#i love the scimitar here. so shaped :)
Text
Okay I got one reply and that’s all the validation I need !! XD
@the-antiapocalyptic-man thanks so much for your interest !! It means a lot
So here’s my redesign for Gamora !!! I love taking the classic designs, and reimagining them to be more practical or reflective of their personality, gamora is the deadliest woman in the galaxy and her gear should be practical, but she’s so good she does accessorise a little, she shows off and flaunt her title a little, I’ve based this design on her first two classic designs, I always interpreted her first design as this sorta Hercules esk task she’s gone out on and killed this space dragon to make scale armour light weight and strong, I see some people perceive it as mesh tights kinda design and I just don’t vibe with that, I’ve added in some areas where the scale armour should be bending just to add a little realism, I do also like her second swimsuit costume it’s utterly impractical and sexed up but what it does have going for it is some interesting shape language like the massive V shape down her torso I’ve tried to replicate with the trim ? moving on from the classics I do love a lot of her modern designs they get this sort of space punk warrior aesthetic across, it’s just none of it is particularly memorable or unique not like her original designs, but since the Gunn era she’s had these more punk elements thrown in which I love, ( I know the heels here are super impractical but I love in guardians 2 when she does these massive leaps that seem almost accentuated by the heels, like they’re bouncy) tried to mesh her modern blade with its classic cross guard too, give it this kinda space falchion/scimitar vibe, everything here is meant to balance the iconic classics with modern personality, practicality and to give her outfit its own backstory with that Hercules esk challenge thanos has set her to kill a impossible to kill monster, and she comes back rocking this look ? Black fur and shiny green diamond scales hell yeah !
I’ve got a redesign for every guardian planned out, Gamora is just the first, can’t decide between starlord or Adam next. I’ve got multiple Peter outfits planned for his various phases but one Adam look I’m super happy with. What would you prefer to see next ??
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
unusual oc asks
Thank you for the tag @gale-in-space !!! I was trying to figure out how to copy paste it in tumblr, but then I remembered I could get it from the notif email lmao
Gonna do this with Lylirian Emera, (aka, Lyra)!
Seasoning: She loves anything herby tbh, she loves rosemary
Weather: She loves a stormy day, it means she can stay inside and read and curl up with her cat Horatio. Also means most people won’t come to bother her due to the weather lmao
Color: I associate her with blues and greens! She likes a deep red tho.
Sky: She’s not much of a stargazer, but she does like watching a sunset every now and again.
House plant: a hardy, wildly overgrown succulent (healthy, just very large)
Weapon: Dual short swords or scimitars
Subject: Hmmm good question. I made her background “guild artisan”, since her family runs a trading collective in baldur’s gate so anything related to textiles and making of art is something she has an expertise in (200 years of it) Herself tho, she loves music of all kinds and embroidery. She’s very crafty, and loves making things (she’s currently dabbling in jewelry making)
Social media: no idea, but she probably lurks on artisan YouTube accounts, or subreddits where ppl talk about things they make
Makeup product: on the road, all she has is her lipstick. In the city she only really indulges in make up when she’s going to a big event
Candy: she doesn’t like sweets a lot, but she does like chocolate covered fruits
Fear: less fear here, but more she couldn’t take the grief of losing another family member the way she lost her late husband (ie, sudden death and murder, burying them, then the person's body being stolen from their grave, not being able to find out who did it)
Ice cube shape: she likes them cubed
Method of long distance travel: by ship, if it’s available!
Art style: good question? not sure. In terms of medium, she prefers music
Mythological creature: Diwata (lesser gods under the philippine pantheon, often protectors of nature)
Piece of stationary: She has stationary for casual and formal use. For formal use, imagine crisp, cream colored paper in an envelope enclosed with a wax seal (red or green depending on how she's feeling). for any smaller, more personal notes it'll be the same paper but folded or rolled shut, and tied close with a ribbon
Celestial body: The constellation of Calliope
Thanks for tagging me!
1 note
·
View note
Text
Word Find Game
Look who's finally actually working through my stack of these tags again! This tag comes from the lovely @ink-fireplace-coffee, thanks Carmen!
Coffee (Deathdancer - Ailin POV)
Her parents were already up when she slipped back inside. They were mostly through their first cups of coffee, both muttering over a list of fights for the next few days. Ailin let the door click shut, and their eyes snapped onto her immediately.
“Well?” demanded her father, setting down his mug, staring at her.
“It’s done,” said Ailin. The words scratched unpleasantly. She wished it was just from the cold night winds and dusty sand.
She’d said it before. The proclamation that she’d done what they asked, even though the hope they’d show any real appreciation had died years ago.
But until now, it had always been true. When was the last time she’d actually lied to her parents?
Textbook (Deathdancer - Ailin POV)
The crowd roared again. Ailin glanced around, turning her head to make sure they knew she was looking. Several groups pumped their fists overhead, bellowing incoherently.
She crouched lower, daggers up, watching him through her hair. They should have started moving, circling each other, but he stayed put, scimitar raised stiffly.
He was imitating a textbook drawing, not actually fighting her. He’d almost be better off without the technical knowledge, free to act on instinct instead of trying and failing to emulate techniques that were beyond him.
Crimson (Deathdancer - Ailin POV) (tw injury, death implication)
(for a 23k story that uses the word "red" so much you'd think I'd have this in Niv and the Neverwhere...and yet here we are, lol)
He knows what he’s doing. [Ailin] wasn’t exactly sure how she knew it. She’d seen fast fighters like that before. But there was something about [that was different.
The challenger struck again, and this time, Orvon retorted. He took two quick steps, and lunged. Blood sprayed. A howl cut the late morning air, and the crowd fell silent as the challenger fell.
Ailin leaned forward, she couldn’t help herself, barely breathing as she strained to see. Blood pooled in dusty sand, crimson in the torchlight, pulsing from the challengers leg.
He needs to yield.
Orvon stepped forward, and pressed the tip of his sword under the challengers eye. Blood bloomed, reflecting off the polished silver.
Yield! You idiot!
A wound like that would be fatal in minutes. Maybe less. He’d bleed out in the sand, and the crowd would leave in rushing whispers. Some would never come back. Some would never be able to stay away.
Ailin stared at his face, at the color draining rapidly from his features. Ragged breathing rose, the only sound in the entire arena.
He didn’t yield.
Intentions (Niv and the Neverwhere)
[Niv] hadn’t tried for any particular magic. She rarely did at the start. The clap was just to key into the power, to let it start building into something malleable.
But here, there was no time for shaping anything. From the second her palms hit, from the instant of intention, more magic then the entire world should hold condensed into Niv’s bloodied hands.
And suddenly, Niv’s body wasn’t her own. It twisted, muscles screaming, every last part of her burning with power. Niv yelled, blood racing too fast for her veins to contain, and the sound echoed decidedly farther than it should.
I tag (no pressure!!): @sleepyowlwrites, @sharraus, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @akindofmagictoo, @athenswrites, and open tag for anyone who wants it!
Your words are: Food, Words, Leaf, Deny
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Tav questions 4, 11, 14
Ask game is here, thanks for asking babe!! 🥰
She texted me saying answer for all of them so, here I go... 😅
Rai
4: If your Tav was a companion, where would they be found?
Rai would be hanging around the lower city of Baldur's Gate, looking for work. If she can't find anything as a body guard or mercenary, she's usually out foraging to sell to vendors. Work was pretty slow before she got pulled onto the nautiloid, so she was mostly making money through foraging.
11: Weapon of choice?
Rai uses a long sword, I like to think that she and Lae'zel would spar and practice their sword fighting skills together, since they fight with the same type of blades. Rai is very curious about how githyanki fight. :)
14: What hobbies does your Tav have?
Foraging, and art. She keeps a small collection of scrolls for sketching. Before she met the tadpole gang, she did a lot of sketching with her foraging. Documenting plants she saw frequently and what they sold for in the city. Once she started traveling with others, she started sketching people more. She tried to sneak a few sketches of Shadowheart early on, and got very flustered when she was caught! So she's done less sketching of Shadowheart but was lucky that Karlach asked her to draw her when she joined. (She thinks they're both very attractive.)
Io
4: If your Tav was a companion, where would they be found?
Probably wondering around Baldur's Gate's lower city without her memories... Since she is my Dark Urge Tav.
11: Weapon of choice?
As a draconic blood line sorcerer, Io utilitizes spells over physical weapons, with emphasis on lighting and thunder damage early on. Although she occasionally relies on ice, especially after acquiring the Mourning frost staff.
14: What hobbies does your Tav have?
Io does not have her memories early on, so her hobbies are a bit scarce. Magic is definitely something that she is deeply passionate about as a sorcerer. So I feel like she would love to spend hours reading over old scrolls about various magic and spells. She also loves to stare at the night sky and dabbles in astronomy.
Sera
4: If your Tav was a companion, where would they be found?
On a busy road leading through the mountains or countryside, likely harassing cart drivers and travelers to steal whatever it is they're carrying or transporting.
11: Weapon of choice?
Sera likes to rely on spells and weapons almost equally, as well as her animal forms. For physical weapons, she dual wields scimitar. For spells, she heavily relies on thorn whip to trap or take out an enemy with environmental kills. She also really enjoys causing chaos with ice storm. Preferred wild shapes are: cat (calico), dilophosaurus or owlbear.
Axis
4: If your Tav was a companion, where would they be found?
Likely to be found absolutely shit faced in the Blushing Mermaid, fist fighting men and flirting with women.
11: Weapon of choice?
Long sword or axe, as a barbarian, she isn't picky.
14: What hobbies does your Tav have?
Flirting and fighting. Probably involved in as many underground fighting rings as she can find. She dabbled in smithing when she was younger, so she occasionally repairs or sharpens her own weapons but it isn't something she really worries about anymore.
1 note
·
View note
Note
can you go in detail about the pamonha procedure
yeah sure. this will get long
first get corn cobs. it needs to still have the leaves
peel them. separate leaves that are not torn or dirty. normally second or third layer are best, the ones from deeper layer tend to be too thin
peel the hair. u can throw it all away. it is as boring and time consuming as it sounds
(psa it's pretty common to find catterpillars when peeling corn, at least here in brazil. just cut the part they are on away and pretend nothing happened)
if you manage to buy corn already cleaned up and also the leaves i guess it makes things easier. the superior experience is to have like 10 people peeling hair and throwing caterpillars at each other though
get a grater. use the side that has all the small circles, like the one you use for grating onion when u want to make it a paste
grate the corn. it is veeeeery tiring. some people cut the corn grains and use a blender but it gets too liquid imo
get a table spoon and scrape all the corn you didn't manage to get out grating. just go through it with the edge of the spoon, concave side down. trust me there is a lot left in the cob. this takes time and is also tiring xD
after u grated at least 3 cobs u will be left with a bunch of corn puree. salt it and add vegetable oil. i measure it by eye but i would say 3 cobs take about 3 tbspn of oil. some people add sugar as well (i really dislike it personally)
now to the hard part. you will need the leaves and some string, like yarn. the leaves have a triangle shape, so you will join the bases of the triangle together, like this ◀️▶️. make it overlap a bit. get some of the mixture with a laddle and put some inside the leaves. that mixture will grow in size when cooking so don't put too much. it doesnt matter it's small as long you have enough leaves for all your mixture. put a piece of cheese inside, more or less the size of your finger. the cheese needs to be of a kind that doesnt melt and is not cured. so, fold the leaves over the mixture. do it over the bowl you have the mixture in because you will fail your first try and everything will spill. trust me. when you manage, quickly grab a piece of string and go around everything horizontally and vertically, shutting it close. some people like to add more layers of leaves before closing with a string but i don't really know why besides just making it a chore to open later xD
boil water in a large pot. put ur pamonha in it and leave for about 40 minutes
here how it looks
and u open after cooking and it's solid
some people separate the mixture in half sweet and half savory and use different collored strings to identify. the preference in pamonha is pretty divisive even in one household so people just tend to acomodate both. i am a savory gal so when I am making for myself I dont bother. also i don't put cheese either i hate the taste, but this is a very, very unpopular opinion as most say the cheese is the best part
the whole process is usually a 5+ people job. guests and children usually peel the corn, older ones scrape the grated cob with a spoon and the ones with high endurance and stamina grate the corn. skilled individuals make the final product in the end. the whole thing is like an assembly line and i love it. like my grandpa's job was to cut the top of the corn with a scimitar looking ass knife and then pick the good leaves. i moved up the ranks from being a peeler to a scrapper but i was a complete disappointment in folding the pamonha so my grandma never let me touch it again
0 notes
Text
Misery Tastes Chapter 7
Alright, this fic’s going on another hiatus... for like, a day. XD
Mainly because I got work coming up tomorrow and today, and me posting this is already eating into my schedule. XD
Anyways, it’s time for certain relevations!
And the man of the hour is finally coming in, strutting his ego and love of eggs to the world...
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13(1/2) | 14
Chapter 7
Meanwhile, back at the Kintobor Manor…
Helen’s room was… different from Ovi’s room. Tails had thought it would be just as childish and messy as Ovi’s was, but no. Where posters plastered the walls in Ovi’s room, Helen’s had swords of all kinds - decorative, fencing, scimitars, katanas… Whatever the sword, Helen had got it. The room itself had soft pinks on the walls and blues on the ceiling, contrasting with the more militaristic and sparse decorating with the room. While the bed, drawers, and bookshelves were similar to Ovi’s, Helen’s own seemed more suited for work/sleep than anything Ovi had in his room.
Though the fluffy, faded carpet that Tails oddly found himself waking up on was interesting, the sounds coming out from the door caused him to forget the carpet.
“What’s going on?” Helen yawned out, getting up and stepping over Tails’ tails carefully. How Helen could even see with the lights off, Tails would never know. But he was glad she switched on the lights by the door.
“I dunno.” Tails stated, getting up from the floor. “It sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen.” He said as he pressed his ear to the door. Helen’s face twisted a bit, unsure about what’s going on.
“I kind of want to know.” Helen cheered, smirking a bit as she opened the door. She looked to Tails again, lips pursed over as she stared. “Well? Why don’t we get going?” She asked carefully. Tails shyly smiled at that, walking through the open door.
Tails and Helen snuck out of their shared bedroom, hearing voices further down the hall. Immediately, Helen was on instant alert, running off towards the sound, expecting Tails to follow. Tails, despite his misgivings, obliged Hope’s curiosity and followed after her, hoping to get things over with so that they could go back to bed. They were in matching pyjamas – Hope’s were dark red dragons imprinted all over it, while Tails’ had metallic blue dragons. Hope had decided to wear her neutral-fly chao shaped slippers, while Tails remained in his regular shoes.
“Hey, there’s something going on down there with your father, Helen.” Tails whispered, trying to avoid getting caught. Hope ignored him, causing him to get a bit irritated. “Hope, we shouldn’t be up right now.” Helen spung on her heel at that, irate that Tails would use her so-called brother’s infernal nickname for her.
“What, have you never gone against your parents?” Helen decided to say instead, though the anger of Tails calling her by the wrong name was evident on her scrunched-up face.
“… I don’t want to talk about my parents…” the fox whined, his ears flattening as he stated it. Hope stepped back in shock, trying to comprehend what that meant.
“Oh…” She started, then cursed under her breath for sounding too nonchalant. “Erm, I’m sorry.” She whispered, unable to make it higher, yet Tails saw her mutter out the words. As she was about to apologize properly, the noises from the kitchen got louder, causing the two to snap out of their moment. “Let’s listen in.” She growled instead, ending the conversation as Helen got closer to the balcony overhanging the kitchen. Tails sighed, but joined Helen at the railing.
The two got close to the kitchen area – decked out like a pristine 5-star restaurant kitchen, with every tool imaginable, and the floor space of a tournament cooking show – where Harold and another person were coming into the Mansion. The man was tall, had an extremely bushy mustache to compensate for his bald head, a red military jacket, and an egg-shaped body -
“So, Ivo, what brings you here? I sent Bella home just a few minutes ago.” Harold said as he opened the refrigerator, only raising an eyebrow as Ivo strolled past Harold.
“Harold, my old friend! Been keeping yourself busy with father-son bonding?” The egg-shaped man cawed, immediately strutting toward the bar stool, its harsh creak indicating it had been in this position many times as the man sat on it. Harold glared at the egg-shaped scientist when Eggman dodged his question, yet refused to sit, opting instead to stand on the opposite end of the island.
“Who’s that guy? He sounds… egotistical.” Helen asked, looking to find Tails’ face draining of color as he watched the scene.
“Wait, I know that man!” Tails nearly shouted, Hope gasping at the sudden loudness. “That’s -”
Helen slapped her hand onto Tails’ muzzle, keeping him from getting too excited as she listened in the conversation.
“– have you been, dealing with your son? You seemed pretty… upset about him, over the phone.” Ivo stated, accepting a glass that looked to be full of rum and eggnog in it. Harold, on the other hand, chose only water to drink.
“It wasn’t that I’m upset about him. It’s that he doesn’t want me. I can understand, considering what I’ve done to him.” Harold stated, drinking a bit from his water glass as Eggman took a full swig of his drink. The mustached man grimaced into the concoction - but decided to have another drink instead.
“Ah, the abandonment after Marian left, that’s what you’re referring to?” Ivo asked instead, drinking a small sip when Harold nodded.
“Yes… I can’t believe it’s been ten years since then...” The younger man seemed wistful at the mention of that name. “If only Helen knew her… She acts just like her mother, all stubborn yet head-strong…”
“Wait, I have a mum? That also left?” Helen was shocked at this – she just assumed she was some cloning experiment, or at least an adoptee of her father’s. She never had thought -
“It’s Dr. Eggman!” Tails softly blurted out, getting out of Helen’s slack grip and pointing toward the egg-shaped man.
“That’s Eggman? He really does look like an egg!” Helen stared amazed that the infamous Dr. Eggman. Before realizing how many of Ovi’s stories made sense now – how he got to meet Sonic, his first fight against the malicious scientist, the fact that he was sitting in HER HOUSE -
“Yes, and it seems that Marian still hasn’t been found. I highly think she’s -”
“It’s possible. Yet I don’t want to give up on her. Not until I know she’s gone. For Ovi and Helen’s sakes.” Harold stated, turning away from Eggman at that point. Helen was shaking, too many revelations were happening at once for her – she needed someone who would take it more calmly…
“Call Sonic… and Julian.” Helen spat out, looking at Tails with an intense stare. Tails immediately nodded, but then turned towards Helen with a shocked expression on his face.
“Huh, why?” He asked, wondering why Helen would want to ask her brother for help. However, the human didn’t recognize what the question was, and answered the one that he already knew.
