#the three of them shouting 'RIGHT?!' at each other across the sea

[shipperwolf1]

Each of the Unsundered at various points in the msq, being defeated and cleansed in the aetherial sea:

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"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE, IT WAS THE 'FAMILIAR'"

[iamyoursonly]

The Morning of the New Year (01/01/2024)

happy new year guys!! wish the best for 2024 <33

New year new me, we always say. As the New Years symbolises the fresh start of a new year after a period of remembrance of the passing year, and every year, there’ll be fireworks showcased by the sea. The variety of colours painting the sky, red, blue, green, yellow… they were everywhere. The light blinding as they fly up to the sky and a big sound of ‘boom’ right after its release. While all of the audience were either watching such a spectacular sight at home on television, or at the pier in person. No matter where they were, the moment of countdown was always very, and I mean very overwhelming. People cheer and jump up when the countdown finally hits 1, celebrating the joy of the beginning of the year, and it influenced everyone. And it was like this every year.

This year, I don’t think the joy they’re giving off influenced me. I was at the pier, holding a cigarette and a can of beer, leaning on the bar near the pier. It was 1 AM, everyone has left after all the hype the countdown has given them. Just an hour ago, everyone was surrounding me and I felt like I couldn’t breathe, all that happiness and the feeling of bliss, I couldn’t relate to it at all. Cameras flashing and the shouting were too much for me to bear, I didn’t even know how I made it through all that noise. The quietness surrounding me right now is much better, the noise and the hype belongs to another world which does not include me. I breathe out a mouthful of smoke, feeling the right amount of tar, carbon monoxide and nicotine hitting my lungs beforehand as I let out a sigh of relief.

“TEN!” The crowd roared, with the announcer hyping them up.

“NINE!” More people joining this moment.

“EIGHT!” Even more people feeling the hype.

“SEVEN!” The announcer screamed, and they followed.

“SIX!” As if this was a moment to celebrate, they cheered.

“FIVE!” I puffed on my cigarette.

“FOUR!” They screamed with even more excitement.

“THREE!” The children joined in.

“TWO!” Everyone looked happy.

“ONE!” They look ready to jump up.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” I exhaled the smoke as everyone jump up, congratulating each other about this new year.

Then the fireworks began, as the vibrant colours burst across the night sky, illuminating the darkness with their radiant splendour, I stood amidst the crowd, watching the mesmerising firework display that welcomed the arrival of a new year.

As the fireworks soared higher and exploded in a symphony of light and sound, each dazzling moment seemed to accentuate my own feelings of sadness and loneliness. As the fireworks painted the sky with brilliant hues, tears welled up in my eyes, blending with the vibrant display. Each shimmering cascade seemed to echo the emotions swirling within them: the explosive bursts mirrored my suppressed pain, the fleeting beauty mirrored my fleeting moments of happiness, and the fading trails of light mirrored the fading hopes I carried.

As the final firework illuminated the sky, showering the world with a resplendent glow, everyone clapped. With a bittersweet smile, I turn around to leave the venue, only to find myself there again after everyone left.

“What is a pretty lady like you doing here?”

A man said, I did not even notice his presence until he was only a few inches away from me. I could feel his breath on my neck when he talked to me. The alcohol and the cigarette must’ve been getting to my head since I couldn’t make myself push him away. Was it because I had an empty void I needed to fill in my heart? Or was it just because I wanted someone to be with me?

I turned around to face him, he was gorgeous. Had the prettiest eyes you could ever imagine, ocean blue like they reflect all the emotion he’s feeling, I feel like I could look at them forever. His hair stood out so much too, white and smooth, like you can run his fingers through his hair all night when you lay down in bed with him. And his face, he was even more beautiful than Brad Pitt, and no one is prettier than him. Oh he’s so tall too… In just that instant, all the delusions that I have kept hidden in my head has come out just from this man. My cheeks flushed a pink hue, I didn’t even know if it was the alcohol or if it was how pretty he was.

“Uh… I’m just here to enjoy the midnight breeze.”

He looked at the cigarette between my index finger and my middle finger, and the can of beer in my other hand. “With a can of beer and a cigarette? I doubt that.” He laughed, then he continued, “Mind if I take a sip from your beer?”

I hand him the can, and he gladly takes it. He takes a generous sip from the can and gave it back to me. “Thanks, I needed that.” I smiled, and took a sip from the can too.

“So, why are you here? To enjoy the midnight breeze too?” I asked him, he chuckled.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned on the bar that I was leaning on, just with his back facing the sea and looking up at the sky. As if I could suddenly feel the misery radiating off of him, it’s like he could cry any second if he stops laughing and pretending to be happy, I grabbed him into an embrace. I could feel his body jolt from the shock, I totally understand, since who’d willingly hug a stranger… But he slowly responded to my embrace and hugged me back. He choked a few sobs into my shoulders as I tried to comfort him amidst his intoxicating scent. He smells like candy and bubblegum, it does fit his bubbly character, making him seem mature but not that much.

“How’re you feeling?” I whisper to him, trying to make my voice appear as soft as possible. He looked into my eyes after standing up straight again, I noticed the red stains around his eyes though he was trying his best to keep his cheerful character. “Never better.” I put my forehead on his chest, and I smiled without him seeing. “I’m glad to hear that.”

In the moment, I feel as if ‘Lover’ by Taylor Swift was playing in the background. Our souls were connected suddenly, his warmth radiating as he took the beer from me and drank from it. We didn’t speak at all, the silence was really pleasant. In the midst of a chaotic world, it was like we were in a gentle refuge that embraces the weary soul, offering respite from the ceaseless clamour of daily life. In the arms of silence, he takes a puff from his newly lit cigarette after wrapping his arms around me. The companionship he brings me makes me feel comfortable, it felt like my mother embracing me at night, asking me to tell her what happened to me after I came home crying.

I stand up straight after leaning on him for as long as I remembered. I take a big puff on my cigarette, and exhale towards the sea though the breeze blew the smoke right back into my face. He does the same. “I was here because the world seems too much for me.” I look at him, and he continued while remaining a faint smile on his face, “Lost a real friend last year.” I could feel my heart drop when he told me that, I didn’t know what I would feel about that if I were in his shoes. I choked out, “What?” And he looked back at me as I stared at him attentively. “Yeah.”

I want to give him a big hug again, though it may be inappropriate since we just met an hour ago. The moon seems even brighter it was as if all our worries were lifted up and we were the only people still at the pier, “Can I hug you?” he asked softly. I eagerly jump into his embrace, giving him the biggest hug he can even get. Feeling his warmth against mine and hoping that he’s feeling comforted right now, we stay like that for a moment.

As soon as he let go of me, I tell him my situation too. “You know I think we might be on the same boat, I lost my mother just a while ago, cancer took her from me. Grew up without my dad because he left for another woman. My mom raised me and treated me like a princess. My dad didn’t even come to the funeral…” I puff on my cigarette as I feel his eyes on me, it felt like he was going to pull me into his arms to comfort me. But he didn’t. Instead he puffed on his cigarette, then he exhaled the smoke and started talking, “I think we’re meant to meet, I’m glad I came to talk to you. My friend, he was killed. In fact, I killed him. Job issues you know? He was a murderer, but before that he was a kind man. The best I ever knew…” He didn’t speak anymore, but the emotions radiating off of him was a lot, so it was only appropriate for me to let him be, and respect his right to have his moment of silence. Though I don’t know if it was sympathy that I was looking at him with, or if it was just that I can relate to him.

“So much happened this year, not only did I lose my mom, I lost the person I trust the most too,” I spoke among the silence, “My boyfriend died in a car crash, he was such a brilliant man. We met by the pier too, just like you and me right now.” I let out a chuckle, he continued to look at me, “We started dating in the middle of April. It was like we were destined to be as Spring symbolises the resurgence of life after the inevitable challenges of winter. It was like he’s that rising energy that helped me feel more optimistic and driven to make the most out of our days. We were happy most of the time. But then we got into an argument in October, I thought he had another woman over at his house so I threw a tantrum at him though he kept saying it was only his sister staying over because of her divorce. Didn’t trust him enough so I left. He drove to my house to apologise but then got into an accident, then he died.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I leaned on him again. He wiped the tears from my cheeks and pressed a soft kiss on my forehead, as if he was trying his best to make me feel the comfort my boyfriend gave me. Then he looked at his watch — 3AM. The breeze at the pier felt even cooler and stronger than before. “Shall I take you home?” He gestured towards me, “I drove here.”

I gave him a smile, “Yeah, thanks.”

He walked me over to his car after we left our cigarettes on the nearest bin. As I take the seat next to him, he holds my hand while he starts the car. “You know, I think we make a good match, we should be friends. I feel like I can tell you everything when I’m just in your presence. Is this what soulmates feel like?”

The whole destined thing didn’t go well with me, after all everything that had happened with my boyfriend is still affecting me. But I sat in silence while he chooses the song to lift our drunken spirits. “Is One Direction of your taste?” He breaks the silence. I nod right after I turn to his direction. The car smells like him, the scent intoxicating.

As soon as he starts driving, as if on purpose, One Direction starts blasting on the speakers he had in his car. The whole ‘lift up our spirits’ thing is starting to work as he drives on the highway. I grab on his hand tight, because I didn’t want to lose such a good friend to the road again. The boyfriend flashbacks are getting to be again, but the One Direction songs keep distracting me from it, well thank goodness it did. I use my other hand to grab my phone to show him my address. He just simply put my phone on the phone stand he had attached on the car and starts driving towards my house.

The car ride seemed so long, and the One Direction seemed to get to my head. The strong beats hitting the correct spots in my head, making me slowly vibe to the music. “Thanks for being here for me today.” He says, with his cheeky grin back and he rubbed circles on my hand with his thumb. “Thank you too.” I respond, leaning my head on the car seat. The city lights painted vibrant strokes across the canvas of the night, creating a backdrop of urban enchantment when they finally got off the highway. As we gazed out at the starry expanse above, his grasp on my hand was even tighter. And as the car glided through the night, slowly arriving at its destination — my house.

“We’re here.” He spoke after he paused the music. And hands me my phone after putting his number in. “Call me, please.”

I thank him, for the drive, and for the time that he has spent with me today.

“See you soon, Satoru Gojo.”

masterlist

[stargazer-sims]

The Art of Redemption

(part 9)

previous // next // story index

—————

"You would've made a great parent," Stan says.

Stan and Beth-Anne are sitting at a table by the window in their favourite waterfront café. From their spot, they can see the wide wooden boardwalk and the grey expanse of the mist-veiled harbour beyond it. The pewter coloured sky is promising more snow, but Beth-Anne doesn't mind. Winter is her favourite season. She loves how soft and harmless everything looks when covered by a fresh snowfall. The snow creates a dreamlike image with no deep shadows or sharp edges, and nothing that hints at the harshness of the real world.

At this time of year, the boardwalk is quiet and mostly deserted, and that's how Beth-Anne likes it best. She prefers an uninterrupted view of the sea, and it's much easier to gather her thoughts when there isn't a crowd. Even from behind a window, the sight of the empty boardwalk and the slowly undulating ocean water helps to settle her.

She's not entirely calm, but she reflects that she's certainly felt worse.

She has just finished pouring her heart out to Stan about the metaphorical roller coaster she's been on. She told him all about the confrontation between Brett and Nikolai, her chat with Brett afterwards and her misgivings about the stability of his home life, and her persistent worry that Nikolai isn't showing much progress in recovering from the incident, even after several days.

To add to her troubles, Eden's parents seem to have developed a sudden and deep-seated fear that their child will get seriously hurt at the rink, and informed her this morning that they want to pull him out of both group classes and individual training.

Although they didn't come out and say it directly, Beth-Anne suspects this has to do with Nikolai and his injury. The Seong family doesn't know Nikolai. He and Eden are definitely aware of each other, but they've never met. Still, if Evie and George Seong are even half as tuned-in to the skating world as their son, she doesn't doubt they know all about what happened at the Four Continents.

Predictably, Eden didn't take his parents' expression of their concerns very well. The skating-obsessed little boy had reacted by creating the most dramatic scene possible; refusing to take his skates off, throwing himself to the ice and howling for all he was worth when his mother and father came to pick him up.

Beth-Anne sighs. All she needs now is for something to happen to make Mariah cry, and her students will have completed a streak.

"I'd be a shit parent," she says to Stan. "I can barely cope with the four kids I've got, and they're not even mine. Well, three I guess, since Nikolai is hardly a kid. Two, if I lose little Eden."

"You're not going to lose him," Stan predicts. "Kid with that much talent? Christ, from what I've seen, some day he might even be better than Nikolai. His parents would be out of their minds to make him quit."

"Tell that to them."

"I won't have to. If he can't make it clear to them himself, what's gonna happen if they pull him off the ice will do the job. I've watched him skate, and I swear to God... that child's entire body language shouts pure joy when he's out there. What do you think would happen if they took that away from him?"

"I don't want to think about that," she says. "I can't think about another one of my boys fading away." Her throat hurts, and the half-eaten slice of raspberry cheesecake on the plate in front of her no longer looks appetizing. Her stomach clenches as if she might be sick. "Everything's so fucked up right now, and I don't know what to do."

"Beth, look at me." Stan reaches across the small table and covers her hand with his. "Take a deep breath, and then tell me how much of the shit that's going on right now is actually something you can control."

She tries to meet his gaze, but her eyes start to sting and she lowers her head so he won't have a full view of her if she starts crying. "I... I don't know."

"Yes, you do." Stan's tone is firm, but not unkind. "You have no control over other people's choices. You have no control over how they act or what they feel. The only person you have control over is you, and when shit gets bad, the only feelings and actions you're responsible for are yours."

"Yeah, but—"

"No 'buts'. You know I'm right."

"I guess."

"No 'guess', either."

"Sorry."

"Tell me something," Stan says. "Are you being kind and fair? Are you really listening to your kids and doing your best to understand what they need?"

"Yeah."

"And are you helping them get what they need?"

"Of course," she says. "As best as I'm able to."

"Then, you're doing fine." Stan squeezes her hand lightly. "Those three boys and Mariah, they love you. Anyone can see that, and anyone can see how much you love them. You don't need to be able to fix everything. You just need to be present for them, and it sounds like you are, so how about you stop beating yourself up, yeah?"

"I want them to be happy. I hate it when they're hurting."

"I know." Stan still hasn't let go of her hand. He grips it a little tighter and adds softly. "Just like I hate it when you're hurting. You think I don't wish I could wave a magic wand and take all the pain away from you? If I could do that, I would, but I can't."

She turns her hand so she can finally grasp his fingers in return. "This is enough," she says. "You being here with me. Being my friend and listening to all my problems."

"It's enough for your students too," he tells her. "Most people aren't looking for miracles."

"Is it going to get better?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"Yeah, but... can you just tell me, please? I need to hear somebody say it."

"It'll get better. It always does." He smiles. "Your boys will be fine. Little Eden will get to keep skating, and Brett will grow out of needing to be constantly reassured, and Nikolai won't grieve forever."

"And what about me?" she asks.

Stan's gaze on her is steady. "There's more on your mind than all the stuff with your boys."

It's not a question. He knows her well enough that he doesn't need confirmation. What he's really doing is offering her an easy entry into talking about it. Stan is good at that, getting people to open up to him.

She closes her eyes and concentrates on the warmth of his hand. Stan isn't a physically affectionate person, but he knows when she needs grounding and he knows how to do it.

He'd sat with her and held her hand for hours when she'd been recovering in the hospital after her accident. He'd read books to her, some in English and some in his native Czech, so that she could hear his voice without having to say anything in reply. He'd dried her tears like no one else in her life had ever done. Stan has never been repulsed by her scars, never been afraid of her past.

Stan Kovac loves her like her parents should have. There's never been any question in her mind about that. He's not her real father, but he's the father she needs.

"It's the nightmares," she practically whispers. "The nightmares are back. Flashbacks too."

"How long?" Stan asks.

"I've been having nightmares since Four Continents. The flashbacks... they started up again a few days ago."

"And the drinking?" he probes gently. "That too?"

She shakes her head. "No. I promised you I wouldn't, and I meant it. I almost slipped up, but I got scared. Of what would happen, I mean. What I might do."

"You should've called me."

"I was scared."

Her voice is barely audible, but Stan still catches her words. "I wouldn't have judged you, little bee. You know that," he says. "Milena and I would've taken care of you. You and your Nikolai both."

"I'm sorry."

"No," he murmurs. "No, miláčku. You have nothing to apologize for. You're doing your best, and I know you've been trying very hard to manage everything. No one should expect more from you than that."

She tries to keep it together, but hearing him use the same term of endearment for her that he uses for Alžběta, his own daughter, causes something inside her to break. She's been holding so much in, fighting so damn hard to be strong for everyone, when all she really wants is to let go. She longs for somebody to take over the fight for her, just for a little while, so she can rest and not have to worry or be afraid. She wants someone to protect her like a parent protects their small child, to shield her from all the monsters waiting in dark closets, hungry to destroy her.

