emotional sensitivity in those affected, to complement the physical anguish she was capable of inflicting. That would be something to look out for; emotional regulation was the foundation that gave strength and clarity to the priests of Rathma. To have it disrupted would compromise his ability to act in the best interest of the Balance. Morgan would have to be careful about that.

He was enjoying the conversation, to his surprise. Cain had a vast wealth of knowledge and seemed eager to share it. He was explaining his interpretation of a particular prophecy when Blaise stalked up to them with a sour look on her face. She glared daggers at Morgan, crossing her arms.

"Good, you're awake. Come with me, we have work to do."

"We do?" He'd expected - hoped, if he was honest with himself - that her involvement would be finished after retrieving Cain. That was as far as Kashya had demanded it, anyway. "I thought you-"

"I thought this nightmare was over too, but I just finished arguing with Akara. One of our old commanders has risen from the dead to attack us, and she blames you." She looked back toward the gates. "I told her that's not how your stuff works, but she didn't believe me." That was a surprise - he would not have guessed she might speak up in his defense. He wondered what had changed. Maybe Cain had convinced her somehow. The man was good with words, with people, in a way Morgan knew he could never hope to echo. "So if you don't come with me to put her back in the ground, you're probably going to regret it," Blaise continued with a pointed look.

Well, Morgan couldn't argue with that. He stood and stretched, taking stock of his belongings as Cain pressed Blaise with questions. She bore them with more patience than he'd expected. One of the other scouts had survived the attack, but her recovery was not going well. It sounded like she'd been poisoned. A shame they hadn't kept the arrow; he might have been able to identify the toxin. But then again, if he tried to treat her and failed, they would be even less willing to trust him. If Cain was right, it would be a moot point anyway - he thought the resurrection was Andariel's doing, meaning that the poison was likely due to her influence. He had no experience with that type of venom.

"Oh, Morgan, I almost forgot," Cain called out as they were leaving. Morgan turned to see him holding something in an upraised hand. "You had better take another scroll of town portal, in case you should need to return with haste."

"Thank you." He accepted the proffered scroll with a small bow of his head, tucking it into his belt.

"Let's get a move on already," Blaise called. She had already started walking. Morgan jogged to catch up, already apprehensive about the journey ahead. Her mood had softened around the old scholar, but it seemed Morgan would not be privy to those benefits. He hoped this situation would be resolved quickly so he could begin planning his attack on Andariel.

The battle was over in short order. The reanimated rogue captain had called out to Blaise by name, which confirmed Cain's guess about her origins - only very powerful forces could resurrect both flesh and spirit. She must have been buried inexpertly, leaving her vulnerable to those malign forces. Most funeral proceedings not led by the Order of Rathma or other experienced practitioners were more for the benefit of the living than the dead. At any rate, it served only to fuel Blaise's already considerable anger, and she'd defeated the revenant with only a moment's hesitation. Several piles of earth were evidence of Morgan's attempts to provide support. Each golem was ever so slightly faster to rise than the last, but this enemy had been agile enough to render them all but useless until she'd stumbled over a previously flat spot of ground. Not an elegant solution, but effective enough in the end. Now Blaise was examining the body, brow furrowed.

"Hey. Ghoul... uh. Morgan." That was a surprise. Cain had called him by name in front of her, but he'd assumed she wouldn't be bothered to remember it. "If you do that... ceremony. Like in Tristram. Will it... help her?"

"The final rites will lay her spirit to rest, and consecration should prevent her from rising again." He'd planned on performing them anyway, as a matter of course. At the very least, they would prevent her from being wholly resurrected again - powerful magic could overcome a properly consecrated body, but it could not pluck a spirit back once it had passed on.

Blaise seemed reluctant to ask outright, but she did step in to help when he went to move the body back to the grave it had clearly clawed out of. He opted for a more thorough consecration ritual and a shorter liturgy, both of which seemed to be well received. Blaise didn't raise any objections, at least. The interment was easier than the last ones, the ground more yielding, but a frown crept onto Morgan's face as he stood up and surveyed his work.

"What are you making that face for? Didn't it work?"

"No, that's not it. Your commander is at peace now, but there are many restless dead here. It must be Andariel making them stir like this." He could barely hear their whispers at the edge of his awareness if he concentrated. It was a little unsettling; usually he could only just sense a hint of the spirit lingering on a set of bones, nothing near this strong. He lacked the natural facility with spirits that drew some of the acolytes to his Order. At any rate, their agitation was cause for concern.

"I don't have the supplies to handle this many."

"I guess we'd better take the fight to Andariel, then. Don't look so surprised," she added, folding her arms across her chest. "The Sisterhood doesn't want there to be a... demon queen or whatever just running loose. She's killing our people. And apparently bringing them back again, and that's just fucked up. I may not like you, but you're the only person who's come through lately and survived. So we might as well work together on this."

"Yes, of course. You're right." The suggestion was wholly unexpected, but sound. Their objectives aligned, at least on the surface. If that was enough for her to tolerate working with him a little longer, he wasn't about to turn down her assistance. She was many times stronger than him. Luckily, she seemed capable of putting aside her personal feelings temporarily in order to meet a goal. It was really about as favourable a partnership as he could hope to make.

Now seemed like an opportune time to present a peace offering of some sort. But given her previous overreaction to a completely innocent comment, he didn't really want to risk giving a gift that could be taken as a token of anything he didn't intend. Perhaps... knowledge? There had been few of his brethren in the Order who'd had trouble with the portal scrolls, but their difficulties had always been resolved with a little coaching. It seemed like it would be worth trying.

He plucked the scroll from Cain out of its spot on his belt and held it out to her. She eyed it suspiciously. "Here. These are useful. You should try it again."

"It isn't that far to go back, you know," she said, not making a move to take the rolled parchment.

"The object is to see if you can use it. Not to actually travel. You might need one in the future."

She snatched the scroll from his hands and unrolled it with a snap of her wrist. "I can't even read what it says," she grumbled.

"Neither can I," he said. She looked up from the parchment with a perplexed frown. "It's not words, it's more like a spell," he explained. The look on her face told him she was going to need more than that. "You just have to believe it's going to work. Try telling it that it's going to open a portal for you."

"You didn't have to tell it anything when you did it yesterday."

"I already know how it's going to work. I just have to... acknowledge that I expect it to let me travel somewhere, and think about where." It was much easier to do than to explain. "Just try," he urged. "You don't have to say it out loud," he added, in case that helped.

She looked back down at the scroll. Her lips moved a little, and shortly a small circle appeared in the air in front of her. Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

"See, it works for you. Now try to think about a specific place," Morgan advised. Slowly an image came into focus within the circle. It looked like the inside of a building. There were rows of beds lined up, presumably the barracks of the Sisterhood. Blaise looked cautiously pleased as the portal opened up fully now that it had a destination.

"I guess it's not so hard to use magic, is it?" she said with a smile. It was strange for a moment, having that smile aimed at him.

"Not this kind," Morgan agreed. There were many different types of magic and some of them were quite difficult to use even for experienced mages, but he suspected this would not be the time to get into a discussion on the topic.

"How do I close it?"

"It will close on its own when you come back through it, or if the spell is disrupted. Yesterday I tore the parchment to close it."

"Huh. Thanks."

Morgan nodded an acknowledgement and turned to go. The walk back would give him a chance to think about how to best approach the situation. Andariel was probably lurking within the nearby cathedral, if the patterns of undead were to be trusted. Demons often liked to pervert religious spaces, and major demons tended to draw flocks of lesser evils around them.

"Aren't you coming?" He turned back to see Blaise standing by the portal, hands on her hips.

"I'm walking. It isn't that far to go back," he parroted.

"This is easier, though. And faster."

"That looks like your sleeping quarters," he pointed out. "I doubt I would be welcome."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Good point. I'll see you back outside the encampment, then." She turned and paused for a moment, then strode confidently through the portal. Morgan waited until it had flickered closed behind her before taking his leave. He would have preferred to be able to put more of the spirits to rest, but that could be seen to after Andariel had been defeated. There would be little point in wasting his energy on a task that was likely to be undone. He stopped at the cemetery gate and knelt, touching a hand to the soil. A thin line rose up, curling around itself in a simple sign. It marked the area as requiring the attention of a priest of Rathma. This way, if he was to fall in battle, the next of his Order to come along would be able to soothe the unquiet dead.

He raised another golem and started walking. With this new partnership, there could be a reasonably good chance of defeating Andariel. He wondered what state the cathedral would be in, and how many skeletons he might hope to find lying beneath its floors. He hoped there would be some stained glass still intact. Not for any strategic purpose, just because he liked it. It was his personal opinion, not endorsed by the priesthood, that artisans who spent their efforts on creating beautiful things were doing work for the Light. Of course beauty and skill did not appear in the list of attributes that added up to make the weight of a person's goodness or lack thereof, and it was really just idle musing on his part. Still, he appreciated beauty where he found it.

[authorialarcanist]

Of Camps and Chakrams

Summary: When Colette's status as the Chosen of Regeneration requires that she stay behind while her class goes on a camping trip, Lloyd sneaks off to keep her company.

Written for Colloyd Week 2021 - Day 1: Childhood Friends.

Gen but kind of shippy.

---

Dusk was falling over Iselia.

The sun’s last orange rays played across the village, dappling the ground with criss-crosses of light and shadow wherever they slipped between the leaves of a tree.

The village was quieter than usual, today. Aside from the faint rustling of the wind, the only sound was an occasional greeting between neighbors on their ways home.

There was a reason for this: Tonight, Professor Sage had taken all of the village’s schoolchildren out to a nearby clearing in Iselia Forest - one far from the Human Ranch, of course - to go on a camping trip.

All of them, that is, except one.

While most of the parents in the village had come to trust in the eager young schoolteacher’s ability to take care of their children - especially after the day she’d dispatched an unlucky wolf that had snuck into the schoolyard with nothing but her staff - the priests of the Church of Martel were rather less lenient when it came to the safety of the Chosen.

Even with Colette standing next to the professor as she made her case, Colette’s eyes pleading silently, they’d refused to budge.

“We’re terribly sorry, but you know that far more than a single night’s outing is at stake here. It is our duty to ensure that the Chosen reaches her sixteenth birthday unharmed. Unfortunately, that means we cannot allow her out of the village until she receives the Oracle.”

And so it was that Colette came to be here, crouched in the yard behind her family’s house, tracing patterns with her finger in the grass and trying not to cry.

She knew why the priests had decided what they had. There were a thousand things that could go wrong out in the woods. There were monsters, falling trees, Desians who might choose to flout the Non-Aggression Treaty if it meant securing an extra generation of free reign. For the Chosen to risk herself, risk salvation of the world, simply for her own whims would be so terribly selfish that she starts to feel guilty for even wishing for it.

And yet…

She’d still wanted to go. She’d wanted it desperately; to roast apples over a campfire with the other children, laughing and playing... To watch the stars through the leafy canopy… To spend a night chatting merrily with her friends, Genis and Lloyd…

Her vision blurred as a splash of wetness dropped to the grass beneath her. No! She was the Chosen of Regeneration. The Chosen wasn’t supposed to cry over stupid, selfish things like a missed camping trip. If she cried, it should only be tears for the world; quiet, graceful tears at the atrocities of the Desians, before she reached the end of her journey and sealed them away once more.

She must not have been a very good Chosen.

“I’m sorry…” On an impulse, Colette apologized to thin air. Or maybe to the world at large; she wasn’t sure.

Suddenly, there were a voice and a crash from behind her. “Sorry for what? Woah!”

“Eep!” Who’s that? With a startled squeak, Colette jumped to her feet and spun around, losing her balance and collapsing from the sudden movement before she could catch a glimpse of the intruder. Once she managed to get her bearings again, she looked again, more slowly this time, and caught a glimpse of brown hair and a red coat lying face-down in the dust in front of the fence surrounding her house. “Lloyd?”

Her friend pushed himself up, grinning at her with dirt-smudged cheeks. “Hey, Colette,” he said, as though falling off of her fence was a perfectly reasonable occurrence.

Colette rushed over to him and crouched to try and help him up. “Lloyd, are you okay? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be off camping with everyone?”

“Heh!” Lloyd rubbed a finger under his nose, looking pleased with himself. “Don’t worry about that, I had Genis cover for me while I snuck away! The professor won’t have noticed I was gone until it was too late!”

“Ah, I see!” Colette nodded, assured by the explanation. “…Wait, hold on! Isn’t the Professor going to be angry tomorrow?”

“Ah… Well, sure, but…” Lloyd shook his head and spoke like it was the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. “It’s fine! I mean, if the priests aren’t gonna let you go with us, then it’s worth it to keep you company!”

A flush of happiness ran through Colette. Lloyd had really stayed back just for her? …And then it was drowned in a wave of guilt. Lloyd had really stayed back, just for her. “Oh… Lloyd, no! I - I’ll be fine here. You shouldn’t have given up the trip for me! I’m so sorry… This is my fault…”

“Don’t apologize, you dork!” Lloyd flicked her lightly in the forehead, causing her to stagger back a step from the surprise. “I came back here because I wanted to. And anyways, I’ve got a present for you, from Dad! Here!” He shoved his hand out towards Colette’s face, two wide, flat rings dangling around his wrist.

Colette cocked her head to the side and examined the rings. “Huh…? Oh! Lloyd, are these new bracelets? Umm, they look nice! But… aren’t they going to fall off of your arms if you’re not careful…?”

“That’s not it, silly!” Lloyd laughed. “Dad made them! I told him about how the people at the church wouldn’t let you go camping with us. He made these, for you to practice with!”

“Huh? Practice? Umm…” Colette scratched her head. “I don’t get it, could you explain this again?”