“They need to know who's visiting Harold now.” Helen stated, turning towards Tails with a hint of finality. When she found that Tails was staring at her, she snapped out “Well? Get to it!” before turning back to stare at the scene.
“Yeesh, no need to get angry with me…” Tails grumpily tacked on - but did as Helen commanded regardless. It took two rings for Ovi to answer the phone.
Neither made any mention of her tacking on Ovi’s old name to her request. They had more pressing concerns.
“Yo, it’s Ovi -”
“Ovi, you got to come back! You won’t believe who’s in the Estate!” Tails cut Ovi off, an ominous feeling coming up his back. Would it be a good idea to bring Ovi into this? But he needed to know whom Harold was on good terms with…
“Who-?”
“Eggman.”
“… I’m on my way. Sonic, Neb-” Ovi hung up then, leaving Tails to pocket his phone away, biting his lips.
“They’ll be coming soon.”
“Good. They’ll be able to-”
“Do what?” Sonic squeaked out in between Tails and Helen, startling the human girl. The blast of air came in as soon as Nebula and Ovi settled in besides Helen, with the young girl panting to calm herself down while her hair was tussled in the wind.
“Hope, you okay? You look like you’ve -” Ovi’s mouth snapped shut as Helen put her hand over his face, turning his head toward the open-floor kitchen. “What -?” Ovi cut himself off when he looked over the kitchen area that Helen was pointing at. “Oh…” Was all he could state as he saw the scene.
“No way…” Sonic could only look on in bemusement.
“I knew it!” Nebula hissed out.
“So he is here!” Amy couldn’t help but mutter, not believing her eyes.
“Harold?” Ovi looked aghast at the scene, unable to comprehend what was going on.
Eggman’s smirk seemingly got wider, as he pulled Harold closer. “It’s not too much of a worry, is it not? After all, your children will come around eventually!” the roboticist crowed, lifting the rum/eggnog combo up to over his head. “After all, it wouldn’t be good for them to come back more hurt than they already are, now would it?” His eerie suggestion rang out through the room, and Harold’s face was blank. No emotion, no idea what he was thinking.
Ovi growled at the scene, in disbelief about the scene playing out before him: Eggman, being chummy with Harold! To think, this is the worst thing the changeling found out about his father!
“No, he was never my father.” Ovi’s dark thoughts supplied, his world shutting down. ”Why would he talking to Eggman if he was?” With that thought, he immediately got up to run off. Nebula and Helen noticed his movements, and their eyes caught the changeling’s retreating back.
“Ovi, wait!” Nebula called out, but her calls were ignored as the changeling ran off. Before she could try to go after him, Harold’s voice rang clear in the room.
“…To think, I would even try to keep my children caged like that.”
“Oh?”
“If I try to keep them trapped like you suggest I should do, I won’t ever have them again.” Harold growled out, looking at Eggman into his small, round glasses. Eggman feigned surprise at Harold’s proclamation.
“But-”
“Don’t start with me, Ivo. I’m never going to do that to Helen. And now, when Ovi needs me the most… He’ll never forgive me if I do what you suggested.”
Eggman frowned, then cruelly smiled at Harold’s statement. “You’re right, my old friend.” The roboticist then gave Harold a pat on the shoulder with his hands – “Big enough to crush someone with.” Harold thought absently.
“It’s not like I’m the one that needs to explain anything to your kids, since you’ve been keeping them in the dark on a lot of things.” Eggman then pushed Harold aside, not bothering to clear up his message as he walked out. As the egg-shaped scientist got to the door, he stopped- turning his head to look at Harold out of the corner of his blue eye.
“Harold.” Eggman said, tone analytical rather than the cruel voice he had moments earlier. “You might check in on some pests in the Belfry. I think you got too many ears in our conversation.” With that, Eggman left the house, causing Harold to turn around to the upper floor balcony.
Just in time to see a slipper in between the rails of the balcony disappear into the night.
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
RP Meme from “What’s Your Favorite Movie Quote?” thread on Reddit, Part One
“Crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side.”
“Get busy living or get busy dying.”
“ You can't fight in here, this is the war room!”
"Man up and vanished like a fart in the wind!"
"They literally stopped me from eating foods that were shaped like dicks. No hot dogs, no popsicles... You know how many foods are shaped like dicks? The best kinds."
“People don’t forget.”
"They wouldn't even let me watch Wild Things, because Kevin Bacon's dick is in it."
"You can promise that I’ll come back?”
“He starts monologuing! He starts this prepared speech about how feeble I am to him, how my defeat is inevitable, and the world will soon be his, yada yada yada, he’s yammering! I mean the guy has me on a platter, and he won’t shut up!”
“You sly dog! You got me monologuing!!“
“A hero would sacrifice you for the world but a villain would sacrifice the world for you.”
"I need your clothes, your boots, and your motorcycle."
“I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!”
Try not to suck any dick on the way through the parking lot."
“Some motherfuckers are always trying to ice skate uphill."
“I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.”
"The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and you have burned so very, very brightly."
"I eat pieces of shit like you for breakfast.'
"You eat pieces of shit for breakfast?"
"Now you will go to sleep, or I will put you to sleep."
"You’re a lousy kindergarten teacher I see those finger paintings you bring home and they SUCK!!!”
"When you're ugly and someone loves you, you know they love you for who you are. Beautiful people never know who to trust."
"Strange women, lying in ponds and distributing swords is no system for a basis of government. If I went around saying I was an emperor just because some moistened bint lobbed a scimitar at me, they would put me away!"
“Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony!“
“Oh, now we see the violence inherent in the system!”
“All the time you spend tryin to get back what's been took from you there's more going out the door. After a while you just try and get a tourniquet on it.”
"What you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."
"Those of you lucky enough to still have their lives, take them with you. However, leave the limbs you've lost. They belong to me now.”
"Are you not entertained? "
"This is some serious gourmet shit "
“I don't need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is, okay?"
“I’m dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they’re going to do something incredibly stupid. “
“In a fair fight, I'd kill you.”
“When you have to shoot, shoot, don’t talk!”
“Back off man. I'm a scientist.”
“People should not be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people.“
“I’m not questioning your powers of observation, I’m merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is.”
“Are you like a crazy person?”
“There are over 550 million firearms in worldwide circulation. That’s one firearm for every twelve people on the planet. The only question is: How do we arm the other eleven?”
“Are you sick too?”
“My hypocrisy only goes so far.”
“I forgot you were there. You may go now."
"Does this mean we're not friends anymore?”
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Underneath Your Clothes
Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Pairing: Joe x Nicky
Read on AO3
///
You're a song
Written by the hands of God
Don't get me wrong
'Cause this might sound to you a bit odd
But you own the place
Where all my thoughts go hiding
And right under your clothes
Is where I find them
Underneath your clothes
There's an endless story
There's the man I chose
There's my territory
And all the things I deserve
For being such a good girl honey
- “Underneath Your Clothes” by Shakira
Nicky hummed mindlessly to the Italian song that was floating in through the open window. The singer was barely sixteen, but his voice was reminiscent of the great crooners. He always left with a tidy haul at the end of the day whenever he stopped by their corner. Nicky made a mental note to give him one of his pastries if he caught him before he left for the day.
The timer went off as the kid finished off his song. Nicky removed the baking tray into the oven, closing the door behind him with his hip. He placed the tray on the counter before turning off the timer. He smirked at it, a novelty “Italian Chef” timer Nile had gotten him for Christmas a few years ago. That had been a fun one.
He transferred the baked goods into a couple of large boxes once they had cooled and set the tray in the sink to soak. Once that was done, he cleaned the rest of the kitchen, satisfied only when the counters gleamed and the rest of the dishes were either put away or drying on the rack. Wiping his hands on the kitchen towel, he stepped away from the room. Rolling his neck, Nicky massaged one of his wrists, relieving the tension built up from a day spent rolling and preparing dough.
Glancing at the clock showed that it was 3 in the afternoon. Not bad for a day’s work. Checking the doors and windows were properly closed, Nicky made his way further into the house. Some of their down times were spent just catching their breath from a rough mission. Others, like this one, were to ground themselves back into the world, to remind themselves that their lives did not have to just be blood, vengeance, and seeking to bring justice to the evils of the world.
The breeze that drifted through the bedroom was tinged with the warm sunshine of the Mediterranean sun and the salty tinge of the sea. He leaned against the doorway, smiling softly at the sight that greeted him. Joe, sitting up with his back to the door, both hands in the air, fingers interwoven as he grunted from the stretching exercise. Once he finished, releasing a heavy breath, he placed his hands at the small of his back, curving backwards as far as he could go. The next exercise was placing his hands firmly by his hips and twisting his body until the cracks rang out. Nicky winced at their volume. Unfortunately muscle tension was not something that their healing cured.
Joe had decided to volunteer himself to help out with the renovations happening at the orphanage down the street because his husband had the largest heart that Nicky knew of. For the past three weeks they had been here, Joe would wake up without complaint when Nicky woke him at sunrise and leave for work. He would usually return after sunset, having stayed behind to wrangle the kids for dinner, hair covered in dust, plaster, paint, or on one memorable occasion, all three. Nicky occasionally dropped by to help with the kids, otherwise he occupied himself with cooking food for the crews and for the children.
But today was Sunday, so Joe had spent his day off sleeping most of the morning and afternoon away except for the meals Nicky had forced into him.
“Need help?” Nicky said softly as Joe grunted for the third time trying to stretch his arms all the way up.
Joe turned his head to see him quickly, shooting him one of his signature smiles. His shoulders betrayed his tiredness though. “I would never say no to your hands on me, ya amar.”
Snorting, Nicky made his way over to Joe, going around the bed to stand between his open legs. Gently, Nicky cupped the back of Joe’s neck with both hands and dug his thumbs into the space between his jaw and ears. Joe groaned, tipping forward until his forehead rested on Nicky’s stomach.
“Don’t stop.” Joe whined as Nicky moved to massage the back of Joe’s neck.
Nicky dipped down to press a kiss to the top of Joe’s head, the root of his palms skating their way down his back in a firm press. Joe’s spine seemed to melt beneath his hands as his husband went floppy in his arms. He repeated the motion twice more, switching to a faster pace, and then to using folded fingers.
“Maybe you should take a break Joe, just because our bodies don’t stay hurt or ache doesn’t mean we cannot be sore if we push ourselves hard enough.” Nicky said while bringing his hands back up until they rested on Joe’s broad shoulders.
Joe let his head fall back, eyes half closed as he peered up at Nicky. “We are so close though Nicky. Just one more week.”
Nicky sighed. “Alright my love.”
Joe smiled at him and fully closed his eyes, nudging his head back into Nicky’s hands.
“Si, si, I am getting to it.” Nicky said fondly, bringing his fingers up to bury themselves in Joe’s curls. Systematically, he gathered the hair into two fists, squeezed, and then relaxed, moving to cover all of Joe’s scalp. He moved down to squeeze intermittently at his forehead, then to his ears, tugging and rubbing at them. He pressed his thumbs to Joe’s temple, the hum from his husband’s throat vibrating through his hands. A firm swipe down his proud nose, another two across the faint field of freckles spotted near the bridge of his nose. Strong hold of the jaw, fingers curling through the beard.
When Joe was halfway to sleep, Nicky leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. And then another two over his closed eyelids.
Joe’s eyes fluttered open. “Hayati, I love you more than anything in this world, and will give it to you if you ask me.”
Nicky raised an eyebrow when Joe paused. “But?”
“But I will fall asleep on you if you try to have sex with me right now.” Joe said sincerely, and with regret in his eyes.
Nicky laughed, fondness overflowing from his heart at his ridiculous fool.
“I will do my best not to have sex with you now then.”
Joe let out a mournful whine which just made Nicky laugh harder. It seemed to increase in volume when he stepped away from the reach of Joe’s outstretched hands.
“Oh you will survive Joe.” Nicky said as he walked over to their dresser. He hummed as he sorted through the contents of the drawer until he found the bottle he was looking for.
Opening it, he inhaled deeply, a content smile forming as the soothing scent of sandalwood and rose oil rose to greet him. Turning around, Nicky snorted at the sight. Joe was leaning back on the bed, body weight resting on his elbows as his head tipped back. The line of this throat called to Nicky.
Moving towards him, Nicky placed the oil on the bedside table. He then gently pushed at Joe’s shoulders, the gentle shove enough to send Joe falling fully against the mattress. Carefully, Nicky threw a leg across Joe’s lap, hands running over his chest before they paused at the topmost button of his shirt.
“I thought you said we weren’t having sex.” Joe pouted at him, hands coming up instinctively to rest at Nicky’s hips, their warmth seeping through the thin cotton t-shirt Nicky had on. He sometimes wondered if it would be possible for skin to indent from the constant press of something against it, like water cutting its way through a rock, or a leaf falling in wet cement. Wondered if at a microscopic level, his skin would be marked by the whorls of Joe’s fingertips.
“We aren’t.” Nicky said as he unbuttoned Joe’s shirt. He paused when it was fully open, lightly running his fingers across the length of the toned chest he could recall from memory.
In the later afternoon light, Joe was painted golden, and Nicky went dizzy with the wave of want that suddenly washed over him. So long together, and yet Joe made him burn hotter than anything else he had ever known.
Joe was his miracle, more than his immortality, a miracle in the shape of a man who had found it in him to not only forgive a man who had committed unspeakable atrocities against his people, but to love him so deeply, Nicky could feel it in his bones. The sun rose from the east, the Mediterranean was home, Joe loved him.
Joe let out a little giggle when Nicky’s fingers caressed his sides, a ticklish spot Nicky was not afraid to exploit when he needed it. That wasn’t what this was about though. Joe did not need a tease. He deserved a reward.
Humming in apology, Nicky set about stripping Joe down and manipulating him until he was laying at the center of the bed on his stomach, naked. Joe for his part let Nicky shift him to his heart’s content, settling heavily into the mattress.
After arranging him comfortably, Nicky straddled the back of Joe’s thighs, armed with the bottle of massage oil. Pouring a handful out, he closed it tightly before wringing his hands, making sure to oil them thoroughly. He placed his hands on Joe’s shoulders, thumbs settling near the start of Joe’s spine while his other fingers curled around the meat of Joe’s shoulders. He squeezed tightly, pushing his weight into it as he worked to relieve the knots he could feel underneath his hands.
Joe started moaning, a deep and heavy sound that Nicky tried to tune out lest they distract him.
Here were Joe’s shoulders, that had once slung an injured soldier across them, a child who had come to frontlines in the name of patriotism. He had trekked through the trenches till he’d delivered him to a field hospital.
Here were his arms, corded with muscles honed through fighting with scimitar and broadsword and gun, but also honed with the manual labor of tilling fields and repairing houses.
And here, his forearms, his wrists, his hands. Long fingers capable of creating masterpieces that could rival the artistic geniuses of the past centuries.
His strong back, his spine, which bent but never broke, that never stayed down for long. That did not bow in the face of injustice, and willingly took punishment to spare an innocent the scars that would not mar his skin for long.
His hips, which had seated countless kids when they had downtime during rescue missions, a throne and a safety cushion from which they could learn the old names of the constellations, and about seeing the beauty even in the war-torn landscape.
His ass, which Nicky would truly never get enough of.
Further down, his thighs, his calves, hard from decades of walking, running, marching, criss-crossing Earth. Nile had attempted to do the math once, to see how many miles they had walked in their long lives, how many times had they theoretically circumnavigated the globe. The average person from the 21st century would walk 110,000 miles in a lifetime. She had despaired trying to figure out if she should combined Nicky and Joe’s steps or count them individually, and then given up entirely when faced with Andy’s history.
His feet, soft only because of their healing powers, feet that had carried him barefoot over every terrain, through grass and sand and snow and sea.
When Nicky reached back up to place a kiss on Joe’s neck, he heard Joe’s soft snores.
Smiling softly, he pressed another kiss to Joe’s cheek and got out of bed.
He returned to the kitchen, scrubbing the baking tray clean and leaving it to dry. He grabbed one of their disposable boxes and placed two pastries into it. Checking to make sure he was dressed decently, Nicky jogged down the steps of the house just as the busker was placing his guitar back in his case.
“Lorenzo!” Nicky called, signalling for him to wait up. Lorenzo blushed, and huh, maybe Joe wasn’t so far off with his theory the kid had a crush on Nicky. He gave him the box, Lorenzo accepting it with wide eyes.
Nicky shrugged and looked at his sweetly. “You should eat enough to have the strength to keep singing.”
Lorenzo grinned and nodded before waving bye to him. Nicky watched until the kid had boarded the bus before making his way back home. Just before entering, he purchased a handful of dahlias from the flower vendor.
Joe had shifted to his back when Nicky re-entered their bedroom, his arm slung over his stomach, fingers twitching as though they were searching for something. Nicky placed the flowers with the vase by the bedside table so Joe would see them when he woke up.
Walking one last time around the house to make sure everything was locked up, Nicky removed his own t-shirt and pants so he was in just his underwear. He folded the clothes neatly and placed them on top of the laundry hamper before he crawled into bed. Gently lifting Joe’s arm, Nicky settled on top of Joe’s chest, ears filling with the sound of Joe’s heartbeat.
A subtle hitch in Joe’s breath and the tightening of the arm around him alerted Nicky to his husband’s wakeful status.
“Thank you for the wonderful massage, cuore mio.” Joe breathed softly.
Nicky turned and nuzzled into his side, making him let out a laughing gasp. “Anytime, vita mia.”
Joe drifted back to sleep within a few breaths. Nicky laid awake for some more time.
Nearly a thousand years he had been by Joe’s side, had had the permission to touch him like lovers do. And yet the thrill of it was always present, the gift never unappreciated.
He did not know whether or not he would ever atone for all the sins he committed over his long life, and at this point he did not much care. The only person who’s opinion mattered to him was right here.
Joe, who had seen first hand what Nicky had done. Joe, who had been killed by his hands. Who had killed him his fair share of times. Who had allowed him to stumble his way but never left him. Who had heard every secret fantasy and dream and fear Nicky had thought of, and promised to guard them. Joe who had been with him for every adventure and story this crazy life threw their way.
Joe who spent their vacation helping with renovations at an orphanage.
And here, bare between them, this was Nicky’s reward. Call him selfish, Nicky would share a lot with the world, but this was his. This love, this trust. This life.
Joe was his. His love. His territory. His sanctuary. His to keep.
#my fic#my writing#the old guard#tog#the old guard fic#tog fic#yusuf al kaysani#nicolo di genova#joe x nicky#nicky x joe#kaysanova#let me know what you think!
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
Demon Alya fic snippit
Feel free to do what you want with this. (If you want to put it on your blog or AO3 or something as a related work, I don’t mind).