Without warning, an involuntary whimper escapes her. She pulls her hand away from Stan's and presses it over her trembling lips instead. Her eyes are streaming tears, blurring the world around her so that her surroundings no longer have meaning.

Stan doesn't say anything. He stands up, pulls some cash from his pocket and places it on the table between their two unfinished dessert plates. Then, he’s standing next to her chair, taking the hand that's not covering her mouth. He leads her toward the door, and then outside into the chilly February air.

Out on the boardwalk, Stanislav Kovac who rarely hugs anybody, pulls her into his arms and holds her tight. The last vestiges of her self-control disappear. She buries her face in the scratchy, vaguely peppermint-scented warmth of his old wool coat and lets out all her frustration, self-doubt, exhaustion, pain and fear in sobs that threaten to take her breath away.

She has no idea how long they stand there, but eventually her tears run out. She feels drained, and she doesn't want to move. In the back of her mind, she even wonders if she can. It would be nice to stay in the safety of Stan's embrace forever, as impossible as she knows it is.

"Let's go home, little bee," Stan says.

She tries to reply, but the only sound her aching throat produces is a tiny, pitiful squeak. She wants to tell him she likes hearing him call her 'little bee'. The pet name he gave her years ago is hers alone, and it speaks volumes to her desperate heart.

"We'll stop by your house first," he continues. "You'll need some things if Milena and I are going to keep you for the night."

"Wh-what... what about Nikolai?" she somehow manages to ask.

"We'll bring him as well, if he wants to come," says Stan. "There's plenty of room for both of you. He can have the downstairs guest room, and you can have Alžběta's old room. We've redecorated it. I think you'll like it."

She moves her head against his shoulder in her best version of a nod. "Okay."

"You can have a nice meal and a hot bath and a good long sleep. If you're feeling better in the morning, then we'll talk. Okay? And if you think you need a professional, I'll help you get in touch with somebody."

She sniffles. "No. I had my fill of shrinks a long time ago. I just... I need to tell somebody everything. And I need someone to tell me I'm going to be okay, that I'm not too fucked up to be normal. That I'm not broken."

Stan strokes the back of her head, just once, smoothing down her windblown hair. "We're all broken, Beth. Every one of us in our own way, and that's all right. It's okay to be broken. The important thing is not to let yourself believe you can never be mended."

[imlivinginyourtrashcan]

back at it again with the swap au

In this version, Giovanni is a mundie! Part of the crime family, The Potages! Only containing Gio, his two moms, and his very concerned Epithet having cousins, The Roughhouses

Now for what you've all been waiting for:

The mugger shrunk back. W-what the hell was she supposed to do in a situation like this?! Her eyes darted over towards the two teens cowering next to the backpack. Desperately, she grabbed the sea urchin looking one and held him at knifepoint, he pantomimed in mute protest.

"St-stop right there!" She shouted. "Don't you care what happens to these two?!"

Giovanni's grin did not falter for a second, in fact, it had gotten wider. More gremlin esc, you could say. He flicked his arms, hiding them inside his sleeves. "You think a hostage can save your ass? HAH!" He barked. "Go 'head, don't need 'em alive to sell their stuff, best thing they can do is postpone the inevitable by a few seconds, then I'll have three more body's under my belt." He flicked his sleeves, several switchblades coming out from inside, dragging them across the alley walls, his foot steps driving into the mugger's head like a mysterious ticking noise

Tik

Tik

Tik

"Is five thousand dollars worth their lives? Is it worth yours? You gonna wake up with five thousand in your pocket after you watch two teenagers die in front of ya? Or ya gonna let yourself die? These are aaaaalll hypothetical, it don't matter to me! It's your choice 'Sides," Giovanni stopped, eyes gazing the mugger with a serious, shaded away expression, like in an anime. "I've killed for less."

Suddenly, Giovanni charged the mugger head on until she ran out of the alleyway, screaming her head off like she had just saw five horror movies all at once.

Giovanni stopped, waiting until dead silence was all that remained.

Once there was reassurance that she was fully gone, the two ex-hostages looked at their saviour.

Giovanni Potage did not have an Epithet

Giovanni Potage had never been in a real fight in all seventeen years of his life.

Giovanni Potage started to laugh out of panic

"HOOOLY SMOKES!!! HAHAHAHA!!!" He spat quickly, hiding the knives in his sleeves while he gripped the wall. "That was SO SCARY! Hah! I may be laughing but on the inside I'm dying!"

Giovanni hadn't lied to the mugger fully about his background, his side of the family were a bunch of criminals, growing up learning how to scare, cheat, and lie his way through life. He tries his best to put all that behind him, though. If he had an Epithet, like his parents, he would use all these tricks all he wanted, but, he was a Mundie. So that means he has to lay low.

He desperately wheezed, hacking up whatever was in his throat. "Oh my god what a rush! I straight up thought we were all gonna croak! I know I kept my cool, but I swear If anyone touched me I would turn to dust."

Rick wrapped his arms around Giovanni, crying big stupid tears. "GIOVANNII!!!! MY SECOND BESTEST FRIEND!!! THANK YOU!!! YOU'VE SAVED US FROM THE MONEY HUNGRY WENCH!!!!!"

Giovanni awkwardly patted his back, then Lorelai was dragged into the hug, Rick nestling his head in the middle, tears falling onto the concreate.

"You too, Lorelai! I am so sorry the woman had drenched your work! But the best thing is that.... we are ALL HERE!!"

Ah, the beloved Neo Trio. Standing near each other, all three looked like Neapolitan ice cream, Lorelai and Rick's hair even made it so some of the ice-cream got into their section, authentic!

Giovanni Potage and Rick Shades, Lorelai's best friends, she cared about them more than anything else.

Now for RICK! Our beloved Rich little Sea Urchin! In the au, he's a Mundie, much like Giovanni. Being homeschooled most of his life, Rick never really got people, and people never really got him. He later finds two new BEST FRIENDS! Giovanni and Lorelai.

The good stuff:

"Hey.."

"Oh- eh- hello!" Rick waved awkwardly like a robot, as he started to sweat from the very thought of human interaction.

"Nice lookin' bag ya got there..."

The 'bag' she was referring to was Rick's murse, it was a cute little purple purse in the shape of a sea urchin. Rick had a... strange obsession with sea creatures, sea slugs, cephalopods, isopods, shrimps, crabs, you name it? He loved it. Sometimes he would tell random strangers facts only he thinks are cool.

"Thank you!" Rick held it up "It's a sea urchin! By the way, did you know that the sea urchin uses the hydraulic pressure of water moving in and out of their tube feet to move about slowly. They can also propel themselves along with their spines. That's pretty impressive, considering sea urchins don't actually have brains!" Rick info dumped, not picking up on the fact the woman clearly did not care.

"Look's expensive..."

"Oh indeed it was! I had to personally commission it!" Rick grinned, like a glitched character in a video game. The air got too thick with awkward silence to where he had to leave. "Well! Bye!" He quickly made a break for the exit, but the woman blocked her path.

"Who'd you get to commission it for ya? Might be lookin t'get one.."

"Oh! I paid that nice man at the Baxter's crafting store! No clue what his name was, but I'm sure he'd be happy to make it for you!" The bells in his head were not going off when they really should be

"Ooooooh Baxter's? Gee, I don't think I can afford it"

"Hm! Troubling!" Rick blinked, pulling out a book about Marine Biology from his murse. "Anyways, do you want to hear about 101 Ocean Wildlife Facts?"

Rick did not wait for an answer before flipping through it, clearing his throat, he read the first fact. "Number one! Many bony fish have more than just one set of nostrils. The nostrils of fish also do not open into the back of the mouth like those of mammals, and are not, therefore, for breathing. They lead into organs of smell, which are very sensitive in order for fish to detect the presence of food in the water at considerable distances. More nostrils = more smelling! Huh! Well isn't that neat?"

Rick, once again, did not wait for a reply from the woman. "Ahem, number two-"

The woman didn't think twice before trying to snatch the murse from Rick, making him grab for it with a whine. "Heyyy! That's mine!"

"Not for long!" The woman replied, tugging it. Rick shimmied his way out of her grasp, clutching the murse closely as he shoved the book back inside it.

"You bully! You could've broken it! I know just how to deal with you!" Rick declared, inching closer to the woman before embracing her. "You are only mean because of what society has done! I will be the first to break your mind away from these patterns of violence and thievery! I... forgive you!"

The woman swiftly snatched up the boy by his aquarium back pack, causing him to flail and wail.

"NOOOOOOOO!!! VHS TAPES!!!!! YOU LIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!"

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Midnight Blades {22}

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: Aemond takes his seat upon the Iron Throne. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, murder, blowjob. WC: 2318

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty || Part Twenty-One || Part Twenty-Two || Part Twenty-Three ||

Deep in the heart of the fleet, anchored in the harbour facing King’s Landing, you stood with Aemond and said, “I don’t like this.”

His knuckles turned white as he watched the soldiers on the ships ahead disembark to take control of the city, his fingers gripping the rail tightly. “You should try to rest, this will take some time.”

Exhaustion was heavy on your shoulders after a turbulent sleep but you knew it would be no different if you went below deck and tried to rest once more. The faceless women plagued you, mothers, daughters, sisters lined along the Scythian shores, weeping for their loved ones who were sailing to foreign shores with the very real possibility they would not return. You couldn’t erase their cries.

“We should be there with them,” you said before a shrill cry, and the reason you were not with the first ships, interrupted you. Leaving Aemond’s side, you met Nessa halfway and took Aedira into your arms and cooed, “Are you hungry, my sweet?”

Aemond curled an arm around your waist and led you beneath the deck where there was more privacy and so he could feed Kilexys, knowing the dragon and babe both had the same hungry appetite. At least this would serve as a small distraction while you waited for the dispatched ravens to return.

The response came at high noon and Aemond rushed to the deck after Ser Negan called him, finding a sealed scroll in the old commander’s hand. The wax seal broke as Aemond tore it open to read the message, the path to Red Keep had been cleared and the Lord Regent was awaiting the Prince’s arrival. 

“The Lannister insults you by calling you prince,” you said as you read the message. “You are the rightful King.”

“I will be sure to remind them all of the fact.”

The ship was rowed to the docks and a carriage was already waiting to take your family to the Red Keep, a familiar face standing among the guards circling it.

“Cole,” Aemond choked a little over the name as his trainer turned, looking a little worse than you remembered. 

“My King,” Ser Criston said by way of greeting and bowed his head before they embraced each other with a clap on the back. “It is good to see you.”

“And you.” 

The only reason Aemond had any idea of the happenings behind the red brick walls while he was recovering in Scythe was thanks to the letters Ser Criston was able to send across the Narrow Sea. Without the intel, taking back the throne would have been less certain - especially when it was Lord Jason Lannister who had assumed the role of Regent in the absence of any Targaryen males. 

“The Lords and ladies are waiting, ravens have been sent to those not already here. Are you ready?”

Aemond nodded and his jaw was set with determination. You could feel the subtle shift in him as he stood a little straighter and felt as if the world were righting itself after all the wrongs the past had brought. Even the crowds that had arrived and filled the streets behind the lines of soldiers could feel it and began to chant for the return of the dragon. 

You climbed the steps to the carriage with Aedira in your arms but Aemond stopped you, taking his daughter and turning to the crowd. “Greet your Princess, my daughter, Aedira Targaryen.”

Aedira blinked at the cheers and looked around curiously as the soldiers held the crowds back. Most of the revellers were supportive and threw flowers into the path of the carriage but the odd individual was taken away when they shouted threats or tried to break the line with a weapon in their hands. 

You were more than prepared to kill anyone who tried to stop your family from reaching Red Keep, and so were your soldiers as the carriage left the docks.

The carriage came to a stop inside the walls of Red Keep and the gate was closed securely behind. White cloaked guards stationed themselves outside the carriage and you handed Aedira to Nessa so that your hands were free to reach for your sword should you need. With one last look shared with Aemond, there was no turning back now and after a deep breath he opened the carriage door and stepped into the sun. 

The argument had been cyclical since Aemond stepped into the throne room and pointed Dark Sister at the man sat atop the Iron Throne. Lord Lannister still held his self-imposed position on the seat while Aemond was fast losing his patience. 

“I have returned to ensure peace to the kingdoms that are rightfully mine as a trueborn Targaryen,” Aemond growled as he took a step closer. 

Jason scoffed as he tapped his finger over the metal arm of the throne, “You bring a legion offering violence in the name of peace!”

“The army that fills the harbour and the streets are to ensure peace, and if there is a threat to that vision then yes, I will invoke them. Do not give reason to use such force. Swear obedience and loyalty to me as King and let’s put the bloodshed behind us.”

Aemond stared down at each Lord and Lady gathered in the great room, testing their will and taking note of who faltered before one by one they dropped to their knees. Satisfied by the sight, he turned back to Jason. “Remove yourself from my seat before I remove your head from your shoulders.” 

Jason looked at the others knelt and hesitated, he had tasted the power of being King and was no longer willing to relinquish that. Dark Sister flashed as Aemond struck, Jason’s hand barely having time to draw his sword before his head tumbled to the floor. 

“If anyone else dare thinks to claim what is mine, remember this moment.” Aemond tossed the slumped body of Lord Lannister to the floor and took his seat, caring not for the blood that seeped into his cloak. “Traitors will be dealt with swiftly and anyone suspected of treason will find their heads spiked to the wall. Any questions?”

A Lord you recognised as the leader of House Baratheon rose to his feet. “What if our questions are not to your liking, King Aemond, will we suffer the same fate as Jason?”

Aemond thrummed his fingers over the arm that you stood beside and he sighed as he looked at the blood seeping across the floor, “I will not kill over a question.”

“Then I must ask, what are your plans with the Scythian force? Who are they loyal to?”

Aemond placed his hand on your lower back and you stepped forward to answer Lord Baratheon, “They are loyal to me, as heir to the Oaken Throne, and I am loyal to my husband. Once the Seven Kingdoms are in accordance with his rule then they will return to Scythe, except for the royal guards. They will remain to protect the future Queen and King Consort of Scythe as well as our heir, Princess Aedira.”

Lord Baratheon nodded to himself as he absorbed the information before he had one final question, “And how long are we expected to co-exist with the very soldiers many of Westeros’ Houses have marched against under the Targaryen reign?”

You smiled and from the step he took back you knew it was not a pleasant one. “That is entirely dependent on the lot of you and your actions from this day.”

He swallowed deeply and fell silent with a respective bow.

You looked over the other’s, watching the shifts of their shoes as they squirmed and fingers that twitched for the reassuring feel of their swords. “I am sure there are a great many more questions that may arise, and after the public crowning of King Aemond this evening we will be happy to hold court and listen, for now I would suggest taking a moment to collect yourselves and think wisely.” Your eyes flicked to the body on the floor and many other pairs followed suit. “We do not wish to see more lives lost.”

“Does this foreigner speak on behalf of the crown?” The new Lord Lannister, Jason’s twin brother Tyland, asked. 

Aemond rose from the throne so he was standing at your side. “Careful, Tyland, that is your Queen you speak of.”

Tyland spread his arms open with an apologetic smile. “I mean no disrespect, but she is a foreigner.”

“She is Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and is to be treated as such.” Aemond let his words echo across the room until the silence grew heavy and he was satisfied the words had sunk in. “I expect to see you all at the ceremony.”

They took the dismissal gratefully and slipped from the room, whispering among themselves as they left. 

“That went better than planned,” Aemond said with a sigh as he dropped back into the throne and pulled you onto his lap and spoke to Ser Criston. “Send messages to the Lords Baratheon, Lannister and Tully. I wish to have them on my council.” You frowned at the choices and Aemond laughed at the sight. “You don’t agree?”

You chewed your lip before answering, “Tyland was on your father’s council, can he be trusted?”

“Otto did not have his ear, nor could he find a way to blackmail him,” Aemond said with a shrug. “He holds honour in high regard and did not immediately draw his sword when his brother fell.”

“All right, and the last two seats?”

“I will need a Hand,” he said as he looked at Ser Criston once again. “Someone loyal and trustworthy to my family. Cole?”

Ser Criston smiled, though there was a sadness to it. “It would be an honour, your grace.”

“And you,” Aemond said as he ran his hand along your jaw, turning you to face him. “There are thousands of years of tradition we need to break for our daughter’s sake. We shall start with your seat upon the council.”

Forgetting that the room was full of guards, you kissed your husband until you were breathless and needy. Aemond pushed you to your feet and smirked at your unsteady legs before he followed, his arm curling around your waist as he made his way to the doors.

“Have that dealt with while we are gone,” Aemond said as he looked over his shoulder at the body. “And have the crowns retrieved from the treasury.”