“Oh! Sorry!” Lloyd chuckled sheepishly. “He said these are called chakrams! They’re a sort of weapon you can defend yourself with! You can throw them at enemies, so the priests won’t even have to worry about you getting too close to any monsters!” He scratched his head with his free hand. “Or, uh… At least, you could if you had real ones. Dad said he made these ones blunt, so that you can practice without cutting anyone. Oh, but anyways! I figured, maybe if you learn how to use these, they’ll decide it’s safe to let you go out with us next time we go on a trip!”

“Lloyd…” Colette stood frozen for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She finally settled on throwing her arms around her friend. “Thank you so much! Oh, and Dirk, of course! Could you tell him thanks for me?”

“Ah—“ It was Lloyd’s turn to freeze up as Colette hugged him. Huh. His cheeks turned an oddly pretty shade of red. When Colette let go, he shook his head as though clearing it out before he responded. “Yeah! Of course, I’ll tell him!”

Colette glanced around. Nobody seemed to have noticed that Lloyd was here, yet. She knew she should probably send him home before he got caught, but… Well, it was really nice to have company! “Could you show me how to use those chakrams, then?”

“Right! Of course!” Lloyd grinned. “Watch and learn!” He pointed at a particularly sturdy-looking tree in the yard, grabbed one chakram in a clumsy fist… Adjusted his grip until he was holding it more loosely… “Um, Dad said you’re supposed to hold it like… this, I think? So that you don’t cut your palm on the blade 0f a real one…” and with a clumsy sideways motion, he hucked it forward. The ring wobbled slowly through the air, before skidding into the ground several feet away from the target.

Colette giggled.

“L-look, I’ve been teaching myself to fight with swords, okay? Chakrams are kinda new!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Colette shook her head, still grinning. “Umm… I guess I should try now?” She took the other chakram, tried to copy Lloyd’s grip, and tossed it sideways at the tree. Her disc flew more smoothly than Lloyd’s, but it still fell to the ground before it could reach the tree.

“Ehehe…” Lloyd glanced back and forth, not meeting Colette’s eyes.

“…I guess that’s why I have to practice, huh? Come on, let’s try again!” Colette ran ahead to gather the fallen chakrams, the camping trip all but forgotten. She tried a few more times as her friend watched from the side, experimenting with different ways of throwing the rings to try and find what felt natural. “Hmm… Hey, Lloyd?”

“Mhm?”

“You’re teaching yourself to use two swords at once, right?”

“Yeah!” Lloyd pumped his fist in the air. “I mean, double the swords means double the power, right?”

“I see!” Colette had never been accused of doing well in math, but the logic… seemedright…? “Then… I’ll try it like this, too!” She picked up the chakrams, holding one loosely in each hand. She widens her feet, slipping into the stance Lloyd had said felt best to him when he was practicing. “Let’s go… Hyah!” She turned around in a little spin to build momentum, before letting go of the chakram in her right hand and watching it sail gently through the air. This time, it soared a good ways without falling out of the sky. …A little too far, actually. The two children watched silently as the chakram missed the tree by a solid half a foot and kept going, slipping through a slat in the fence and vanishing into the night.

“…” Lloyd scratched his cheek.

“…” Colette’s face fell. “Oh, no! And it was your present, too… I’m sorry…”

“No! No, it’s okay, Colette! You don’t have to apologize, alright?” Lloyd waved his hands rapidly in front of himself.

“…Ah… Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Colette, what did I just tell you? You really need to stop saying sorry all the time!”

Colette chokes back her next sentence before she can apologize a third time. “…Still… I guess I can try and practice with just the one…? But… I don’t want to lose this one, too…”

“Hey, don’t worry!” Lloyd thumped his chest. “I can go track the lost one down and bring it back to you! Ah… Still, it’s probably for the best not to do that too much, huh. I wonder if there’s a way to make it come back to you when you throw it…?”

“Hmm, maybe! You could ask your dad?” Speaking of Dirk… Colette suddenly realized how dark it was. Night had well and truly fallen while she and Lloyd had been playing, and now the stars were visible above them. She called out to her friend, stopping him halfway to the fence. “Wait! Lloyd!”

“Huh? What is it, Colette?”

“Isn’t it late? Can you even get home like this?” Thinking about it… She knew that Iselia Forest was supposed to have monsters roaming it even during the day. How dangerous would it be without an adult around at night? She suddenly pictured Lloyd with a sprained ankle, waving a wooden sword ineffectually as glowing eyes slunk towards him through the darkness. She shivered and rushed over to her friend, grabbing his arm with both hands. “Oh no… What are we going to do…?”

“Ah…” Lloyd didn’t seem to have thought things over, either. He blinked, and grimaced. “Um… It-it’ll be okay! We just have to… uh…” His forehead wrinkled up as he thought, before he finally smacked a fist into his open palm. “I’ve got it! We can have a sleepover!”

“Huh?”

“Our own little camp-out, just the two of us! While I’m off looking for the chakram, you can go in and ask your dad for a blanket - say that you want to try camping out here, since you couldn’t go with the class! We can whip up a makeshift tent with that tree, and sleep in there!”

“Eh? But um… isn’t that lying? I… it’s bad to lie, isn’t it? There’s that vow you talk about, and everything…”

Lloyd flapped his hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t worry! You really did want to go camping, right?”

Colette gave a hesitant nod.

“So it’s not a lie, see? Everything you tell him will be the truth!”

“Ah… I guess that’s true…?”

“Alright, then! Go on in and ask him, Colette! I’ll be back with your chakram!” With an enthusiastic wave, Lloyd darted off and clambered over the fence.

“Um… umm…” Colette stood in place, wringing her hands until he was out of sight. She was still a little worried about what her dad would say…

…But Lloyd was counting on her. And, well… It sounded fun! After all, wasn’t this kind of why she’d wanted to be on the camping trip in the first place?

Steeling her nerves, Colette turned on her heel and ran back into her house.

———

“Honestly… Those kids…” Frank Brunel stood at the window of his house, looking out into the yard where his daughter and her friend thought they were being sneaky. He’d already noticed more noise coming from behind the house than usual, so when Colette had run in suddenly asking for permission to camp out back, he’d been pretty sure he knew what was going on.

Still…

He watched quietly as two small silhouettes point up at the sky, probably pointing out different stars to one another.

While he’d keep watch to make sure the children were safe, he hadn’t had the heart to catch them out. Colette’s energetic friends were good for her, he was sure of it. With the horrible burden they were all placing on his daughter’s shoulders, he knew that she deserved people who’d think of her happiness here and now.

Who were they, him and the other adults of the village, to selfishly ask so much of Colette and then deny her even these small pleasures while she still had time?

No. Perhaps he couldn’t convince the church to let her go with her friends, but at least he could stay silent when her friend came to her. It was the least he could do.

The least she deserved.

Satisfied that the children would be alright unsupervised for a minute, Frank slipped into the kitchen to make himself some coffee before settling down to keep an eye out.

If it meant Colette could play like a normal child for a little bit longer, what was one sleepless night?

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: a Great Album that your average rock critic would actually agree with me about! Find out how Kate Bush got her groove back with her fifth LP, Hounds of Love, and whether she ever came down from that hill. Full transcript below the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Ever since I first conceived the idea of Great Albums, I’ve always intended it to reflect nothing other than my own personal “canon”--not necessarily a list of albums that were influential, successful, or acclaimed by anybody’s standards but my own. But in this installment, I’m making a somewhat uncharacteristic move, and diving into an album that really doesn’t need me to advocate for it: Hounds of Love, by Kate Bush, often considered Bush’s greatest masterpiece--if not one of the greatest albums of all time.

Released in 1985, Hounds of Love was Bush’s fifth studio LP. Her career had started off surprisingly strong in 1977, with the release of her debut single “Wuthering Heights,” written when Bush was only 19 years old. With a high-concept theme, based around the titular novel by Emily Brontë, it would set the template for much of Bush’s subsequent career: irreverently eccentric, high-concept art-pop with the intensely personal passion of a singular singer-songwriter. But just how much patience for that sort of thing does the general public have, beyond letting the occasional “Wuthering Heights” through as a sort of novelty hit? Bush’s subsequent work in the early 1980s met with inconsistent reception, with her fourth LP, 1982’s The Dreaming, marking a particularly low point. The first album that Bush produced all by herself, The Dreaming took even more radical creative liberties, pushing her sound into increasingly experimental territory.

Music: “Get Out Of My House”

Following the fairly cold reception of The Dreaming, Bush took several years to produce her next album, but it would prove to be the one that redeemed her career, and arguably turned her into a bigger star than ever before. Hounds of Love managed to stay true to the core principles of the Bush aesthetic: moody and introspective, full of rich and complex narratives, as well as musical risk-taking. But it honed and refined that sound into something that was also remarkably pop.

Music: “Running Up That Hill”

“Running Up That Hill” was one of the biggest hits of Bush’s career, and arguably dethroned even “Wuthering Heights” as her signature song. I think the secret to its success is its ability to balance Bush’s experimental impulses with an intuitive, deep-felt emotional quality that makes her best work resonant in an accessible way. On paper, “Running Up That Hill” is as high-concept as anything else in Bush’s catalogue--a song about making a deal with God to swap sexes with your lover, and feel what life is like in another body? But at the same time, the song has an ability to “work” even if you don’t know all of that. Who hasn’t longed for a way to bargain with supernatural forces, for a chance at the impossible? There’s a certain applicability to its themes, which I think is a chief reason why it’s inspired so many covers and reimaginings over the years. But even when one listens to the original, the stately washes of digital synthesiser and the powerful conviction that propels Bush’s vocals make it easy to sympathize with. It feels grounded and physical, rooted in the most carnal aspect of the human body. Positioned as the opening track of the album, “Running Up That Hill” feels like an obvious lead single--in the best way possible. But it’s worth noting that not everything on the album is quite so radio-friendly.

Music: “Cloudbusting”

Perhaps one of Bush’s most compelling narratives, “Cloudbusting” is also, ostensibly, fairly high-concept, portraying a heavily fictionalized episode from the life of Wilhelm Reich. A controversial figure both in life and legacy, Reich is best remembered for his work in psychology, heavily influenced by the spectre of Sigmund Freud. But “Cloudbusting” focuses on his later-life fascination with the physical sciences, and his belief that a mystical energy called “orgone” was responsible for both human emotional woes as well as disturbances in the Earth’s atmosphere. Reich attempted to develop a machine that could manipulate this energy, and hence achieve the longtime dream of technological weather control, but there’s no evidence his “cloudbuster” really worked, or that there’s any such thing as “orgone.” But Bush’s “Cloudbusting,” and its accompanying music video, portray Reich as a tragic hero, silenced by government authorities who sought to destroy what they couldn’t understand, conflating his work with cloudbusters with his censure by the FDA for his questionable medical devices.

The song was inspired chiefly by the memoirs of Wilhelm Reich’s son, Peter, with Bush explicitly portraying Peter’s naive childhood perspective on his father, and that does allow for some substantial nuance here...but at some point we have to ask ourselves what responsibility an artist has to the truth. “Cloudbusting” is the musical equivalent of a film that’s “based on a true story,” and I see no reason why music can’t be just as capable of spreading misinformation as the Oscar-bait biopics of Hollywood. Just how accurate, or how beautiful, does a work of art need to be, for us to allow a bit of playing loose with the facts for the sake of a great story?

Setting aside these quandaries presented by its subject matter, “Cloudbusting” undoubtedly delivers musically. Across its sprawling runtime, it develops and earns a sense of grandeur, building from its infectious percussion and cresting with Bush’s fragile, but assertive prayer: “I just know that something good is going to happen.” If you listen closely to the percussion tracks on the album, you’ll notice that there’s no cymbal or high-hat utilized anywhere, which helps give the album its particular hazy, meandering ambiance.

That effect is perhaps even more pronounced on the second side of the album. Hounds of Love is divided quite sharply into two sides. The first side, also sub-titled Hounds of Love, opens with “Running Up That Hill,” and finishes with “Cloudbusting,” which serves as something of a bridge between the two, combining a singable hook and a pop-like verse-chorus structure with a taste for more visionary narrative. While the first side is home to all four of the album’s singles, the second side, sub-titled The Ninth Wave, strays much further away from the standard expectations of pop.

Music: “Under Ice”

Going by the tracklisting, there are seven tracks that make up *The Ninth Wave,* though their smooth transitions and willful defiance of verse/chorus structure create a seamless oratorio or song cycle feel, not unlike many of the great “album sides” of the prog tradition. The Ninth Wave also departs from the feel of the first side in its instrumentation. While the Hounds of Love side has its fair share of exotic instruments, such as a balalaika on “Running Up That Hill” and a didgeridoo on “Cloudbusting,” The Ninth Wave is more richly baroque, with elements like that jarring violin on “Under Ice.” As it progresses, the breadth of timbres increases, climaxing in the Celtic-inspired “Jig of Life.”

Music: “Jig of Life”

The explosion of folkish, backward-looking sounds of “Jig of Life” and “Hello World,” with their fiddles, whistles, and full choir, represent its protagonist’s return to the realm of the living, after the trauma represented by earlier tracks like “Under Ice.” The abstract, though affecting, narrative presented by The Ninth Wave seems to be a tale of death and rebirth, with a narrator who drowns themselves, only to be reborn--whether literally revived from a failed suicide attempt, or metaphysically reincarnated after a passage through the realm of the dead.

Much more has been written about the themes of *The Ninth Wave* than I’m getting into here, but suffice it to say that many people consider it the relative highlight of the album. But I think it’s worth questioning that a little bit, and taking the time to look at Hounds of Love a bit more holistically. Just because the first side is a bit less overtly experimental doesn’t mean it doesn’t have just as much to offer, artistically, or that it isn’t a part of what makes this album truly great. At the end of the day, I think we can probably agree that far fewer people would have ever heard The Ninth Wave if it weren’t for those more accessible singles on side one, moving copies of the record and adding to Bush’s widespread acclaim. Without “Running Up That Hill,” Hounds of Love might have gone down in history as a fairly niche cult classic like The Dreaming, instead of the era-defining album that it got to become.