—-
This, Juleka thought as she strained at the ropes which bound her tightly inside the bloody pentagram, is really not my day.
“The hour grows nigh!” shouted the loudest (and smelliest) of the five hooded dorks who were standing around the pentagram, one per point, and intermittently chanting while waving cloying incense around. “Soon a powerful demon shall accept our sacrifice and manifest before us, and in exchange for our undying loyalty and our immortal souls, shall grant us vast power over this world!” He spread his hands. “Rejoice, my coven! Rejoice!”
“Rejoice!” repeated the four idiots, as Juleka termed them, to the lead idiot. “Rejoice!”
Juleka thrashed a little but still couldn’t get out, and she growled to herself. If she somehow got out of this, she told herself, she would learn for her mistakes. For instance, the next time Rose had to cancel their date because something came up, Juleka would not browse around online until she found a meet up for people who ‘believed in the occult’ and ‘wanted to explore the horrors lurking beneath the world’s surface with an open mind,’ and even if she found such a group she certainly wouldn’t go to check it out without telling anyone where she was heading. Or at the very least, if she did go, she’d get better at dodging so that if a bunch of creepy robed guys jumped up from their Dungeons and Dragons spellbooks and tried to seize her again she’d be able to get away.
But that presupposed she’d be able to escape in the first place, and unfortunately, it seemed like the one things these guys were good at was tying people up. She wondered briefly if she could try to get mad enough that Hawkmoth would akumatize her and give her the power to escape (and throw these idiots into the Seine), but she knew that if Hawkmoth was paying attention he’d likely have already sensed her anger and done that. And besides, even if she did get akumatized, wouldn’t the Miraculous Cure put her right back down here when Ladybug finished beating her up and de-akumatizing her?
“We have already laid the incense and slain the goat!” the first guy went on. “And painted the pentagram in the goat’s blood!” Juleka gagged. “Now-”
“Are you sure your Mom is cool with us killing a goat in her backyard?” another of the robed guys suddenly asked. “I mean, it kind of made a mess.”
The leader shook his head. “When we get our demonic powers, we won’t need to worry about messes or moms. We’ll be able to do whatever we want. We could–we could stay out after curfew! Order two desserts at dinner! Make girls hang out with us!”
Juleka wondered if it was possibly to die of sheer secondhand embarrassment.
“Now, the hour is nigh at last!” the shouty guy yelled. “And as for our sacrificial victim: know that your death is not in vain, for with your blood we shall obtain the power to change the world!” He grabbed a knife from within his robes and Juleka’s eyes widened; despite everything she realized that on some level she hadn’t thought these losers would actually do it. “Have you any last words before your soul is sent to the realm of the demons?”
Juleka debated a dozen different responses, but none seemed right–she wasn’t going to beg and plead with these morons, or even threaten them; there was no point and she wouldn’t satisfy them by looking angry or terrified. So she settled on, “You’re holding that knife wrong.”
“What?” The robed guy seemed to have been knocked out of his spiel. “I–no I’m not! The pointy end–”
“If you’re going to sacrifice someone, you grip it differently,” said Juleka in an annoyed tone. “You’re holding it backwards, like you’re going to stab up at someone. For a sacrifice you aim the knife down at the sacrificial altar. And you use a different knife in the first place, one specifically for rituals.”
The other robed guys stared at the leader as he fumbled with his blade. “This is a ritual blade!” he insisted.
“Ritual blades are made of special materials and don’t have serrated edges like that,” Juleka said. “That's… dude, I think that’s a steak knife.”
Everyone froze. “It is not!” the lead guy yelled at last. “It is magic! Look, this sigil on the hilt we could not decipher–”
“That’s the logo of the cutlery store down the street,” Juleka noted.
All of the other robed guys looked at each other. “How do you know so much about knives?” one asked Juleka.
Because my Mom has one and every so often she insists on telling me about how she dated a coven leader one time and has her ritual dagger to prove it, Juleka thought. It’s the story that comes after the 'I dated a pirate and here’s the scimitar to prove it’ one and before the 'I dated a magician who I think might have had actual fey lineage and here’s some other sword to prove it’ one.
Juleka loved her mother dearly, but she had to admit that Anarka was… not entirely moored in reality at times.
“No! She knows nothing!” the leader raved before Juleka could answer. “And besides, I know the knife is real! I bought it on EBay from a genuine wizard; it said so right in his seller profile!” The leader took a breath. “I mean, come on, do you really think I would have spent eight hundred francs on a ritual dagger that was forged in the fires of Hell itself if there was any chance it was just a steak knife?”
“Based on what I know of you,” said Juleka, “I think you’d spent your life savings on a rock if a guy with a mysterious accent told you it could give you magic powers, but would only work once he took all your money and left town so you couldn’t get a refund.”
“She’s got you there, dude,” said another of the robed guys.
The leader roared something inarticulate. Then he slashed down and cut Juleka’s cheek, just enough to draw a trickle of blood that spilled down and touched the pentagram. And then, to Juleka’s amazement, the circle actually began to glow and hiss. “We’re doing it!” gasped the leader. “See? I was right! This works!”
Juleka felt herself growing warm as the pentagram heated up. The blood suddenly ignited and Juleka cringed away from it, but the only place to hide was the pentagon in its center, and the smoke from the burning goat blood was all drifting there despite the absence of a breeze in the dingy basement. She was forced to roll into the pentagon and hide against one of its edges as the smoke coalesced. “Demon, we summon you!” the leader was yelling. “We bid you speak your name! Have we summoned the mighty Asmodeus? The brilliant Mephistopheles? The great Balphagor? The–”
A crack of thunder sounded and the smoked cleared, revealing the shape of a girl a little shorter than Juleka. The figure had horns, red skin, small wings sticking out of her back, and a tail with a spade on the end, but otherwise looked like a regular girl. In fact, she looked like a very familiar girl to Juleka. She had red hair, a beauty mark on her face, glasses, a red-and-white checkered shirt–
Wait.
“Um, Alya?” Juleka managed. “What’s going on?”
The redhead didn’t seem to notice her as she spread her arms and beamed at the robed guys. “You have summoned the demon Alya Cesaire!” she said. “Are you prepared to trade your immortal souls in exchange for great power?”
“Oh yes!” said the robed leader. “And we even prepared a sacrifice for you, oh mighty demon!” He pointed. “You can rip out her heart whenever you want!”
Alya glanced down, then froze. “Juleka?” she said. “Is that you? What are you doing?”
“Being sacrificed by these idiots, apparently.” Juleka briefly wondered if she was going crazy, but this didn’t seem like the kind of thing she’d hallucinate. Somehow, someway, Alya Cesaire had teleported in and at least appeared to be a demon. Maybe this was some weird akuma, or a new miraculous user with a demon theme for some reason (although Juleka personally felt that if anyone got a 'demon’ miraculous it would be LIla Rossi), but whatever was going on, it was really happening. So she’d just have to find some way to deal with it. “Alya, what’s going on? What are you doing?”
“They summoned me–” Then Alya caught herself. “Wait, no no no, you’re not supposed to know about me! Oh no, Nora is going to slaughter me…”
Everyone stared at Alya as she took a few breaths, suddenly looking less like a demonic tempter and more like an unhappy teenager who was about to get grounded. “How do you know these guys?” Alya asked Juleka at last.
“I don’t! They said they were looking at occult stuff, so I came by and they jumped me when I showed up!” Juleka insisted. “I don’t know them!”
Alya stared at her, and Juleka saw a truly frightening look of anger cross the girl’s face for a brief moment before Alya turned back to the cultists. “Did you seriously just try to sacrifice a random stranger to me?“
"…yes?” said the leader. “I mean, we’re not going to sacrifice someone we like–”
“It’s not a sacrifice unless you sacrifice someone you like!” said Alya, sounding both angry and exasperated. “The whole point of this is you’re promising to forswear any earthly attachments in order to devote yourself to demonic causes, you idiot! You can’t just kill some random stranger to do that! If it’s not someone close to you, someone where it’d mean something for you to betray them and give them up, there’s no point!”
“So,” said Juleka, “what you’re saying is, if Luka was going to sacrifice me for some reason, you’d be cool with it.”
Alya looked down at her with a hurt expression. “I mean, not you specifically, but…” She caught herself and quickly coughed before turning back to the cultists. “I can’t accept this sacrifice,” the demon said more loudly. “I–”
“You have to!” crowed the lead cultist. “We summoned you. It’s a bargain, and you can’t leave until you take the sacrifice and give us the powers we want! And if you don’t do what we want we’ll cast spells on you to hurt you!”
“That isn’t how that works!” Alya rolled her eyes. “The only power you have is the power I give you! You can’t use it against me or I’ll just take it back! Devil below, did you put even five minutes of thought into this?"
"You have to!” repeated the leader. “Or you can’t leave. Look, we don’t care if you take the girl, but give us our powers already!”
The demon and the cultist leader stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Alya said, “And what powers do you want, exactly?”
“All of them!” said one of the other cultists.
“Yeah, you’re going to need more than one sacrifice for that,” Alya snarked.
“Then we’ll start with just one.” The cultist leader grinned. “I know. The one we discussed earlier. Make girls like us!”
The other cultists nodded. “Yeah, I need a girlfriend,” said one. “Someone who doesn’t care about dumb illogical stuff like 'showering,’ and who doesn’t mind me playing games with my friends all night.”
“Why just one?” The lead cultist rubbed his hands together. “You, demon. Make us irresistible to girls in general. We’re smart; we deserves harems!” He chuckled. “Oh, and we can have them wrestle to see who gets to spend each night with us!”
Alya exchanged astonished and exasperated glances with Juleka. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “You–”
“I read there was this Chinese emperor who had a harem of a thousand girls,” said another cultist. “So many that when he wanted to go on a date he had a donkey take his carriage around the harem quarters and just dated whichever women was closest when the donkey stopped, so the women put out salt and carrots and stuff to make his donkey stop by them. Give us the power to have that many girls!”
Alya shut her eyes for a long moment. “I might be able to do something,” she said at last. Her tone was a bit off and Juleka noted that this was how Alya sounded when she was lying, but the cultists didn’t seem to realize that. Alya went on to say, “But not with me in here and you out there. Step into the pentagram and I can give you power.”
The leader grinned. One of his subordinates said, “Hey, aren’t we supposed to stay outside that thing?”
“It’s fine. The demon knows who’s boss,” said the leader as he entered. (Juleka managed to roll over so she had a good view of the guy; she figured Alya was about to wreck him and wanted to see it when that happened.) “And maybe she’s charmed by me. After all, I did summon her, and it’s not like I’m a bad catch. I speak fluent Klingon and–”
Alya surged forwards as soon as the guy got into the pentagram, then rammed her hand into the guy’s chest. Juleka gasped but no blood leaked out, and then Juleka realized that Alya had somehow phased her hand into his body without harming his physical self. The guy cried out, and then Alya withdrew her hand holding a greenish-brown ball of light about the size of a billiard ball. “I do need to take a soul before I can leave here,” she said. “Fortunately, yours qualifies."
"That’s my soul?!” gasped the lead cultist. “Hey, give that back! I–”
“Nope. Mine.” Alya grinned, and Juleka’s eyes widened as she saw that the girl had fangs in this form. She then looked at the captured soul thoughtfully and said, “Of course, one soul is fine, but five are better.”
“Five?” said one of the other cultists while the leader just gaped dumbly at his missing soul. “Well, we’re not going in there, so–”
Alya chuckled. “No problem.” She tapped the captured soul and it seemed to glow a little more brightly. “Break this pentagram,” she ordered–and the leader stiffened before mechanically walking over to the pentagram and scuffing out a section of the bloody lines with his foot.
The cultists yelled and began to run. Alya glanced down at Juleka and said, “Be right back,” before blasting after them. Juleka could only watch as Alya’s wings flared and she leapt, hands curled into claws, on top of the slowest fleeing cultist and ripped out his soul too. Then she threw some kind of fireball–Hellfire?–at the stairs, blasting them out and cutting off the cultists’ escapes from the basements, before she jumped at another.
The battle was over in less than a minute, at which point Alya–now casually juggling five ball-like souls in one hand–ordered the cultists to 'sit down and shut up’ before hurrying back to Juleka and slashing the ropes with her talon-like fingers. “Are you okay?” Alya asked quickly. “Did they hurt you?”
“Not too bad.” Juleka managed. She stood and stretched before backing up a step and looking at her demonic friend. “So. Um…”
Alya hesitated, and then her head dropped. “Yeah,” she said in a voice that actually sounded sad. “I know. You know about me and now you’re scared and you think I’m awful and–”
“Hold on,” said Juleka quickly. “I’m not afraid of…” The word 'monsters’ seemed rude, so Juleka looked for a better one. “…unusual people,” she said at last. And it was true. She didn’t know exactly what Alya’s deal was, but now that her life wasn’t at stake, she wasn’t feeling nearly as scared anymore. Not scared enough to lose faith in a friend, even one with a demonic appearance, anyways. “I mean, you did save me from these guys–thanks for that–and we’re friends, so–”
“We’re still friends?” Alya asked quickly. “Really?”
“Of course, and–agh!” Juleka flinched as Alya rushed to hug her. The girl smelled like sulfur and brimstone, which Juleka decided really shouldn’t have been that surprising. Despite herself, Juleka felt a small smile coming to her mouth as she hugged Alya back. “Yes. We’re still friends. ”
Alya grinned. “You’re the best, Juleka.”
Juleka nodded, then saw something. “Um, Alya?”
“Yes?”
“I think you just dropped one of your souls.” She pointed at the ball of light–this one a brownish-black–which had just fallen out of Alya’s hands and was rolling away towards what looked like a small hole in the floor. “So-”
“Agh!” Alya immediately sprang for the soul. Juleka wasn’t sure what Alya planned to do with it in the end, but she hoped it was something mean. The guy had tried to murder her, after all. “Bad soul! No running away! I need you to make my quota!"
Juleka couldn’t help but giggle as Alya gave chase. This might not have started out as her day… but her life had been saved, she’d discovered an amazing secret about her friend, and things were starting to look up.
Chapter 2
Juleka had taken a few minutes to rest on the (gross) couch and munch a pudding pop from the cultists’ fridge while Alya fixed the summoning pentagram. "Just need to drop them off,” she had said cheerily. “Be back in a minute.” And then she’d vanished in a puff of smoke and brimstone along with the souls.
“So,” Juleka had said after a little bit. “Are you guys, uh, okay?”
The cultists gave her blank looks that were… well, 'soulless’ was probably how Juleka would describe it.
“Meh.” Juleka finished her pudding, then looked in the fridge again and grabbed a soda. “You guys deserve it.”
Alya reappeared with a flourish and another blast of sulfur. “Alright!” she chirped to the guys. “Your souls are now safely stored in my demesne Down Below. I'l be in touch with your orders.” She turned to Juleka and seemed to hesitate for a moment before catching herself. “Want to get out of here?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Juleka rose. At the same time, Alya shimmered and then her body took on the form Juleka was familiar with–no horns, no wings, no tail, and skin that was brown and definitely not red. “Let’s go.”
As they left the house, Juleka glanced back at Alya. Her mind was bursting with questions and she barely knew where to start. “So, uh–”
“You weren’t just saying that before, right?” Alya asked suddenly. “About still being friends with me despite, you know…?”
“Of course I wasn’t just saying it.” Juleka paused. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to be friends with someone that went around hurting innocent people, but the only people I saw you hurt were the guys that tried to kill me. And I know you. I can’t imagine you ever hurting an innocent. As long as you’re only going after really bad people like those guys, I don’t care.”
Alya let out a breath. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, and Juleka thought she sounded sincere. “That's… that means a lot.” She managed a smile. “I’m sure you have questions.”
“More than a few.” Juleka considered, then went for one of the simplest ones. “So when you get someone’s soul, you just order them around? Can you control them directly?”
“Not exactly. It’s not like how Max can program Markov to run certain programs or take specific actions. But when I get someone’s soul I can influence their personality: make them more aggressive, or lazy, or hedonistic, or whatever. We do that to push humans on the paths we want for them. One of the things we can influence is loyalty, so I made those guys loyal to me. There’s limits–I won’t be able to get him to rob a bank or jump off a cliff, because his loyalty won’t be able to override his self-preservation or sanity or whatever–but within reason, now they’ll obey what I say.”
“Hmm.” Juleka paused. “And… just to be clear, you’re an actual demon. Like, this isn’t a really weird akuma or something.”
Alya giggled. “No akuma. No miraculous. Just 100% grade-A demon here. If you have a copy of Dante’s Inferno I can show you the exact circle I was born in.”
“Not necessary,” said Juleka, and the two girls exchanged grins. Then Juleka asked her next question. “So if you’re a demon have you… I don’t know… met the Devil?”
Alya laughed louder. “You’re French; that doesn’t mean you hang out with the Prime Minister,” she said. “I saw the big boss a couple times, including when I got assigned to Paris, but no more than that. Of course, if I do a good job here I could get a promotion.”
“Why are you in Paris specifically?”
“Well…” Alya paused. “Honestly, I got assigned here because I’m junior and the more senior demons filled up the other postings. Not a lot of demons want Paris these days. You can probably guess why.”
Juleka could. “The miraculouses?”
“Right. Historically, some miraculous users were known to go full paladin and strike down tons of demons. So all the demons want jobs in London, or Shanghai, or Abuja, or America–places without miraculous users. I got sent here because they needed someone and I was what was left.” Alya frowned. “But I’m going to do a good job. I’ll impress my superiors and show them all.”
“What exactly is your job?” Juleka thought back. “You mentioned a quota.”
“I just have to bring in so many souls a month,” said Alya. “That’s basically it.”
Juleka nodded. “And I’m guessing you can’t just run around yanking them out of people’s chests whenever you want.”
“Right. I can only 'yank’ the souls of people who make a souls-for-power deal with me, or who are like those cultists and do something evil enough that I can take their soul right away instead of having to wait for them to die–that’s in Dante’s Inferno too, actually, the story about Fra Alberigo–or in a few other circumstances.” Alya waved a hand. “There’s a bunch of rules. So my job is to get people to make a deal or otherwise break one of those rules so I can get their soul.” She smiled. “It’s fun work. Challenging too, since everyone’s different and needs a different strategy to tempt them.”
“What kinds of people do you usually focus on?”
“Well…” Alya’s eyes twinkled. “You know how the news is always wondering why Hawkmoth only akumatizes random people and doesn’t go after professional criminals, people who are already really evil and would work with him willingly?”
Juleka hesitated. “He worked with a criminal one time, when we were in New York.”
“Okay, but just looking at Paris. It’s like he can’t pick criminals. Why do you think that is?”