“Yes, your grace,” Cole replied as you left, his voice following with orders for the mess to be cleaned and the body disposed of. 

The door to your old chamber had barely closed when Aemond’s mouth was back on yours, his teeth biting at your lip until you gasped for him. “Are we not going to talk?”

“After,” Aemond growled as he tore the laces to your dress and pulled it from your body. “I need my queen first.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the title and you pushed Aemond’s back to the wall as a fever broke across your skin. You dropped to your knees as you freed his cock and he groaned as you slowly licked the length of him before taking him into your mouth. You took your time tasting him and teasing him, indulging in the control he ceded to you until the muscles under your hands tensed and he came with a deep growl.

The salty sweet cum coated your tongue before swallowing it and he pulled you to your feet, spinning you against the wall. “My turn.”

There was no space left in the great room with the high born and rich merchants filing in to see the coronation. The Dragon Pit would still be under repair for the foreseeable future so the Red Keep would have to suffice as the High Septon led Aemond through the aisle of soldiers and up to the throne. 

Aemond had chosen a crown that had not been worn since his family left old Valyria and arrived in Westeros, one made of Valyrian Steel. He had explained that the crown had been worn during a time of upheaval and ushered in a new age for the Targaryens, such as he was hoping to do again. He had briefly pondered the idea of melting the salvaged crowns that his brother and his sister had worn but thought the crowns served as a reminder to the lessons that had been learned. 

You couldn’t stop the smile growing on your face as you held Aedira close and watched the crown be placed upon Aemond’s head. Pride swelled in your chest as he rose from the last kneel he would ever take and drew Dark Sister, raising the blade to the chandelier. 

Your voice joined the chorus as the crowd cheered for Aemond Targaryen the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Prince of Scythe. A few guests were startled by the last title but as you had become a princess of Westeros upon your marriage he had become a prince of Scythe. 

Aemond took your hand and glanced at the diadem resting on your head, so very delicate compared to his heavy set crown. You could see the trepidation in his eye that no one else would notice given his relaxed demeanour and you squeezed his hand as you leaned in closer. “You will be a great King.”

His lip curled into a wry smile as he asked, “Is that a prophecy?”

“No,” you said with a chuckle, “it is a promise.”

He lifted your joined hands to the crowd and you heard his quiet whisper through the joyous shouts, “For Aedira, for you.”

Click here for Part Twenty-Three.

Taglist: @hopebaker , @xcharlottemikaelsonx , @eddiemunson17 , @ninjabritches , @solacestyles , @hideing , @missusnora , @marrianena , @jonsncws , @dudfahsn , @queenofterrasen418 , @naeviahope , @averagethottie , @evilcherries , @delusionsofnostalgia , @le-who-zer-her , @readsalot73 , @thewew , @m-indkiller , @blackundertaker , @insxgtt , @adoringanakin ,

[no6secretsanta]

Dangerous Thoughts

To: @secretagentfan

From: @glorifiedscapegoat

Hi, SAF! Happy Holidays and a New Year! I’m so sorry for the delay on this! I hope you like it! You mentioned that you liked AUs, so I went for a Shadowhunters AU because I felt like it suited Shion and Nezumi a lot. Especially since there’s some mutual pining here and some humor. I really hope that you like it!

- - -

“Poseidon?” Safu said into her cell phone, her brow crinkling. “As in the Greek god? That’s what you’re calling this thing? Why don’t you just call it a kraken?”

Shion was only half listening to Safu’s voice. He looked around. The sun had just gone down. He’d always loved to go to the pier, ever since he was a little boy and his mother had taken him there to play arcade games and ride the Ferris wheel. He loved the fair food—burgers and fries, cotton candy and popcorn—and the sparkler parties the college students held on the beach.

The mundanes had poured thousands of dollars into renovating the pier into a tourist attraction. The miniature amusement park was filled with new rides, street vendors, and ticket stands where sleepy-eyed girls passed out bright pink strands to children.

The boards beneath Shion’s feet were still warped and weathered from years of sun and sea salt. The air smelled of ocean water and the sticky scents of candy apples. The merry-go-round in the distance poured carnival music over the assembled crowd. There were ring-toss games where players could win giant stuffed animals, and beneath the railings were dark places where sinister creatures liked to gather.

That was the thing Shion wished he could change about being a Shadowhunter. Shion could see the beauty of the LED lights and mundane-made structures, but he also noticed the things the mundanes didn’t. There were dark sprites gathered underneath one of the abandoned picnic tables, gnawing on scraps of garbage and dropped fries. Over the railing, a mermaid twisted and danced beneath the white-capped waves. She had what appeared to be a glow-stick clutched in her fist.

“Are you all right?” Safu asked. She slipped her phone into the pocket of her jacket. The wind tossed her dark hair, gathered into a high ponytail and spilling to her shoulders. Safu, Nezumi, and Inukashi had dressed in gear, but Shion was wearing street clothes. Safu hadn’t intended for him to tag along.

“I’m fine,” Shion replied. “Where are Nezumi and Inukashi?”

“Over there,” Safu said, pointing.

Shion followed her gaze to the brightly lit stand where mundanes had gathered to compete against each other and win prizes. The goal was to toss a plastic ring and have it land around the neck of one of the red glass bottles lined in the center of a plastic pool. Shion didn’t understand what was so difficult about it—he was uncoordinated by Shadowhunter standards, and even he could throw rings and have them land perfectly.

Nezumi held three plastic rings in his hand. Inukashi, dressed in all black with their hair pulled back, stood beside him, eating blue cotton candy out of a plastic bag. There was a teenager standing next to them—a mundane from the look of the pristine white skin up his bare arms, which were currently folded across his chest.

Nezumi threw the rings, all three into the air at once. Each of them—red and green and blue—spiraled into the air and came down around the neck of the same bottle.

“Shit!” shouted the mundane teenager.

“Told you,” replied Inukashi, their mouth full of bright blue cotton candy.

Safu sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

A mixture of cheers erupted from the crowd of mundanes at the ring toss. Nezumi snatched his prize, something in a plastic bag, from the game master and said to the teenager, “Better luck next time.”

He headed towards Safu and Shion with Inukashi padding along beside him. His hair was pulled back, too, several strands hanging loose over his ears and falling to his collarbone. Nezumi had faerie blood in his family, like Shion, and it showed in his features: his vibrant silver eyes, his angular cheekbones, and the porcelain color of his skin.

Dangerous thoughts, Shion told himself. There were things he thought about his parabatai that he could never give voice to—no matter how much it was killing him inside.

“So,” said Shion, attempting to distract himself, “Rikiga said the demon is a kraken?”

“Supposedly,” Safu replied. Nezumi and Inukashi had come into earshot. Inukashi was muttering something about a pretty girl with pink hair who kept squealing whenever her boyfriend told her a joke. “It snatches children from the side of the pier. Someone spotted it lurking next to the boardwalk and thought it was algae–all right, why does Nezumi have a goldfish?”

Nezumi held the plastic bag up into the air. Inside it, a small orange fish swam around in a lazy circle. “I put a teenager in his place and won a fish for my troubles.”

Shion shook his head. Nezumi had spent most of his life training with his parents—two brutal Shadowhunters who had, ultimately, been torn apart by demons. Nezumi’s misfortunes had made him bitter and sarcastic to most, and downright snarky to those he liked spending time with.

Nezumi had adjusted well to mingling among mundanes (partially because of his part-time job at the theater, where most of the cast were Downworlders who had once been normal mundanes) but there were still times when he seemed to forget (or simply not care) that he wasn’t supposed to pick fights in public.

Nezumi stepped around Safu and placed the plastic bag in Shion’s hands. “My bright one,” Nezumi announced in a rather theatrical voice. “I have won a goldfish and offer it to you as tribute.”

He bent forward and kissed Shion on the cheek. Nezumi smelled the same as he always did: jasmine and snowfall, compressed together into something so unique to Nezumi that Shion had never found it anywhere else.

Nezumi had called him “my bright one” long before they became parabatai. Shion looked like he belonged to the Fair Folk, Nezumi had said—with his winter-white hair, pale skin, and bright red eyes. Shion wasn’t surprised. He had a bit of Fae blood in his veins, on his father’s side. “My bright one” was supposedly a sign of high respect for a faerie prince or princess, and so that, on top of “Your Highness” and “Your Majesty”, was a nickname Nezumi assigned to him.

It was a sweet kiss, gentle and soft against his cheek. Though he knew Nezumi was merely joking, Shion blushed. He glanced over at Inukashi, who was watching with wide eyes. Safu looked pale and shocked. It was only a brief glance before she schooled her expression back into impassivity.

Shion took the goldfish. “Thank you, Nezumi. She’s beautiful. Have you named her yet?”

“I thought His Majesty would be upset if I were to impose like that,” replied Nezumi with an indifferent shrug. He took one look at the unimpressed expression on Shion’s face and snorted. “Don’t give me that look. No, I didn’t name her. Do you even name fish?”

“I named mine Bubbles,” answered Inukashi. They were leaning against the pole of a booth selling hot dogs and Coca Cola in massive red and white cups. “A kid in the Academy told me it was cruel to keep fish hostage and dumped it into the ocean. Didn’t have the heart to tell the brat that goldfish can’t survive in saltwater.”

“That’s horrible,” Safu said. Her cheeks were flushed from the mid-evening chill.

Nezumi put a hand over his heart—where his parabatai rune was located, peeking out of the hem of his shirt—and bowed his head solemnly. “A moment of silence, then, for our fallen comrade.”

Shion shook his head with a laugh. He eyed the goldfish in the bag and tried to think of a suitable name.

The goldfish had beautiful orange scales; upon further inspection, Shion saw that there were flecks of pale yellow and white along her sides and around her fins. She seemed to glow from within. Shion thought there might be a drop or two of fae blood in her veins and wondered if that would affect her ability to go into the Institute.

“I like Lady Macbeth,” Shion decided.

“Lady Macbeth dies, you know,” said Nezumi. “That does not bode well for that fish.”

“I can take care of a fish. I’m not forgetful like you.” Shion patted the side of the plastic bag and gave Lady Macbeth a small grin. “Don’t worry, Lady. You’re safe with me.”

“The hell do you mean I’m forgetful?” Nezumi demanded.

Shion opened his mouth to answer—and then he felt a shiver of cold pass over his skin. He knew. Demons gave off a distinctive aura, and though Shion had never been in combat with one, he’d been around them enough. Shadowhunters were instinctively capable of knowing when a demon was present.

All humor had gone from Nezumi’s face. Within seconds, each Shadowhunter had a weapon in hand: Nezumi had his knife, Safu had a seraph blade, and Inukashi clutched a needle-thin dagger. Shion clutched his stele in his fist, the crystal tip pointed outward.

“Where’s it heading?” asked Inukashi.

“Toward the end of the pier,” replied Safu. She jerked her head toward the assemblage of mundanes gathered near the railing overlooking the dark ocean water. “That’s where the most potential victims are located.”

“I’ll cut it off,” said Nezumi. He’d only brought his knife—but Shion knew how quick he was. Nezumi could move as fast as an elf, and though Rikiga required him to bring seraph blades and a sword, Nezumi could often make do with just his dagger and his speed. “Head to the beach and cut it off if it changes course and goes to the water.”

Inukashi and Safu were gone as soon as the command left Nezumi’s lips. Shion took off running toward the end of the pier, his sneakers thumping against the wooden boards. The wind threatened to knock Lady Macbeth from his hands, but he clutched her close and kept her from bouncing.

The stele felt warm and sturdy in his hand. Shion had no weapons, but he felt invincible. The dangerous thoughts from before had been cast aside. Everything in his mind focused on the task at hand: stopping the demon.

Shion heard the footsteps behind him. He didn’t have to look to know it was Nezumi. He’d been given no order, but Shion and Nezumi were parabatai—they battled together, traveled together. Nezumi’s footsteps had been at his side from the moment Shion had begun training.

“Over there,” Nezumi said, but Shion could already see it. A dark shape scurried along the railing, massive and thick, invisible to the eyes of unknowing mundanes. The Ferris wheel was coming back around for another stop. It had begun to slow.

Shion dove toward the Ferris wheel line and began to shove his way through it. He and Nezumi had not applied any glamour runes, so several people swore at them and shouted as Nezumi and Shion stomped on toes and elbowed ribs and knocked people to the ground without an apology. Shion had felt bad about it the first time he’d tagged along for patrol—and maybe he would after the demon was dead.

The carriage was coming to a halt. A young couple—a tall girl in a green school uniform and her petite girlfriend with her hair done up in blond pigtails—was about to climb in. Shion saw the demon beginning to head for the Ferris wheel, going for the metal rails.

“Sorry,” Shion shouted, shoving past the couple and nearly knocking them to the ground. The carriage was small, a colorful square with a pole in the center and two benches. There wasn’t much room to stand.

Over his shoulder, Shion heard the tall girl ask her girlfriend if she was alright. People in the line were shouting at the ticket master, but Shion had already collapsed against the side of the carriage as it had begun to lift back into the air.

The carriage rocked beneath his feet as Nezumi clambered in after him. He slammed the safety gate shut just as the thing hefted into the air. Nezumi leaned out over the railing, clutching his knife in his hand. “Where did it go?” he demanded, craning his head up.

Shion squinted through the lights. He’d seen it. He was positive of that. From this height, the Ferris wheel was a brilliant pillar of light and iron painted bars. The two carriages beneath Shion and Nezumi still had their previous passengers in them. The line below must have still been in a frenzy from Shion and Nezumi’s sudden arrival.

Nezumi set his boot on the bench, and Shion reached out to grab his arm. “Wait.” He set Lady Macbeth’s plastic bag on the ground of the carriage, safely tucked beneath the bench. “Runes,” Shion said, holding out his stele.

The carriage was still rising into the air. Shion could see the beach below, the dark water spilling across the sand. He saw the lights of Kronos in the distance. The mountains and the cliff edges were pinpricks of white towards the direction of the Institute.

The stars were dim and barely visible in the brilliant light of the amusement park. Nezumi glanced over at Shion, his expression blank. He stepped down from the bench and shrugged off his jacket. It slid down his back and landed in a heap, revealing his bare arms and collarbone.

Shion’s mouth went dry. This was the closest he and Nezumi had been to each other without any of the others near for almost a week, and Shion’s heart hammered a mile a minute. Nezumi picked up his jacket and held it out to Shion without a word. Shion took it, knowing the ritual well by now. Nezumi gave him his jacket to wear to keep him safe, Shion marked him with runes, and then Nezumi went off and slaughtered the demon.

The lights of the wheel had turned blue and yellow as Shion slipped Nezumi’s jacket on. The lights cast shadows across Nezumi’s face and arms. His hair hung down around his shoulders, most of it pulled back. Shion could tell by looking at him that he was a warrior: the bones beneath his skin and muscles were hard as iron.

Nezumi was beautiful. He had always been beautiful, even when he was bleeding in the foyer of the Institute. It was a memory Shion didn’t like to relive because it reminded him that there had been a time when he and Nezumi had not been parabatai. Nezumi’s silver eyes flashed in the changing lights of the Ferris wheel. He was beautiful, and Shion stood with his hand trembling around the hilt of his stele and his body aching.

He wanted to touch Nezumi. He knew he couldn’t. He and Nezumi had taken the parabatai oath—had stood in front of the Silent Brothers and pledged to fight together, to live together, to be together, but never to fall in love.

Nezumi stepped forward as the Ferris wheel brought the carriage around to the top. The collar of Nezumi’s gear was low, displaying the pale flesh of his collarbone. The top of his parabatai rune peeked out above his heart. The skin along his throat and shoulders was scored over and over with faded silvery lines that were only visible in brief flashes, the remnants of old runes.

Shion had to step closer to Mark him. He pressed the stele to Nezumi’s forearm. The runes bloomed beneath the tip of the stele: agility, stealth, night vision, glamour so the humans wouldn’t see him. Shion placed a Sure-Strike in between Nezumi’s collarbone, close to his heart where it would be the most effective. Nezumi was slightly taller than him, but enough to make a difference; Shion’s head reached to his chin, and he stared directly at Nezumi’s throat.

“Give me your stele,” Nezumi said abruptly.

Shion jerked his head up. He had just finished the runes. Nezumi reached out to take the stele from his hand, and Shion surrendered it without resistance. Nezumi stared at him, and Shion couldn’t read the expression on his face. Nezumi’s eyes had turned the color of storm clouds in the darkness of the carriage. The lights from the Ferris wheel had turned red and yellow, spreading out around them and spilling down to the pitch-black waters below.

Nezumi took Shion’s arm, the one with the parabatai rune on his wrist. He shoved the sleeve of his jacket and Shion’s button-down up. There was tenderness behind his touch, a gentleness that Shion had never associated with Nezumi before.

Nezumi pressed the tip of the stele to Shion’s wrist and pulled it in swift spirals around his skin. Bolts of warmth shot through Shion’s stomach and down to his toes. He shifted his weight to his other leg.