On the cover of Hounds of Love, we see an image of Bush reclining and embracing two dogs--who were, in fact, her own pets. The image’s saturation in purplish pink and Bush’s perhaps sultry expression combine to create an impression of traditional femininity, which resonates with the album’s themes of gender and sensuality. Framed in by large white borders, we might read the composition of the cover as evocative of a personal locket or memento, a sort of furtive glimpse into Bush’s more private or intimate essence, fitting for the introspective and emotional focus of much of the music. This “framing” is perhaps also evocative of the idea of the domestic sphere of life--and hence, again, of femininity.

While the title track of the album portrays the “hounds of love” as figures of menace, who are said to “chase” after its narrator, the submissive and comfortable-looking canines portrayed in the cover art seem like a foil to that idea. In the history of European art, dogs are often used as symbols of fidelity, particularly in the context of romance. Titian’s Venus of Urbino, painted in the 1530s, is often considered the progenitor of the Western “nude” as an archetype. Alongside the titular goddess, paragon of eroticism and the feminine, the painter has also included a lapdog, peacefully dozing beside her. It’s tempting to see the composition of the cover of Hounds of Love as doing something similar, invoking confident sensuality alongside a symbol of faithfulness to portray the essence of idealized love.

After the release of Hounds of Love, Bush would once again take several years to produce her next LP, 1989’s The Sensual World. More closely related to The Ninth Wave than the A-side of Hounds of Love, it was nonetheless another commercial and mainstream success for the artist.

Music: “The Sensual World”

From the mid-90s to the mid-00s, Bush took an extended hiatus from music, focusing instead on her family and her personal life. Despite uncertainty surrounding the future of her career, she would eventually return to the public spotlight in the 21st Century, and remains active, if somewhat intermittently, to the present day. At this point, it’s safe to say that Bush has a fairly enviable position, having lived long enough to become a cultural institution, and able to bask in the cult following her unmistakable and distinctive work has earned her. For as much as I’ve praised the more commercial side of Hounds of Love in this piece, I still believe in the power of the truly unfettered creative soul, and I’m still happy for Bush that she’s achieved that kind of freedom.

My favourite track from either side of Hounds of Love would have to be “The Big Sky.” In the context of the album, it stands out for its rousing, triumphant crescendo of energy--a marked difference from the languid, introspective sensibility that dominates most of the material. And it manages that without bringing the cymbals back, either! Thematically, its emphasis on weather and the sky prefigures that of “Cloudbusting,” perhaps providing a more hopeful and naive vision of what weather can do, which resists being “clouded” by political drama. That’s all I have for today--as always, thank you all for listening!

Music: “The Big Sky”

[teamlarl]

Chapter - The Ides of March

Word Count: 6,922

Characters: Adrastia Ennius, Ianus Basilius, Ulixes Ovid, Astraea

TW: Death, Gore, Extreme Violence, Mentions of Child Abuse, Gaslighting

“Do we know what’s causing the riots?”

Ianus Basilius, head of the Mistrali Council, sat among the rest of his compatriots. Mere minutes ago, he and the rest of the council members had been shuffled off towards the executive bunker used for such emergencies. In all his time on the council, the bunker had never been used until now. In fact, the last time that he could recall such a threat to the city that would have necessitated such a thing was the Faunus War, all those decades ago.

To think, that the threat originated from inside the ancient city! From the people themselves, doing the Grimm’s job for them! How galling.

In response to his question, the aides of each council member handed the rulers of Mistral a single manila folder each. Ianus’ stormy gray gaze scanned the reports within, jaw clenching and grip tightening the further down he read.

“Astraea!” Ianus hissed, slamming his palm down onto the round table they all sat around. “That masked bitch!”

“This is what happens when you show too much mercy, old friend.” Intoned the grim voice of Ulixes Ovid, general of the Mistrali Self-Defense Forces. His tan and weathered face crinkled in annoyance. “You should have listened to me and arrested her for fermenting dissent among the populace.”

“She hadn’t done anything illegal!” Ianus shot back. “Not that we could prove, anyway. You and I both know that we couldn’t risk arresting such a beloved public figure and turning her into a martyr.”

“Fat lot of good that did.” The third council member, Sophia Choi, snorted. The wizened old lady folded her hands inside of her long and elaborate sleeves, fixing the head of the council with a glare. “It seems as if she’s set the people loose against us anyway. Do we even have the defenses for this sort of thing? These are people, not Grimm. They’ll be clever.”

General Ovid sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Under normal circumstances, yes, we would. However, there’s an… obvious issue. All this negativity is going to attract the Grimm. We don’t have enough guards to deal with the rioters and the Grimm at the same time. Normally, we’d have a contingent of huntsmen for the latter, but…” He tried very hard not to glance in Councilwoman Choi’s direction.

“But we’ve been losing huntsmen in droves, recently.” Choi spat out. “Something we have yet to know the cause for!”

“There’s an investigation ongoing.” Ianus attempted to placate his fellow council member.

“My daughter was murdered!” Choi snapped. Her parchment colored eyes narrowed, glaring at Ianus directly. “And mark my words, there is going to be hell to pay for that.”

Ianus, to his credit, was far from cowed by the blatant threat. “Regardless,” he continued dryly, “we need to handle the Grimm situation.” Biting the inside of his cheek, as was his habit, the head of the Mistrali Council weighed his options. None of which were very good, but something had to be done. A decision had to be made. “…Send the students of Haven Academy to man the city walls.”

The aide to his side nodded and rushed out of the room to transmit the order. To Ianus’ left, General Ovid looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel.

“Are you insane?” Ovid questioned sharply. It was the sort of quiet that hid a raging storm underneath. “They’re just students, Ianus. They’re not ready for something like this.”

“You’re entirely correct, old friend.” Ianus calmly acquiesced. “However, they’re all we have. Whatever the reason,” he glanced sharply at Councilwoman Choi, “which is being investigated, I assure you,” his gray eyes swung back towards the general, “our huntsmen reserves have dwindled. This isn’t a decision I make lightly, but we need bodies. We need something to throw at the Grimm.”

It was at this point that the fourth member of the council, Shiro Abe, decided to speak up. “They’re going to die.” He said simply, doing nothing to hide the bored expression lingering on his face. The career bureaucrat hadn’t even so much as blinked while he discussed death as if he were discussing budgetary numbers.

“Perhaps,” Ianus responded as his lips flattened into a thin line, “or perhaps they’ll surprise you. They’re more capable of the task than old men like us, at any rate. Besides, my son and General Ovid’s daughter are among that number. I have every confidence in their abilities.”

The room fell silent at that proclamation. What could really be said when their leader had just acknowledged sending their child to their potential doom?

It was a silence that did not last long, however.

“Aww, you know, it’s almost kind of sweet how much you believe in me.”

Every person in the secure bunker, aides and council members alike, snapped their heads towards the new voice that had just filled their chamber. A voice that shouldn’t have been there.

Ianus’ stormy eyes widened in shock as he stood up from his seat. What was she doing here? Before he could open his mouth to demand answers, the figure in the doorway cut him off.

“Uncle Ianus, do sit down.” The violet leer of Adrastia Ennius crinkled in undisguised amusement as she met the gaze of the most powerful man in Mistral. Without missing a beat, the raven haired beauty sashayed into the room, hauling a duffel bag over her shoulder and dragging a crumpling mass of a man by the collar behind her. With a heave and a grunt of exertion, she tossed the unconscious form of Councilman Saturn Vasilius onto the grand council table. “Thought I’d deliver your missing member, free of charge. Caught him about to be dismembered by a mob outside his home.”

The rest of the room relaxed a smidge at the news of the rather unorthodox rescue. Ianus let out a sigh of relief and took his seat once more, making no comment of Adrastia’s breach of their roles. He was the one that gave the orders, not her. Though, considering the circumstances, this was neither the time nor the place to lecture her on the decorum he had drilled through her head.

Though the tension in the room gradually melted away, Ulixes Ovid found himself more concerned than ever. As Adrastia took her seat across from him and met his eyes, Ovid knew something was very wrong. The look in his adopted daughter’s eyes… It was-

Ovid’s train of thought was abruptly caught off as the bunker shook around them. Dust was shaken loose from the ceiling and floated down onto the council members and their aides, but that was the least of their worries. With the reflexes of a military man, Ovid slammed down on the intercom in front of him and barked out a demand for a status report.

All he got in response was static.

“Well, that doesn’t sound good.” Adrastia mused as she hauled her duffel bag onto the table in front of her and began to dig through it. A moment passed and she realized that no one had so much as moved a muscle. Sighing, she turned her attention towards one of the aides. “Someone should really go check on that.” Beat. “That means you.”

The aide in question, sweating in their boots from everything that was going on, glanced towards Councilman Basilius, who gave their nod of assent. The aide scampered out of the room without a second thought.

“She could have checked on it herself, you know.” Councilwoman Choi pointed out. “Rather than some wet behind the ears political aide that often merely serves to make my tea. She’s a soldier, after all.”

“Perhaps, councilwoman,” Adrastia drawled as she picked a pencil up from the table and began twirling it in her fingers, “you shouldn’t talk about people as if they aren’t there to hear you.” She stared at Choi as if she were nothing more than a speck of dirt to be picked out of her boots, then turned her attention towards Basilius himself. “Besides, I assume the esteemed head of the council has marching orders for his most effective agent. Isn’t that right, Uncle Ianus?”

That wasn’t right, General Ovid knew. Adrastia never referred to Ianus as such unless she wanted something. A fact that Councilman Basilius himself seemed to overlook, content with her obedience.

“Indeed.” Ianus replied solemnly. “In light of the current riots spreading throughout the city like a wildfire, I’m sending the students of Haven Academy out to the outer walls to protect against the inevitable Grimm incursion. That includes you, Agent Ennius.”

For a brief moment, a flash of worry crossed Adrastia’s cold, violet eyes… but she was nothing if not a professional. Compartmentalization was a gal’s best friend.

“I assume that includes Renatus?” She asked, her voice softening for the first time during this impromptu meeting.

Ianus Basilius shot her a blank stare in return. “…You know as well as I that that boy would never be able to stomach staying behind while the rest of his peers went out to fight, even if I ordered it myself. Yes, he will be going.”

“I see.” Adrastia muttered. “I suppose you’re right. There’s no denying one’s nature.”

“So,” Ianus continued, “if you want to ensure his survival throughout the next twenty four hours, I suggest you hurry along to the outer wall.”

The pencil that Adrastia had been toying with snapped in her palm.

Taking a deep breath, Adrastia Ennius mustered up the fakest, most obedient smile she had ever given. “Of course, sir. I’ll be sure to hurry along right away. There’s… just one thing, you see.”

“Very well, what is it, Adrastia?” Ianus asked impatiently. There really wasn’t time for this, but she had done well tonight.

The young soldier tilted her head and asked the head of the council, “What do you think my nature is?”

Not a word was spoken as Adrastia tipped her palm over and allowed the broken pieces of her pencil fall. They landed on the ground in a clatter, a soft sound that was almost deafening with the hush that had fallen over the secure council chamber.

“…I’m not sure I understand. May you repeat the question?” Ianus finally replied.

Adrastia let out a resigned sigh as she gave the councilman a disappointed look. “Ianus Basilius, what was one of the first things you ever taught me? Do not make you repeat yourself. You heard. You understood. Do not insult my intelligence or your own by implying you did not. Do not make me repeat myself.”

Even now, there was no reply to her query. Councilman Basilius merely stared her down, as if she were still a little girl that could be brought to heel with just a look. Pathetic.

“Alright, perhaps you need an example.” A sly grin crossed Adrastia’s face as she returned the glare Ianus was giving her. It was like a shark staring down an old lion who ventured too close to the sea. “What would you say your nature is, Ianus Basilius? Ah, ah, ah, don’t answer that. It was rhetorical. I’ll tell you anyway.”

Councilman Basilius turned his head to the left and shared a concerned glance with General Ovid, who merely shrugged his shoulders in response.

“You’re the ambitious sort,” Adrastia began, pointing a finger towards the subject of her analysis. “The type who craves power for power’s sake. You are the kind of man that wishes he were immortal, but since you know that is an impossibility, you settle for cementing your legacy in history and legend. Morality doesn’t even factor into the equation. It’s all about your personal glory hidden behind a pretense of supposedly doing what’s best for the people-”

“I am doing what’s best for the people!” Ianus immediately shot back.

“Then why are they out there rioting?” Adrastia calmly countered. “You’ve been on the council for almost twenty years, but what’s really different now compared to before you joined? You’ve certainly got more wealth and prestige than you did before. And don’t get me wrong! Acting in public like you and father over there are opposed by the majority of the council, when in actuality you’re the one calling the shots? When you’re actually consolidating power behind closed doors? Oh, it’s a stroke of brilliance. A political power play. And really, I think it sums up your nature pretty succinctly.”

By now, Councilman Basilius had had enough of this rambling nonsense. “Is there a point to this, Agent Ennius? Or are you merely here to waste more of our precious time?”

Adrastia looked at the esteemed councilman like he’d just grown a second head.

“Waste your time?” She parroted. “Waste your time?” Her chair clattered to the floor as Adrastia abruptly stood up. With a low, sweeping motion, she gave the Mistrali Council a mocking bow. “Excuse me, oh grand and illustrious councilmembers, for wasting your time!” A sound akin to a gunshot echoed out as the young soldier reared back and slammed her palms against the hard wooden table.

“Agent Ennius!” Councilman Abe shouted. “Show some respect! You are going to put a dent in the finish if you carry on-”

With but a glare from the visibly livid soldier, Shiro Abe backed down and fell silent.