Juleka got it. “You get to the criminals first. When someone does something so evil it shows they’d probably be willing to work with Hawkmoth, you get their soul and then make them loyal to you and order them not to accept his akumas.”
Alya beamed. “Yep. I get the souls, and Hawkmoth loses a fighter–which means Ladybug is less active and there’s less chance of her discovering me. Win-win.” She paused. “There’s a rumor that a demon was assigned to tempt Hawkmoth and Mayura full-time; get their souls and make them use their miraculousness for Hell instead of whatever their real goals are. But if that’s true, I don’t know who the demon is.”
“Huh. Well, on behalf of Paris–thanks for screwing over Hawkmoth. We appreciate it.”
Alya grinned.
They stopped at the Dupain-Cheng bakery for snacks–Alya bought several pastries, murmuring to Juleka that as a demon she didn’t technically need to eat but she loved the taste of the Dupain-Cheng’s food, while Juleka got some lemon bread and a few Japanese sweets called mochi which she knew Luka liked–and then headed for Alya’s house. Juleka was a little nervous about going into a demon’s lair, but she figured that if there was a giant portal to Hell in the living room or something, Marinette would have noticed during one of her sleepovers at her best friend’s house and mentioned it. “Do you have any cool powers besides the soul thing?” she asked.
“I might,” said Alya in a teasing voice. “Let’s get to my room and I’ll show you.”
Alya let them in and then hurried Juleka into her room. “Is the rest of your family, uh, like you?” Juleka asked as Alya pushed her inside.
“Just Nora. Marelan and Otis couldn’t have kids, and so they made a deal with one of my bosses. In exchange for being able to have Etta and Ella, they’d agree to provide covers for two demons who would be based in Paris. The demon said yes, Marlena and Otis had the twins, and a few years later it was time to make good on their promise, so they took in Nora and I.” Alya shrugged. “It works pretty well. They know they aren’t allowed to interfere in our soul-collecting, but other than that they look after us okay.”
“Is Nora your real sister, or is that part of your cover?” Juleka looked around Alya’s room as Alya shut the door behind them. It certainly didn’t look like the room of a powerful demon who could literally rip out the souls of sinners. But of course Alya didn’t look like such a demon either, at least in her human guise. Looks could be deceiving.
“No, she’s my real sister. And she’s kind of protective of me, which is why it’s probably better if she doesn’t know you know about me.” Alya stretched, then snapped her fingers and dispelled her human glamour. “Ah. Much better.” She stretched again, and Juleka watched in amazement as her wings and tail flared. “Those get so cramped under the glamour.”
Juleka moved a little closer. “Do you mind if I, uh, take a closer look?” Alya gave her a curious look and Juleka blushed. “Sorry, but I find this stuff really cool and–”
“Go right ahead!” Alya beamed and Juleka wondered if she was just happy to have a human friend who thought her true appearance was neat and not scary. Juleka leaned in and marveled at her wings and her waggling tail. “What do you think?”
“I think you’ve got a pretty awesome body,” said Juleka before she realized how that sounded. Alya burst into laughter, Juleka couldn’t help giggling too. “I meant the wings and stuff! Seriously, I’d love to have wings. Flying sounds awesome.”
Alya hesitated, and Juleka blinked. “What, can’t demons fly?”
“We can, but…” Alya blushed, her already-red skin darkening. “It’s kind of embarrassing…”
Juleka got it. “Demons in general can fly, but you specifically can’t.”
“I’ll be able to!” Alya insisted. “My wings just aren’t done growing yet!” Juleka grinned. “I’m serious!” Alya went on.
“Of course you are,” said Juleka neutrally. Alya didn’t seem too put out by the teasing, and Juleka guessed that maybe she was just relieved Juleka was still willing to joke with her instead of freaking out and worrying that Alya would damn her over some tiny slight. “I’m sure you’ll be able to fly. Someday. Far in the future.”
“If you keep teasing me I won’t show you any of my cool demon powers,” Alya sniffed. “And some are really awesome.”
Juleka sat down on the bed. “I’ll be good,” she said, though she was unable to hide her smile. “I saw you throw a fireball at one of those guys–”
“Yeah, I can summon Hellfire!” Alya snapped her fingers and a bright ball of flame, about the size of one of the souls she’d taken from the cultists, appeared in her talon-like hands. (And now that Juleka looked closer, she saw that Alya’s feet were cloven). “This stuff is great. Burns hotter than human flame, and it’s perfect for barbecues. Seriously, meat grilled over this stuff is awesome.”
“Can you possess people?” Juleka asked. “Like in the movies?”
“Some demons can but I’m not good at it.” Alya summoned more balls of fire and began to idly toss them around. “I’m okay at Whispers, though.”
Juleka blinked. “Whispers?"
"Have you ever been talking to a friend or family member and then heard a little voice in the back of your head saying something like, 'they don’t really mean it when they say they like you, they’re just pitying you, and as soon as they can find someone better they’ll abandon you?’ Things like that?”
“Uh…” Juleka couldn’t deny it. That had been worse before Marinette had fixed her photo curse problem, but she did sometimes have to fight off the fear that Rose and the others were only hanging out with her to show her charity. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Sometimes–not always, but sometimes–that’s a demon. Here’s how mine sounds.” Alya focused on Juleka, and her eyes grew a little redder. And then–
Juleka heard a voice in the back of her head. “Juleka,” it hissed in that familiar tone of cynical wisdom, the voice of a grizzled elder cutting through nonsense and delivering the hardest of truths. “You are a bad person. You must redeem yourself by buying more cookies at the Dupain-Cheng bakery for Alya–”
The goth snickered at that and threw a pillow at Alya, who cheerily ducked and impaled it on her left horn. Then Juleka mimed holding her hands straight out as if she were a zombie and meandered in the direction of the door like she was really about to do it. Alya burst into laughter as she removed the pillow from her horn. “Hey, stop, I wasn’t serious! And I’ve already got cookies. I go to her bakery every day.”
Before Juleka could respond, the door slammed open. “I heard noises, sis,” said Nora as she strode in. “What’s going–”
Her eyes flicked to Alya, still in her demon form, and then Juleka. Her face twisted into rage. “Human!” she hissed as she surged forwards, and by the time she’d grabbed Juleka by her collar and slammed her against a wall her body had shifted into a greenish lizard-like thing with four arms, bright yellow eyes, and a forked tongue. Her new form reminded Juleka of a yuan-ti from that Dungeons and Dragons game the cultists had been playing when she’d walked in on them. “Alya, what are you doing?!” Nora demanded. “We can’t show ourselves to humans! What if she calls a paladin or an angel!”
Juleka choked and struggled to escape, but Nora’s demon form was apparently even stronger than her human one and she couldn’t move. Then Alya was rushing towards them. “No, it’s cool! Some idiot cultists summoned me and tried to kill her, but I dealt with them. And hey–I got five souls, I’m ahead of quota–”
“Don’t change the subject!” Nora yelled. “And don’t take her word for things either! Do you really believe she just happened to be there when the cultists summoned you? What if she’s a paladin trying to get in close so she can banish you?”
Nora, Juleka recalled, was sometimes overprotective of her sister. This was apparently one of those times. “I’m not a paladin,” she managed in a deadpan voice. “Seriously.”
“So you say now, but I’ll make you tell the real truth.” Nora’s grip tightened and Juleka winced. Alya opened her mouth to object, but Nora cut her off. “Sis, you know I’m looking out for you. We can’t have humans knowing who we are. So let’s just lock her in the basement until I get the truth out of her and she also agrees to give up her soul in exchange for letting her out. Then you make her super loyal to you so she never talks. Or we just go the other way and have Marlena and Otis move across town and change our identities so she can’t sell us out.”
Juleka thrashed more. “I’m not going to tell anyone!” she insisted instead. “Alya’s a friend, I wouldn’t sell her out!”
Nora gave Juleka an astonished stare and Alya smiled a little. “She means it, sis.”
“We can’t trust that. And even if she’s serious now, these are long-term covers. What happens if in five years you guys have a falling out?” Nora shook her head. “It’s not safe. There’re rules against this for a reason.”
“Those rules have exceptions,” Alya pointed out.
“Yeah–for humans that form cults to worship us and make us stronger. Is she planning on being the high priestess of the Cult of Alya Cesaire or something?”
Alya hesitated. “Uh… yes,” she said. “That’s what she wants to be.”
Juleka swiveled her head to stare at Alya in surprise, but then Nora shoved her into the wall again and Juleka got it–if they could bluff Nora into believing this, the chances of Nora trying to rip out her soul or something would go way down. “Totally,” Juleka lied. “That’s why I was with the cult. I was like, 'I want to find a demonic overlord to pledge my loyalty to,’ and they seemed onboard with that, but then they tied me up and tried to use me to summon Alya. Once she saved me, of course, she earned my undying love and devotion.”
Despite the situation, Juleka saw Alya visibly stifling giggles as she turned away. But Nora was less familiar with Juleka and couldn’t pick up on her sarcasm. “Really,” she said. “That’s your story.”
“Uh huh. I even practiced chanting for hours.”
Juleka wondered if that last line was too much, but Nora gave her a long look before dropping her and stalking over to her sister. “Don’t go anywhere,” she said. “I’ve got a nose like a bloodhound. I could follow you across the English Channel.” Then she grabbed Alya and dragged her out of the room.
Juleka took advantage of Nora’s absence to take a breath and then try to think through her story in more detail. She didn’t know anything about being the high priestess of a demon cult, but she imagined it couldn’t be too hard–some chanting here, some praising the demon there, maybe lighting candles or setting off fireworks on whatever the demonic equivalent of Christmas was. (Although, she somehow doubted Alya actually wanted those things.) And besides, this was just a blufff for Nora. She wouldn’t have to actually go through with it–
The door banged open again as Nora came back in with Alya behind her. “So,” Nora said. “Juleka, right? Why do you want to lead my sister’s cult? What’s in it for you?”
“Uh–”
“Magic?” Nora snapped her fingers and summoned some Hellfire of her own, though her fireball was much larger, about the size of a basketball. “I mean, that’s possible, but I think it’s best we’re all on the same page. Wouldn’t be good if you wanted something she couldn’t give you.”
Juleka opened her mouth, then hesitated. Magic was awesome and she’d love to have the chance to cast spells, but she wasn’t sure if she should say that. Nora still seemed volatile and Juleka figured there were probably 'wrong’ answers to this question which would be very bad for her.
“Or other kinds of power?” Nora went on. “Gold smelted in the fires of Hell? Demons have plenty of that. Or political power? Maybe a boost to your blog? Are you here because you want Alya to get Nadja Chamack’s soul and then induce her to promote you all over Paris?”
Juleka glanced at Alya for just a moment and noticed how nervous the other demon seemed. But then Nora went on. “Or do you want Alya to smite your enemies? Like Hawkmoth, or that Marinette girl who brought you on as a model and then made you so nervous you got re-akumatized into Reflektdoll?” Nora clenched a fist. “Well?”
“Um.” Juleka paused, having no idea what to say. If she got it wrong she was in real trouble, and…
And so why not just tell the truth?
Juleka gulped. “I, uh… I mean, all that stuff sounds cool but it’s not why I’m here. And honestly, I didn’t go to the cult hoping to meet a demon either. I found out about Alya’s whole, uh, demon thing by accident. But she’s a friend, a really good one, and I’m not going to abandon her. And so if being her 'high priestess’ is the only way I can keep my soul and stay her friend without you, I don’t know, changing covers so I never see her again or wiping my mind or something, that’s what I want to do."
Nora stared at Juleka with a stunned look, and then her tongue darted out. "I don’t taste any deceit,” she murmured. “I…”
“See?” said Alya, looking relieved. “I told you she’s legit. You can relax.”
The bigger demon struggled for a moment before growling and saying, “Fine. Bind her properly, sis. Don’t screw it up. I’ll check on you later–I’ve almost got Roundhouse Ron’s soul, and if I can get him to throw the match tonight it’ll be as good as mine. But when I’m done I’ll be back.” She stalked out.
Alya ran to Juleka’s side and hugged her. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know Nora can be rough–”
“It’s okay. Not your fault.” Juleka returned the hug. “So. Apparently I’m your new high priestess.”
Alya’s skin somehow grew even redder as she blushed again. “We don’t, uh, have to go through with that if you don’t want. I’ll make up some story for Nora.”
But then Alya might get in trouble, Juleka thought. And she’d might never see her friend again if Alya were forced to change covers. “What would it entail?” Juleka asked.
Alya blinked. “Uh… well, there’s a magic spell I’d cast and we’d exchange blood. You’d become bound to me. I’d be able to lend you magic power, and when you 'worshipped’ me I’d get stronger. You’d be responsible for worshipping me on a regular basis, eventually bringing other people into the cult, and helping me to enact my will–that is, capture souls.”
“Any risks?” Juleka asked. “Would I lose my soul?”
“No. I mean, technically I’d be supposed to constantly tempt you into giving it up–that’s the usual reason most demons do things like this, most other demons don’t like humans and only loan them a little power to ensnare people who are too clever to just lose their souls the usual ways–but I wouldn’t do that. Um, if you ran into a paladin or angel they might notice that I’d marked you and want to smite you. It’s not likely unless you’re actively using demonic magic, but it’s a risk, so I get if you don’t want to do it. Like I said, I’ll lie to Nora–”
“I’ll do it,” said Juleka at once.
Alya stared. “Really?”
“Sure. It doesn’t sound too bad, as long as I get to keep my soul. And… and you’re a friend. I don’t want Nora to take you away. And this is sort of my fault anyways for getting captured by those morons. If this is the way to stop you leaving, let’s do it.”
Alya was still for a moment before a genuine grin burst onto her face. “Alright,” she said. “Here we go.”
She got a ritual knife–a real one this time–from her desk and then had Juleka sit cross-legged across from her on her bed while she summoned a ball of Hellfire between them. She murmured several words in what sounded like Latin, then motioned for Juleka to put her hand in the fire. Juleka cautiously did so, but whatever spell Alya had muttered prevented it from burning her. Alya used her knife to cut into her palm, forming a trickle of sizzling blood, before doing the same to Juleka’s hand and then clasping it in the flames.
Juleka gasped. Suddenly she felt as if power were surging into her, power that clutched at her mind and screamed at her to use it to do whatever she wanted, smashing up her enemies and building palaces of molten gold for herself and–
She caught the thoughts and forcibly pushed them away. Then Alya dropped her hand and when Juleka looked at her palm there was a strange sigil instead of a scar. “There!” said Alya. “You’re my high priestess now. It’s official.” She beamed. “I can’t wait to tell Asmodeus. He told me when I started taking soul-catching lessons that I’d never be good enough to start a cult. And here I am, one of the first in my class!”
“Great,” managed Juleka as she uneasily got up. Power was still surging through her and she felt heady. “Woah. That’s a rush. Um, do I need to worry about accidentally setting off fireballs or anything?”
“I haven’t given you any magic yet, just the potential to cast it once I do,” said Alya. “So no.”
“Okay.” Juleka took a breath. “And this worship thing. What does that involve?”
Alya hesitated. “You know, worship,” she said at last. “Spending time being devoted to me. Making me happy. I’ll do the same for you of course–we’re friends–but when you do it to me, I’ll grow stronger and then be able to give you more magic.”
“But specifically,” Juleka pushed. “How do I be 'devoted to you?’ That’s pretty broad.”
"I don’t know,“ Alya admitted. "I’ve never, uh, actually had a cult before. I didn’t think I’d be strong enough to make one.” She glanced away. “Just… whatever’s traditional, I guess.”
“Ah.” Juleka tilted her head, then smiled wryly. “Well, based on Hollywood movies–which I’m going to assume are totally accurate–I think the tradition here is for me to take you into a drafty catacomb, light some smelly incense, chant in Latin neither of us understand, and talk a lot about how someday the rivers will run red with the blood of your enemies.”
Alya blanched. “Please don’t.”
Juleka’s smile grew. “I could also dress up in stupid clothes and wander around yelling prophecies that the dread lord Alya will slay all who do not bow before her. I could form a 'Satanist’ metal band and yell that everyone who didn’t buy my merchandise with your face on it would burn. I could–”
Alya burst into laughter and threw a pillow at her. “As your new demon queen I hereby order you to not do anything so ridiculous I’d get laughed out of Hell.”
“Or,” said Juleka, still beaming, “Seeing as how you told Nora you’re caught up on your soul quota and don’t have anything to do for awhile, I could rent us a couple movies about exorcists and demons. Then we could watch them together, eat popcorn, do each other’s hair, and laugh about everything the films get wrong. Would that count as being 'devoted to you’ and 'making you happy?’”
“I…” Alya smiled. “I think it would. And seeing as how literally no other cultist I’ve ever heard of would have come up with that–seriously, most of those guys love Latin chants, except they don’t know Latin so they just recite random phrases and usually wind up chanting that their togas got caught in their chariots or something–I think it’s safe to say you are officially a much better high priestess than all those other guys.”
She gave Juleka a hug, which the goth returned. And then she flopped down on her bed while Juleka got the movie set up. And as Juleka did so, she saw a contented look on Alya’s face and grinned.
It was nice to be someone’s friend. Especially a very unusual someone, such as a certain Alya Cesaire.
Chapter 3
Life as the high priestess of the Cult of Alya Cesaire, thought Juleka, was pretty similar to her life before taking on that role. She still went to school, did her homework, played music with Kitty Section, dated Rose, and helped Marinette’s various doomed attempts to win the heart of one Adrien Agreste. But now she was hanging out more with Alya too, and those hang-outs could be… interesting.
This was the case when, a few weeks after becoming high priestess, Juleka noticed that Alya was looking sluggish in school. She caught up with the girl at recess and asked, “What’s wrong? Can you, uh, get sick?”
“Not with human diseases, but there’s some demon ones that are a real bitch.” Alya wrinkled her nose, then sneezed into a tissue with an annoyed grunt. “Ugh.”
“Why don’t you go home?” Juleka asked. “I mean, your 'parents’ are just supposed to be looking after you for your bosses, right? They can’t actually ground you?"
"They actually can. To 'maintain the cover,’” Alya smiled ruefully. “Wouldn’t look very realistic if I was just going around doing anything I wanted and they ignored it. I mean, I know Chloe’s dad does, but that’s because he’s a total idiot–it still doesn’t look right. But that’s not why I’m staying here.” She gestured at her bookbag, which Juleka saw had a thick notebook sticking out of it. “Today’s the study review session in Mendeleiev’s class, remember? And the test is next week. I can’t miss that.”
Juleka raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Yeah!” Alya sneezed again. “I mean, this is a long-term cover. I won’t be able to tempt people if I fail out of school and wind up living in an alley behind Marinette’s family’s bakery!”