A single Mark appeared on the pale skin above his parabatai rune. Shion recognized it as the looping patterns of a protection charm. Nezumi’s head was bent forward, his gaze fixed on the task of finishing the rune. Shion fought to keep from shivering. His body felt warm.

Once the rune was finished, Nezumi handed the stele back to Shion. Nezumi’s pale arms were painted in runes of stealth and power, crafted in Shion’s elegant penmanship. Shion gazed down at the scratching on his arm. Nezumi had harsh handwriting, spiked at the corners as if he had carved it with the tip of his knife.

Nezumi gripped the hilt of his knife and stepped forward. He took Shion’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced their eyes to lock.

Shion’s heart clenched. “Nezumi?” he whispered. The lights of the Ferris wheel had turned to a deep, rich blue that almost threw Nezumi completely into darkness.

Something rose up on the other side of the carriage—a wriggling mass of frigid tentacles the color of blood. Not the fresh blood that came from a cut from a blade. The blood that welled beneath an infected wound that killed in slow, feverish tendrils. One tentacle had clung to the spoke of the Ferris wheel. Its mouth was open wide, its teeth sharp as needles.

“Nezumi!” Shion shouted, and Nezumi flung himself from the carriage. He caught himself on one of the many bars interlocking the spokes and carriages together.

Shion scrambled to the side and leaned over. Nezumi was holding onto the spoke with one hand. With the other, he hacked at the tentacle keeping the creature locked to the wheel.

The edge of the knife caught the creature’s tentacle as it reeled back. It screeched. Nezumi turned his face away as a spray of black ichor splashed against his neck and bare arms.

Shion clutched the stele in his fist as Nezumi pulled himself up on the spoke. For half a second, Shion considered throwing the stele like a projectile—but the creature, shockingly fast, was already scrambling down along the tangle of iron bars. And a Shadowhunter without their stele is as good as dead.

Shion ran to the other side of the carriage as the wheel began to descend. LED lights exploded around him in a sea of blues and reds and yellows. Nezumi clambered down the wheel spokes after it. Shion could see ichor spilled on the iron. He knew the creature was hurt.

The view from the Ferris wheel was beautiful. The pitch-black sea and the silver sand spread out beneath him in all directions. Shion felt like he was dangling off the edge of the world.

He could taste blood and salt in his mouth, and he knew it had come from Nezumi. Shion’s parabatai was jumping down the length of the wheel, using the spokes and wires and iron bars to steady himself. The creature had gone to the center of the wheel. Its crimson tentacles wrapped around the bolts and jerked. Shion leaned over to see what it was doing—and then he went cold.

The demon was attempting to wrench the bolt out from the Ferris wheel. If it succeeded, the whole thing would roll off the pier. Shion couldn’t pretend that any of the passengers on the wheel would survive, or that any of the groups of mundanes lingering below would, either.

The Ferris wheel rocked. Shion stumbled and caught the edge of the carriage against his stomach. He winced in pain. The creature had its tentacles around the wheel’s heart and was twisting it. Nezumi, spotting the demon and realizing what it intended to do, redoubled his speed and sprinted down the iron bars. He was too far above the wheel’s middle.

The carriage had begun to swing back down and around. Shion ducked when he passed the ticket booth. He couldn’t see the tall girl and her blond girlfriend, but the chaos in the line seemed to have died down. Once he was out of the loading dock, Shion raced to the edge and craned his head upward.

Nezumi stretched his body out along the iron bar. He wrapped his left arm around one of them, and then he looked down at Shion and nodded.

Shion knew, instinctively, without having to wonder, what Nezumi intended for him to do. He pushed the sleeve of his borrowed jacket up—pretending not to notice that it smelled like his parabatai—and etched a quick glamour spell on the inside of his wrist. Once the glamour rune had finished, once Shion knew he would be hidden from the eyes and ears of normal mundanes, he leaned over the edge of the carriage and screamed.

It was different from the squeals of delight from the Ferris wheel passengers. It was different from the laughter on the pier and the squeals of children up way past their bedtime. Shion poured all of his fear and concern for his parabatai into the sound. He released all the frustration he’d been feeling, all the late nights lying awake in his bed, all the dangerous thoughts he couldn’t seem to quell.

The demon stopped yanking on the wheel and raised its head towards the sound. Shion saw its three eyes, oval and glossed as pearls. Nezumi released his grip on the spoke and plummeted down toward the demon. As he fell, he angled his knife, his hair whipping back from around his face. He was a falling star, and the demon’s white eyes seemed to widen as it pieced together that Shion’s scream had been a distraction.

It was too late. Nezumi whipped the knife forward, driving it down into the top of the demon’s skull. The blade punctured its flesh with a slick, wet sound. The creature’s tentacles flailed in a dying spasm.

Nezumi wrenched his knife free and stepped off onto one of the spokes. The demon’s body jerked back and rolled along one of the downward spokes of the wheel. It reached the end and tumbled off. Shion thought he heard a splash in the ocean, but there was no time to wonder. He looked at Nezumi, who was scrambling down the side of the wheel and heading for the ground.

The carriage was coming back around towards the loading dock. Shion grabbed Lady Macbeth from her spot under the bench and hopped out of the carriage as it approached the ground. He was invisible from the glamour rune, so an empty carriage earned a few strange looks, but Shion was making his way through the crowd towards Nezumi long before anyone could wonder what it could mean. Mundanes had an interesting way of dismissing things they perceived as strange simply because it was easier to handle than the truth.

Nezumi was standing a few feet away under one of the pier LED lamps. He was breathing hard. He spotted Shion, and the tension in his body seemed to dissipate. Behind them, the Ferris wheel spun, lowering passengers towards the beach and picking up new ones for the ride. Shion could see the crowd of mundanes, the shimmer of water along the shoreline, and two dark figures standing on the beach that could have been Safu and Inukashi.

“Nice work, Your Majesty,” said Nezumi. He wiped ichor off his bare arms. It left black streaks on his pale skin, as if he’d been messing around with an inkwell and the whole thing had spilled on him.

“You, too,” Shion murmured, lowering his head so Nezumi couldn’t see him blushing. He clenched the plastic bag in his fist. Inside, Lady Macbeth swallowed bubbles and swam without a care in the world.

⁂

Safu and Inukashi were waiting for them beneath the pier. Inukashi had taken off their boots and waded partway into the waves. Safu was wiping ichor off her Hightower hunting knife. At her feet was a patch of drying sand the color of charcoal.

“Was the demon dead when it hit the water?” Shion called. The glamour rune on his right wrist burned in the crisp mid-evening air. “Please tell me it was. Even if it isn’t true.”

“Close enough,” replied Safu. “It rolled into the shallows. Inukashi caught it trying to crawl away, but they cut its tentacle off and it went down.” She nudged at the patch of ichor smeared into the sand. “The tentacle dove into the ocean, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

Nezumi had wandered away from Shion and down to the edge of the water. Inukashi splashed out of the shallows and jammed their wet feet into their boots. Both he and Safu were fully glamoured, and Shion saw a group of mundane teenagers completely overlook them as they walked across the beach. He wondered what the mundanes would think if they could see them now—a ragtag bunch of Shadowhunters splattered in black blood, with knives and steles rather than wallets and iPhones.

Inukashi made some snide comment in response to something Nezumi had said. Nezumi responded with a sound like a sardonic laugh and brushed some of the black ichor from his arms. All four of them were shivering. The night air smelled like dirt and seawater and popcorn. Shion could hear the carnival at his back. The city in the distance glistened like the carapaces of a thousand beetles, all silver and gold and blinking red. The ocean waves lapped against the sand in the distance. The moon had crept behind a small patch of clouds.

“We’d better get back,” Safu said, pulling her soaking wet jacket around her shoulders. “Before Rikiga sends a search party.”

“Where’d you park the Jeep?” asked Nezumi. He scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Some of the ichor had splattered across his face, leaving a trail of black tar over his lips. “I’ll drive.”

“Doesn’t that burn?” asked Inukashi. They were soaked to the bone, their dark hair clinging to their neck. It had come loose from its ponytail sometime during the battle, and they looked every bit as wild as Shion thought they had the day they arrived at the Institute.

“Not really,” replied Nezumi with an indifferent shrug. “Doesn’t taste that great, though.” He spat a glob of black onto the beach.

“It’s parked back there,” said Safu, gesturing to the carnival parking lot. At Nezumi’s disgusted look, she answered, “Well, what was I supposed to do? I can’t put a glamour rune on it, and I don’t want it to get towed. Rikiga still hasn’t forgiven you for the last time that happened, by the way.”

Nezumi examined the edge of his blade, as if he were looking for nicks. “He’ll get over it. Come on. Let’s get the Jeep and go back to the Institute. I need a shower.”

Shion examined the surface of the water. The silver waves lapped against the sand, a gentle shushing sound drowning out the cheerful wails of the mundanes in the carnival.

“Are we sure there aren’t any others out in the shallows?” he asked. “We should check.”

Nezumi, who had been wringing ichor and saltwater out of his hair, shot Shion an incredulous look. “Can you breathe underwater? ‘Cause I sure as hell can’t. Besides, those things are solitary hunters. Extremely territorial. That was the only one. Trust me.”

Shion didn’t even think to argue. His parabatai was better versed in dealing with demons in the field. And if Nezumi assured him that the creature they’d fought was the only one, then Shion would believe him.

Inukashi shot Nezumi a disgusted look as he spat another glob of ichor onto the sand. “Could you stop doing that?” They shuddered. “Disgusting.”

Nezumi flashed them a wide grin, his teeth stained black. Shion smiled over at him, as much as he could. He felt unnaturally calm around Nezumi, but he assumed it was due to the fact that they were parabatai. He was unbearably grateful that Nezumi had asked him to participate in the Trial of Fire. Five years ago, Shion never could have dreamed that the thin, rain-soaked boy in the foyer of the Institute would want anything to do with him.

Nezumi’s silver eyes flickered over in Shion’s direction, and Shion felt a surge of warmth shiver through his body. There was something about Nezumi, something indefinitely strange, a hint of wildness that reminded Shion of a typhoon. He could see it in the glorious silver coloration of Nezumi’s irises, the beautiful color he had never seen on any other creature.

Shion watched as Nezumi wandered over toward him. Reaching Shion’s side, Nezumi lifted his hand and brushed a lock of Shion’s white hair out of his face. Shion leaned into the touch, without thinking, and then forced himself to draw away.

Dangerous thoughts, he reminded himself, gazing into his parabatai’s sharp eyes and hearing the sound of Safu and Inukashi’s voices fading out. Completely dangerous.

[jadeleechisagoodboy]

Whew! The ninth chapter of the Jade x Yuu book 3 rewrite fic is finally up!

I think this is the longest I’ve gone in between chapters, but at least it’s up now!

As usual, there’s a preview of the chapter under the cut:

On the morning of the second day, Yuu attended class as usual, but just like the day before, they were unable to concentrate on the actual lessons.

Every hour that slipped by felt like a cage was slowly closing in around them. If their new plan failed… they would have only one more day to come up with something.

***

During lunch period Yuu and Grim met with Ace, Deuce, and Jack in a quiet hallway of the school.

“Finding a way to tear up an unbreakable contract, huh?” Ace said, after Jack and Yuu had finished explaining. “Sweet! It’s definitely underhanded, but hey!”

“It does seem like it would have a higher chance of working,” Deuce agreed. “Even if it is basically cheating.”

“Aw, shaddup! If we stick to our morals, we’ll be stuck with morays!” Grim complained.

“That, and Azul’s group cast the first stone,” Jack said. “They told us to get a photo from under the sea, fully intending to thwart us at every turn. Leona may play dirty, but he’s a brilliant playmaker. I think his idea is worth a shot.”

Yuu nodded. “The scrolls are probably kept in that massive vault in the VIP room,” they said. “Opening it will likely prove difficult.”

“Well, nobody should be in the dorms right now,” Deuce said. “We should go check it out.”

***

After successfully making it into Octavinelle unnoticed, the group made their way to the windowed doors of the Mostro Lounge. The inside was dark, and almost entirely devoid of life, except for the shadowy forms of fish swimming at the back.

Yuu experimentally turned the door handle and found it unlocked. They pulled it open and Grim slipped inside, running ahead to first check one side of the lounge, and then the other.

“The coast is clear!” He called back to the others.

They followed Grim inside, and made their way toward the VIP room.

“It’s kinda eerie in here when it’s dark,” Yuu commented in a hushed voice, looking up at the dark outlines of the hanging light fixtures.

“Yeah…” Deuce agreed, gazing at the fish swimming behind the glass wall.

Silence settled over them, then suddenly a hand grabbed each of their shoulders, shaking them, while a voice shouted: “Grahh!!”

“Uwah!!” The startled freshmen flinched and whirled around.

“Pfft!! Ha ha ha ha ha!!! That was too easy!!” Ace laughed, doubling over with his arms across his stomach.

“Come on, man!” Deuce said, punching Ace’s shoulder.

“You’re so annoying!” Yuu hissed, punching his other arm.

“Can you three focus??” Jack said, standing by the open VIP room door and gesturing for them to get inside.

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

tti episode 23

“Last time, on Total Takes Island: those lazy, ungrateful maggots got swept up in a flash flood caused by Chris’ weather-making machine and were left on a deserted island to die. The skinny one got lost at sea until he paddled back, accompanied by a crayon drawing with the same IQ as him. The other three ended up together in a treehouse after glasses and sarcasm central got themselves spooked by a fake dinosaur skeleton, even though the green one knew it wasn’t real. Eventually, they all found production camp and the drawing took the walk of shame. Yeah, it’s me doing the recap again. Got a problem with that?!” Chef shouts. “Chris is off on his paid vacation so I’m hosting today’s episode… again.”

The rain has finally cleared (or Chris’ machine just ran out of oil) and the sun is finally shining again over Wawanakwa. It’s a bright and sunny morning, the day before the next challenge, though no one seems exactly enthused about it.

McLovin is hidden away in the craft tent, making macrame owls (which he’s been producing in droves, filling his cabin with), Ass locked everyone else out of the communal bathrooms so they could take a long shower, and Michael and Julia are glaring daggers at each other across the mess hall.

The breakfast today was left out on the counters- a cold, chili-like substance with just enough spices to completely cancel out the flavor altogether- and Chef is nowhere to be seen. Julia mixes the reddish-brown slop with her spoon before forcing herself to take another hesitant bite. The silence hangs heavy over the room.

Finally, Michael speaks. “Where’s your boss at?”

“They are not-” Julia pauses, seething. She takes a deep breath and calms down. “Showers.”

“And you’re not there to wash their feet like a good disciple?” she asks, smiling at her own joke. Julia glares.

“Absolutely not. I’m not their employee, we’re allies,”

Michael rolls her eyes. “Oh, right, just like how I was your friend?”

A deep silence falls once more. Julia stands and scrapes the rest of her plate into the garbage before sitting next to Michael.

She sighs. “I really am sorry, you know. I didn’t think you’d get so upset. I guess I didn’t start thinking about other people until-”

“Scruffy?” Michael raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Julia says, balancing her chin in her palm. “It’s so stupid. They’re totally smart enough to know that they were being played, and they helped me anyway.”

“Have you considered the idea that they actually liked you?”

Julia bites her lip. “Maybe. But that… and what happened with Ass made me realize how bad I screwed things up between us, even though we were never really friends,”

“Well,” Michael pauses and then smiles. “We could always start.”

Julia smiles back, and the two shake hands before the intercom screeches to life.

“Attention, campers! Report outside your cabins at 0900 hours- and that means now!”

---

McLovin is already out, sitting on the grass and making a macrame owl as Chef watches and shakes his head sadly. There’s a large, boxy TV set on a cart sitting out on the grass besides the two.

Ass fluffs their newly shampooed and dried hair as Julia stands next to them. She takes a breath for a second before turning to them. “Is that my shampoo?”

They shrug. “I ran out,”

“I only had enough left for-”

Ass holds a finger to her lips to shush her as Chef begins speaking. Michael rolls her eyes from nearby.

“As you may have heard, I am in charge of tomorrow’s challenge. But before that, Chris left these instructions for me,” Chef says, holding up a piece of paper. “He wanted to give you all some… extra motivation.”

McLovin stands, holding his owl. The remaining campers glance at each other nervously.

“So, here’s a few encouraging words from your fellow campers,” he steps back, turning the TV on. Footage from the confessionals begins to play.