“Waste your time…” Adrastia repeated once more, muttering the words under her breath as she did her best to bore a hole through the wood. “Of all the…” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and met her father’s worried stare. Oh, the things she wanted to say to that man, but there were more pressing targets. So she turned her head away and met Councilman Basilius’ arrogant gaze once more. “How about all the time you wasted for me, eh?”

“Excuse me?” Ianus Basilius sneered.

“Yeah, I fucking said it.” Adrastia snarled. “All this talk about wasting your time. Ha! What about my time? What about my entire fucking childhood?! Where do you get off on wasting that!”

“Young lady!” General Ovid roared. “Where do you get off on accusing a council member of such things! Show him the respect he is due as a member of this institution, and show me the respect that I am due as your father!”

With but a flick of her finger, General Ovid was no longer sitting in his seat. He was, instead, pinned to the ceiling, held there by an invisible force controlled by Adrastia.

“Adrastia!” Ovid called out, but his errant daughter ignored his pleas and warnings. She’d heard it all a million times.

Ianus, to his credit, was undeterred by the young lady’s fury and display of power. He simply folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Are you complaining?” He asked bluntly. “This is not an attitude befitting the Spear of Mistral. Are you seriously complaining that you’ve been honed into one of the finest huntresses that this kingdom has ever seen? Have you no gratitude?”

“I never asked to be your damn Spear! I never even had a choice!”

“Any choice that you would have made would’ve been a poor one.” Ianus retorted calmly. “An utter waste of potential. Look at you now, child. Your father and I found you and saved you from a life of mediocrity. We forged you into the asset you are now. By all accounts, you should be thanking us. What was the alternative? Letting you waste away in some remote fishing village, barely scraping by, never knowing anything more? Don’t be so pathetic, Adrastia.”

Silence fell upon the bunker once more. Ianus’ words settled upon Adrastia like a poison sinking under her skin. With that dressing down concluded, she found herself gazing at her navel in lieu of meeting Councilman Basilius’ stormy iron eyes. Councilman Abe and Councilwoman Choi shared a baffled glance, neither having the slightest clue as to what was going on. The silence was not long lived, however, as General Ovid fell from his spot on the ceiling and hit the ground hard. A hiss of pain could be heard as the general stood up, but nevertheless he reached for his pistol… Only for Councilman Basilius to raise his hand. His gaze never once left Adrastia.

“What,” Adrastia repeated herself slowly, “is my nature…?”

Ianus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He sensed that he’d defused the bomb that Adrastia had somehow worked herself up into. “This is a conversation we should have had long ago, child.” He told her softly. “That mistake is my own, and I will forgive this outburst in light of that. It is only natural for a young woman such as yourself to want to explore her role, her destiny, and her very nature in relation to the world around you.”

Adrastia looked up expectantly, curiosity and even a small bit of hope dancing in those violet orbs.

“You, Adrastia Ennius,” Ianus continued, “are a spiteful, selfish little urchin. You do not deserve the power that the gods have seen fit to bestow upon you. Were you given the option, I have no doubt that you would waste it all on frivolous pursuits that benefit only you and you alone. It is indeed fortunate that your father and I took you and made you so much more than you would have otherwise been. We forged you, honed you, crafted you with care. For that is your nature, child. You are a weapon. Mistral’s weapon. My weapon. Is it a pretty truth? No, it is not. But you were not made for beauty, despite your silly attempts to the contrary. You were made to be among the dank and dirty. You were made to be among the shadows, never seen, with a knife in your hand. Everything I have sheltered Renatus from is embodied in you. We have forged you to do what he cannot. He is the pillar that my legacy will stand firmly on, but you must be the one to protect that pillar. Do you understand?”

The girl in question did not answer. Her dark bangs shrouded her pale face in a way that made it impossible to tell what she was thinking. Adrastia stood there, hands clenched into fists, staring into nothing for what felt like hours. In reality, it was only a few minutes before she softly responded, “Yeah… yeah, I understand.”

Without so much as another word, Adrastia bent down and hoisted the duffel bag she had carried in onto the table. She unzipped it and began shuffling through its contents, clearly searching for something in particular. It was a testament to Ianus’ confidence in his manipulation tactics that he did not move to stop her whatsoever.

Finally, Adrastia had finally found what she was searching for. Her gloved hands pulled out simple video camera and a cable, which she connected to her scroll. She fiddled around with the settings for a moment and hummed approvingly once everything was set up to her satisfaction.

“…Agent Ennius, what are you doing?” Councilman Abe questioned.

The violet soldier glanced up towards the councilman in question in blinked, as if they were being ridiculous. “Why, this is for the show, of course.” She answered the question as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“The… show-” Before he could finish questioning their guest, Councilman Abe suddenly found himself completely unable to move. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. It was more like… trying to swim through gelatin. Everything just suddenly felt… so heavy. Abe and the rest of the council slumped over in their seats and face-planted onto the table while the aides in the room collapsed onto the floor. Much to Abe’s horror, even moving his head to look at the obvious culprit was an exercise of herculean effort. It was like someone had just dropped an elephant onto him!

“Girl…!” General Ovid snarled as he glared at his adopted daughter, the only person in the room that was acting like nothing had just happened.

“What’s wrong, daddy?” Adrastia asked oh so innocently. “You’re not looking well. Is old age catching up to you? Should I call a medic?”

“What is the meaning of this?” The hoarse voice of Councilwoman Choi cried out. Sweat began to form on her ancient brow just from the exertion of speaking in this condition.

“I would have thought that the meaning would be plainly obvious.” Adrastia commented dryly. “Then again, it’s not like the council is known for having the best and brightest members.”

It was an insult that Councilman Abe in particular took affront too. “Child, I will have you know that I-!” In what was becoming a bit of a pattern, Abe found himself cut off, albeit this time by the throwing knife that had just soared past his head and nicked his cheek.

“Will I have to gag you?” Adrastia questioned the esteemed councilman, disappointment practically dripping from her lips. “Because I will. I have an entire roll of duct tape right here.”

Wisely, Councilman Abe shut his mouth and did not speak up again.

“Much better,” Adrastia cooed. “Now then, you all must be wondering what this camera is for. Why I’m using my gravity semblance to slowly crush your bodies. Why I’m threatening council members with bodily harm if they don’t shut the fuck up!” She paused, taking their groans of pain as confirmation that they were listening. “The answer is obvious. It’s because, just as Councilman Basilius said, I’m a spiteful, selfish little shit.”

Once more reaching into her duffel bag, Adrastia pulled out three seemingly innocuous items: a large, flowing blonde wig; and a wide-brimmed hat as pale as death itself, topped with several raven’s feathers; and a starkly white, full-faced masquerade mask with black ceramic detailing.

Ianus Basilius’ breath hitched in his throat as he suddenly realized that he’d made a crucial and terrible mistake.

“You’ll have to give me a second, boys.” Adrastia told her captive audience as she began the process of stuffing her dark hair under the blonde wig. “This is always such a hassle… Especially when I have to do it on the fly. But, I suppose all that training you had me do so that I could properly disguise myself is really paying off, eh?” Reaching into her pocket, Adrastia pulled out a small portable mirror, checking her appearance to ensure there were no loose strands of silky black hair showing. “Hmm, stowing it in the bag did the wig no favors, but… it’ll have to do. I’m sure my viewers will forgive me for not looking my best after fighting through all the council’s guards.”

“You…” Ovid groaned, glaring at the woman he had adopted all those years ago.

“Who, me?” Adrastia asked in mock surprise. “Oh, that wasn’t me being facetious. All your guards really are dead. Albeit, I didn’t do it in this wig. Didn’t want any blood on it, you understand. A girl has got to take care of her hair, if nothing else.”

“All this time…” Ianus forced out while pinned to the table. If looks could kill, Adrastia would’ve been dead several times over. “All this time… you’ve been her. Astraea. All this time…” The councilman inhaled a deep, shuddery breath. It hurt so much to talk under all this pressure. This very literal pressure. “…You’ve been turning the people against me.”

“What, like it’s hard?” Adrastia snorted as she carefully placed the rather ostentatious hat on top of her head. “Making the council seem so ineffective might’ve gained you personal power, but it made people resent the hell out of you guys. Didn’t matter who was publicly doing the obstructing. All I had to do was start preaching an ideology that had mass appeal but would be fundamentally opposed by an oligarchic government. It’s amazing how wealth equality and the destruction of social classes really drives the people wild after centuries of neglect.”

Now it was time for the final piece of the ensemble, the final piece of the puzzle that was Astraea. “I don’t particularly care about any of that either way, but…” She picked up her trademark mask and cradled it in her hands. “I wanted a very violent revolution.” The mask was placed on her face, and that was that.

Unless one knew what to look for, Adrastia Ennius ceased to exist, replaced by the lead revolutionary herself, Astraea.

“You.” Astraea intoned, snapping her fingers and releasing one of the political aides from her semblance. “Come hold this camera and point it towards me. And if you say a single word, I swear to the gods that I will gut you like a fish.”

Under such a threat, the aide could only shakily pick themselves up and nod their head obediently. With an obvious terror in their gait, they picked up the camera up from the table and did as they were told.

Astraea nodded in approval. “Good. I’ll handle the controls from my scroll. Now just stand there and try not to shake too much. Especially when things start getting… messy. You’re documenting history, remember that. You’re not going to want to miss a single thing.”

The only response that Astraea got was a single, hesitant nod.  Well, they were a good listener, at least. They’d have to be, if they were basically a glorified servant to this sorry lot of fossils.

“All right, you ready? Doesn’t matter.” Astraea opened up her scroll and tabbed over to the program that her dear partner in crime had supplied for her. “Going live in 3… 2… 1…” The masked revolutionary pressed the big red button on her scroll and turned towards the camera. No one in that room but her realized that she had just hijacked every communications device in the city of Mistral.

“So it has come to this… Greetings, Mistral. As I am sure most of you know by now, I am Astraea.” She paused to really let that sink in. No doubt her followers were cheering at the sight of her face- well, mask, and the sound of her voice. “What a busy night this has been! You have done well, my brothers and sisters. Our moment is here and you have seized it masterfully! You have marched through the streets, taking what is rightfully yours from those that would wish to have you continue to be slaves in all but name! All night, you have been chanting the mantra that has sustained our movement these past few years: NO MORE!”

Astraea raised her fist up in solidarity. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that she could hear the frenzied chanting that was reverberating throughout the mountain city.

“No more… I couldn’t agree more, brothers and sisters! I, for one, cannot stomach the stench of this kingdom and its corruption any longer! The moment we have been planning all this time is finally coming to fruition! Some of you not in the know must have been asking, ‘Where is our glorious leader in our time of greatest triumph?’ and ‘Has Astraea abandoned the cause?’ Never! I would never abandon the cause of the Mistrali people! I will never stop fighting for your freedom and equality! While you all were marching in the streets, I was undertaking a far more dangerous task…”

Astraea strode towards the grand council table, the camera dutifully panning to finally reveal a sight that would be burned into the Mistrali consciousness forevermore.

“My brothers and sisters… I present to you the Council of Mistral in all its tepid glory!” Astraea thrust her hand out, giving a sweeping gesture as she showed off her prize. “No, my friends, this is not a joke! This is not a fraud! This is destiny! The council has been subdued! Humiliated! And now it is time… to give them what they deserve.”

Astraea leapt onto the council table, where Saturn Vasilius still laid in blissful unconsciousness. He was never to know the fate that had befallen him. “Councilman Saturn Vasilius!” Astraea declared as she placed her heel on top of his head. “Guilty of nepotism, domestic violence, child abuse, and general incompetence! I sentence you to death.” Using her semblance to augment the weight of her foot, Astraea pushed down and Councilman Vasilius’ skull gave way like a rotten pumpkin in the beginning of November.

One of the aides found the strength to let out a bone chilling scream, but Astraea didn’t miss a beat. She simply moved onto her next target.

“Councilman Shiro Abe…” Astraea intoned like an angel of death. She knelt down on top of the table and grabbed a handful of his graying hair, forcing the councilman to look up into her mask. “Guilty of money laundering, extortion, bribery, and head-in-the-sand policies that have cost far too many people their lives. For all of that, I sentence you to death.”

Councilman Abe’s eyes widened sharply and he valiantly tried to struggle, but it was to no avail. Astraea pulled a knife out of her boot and slit his throat then and there. For a moment, Abe tried to say something, but all that came up was a gurgle of blood. Astraea released his fair and Abe’s face fell onto the table with a dull thud. He did not rise again.

It was time for the old lady. “Councilwoman Sophia Choi. Gods, look at you.” Astraea sneered as she waltzed over. “You’re ancient. You should have retired decades ago. Perhaps you would have been spared this fate. You are guilty of racketeering, profiteering off of the drug trade, and being the best fucking friend of every syndicate and cartel that operates in Mistral.” For that, she gave old Choi a good kick in the face.

Kneeling down as she did with Abe, Astraea grabbed Choi’s face and forced her to meet the implacable gaze of her mask. “You helped to make the Yonghai Syndicate what it was. And what’s more than that, when those old connections stopped proving useful, you and some others plotted to make a little girl an orphan just so you could muscle in on her family business.” Rearing back, Astraea delivered a hell of a blow against Choi’s cheek. A few teeth were clearly knocked loose, with how blood was no spilling from Choi’s mouth. “Perhaps it was karma that you lost your only daughter last year. Too bad that, from where I’m sitting, it’s hardly enough.”

Astraea leaned in and, so quietly that only Councilwoman Choi would hear, whispered, “Which is one of many reasons why I’m the one that murdered her.”

Before Choi could process that sinister revelation, Astraea pulled her pistol out of its holster and placed it inside of the councilwoman’s mouth. The revolutionary cared not for the tears now streaming down the face of the grieving mother, only for her crimes. “I sentence you to death.”

With the flash of a muzzle and a deafening bang, Councilwoman Choi’s brainmatter and blood was sprayed onto the wall behind her. Her body fell onto the floor and was not regarded by Astraea again.