Juleka gave Alya a long look.
“…and I like this stuff,” Alya admitted. “We don’t really have 'schools’ like this in Hell, just lessons on specific things like tempting people. It's… interesting being in this kind of place.” She gestured at the school around them. “I don’t want to screw it up.”
“Hmm.” Juleka tilted her head, then came to her decision. “Okay. As your high priestess, I’m making an executive decision and sending you home.”
Alya blinked. “I… I don’t think that’s how–”
“I’m supposed to look after you,” said Juleka. “So I’m ordering you to go home. I’ll take detailed notes at the study session and run them over to you once school’s out.”
Now Alya looked stunned. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course–ack!” Juleka winced as Alya wrapped her in a tight hug. She was confused for a moment–taking notes for others was pretty common, after all–before remembering that Alya was new up here. She wondered if maybe demons didn’t have 'friends’ in Hell, and that was why Alya kept being surprised and overwhelmed whenever Juleka behaved decently towards her. (And now that Juleka thought about it, she could recall Marinette having said similar things about how happy Alya seemed to get over the slightest kindnesses.) “No problem.”
“Thanks.” Alya broke the hug and began to run off. “I’ll be at home then. See you later!”
###
Juleka took copious notes, paying even more attention than she would have if she were only focusing on her own learning, and after school she headed out for Alya’s house. Before she got there, though, she was stopped by Rose. “Juleka!” chirped the short blonde, giving her girlfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Are you doing anything?I got tickets to the new fashion show down on the Champs Elysses and I was wondering if you wanted to go?”
“Wish I could,” said Juleka, taking a moment to hug her girlfriend and lose herself in the girl’s sweet perfume and sweeter personality. “But I’ve got a thing with Alya; she’s sick and I’m bringing her notes to study for next week’s test. Maybe tomorrow?”
“She is?” Rose gasped. “That’s awful. But it’s really nice of you to go help her study. You’re amazing, Juleka.” She gave Juleka another hug. “Tomorrow is fine. See you then!”
Rose ran off and Juleka headed over to the Cesaire house to see her friend. When she knocked on the door, though, it was Nora who opened it. “You,” she grunted. “Right, Alya told me. Come in.”
Juleka let the older demon usher her inside and then tried to go to Alya’s room, but Nora blocked her. “Wait,” Nora said. “My little sis is sick. You’re her high priestess. So here.” She thrust an ancient-looking book into Juleka’s arms, and when Juleka opened it to see tiny, spidery writing, the book let out what sounded like a pained moan. “Use this.”
“…how?” Juleka asked.
Nora glared at her, then flipped the book to a certain chapter. “A spell for healing sick demons,” she said. “Now that you’re her high priestess, only you can cast it on her. So do it. Or else I’ll eat your soul.” She stuck out her tongue, and it briefly flashed back to being forked and scaly before Nora restored her own glamour. “Got it?”
Juleka glanced down at the ingredients for the spell and almost gagged. The first three were goat’s blood, the heart of a lamb whose wool was pure-white, and the frayed end of a hangman’s noose; the rest were similarly baroque. “Got it,” she managed. “Make Alya feel better, check.”
“Good.” Nora finally let Juleka go. “And remember, Juleka: her welfare is your responsibility. If you screw up and my sister gets hurt, or banished, or something worse, I’m taking it out on you.” She clenched a fist and a ball of fire appeared above it. “Just so we understand each other. Now: get out of my way.” She stormed off, presumably–Juleka guessed–to go capture another soul from someone she knew as a boxer. Juleka watched her go and took a breath, then headed into Alya’s room.
“Hey!” Alya was lying on her bed in her demonic form, which now looked a bit blotchy and mottled. The base of Alya’s wings in particular were covered with some kind of splotchy growth, and as Juleka watched Alya tried to scratch them but couldn’t quite reach. “You okay? I mentioned you were coming over and Nora freaked out.”
“I’m fine,” said Juleka as she set down her bag. “Nora just told me to make you feel better. Apparently I’m supposed to… let me see…” She looked at the book. “Sprinkle you with goat’s blood, then puree the prepared heart of a lamb and have you drink it…” She flashed a wry smile. “Do you like your lamb heart prepared any particular way, o mighty demon?”
Alya groaned theatrically. “Agh! Nora’s cures for things are worse than the diseases. Please don’t do any of the goat’s blood or lamb’s heart stuff.” The two laughed. Then Alya reached at her back again but still couldn’t reach the splotches at the bases of her wings. “Stupid demon-rot…”
Juleka paused, then went over to the bed. “Here. Let me get that.” She sat down and began to gently scratch the splotches.
“You don’t need to… oh. Oh, yeah, right there.” Alya let out a sigh of contentment as Juleka massaged the inflamed and splotchy patches of skin on her back. “Oh, you’re awesome.”
Juleka smiled slightly as she continued to work on Alya’s back, as well as a couple of blotchy spots near the base of her horns too. The demon made contented noises, almost purrs, and her tail began to thump on the bed and against Juleka’s legs. “That better?” Juleka asked.
“Like you wouldn’t believe. You’re the best high priestess ever,” sighed Alya. “Way better than that stupid toady Asmodeus got that he never shuts up about.”
Juleka massaged Alya for about fifteen minutes until Alya declared she was feeling a lot better and needed to get to studying. Then they got the books out and began going over Juleka’s notes, with Juleka still giving Alya an occasional scratch or massage on one of her sore spots.
“Best high priestess ever,” Alya repeated quietly, and Juleka couldn’t help but grin.
###
The next day, Juleka got a text from Alya that she was feeling much better. “I’m practicing with Kitty Section before the fashion show,” Juleka wrote back. “You can come by if you want.”
But by the time Alya had gotten there, practice had been canceled and Juleka was consoling a sobbing Rose. “It’s awful!” Rose was saying. “I can’t believe it happened again!”
“What’s wrong?” said Alya, now wrapped in her human guise, as she climbed onto the Liberty.
“That XY jerk stole our music again.” Juleka growled something inarticulate and hugged Rose more tightly. “And Bob Roth threatened to sue us for slander if we protest.”
“You should tell people anyways,” said Alya at once. “We’ll show him.”
Juleka shook her head. “The last time this happened, Luka got akumatized when he found out. We can’t risk that happening again.” She looked down. “We’ll figure something out, Rose. We can write another song.”
“Maybe…”
Alya hesitated, and then a faint smile crossed her face while Rose’s head was buried in Juleka’s arms. Juleka saw the smile and gave Alya a querying look, but Alya just waved it off. “Well, let me know if you want to go public; I’ll talk about it on the Ladyblog if you do,” she said. “Anyways, I just came by to say I couldn’t hang around for practice after all. Maybe next time. Later!” And she hurried off.
Juleka didn’t think too much about it until an hour later when, as she sat in her cabin with Rose on her lap while they ate ice cream and tried to think of a new song, Luka came in. “Hey, you guys hear? Something’s going down at Bob Roth’s studios.”
The two girls looked at each other and then Juleka opened up her laptop to see a news report. “Fire at a major studio!” Nadja Chamack was saying while Roth’s building burned behind her. “Preliminary reports are that a fire somehow ignited in the server room and destroyed most of the master recordings, including a new piece of music scheduled to debut later today. The fire then spread through the building–oh, Mr. Roth!” Bob Roth and XY had just burst out of the building as firemen ran into it. “Do you have any–”
“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” XY was screaming. “THIS PLACE IS HAUNTED!”
“Monsters!” Roth gasped. “A monster set everything on fire! Aaah!” And the two ran away.
Chamack blinked, then shrugged. “So to recap: a fire at a record studio appears to have driven famous pop musician XY and his manager Bob Roth into temporary states of insanity, as well as destroyed their new release. We’ll keep you informed. Now back to the station.”
“Hey,” said Rose as Nadja’s feed cut off. “If their recording was destroyed–that means they don’t have our music anymore! We can still release it and Roth can’t claim it was his first!”
Juleka smiled to herself. She had a pretty good idea of which 'monster’ had started that fire. “Yeah,” she said. “We can.”
Later, when Juleka was biking home, she happened to come across Alya and braked to stop near her. “Thanks,” she said.
Alya put on an innocent expression. “Who, me?” she said sweetly. “But I would never burn down a record studio! I’m very innocent and gentle.”
Juleka laughed at that, and after a moment Alya followed suit. “Hey, just like you look after me, I’m supposed to look after you,” Alya said. “I’d lose all my cred if I let someone mess with my high priestess. You guys practicing tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I’ll be there. Unless Roth tries again.” Alya winked, and Juleka grinned at her once more before biking off.
###
Two days later, Juleka helped Alya capture a soul for the first time.
“Our target is Aurore Beaureal, the wannabe weather girl,” Alya said. Juleka was with her in her bedroom, and Alya was in her natural demon form. Juleka smiled as she Alya’s tail lashing around eagerly while Alya spread out a map over her bed. “She’s a prime target for soul-capturing.”
“She is?” Juleka asked. “Why?”
“Because she wanted to be the weather girl but Mireille bribed the guy running the contest to pick her instead,” Alya said. “All I have to do is tell her and she’ll be so angry she’ll make a deal with me to get revenge–and then I’ll get her soul.”
Juleka shook her head. “Wait, back up. Mireille bribed Cataldi?”
“Of course she did. What, did you think a half million people really voted in a competition for a local news show to pick a weather reporter?” Alya shook her head. “One of my demon powers is… I guess you could call it a 'sin’ sense. I can tell when people are doing corrupt or evil things, and when I saw Mireille that day she was practically glowing red to my eyes. So I knew she’d done something really bad, and after that I made a few guesses as to what it might be, then snuck into Alec Cataldi’s room and recorded him telling one of his goons how he was going on a shopping spree because Mireille had bribed him with so much money.”
It took a moment for Juleka to consider that fully. She didn’t know much about Mireille, although she had indeed found it odd that the weather girl had won the competition by so many votes. “Shouldn’t we be going after Mireille then?”
“I tried.” Alya frowned. “But her soul is… guarded, somehow. I can’t touch it. That usually means she’s pledged herself to another demon. Well, either that or an angel, but if she were with the angels she would have had to admit to what she did to Aurore and she hasn’t done that. So she has a different demon patron, probably the demon that’s preparing to go after Hawkmoth, and I don’t want to mess with that. We’ll take Aurore instead.”
“Why now?” Juleka asked.
“Because Mireille’s contract with the studio is almost up. If she wants to renew it she’ll need to win the next competition, which means she’ll be cheating Aurore out of it again.” Alya rubbed her hands together. “I just need to tell Aurore what’s going on and she’ll be putty in my hands.”
“Oh.” Juleka hesitated. “I’m, um, not really comfortable taking someone’s soul just because they’re mad about being cheated in a competition. I mean, those cultists were one thing because they tried to kill me, but…”
Alya waved a hand. “I’ll get her to agree to some really awful revenge on Mireille. Something damnation-worthy. I’ll make it work.”
Juleka wasn’t fully convinced, and she thought she heard something catching in Alya’s voice. The demon didn’t seem entirely comfortable with this either, and Juleka wondered if Alya was doing this more because she her superiors demanded damnation for even 'minor’ sins like Aurore’s anger, as opposed to Alya being truly convinced Aurore deserved it. “Are you sure?” Juleka asked gently.
“Sure I’m sure! Now come on!” Alya snapped her fingers to summon her glamour. “Aurore posted on her blog that she’ll be visiting the studio today to submit paperwork, and there’s all kinds of back hallways in that place. We’ll just catch her in one of them and get it done.”
She hurried out, and Juleka followed, though with clear unease on her face.
###
Juleka raised an eyebrow as Alya put on a hooded robe after sneaking them into the back hallways of the television studio. “In case she says no, I need to keep my cover,” Alya explained. “Besides, this makes me look more credible.”
“It really doesn’t,” Juleka said.
Alya stuck out her tongue. “Well, maybe not to you, but trust me–when you try to get someone to sell your soul, you can’t do it in jeans and a T-shirt. You need to look the part. Here.” She shoved a robe at Juleka. “I brought you one too.”
Juleka glanced at it, then pointedly dropped it. “What am I supposed to be doing here, anyways?”
“Right now, watch and learn. Eventually I might have you help me with temptations, but for the moment, I just want you to see how awesome I am.” Alya chuckled from beneath her hooded robe. “And–wait, those are her footsteps. Hide!” She pushed Juleka behind a stack of crates and then moved into a shadowy part of the hallway.
Soon enough a disgruntled-looking Aurore came up. “Why won’t they take my papers?” she growled as she glanced over an office map. “Last time was bad enough, but this time it’s like they don’t want me here!”
“They don’t,” intoned Alya in a low voice.
Aurore jumped and then swiveled to point her parasol in the general direction of Alya’s shadows. “Who was that?” she demanded. “I’m–I have an umbrella and I know how to use it!”
Juleka had to work to stifle her giggle.
Alya slipped out of the shadows, and as Juleka watched, Alya’s robe shuddered in an almost inhuman way. Juleka made a note to ask her how she did that. Then Alya spoke again, “I think you know they don’t want you here. Mireille bribed the host last year, and she did it again this year. Your application to compete won’t even be accepted. They’ll have Mireille run against a fake candidate who already agreed to take a dive, and thus she’ll win for sure.” Alya shook her head. “Such a shame.”
Aurore flushed. “Why should I believe you? You’re just a creepy person in a scary robe!”
“Am I?” Alya held up a phone, her hand briefly shifting into its natural state–red, with talon-like fingers–before blinking back to its human form again. Aurore boggled but didn’t flee–Juleka figured Aurore was trying to tell herself she was just seeing things–and then Alya hit a playback button on the phone.
“…going to be eating steaks and sushi for a month!” Alec’s voice said. “That Caquet girl paid me so much I can really take it easy for a while!” He laughed. “Maybe I’ll finally get that sports jacket… nah, I’ll wait until Caquet wants to win something else and comes knocking again. Say what you like about her, she’s loaded!”
Aurore flushed a bright crimson. “I knew it. I knew that jerk cheated!” Her fist clenched, and she dropped the papers she’d been carrying. “I worked harder, I was better, I deserved to win! Just because she has money–agh!” She slammed her fist into the wall.
“It’s so unfair,” Alya agreed. “But I could help you get revenge.” She lowered her hood just enough to reveal her horns and red skin. Aurore gasped, but Alya said, “What? In a world with miraculouses and akumas, are you so surprised there are other powers out there?” She waited for Aurore to jerkily shake her head. “So, Aurore. Would you like my help?”
“And what do you want in exchange?” managed Aurore.
“I think you know.” Alya moved closer to Aurore. “Your soul. But in exchange… revenge on Mireille, perhaps Alec too, the job as weather girl, and so much more.” She spread her hands. “Well?”
Aurore hesitated, and Juleka could tell she was really tempted. But then she shook her head. “No,” she said twice, first hesitantly, then more strongly. “I don’t–just forget it. No way. I’m not the kind of person who would do something like that.”
She turned, but Alya quickly moved around her to face her again. “Not so fast,” she said in a charming tone. “You don’t want to give up your soul; I get it. We can work something else out. In fact… I might be able to lend you a little magic help to get your revenge, just so you can see what I"m offering. No other charge.”
Juleka frowned, but then remembered that Alya had told her there were at least two ways for her to take a soul: either to get someone to explicitly make a deal with her in which they gave it to her, or to convince someone to do something evil enough that Alya could just take the soul without a deal. The first tactic had failed, so now Alya would be trying to get Aurore to agree to some really bad sin and thus allow Alya to get the soul that way.
“Magic?” repeated Aurore.
“Sure.” Alya leaned close. “For instance, if I gave you a certain power you could…” and her speech trailed off as she whispered something, presumably advice on how to use magic to do something really evil, into Aurore’s ear.
But rather than agree, Aurore stiffened and then shoved Alya back. “What? No way. I’d never do that, not even for revenge. I told you, I’m not that kind of person.” She scowled. “You’re terrible, you know that?”
“But–” Alya began.
“Why am I even talking to you? Get out of here before I call Ladybug.” Aurore backed away. “And–”
Then Alya’s phone went off.
Aurore and Alya both stared down at Alya’s pocket, and Juleka winced–Alya had a distinctive ringtone, a theme song from one of those shows following investigative reporters, and everyone knew it because her phone sometimes went off when she was filming Ladyblog stuff. “Uh,” said Alya. “Hang on–”
“Alya?” asked Aurore. “Is that you?”
“No!” Alya insisted as she reached for her phone, but Aurore was faster and swept out her umbrella to fully knock down the demon’s hood. That revealed her head, which–though red and with horns–was still noticeably that of Alya Cesaire. “Alya?” breathed Aurore. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m not Alya!” yelped the reporter. “You can’t prove–”
Aurore turned, said, “Stay away from me!” and began to run for the exit.
As soon as she had turned a corner Alya slammed her head against a wall. “Stupid stupid stupid!” she hissed. “I completely botched that!”
“Yeah,” Juleka noted. “You did.”
Alya shot her a mock glare, but it quickly dissolved into fear. “If she tells people I’ll have to move and change identities, assuming I don’t get recalled to Hell and punished, and without her soul I can’t influence her to–”
“Wait.” Juleka thought quickly. “I might be able to set her up so you can take her soul. But then you have to do me a favor.”
Alya blinked. “Sure, anything, but how can you–”
“No time.” Juleka grabbed the office map Aurore had dropped. “Just follow me at a distance. And 'watch and learn.’” She shot a faint smile at Alya, then took off at a run.
Aurore had a head start but no longer had a map, which meant Juleka was able to catch up to the lost girl before Aurore could find her way back into the inhabited parts of the station. She reached the blond’s position just before Aurore would have passed through an exit door, then grabbed a random object–a little ball that someone, probably Manon Chamack, had left lying around–and gently tossed it at Aurore’s head before ducking into an open office.
“Huh?” gasped Aurore as the ball bounced off her. She spun around. “What was that?”
“You are Rain Delay,” called Juleka in her lowest, most imposing voice, “And this is Hawkmoth. I–”
“Oh, come on!” complained Aurore. “What, are all the bad guys trying to tempt me today?”
Juleka smiled. Aurore had been akumatized, but seeing as how it was hard to remember what happened once Hawkmoth touched someone, that didn’t mean she knew what it was supposed to feel like. For all Aurore knew it was a simple 'butterfly bumps into you and turns you evil’ thing. Meaning she’d have no way of knowing Juleka was faking. “Tempt you?” she said. “Oh, no no no. I’m helping you get revenge. No need to thank me, just get me the jewelry, yadda yadda.”