---

BONNIE: “What do I think of Julia? Well, besides the fact that she’s a backstabbing little witch who loves to insert herself in everyone else’s business, she’s rude, scheming, passive-aggressive, and downright annoying. But at least she’s not Ass,”

---

COURTNEY: McLovin and I have been best friends since the very beginning. I’m not surprised this dumb drama show is trying to tear us apart,”

---

MICHAEL: “Julia’s not exactly the nicest person on the island, but at least with Ass here, she isn’t the meanest,”

---

ASS: “McLovin? Please. He’s the exact opposite of a threat,”

---

SCRUFFY: “Listen, I know Julia’s sucking up to me extra hard to get my vote when it comes to the next few elimination ceremonies, but, I’ll admit: I kinda like the attention,” they pause to smile. “Plus, when we’re not in the game, she can be pretty cool to hang out with.”

---

The screen goes static and everyone turns to Julia, who’s just beaming. Chef rolls his eyes and thwacks the top of the TV to get it working again.

---

SHA-MOD: “McLovin?! McLovin is my best homie on the island, possibly in the whole world! I hope one of us wins so we can move in together in a massive dream mansion and open an oil rig or whatever rich people do!”

---

The screen goes static once more. McLovin wipes a tear from his eye. Chef sighs. “Most of the confessionals people gave about you, we can’t air due to profanity,” he says, squinting at Ass. “But we still got some left.”

---

MAX: “Don’t air this, but… I think Michael might like me. And, honestly, I… don’t hate that. I can’t take any chances, but maybe when I win I’ll have the guts to ask her out. She’s just so… you know?”

---

Michael smiles, her face tinted pink as the screen goes static again before turning to Julia.

---

JULIA: “Do I really believe that? No. But I need an ally and, well, to be frank, Michael has always come off as kinda desperate.”

---

JULIA: “Okay, how is that little twig still here? I totally miscalculated, I should’ve picked his pathetic ass off way earlier!”

---

JULIA: “I guess I should keep her on my side for the merge, but still… all that drama for what? A chick who can’t do anything but whine and argue? Um, yeah, I’ll take my chances with the egghead.”

---

JULIA: “Natalie- and yes, I’m not using that stupid name for her- is easily one of the most contrived, self-absorbed players we have. I cannot believe they’re still here.”

---

JULIA: “Me? Scared of Michael? Can you imagine?”

---

Chef turns off the television set. “That one had a lot to say,” he grumbles, wheeling away the cart. “I’ll see you all tomorrow for your next challenge!”

Everyone turns and glares at Julia, who smiles nervously. Ass flips their hair over their shoulder and walks off as McLovin hangs his head and holds his macrame owl close.

Michael just glares. “So much for new friends, huh?”

----

The sound of birds chirping and squirrels chittering seems louder this morning. That’s the first thought Julia has as she wakes up, sitting on the furthest bunk from everyone else (where she’d been banished to last night).

She rubs her eyes, scanning her surroundings. As her eyes adjust, she gasps.

“We’re in the woods!”

“Genius observation. We’re at summer camp, Einstein,” Ass grumbles, pulling their pillow around their ears.

“No, I mean we’re outside! We’re literally in the woods!”

Ass sighs and sits up, taking off their sleeping mask and scanning the clearing they’d been dropped into.

“Oh. I guess we are,”

They hop out of bed and put their hands on their hips, looking for some kind of instruction for their next challenge. When nothing happens, they sigh and walk over to Michael, shaking her awake.

“Hey, what the hell!” she says, sitting up suddenly and bumping her head on the upper bunk.

“Get up,” Ass snaps, looking off to where McLovin’s bunk is across the clearing. “Can someone wake that noodle up? We’re obviously starting our next challenge!”

“That is correct!” Chef yells through Chris’ megaphone as a helicopter hovers over the clearing. He hops off the drop-down ladder as it approaches. “Your challenge is to find your way out of the forest without starving, freezing, or otherwise dying!”

“You cannot be serious!” Ass yells. “We just did this!”

“Not quite. That time, you didn’t have teams,” Chef chuckles. “Each of you will get a partner- first ones back to camp win immunity. Now choose, and fast!”

Julia looks at the three other players, who glare at her sharply.

Michael steps next to Ass. “Yeah, I’ll take my chances with the pretentious one,”

“Hey, you can’t do that! Natalie is my ally!” she snaps. “Tell her!”

Ass rolls their eyes. “Um, maybe you would’ve been useful if this was a computer-nerd challenge, but this is wilderness survival. I’ll take my chances with the circus freak,”

“Thank you,”

Julia glares. “You can not just double cross me like that! That’s so unfair!”

“Don’t like the taste of your own medicine, huh?” Michael says as Chef tosses them a duffel bag of supplies. “Choose a side.”

Julia scoffs as the two get the go-ahead to start off from Chef. McLovin catches the next duffel bag and its weight immediately pulls him to the ground. She groans.

“Better hope you get back before sundown!” Chef yells as the helicopter swings back around and lowers the ladder. “It gets real dark out here!”

---

McLovin and Julia step through the woods as she digs through the pack. He’s been plucking long grass as they walk and using it to craft yet another small macramé owl.

“Compass, good. Water, some granola bars…” Julia says before looking up to see the creation he’s holding up to her with a big smile. “What is that?”

“It’s macramé!”

“Oh, God,” she sighs. “If we get attacked by bears, you’re going first.”

---

“Okay, so, what’s the plan?” Ass asks, slinging the bag over their shoulder as the two walk down the river.

“Well, camp is north, right? The sun is just risen over those hills, so that’s east, so camp is that way,” Michael says, pointing ahead. “As long as we don’t get turned astray, we should be there before night.”

“Good!” Ass says merrily before suddenly shoving Michael into the river current. “See you!”

“Hey!” she yells as she’s swept down south. “That’s so not cool!”

“Deal with it!” they shout back, chuckling to themselves as they begin walking north, supplies in hand.

---

Julia looks up at the sun and sighs. “It’s almost noon, and I still have no idea where we are,”

McLovin is busy with yet another miniature owl. He’s humming to himself as Julia grumbles about not the compass being cheap and crappy, weaving in and out.

She turns to him, getting slightly more annoyed with every passing second. “Could you please do something useful for once?” she snaps. “I am carrying this entire team on my back right now!”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job,” McLovin says. “We’ve passed that tree three times now.”

“What?! How would you know?!”

He looks up and points- hanging from a branch is a grass-woven macrame owl. Julia blinks, then begins looking around the trail- various owls are hanging from the trees they already passed. “Oh, my God. You’re making a trail!”

He shrugs. “Lots of weaving material out here,”

“Okay, so, if we already tried this path,” Julia thinks to herself, looking up ahead to where a fork in the trail leads to another, owl-less road. “Let’s go this way!”

---

Michael pulls herself onto the muddy bank of a downstream beach. She coughs up some water and steps onto dry land, caked in mud and river weeds.

She pulls off her parka and wrings it out, frowning angrily.

---

MICHAEL: “Is there anyone on this island who isn’t a completely selfish whack-job?”

---

Michael walks through the woods, carrying her parka over her shoulder. The sun indicates that it’s a little after noon, meaning she only has a few hours left to run upriver, completely without supplies or any help.

---

Ass walks merrily through the woods, humming. They stop to enjoy the entire supply of granola bars and half of the water, not concerned about having to share, and then continue on their way.

After a few more hours of walking, they get hungry again. They check the bag and find it empty.

“Great! Just great! Thanks for the provisions, Chef!” they shout at a nearby camera.

Ass sighs, putting their hands on their hips and looking around before spotting a blueberry bush just off to the side of the river. They smile and begin collecting berries in the bag from that bush, then the next, then the one after that.

“There! That should be enough to last me the rest of the walk,” they smile triumphantly, popping a berry in their mouth. “Now back to… wait… where’d the river go?”

They look around and notice they’re completely isolated in the woods.

---

“So, what’s the deal?” Julia asks, munching on a bag of chips from the supplies. “You some kind of artist?”

McLovin looks around. “Who, me?”

“Um. Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”

They stare at each other for a moment. Julia sighs. “I mean, you’re always drawing and making stuff. That’s like, art things, right?”

“Um… maybe. I just like crafts,” he says, holding up another owl. “And baking. And gardening. Back home, I make lots of stuff for my friends, and my classmates, my teachers, my mom, my dentist…”

Julia looks at him. “How do you manage to do anything for yourself?”

He blinks. “For… myself?”

---

JULIA: “I’ve been asking myself for a while how McLovin keeps evading the vote, and I think I finally found out. He’s a doormat. He’s like clay, he’s easily impressionable and bends whichever way you want him to. Not a great player, but a great pawn,”

---

“Yeah, I mean, don’t you ever do things just for you?”

“Um… not really. You do?”

Julia laughs. “Everything I do is for myself!”

There’s a brief pause as McLovin finishes up his latest macramé piece and looks down at it. “That’s kind of sad,”

---

The sun begins the set in the distance as Michael trudges along the river, now mostly dry. She’s made good progress, but it’s becoming apparent she’s not getting any closer to camp before dark.

She sighs, sitting on a nearby rock.

---

MICHAEL: “Maybe this is it. Maybe this is where the road ends for me. I had a good run, right?”

---

Michael closes her eyes for a moment, letting the spirit of giving up compel her to relax. She eventually stretches, and then sits back, casually waiting for someone to come get her.

“I give up!” she yells into the treeline, looking for cameras. “You can come get me now, I quit!”

Nothing happens. She waits for a bit longer, and still no one comes to get her. Michael sighs and kicks a rock at her feet before picking up a long stick nearby and doodling in the mud.

She draws a heart, scribbling M + M in the center, and then stares at it for a few minutes, thinking to herself. She rises to her feet and holding up the stick, a new look of determination on her face.

She shouts back into the treeline. “Never mind!” and then takes off along the river again, mumbling to herself. “I want to win! I want to win!”

---

Ass grumbles as they attempt to make a fire for the eighth time, hands all scratched up and sore from the half-hour of rubbing against a very uncomfortable stick.

To their delight, a small spark lights up a tiny section of wood before being blown out in the breeze. They groan, standing and throwing their sticks to the side and crossing their arms.

---

ASS: “Okay, maybe I didn’t think getting rid of Michael all the way through,”

---

They scale a tree (only slipping a few times) and sit on a branch, leaning against the trunk before closing their eyes and forcing themselves to sleep.

---

McLovin and Julia sit around a hastily-made fire from a matchbox included in their supplies. McLovin is sketching a portrait of Julia in the dirt while she holds still.

“Okay, just one more… and done!” he says, stepping back. Julia comes over to his side of the fire to look.

“Ooh, it’s good!” she comments, studying the realistic sketch. “You’ve got some talent hidden in there after all.”

“Um… thank you, I think?” he says, tossing the stick he used as a tool into the fire. “Wish I had some paper, though. Then you could take the drawing with you.”

“Eh, that’s okay. I’m kind of sick of looking at myself anyway,”

Julia takes her seat back on the other side of the fire and uses it to warm her hands. “How far do you think we are from camp?”

“Um… maybe a few hours, I’m not sure. But I stopped seeing my owls a while ago, so-”

A sudden violent rustling from within the dark of the woods catches their attention and they fall silent, looking at each other. The two stand and begin backing away, just for Michael to stumble out of the forest.

“What the-” Julia starts, squinting at the mud-covered camper. “Michael?”

She groans, sitting up and coughing. “Oh. I thought you were Ass,” she says, looking between the two.

“You got separated?” McLovin asks.

“Against my will, yes,” Michael mutters, holding up a sharpened spear she made. She looks at the ground, seeing the Julia portrait and raises an eyebrow. “I was going to attack and steal my supplies back, but obviously you two have your own thing going on.”

Julia rolls her eyes. “Um… yeah. Wouldn’t expect you to stick around anyway, since I’m such a backstabbing traitor,”

“You and Ass really are a match made in heaven,” Michael grumbles, pushing between McLovin and Julia and walking back into the dark of the woods.

---

The sun rises over the island. Ass snores as they sit on their branch, breathing heavily as a spider crawls from the canopy onto their nose. Their eyes slowly open and they blink before screaming, slapping their own face and falling out of the tree.

“God damnit!” they shout, standing and groaning. “Stupid forest!”

---

McLovin and Julia continue down the trail at an even pace, chatting merrily while taking turns holding the duffel bag.

----

MCLOVIN: “You know, I used to think Julia was kind of scary, but she’s actually pretty okay once she doesn’t see you as a threat or an expendable team member!”

---

JULIA: “I don't know why McLovin even needs the money. He could make millions hosting seminars on how to make friends”

---

Ass runs down the path to camp, catching sight of the end of the treeline they shout in victory as they reach the cabins, cheering while Chef rolls his eyes.

“I win! I win invincibility, suckers!”

Julia and McLovin walk out of the woods, casually strolling down to camp. They sigh as they see Ass cheer.

“Not so fast,” Chef says. “You need both members of your team to be present to win, and I don't see no green haired girl. Blondie and string bean the winners.”

“Oh, what, Michael? I’m pretty sure she got eaten by bears,” Ass rolls their eyes. “A shame, really. So I win by default!”

“In your dreams, you freak!” Michael says, bounding out of the woods with her spear. “You tried to kill me!”

“No, I tried to drown you. Whether or not you died was on you, I'm the winner!” Ass snaps. “Julia, tell them!”

Julia glares. “Um, no,”

Ass turns, a look of pure malice on their face. “If your sorry ass wants to keep your cushy ride to the finale with me, you better-”

“Oh, please!” Julia yells, dropping the bag to throw her arms out. “All you’ve done is whine and complain and carry around those big books, which, by the way, I know you only pretend to read because you can’t admit you find them boring! I have been carrying you from the second you got here because I was gullible enough to believe you were somehow a competent player! All you know how to do is read and then pretend you have any stakes in this game just because you’re mean! I voted out the only person on this island that actually cared about me because of you! And all you’ve done is treated me and everyone else like garbage even though, let’s be honest, without us you would’ve been dead in the woods by now! So you can get someone else to be your slave, because I’m done! Enjoy your boat ride home, you airheaded bimbo!”

Julia storms off, McLovin and Michael watching with wide eyes before turning back to Ass, who looks mortified.

---

“Well, you all survived,” Chef rolls his eyes. “Now one of you is going home. You two are safe,” he says, chucking the marshmallows at Julia and McLovin (who have to duck to avoid the high speeds they’re flying at).

Michael and Ass look at each other, both frowning deeply.

“Green one- no one likes you. And mean one- no one likes you even more!” Chef shouts. “But, and thank God, you maggots finally came to your senses and voted someone worthwhile off!” He throws the final marshmallow to Michael.

Julia smirks as Ass gasps, then glares, standing and kicking their log. “Fine! I hate all of you anyway! This island doesn’t deserve me!”

“Damn right,” Michael grins.

Ass groans and storms off.

“Whatever!” Chef shouts, walking off. “Congratulations to the final three! Chris will be seeing you all shortly for your next challenge!”

McLovin, Julia, and Michael look between each other.

[amaurotine-daydreaming]

VI. Ring

The ringing of the Sanctum’s bells pealed throughout the Twelveswood, a clear and bright call to celebration. The doors of the sanctuary had been flung wide, and all along the outside steps and the wide promenade spilled dozens of well-wishers and partygoers in the wake of the ceremony. 

It was chatter and cheer, spontaneous shouts of laughter and handfuls of flowers flung from baskets passed out by the attendant moogles. Along the flanks of the promenade, large round banquet tables had been set with pristine tablecloths and piled high with fruits, meats, breads, and cheeses. At one of these, a group of companions settled into each of twelve chairs.

“What a lovely arrangement they’ve made for their guests,” a viera woman dressed in a billowy spring dress said, looking around admiringly at the spires and banisters festooned with flower garlands and streamers. 

“Aye,” agreed the high-cheekboned elezen woman across from her. She inspected the many neatly arrayed pieces of cutlery and plates at her place setting. “‘Twould seem we are in for a grand feast, as well.” 

“The happy couple do not strike me as one of the elite, but ‘tis clear for this day they spared no expense,” said a dark-skinned lalafell three seats down, dressed in the tunic and sarouel that marked him as an Ul’dahn merchant. 

“I was speaking to some of the guests, and learned that while the bride and groom are not from families of great means, their friends and companions pooled their time and talents,” the tall and fiery-haired miqo'te Seeker next to him said, tapping her closed fan against her cheek. 

“Ever the gossip,” softly laughed a lalafellin man opposite. He was dressed in traveler’s clothes, and among the lot of them looked most as if he had been swept right off the street into the gaiety. “Or I would say, if I did not have the feeling you at least knew something of the bride.”

The Seeker simply opened her fan and hid her smile behind it.

“Well, I think it’s lovely the couple has in turn opened their ceremony for all to delight in,” said a young miqo'te Keeper as she slipped a morsel under the table to the dog settled at her feet. 

“Indeed,” came the pleased rumble from the Hellsguard roegadyn who sat next to a wizened hyur. “‘Tis always a joy to have an opportunity to attend these events.” 

A cowled lalafell laughed behind her hand as she watched the knot of people cheering and embracing the miqo’te bride and groom at their center. “A shame we can but come to these–with all of us in attendance–only rarely.” 