“Then there were two…” Astraea mused as she strolled towards her final two victims. Ianus was glaring at her something fierce. She had never seen him this angry! Gods, it was cathartic. But, it wasn’t his turn yet. Oh, no, no, no. She was saving him for last. So instead she turned to face… her father.

General Ovid did not look as furious as dear Ianus. Oh, the anger was still there, but… Astraea internally winced as she gazed into his eyes. Like Choi at the end, the man was crying, but… she got the sense that it wasn’t for himself. The sheer devastation in his features… Astraea shook her head. No. She needed to focus. She had already come this far, she had already dedicated herself to this. This… had always been unavoidable.

“General Ulixes Ovid…” Astraea began, far more somberly than her previous executions. “I have to admit, you were a tough nut to crack. Your track record is far more squeaky clean than your peers. A dedicated military man, through and through…” A long, shuddery breath escaped her lips. “But that doesn’t excuse the child abuse you were part and party to for the past two decades. That doesn’t excuse you standing idly by and letting such things… happen. You are guilty for being a failure of a man, a failure of a commander, and… a failure of a father.” She paused, and then gave Ovid something she hadn’t given any of her other victims. “…Have you anything to say in your defense?”

Ovid was silent for a long moment… and then his body shuddered. With great effort and exertion, he slowly pushed himself up off the table so that he could sit up straight… so that he could look his daughter in the eyes one last time, even if it was through a mask.

“I’m sorry…” He croaked out. “I am so, so sorry… I am sorry for all the pain I have caused, all the pain that I let happen… But, most of all, I’m sorry for all the pain that this is going to cause you going forward. This won’t bring you the peace that you seek. Trust an old man that has seen more than his fair share of death.”

Slowly reaching forward with a shaking hand, he grasped Astraea’s own bloody palm and squeezed it tightly. “I have a daughter, you know. She’s probably out there on the front lines right now, watching this or fighting against the pack of Grimm that I know in my bones is coming…” Ovid stared into those masked violet orbs knowingly. Even now, even in this situation, he would not give up her identity. He would not rat his baby girl out and doom her more than she was already dooming herself. “I just hope… that she knows her old man loves her. That even with all of my failures, I… I just wanted the best for her. That ever since I picked her up that first time, I knew I would do everything I could to protect her. I’m just… I’m just sorry that I didn’t always succeed.”

Astraea was glad that the aide carrying the camera was at the complete other end of the table. She was glad that she could control the camera through her scroll, so that she could zoom out enough that the video feed wouldn’t see how her body shook like a leaf in the wind. So that it couldn’t hear the sobs that threatened to escape her chest.

“She knows.” Astraea hoarsely whispered. Reaching behind her back, she pulled out the last weapons she had allowed herself to bring, twin tantos with a serrated edge. Weapons she had stolen from one of the many huntsmen she had slaughtered over the past two years. Weapons that couldn’t be traced back to Adrastia Ennius.

She crossed the blades just above the base of Ovid’s throat. “Ulixes Ovid, I sentence you to death…” For a moment, Astraea hesitated. In the next moment, Ovid subtly nodded his head and whispered, “It’ll be okay.” In the moment after that, Ovid’s head fell to the ground, along with the tantos.

They were poison to her now. She could never touch them again. The weapons that had ended her father’s life.

Astraea did not immediately move from her spot like she had with the others. She let herself have this moment. She let herself silently scream over the sin she had just committed.

“You’re a monster…”

At that, Astraea snapped her head to the side to come face to face with Ianus Basilius. The councilman was still pinned to the table, but defiance still shone in those stormy eyes of his. “You’re a monster,” he repeated hoarsely, “and I should have put you down ages ago.”

“Probably…” Astraea responded. “But I’m only what you made me.”

“You’re a fool.” Ianus bluntly told her. “You’ll have your revenge now, but then what? You murder me and this entire kingdom will collapse into chaos. Are you really ready to condemn an untold amount of people to the pyre and to the Grimm just for your personal vendetta? Even you couldn’t be that selfish.”

“You know,” Astraea began slowly, “once upon a time that might have given me pause. But as I have recently been told, my nature is to be destructive, spiteful, and selfish. Do you really expect me to fight against my nature?”

It was now, and only now, that Ianus realized and fully accepted the imminence of his death. There was no escaping this. He would not be let go as he had been oh so long ago. His luck had run out and the bill had come due.

But even in the face of his demise, the councilman’s mind was whirling. It was as the girl had said, it was pointless to fight against one’s nature, and as she had elaborated oh so plainly earlier… his nature was that drive to cement his place in history.

“The people will never follow you now!” Ianus declared, using what remaining strength he had to make his voice project. If he was to die, now was the moment to make himself a legend. “Not after the savagery you’ve displayed here, Astraea! The good people of Mistral deserve better than a monster like you to lead them!”

“Head Councilman Ianus Basilius,” Astraea intoned, completely ignoring Ianus’ prattling, “You are guilty of that which you have always denied.”

“People of Mistral, I am sorry you will have to bear witness to this tragedy and that you will have to weather through the fallout. But stay vigilant!”

“You are guilty of conspiring to overthrow the government.”

“Dark times are ahead, but you must stay strong! You must stay united! For it is unity that is Mistral’s strength!”

“You are guilty of consolidating power in your own hands.”

“I believe in you Mistral. I believe in you, my children.”

“You are guilty of intending to declare yourself Shogun.”

His declaration finished, Ianus glanced up and into the eyeholes of Astraea’s mask. “You too, my child, will have a taste of power.”

“I sentence you to death.”

Grabbing the knife from out of her boot, Astraea rushed forward and stabbed Ianus Basilius, tackling him to the ground. The knife sunk deep into his shoulder and the councilman couldn’t help but let out a hiss of pain. Astraea was not done, however. Pulling the knife back out, she stabbed Ianus once more. Then again. Then again. Each scream of pain, each splatter of blood, was more cathartic than the last. Astraea couldn’t help herself. She had wanted to do this for So! Stab. Damn! Stab. Long!

An unhinged giggle bubbled out of Astraea’s mouth, and before she knew it, she was howling with laughter as she mutilated the corpse of her abuser.

All of this was caught on camera.

All of this was broadcasted.

All of this was being watched by the entire city.

The sheer shock and horror Astraea’s broadcast had produced was enough to lure in every Grimm for a hundred miles.

Not that Astraea cared much. She was too busy stabbing Ianus Basilius over and over and over again. By the time she was finished, she was panting with exertion and breathing heavily. It was done. It was fucking done… And there was no more point of playing pretend.

With the press of a button on her scroll, the broadcast ended. The camera was shut off. Astraea tore off her mask and threw the now bloody wig to the ground, the hat along with it, and became Adrastia once more. She stood up from off the ground, almost stumbling and losing her balance as she did so. After all of that she felt… off-kilter. But the night was still young. There was still so much more left to do.

Adrastia lazily swiveled her head towards the cameraman she had forcibly enlisted. There were tears streaming down their face and they had clearly pissed themselves, but they were still holding the camera steady. Good lad.

“You’re free to go now.” She told them passionlessly. “A promise is a promise. So long as you never tell anyone that Adrastia Ennius was here? You can live the rest of your life in peace.” Beat. “But if you squeal, your death won’t be as quick as some of these assholes got.”

It was probably a testament to how fucking terrified her cameraman was that they immediately dropped the camera onto the ground and sprinted out of the room like she had just cracked a whip at them.

Which left the issue of what to do with the rest of the council’s glorified servants. All of whom had seen her face and knew who she was. She had let one poor soul run away. She wasn’t feeling generous enough to give five or so more the same deal.

Several gunshots later, Adrastia walked out of the bunker and sank to her knees upon seeing the night sky. Half of Mistral was on fire, giving the skyline a flickering orange halo that was… gorgeous. This was it. This was what her life had amounted to. And in that moment, as she watched the embers of falling city float up into the stars above… Adrastia found that it was all worth it.

[litwitlady]

What We Carry With Us

CW: Alex experiences a combat flashback in this fic. There’s mild depictions of blood and violence. Please read responsibly.

The snowstorm hits earlier than forecasted. Alex hadn’t expected to be locked away in Michael’s bunker while the snow accumulated up above. Hadn’t expected three feet of snow to fall so quickly with at least three more on the way. Hadn’t expected to be snowed in with no one but Michael Guerin for the foreseeable future.

Michael manages to shovel a path from the bunker to his airstream with his telekinesis. They hole up in the trailer for warmth, the generator prepared for a few lingering cold days. Alex doesn’t know what he and Michael are at the moment. Only knows they’ve been spending a lot of time together. Meals at the Crashdown, long discussions about Caulfield and family legacy down in the bunker, drinks at the Pony. Maybe it’s just friendship. Maybe it’s more. Maybe it’s both.

The point is – he doesn’t know. And there’s danger in not knowing.

Michael throws himself on his bed, kicking off his boots and propping himself up on his pillows. Arm thrown lazily behind his head. Alex watches out of the corner of his eye, still taken all these years later at the long, lean form he paints against crisp, clean sheets. It’s one of the main reasons his sheets never stay crisp or clean for very long.

Alex doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s standing awkwardly, shoulder sloping into Michael’s makeshift closet. The door nothing but prettied up plywood that scarcely holds his weight. He tries to act natural, but his brain keeps attacking him with explicit images of the last night he spent here. How he’d climbed behind Michael and fucked him so hard the thin bedframe started to splinter. And then waking up the next morning to Isobel and those goddamn bagels.

There’s a clock somewhere ticking, echoing loudly in the narrow trailer. Alex feels his eye start to twitch. Tries to think of something to say – anything to break this uncomfortable silence. He dares a glance at Michael. His eyes are closed, his breathing has deepened. Alex wonders at his ability to fall asleep in a moment this rife with tension. But then Michael’s hand pats the bed next to him. ‘You can sit down, Alex. I’m not going to bite unless you ask me to.’ He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, but his lips quirk up. Doesn’t need to see Alex to know the effect he has on him – will always have on him.

It's a risk. Getting that close. But then Michael looks at him, eyes filled with a naked need, and Alex is moving as quickly as he can to close the distance between them. Falling on the flat mattress at Michael’s feet. He hates himself just a little. For all the ways he never says ‘no’. For all the ways he always says ‘no’. And how quickly he manages the contradiction.

But he’s trying to change that.

Michael pushes himself up a little higher on his pillows. ‘Can I ask you a question?’ Lines are suddenly furrowed across his forehead. They put Alex on edge immediately.

‘Okay.’ Alex sounds hesitant, worried. And he is those things, but he’s also curious. He watches Michael bite at his bottom lip, running the question back and forth in his mind. Working out the kinks and formulating the perfect calculus.

‘You’re going to think this is weird. And it probably is. So, feel free to tell me to fuck off.’ He’s fiddling with the bottom button on his shirt, pushing and pulling through the wrong buttonhole. Alex can’t help but fixate on the small patches of skin he keeps exposing. He knows every inch of Michael’s body, can feel that precise stretch of skin yawn beneath his fingertips, and yet he’s still such a marvel.

Alex settles back against the headboard that doubles as a kitchen wall. ‘Whatever I’m imaging in my head right now is probably way worse.’ He shrugs and picks at his cuticles. Heartrate slightly elevated. He notices how close their knees are, wonders what would happen if his leg crossed that invisible barrier to rub against Michael’s. Would there be any room left in the airstream for questions? For any words at all?

The yellowed newspaper normally taped to the window has come loose and is flapping softly against the glass. Michael reaches up to flatten the corner back into place, but the act is futile. ‘What was it like over there? In the Middle East?’

Immediately, a distant desert landscape unfolds in Alex’s mind. He’s back in Iraq, at that tiny village market. A bright Friday morning. Sun so low he can feel his skin burn. The hustle and bustle of people kicking up the dirt and dust, his eyes watering. In the muddy road, there’s a boy kicking a soccer ball. A little girl cries in her mother’s arms. Several dogs sniff the food stalls. A group of men are having tea outside a small bakery. And then the world is upside down. The earth shakes with so much screaming. The spray of someone’s blood soaking through his fatigues. A sudden, searing heat and his skin on fire.

He comes to with Michael violently shaking him. Shouting his name in frantic whispers. But Alex can’t hear him. There are tears falling down his face, dotting his t-shirt with little minuscule constellations. His hands are shaking and his breathing ragged. Michael’s hands have moved from his shoulders into his hair, pulling their foreheads together. Alex concentrates on the jagged edges of Michael’s half-chewed fingernails scraping across the sensitive skin of his scalp. Syncs his breathing to that soothing back and forth scratch.

When sound returns, Michael is saying sorry on repeat. Alex takes several deep breaths and puts his hands on Michael’s chest, pushing gently. Wanting to calm him but also needing space. Alex reaches up and rips the flapping newspaper from the window, flattening his palm across the freezing glass. The cold grounding him in time and place. He continues to breath for several more minutes. Michael has gone silent.

Alex’s heartrate slowly returns to normal and he grabs Michael’s hand. ‘I’m okay. I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting that. Just got caught off-guard. That hasn’t happened in months.’

‘No, Alex, I shouldn’t have asked. And with no warning. I’m so, so sorry.’ Michael’s hands reach out for Alex but stop short. The rules have changed, and he doesn’t want to make another mistake. Doesn’t want to end up hurting Alex more than he already has. He balls his hands into fists and drops them at his side. ‘Do you need anything? Some water?’

‘Water would be good.’ His throat is dry, and he knows Michael needs something to do. While Michael digs through his mini-fridge, Alex hugs his good knee to his chest and stares down at the indent in his jeans where his prosthesis ends. He tries to curl the toes on his right foot, but, of course, nothing happens. He hates how much his chest still aches at the disappointment. He’s never told anyone about that day. Decides to change that as Michael returns with bottled water.