“I’m not–”
“Yes you are,” said Juleka. “You already want to. Your anger is growing. Nobody can resist me.”
Aurore hesitated, and Juleka smiled; she’d figured Aurore correctly. Aurore hadn’t refused Alya’s offers because she was opposed to taking revenge; rather, she just didn’t want to feel like she was the kind of bad person who would agree to a demonic bargain in order to get said revenge. But everyone knew that nobody could resist Hawkmoth, which meant that it wasn’t anyone’s fault for getting akumatized. So all she had to do was convince Aurore that Hawkmoth was making her do something bad, and Aurore–now believing that anything evil she did wasn’t really her fault but just was Hawkmoth’s influence–would go along with it.
And Aurore finally said, “…yes,” in a tight, angry voice as a cruel smile crawled across her face. “Give me power and I’ll destroy Mireille. I’ll bury her in a storm, I’ll drown her, and Alec, and–”
And then Alya slipped out of the shadows behind Aurore and easily pulled her soul out of her chest.
Aurore flinched and shuddered, then turned–and gaped at Alya holding a ball of blueish-gold light about the size of a billiard ball. “What–”
“Your soul,” said Alya by way of explanation. “Mine now.” She glanced in Juleka’s direction. “Well done, high priestess. Your help was useful.”
“Help?” said Juleka in a joking tone. She came out of the shadows–Alya had Aurore’s soul, so she could ensure Aurore didn’t tell anyone about her identity–and frowned. “Is that what we’re calling 'doing the whole thing?’”
Aurore reached for her soul, but her hand passed through it without making contact. “Give that back!” she insisted.
“Nope. Mine now.” Alya beamed. “I’ll be taking this Down Below and–”
“You can’t!” insisted Aurore. “That wasn’t fair! I’m sorry!”
Alya hesitated and Juleka saw real conflict on her face. The goth coughed. “Hey, Alya, remember that favor you said you’d owe me if I got you her soul?”
“Yeah?”
Aurore turned. “Wait, Juleka Couffaine, right?” she asked. “Why are you helping her do this?!”
“She’s my high priestess,” said Alya.
“She what?!” Aurore sputtered. “You can’t have a high priestess! You’re a demon! You–”
“Aurore,” said Juleka at once. “Hold on a minute. I need to say something to Alya.”
The blond scowled at her but stopped talking, and Juleka turned back to Alya. “My favor is: don’t take her soul down to Hell.”
Alya blinked. “But that’s the only reason I got it. To make my quota.”
“We can look for someone else to fill your quota, a real bad guy. I’ll help you. But don’t take hers down there.” Juleka paused. “She doesn’t deserve it, Alya. You know that.”
“Well… I mean, my bosses–”
“Your bosses want you to take every soul that just barely steps over the line,” Juleka guessed. “Because they’re jerks. But I don’t think you want to do that. Getting rid of really bad people so they can’t hurt others, or work with Hawkmoth, or do things like that is one thing. Aurore’s not like that."
The two locked gazes for a moment before Alya said, "…maybe… I mean…”
“No maybe about it,” said Juleka. “You know damning her isn’t the right thing to do. Besdies, I’m your high priestess and we made a deal: I’d get you her soul so she couldn’t tell the world that Alya Cesaire is actually a demon temptress running around Paris, and in exchange you’d do something for me. Well, what I want you to do is not damn her.”
Aurore blinked. “Um–”
“But–but then what do I do with her soul?” Alya asked. “I can’t give it back or she’ll be able to talk to people about me!”
“Can’t you just keep it around?” Juleka asked. “In, I don’t know, a desk drawer or something?”
“Hey!” Aurore said. “I–”
“–were going to willingly ally with Hawkmoth,” said Juleka in a deadpan tone. “If you’d been successful you would have stolen the miraculouses and possibly helped Hawkmoth conquer the world. You’re getting off easy, Aurore.”
Aurore blushed a bright red, but then bowed her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just–I worked so hard on the weather competition, and learning that Mireille cheated… but alright, I know I should have tried harder to resist 'Hawkmoth.’ Still, I don’t want Alya to mess with my soul!”
Juleka turned back to Alya. “As long as you don’t try to rewrite her personality, will you having her soul effect her?”
“No. I mean, there might be a few odd issues now and then, but nothing big. I do need to make her loyal so she doesn’t tell–”
Juleka swiveled again. “Aurore, if you tell anyone about Alya or me, she’ll have to move and change identities, and then you won’t be able to get your soul back from her because you won’t be able to find her. So you won’t tell anyone, will you?”
The blond quickly shook her head.
“Great.” Juleka smiled at both of them. “Then there’s no need for Alya to 'mess with’ Aurore’s soul, about loyalty or anything else. Alya can just hang on to it until… I don’t know… Aurore demonstrates she’s not the type of person to work with Hawkmoth anymore, no matter how mad she gets.” She nodded. I’m glad we worked this out.“
Alya and Aurore both seemed like they wanted to argue, but neither could come up with anything. And that was that.
###
"This is weird,” Aurore said.
They had returned to Alya’s house and Alya had put Aurore’s soul on her dresser, where it lit up the immediate area with a gentle blue and yellow light. Aurore had tried to take it back, or at least poke it, but her hand just passed through it; Alya had explained that only those whom she allowed to touch it could do so now that it was hers. “This is so weird,” Aurore said. “I mean, I’m happy I’m not getting damned, but…”
“Alya will take good care of your soul,” Juleka promised. “I’ll make sure of it. We’ll polish it every week, maybe take it for walks on Fridays.” Alya playfully stuck out her tongue. “And hey, if you want to check in on it maybe you can come over now and then.” When Nora is away, Juleka thought. “We could have you over for girl’s night. Ooh, you could even join my cult.”
Alya brightened. “Yeah! We need more members.”
“…cult?” asked Aurore. “What, like chanting?”
“It’s mostly watching anime, eating ice cream, and telling dumb jokes,” said Juleka. Alya tossed a pillow at her, and she easily dodged it. “But if you really want to chant I can pencil that in somewhere.”
Aurore actually laughed a little at that. “No, that’s okay.” She paused. “Um, does the whole stealing-my-soul thing being… allowed to happen, I guess… mean I’m a really bad person?”
“It means you did a really bad thing,” said Alya. “I wouldn’t be able to take your soul otherwise.”
“But,” Juleka went on, “It doesn’t mean you’re irrevocably bad. That’s just for people who actually do get sent Down Below. You can get better. We’ll help.” She smiled gently. “And also have some fun. For instance: the meeting of the Cult of Alya Cesaire is this Saturday at noon. We’re going to be 'worshipping’ Alya by watching Lord of the Rings–which she somehow hasn’t seen–”
“They don’t have human movies in Hell!” protested Alya. “At least none of the good ones!”
Aurore and Juleka both laughed at that, and then Juleka went on. “We will also be snacking on stuff from the Dupain-Cheng bakery and talking about what to get Principal Damocles for his birthday. And maybe we can fit in some, I don’t know, moral instruction or something. Sound good?”
“Yeah.” Aurore nodded. “I… I guess I’ll see you two then.” And she left.
Alya left out a breath and sagged down on her bed. “Ugh. That was a trainwreck,” she muttered. “I need to get better at tempting.”
“Fortunately, you have your expert high priestess to help,” joked Juleka.
Alya smiled at that. Then she said, “And… thanks. For coming up with the idea of what to do with Aurore. I think–I think you were right. Damning her would have been the wrong move.”
“Of course I"m right.” Juleka sat next to Alya, who leaned on her shoulder. “Happy to help.”
“Yeah… but I still need to get another soul by the end of the week.” Alya pursed her lips. “I–”
Juleka’s phone beeped with an alert. She looked down at it. “Hey, some nutjobs are trying to rob a bank,” she said. “And they’ve taken hostages that they’re threatening to shoot. If you hurry I’ll bet you can get their before Ladybug, steal a few souls from the robbers, and make your quota that way.”
Alya brightened. “Yeah, that’s perfect!” She jumped to her cloven feet. “Thanks again, Juleka! You’re great.”
“I know,” said Juleka as Alya ran out. Then she chuckled and lay back in the bed. Becoming a counselor and spiritual advisor to a demon–and, apparently, at least one newly-soulless girl who needed a little anger management–wasn’t really where she’d seen herself going when the year had begun.
But that didn’t make it not fun.
Chapter 4
It was about one month after Juleka had learned Alya’s secret when things began getting hectic again.
“You know what I think?” Rose asked as she lay on Juleka’s lap, staring at the sky while they finished their lunches. “I think we should do something special tomorrow. We should go to Andre’s ice cream cart, get our favorite flavors, and then ride in one of those boats that goes up and down the Seine.”
“Sounds fun,” said Juleka. She gently stroked Rose’s hair, and the girl grinned and wriggled deeper into Juleka’s lap. “Is tomorrow a special occasion?”
“The most special of all!” said Rose. “Tomorrow is our six-and-a-half month anniversary!"
Juleka chuckled. "Ah. How could I forget. The most important day in any loving relationship–”
“Don’t make fun of love,” said Rose. “It’s amazing. Like, I love you, so when I look at you my heart starts racing and I feel like the most fortunate girl in the world.” Juleka blushed at that. “And I’m sure you feel the same way, 'cause you’re also in love!”
“Sounds about right,” said Juleka. “Although, at the moment, I’d kind of love to get back to class before Mendeleiev gives us detention…”
Rose checked her watch and made a soft 'eep’ sound. “You’re right!” she said as she scrambled upright. “But let’s cuddle more later. It’s fun.” She grinned at Juleka before rushing back to the school, with Juleka following at a slightly more sedate pace.
Juleka had gotten inside and was heading towards the classroom when she saw Alya approaching. “I think Marinette’s in that room there,” Nino was calling to her from around a corner. “I heard her say Lila wanted to talk to her about something.”
“Thanks!” Alya called back. Then she looked at Juleka. “Hey. Got any plans for this afternoon?”
“Cuddling with Rose,” said Juleka. “And after that… I dunno. We can do something or–”
A yelping noise sounded from the closed room. Jueka and Alya glanced at each other, then quickly looked through a crack in the door. Juleka’s eyes widened as she saw Lila pulling her hand away from Marinette; the hand looked bruised and Marinette was giving LIla an astonished look. “That’s all you’ve got? Poking me in the chest? Whatever. I’m done with you."
Marinette stalked towards the other door. As soon as she left, Lila’s scowl deepened, and then–
Then her body flashed and took on an appearance similar to that of Alya’s.
They weren’t exactly the same. Lila’s horns, wings, and tail were all larger than Alya’s, and her skin was a deeper red. She also had some tattoos which writhed a little on her body. But they were clearly the same species, and Juleka couldn’t stop herself from gasping.
"No!” hissed Alya as she covered Juleka’s mouth.
But it was too late. Lila glanced at the door, then waved one claw-like hand at it and whispered something in Latin, and then Juleka felt herself being dragged through the door by an unseen force. Alya was dragged in besides her, and the two were thrown to the ground in front of LIla.
“So,” said Lila. “I guess you two will be my next acquisitions.” She waved a hand and the door shut behind them. “Don’t worry, though. I’m not too hard of a taskmaster. Your souls will be safe and–”
“Hang on!” said Alya as she forced herself to her feet. Her body shimmered and then she was in her natural demonic form too. Juleka scrambled up afterwards. “Our souls aren’t up for grabs. I’m gathering souls for the bosses, same as you. And, uh, Juleka’s the high priestess of my cult.”
Lila blinked and then stared at Juleka. “You. The high priestess. That’s insane. She can’t possibly do the job.”
“I get that a lot,” Juleka drawled. “But it turns out I’m really good at chanting.”
Lila rolled her eyes. “Har har. If your demon shows up at midnight half-dead from fighting a paladin, can you rush out and sacrifice a vestal virgin to restore her strength?”
“No,” said Juleka, “but I can watch anime with her on the weekends. It makes her happy, and it comes up a lot more than the vestal virgin thing.”
Lila boggled, and then Alya stepped between them. “But seriously, I had no idea,” she told Lila. “I mean, you’re always doing charity work with these famous celebrities from all over the world and…” She trailed off for a moment. “…and now that I know who you are, I can see those stories are totally ridiculous and you’ve probably been using demonic magic to make everyone believe them.”
“Exactly. And even if Dupain-Cheng is still too 'pure’ right now for it to work on her, everyone else believes me. It’s the perfect cover.” Lila beamed. “And I’ll get Marinette eventually.”
“Hang on,” said Alya quickly. “That’s–that’s not a good idea. I mean, you just tried to get Marinette’s soul and you failed, right? That girl is damn-near incorruptible. No way would she ever do anything bad enough to be vulnerable to one of us. You’re better off looking elsewhere.”
Juleka gave Alya a querying look. The girl sounded nervous. Evidently Lila picked up at it too, because she leaned back on her cloven hooves, then grinned. “Oh, I get it! You’re actually friends with that little pink rodent!”
Alya scowled. “Marinette is… nice,” she said at last. “We’re allowed to have friends.”
“No, we’re allowed to fake being friends so we can get their souls.” Lila snorted. “As if humans were worthy of friendship. Bunch of self-righteous morons who’ve never really been tested and think they’re better than us. Put any of them with a decent tempter for thirty seconds and they’d sell their souls, their lovers, and their children to satisfy some sick desire. I might be here for Hawkmoth and Mayura, but along the way I’ll get Marinette, Alya. I’ll get anyone I want.”
“Marinette,” said Alya in a slow voice, “Is off limits. So are all my friends in class. Come on, Lila, Paris has millions of people. You can go after any of them.”
“Sure. I could. But I think I’ll go after Marinette and her friends instead.” Lila grinned. “Marinette annoys me. She acts like she’s virtuous, and she’s so… smugly casual about it. Like she doesn’t even have to try at it. Like anyone could be that nice if they wanted.” She shuddered. “Filthy human. And I don’t think she’ll be hard to get at all, Alya. See, first I’ll get the souls of her friends and make them act incredibly cruel to her. Then, when she’s hurt and broken, I’ll corrupt her and take her soul too. Hmm, maybe when I finish here and get back down to Hell I can have her as a personal thrall to trim my hooves and everything.”
Alya opened her mouth, but then Lila began talking again. “Besides, I have my own career to look out for, don’t I? Right now I know of two demons in Paris: you and me. If anything big happens, we’ll share credit, and half-credit’s just not enough for me. But if one of those demons should, say, lose her cover–because all of her friends start telling people she’s a demon, working to expose her, maybe even going crazy and drawing attention to her–she’ll have to leave. Then I’ll be alone, and when I capture Hawkmoth’s and Mayura’s souls–not to mention Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s, of course–I’ll be promoted for sure. I might even become an archfiend and have a whole legion of lesser demons under my command."
Juleka stared at Lila as the demon grinned. "Sorry, Alya,” Lila went on. “But that’s how the game is played. If you don’t like the thought of me stealing all your 'friends” souls in front of you and using them to force you out in disgrace, you can leave now, quietly, with your dignity and reputation intact. I’ll be sure to keep you apprised on how my work in corrupting Marinette is going.“ She chuckled, then walked past Alya towards the door. "See you around, partner,” she called, then summoned her human guise around herself and left.
When the other demon was gone, Juleka shut the door and turned to Alya, who was starting to panic. “No no no!” Alya hissed. “This can’t be happening! This isn’t fair! I don’t want Lila to touch them!”
“Can you call your bosses?” Juleka asked.
Alya snorted. “They’ll tell me if I"m not strong enough to fight off Lila I deserve to lose everything to her. Damn it! We have to do something, but her magic felt really strong. I don’t know if I can fight it.”
“I could worship you more,” offered Juleka.
“One or two worshippers won’t be enough, and even if you post an ad on Craigslist or something and get more recruits we don’t’ have time. Lila will already started corrupting the class more aggressively.” Alya clutched her head. “This is awful.”
Juleka thought for a few moments. “But we do have time, at least a little. Lila just tried to get Marinette’s soul and couldn’t, and in fact, her hand looked pretty messed up from the attempt. Do you know what that means?”
“That something’s blocking her, I’d guess.” Alya shrugged. “Marinette might have angelic backing; she’s pure enough it wouldn’t surprise me… although if she did they would probably have warned her about me by now. Or maybe some other semi-divine force is protecting her, though I have no idea what.”
“Still,” said Juleka. “We just saw she can’t get Marinette’s soul.”
Alya shook her head. “She can’t directly, not yet, but her plan’s a good one. Marinette loves her friends. If Lila gets their souls and warps them so the class is horrible to Marinette, then Marinette could break and become vulnerable.”
“Hmm.” Juleka thought back, and then an idea hit her. “You said you couldn’t get Mireille’s soul because someone already had it.”
“Right.”
“So why don’t we try to get the class’s souls before Lila does? If you have them locked up then Lila can’t loot them.” Juleka tensed as she spoke. She had no idea how she’d go about getting Rose’s soul in particular without it seeming like a betrayal. But if that was the only way to keep her girlfriend safe from Lila, Juleka would do it.
Alya blinked. “That… that just might work!” she beamed. “Juleka, you’re brilliant!” And she hugged the goth.
“Thanks,” managed Juleka. “I–”
“There’s no time to lose,” said Alya. “We’ll start today. Operation: protect the class from Lila by stealing all their souls first is a go!”
Chapter 5
“Let’s deal with Alix first.”
Juleka leaned against the wall and looked at Alya, who was putting together a corkboard with photos of their classmates. Alya drew a red circle around Alix and then put a ’#1’ next to it. “She’ll be one of the easiest,” Alya went on. “She’s so hot-headed. All we have to do is challenge her to a dare and get her to bet her soul on it, then win!”
“Winning might be tough,” Juleka noted. “Alix is pretty competitive.”
“Fortunately, being a demon, I’m allowed to cheat.” Alya winked. “And that’s what you’re for. You’ll help me rig things so that I can’t help but win. Then her soul will be mine!” She grinned and summoned a small ball of Hellfire, which she began to toss up and down in one hand. “And then I–”
The Hellfire slammed into the ceiling light and blew it out, shrouding both of them in darkness–except for the light emanating from Aurore’s soul, which was quietly glowing on a shelf. Alya shrugged, then picked up the soul and began using it as a flashlight to see the corkboard. Juleka snorted. “I don’t think you’re supposed to use souls like that.”
Alya waved this off. “Now let’s see… ah. I’ve got the perfect way we can trap Alix in a bet she can’t win.”
###
“A race around the city?” Alix’s eyes gleamed. “That sounds awesome! The news station really asked you to help them plan it?”