“Were we to do so more often, surely we would be in danger of arousing suspicion,” noted a Duskwight elezen in an elegant white chiton. He took a poised sip from his glass, but a hint of a smile crinkled the corners of his eyelids.

“Who would question us as a free company?” suggested the wiry Sea Wolf woman with dual tattoos of silver-scaled fish leaping along her collarbones. “Plenty of other merry bands gain an informal reputation across the realm for these sorts of things. We would not be unusual.”

A cheer suddenly went up from the crowd, catching the attention of all at the table. 

“May the Twelve bless their union!” cried the wedding guests, hoisting the bride and groom into the air onto their shoulders. Both looked abashed, but between one another shared a look abundant in joy and hope.

“Indeed,” said the Keeper, her pale blue eyes shining with mischief as the group of revelers paraded the couple around in a circle. “I think that’s a marvelous idea. Who would like to toast the happy couple first?”

“Now, now, we mustn’t choose favorites,” said the merchant, his mismatched eyes–one gold, one pale–serene. 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” the Keeper pouted back, her tail swishing. “There’s no harm in simple well wishes. We would do the same for any other, given but the chance.”

“With our own toils nearing their end, let us share in the joy of these mortals in the time we have left among them,” suggested a man–a Midlander–who wore the purple robes of a mage but nevertheless had the muscled build of a warrior, and was greeted with nods all around. 

“Why don’t I begin,” said the Sea Wolf. She lifted her glass. “May the couple be blessed with fair skies and fair seas for all their days.” 

“Hear, hear,” said the Plainsfolk traveler, lifting his glass in turn. Each of the companions began to follow suit. “And the wind at their back, wheresoever they may go.”

“Let naught cast down their devotion,” declared the wizened Highlander.

“And the foundations of their bond remain strong,” boomed the Hellsguard.

“For all of time, in this life and beyond,” nodded the Midlander.

“And while they walk upon this earth, may they be blessed with a rich and full life,” the Rava beamed.

“And a warm hearth,” added the Seeker, setting her fan down on the table in order to lift her own glass with a flourish.

The Dunesfolk merchant bowed his head and placed a hand over his breast. “May they never be left wanting,” he murmured.

“Let wisdom guide their bonds, and peace and harmony reign,” spoke the Duskwight, his face haloed with long curls glowing in the sunlight.

“Fates smile upon them,” chimed in the Plainsfolk in the cowl, her own smile writ wide as she brushed the platinum blonde hair from her eyes.

“To a glorious union!” enthused the elezen woman, thrusting her glass skyward so sharply she nearly spilled its contents.

“My, after such beautiful proclamations, do I even have to say anything?” the instigating young Keeper said cheekily. A soft woof by her feet made her look down. “Oh, but of course I will, Dal!” she exclaimed, patting her dog’s head. 

She then stood, balancing one hand on the table while extending the other forward as far as it could go. “May their love inspire the realm! To love!”

“To love!” rang the chorus, and an answering cheer went up behind them.

[minniethemoocherda]

Sins of the Past: Family Reunion

Summery:  A collection of drabbles set in my modern au where the Bad Batch raise Omega after rescuing her from the abusive hands of their mother. In this chapter, Omega gets a surprise guest at her soccer tournament.  

A/N: Oh wow last weeks episodes?!!?? I hope they reunite with Echo soon! And guess who is finally back on their old posting schedule haha! Xxxxxxxx

Ao3

Omega hunched over her knees, struggling to catch her breath. She glanced up at the board at the end of the pitch which told her that there was only two minutes left in the game.

It was currently three all. Omega had scored two of the goals for her team so far with Numa having scored the third. If they scored one more, not only would they win the match, but it would mean that their elementary got to the chance to complete in the state soccer championships.

Omega took a quick peak up at the stands as the ball was kicked out of play.

In the front row sat the bad batch, each wearing a t-shirt with a letter from her name on it, even though Wrecker had gone to the restroom at some point so now they spelled OMGAE instead. Her eyes still rung from their cheers when she had scored.

The rest of her half- brothers and their partners were there too. Bly and Aayla had brought along pom poms in Numa's favourite colour teal. Dogma helped to hold up a sign for Katooni with Hondo who had recently been indoctrinated into the rest of the Fett family. Omega had missed that exact moment so she wasn't exactly sure what had happened but apparently it had started off a bit awkwardly as it turned out Rex had once had Hondo arrested. She was glad everyone seemed to be getting along now.

Mrs Organa blew the whistle as Kanan kicked the ball from the other side of the pitch in his position ad goalkeeper.

It soared across the field, landing besides  Omega's feet. She pushed the ball further up the pitch, darting from side to side to escape the other side's attacks.

Suddenly she found herself in the box, not more than a metre from the goal. Unfortunately there were three defenders blacking the path in front of her.

They were playing against a other elementary school so logically she knew that these other kids shouldn't have been older than her. But with their burly builds and tall statues, Omega wouldn't have been surprised if they it turned out that these kids were actually at least thirteen.

She could see the goal between their mass of bodies. Scoring a goal from her position wouldn't just be hard it would near impossible. Still she had to try. Plus if she scored a hat-trick, then she would basically be guaranteed that she would win man of the match.

Then out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a flash of distinctive green hair. Her feet moving before she'd even properly thought about it, Omega had kicked the ball to her right, landing perfectly in front of Hera.

Hera gave a quick nod of thanks before slamming the tip of her foot onto the ball. With the defenders so focused on Omega, they had left their right side wide open, so the ball curved smoothly around them. Their goalie made a mad dive, but the ball sailed past him into the net just as Mrs Omega blew the last whistle.

Omega could barley hear her own screams of joy as the screams of her brothers as they raced onto the pitch.

Wrecker lifted her high above his head so that she floated at top a sea of brothers both half and full all cheering her name.

"Congratulations!" Hunter shouted.

"But I didn't score the final goal!" She shouted back.

Wrecker finally let her down, giving Numa and Hera the opportunity to sit on each of his shoulders much to their delight.

Omega weaved through the sea of people to Hunter, who pulled her into a hug.

"Doesn't matter. There wouldn't have been a final goal without you."

Omega smiled against his cheek.

"Yeah that was a great game kid!"

Omega startled, recognising that distinctive voice. She pulled away from Hunter's side and turned her head in the voices direction to see Jango standing at the side of the bleachers.

She had told her father about the match but she hadn't expected him to actually show up.

Her half brothers clearly hadn't expected him to show up either, judging by the way that the cheers abruptly cut to silence at the sound of Jango's voice.

Omega was also now just realising that she wasn't sure how much Hunter had told the rest of their brothers about Jango being back.

Her family stood there in stunned silence, staring at the man that none of them had seen in nearly a decade when Dogma spoke up.

"Oh no. You do not get to show up now!" He cried, standing in a protective stance in front of Katooni and Hondo. "Not after I dedicated my entire life trying to be what I thought you wanted so that you would come home! Only to finally reappear when I give in to being myself!"

Out of all her brother's, Dogma was the one Omega had interacted with the least. But even she could tell that this burst of scared anger was out of character.

"Shut up!"

It was then that Dogma, along with the rest of them finally seemed to notice Boba at Jango's side.

"Who the fuck is this?" Asked Dogma, even though the family resemblance was blindingly obvious.

"Hey! Don't talk like that in front of my son!" Jango reprimanded.

Dogma blinked.

"Your son?"

Then Dogma, ex-police officer and stickler for the rules, punched Jango in the face.

Everything descended into chaos.

"Kick his ass honey!" Hondo cheered as Dogma's punch dissolved into a full blown fist fight. Boba, who must have taken offence at someone attacking his Dad, kicked Dogma in the shin. Omega wasn't about to let someone hurt her brother so she kicked him back. In retaliation Boba grabbed her hair and yanked. She screamed as clumps of of blonde curls were ripped from her head. She could hear Hunter shouting at Boba to let go, until Crosshair who had no qualms about fighting a child, shoved him away. Which only made Jango mad for someone hurting his son, so he tried to tackle Crosshair whilst still fighting Dogma. Omega massaged the side of her head as the rest of the batch tried to defend their brother. At the same time Rex grabbed Dogma, ignoring the chants of FIGHT from the triplets. She watched from where she was being held in Echo's tight grip as Cody and Obi-Wan, who had been trying to calm everyone down, until a wild elbow from Jango clipped Cody on the side of the head, so Obi-Wan took the opportunity to remind everyone why he was a black belt and threw his father in law over his shoulder.

"ENOUGH!"

Everyone froze.

Mrs Organa stood by the side of the bleachers armed with the ball in one hand and her whistle in the other. They all knew that she would need neither to defeat them all.

"I don't care what your issues are. But they will be dealt with off the football pitch and away from the children." She ordered.

Omega watched as Jango slowly picked himself up off the ground.

"It's alright, we were just leaving." He said, tugging a protesting Boba towards his motorbike.

"See you around kid." He shouted over his shoulder to Omega before speeding off.

Omega wished she could once again be lost in a sea of people as all her half-brother turned to stare at her.

[randomwriteronline]

Above the summit of Mount Coronet, just as he reached out to demand the pieces of Arceus, the winds picked up; and Volo paled.

A shriek, a raucous sound like thunder, accompanied by a hiss similar to a whistling storm - the screams wrapped around each other as they climbed across the mountain, sinking nails into the rock as they ascended higher and higher and higher with their terrible cawing laughs, until finally they appeared in a swirl of green and blue, purple and grey, bright white fangs bared before him.

“There it is!” the Wind of the West howled, terrible dragon claws rasping against the temple’s broken marble floor, “There it is! Our Emperor has returned at last!”

“Our Emperor!” echoed the Wind of the South just as mockingly, mighty avian wings flapping harshly against the man: “Our Emperor! Our Emperor at last!”

They circled him too fast for Volo to try and grasp their cloud-like manes in a frenetic attempt at shutting them up, their inhuman limbs scampering across the air as they circled him cackling wildly like cruel Chatots, twin faces twisted into amused grimaces as they evaded his anger.

The ground shook, and a gust of horrible warmth arose as if bursting out of a geyser with a lunging body of orange and brown, rising above his head before coming down onto him again.

It missed, by design; and when he tried to rush out of reach in a moment that he had uncautiously considered safe the air hit him right in the chest, throwing him around in a circle for the delight of its younger siblings until its terrible teeth beneath yellow eyes bit just inches away from his nose.

“Oh, our Yellow Emperor!” roared the Wind of the East, powerful paws trying to smother him, “Why don’t you greet us, our gilded Yellow Emperor? Our kin?”

Volo fell to the floor and covered his face.

“Go away!” he shrieked, backing away, away, closer and closer to the edge of the destroyed temple, blindly squirming against the tongues of breeze tormenting him and the long horns grazing his skin to toy with him, threatening playfully to launch him into the sky to be tossed between the three deities like a ball, a toy, a pebble, a mere handful of dirt: “Go away! Leave! Leave!”

“Our Emperor doesn’t want us!” the Blue Dragon cried: “It shuns us!”

“Shuns us! Shuns us! Oh woe!” the Vermillion Bird repeated: “It shuns us!”

“Why do you shun us, our kin?” the White Tiger asked: “Why do you hate us?”

“Leave!” he screamed back, terrified: “Shut up! Get away from me!”

And they circled him tighter, sinking nails and teeth only barely into his hair and clothes, pulling and kneading to see the face of the boy who that had so readily declared himself their leader and who now struggled to evade their grasp, cawing and growling and gekkering to scare him off the ledge.

But Volo planted his palms onto the ground and held onto it with all his might even as he was grabbed and shoved, eyes wide with horror at the rough path down the mountain that would have awaited him if the beasts had gone through. He could hear the young voice behind him panic and scream and shout for the winds to desist and leave him be, and for the first time he felt genuinely grateful for the kid’s existence in this wretched world as his hands scratched and bruised against the harsh terrain as to not give in--

Pink iron grips like jasmine vines grown far too fast tightened around his wrists so harshly that he couldn’t help but scream, and rotten eyes smiled at him mockingly just beneath the ledge.

“Our Emperor!” shouted with her sweet voice the Wind of the North, snake tail wrapping around him, “Be done with my siblings and play with me now!”

And then she pulled, and he was in the air.

The fall down was rough and bruising despite the body grappling him tight against its stomach, and the water hit his back so hard that the breath left him in a thousand enormous bubbles only to replace its place in his lungs. He flailed hopelessly, scratches screaming in anguish as they painted the sea red with streaks of blood, desperate to reach the surface his burning eyes could see growing foggier and foggier every passing second - until something as hard as a shell slammed into him and threw him up towards the sky he wanted so badly to see a million times more, against the estuary’s shore, where he coughed up all the salt and water that had invaded his body to breathe again.

A hand grabbed his face, not harsh, not gentle. He, with barely any strength left in himself as he shook terribly in the cold air, cried as he was faced with the fourth beast’s mocking gaze.

“Silly boy,” the Black Tortoise cackled: “An Emperor, you thought you could be?”

Volo pulled his head away, burning bright with shame.

The eldest brother of the four winds laughed freely its gross stilted laugh, rising from the sea with the heavy breeze that makes spring to terrible to breathe, and left him curled up so far away from his otherwordly ally, to lick his wounds alone.

[ignitxr]

FROM THE BLAZING SUN, TO THE GLOWING MOON & THE BRIGHTEST STAR

@insouciont and @stvrkfire

the story continues.

Everywhere she looked, the great sand sea stretched on. It was hot, the sun was heavy, and Wanning grew restless. She'd become quiet as the journey progressed, her thoughts scattered and sparse. Something ate away at her precious faith. Ah, that's right, it was despair.

She recalled the time when she was alone, walking for days in the desert. She must have collapsed at some point and woke up to Jian's voice. The sight of his familiar face sent Wanning's world spinning. Her eyes widened, lips trembled. When she reached out and grabbed a handful of his shirt, Wanning did so with panic. "What are you doing here?" Wanning demanded, fist tightening around the fabric in her grip. "What are you doing here?" She shook him. For the first time, Wanning allowed anger into her voice before Lord Zhao. She had always been gentle and soft-voiced around him, but this situation was unacceptable. The entire time she walked, she told herself that everything would be alright. Even if she didn't make it back, Lord Zhao Jian, who had convinced himself that he owed her a life, would surely take care of House Yue.

And now...

They continued their walk and not too long after, found another to join them. When Wanning saw Yura, her heart first lifted with joy, then sank with horror. Yura was running towards her, a little spring in her steps as she excitedly shouted her name. Wanning wrapped her arms around her dear girl but could not force herself to return Yura's smile because now there was another person she cared for trapped with her.

They came across a small fox spirit being attacked by dark wasps. Yura's footsteps slowed. She had always been weak for animals and the fox spirit had a pleading face. Wanning understood her kindness and appreciated it, but they were trapped in unknown territory, with their bending taken away. She had no arrows and even if she did, who knew if they would work on these creatures.

Perhaps this was the cycle of life in the spirit world. Maybe to interfere, they'd be going against the natural order.

"But the fox-"

Wanning tightened her grip on the Yura's hand and gently, but also firmly pulled her away. They must make it out alive. All three of them. Wanning would settle for nothing less and dared not to take unnecessary risks that could ruin their chances.

No food, no water. They shared stories to boost each other's spirits but Wanning knew deep down that they were running low on time. Jian was right - this desert did have a strange effect on the mind, and they needed to get out fast. Fortunately, they finally found a cave that could serve as shelter. Wanning thought she heard the sound of water flowing from deeper within the cave, but could not be certain if that was real or if she had imagined it due to desperation. As the group grew more agitated by the effects of the great sand sea, she suggested they explore deeper into the cave.

"I would like to go first, my Lord," she told Jian, in her my decision is made voice. "I'll be careful." And with that, she let go of Yura's hand.

[ficbrish]

Black Spot (aka Shenko Pirates) Chapter 1

"Waves colder than ice. Salt sharper than knives." [AO3]

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Tags: Prompt Fic, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Enemies to Lovers, Pirate Captain Shepard, Navy Admiral Kaidan Alenko, Renegade Shepard (Mass Effect), Renegade Kaidan Alenko, Biotic Shepard (Mass Effect), Some Plot, POV Alternating, Eventual Smut, Shameless Smut, Oral Sex, Rough Sex

[[TW/CW: Death imagery, drowning, blood and throw up mention]]

[All Chapters]

Pirate Captain Shepard was so frustrated she stabbed a man and dropped him into the sea with no remorse.

Usually, there was a little remorse.

The stars were still sharper than the shrieks of the dying, and with the full moon in the sky, it was like someone had turned on the lights.

Suddenly, the ship dipped with a rough patch of sea, titling the deck dangerously, forcing Shepard to hold onto the side and ride it out. When she recovered from her stumble, she had less than a second to raise her sword.

Clang!

“You!” her attacker cried out.