‘Thanks.’ He uncaps the water and gulps down half the bottle in one go. He swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and tugs Michael back down onto the bed. They sit facing each other, legs touching at every point possible – Alex no longer needing or wanting the extra space. Just the opposite, actually. He places the water down behind his head and grabs for Michael’s hands. ‘I’m glad you asked – despite what just happened. I feel like if I was allowed to talk about it more, I might be able to heal better. But no one ever wants the truth about my service, about my leg. Everyone just wants a hero to martyr on main street. A celebration and a parade. A purple heart for the front-page picture. And in all that, I get lost.’

Michael pushes a stray lock of Alex’s hair behind his ear. ‘You’re never lost to me. I always see you. Maybe sometimes I just don’t know how to ask. I guess that’s pretty obvious by now.’

Alex smiles at him and puts his hands on Michael’s knees, using them to center his focus for what he’s about to say. ‘You know, war is often boring. You sit in makeshift buildings in crumbling old air bases or bake beneath the desert sun in stitched together tent cities. You talk about home and play cards. Go on routine missions that result in fucking nothing. Wake up, repeat. Wake up, repeat. And so much of that was not bad. So much of that was forging an odd sense of family. Which felt good.’

Outside the snow has briefly turned to ice. The wind has picked up and the trailer sways. The temperature has dropped despite the generator’s best work. Michael grabs a blanket from beneath them and spreads it across their laps. Searches underneath for Alex’s hands on his knees. Waits for him to continue.

Alex inhales deeply, squeezes Michael’s knees and keeps going. ‘There are maybe a handful of days when anything big happens on purpose. Missions you understand are likely to go south sooner rather than later. Moments when you stare at a living, breathing person. Finger on a trigger. And every time you squeeze that trigger, so much time spent trying to convince yourself you’ve saved American lives. But you haven’t. All you’ve done is commit murder. And all you are is a murderer.’

He feels Michael flinch at that word – ‘murderer’. But it’s the truth Alex has to live with for the rest of his life. And now, so does Michael. Michael, the not so secret alien. Alex, the not so secret murderer. One of those things decidedly worse than the other.

‘You’re not –,’

Michael tries, but Alex will not let him. ‘I am. And no one – especially not you – gets to pretend otherwise.’ Alex is staring him down. Eyes wide and as serious as he’s ever been. Holding his breath waiting for Michael’s acceptance. Otherwise, the conversation is over. And perhaps so much more.

There’s a showdown happening between them. He can feel Michael’s resistance. Is surprised when Michael slides impossibly closer, practically climbing into his lap. Large, familiar hands on his cheeks – his head held steady, golden-hazel eyes boring into his own. ‘You’ve killed people, Alex. I get that. I do. And I hate the fucking military, so I know there was no noble reason for what you did. That American patriotism is a scourge upon this planet. It preys upon the most vulnerable among us. Scared kids with nowhere else to go. I have understood that since the day you left for basic. Better than you, even. I have never and will never see you as a murderer. I have never and will never love you any less.’

They are both right and they are both wrong. And for the first time, that’s okay.

Michael places his hand on Alex’s right leg. At the exact spot where what remains of his leg gives way to his prosthesis. ‘You don’t have to tell me now. But I’d like to know what happened when you’re ready.’

Alex rubs the sore muscles in his thigh. ‘Suicide bomber. Well, three suicide bombers. We weren’t on mission. Just visiting a village market on a quiet Friday morning.’

Michael shoves Alex’s hands aside, replacing them with his own. Massaging the knots out with his talented fingers.

He sighs and continues. ‘I don’t remember much other than the putrid smell of burning flesh. May not have even been my own. Everything erupted into chaos. My ankle had been severed by a burning piece of twisted metal. They had to field amputate my foot. I woke up in Germany with a bad infection. More surgery, less leg. But I was lucky. We were a squadron of ten and then we were three.’

Neither says anything for a long time. What is there to say anyway?

Alex yawns. Michael can see the exhaustion settling in around his eyes. ‘You should sleep. It’s getting late.’ The sun long since disappeared beyond the horizon. ‘Take the bed. I’ll crash in my chair.’

But Alex won’t let him leave. ‘Help me with the prosthetic.’ Together they remove Alex’s pants and free his leg. Michael strips down to just his boxer briefs. Alex follows suit. They curl together underneath the wool blanket. Michael tucking Alex into the crook of his shoulder. Alex’s arm tossed across Michael’s stomach, fingers stroking at the soft skin along his ribcage.

‘Thank you for telling me.’ Michael whispers the words into Alex’s hair, following them with a kiss. Alex stretches his neck up and Michael bends down to kiss him on the mouth. Slow and easy.

There’s a clock somewhere ticking, rhythmic and lulling. And as the snow piles up outside, they fall into the best sleep of their lives.

[bookishbarnowl]

A Night Masked With Changes: Chapter 1

Once a month, the town held a Masquerade Ball. Ostensibly, it was a chance to catch up with your neighbors and enjoy a night of carefree revelry. In reality, it was paradise for anyone who wanted to get away from who they were during the day. Not everyone hid their identities, but most did, and they came from all walks of life.

Clay's finally ready to attend the Ball himself, determined to explore the world beyond the castle. Romance is not something he accounted for. Whoops.

Warnings: None

Relationships: Dream & Technoblade (twins), Dream/George, Dream & Wilbur, Dream & Sapnap, Dream & Fundy, Phil/Kristen

Word Count: 1,929

Ao3 Link: Here

Chapters: 1 (here) 2 3 …

The clock in the Great Hall had just sounded twice, and the castle was silent. Guards were just beginning to nod at their posts, servants had long since retired to bed, and the royal family should have been asleep in their beds. The young crown prince was defying expectations.

Clay carefully shut the door of his bedroom with a quiet click, his usual extravagant attire exchanged for a simplistic suit of forest green and a dark cloak. He’d spent the last few nights working on his mask, a blank white disc carefully fitted to his face and painted with a plain black smile. It was embellished with stylized ferns and edged with painstakingly painted daisies. He was proud of it, perhaps embarrassingly so. Art was not one of his strong points.

He spared a quick glance towards the door a few rooms down from his own, knowing his twin, Technoblade, was asleep inside. He’d seriously considered dragging him along on this little excursion he had planned, but ultimately decided he couldn’t risk it. His brother could carry a secret to his grave if he wanted to, but he was a serious stick in the mud about rule breaking. Clay’s general rule of thumb with his brother was that if it could get him in trouble, he kept it to himself, and he really didn’t want his dad to find out about this. This was most definitely in that category, so tonight he was alone.

The other person he’d desperately wanted to confide in was George, his best friend. Technically, he was Clay’s valet and manservant, but over the years their relationship had evolved into something much deeper than that. They spent most of the day together and their friendship had gone from tentative giggling at jokes the other made to raucous late night gossiping sessions and sharing practically everything with each other. George had been the first person brave enough to make fun of him (besides Techno- he didn’t count) and Dream found that he actually liked being the butt of a joke when he could laugh with the person and snap back with some witty retort. George wasn’t afraid of him, and when one was the crown prince, unprejudiced companionship was a valuable commodity.

His friend was currently asleep in the servants quarters far below him in the depths of the castle, sharing a bedroom with fellow servant Floris. After a lot of troubled consideration, he’d decided that he would keep this escapade a secret, at least for now. The worst that could happen to him was he’d be grounded or punished by his dad, but George could lose his job or even worse if he was discovered helping Clay sneak out of the castle. His father wouldn’t care whose idea it had been, only that they were both involved. He was not willing to put that on the line, so no matter how guilty it made him feel, he was going to do this by himself. Besides, Floris was a light sleeper. It would be hard to avoid waking him up.

He slipped down the hall and crept down the stairs on cat feet, tying the strings of the mask behind his head as he went. Getting out of the castle was a simple matter, he’d long ago discovered a window that was loose in its casing and large enough to fit through while being light enough to lift by himself. He could slot it back into place from either side of the wall, which made it the perfect escape route.

The outer wall was a bit more of a challenge, but there was a reason he’d waited until this exact moment. There were only twenty minutes until the next change of the guard, so they would be tired and bleary from four hours of alertness. If he was careful, he could sneak up to a parapet and let himself down with a rope, which is exactly what he did.

He landed on the ground with a soft thud, tying his rope to a nearby tree so that it couldn’t be pulled back up without a hassle. He checked that his mask was secure on his face, then darted off into the night, bound for the brightly lit village in the distance.

Once a month, the town held a Masquerade Ball. Ostensibly, it was a chance to catch up with your neighbors and enjoy a night of carefree revelry. In reality, it was paradise for anyone who wanted to get away from who they were during the day. Not everyone hid their identities, but most did, and they came from all walks of life. Some came in shoddily patched linen with burlap sacks over their faces and some came in fine silk with embroidered bandanas hiding the countenances of high profile officials, but all were treated with the same welcoming spirit. One’s real name was a well-respected secret, and unmasking someone was the ultimate act of cowardice. Anyone who broke that trust would be punished without remorse.

Clay had known about the event for quite some time now, having heard a few details from George, and had finally worked up the courage to attend himself. He was sick and tired of everyone looking at him and seeing someone to be impressed and flattered. He wanted to meet someone as himself for once. Tonight, he wasn’t the crown prince. With the mask and costume on, he became Dream, his idealized self.

He snuck into the town square through an inconspicuous alleyway, ducking into the crowd and hoping he hadn’t been noticed by too many people. He wasn’t looking to draw attention yet. He got a few looks, but most people were content to return to their own conversations and pay him no mind. He was about to sigh in relief, glad to have made it in unscathed, when someone touched his shoulder. He jumped and rapidly turned to face them.

It was a man in a pale tunic and dark pants, the bottom half of his face covered with a cream-colored bandana and sparkling black eyes winking mischievously at him from the upper half.

“Welcome to the Ball,” he offered cheerfully. “You seem like you haven’t been here before.”

Clay nodded, not trusting himself to speak yet without giving himself away.

“Well, if you’d like a dance partner, I would be honored to make your acquaintance.” The man bowed cheekily, extending his hand in invitation.

Clay couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse. He was Dream now, and Dream took risks. Dream could afford to dance with strangers without fear of judgement. He nodded again and took the man’s hand. He was promptly whisked off to the center of the square, where about a dozen couples were dancing to the lively music.

He was grateful for the years of rigorous lessons he had to fall back on as the masked man swept him into the forms of the dance with confident ease. His new friend was leading, but he found he didn’t care much and excitement thrilled in his heart as the man swung him into a dip with a brilliant smile that was obvious even with his mouth obscured.

He felt so alive he could fly, grinning like a madman as the two of them twirled across the square in perfect step. His cape swirled behind him in effortless elegance when he spun, the lightweight fabric echoing his thoughts as he realized he could never happily go back to the heavy woolen mantle he wore to formal events. He’d never danced like this outside of the privacy of his lessons, and it was exhilarating.

The last measure of the song sounded with a triumphant zing, moving into a more sedate melody. His dance partner bowed once again, breathing hard and eyes wild with delight. Clay, equally tired and elated, bowed low in return.

“May I steal you for one more?” the man asked, nodding towards the other couples, who had transitioned to a stately waltz.

In response, Clay caught his arm and took the lead, placing a firm hand on his waist and gently guiding them into the first steps of the dance. They were the epitome of grace, well-matched in skill and dexterity as they flowed through the figures of the waltz. He started to notice a few people staring, growing aware that compared to most of the other attendees this level of expertise was unusual. He decided he didn’t mind the eyes on him as much as he usually did.

With the relaxed pace of the slower song, he was free to fully take in the man in front of him. He was a couple inches shorter than Clay himself and had a shock of dark hair that stuck up in all directions, his skin a few shades shy of olive. The hand clasped in his was callused around the fingers but not the palms, so he probably wasn’t a manual laborer, but he was still well-muscled. His costume was simple but the fabric was a far cry from the coarse cotton of many people here.

Clay estimated he was somewhere in the upper middle class, but he had no idea who was standing in front of him. He felt sure he would’ve remembered those impish eyes if he’d seen them before.

He wondered how he himself looked. He knew his height and fitness weren’t anything to scoff at, and compliments on his appearance were common, but what impression did he make without his famous face? He felt mysterious and intriguing, and certainly something about him had attracted this man’s attention. It felt good, knowing that he was interesting enough to seek out even without his title. He was sure his joy must be showing on his face, and he wished he didn’t need to hide it.

“So,” his partner began, interrupting his thoughts, “do you speak, masked man? I would love to know the voice that matches such exquisite dance skills.”

Clay cleared his throat, pitching his voice a few tones higher than usual. “My ability is no greater than yours,” he said appreciatively.

The bright eye-smile was back. “It’s rare I find such a well-trained dance partner, good sir. Do you have something I can call you?”

“Dream,” he answered warmly. “And what can I call you?”

“Sapnap,” he replied. “And what are you seeking tonight?”

He thought for a moment. He obviously couldn’t say he was escaping royal responsibilities. “An unbiased eye,” he admitted after a brief hesitation. “Why are you here?”

“Why, to dance!” Sapnap laughed. “It’s a Ball, after all. You’re the best partner I’ve seen since the Blood God, and I’ve been coming every month for ten years.”

“Who’s the Blood God? Are they a regular attendee?” he questioned, interest piqued. The name itself evoked fear and awe, but a certain majesty tempered it. And they were apparently a dancer as well.

“He comes most times. He’s here tonight, actually. He keeps to himself, but I finally convinced him to favor me with a dance a few months ago. He’s a very strong performer. He’s dressed in a red cloak and a pig mask, if you’d like to find him later.” He glanced over Clay’s shoulder and his eyes widened. “Or you can meet him now. He’s coming this way.” His expression switched into something more nervous. “To be quite frank, he intimidates me. Act cool.”