“They know I go around the city to film Ladybug, so I guess I was the natural choice.” Juleka smiled slightly as Alya tossed her hair back, then gestured at the map she had set down on the cafe table where she had asked Alix to meet her. “I just need to get from checkpoint to checkpoint and then report back if there were any problems with the route–you know, road under construction, 'no pedestrian’ signs, zombie outbreak, things like that. I won’t even need to tell them how long it took, since the checkpoints are set up so that they’ll register when peoples’ phones get near them; that’s how they’ll make sure nobody tries to cheat by skipping a checkpoint, and that’s how they’ll record my time. So it seems really easy, right? But I was thinking, it’d be really boring to do it by myself, so… why not make it a race?” She gestured to her bike. “Me versus you? You can use your skates, of course.”
Alix cracked her knuckles. “Sounds like a blast. But if we’re racing, we should have stakes. Winner gets the losers’ wheels?”
“Can’t do that.” Alya shook her head. “Mom will kill me if I lose my bike.”
“Hmph,” said Alix. “Well, we have to bet something, and it should be high stakes. None of this 'winner gets a cookie from Marinette’s bakery’ stuff. Something worth racing around the city for.”
“I agree, but what?” Alya glanced at Juleka. “Any ideas?”
The goth chuckled to herself, then said her lines. “I’m sure you guys’ll probably just bet ten bucks or something,” she said in a dry, slightly smug voice that she’d rehearsed with Alya. “I mean, I’ve seen weirder bets, but mostly just from some pagans I met online.”
“What kinds of bets do they make?” Alix asked.
“Well, I saw one group where they gambled blood,” lied Juleka. “Winner got a pint of blood from the loser.”
Alix wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”
“What? It’s high stakes betting, right?” Juleka smiled slightly. “And that wasn’t even the weirdest one. I saw one bet where the winner got the loser’s soul.”
Alix actually laughed. “Goth much, Juleka? Souls don’t exist.”
“Then you shouldn’t have any problem betting it,” said Alya. “That sounds fun! Winner gets the loser’s soul… and two hundred bucks.”
Alix snorted. “Soul shmoul, but I could use the money. Deal. Count of three?”
“Sure!” Alya beamed. “One, two… three!”
Alix took off at a blast, immediately turning a corner and rushing towards the first checkpoint on Alya’s map–the Eiffel Tower. Alya waited until she was out of sight, then darted into the alley behind the cafe with Juleka. “Perfect!” said Alya as she sketched out a pentagram in chalk on the ground. “Let’s go!”
“And this will still count?” Juleka asked.
“Of course it will. Alix made the deal: whoever gets to all the checkpoints first and then returns here wins the loser’s soul. Sure, it might not be fair for me to use my demon powers to teleport, but I didn’t explicitly say I was going to use my bike to get around–I just implied it–and besides, like I said, demons get to cheat.” Alya grinned. “It’s part of our style. Now come on; Alix is fast and we’ve got to get going.”
Juleka followed her into the pentagram. “Why am I being teleported too, again?”
“Because if anything goes wrong I’ll need your help to fix things,” Alya said. “And besides, part of being my high priestess is accompanying me on my adventures and giving me support.”
Juleka blinked. “Okay. Rah rah rah, Alya is great, rah rah.”
Alya giggled. “I meant magical support, in case I need it.” She took Juleka’s hand. “Let’s go!”
And then they vanished in a flash of brimstone and sulfur.
###
For a moment, Juleka thought she had the impressions of fire–massive flames higher and hotter than had ever existed on Earth–but they didn’t seem to touch her. And a moment later she was back on the ground, having arrived with Alya in the pentagram they had secretly sketched beforehand in a small janitor’s closet next to the Eiffel Tower.
They then disappeared and reappeared several times in quick succession, all over the city, hitting each checkpoint in succession. Finally they reached the last one, landing in a dingy basement under Montparnasse Tower, and Alya grinned. “Now just to get back to the cafe and wait for her!”
But when she tried to teleport, nothing happened, and Alya frowned. “What’s wrong?” she demanded. “This always worked when I practiced it!”
“Maybe somebody disturbed the pentagram in the alley,” Juleka offered. “So we can’t use it to get back.”
“Agh!” Alya groaned. “Then–then we’ll have to get back the old-fashioned way. But we should still be way ahead of Alix, so–OW!”
Juleka blinked as Alya held up a small ball of Hellfire to illuminate the area, and they both winced as they saw that Alya had stepped into what looked like an animal trap. “Guess they have rats or something down here,” said Juleka as she helped Alya to pry it off.
“Stupid rats,” grunted Alya. “Ow, that really hurts…”
They got the trap off, but when Alya put her foot down she yelped and had to lift it again. “Will you be okay?” Juleka said at once. “Are you–”
“I’m fine. Demons heal fast… but not fast enough to win the race on foot.” Alya grit her teeth and leaned on Juleka. “We have to get as close to the cafe as we can before Alix catches us.’
"Then what?” Juleka asked. “You need to beat Alix, so is there any way I can slow her down while you go ahead?”
Alya nodded. “Yeah. I can… I can lend you some powers. Technically I’m supposed to demand you give me blood and swear more loyalty and so on, but whatever. I’m desperate. Here.”
She grabbed Juleka’s hand, the one that she’d cut to get Juleka into her cult, and chanted a few words in Latin. Juleka gasped as another surge of power flowed into her, this one deeper and more powerful than the first. Her hair stood on end for just a moment and she stumbled away from Alya as the surge faded. “What was that?”
“Just a couple basic powers,” Alya said. “Standard high priestess starter pack: Hellfire summoning, and a few passive spells related to magical strength, toughness, and so on. It should be pretty instinctive.”
Juleka blinked, then focused on her hand–and to her amazement, a surge of energy ran through her and a little flame appeared at her fingertips. “Woah!” she gasped. “That is so cool!”
“Yeah, yeah, demons are awesome, I get it,” said Alya. “Can we focus on the race right now?”
“Right, right. Here.” Juleka got Alya’s arm around her shoulder and began helping her limp back towards the cafe.
###
They almost made it back by the time Alya said, “Okay, Alix just hit Montparnasse. She’ll catch up to us in a couple minutes.”
“How can you–”
“I can sense when people I know go near my pentagrams.” Alya winced. “The cafe’s not that far. You just need to stall her for a couple minutes. But nothing too flashy in public, okay? If someone videotapes you summoning balls of Hellfire–”
Juleka nodded. “I know, I know. You’ll be very upset that they’ll have scooped you before you could get it on the Ladyblog.”
Alya snorted. “And, you know, you could be seen and then hunted down by angels and paladins. But other than that, yes, the blog is the most important thing.”
They got to a corner and Juleka let Alya limp on ahead towards the cafe. Then Juleka ducked into another alley and kept watch, soon seeing Alix furiously skating down the sidewalk. She thought for a moment about what she could do with her powers. Something very subtle, she thought, would probably be best. Something subtle and sneaky and…
Then she shrugged. She had Hellfire now. What was the point of that if she couldn’t have a little fun with it?
So she focused, summoned up a big ball of Hellfire, and then–from the safety of the alley, where nobody was watching–lobbed it at a fire hydrant in Alix’s path.
The fireball blasted the hydrant to pieces, and jets of water began shooting in all directions. Alix yelped as a water blast hit her and destabilized her. She almost fell, but Juleka darted out from the alley and caught her. Before she wouldn’t have been able to do so, but Alya had given her just a taste of demonic strength and she was easily able to arrest Alix’s fall. “Careful!” she said as she helped Alix slow and then stop. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” said Alix. “Stupid hydrant just exploded!” She quickly shook herself off. “But no worries. I’ll still beat Alya back.”
Juleka stepped out of Alix’s way, but just as the skater began to take off again Juleka fired a very tiny bit of Hellfire down at her skates and melted one of the wheels. Alix tried to roll and almost tripped. “Oh, come on, what now?” she growled as she looked down.
“Looks like a piece of the hydrant may have smashed the wheel,” Juleka offered.
Alix kicked off her skates and shoved then into Juleka’s arms. “Hold these,” she said. “Don’t lose them.” And then she took off at a run.
Juleka frowned, not knowing how to further slow Alix, and began running after her. The girl was fast and even Juleka’s demonic-enhanced energy wasn’t enough to enable the goth to overtake her friend. But she was able to keep pace, just barely, and she chased after Alix as they rounded the final corner–
Just in time to see Alya stagger into the cafe and then turn. “I win!” Alya called as Alix groaned. “Hah!”
“Hmph.” Alix slowly approached Alya. “Only because a fire hydrant blew up.”
Alya glanced at Juleka, who smiled slightly. Alya returned the look with a grin of her own. “Guess you owe me.”
“Yeah, I’ll grab the money from my room and drop it off at your place. Oh yeah, and my 'soul.’” Alix chuckled. “Love to see you collect that, Cesaire.”
###
“You JERKS!”
Alya, now back in her room and in her demonic form, beamed triumphantly as she held Alix’s soul up in the air. Alix jumped for it, but she was so short she couldn’t even reach Alya’s hand. “I thought you said you wanted to see me collect it.”
“I wasn’t being literal!” Alix jumped again. If Alya’s demonic form phased her, she didn’t show it. “Juleka! Make her give it back! It's… it’s my soul!”
“Sorry.” Juleka shrugged. “I"m her high priestess. I’m on her side.” She paused. “Wow, Alix, your soul is really pink and red.”
Alya nodded. “Yeah, it’s kind of cute."
"My soul is not cute!” Alix wailed. “It’s rough and tough! Like me!”
“No, it’s cute.” Alya poked it, and Alix suddenly stepped back and giggled. Alya blinked. “Wait, are you ticklish?”
“Uh–no! No way!” Alix insisted.
Alya and Juleka exchanged knowing glances, and then Alya began to tickle Alix’s soul, causing the redhead to collapse in hysterical laughter. “Stop!” Alix begged as she laughed wildly. “Stop please!”
“Only if you promise to stop yelling,” Alya said primly. And after a little more tickling, Alix had to give in.
Alya set Alix’s soul next to Aurore’s, and Alix tried to grab it but found she couldn’t touch it. “Seriously, what the Hell?” she demanded. “Look, Alya being a demon from Hell, fine, whatever, but taking my soul–”
“Another demon’s in town,” said Juleka. “Lila Rossi. She’s really good at collecting souls, and she’s coming after the class. We’re trying to get everyone’s souls first so she can’t actually send your souls to Hell.”
Alix hesitated. “Couldn’t you just warn us so we wouldn’t fall for her tricks?”
“Lila could get your soul even if you knew she was coming–I looked up her record after we learned about her, and she’s a validictorian-level tempter,” Alya said. “But don’t worry. As long as your soul’s safe with me, she can’t grab it!” She beamed. “You’re welcome.”
“I… agh.” Alix threw her head back. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Juleka smiled. “You could join the cult. Hang out with other people who’s soul got yeeted out of their bodies by Paris’s best demon.” Alya grinned. “See some really cool powers.” And she summoned a bit of Hellfire, causing Alix’s eyes to widen. “And watch some really, really ridiculous anime.”
“That's… that doesn’t sound like much of a cult,” Alix noted.
“Maybe for a lame demon who just wants to hear people talk about how great she is,” said Alya, “but my cult is very big on having everyone eat snacks and watch fun tv shows.” She paused. “Look, I–I get this is a big deal for you. I wasn’t planning on going after the souls of anyone at Francois Dupont, honest. But there was no other way to keep you safe from Lila. And if you’re in the cult, you can check in on your soul whenever we meet… we can watch out for each other, make sure Lila doesn’t attack…”
Alix slowly nodded. “Okay. I’m in. But I want your word that once Lila is gone you’re giving my soul back.”
“Sure,” said Alya. “I don’t need it for my quota anyways.”
They all looked at each other in silence for a moment before Alix said, “And can my soul at least get a blanket or something? It’s chilly in here.”
“It doesn’t need a blanket. It’s a soul; it can’t catch cold,” protested Alya.
“So? It’s still nippy!”
Juleka grinned and settled back as the two continued to argue. She’d helped protect someone today, she thought. She’d made it so Lila could not damn Alix. She’d done good. Nothing could ruin her mood.
###
Ten minutes after leaving Alya’s, she took a shortcut through an alley to get back to the Liberty, and then she almost bumped right into Lila Rossi.
“I know what you’re doing,” said Lila without preamble. “And it annoys me. I’ll give you one chance. Forswear Alya and take my side. I’ll give you more power and wealth, and–”
Juleka snorted. “Not a chance.”
“Fine.” Lila whistled, and something growled at Juleka from within the shadows. “Then you’ll get eaten by my pet Hellhound. See you never, Juleka.” She vanished in a puff of smoke as a gigantic wolf-like dog, drooling saliva that burned into the alley floor and breathing smoke and flame from its nostrils, approached.
Juleka gulped. Then she threw a blast of Hellfire at it, but it had no effect. Then it leapt at her and she cringed back–
Only for a blur to swoop in and knock it aside.
Juleka stared as a short girl with blond hair, wings full of white feathers, and an actual halo raised a sword. ���Begone, beast!” she roared in a very familiar voice. “And bother not the innocent, lest you taste divine wrath!”
“Uh,” said Juleka. “Um.”
Then the angel–whom Juleka knew very well as Rose Lavillant–turned back. “Juleka!” she said in a slightly nervous voice. “I, um… I have some things to tell you!”
Chapter 6
“Uh,” said Juleka. “Um.”
Her heart was beating very fast, and she quickly clenched her hand–the one that Alya had marked–into a tight fist so Rose couldn’t see her palm. “You’re an, um.”
“Angel,” said Rose. “And–hey! I said stop!” She pointed her sword at the Hellhound, which was still slavering. “The power of–”
The Hellhound leapt at Rose, who sighed, then quickly swung her sword up and decapitated the beast.
Juleka boggled as Rose wiped her sword clean on the alley wall. The Hellhound’s body shuddered, then both its head and the rest of it burst into flames and crumbled to ash. “As I was saying,” Rose said. “I’m an angel. I’ve been sent here to look out for the souls of Paris.”
“…a guardian angel is dating me?” Juleka asked.
And then Rose blushed. “Well, angels are allowed to love!” she said a little too quickly. “We’re not like the other guys. And–and you’re very lovable! I can see souls, and your soul is as bright and lovely as the sun!”
Despite everything, Juleka blushed. “Um.”
“You are! You’re kind, and loyal, and… oh!” Rose swiveled on her foot. “More Hellhounds!” Juleka turned to see four more darting in from the shadows deeper in the alley. “Stay back!”
Juleka cringed against the wall as Rose rushed forwards and dueled the Hellhounds, slashing and thrusting to keep them away. However, the sheer weight of numbers began forcing her back. “Begone!” Rose yelled again, but the Hellhounds didn’t listen. “Uh… begone, I said!”
“I don’t think they’re listening,” said Juleka.
Rose gave her a tiny frowned, then blinked. “Oh, I know! I can make you my paladin. Then I can give you powers to help!”
————
I LOVE IT YES ITS AWESOME
I’d love to see more but no stress, this was just so enjoyable
58 notes
·
View notes
Text
This Is part of the sidlink exchange ( @sidlinkgiftexchange ) and is for @naobara He seems awesome and I'm excited to give this to him!
Link paces, impatient as always, if better healed, he’s so close to getting to see Sidon again, but what if he doesn't like him anymore? What if he found someone else? What if the prince realizes Mipha’s death is all Link’s fault?
“Are you done pacing?” Myrah asks, looking up from her scimitar she is cleaning, “I promise, he still loves you, the royal zora siblings have a very specific type, you.”
Link turns to look at his friend, one of the few left from the before calamity times, she was frozen in time by magic, neither of them is too sure how, but their ages seem to be tied together with eachother’s and Zelda’s, and the trio seems to age more like Zora than hylians now.
She raises a brow, gold eyes appraising him, different from the usually playful gaze she has.
“I- what?”
She snorts, “Come on, Link, you need to get ready, you need to finish collecting the stones.”
“I guess.” He shifts, arms crossing as he blows hair out of his face to avoid making eye contact.
“I’ll be with you, we’ll make a day of it, who gets more shiny rocks vs lizards oir something.”
Myrah sets the blade down, standing up to her half hylian half gerudo glorious height of much taller than Link as she strides to him, hand settling on the hero’s shoulder with a comforting little tune she hums.
He narrows his eyes at her.
“Oh alright, we’ll spar too.”
He smiles, “Good.”
She shakes her head, then, “Come on, I have a surprise for you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Myrah stands her hair falling over her shoulder, he can see her gerudo half prominent in her face and hair. She leads him through her house, and into a room he’s seen a few times but rarely is in.
She stops then, “It’s okay if you don’t like it, or think it’s too much… I just- Here.”
Myrah moves a sheet out of the way and Link stares, awed.
Several things are there, a set of matching swords, one made for Link and the other for Sidon, obvious in the size. A set of voice and vai clothes, both for link. A painting, Sidon and Link dancing at a ball, both draped in fancy jewels. Several pieces of jewelry. And oddly enough, a small box wrapped in silk.
“Go on,” Myrah smiles gently.
Link steps forwards, finding the swords first, silver, with gold decorative vines on the hilt, pretty but functional. He tests the edge, sharp, dangerous. He tries the smaller sword, and finds it balanced perfectly for him, a one handed sword, the light glints off of it.
“Where did you get all of this?” He asks.
Myrah smiles softly, “The painting is Kaori and Zelda’s gift. I had Ashley in gerudo craft the jewelry, I enchanted them myself. The box is my own doing, and the clothes are things- My mother made them for you years ago. Likely before you remember.”
Link gasps, “Your mother?”
“We grew up close as siblings,” Myrah says, “She cared for you like her own.”
“Oh.”
“The zoran black smith made the swords, I designed them and enchanted the metal.”
“You can enchant weapons and jewelry?”
She laughs, gentle, and nods, “Of course, it was my aunt’s craft, and useful.”
“Wow.”
Link opens the box, and stares at the keys, identical, “What is this?”
“I made you your own hidden, private home in the domain, for you and Sidon.”
“You did?”
She nods, “Of course.”
“Myrah-”
She smiles, “There’s- one more thing.”
“What?”
Myrah turns, grabbing something before handing it to Link, “Sidon asked me to give you this the day before you are reunited and married.”
Link stares at the rolled up scroll, eyes a little wide.
‘My dear sapphire,
Without you I am miserable, even when you are only gone a week, I cannot imagine how this year has affected me, yet I doubt it has been easy for you either. You are truly my most prized companion, and should you for any reason wish to not be married, I hold no ill will.
However, I am excited, because I know if you are reading this we’re almost guaranteed a marriage. I have missed you greatly, even if I have yet to separate this fatal year at the date of writing this, I know I ache for your embrace.