Shepard managed to block his fatal blow, but the Navy Admiral was pressing upon the meeting of their blades with his full weight. The night was bright enough to see the seething hatred in his eyes. She reflected it back with a scream and pushed him off her.

“That’s right, pig bitch!” she laughed bitterly, “It’s me.”

He swung at her again with a growl. His fury was all-consuming and made the back of her neck prickle.

Shepard retaliated by spitting in his face. When he reflexively stepped back to wipe his eye, she kicked him in the lower stomach which made him buckle at the knee.

Her blade nicked his neck, “Give me one good reason not to kill you.”

“Because I’m not here to kill you,” his words weren’t a threat, but they felt like a death sentence, “I’m here to take you to justice.”

“Oh, please!” she rolled her eyes.

A sickening shift of the water’s surface tossed them away from each other across the deck. A dark cloud covered the sky.

She’d been just a second away from falling overboard and coughed out seawater as she stood. The deck was groaning like it would split apart, but she’d hold together as she always did.

Squinting through the sudden rain, Shepard couldn’t find her second-in-command anywhere. It didn’t worry her, but still...

The sky lit up completely with lightning that stayed high up in the clouds. It was a flash, but it was enough for Shepard to finally spot a blue figure struggling under a pile of still, uniformed bodies. She swiftly fought her way over and helped her friend untangle from the bleeding.

Instead of a thank you, she got, “You never listen!”

“And you never show any gratitude!”

It didn’t feel like staring down her First Mate. It felt like the glare of the Thessian imperial princess, Liara Benezia T’Soni.

Before they could continue arguing, one of their crew, a Turian who referred to himself as The Angel, stumbled into them and apologized.

“Crowd is thinning,” he growled triumphantly.

“Garrus, you’re bleeding!” Liara worried.

“It’s a scratch. Just my shoulder—And we’re winning!”

“Don’t say tha—” Shepard tried to warn, but the man had already jinxed them.

The ocean wasn’t having anybody tonight!

A terrifying crack rang out like gunfire and they watched a large wave break over the enemy Navy ship, splitting one of the masts and tilting it into the sea. The three rogues clung to each other and their home, bracing themselves as the broken wave washed over their own deck.

“That wasn’t a very big boat!” The Angel shouted over the chaos.

“We have to deal with this!” Liara said, stomping off to steer the ship carefully through these rough waters. Most likely further away from Shepard’s target.

Shepard cursed under her breath. Then gasped.

“Yours too?!” she heard Garrus yell.

Her shoulder felt indescribably hot.

That voice from before shouted something in victory.

She put her hand up to it and pulled away with fresh blood on her fingers.

Shepard turned around, her sword swishing through the rain. She felt her feet step expertly along the constantly rocking floor. She’d entered that mode she couldn’t snap out of until someone was dead.

Or until the sea came to snatch her away.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

She never listened.

Tumbling, tumbling, tumbling… Not breathing. Tumbling and suffocation.

She wouldn’t be dying if she had only listened. Liara’s gloating scoff would be the last image ever burned into her mind.

She held her breath for dear life until suddenly she was gasping. She expected death to enter her lungs as seawater, but the only salt water in her mouth came from spray and the ground felt solid under her.

There was darkness and a beach. Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the full moon’s glow.

She spotted her attacker throwing up seawater along the surf. He was missing his Admiral’s coat and looked small.

Exhausted, Shepard blinked and fell asleep.

[Next Chapter]

[All Chapters]

[gcuienveres]

who: @arronlannister​ where: the apartments of the lannister prince, shortly following the news of prince arron lannister’s incident with the river king. news and rumour spread considering the level of shouting and the threats that were bellowed, and guinevere is made aware three days after the incident.

there was no ghost walking the hallways of highgarden’s apartments, within the rooms that had been allocated to the lions den; only the sound of pacing, with a step that seemed to echo andb ounce over the walls. the pace she used was deafening, almost mirroring and echoing the sound of her footsteps as she ran the night the sky turned black and the kraken emerged from the sea; golden curls shaped her frame and her hair, golden curls that shaped and framed her marble face. 

it was a mane, and in this moment guinevere lannister was no lioness - the servants and attendents in the hall paused, quickly dipping into a low curtsy as thunder seemed to roll on by them. she were no lioness. she was the lion. the king’s rage had pushed his way into the forces of the trident and swore chaos, swore bloodshed and anarchy and all other matters of unholy degradation in an attempt to force her hand. force her hand to the river king. force her hand for not signing the falsehood that was the act of supremacy, force her hand by threatening to murder and unleash seven hells. 

“inform the prince i am to see him.”

her stature straightened at the doors of her brother’s apartments, steely emerald hues fixing upon each of the guards as she awaited for them to grant her entrance. in the very back of her mind she heard the distant sound of something crushing and thundering that drowned out all other minor noises surrounding her, the sound of footsteps, the heavy oak doors opening to grant her view into his chambers. where was he? 

it were almost as though she had begun to stalk her way across his chambers to find him, and find him she did. from one room to another, nothing but ivory lace and unruly golden curls; and yet still, as she stood in the doorway, she remained fixed on the spot. merely looking at him was enough for her to feel the pace of her heart begin to slow. only for it to pick right back up again. her ears felt hot, and she felt as though something burned at the very tip of her tongue. 

“are you mad?” and her voice was low, a slight quiver within it. “have you lost your mind? need i truly tell you what you have made of me?” and suddenly, it were as though she stalked forwards. one step, another step. then she paused. her pride burned. her pride, her pride - it burned. there was fire in her eyes, that same unstable shake of anger that swept over her that night in dorne where the king’s wrath had come face to face with his sister. how it felt like the gods or the devils sat in the room with them. “look at me. look at me. do you think you need to threaten a man to wed me?” 

[kana-daydreams]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞

[ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ]

cw: violence, mild swearing wc: 2.2k

You stand amidst your marine comrades who bustle around you in a Navy battleship which you boarded after your escort ship was stolen, forcing your group to escape in a smaller boat; Cutty Flam and Robin, the culprits of the crime. 

Apparently, the machine man hadn’t drowned like you thought after the explosion and was able to save Nico Robin from being riddled with bullets after you were forced to leave the scene.

Other battleships flank either side of your own, their cannons firing at what was once a prideful Judicial island, now an island reduced to be one of mass debris engulfed in a sea of flames.

To your right is Spandam, in other words, rotten scum, whose face is heavily swollen from what you’ve heard from one of your comrades was Nico Robin’s doing. 

You glance over at him when you hear him arguing with a navy nurse who attends to his injuries, and you smirk watching as he winces in pain every time she touches a cotton pad to his bruised face. 

Another cannon fires garnering your attention, and your eyes follow it as it charges across at yet another one of Enies Lobby's infrastructure.

Suddenly, the PA system sputters on and a voice announces for all ships to surround the Bridge of Hesitation and your former escort ship as more pirates have been spotted at both locations.

The ship you're on moves in the former route where you see three individuals, their faces sporting determined expressions and weapons prepped and ready for battle.

You recognise them: Zoro and Cutty Flam, and the other, the sniper from the tower of law who ambushed your group with explosive missiles earlier back on the bridge.

Before your comrades can indulge their thirst for a fight, the PA system makes another announcement, this time shouting directives for only the marines ranked higher than Lieutenant commander to engage the pirates, which meant you had to stay put, on board—with Spandam.

How unfortunate.

"Get them!" One of the captains command and dozens of marines shower down like ants from their nest when provoked, from their respective ships to surround the three, but most of them before their feet can take refuge on the bridge, are blown away by an explosion.

You observe the pirates and your fellow marines as they fight, a symphony of cannon fires, gunshots and clashes of swords consuming the atmosphere.

You lean against the railing of the ship, propping a hand under your chin, your expression bored as you continue to watch the chaotic scene that unfolds below you, the marines clearly the losing party.

However, when your eyes happen to randomly land on a green hair individual with a sword in each hand and another which he strangely wields in his mouth, you can’t help but trail his every move in awe.

The former pirate hunter, Roronoa Zoro.

You watch as he easily and with precision, defeats his opponents two at a time, three and sometimes too many for you to count.

"Is there no one with backbone?!" You hear him challenge after he sends one of your squadrons flying away like leaves in the wind with a wave of his swords. 

A male marine three times his size steps forward, brandishing a giant broadaxe and an impressed grin stretches across the swordsman's lips.

The marine attacks him with powerful and consistent strikes and even with what seems like his ace in the hole, but like the rest of his squadron, he is sent plummeting into the ocean in a matter of seconds.

Your heart aches, and the hand which reaches to rest on the hilt of your sword, itches.

A strong yearning begins to overwhelm your senses. One which you eagerly desire to satiate.

Unfortunately for you, you’re not permitted to leave the ship. 

You heave a resigned sigh. "The curse of being demoted." You mumble, reluctantly remaining but a simple spectator to Zoro wrestling the other marines with his swords.

During his fight, you perk up when you notice his figure become motionless, his features mirroring one of pain from one of his hands being imprisoned in a marine’s tight grasp.

Closer inspection allows you to see his hand changing from its tan colour into a rust brown, gradually travelling up his arm and spreading across the rest of his body.

He’s turning him into rust! You gape at the realisation and your eyes glance quickly to your left and right. 

Safe.

Gripping your fingers tightly around the ship's railing, you hoist yourself over, jumping down into the chaotic mess below.

When you land, your feet immediately race towards the direction of the captive swordsman.

There was no way you were going to let him—the man you eagerly yearn for—die. 

Not before you got your chance of crossing blades with him.

Zoro groans from the pain of his body being gradually consumed by decay, his dark eyes darting down with a deathly stare at the musty, rusty piece of shit responsible for his state and who destroyed one of his beloved katanas. 

He swears to avenge his lost Yubashiri…as soon as he’s able to break free from the marine’s tight grip around his arm, or rather his rust.

For the umpteenth time, he tries tugging himself free, but his attempts are futile as the rust has already claimed half his body, rendering him unable to move. 

The marine bursts out in hysterical laughter as he watches his prey wither away slowly, but his grip on Zoro is ripped off when he is sent colliding into a trench mortar beside them, immediately falling unconscious.

Zoro massages a hand over his stiff neck, feeling the rust inside his body recede; the tan colour of his skin returning.

He presumes that Usopp or Franky were the ones to come to his rescue since they were fighting alongside him, but instead he finds in front of him, standing a few feet away, a young woman.

His eyes scan over her marine attire. Was she the one who saved me? Zoro quirks a brow, puzzled at why a marine would injure one of their own to save a pirate.

His eyes suddenly become wide as his senses are overshadowed by an eerie feeling radiating off her. One he was definitely not a stranger to. 

"Ah, I see." He grins and reaches for his swords, the woman’s eyes flickering down to his hands at the movement. 

She reaches for her own sword beside her, brandishing it in his direction and neither bother exchanging pleasantries as they charge at each other with alarming speed.

When your sword clashes against Roronoa Zoro’s, an exhilarating rush consumes your entire being—a sort of high you haven’t felt in years.

His fearsome reputation as a swordsman was common gossip among you marines, one you could now attest to after witnessing for the first time, his skills in action when he defeated several squadrons of high ranks.

You’re grateful to the gods that you finally get the opportunity to fight the former pirate hunter. And no you didn’t have a personal vendetta against him nor were you as interested as your associates in capturing him; you weren’t even interested in finding out who was the strongest between the both of you. 

Your intention was simple, and that was to quench your need for excitement.

You dodge to the left, barely managing to escape one of his swords as it aims for your mid-section, and return the favour with a swift swing of your own.

Zoro raises a sword, blocking your attack. ‘Finally, someone worth fighting!’ His voice brims with excitement, a hungry glint in his eyes and a devilish grin etched into his expression as you both exchange a flurry of hits, the force of your attacks causing clouds of dust to billow beneath your feet.

Boisterous laughter bordering hysterical rips out your throat. "Glad, the feeling’s mutual, pirate."

As you continue to fight, you notice the swordsman's attacks become gradually weaker and to your surprise, it is you who draws the first blood when your sword manages to trace over the exposed skin of his stomach. 

You weren't sure what to make of it. Was it the side effects of the rust or…was he going easy on you because you were a woman?

You frown. 

A chivalrous pirate? Strange. 

You watch as droplets of red trickle down from his cut onto the ground. "Is it the rust, pirate? Or you're easy on me because I don’t have balls between my legs?"

The muscles in Zoro’s face twitch slightly at your words. "Man or woman—my swords know no gender when it yearns for blood."

He lunges at you with his swords raised and you hiss slightly when one of them comes into contact with the right sleeve of your shirt, staining it crimson red.

You soon find yourself exerting more effort to deflect and evade his attacks, but nevertheless, your eyes gleam and your lips subconsciously upturn into a cheshire grin giving you a slightly deranged look.

"That's more like it!"

Zoro is taken aback when you start matching the force of his strikes and soon finds his feet buckling under the weight of your sword; the pressure forcing him down onto his knees and breaking into the stone beneath him.

She's strong! Zoro groans, both your swords humming a metallic harmony as their blades grind against each other.

To his far left, Zoro notices Usopp preparing to attack you with one of his gadgets, but warns him not to intervene with a gesture of his head.

In a blink of a second, you stumble back when he pushes you off him.

He doesn't give you time to recuperate and you're unable to brace yourself for his aggressive strings of attacks.

You fall.

Your sword is knocked out of your grasp and Zoro's blade is aimed at your neck.

"I guess you really are the best swordsman."

"Not yet, but I will be." He smirks.

Robin’s voice suddenly comes from behind you, grabbing both your attention.

"Stop Zoro, don’t hurt her!"

"I wasn’t gon–" Zoro is cut short, falling over with a grunt when you swiftly sweep a leg across at his feet.

"Hey, pirate!" You tower over his form on the ground. ‘Let’s do this again, if you’re still alive.’  

You don't give Zoro time to respond and his eyes follow your figure as it retreats in the direction of one of the marine ships.

Having returned back onto the ship without anyone noticing your absence, you watch in anticipation at the cannons preparing to fire at the straw hats particularly at the dilapidated building where their captain lies paralysed after defeating CP9’s number one sociopath, Rob Lucci.

"Three seconds!" You hear the Vice-Admiral of your ship roar.  

You sigh. There’s no way he’ll escape this one. 

The Vice-Admiral bellows out the remaining seconds and all cannons aim their fire in Luffy’s direction, though it only targets stone when he’s unexpectedly tossed into sea, and his crew follow suit, leaping off the bridge with who you assume are their hostages and Cutty Flam in tow. 

"They jumped?!" You stare wide-eyed as the group dives into the ocean, the thought of the pirates having suicidal tendencies never once having crossed your mind.

"There’s no way they’re gonna survive that." Someone gasps beside you. "They’ll be swept into the current of the whirlpool!"

However another surprise awaits you when you see them pull themselves onto the deck of a smaller ship whose presence you hadn’t noticed before.

"Huh? Where’d that ship come from?" You mumble.

Spandam’s voice, laced with anger and annoyance, suddenly rings across the ship. "All ships prepare to fire your cannons!" 

No one moves at his command, hesitating since their initial order is to capture Nico Robin alive. They only comply when Spandam mentions Admiral Akoji’s name, and unlike the rest of the marines, you know he uses the Admiral's authority as a pretext for his revenge.

You watch them as they buzz around, Spandam continuing to bark out commands, thankful that he’s seemingly forgotten your existence in his pursuit to kill the straw hats.

You however weren’t so keen on letting them die just yet—for personal interests.

You walk further out to the deck where you notice the straw hats themselves occupied, bustling about their ship preparing to set sail to escape being blown into smithereens.

I’ll help you one more time. You make a wide gesture with both arms which goes unnoticed by your crew too concentrated on the pirates, and when all ships fire at them they aim at each other instead. 

It also didn’t help the marines' situation when the gates of justice had unexpectedly begun closing, creating multiple whirlpools below the ships; the strong pull of their currents causing the ships to collide into each other.

Shortly after, you keep a tight grip onto the railing of your ship as it struggles to stay afloat, explosive projectiles zipping in every direction and Spandam's painful cries engulfing the entire atmosphere.

The final thing you notice before your sight is clouded by thick, dark smoke is the straw hats’ ship propelling into a sky of endless grey; your lips quirking into a satisfied smile.