Clay laughed lightly and finished the waltz, bowing to Sapnap one more time before turning around to meet the Blood God. His jaw dropped as he saw who was pushing his way through the crowd, suddenly very glad indeed that his face was covered.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- its been a while, I haven’t known how to carry the story forward, but recently had a burst of inspiration and wrote the next three chapters. Judging from the last chapter’s feedback, the events of this one isn’t going to be too satisfying.)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3  4  5  6 7  8  9  10  11  12  13

Warnings- Angst, angst and more angst

Chapter 14- Cut The Ropes And Let Me Fall

2 Months Later Filming had been through with Jackson’s yelling, “And that’s a wrap!” At the end of the last scene. The camera had stopped rolling, and wouldn’t again unless the need for re shoots arose and by the end of the week, Y/n and Keanu were carded to fly back to Los Angeles. But that wouldn’t be before a photo shoot for promotional pictures and the wrap party the night before their flights. 

By then, they’d managed to smoothen things out yet again, though, they hadn’t been left void of tension; every now and then, they’d reach a fork in the road, reminding them that things weren’t what they used to be. He’d say something a little too harsh or Y/n would get a bit too close, and for a few days, until one of them had decided that it was time to forget, they’d toe around each other, desperately avoiding any kind of serious talk. 

But, despite the awkwardness, things were surprisingly good too. The highs were higher than they used to be. Keanu had mostly forgone his suite, falling asleep next to Y/n most nights, and they would wake up tangled in each other’s embrace the next morning. It was nice, and was worth the bursts of tension, that served as tormenting punctuation.

“You look cute in this,” Keanu slowly sauntered towards Y/n in the now empty dressing room, immediately taking her in his arms, bending to nuzzle her cheek, "You should keep this blouse," he tugged on the fabric of the lace crop top, which generously boasted her cleavage, the color standing out on her skin.

"Maybe I'll ask if I can," Y/n giggled, looking at their reflections in the lengthy mirror mounted to the wall. Her manicured nails skimmed his forearms, clad in leather, leaning her head back on his shoulder. 

Quickly kissing her, Keanu let his touch invade the scalloped hem, inching upwards suggestively, "How long do we have before the shoot?" The mumbled inquisition was muffled as his ministrations traveled lower; behind her ear lobe, lower down her jaw and along the delicate column of her neck. 

"Not long enough," with wavering restraint, Y/n tried to untangle herself from Keanu's affectionate embrace. He'd still insisted on keeping their entanglement under wraps, hiding things from the press and their co workers. Of course, there'd been a few close calls; pictures taken displaying compromising positions and mummers on social media, but even then, their respective publicists had been able to spin the stories to suit their narratives. Y/n and Keanu were close, comfortable friends, who'd grown used to intimacy on set; there was nothing more between them. Each time, it had stung and Y/n couldn't help but feel like his dirty little secret during those periods. But alas, if she wanted him, she'd have to compromise. That was how relationships worked, right?

Even if what they shared was never really a relationship.

Wiggling and turning in his embrace, Y/n gently pushed on Keanu’s chest, biting half her lip as her eyes sparkled, clearly wanting things to continue, just as much as he did, “As much as I want to, we have maybe ten minutes-”

“I’m sure we can make that work,” Keanu leaned in, trying to kiss her again, “Besides, who cares if we're a little late huh? We’re the stars babygirl, they aren’t gonna start without us. Now come on,” dismissing her objecting, outstretched arms, Keanu closed the space, finding her lips in a breath-stealing, hungry kiss, already pawing as the button of her jeans.

“Is the door locked?” Breathless, Y/n spoke against her lips, smiling at how his beard scratched her face. Y/n was already in the process of finding the lapels of his jacket, ready to push it off his broad shoulders, when, answering her question instead of Keanu, was the sound of someone opening the door.

“Places in- '' Jackson stopped abruptly upon seeing them, and frazzled they instantly sprang apart. Immediately, Keanu folded his arms, backing away hastily to put some space between them while Y/n slumped against the edge of the counter, where various products had remained scattered. After months of hiding things, they’d gotten caught on their very last day on set. “I knew it!” Smirking defiantly, Jackson propped himself on the door-frame, “You two,” he pointed between them, “Are good actors, but terrible liars. Especially you,” he pointed accusingly to Keanu, who went all red in the cheeks, barely saved by his scruff covering half his face. 

“What?” Y/n croaked, her throat suddenly dry and her voice hoarse. She was fine with being discovered, but Keanu, she couldn’t tell what he’d do when they were alone. Maybe he’d decide that she wasn’t worth the risk. Maybe she should get to decide if he was worth another round of tears. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew,” maybe their resident mad genius wasn’t as mad and out of touch as they’d made him out to be. It was always the ones you didn’t suspect anyway. “Those little looks that you two share, the very realistic kisses. At first, I thought I’d struck a chemistry goldmine,” chuckling, Jackson shook his head, pushing up his glasses with his pointer, “But there was something about the way you hold her,” he turned to Keanu, his features softening, “I’d never seen in something,” making an elaborate gesture with his hands, Jackson searched the ceiling for the right word, “Manufactured.”

“I…..” She could tell he was flustered and uncomfortable, even from where she stood, almost two feet away. Keanu would have done everything to keep their so-called relationship in a box, away from the outside, away from something that would make it real.

Saving Keanu the trouble of having to find an excuse to deter his suspicions, Jackson's ability to be sociable left as quickly as it came, and in no time, he was back to his skittish, borderline intolerable self, “Well,” he clapped his hands dramatically, “I hope you two can keep up this momentum, it’ll be fantastic for press. We can tell the media that working together sparked your love and now, you’re inseparable, I’ll run in by the publicists,” already he was walking out of the room, expecting Y/n and Keanu to follow him, something they’d only caught up on when he’d already started down the long hall. Before they joined Jackson, Y/n tried to catch Keanu’s gaze, hoping to gauge his reaction, but he was actively avoiding her face, and that in itself was enough to tell her that he was not okay with what had gone down. 

“Your relationship is going to be a great selling point,” he continued, not caring for their objections, his mind already made up, “But anyways,” they’d just broken off onto the main floor, where things were already set up for the photo shoot, “We should get into the shoot, we’ve only got this guy for a couple hours, Gary had an emergency back home,” Jackson explained briskly, “But thankfully, Lucas here is an amazing photographer. Lucas!” Jackson snapped his fingers, beckoning over a tall, blonde figure.

When Y/n saw his face, she gasped, and she could have sworn that it was impossible for her jaw to not hit the floor. As if things couldn’t get worse. “It’s actually just…..” upon seeing her, he seemed just as shocked, though Y/n supposed that he should have had the upper hand, considering he should have known what movie he’d be doing the pictures for. “It’s just Luke,” he finished, shaking his head, looking bewildered, “Y/n.”

“Luke, you’re….” at a loss for words, Y/n couldn’t help but long for a spontaneous split in the earth to swallow her up and dump her straight into hell. At least there she wouldn’t have to deal with awkward situations with her current ‘sort of’ boyfriend and a ‘sort of ex-boyfriend’ that she’d never officially broken up with. “You’re doing the shoot?”

Clearing his throat, he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly as uncomfortable with it as she was, “I am, Y/n-”

“Well, lady and gents,” Jackson interrupted, apparently not noting the tension, “We’ve only got this place for a few more hours, so we should get started.”

“Yeah, okay,” Keanu was the one who’d spoken, and it was the first time since he’d been cut off by Jackson in the dressing in the dressing room that he’d even opened his mouth, two words said in a tone that was perfectly u readable, “Let’s do this,” without another word, he walked off in the direction of the set up, not even offering a backwards glance.

Y/n was about to break off from the group and do the same, when, just as Jackson moved away, Luke grabbed her arm in a loose grip, “Hey,” he offered her a faltering, faint smile, “Can we talk after?” 

His eyes were pleading, though, just as Y/n was going to tell him that they could, Jackson circled back, “Oh and Lucas,” he’d already completely forgotten, or perhaps he just wasn’t listening, Luke’s clarification of his name, “Get some some good ones of the happy couple.”

“Couple?” His gaze still penetrated Y/n’s sickened expression, though his brows now falling as hope drained from his face, “Right”

“Luke-”

“You know what?” He mustered up a brave face to hide his hurt, letting go of her arm and taking two steps back, “Never mind, let’s just get this done, okay?” And when she nodded, not really knowing how to remedy anything that had happened in the past thirty minutes, he turned away, “Great.”

Great?

No, it wasn’t great. Not really.

Music throbbed in his chest and the air was ignited by a buzz fueled by freely flowing alcohol and the relaxed, carefree demeanor of the cast and crew alike. Filming was finally over, they’d put in the hard work and they'd reap the rewards in about four or five months. He should have been enjoying the party like everyone else, but Keanu just couldn't.

So, instead, he'd gone out through the back of the club, lighting a cigarette between his lips and holding a half finished beer in his free hand. Since earlier that day, when Jackson had caught him and Y/n almost in the act, his mind had been bombarded with a flurry of thoughts. He was the one that had wanted what they had hidden, while simultaneously, Keanu was also the one making it glaringly obvious. That wasn't what he wanted; Y/n was making a fool of him, and fools got hurt. 

Keanu didn't want to get hurt.

Things had only gone even further downhill during the photo shoot and Keanu could tell that it was taking everything in Luke to not take a swing at him. Keanu couldn't blame him, if the roles were reversed he might have done the same. Y/n was……..absolutely astounding. She was breathtakingly gorgeous, incredibly intelligent and had a one in a million personality. She worth punches. She was worth more than he could give. Because as hard as Keanu had tried to convince himself that they could work, he knew that he was just postponing the inevitable. He couldn't be with her forever, he wasn't the forever kind of man and her affections already ran deeper than his by far. 

He couldn't do that to her anymore.

The fun was over.

Taking a pull from his smoke, blowing out a white puff seconds later, Keanu barely turned when the heavy iron door behind him in the dark alley way dragged open with a definitive wail. He knew who it was without even looking, he could smell her perfume, clinging to her satin skin and the shimmery black, mini slip dress that she'd slid into before they left her hotel room. He'd had her in that dress, while it was bunched up over her stomach and she was pressed against the wall of the living room, just before they'd left for the party. If only Keanu had known it was the last time he'd lay hands on Y/n again, he might have savored it more.

"You've been out here for a while," he knew that she'd picked up on his pensive mood a while ago, and though he hadn't asked, and not had she told him, Keanu could tell that there was something weighing heavy on Y/n's mind.

"I wanted a cigarette," he huffed, blowing out another cloud, finally glancing her way when she came to stand beside him, staying a few inches away. "Shouldn't you be inside?"

"Yeah," she chortled halfheartedly, rolling her eyes, taking a punctuating sip from her red disposable cup, "Shouldn't you?"

"I told you-"

"I heard you before," when Y/n cut him off, Keanu could sense a new malice in her voice, and growing defensive, he wondered where it came from.

"What's your problem?" He rolled his eyes, taking one last drag from the stub before tossing it to the ground and putting it out with the toe of his worn brown boot.

As it seemed, Keanu wasn't the only one putting up unwarranted defenses that night, as Y/n shot back, "My problem?" Moving around so he'd be forced to look at her, Y/n licked her lips, shaking her head, "You're the one who's been icing his girlfriend out."

And just like that, just as he fired his last, shitty attempt of a defense mechanism, Keanu chuckled dryly, not even thinking as he spoke, "You're not my girlfriend." Though, the minute he caught his foot in his mouth, Keanu tried to clarify, "Fuck, that's not-"

But it was too late, it was already out there and Keanu's words had hit Y/n like a bullet to the chest, "What?" Her anger, chased with insurmountable hurt and swirling confusion flared, driving what came next, "That's not what you meant?" She mocked, trying to suppress a sniffle, "What did you mean, huh? Did you mean that I'm just some girl you're fucking cause its convenient? Or did you mean that you were still seeing were this is going, and so far, it's not going like I'm your girlfriend," she took a breath, gathering her thoughts, "Well newsflash Keanu, maybe that's a good thing, maybe I don't want to be your fucking girlfriend!"

Her words were angry, but he could see past it, the cracks in her exterior shining through to show her pain. The tears in her ears, the break in her throat. Yet still, he didn't sympathize. If they were going to be like that then it was every man for themselves. "Well maybe that's good!" He yelled, not caring if anyone would hear them over the music, "Cause this isn't working for me."

"This isn't working for you?" Y/n repeated incredulously, "It was working for today, when you wanted to fuck me over a makeup table. It was working for you when we fucked while the car was waiting for us downstairs, right before we came here. God you're so…..ugh!" Through with it, ready to just be alone with her hurt, Y/n tossed her cup at him, watching as it bounced off his chest, the alcohol soaking his front, "You know, everyone thinks you're such a nice guy, but really, you're just another asshole. No wonder you're alone."

"I-" But his argument was muted, for in just seconds, Y/n was gone through the door again, slamming it on her way in, leaving Keanu to curse at the cold air as he spun and tossed his bottle to the grimy wall, the smashing filling his ears. That was it, they were over, and on his terms too. He'd been the one to pick the fight, fan the flame. Keanu wanted that, he wanted to be done so he could move on without falling too deep. And for a while, he'd told himself it would be easy because really, he'd barely let Y/n scratch his surface. 

A breakup was what he wanted. But as he stood there, face hot and eyes stinging by surprise, Keanu couldn't quite decipher why it hurt so bad. Why his breath had gone so ragged, why tears were falling down his face. Why his heart felt like it was breaking. 

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @thesadvampire​  @fanficsrusz​  @fickensteinn​  @ladyreapermc​  @babygirltaina​  @septimaseverina​  @snatchedbylele​  @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx​  @magnificentclodpiebanana @allie1804-fan @keandrews  @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx​ @danceoftwowolves

[jonathananubian]

Cuun Tracinya [SWs Fanfic]

I’ll only be posting the first chapter here. The rest will be on AO3.

Synopsis: Kote was raised to believe the jedi were near gods of infinite power who only accepted the best of the best. But when he meets an injured soft eyed man with coppery hair and a sweet smile- he realizes that jedi are more fragile than he'd been led to believe.

Something about this man, his gentle sincerity, endless kindness, and fiery determination, calls out to him. Calls out to all of the vode. They were told they were created for the jedi. But Kote can't help but thinking that maybe... it was the jedi who were made for them.

Tags: Alien biology, Taung ancestry, obsessive and possessive behavior, dubious morality, clone culture and pack dynamics/hierarchy. Characters: Obi-wan, Cody, Rex, the 212th Pairings: Obi-wan/Cody, Obi-wan/Rex, Obi-wan/212th Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782984/chapters/65336146

The first thing they learned as cadets was that they were made for the Jedi. All powerful and aloof beings that would find them wanting if they weren’t good enough, fast enough, strong enough, or smart enough. The second thing they learned was what happened to those who didn’t make the cut. The brothers who disappeared one cycle and never returned. The ones with the wrong color of hair or eyes, the ones who had trouble learning, the ones whose hands shook when they whispered late at night ‘I can’t do this anymore.’

Nothing but the best would do for the Jedi.

Rising through all of that was a near impossible task and yet some vode found solace in the struggle, in the challenge. Kote was one of them. Jango himself had named the future clone commander after a particularly nasty test called the Gauntlet. Kote had stood tall against the challengers and held his position at the top, never allowing a single vod or even trainer to unseat him. He was moved straight to the command track the next day.

As they grew they were introduced more and more to the idea of Jedi and what serving the Republic would be like. Soldiers, they were, and fighting was in their blood. But something struck Kote as odd. What he could find of the Jedi painted them not as war heroes but as some kind of peace keeper. He began to wonder why the Jedi, powerful beings of near limitless power with the ability to move things with their mind, would need an army. If one of them was worth an entire battalion… then why were there battalions to begin with?

The first time he saw a Jedi he knew immediately who and what they were. Brown robes, soaked from the rain, and pale skin that could barely be seen from under the wide hood. A thrill of anticipation ran through him. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he needed to know.

Then the hood came down and he froze. Copper locks, the likes of which he’d never seen before, and liquid blue eyes that made his heart speed in his chest. “Huh, Stewjoni. Don’t see that every day.” Two of the trainers had been doing a review of the troops, pitting them against each other in some sort of game to see how well they could think on the field. Both of them stopped to watch the Jedi as they passed. “Wonder how the Jetii manage to keep them away from all the slavers. Stewjoni are a rare breed.” Kote’s eyes followed the Jedi until they were out of sight- he needed to do research.

Stewjoni, it turns out, were a race of near-humans who were known for their high fertility and advanced adaptability. They could survive, and even thrive, almost anywhere. Them being a Jedi just made all the more sense to him now. And yet… the Jedi had looked so small next to the Kaminoans. There was something almost meek and gentle about them that made Kote frown in concern. He hoped he would be able to see them again and ask all the questions burning a hole in his mind.

Kote, and a large chunk of the command class, had never really put much stock in the Force or the Manda the trainers occasionally spoke about. So when he came across the Jedi again on his way to a class he was stunned still for a moment. The Jedi, who really needed a name, leaned against the white walls as if trying to keep themselves standing. Their cloak was gone and their uniform was soaked through, as if they’d decided to take a swim in the raging ocean below. Their hair was almost the color of blood and there was a bruise on their cheek. Kote started when he realized they were wounded.

“Sir!” The Jedi turned to look at him and fear crossed their face for a moment before it was hidden behind a blank mask. Kote knew that expression well and it shocked him to the core to see it one someone who was supposed to be his superior. “Let me help you to medical, Sir.” He said quietly, holding up his hands in a placating gesture often used on the more skittish of the young cadets. The Jedi gave him a small smile, trying to wave him off.

“Oh, no, I am perfectly fine. No need to see a medic. I’m only catching my breath.” They looked up at him, straightening, and Kote was surprised to find the Jedi was smaller than he was. Not by much, but it was enough. Funny, he’d never thought they would be smaller than he and his brothers. “Your, um, template?” The question was tentative, as if the Jedi wasn’t quite sure how to ask.

“The Prime.” Kote answered easily enough, liking the way the Jedi’s expression softened to appreciation.

“Ah, yes, thank you. The Prime, that is Jango, and I had a bit of a disagreement. I’m afraid my ship was utterly destroyed before he tossed me into the ocean.” There was a lightness to their voice, a hint of humor. It almost made him ignore the statement itself. Almost.

“The Prime did what!?” The Jedi shrank back slightly, as if worried about his reaction to the news. Honestly Kote was surprised he could read the nearly inexistent body language, especially with the loose clothing they were wearing. But there was something so expressive about their eyes, something that drew him in. “Sir, please at least let one of my medics check you over.” Knowing that the Jedi were supposedly mind readers he tried to force sincerity and concern into every single word. The Jedi shuddered slightly and licked his lips before slowly nodding. In relief Kote reached out and took the Jedi’s nearest arm, putting it over his neck and slipping an arm around the Jedi’s back to help him walk.

“This is completely unnecessary, you… ah.” Kote looked down at them when they faltered, finding the slight flush of their skin to be endearing. “I’m afraid I didn’t get your name.” Kote frowned slightly.

“Sorry, Sir. I am CC-2224.” There was a very pointed silence for a moment that he could almost feel. The hand over his shoulder clung even harder to his armor for a moment. “Or… you could call me Kote, if you prefer.” It was a risk, a gamble. There was no reason to believe a Jedi would care about something so simple as a name. Yet the relieved smile he received was enough to make his tense shoulders relax.

“Thank you for trusting me with your name, Kote.” The Jedi blinked for a moment, then frowned. “Is it Cody, or Glory? Like Darasuum Kote?” Hearing the Mando’a fall from their soft lips so easily made something light up inside him, something he couldn’t explain or control. He had to swallow hard past the sudden lump in his throat in order to reply.

“Bal kote, darasuum kote.” He murmured, feeling the tips of his ears burn.

“Suvarir. Kote it is.” They paused and a sheepish look crossed their face. “My name is Obi-wan Kenobi, He/Him, I am a Knight of the Jedi Order.” Kote tilted his head, wondering what that was in terms of rank. The Jedi were supposed to be their Generals, so he suspected it was something in that vein. He also didn’t miss how the Jedi had labeled himself as male, or at the very least using male terms. Kote would have to be sure to use them. Some of the trainers got particularly incensed when you messed up and called them by the wrong term.

As they walked further into Tipoca city every brother they passed quickly snapped to attention, trying desperately to hide the surprise and glee at finally seeing a Jedi in their midst before realizing that he was hurt. Even without looking Kote could just feel the sudden worry and concern, like a tangible sensation against his skin. Under his arm the Jedi shivered, although he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or from the thoughts of his brothers around them. Eventually he sat them down in a common area and barked for a medic. The battalions had been assigned for half a year now, so everyone already knew their place. Where Kote went the rest of his battalion wasn’t far behind. So it wasn’t really a surprise when Stitch practically materialized next to them and began to fuss.

“Sir, what happened to you?” There was a hush as the clones waited to hear the Jedi speak. Kote already knew what his voice sounded like and even he was excited to hear that voice once again. The Jedi looked around at them wide eyed and politely cleared his throat.

“As I was telling Kote on the way here. I had a… disagreement with the Prime.” He glanced to Kote, as if trying to gauge whether he’d said it right. Kote gave him a small nod of acknowledgment and the Jedi continued. “We fought and my ship was destroyed. I ended up in the ocean, it was all quite unpleasant.” The hushed anticipation turned to awe. Even with their superior genetics none of them had ever been able to go toe to toe with the Prime. The fact that the Jedi didn’t have any broken limbs or was bleeding out all over the floor was impressive to say the least.

Stitch tugged at the Jedi’s clothes and got an annoyed look in response. The medic just scowled imperiously. “Sir, I can’t check you over properly unless you remove your… tops.” They weren’t quite sure what to call the loose cloth that covered the Jedi but it was obviously in the way. Seeing no objections, no one to back him up, the Jedi let out a sigh and finally complied. Kote tried not to stare at the pale scarred flesh, only focusing on the spreading yellow bruise over his right side. For the first time in his life he felt a small pang of jealousy as Stitch ran careful fingers over pale skin.

“Sir, you have at least three cracked ribs, multiple contusions, and a twisted ankle. I can administer a pain killer and some bacta, but that’s the best I can do at this time. I’m only a medic.” The Jedi smiled and shook his head.

“Really, there’s no need, I’ll be f-”

“What’s all this?” An unwanted voice called into the quiet moment of awe. Kote clenched his fists even as he straightened in response to a voice that he had been taught to obey. Sergeant Priest shoved past the troopers milling about. The man stopped once he could finally see the Jedi and his face contorted with disdain. “Jetii!” He hissed, reaching for his weapon.

Without a second thought three of the vode tackled the training sergeant to the floor. It didn’t matter if they were scared of him, it didn’t matter that he had a weapon and they had none, Priest had attempted to attack the Jedi. The Jedi who had been wounded in a previous fight and was sitting there amongst them, looking small and vulnerable. All of their instincts kicked in as the need to protect the Jedi took over.

“Get off of me!” The sergeant growled, trying to kick and punch the vode who were holding him down. The Jedi rose from the bench and moved closer to the struggling men. Kote wanted to reach out and stop him but found himself rooted to the spot when those blue eyes darkened to a stormy gray. Priest stopped moving and glared up at the Jedi. “You’re Kryze’s pet jetii, dar’manda whore!” He spat, face reddening with anger and strain. The Jedi stiffened in surprise before reaching out a hand and holding it above the sergeant’s face.

“Sleep.” Sergeant Priest shook his head vigorously, though his struggles were becoming weaker. “Go to sleep.” The Jedi wasn’t loud or even particularly forceful but there was something firm in his voice that felt unnatural, otherworldly. Priest’s eyes rolled back slightly before he slumped to the ground, unconscious. Whatever he’d done had rendered the man no longer a threat. The vode who had been holding onto him relaxed and slowly got up.

“Sir, we’ll see to it he’s locked up.” The Jedi smiled, though he wavered slightly on the spot.

“Thank you. I don’t want him to hurt anyone else.” There was a pause and a sigh. “I didn’t think that Jango Fett would allow Kyr’tsad anywhere near him, let alone allow someone like that to train his…” He shook his head almost sadly before he seemed to remember he had an audience.

Now that the danger was over there was more than one vod whose eyes were slowly trailing over his still unclothed chest and back. The Jedi’s face flushed beneath his beard and he shuffled nervously on his feet for a moment. “Sir, sit down and let me do my job. You need bacta. I’m worried about that sprain.” Thankfully Stitch was a persistent bastard of a vod and quickly hustled the Jedi back to the bench.

“Kote!” Turning he spied his favourite brother and smiled. Rex was a little winded, he’d probably run the entire way. Skidding to a stop next to him his brother opened his mouth to ask a question but stopped. His eyes had continued onward toward the odd splash of color in their midst and suddenly whatever his brother had meant to ask was gone to the void. Rex’s mouth hung open as he gaped at the half naked Jedi. Kote nudged him with an elbow and Rex shook for a moment, as if pulling himself out of a daydream.

“Is that-” Kote nodded.

‘Jedi. Mine. Get your own.’ It was only meant to be a playful jab, a throwaway joke, but something deep in his mind curled around the idea, clinging to it. The clones had been made for the Jedi, of course they would belong to them. But… why? Why did they need the clones if they were so powerful? He knew the Kaminoans were constantly lying, during testing, during class. Even the training sergeants disliked and distrusted the Kaminoans. So why should they blindly believe-

His brother responded by slapping him on the back of the head, which immediately broke through his thoughts. He glared at Rex, who gave him a cheeky smirk in return.

“Oh, hello there.” That soft voice called out to them. Rex turned to look at the Jedi and froze, expression carefully blank. Kote knew he was worried what the Jedi would think of him. After all the strict training and harsh testing Rex had been through, solely due to the color of his hair, he knew his brother was expecting to be found wanting. Even if he was one of the most talented vode.

“Sir.” Rex said, sanding at attention. The Jedi’s smile faltered slightly for a moment but it quickly returned.

“Who might you be?” Rex glanced at Kote, who signed a quick ‘designation,’ at him. His brother took a breath.

“CT-75-” The Jedi waved his hand in the air and Rex’s mouth shut with a snap.

“Oh, no, I… if you happen to have a name you prefer? I would be more than happy to use it.” Kote watched Rex as his brother digested the Jedi’s words before giving a slow, wary, nod.

“Rex.” The smile his brother received was one that Kote would be unable to forget as long as he lived. It was like seeing the sun for the first time.

“Oh thank the force! Please, if you all have names I would be honored to use them. None of this numbers business.” He faltered slightly, looking around. “Unless of course you prefer your numbers, in which case I will honor your decision and do my best to remember.” It was like a shock wave went through them. No one had ever told them they had a choice before.

“Thank you, Sir.” The Jedi looked up at him oddly, a slight frown on his lips.

“For what, Kote?” Stars, he could get used to hearing his name in that soft lilting voice.

“For using our names.” For giving them the choice to use them. A fierce look came over the Jedi and he stood, arms crossed over his chest.

“It’s what you all should have had from the beginning. You are all sentient beings with your own thoughts, feelings, and preferences. Each and every one of you shines differently in the force. You may look alike on the surface, Kote, but you are all unique.” A hush fell over them all as he spoke. There was a fire inside the Jedi that touched something within them, setting the tinder in their souls aflame.

“Sir.” Kote said, stepping closer and giving a proper salute. “We are at your command.” His, and no one else’s. Kote had already decided. This Jedi was his and he would kill anyone who tried to get in his way.