Till we meet again, straw hats.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Part I - Part II

© 2023 kana-daydreams

[pearlwriter]

The afternoon sun shone high overhead. The smell of blood and wet soil hung in the air, the earth was damp from the heavy dew drops from the night before. Tom lay on the ground, still dazed from falling off his horse, his head pounding from landing on his back, or was he hit with a mace to the head? For moments he blinked, sweat and hair fell on his eyes. His body felt numb, but he could feel the metal of his armor growing hot on his skin. He remembered his horse galloping toward the glen pursuing the enemy when his horse suddenly reared up on his hind legs to avoid a collision against a man? a shadow? The shape was a blur, it leapt onto the road like a sack of potatoes. He fell backwards, too late to grab the reins and the impact made him see stars and bright red. The horse turned a full circle and shrieked, galloping over his dazed rider, missing being crushed by mere inches. His hand went to touch his face but the metal gauntlet only clanged against his helmet. ‘Damn’ he cursed as he struggled to sit upright. The sounds of men shouting and horses seemed so far away. ‘They’ve moved on, but who was alive, us or the enemy?’ Tom couldn’t see behind him, he hoped it was his comrades still alive and fighting. ‘How long was I unconscious?’ The taste of blood was still fresh, not too long. He moved his foot and his leg, making sure nothing was broken. Just a bruised head and laceration somewhere on his scalp. He debated taking his helmet off but quickly decided no. Another ambush would leave his head an easy target.

He struggled to stand up, leaning against the trunk of a fallen tree to catch his breath. Keil’s army isn’t too far ahead. His army was slowed down by carrying heavy artillery. At most, two hours at full gallop. He needed to find his men and regroup. He wondered who was left alive. He looked for his sword, it was thrown to the side of the road, his shield no where to be found. Probably still on my horse, he thought. With a groan, he stood up and picked his sword up among the grass. He wondered if he had any broken ribs. Doesn’t matter, he thought. I’ll walk the whole way if I must. I will destroy him. We’ll go down together. She’s waiting for me, I hope she’s still alive. With a grim thought he knew she was alive but only because Keil needed her hostage to force the King’s army to pursue him. Maybe he killed her anyway and it’ll be too late, he thought with a wave of anxiety. No, don’t think that. Clear your mind. I will face the enemy and will need my wits. The crows above cawed loudly and flew from the trees, were they encouraging him or laughing at his demise?

//

He recognized her right away. Sitting alone on a garish red recliner, her grey and white dress out of place among the sea of bright pinks, yellows, and pastel blue dresses of the ladies dancing around her. She was oblivious to the laughter and chattering of men competing with each other to impress the groups of ladies, giggling and flirting with their eyes behind feathery fans. Yet she paid them no attention, her back was against the spectacle. She was starting out a very large window overlooking the palace garden. He turned toward that direction and saw a small group of people playing a game of croquet on the green. Three brightly dressed ladies and two men were eagerly swatting a small wooden ball through hoops with absurdly large mallets. The girls exclaiming when the ball rolled sideways away from the hoop, the men chuckling and rushing over to offer tips on how to hit better. The ladies were obviously playing bad on purpose, letting the men get close to them. They made their way slowly across the lawn, following a colorful path of markers, each a new obstacle of evenly spaced hoops.

Yet she didn’t seem to be interested in the game, merely following their progress. She would occasionally look up in the sky. She seemed to study the clouds overhead. He followed her gaze and high up, two dots moved gracefully. Hawks, he realized. The King kept a falconry, a dozen birds he proudly showed off when hunting. He saw her look up, her face turning slowly left and right following their flight. When they passed the view of the window, she would watch the group below playing their game. She then got up slightly from the futon to strain her neck up left, looking for the two dots gliding fast towards the dust and field. Her long black hair a massive braid fell from her shoulder when she stood, her pale neck suddenly exposed. He felt himself blush slightly and looked down guiltily.

‘They must’ve spotted a rabbit,’ Tom thought. He couldn’t stop watching her, she was poised and observant, as if studying the habits of simple creatures going about their business. The hawks were definitely more interesting to her.

Her plucked up courage and slowly walked toward her, not wanting to startle her. He smiled and with a little bow he said ‘Interesting game, croquet. Do you play?’ She looked up with a little start. Her grey eyes widened at the sudden voice next to her. She dropped her gaze and looked out the window again. She was slightly annoyed at the intrusion. ‘Hardly, I’m watching them because there’s nothing else interesting. She pointed with her head towards the sky. ‘Except those two’ she said with a sigh still not making eye contact.

Tom felt his face redden slightly at the indifferent response. He was used to ladies returning his greeting with a smile and a giggle. He wasn’t used to being treated like a servant offering unwanted wine.

‘I feel like we started on the wrong foot, my lady. I apologize for my rude behavior the other day. I didn’t introduce myself properly.’ She turned to him with raised eyebrows, her grey eyes searching his face. She still didn’t smile. Undeterred, he did a half step and bowed, his right arm crossed his chest with his left extended. A courtly bow indeed. ‘My lady, he continued. May I introduce myself. He stood up and said with his most formal voice and a slight smile. ‘My name is Thomas de LionCourt of Burgeoyn. I serve in the Kings’s Guard on behalf of my father the Duke of Burgeoyn. I’m very pleased to meet you.’ He nodded and hoped she wouldn’t laugh.

She didn’t. Her grey eyes studied his. Will she dismiss him with a wave of her hand? Or say nothing and continued to look for the hawks in the sky? There was a long pause. Each looking at each other. An eternity seemed to pass and time slowed. The merry din around them became a blur and the sound an indistinguishable murmur. His heart was pounding in his ears and he almost broke his smile. He resisted the urge to run away and hide. Just before he lost his nerve, she smiled. A little one but it changed her grey eyes from a steely mirror to a soft grey of mourning doves. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Sir de LionCourt of Burgeoyn.’ Tom let out a breath, he didn’t know he was holding it. He wanted to shout gleefully but remained calm and collected. ‘Please, call me Tom. All my friends do.’ He kicked himself mentally. ‘I should’ve have said that, she’ll think I’m TOO friendly.’ She didn’t seem to notice. ‘Alright then, Sir Tom. You know ‘she continue, ‘no need to be formal since we’ve met. Yes. It was a little rocky, I admit.’ ‘I’m Ravenna. You know my father and my siblings I assume?’ Tom nodded, ‘yes, wonderful people.’ He kicked himself mentally again. ‘That sounded insulting.’

He cleared his throat and looked up into the sky. ‘The King’s hawks. Aren’t they magnificent?’ He changed the subject to something he knew interested her.

‘Oh yes, I’ve been wanting to get a closer look at them, but I never get the chance.’ She looked disappointed, as if her favorite scone wasn’t available at tea time. ‘Kind of difficult when they’re way up there. Even if I could get close, I doubt they would sit still long enough for me to sketch their profile.’

Tom raised his eyebrows, now that he didn’t expect. Her response piqued his interest. ‘For your sketchbook, right?’ He remembered the sketchbook he found in the marketplace and his journey to return it to its rightful owner. Little did he know it belonged to Ravenna and not her brother. That fact made him realize she was more than she seemed at first. After that encounter he wanted to know about her - she was different from the other girls, in a unique way. He watched her biting her lip as she spoke softly, she was already sketching a hawk profile in her mind. ‘Yes, I want to draw a hawk’s profile, but I only end up drawing pigeons with a fierce look.’ She shrugged her shoulders and looked up at him. ‘Not becoming for a bird of prey, is it?’

Tom there back his head and laughed. He pictured in his mind a pigeon flying clumsily after a rabbit. It missed and bounced in a run as it chased its prey. She must have had the same thought because she also let out a giggle. He liked her a lot, he realized. But more so they way she thought about the world around her. She was so serious around strangers, reserved as if she avoided the dazzling light emitting from the sea of people dancing and carrying on in entertainment. She danced in her mind, her song showed in her eyes. He heard it but only for a moment before she lowered her eyes hiding her music. ‘What else was in that book?’ He wondered. ‘It must be filled with wonderful things, her music.

Suddenly he heard the orchestra start a new song. It was a popular song of the court. The melody was even hummed by the commoners in the streets. The ladies clapped when they heard it. They eagerly looked for a dancing partner to join them. Couples quickly formed and joined on the ball room floor.

Tom puffed up his chest and looked at Ravenna. ‘Will you dance with me my lady!’ He held out his hand. He knew she wouldn’t refuse, not that they shared a laugh. She looked at the dancing couples and glanced beyond the other side of the room. She held up her hand, ‘of course.’ She stood up as he offered his arm to her. He beamed and couldn’t help a big smile as they made their way to the ballroom. He felt a dozen pairs of eyes side glancing at them. A few of his friends yelled in greeting. He took her hand in his and felt her dress as he placed his hand on her waist. He was careful not to grab her too hard, fearing she may recoil. She didn’t flinch and placed her hand on his shoulder with a firm grip. He took the lead and felt the tempo of the song’s rhythm. They both knew the song and he was amazed at how easily she danced. They glided along with the other couples. Tom’s friends shouted a greeting when they danced within ear shot. ‘Hullo Tommy Boy!’ One shouted. ‘Finally coming to join in the fun!’

‘Frankie, always a pleasure to see you!’ Tom said in a raised voice. ‘Ever the most popular among us again!’ Tom winked at the blonde girl dancing with Frankie. She giggled, ‘oh you two. You’re both most popular!’ They danced away in a flourish. A few more shouted greetings from Tom’s friends buzzed around them. Their dancing partners curtsied and smiled at Tom as the music changed tempo, calling for more twirling.

Ravenna said something but he couldn’t hear her. She looked at him and pointed her head in the direction of the main entrance. Her lips moved but he couldn’t hear over the orchestra. He shook his head and shouted ‘Sorry!’ She shrugged and kept dancing. Her eyes looked left and right an occasional glance at him. He felt 10 feet tall. The other ladies also glanced at the couple. They smiled at him and looked at Ravenna with a neutral face, some with a questionable look, others a haughty look. He knew it didn’t phase his dancing partner.

The song finally ended and most of the couples left the ballroom floor seeking refreshment and a futon to rest. A few couples stayed as the music slowed and conversation was possible to hear. He held onto her with a light tug when she faltered after the song. She glanced up at him and did a little shrug, matching her step to his. His heart swelled even more when she danced a second dance with him. He led her calmly across the ballroom dance floor. With most couples gone it was easier to move around. He saw Frankie a few feet away, dancing with a red head in a green dress. He nodded and flashed a smile at Tom. He could see in his expression that he had many questions. ‘After many drinks he’ll bombard me non stop with questions,’ Tom inwardly groaned. He was always so nosy. Frankie smiled at Ravenna before dancing away with his red head. She raised her eyebrows and said nothing. Better she not know how much he can be an annoyance, Tom thought.

Tom was glad Frankie bothered him no more the rest of the party. He only wanted to spend eternity dancing. ‘Let me enjoy this moment as long as possible,’ he prayed to whomever would listen.

//

He had on a dark blue velvet suit specially made for court appearances, white neck ruffles and laced white sleeves peeked over his hands. The coat tails and pockets had silver threads of ivy leaves. The shoulders were embroidered a miniature version of the family coat of arms, a lion with a star behind his mane. The coat felt a little too stiff from the starch, and the pants more restrictive than he preferred. He mostly wore his uniform of the Kings’s Guard, well-worn like a second skin. He could move silently even with a sword at his side and leather riding boots. No, his formal wear attire was very attractive (according to his aunt), but he didn’t feel completely at ease. He did like the color though, it reminded him of the skies of his childhood, far over the mountains. The sky of his new home just didn’t seem as blue. His hair, normally flying over his eyes was tied neatly back. As a child, he was blonde and his mother scolded him when his hair wasn’t combed. She cared very much about appearances and didn’t allow him to play rough with the other boys. Now away from his mother’s reach, he let his hair grow. Chestnut brown with blonde highlights now, he constantly brushed his hair away from his eyes. He’d rather put up with the annoyance than cut it. The court ladies loved to tease him, they said his hair made him look like a bandit. He would only smile back.

His feet were even foreign to him. In place of riding boots, he had on shoes that were the latest fashion of men’s wear. Made from the skin of a large reptile of the Far Southlands. They were dark blue that matched perfectly with his suit, even with tiny lion buttons sparkled on the buckles. The heel had steel tips encrusted with diamonds. His mother insisted on the shoes of course, even sending a cobbler to his private quarters to make sure her son had a decent pair of dancing shoes. They were comfortable he admitted to himself. The cobbler knew his craft. Maybe he could commission a pair less fancy for his days off.

He resisted the urge to pull at his collar, forcing an air of calm confidence as he held out his hand. She reached up but hesitated before taking it. She glanced over at a group of ladies sitting together far across the other side of the ball room. She felt eyes staring at her. It was her sister, Genna. Genna wasn’t actually staring, but Ravenna could see her side glancing as she laughed with her friends. She’s always watching me, always. Mother wants her to make sure I’m more social. Fine, I’ll have a dance with this Tom. She can’t say I ignored all the men tonight! She took his hand and slowly rose, fixing her gown to smooth the wrinkles. She no longer felt annoyed at Tom’s sudden presence. He didn’t vex her like the other young men that hung around her like flies. No, those BOYS clamored a little too close. Their sweating bodies and wine-tinged breath made her gag. Yet her sisters’s friends didn’t notice, or they didn’t care. Genna had insisted she spend time with the court ladies. Their mother always disapproving at her youngest daughter’s unladylike mannerisms. She even brought seamstresses to the castle earlier that year to make gowns for court appearances. They battled on what colors and styles to make. Her mother insisting on the latest fashions from the capital. Ravenna scoffed and refused to wear anything that resembled a stuffed peacock. The seamstresses hemmed and hawed over their clients’ arguments and Genna threw her hands up and left for the weekend at her best friends chateau. Finally, Ravenna relented on wearing the fashion-forward styles on the condition she chose the colors. Her mother agrees but when the frocks were halfway made she was angry at the colors her daughter chose but couldn’t say anything against her word. Ravenna chose greys in all shades, blues, and cream colors. So opposite the bright pinks and yellows, and even neon greens! Neither spoke for weeks until the royal family threw their spring ball at the castle. Ravenna chose a gown of grey and blue. Accents of cream lace and silver thread flowers were woven in delicate patterns. Reluctantly, her mother decided that the colors matched her daughter well. Her black hair matched her gown in a braid woven with silver threads. A long strand of pearls tucked inside her corset. The grey and blue matched her grey eyes and creamy skin elegantly. Yes her daughter was a beauty. So opposite her older sister of red hair and hazel eyes. The two together were like the sun and moon. Both beautiful in different ways. What man would be a suitable match? Ravenna was beautiful but her spirit was wild. Who would want to tame a wild horse?

Ravenna tolerated her sister’s friends for over an hour. She tried her best to be polite and to smile, but was bored of endless gossip. They whispered over the latest shoe trends, which girl had mismatched undergarments, and how fat the pastry chef’s wife has become. The men, or boys, she called them, kept coming up to the ladies and telling jokes or giving over-the-top compliments. The goal was to get the ladies to dance. Many of them already knew each other. Genna tried to introduce her to some of the men. Ravenna would smile and be polite, but would decline their request for a dance. She didn’t want to be displayed in front of strangers, competing for unwanted attention. Genna would give her a reprimanding look, so much like their mother. Ravenna would shrug her shoulders and give a small smile. After so many failed attempts, the young men went for easier targets. She gave a sigh of relief and sought refuge on a red futon away from the crowds. An enormous window from floor to ceiling provided a grand view of the palace green. Five brightly colored people were playing croquet below. She was glad to be away from people and finally rest her feet. She hated high heels, meant more for show and not practical at all. She wasn’t paying attention to the game below but better to pretend to watch than to face the party behind her where she would be bombarded by requests to dance or gossip. Above in the skyline she say two birds. ‘The king’s hawks! They look so happy flying so free’, she thought. She started sketching them but couldn’t get the lines right. Their sleek frames weren’t giving a fierce look of a predator. Too much like barn bird!’ Each time they glided past the window she strained her eyes to see. She waited patiently until they came into view again hoping to remember their shape.

//

Tom transferred her hand to his arm as he led her to the ballroom floor. She could feel his forearm muscle stense when she touched it. His eyes had smile lines she noticed, something she liked because her father and brother also had them. They were both good natured and told the best jokes. He nodded to the other couples as they passed. She allowed him to lead and away they danced. It was loud and fast, she hoped her high heels wouldn’t fail. It was several months since danced to this particular song. Genna first taught her when she learned it at the courts of the capital. It was fun back then because she didn’t expect to dance with young men in a fancy dress and high heels! Yet here she was. Tom was a great dancer, he didn’t step on her feet or grip her too tightly. He did bring her close when he dipped her around. She felt his hand on her lower back and face came close to neck. She could see his jaw line tense when she sucked in her breath. He swung her up and continued to hold her a little closer than before. She felt him looking at her and she looked up into his eyes. ‘Blue like the ocean,’ she thought. ‘Almost violet.’ Why didn’t she notice before? She felt the urge to sketch, her minds eye already making the outline of his eyes. He saw her look distant and he felt her hand moving in his. She blushed when he tilted his head and asked her what was wrong. The music became so loud and the laughter drowned out her answer. He shouted something and she could only shrug. He held onto her as if to protect her from the dancers getting too close.

//

‘About your dilemma with the hawks,’ Tom suddenly broke the humming of the orchestra. ‘I think I can help you get a close at them.’ She