I hope you are well, I know the princess will take care of you, your friends have never been too patient with your moods that l;ead to taking ill care of yourself. And if I know you, you are either staying near Zelda, or Myrah, likely both, and I know neither will hesitate to make you take care.
Anyways, I am likely at my wits end, I find you make me better and without you I get- irritable. So, if when we reunite I seem off, I assure you I am fine.
I know you are busy, just as you know I am. I love you more than all the stars in the sky, the fish in the sea, and the blades of grass you love.
-Sidon’
Link doesn't realize he’s crying until he feels the tears hit his hand.
“Get dressed,” Myrah says, “We’re going on a trip.”
-------
It isn’t until Zelda is walking him down the aisle that Link finally breathes again, and the worst this is he has to keep in the proper role, he can’t just rush Sidon and tackle him into a hug, no, that would be ‘improper’, and ‘rude’, and ‘uncivilised’.
Myrah gives him a little snap followed by a wave that he tunes back in.
But Sidon’s blinding smile is enough to keep Link anchored, and he’s standing opposite his beloved prince quickly and yet not soon enough.
And the ceremony is long, and boring, and Link really isn’t sure what’s said, too focused on Sidon.
Sidon’s usual regal parephnelia is gone, instead it is still silver but it is all sapphire, and he wears his father’s headdress, with silk tied about his ankles, wrists, and wasit.
Myrah elbows him sharply, “Link,” SHe hisses.
“What- Oh, yes, I do.”
Sidon laughs, and then he’s being picked up by SIdon, their foreheads pressed together, and then Myrah is breaking costumes by cheering scandalous things. Zelda smacks her.
But Link doesn't care, not when he gets to kiss Sidon’s nose and be carried away gently by his prince, his husband now.
Husband! They’re married!
Sidon holds him close, walking through the hidden halls, and he breathes deeply, saltwater and fish, but it smells good, home like even.
“You’re here.” Sidon says.
“Of course I am.” Link says, and it’s sincere, just like it should be, just what Sidon needs.
“I love you. I was- well surely there were other things, people who caught your interest over the years.”
“Never.”
“I- Really?”
“Never, Sidon. I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” The prince whispers, nuzzling against Link’s face, smooth scales offering solace that had previously seemed miles away.
“I can’t wait for a forever with you,” Link says, and he means it, he’s finally home. The Calamity is beaten, Zelda and Myrah are happy together, everyone is safe, the champion’s spirits are freed, and he’s in his husband’s arms.
Everything is well.
-------
Link’s used to ridiculous things, okay? The wars of the goddess do that. And so does the fact that he married a shark puppy that’s ten foot tall and more muscled than anything or anyone else Link knows, and he’s best friends with several gerudo soldiers.
But really, this, this has to take the cake.
“You what?” Link asks, and it’s tiring.
“I found this in the spring of courage.” Sidon says, holding up a golden sphere that is clearly a large zora egg.
“Oh,” Link nods, because really, what else did he expect?
“I think it’s for us!”
Link just nods, and turns, leading Sidon to their chambers, and they are easy, setting the orb into a pool.
“I wonder what they look like?”
Link nods, of course Sidon wonders, he himself does too.
So, they sit down, and really, what’s the worst that getting a child could do? They just, will lose sleep, and time. At least the child will be a Zoran, Link reasons, after all, they live longer.
“What do we name them?” Sidon asks.
Link tilts his head, unsure then, “Lymphina?”
Sidon hums then, “Maybe.”
And whatever made the strange egg see fit that it should hatch, as a small Zoran child begins shrieking, a guppy like shape.
They both turn, and there is a guppy with golden scales to match Link’s hair, red fins like Sidon’s coloration, and striking blue eyes that almost seem to glow. A nurse shark then. Like Mipha had been, gorgeous.
Sidon gasps, “Oh my goodness, Link!”
Link nods, “She’s a beauty.”
“She’s perfect!”
“What about- Mipha?” Link asks quietly.
Sidon chokes, “You- really?”
Link nods, of course he is.
“I love it. Mipha, she’s going to be as wonderful as her aunt!”
Link laughs warmly, nodding, because this is wonderful. His beloved husband, and a daughter, his bestfriends ruling hyrule, everything is well. He is safe and so is his family.
And the little golden guppy with her aunt’s name is going to grow up so loved.
#ssb writes#gift exchange#sidlink#sidlink gift exchange#marriage#magic baby#accidental baby acquisition#shameless fluff
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
Secrets I Have Held In My Heart
A/N: Modern!AU, Soulmate!AU, Soul Mark!AU, Angst, OT3.
This is quite honestly one of the longest things I’ve ever done in one sitting. I am exhausted. My prose and tenses are probably everywhere and I am so sorry for it. Enjoy x
(Edit 20/1/2021) It has recently come to my attention that lies and slander have been spread about my character amongst persons in this OT3 community. They are malicious lies made with the intent to cast a shadow over my credibility and my good standing in this community. I only ask that you come talk to me first before you believe the horrible things that have been levelled about me.
Please take care of yourselves x
--
Booker smiles placidly when he catches Joe's eye from across the room and let's the pretenses drop the moment he ducks out into hallway, finding a spot of quiet from all the music and chatter of celebration in the living room. He really should be happy but as it is with heartbreaks, happiness is something you can only fake until it feels real.
He opens the door when the doorbell rings and kisses the cheeks of the latecomers in greeting. They awkwardly avoid his eye with shifty smiles as they shuffle past him. Booker doesn't blame them. It's an awkward fucking situation all around.
Joe's warm and happy laughter carries through the air, and Booker just feels his heart twist in his chest. The sight of his head of curls bobbing along in the joy of whatever joke one of their friends was making while his arm was slung intimately low around Nicky's waist was unbearable. Booker has enough self-respect in him to recognise it as jealousy.
He has been in love with his best friend for almost as long as he has known him. It had been ridiculously easy for them; Joe had no soul marks and neither had Booker, so it was the most natural thing to move in together after they'd both hit 33 and when Booker decided to offer his fine art restorer skills up to go freelance, they make plans to spend the rest of their lives together. It made sense and they were happy. Booker had had no intentions of ever letting Joe know how he had truly felt and that was the mistake.
It isn't that he dislikes Nicky.
The man was beyond perfect and Booker could have never hoped to compare. From the briefest of familiarities, he knows that Nicky was a former theology student who left the seminary and is now deep in his work with a local NGO, well on his way to maybe working for the UN some day. He volunteers at a local shelter, helps at his church's soup kitchen, is handsome and funny, is a fucking Saint personified and looks great next to Joe when Booker looks like a twice drowned rat on his best day. It isn't that he hates the man. It's just that, well, Nicky isn't him.
Booker knew something had changed then. Joe had never looked at him the way he had when his and Nicky's eyes first met. And he knows Joe like he knows his own mind and there won't be any one as trusting or as kind. If he tells him he loves him, Joe would stay and he'd be Booker's, but that's not how love works and so he waits until the day they're both on the sofa watching a game and Joe turns to him to say, "Nicky's my soulmate."
Just like that. And because he could never hurt Joe, he smiles, nodding. "I figured he was. Congratulations man. That's amazing!"
There had been an indescribable look that crossed Joe's face when he said that but he hadn't lingered on it for too long. Joe's soul mark was on his left forearm set in stark, bold lines; a scimitar and a longsword threaded together with roses and thorns. Pretty cool and Booker made sure to tell him so.
That had been three months ago. Three months of waiting for the other shoe to drop, the inevitable moment when Joe says he's gonna move out and into Nicky's unit. For the second it hits his best friend that there really wasn't a place for someone like him in this equation. Two months of sitting around until he wraps up his current contract with the museum in the city and the curator takes him aside to ask him if he would be interested in working for a private collector in Turkey. Two years to work on a team of freelancers. Two years on the other side of the continent. Booker said yes with no hesitation.
"Hey, you good?"
Booker knocks his bottle of beer to Copley's. He is one of the newer persons to join their friend group but it feels like they've know each other for a very long time. His warm smile anchors Booker to the here and now and he is stupidly grateful for his presence. The man was steadfast and calm, and it made sense to Booker that he'd be the only one he told about his leaving. "Yeah. I'm ready to go whenever you are."
He'd snuck a duffle bag of his things out to Copley's house the day before and then two suitcases when Joe was over at Nicky's last night. Right before the party to celebrate Joe's birthday, he had brought his carry on out to Copley's car. His name was still on the lease and he has left instructions to help pay for his part of the rent until the end of the year if Joe would like to continue staying here. Copley will help ship the rest of his things after a month. All that's left to do is leave.
Joe had been looking forward to introducing Nicky to his family and friends, and this party was perfect for it. Booker feels bereft at the thought that this could be the last time he sees him in a long while and he cranes his neck to spy him in the center of the room, accepting a kiss from Nicky as the birthday cake is brought out from the kitchen. He holds that image of Joe, smiling from ear to ear and hopes he won't hate him too much for leaving without saying goodbye.
"Let's go."
--
His Turkish is passable at best but he gets by well enough. The rest of the restoration team were up and coming names mixed with pioneers in the field and despite the lingering heart ache, Booker finds himself pleasantly settled and happy with the work he gets to do. Everyone seems to be equally as excited as he is to be working on their employer's personal collection of paintings and sculptures, in addition to the rare books that Booker has never seen outside of museums and archives.
It's good work and it keeps him busy. It stops him from thinking about Joe too much.
Booker had found thirteen missed calls and twenty texts and ten voicemails when he lands. He hesitates only for a moment before deleting everything that wasn't from Copley or his work.
As if sensing he was being summoned by thought, his phone rings as he basks in the afternoon sunshine whilst reading a book on his off day, Copley's name flashes on his screen.
"You still alive, then?"
"Alive and kicking," Copley says over the line with a laugh. "I swear, Joe is going to eviscerate me one of these days."
Booker shakes his head, marking his page and setting his book aside. The sunlight feels good on his skin and he takes a deep lungful of air. "He won't. He's way too nice."
"You didn't see him glare when I packed the last of your things into the boxes. They're shipped, by the way. Should reach you in a week tops."
"Thanks. I owe you big time."
"Oh, you owe me more than big time. When I come over to visit, I want you pulling out all the stops for me. I want the five star experience, Mr Booker. No expense spared," Copley chuckles.
"Alright, alright," Booker laughs. "I'm sure I can rustle something up. Just let me know when, alright?"
Copley hums and they fall into a comfortable pause. "How are you? Really. Don't lie."
He tightens his grip on his phone, swallowing tightly. "I miss him every day but that's not new. I think I'll keep missing him for a while yet."
"That's normal. I'm not surprised. I think he misses you too, you know?"
"He has Nicky now. He doesn't need me. I'm... I'm just his best friend with a stupid crush that had made plans to spend the rest of my life with him. I don't fit in it any more and he deserves more than I could ever give him," He swallow tightly, licking his lips. "Copley, he'll be okay."
"But will you?"
Booker doesn't have an answer to that. When his things arrive a week and a half later, he accepts it and begins to unpack his books. He's grateful to have his familiar favourites and is eager to fill his shelves when he spots the edges of an envelope peeking out of a battered copy of Neruda. It was a letter and it was addressed to him, though the handwriting is unfamiliar to him.
Dear Sebastien, it starts and this clues him in that this person isn't someone who knows him well. No one outside of his employers and colleagues call him Sebastien.
I hope you don't mind. I'll be slipping this along with the books. I really do hope it finds you well. I don't have your number and judging by the way Joe seems to not receive a reply from you, you might have changed it. I would ask it from Copley but I do not know him well enough and you deserve someone you can speak to without any awkwardness. I write this letter because I want to know you better. It occurred to me that we have never exchanged more than a handful of words whenever we meet and it was always about Joe. I found myself curious about you even if it feels like I know you from all that Joe talks about you. He still talks about you. Even if it is in confusion as to why you left us. I don't write to judge you. I just want to be your friend. If you are amenable, please send your reply to me care of the address on the back of this paper. I hope that you do. I won't tell Joe if you don't want me to.
Sincerely, Nicky.
Booker flips the paper and sees that it's for the church he'd half-remembered being the one that Joe had mentioned off-handedly once. He rereads the words, thrown by the whole thing. He tucks it into his pocket, pushing it to the back of his mind as he focuses on unpacking his life. But the shape of it digs against his skin and he cannot help unfolding it every few minutes to read it all over again.
Each word was carefully pressed and written with intent. He finds his thumb brushing over the looping Joe, but it is the careful He still talks about you that decides things for him.
Scratching his chest absently, he tears out an empty page from his notebook as writes, If we're going to be friends, you'd better call me Booker.
--
The seasons change and his correspondence with Nicky grows from a weekly letter to every few days, to Booker posting a letter only to receive a reply for the one he sent two days ago when he arrives back in his flat. Booker takes to sending a box of baklava over an overnight service and Nicky sends him a handwritten recipe for his Nonna's tomato soup when Booker off-handedly mentions a sniffle.
Eventually it gets easier to talk about Joe and Booker tells Nicky on what he likes and what he doesn't, how to best care for him; he's allergic to a certain brand of detergent, he always forgets his scarf in the depths of winter so always stuff one in his coat pocket, he loves it when you caress his hair, he doesn't support any team in football but he loves watching a game and he always chooses the team that starts on the right side of the pitch, ask his mother for her recipe for lamb stew and make that for him when he's having a busy week.
Nicky never seems to be bothered by him telling him all these things and in turn, Booker learns that Nicky cannot function before his first cup of coffee, that he misses the quiet of his life in the seminary but he is glad he can do more as he is, that he has a few kids that he works with that he is hoping will get into gifted programmes that can help them excel in academia, that if he hadn't done the almost priest route, he would have been a doctor or a medic.
It was ridiculously effortless to be friends with Nicky and he finds himself actually looking forward to his letters and random bits and bobs in the mail. Sometimes Nicky sends Booker Joe’s sketches and he keeps them up on his bedside, keeping them in sight as he falls asleep at night. Other times there’s a picture or two, taken by Nicky, of Joe. Joe on the corner of the sofa, curled up and dozing, Joe eyes crinkling as he laughs at something. Joe with those ridiculous sunglasses they bought on a whim over a very wet Welsh afternoon.
As the first chill of the season sets in, Booker asks about Joe.
He's fine. Missing you. We're heading to his family's beach house. He said you both used to go together?
Booker finds that he can smile a little easier when the memories come or when it is brought up that Joe misses him. It still tastes a little bittersweet but he can be happy about how he had the chance to experience these things with Joe. Even if he hadn't been the one to keep having them.
Yes. He writes, But you both can do this together now. Make sure you pack extra blankets for yourself. I'm sure you know that he hogs them.
Nicky replies with a box of Marks and Spencer Welsh Cakes which Booker thanks with an assortment of Turkish Delights.
Their correspondence slows as the weather cools further. Copley, when he tells him about what’s happening over Skype, merely asks him if it i a good idea to be even putting himself in the same sphere as Joe and Nicky when he had moved across the continent just to get away from the heartbreak.
“I don’t see how it couldn’t be,” Booker says over the sizzling of the butter as he makes the cheese toasties that Joe used to love for breakfasts. He scratches at his chest, eyes watching the way the cheese oozes off its side.
“Mate, I don’t think you’re far removed enough to actually know how catastrophic this could be.”
“O ye, of little faith,” Booker huffs, flipping the toastie. “At some point I would like to be able to exist in the same city as him without melting into a puddle of heartbreak. If being friends with his soulmate helps get me there, I’m all for it.”
“You are a masochist, Mr Booker.”
Booker laughs even as he burns his finger on the pan.
He works harder than ever, learning and improving his own techniques under the tutelage of his colleagues and can appreciate the opportunity. There's already talks of him going to New York after the New Year's to accompany some of the artifacts that are being lent out for display. Booker is climbing the stairs up to his building, head down, free hand rubbing at his chest and reading through the latest methods of restoration on his phone when he bumps into a person rushing down.
“Oh, sorry--”
“Booker.”
Joe’s eyes are big and wide when their gazes meet. Booker blinks, breathes in deep before looking behind him to see Nicky watching them from his landing, exhaling shakily as he whispers, deep and with feeling, “What the fuck are you guys doing here?”
--
Nicky nurses his cup of tea from his lean against the window and deftly avoids the inquiring glare Booker keeps sending his way from the safety of the kitchen. Joe, on the other hand, is carefully prowling the space of his studio flat he has made home, obviously cataloguing the way his books sit on the shelf and the way he has kept the space marginally clean-ish, how there are pictures and sketches tacked to the wall behind the dining table, the clear signs of a life he has built here.
“Let me get this straight, you picked up Nicky’s mail from the church, saw my handwriting, and decided to come all the way to Turkey. Just to see me,” Booker says, gesturing at their backpacks leaning against his door. “Again, let me ask, why?”
“Why?” Joe laughs, throat clicking when the sound comes out rough and raw. “You ask me why I would fly out to Turkey in the middle of the holiday season just to see my best friend who left me without telling me he got a job in Turkey and was going to leave without even so much as a goodbye, and you are asking me why I would come all the way out here just to chase you down? Are you perhaps short of a marble!”
“And what was I supposed to do! Linger around you when I was dying every single time I looked at you and knew I wasn’t your soulmate? We were going to spend our lives together, Joe! I loved you!”
Booker slaps his hand over his mouth and turns away, focusing on his breathing. “You love me?” Joe says softly in the stillness of the flat.
“I did. I do and I’m sorry,” He sighs, feeling his chest shake with his trembling breath. He presses the heel of his hand to his sternum. “I do. And it’s okay, Joe. I know you don’t love me in that way. It’s okay. I just need some time away to figure out how to love you like you need me to.”
“And what do you know about what I need from you?”
Booker feels Joe come close and allows himself to be turned around to be face to face with him. “Do you know I love you too?”
“Yeah,” He chuckles wetly, rubbing his nose with the back a hand. “I’m your best friend.”
Nicky choose this moment to speak. “Booker, look at him and listen. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you in our letters. “
There’s an insistence in Nicky’s gaze that galvanises Booker to turn to Joe and meet his eyes head on. “I love you, Book. I always did. I still do. Even after the bullshit you’ve put me through.”
“But Nicky--”
“Nicky’s my soulmate and I love him too.” Joe smiles, eyes gone liquor soft when Nicky returns his fond look. “But I’ve loved you for the longest time, Book. I still want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
The itch on his chest starts to burn.
“And you’re alright with this?” Booker breathlessly asks Nicky, taking a step back. “This- This whole Love, Actually thing is a situation you’re okay with?”
“Yes,” Nicky says, standing to cross the distance between them. Joe reaches for him then, tenderly touching him by the elbow while Nicky slides a hand to his cheeks and Booker feels immediately overwhelmed. He parts his mouth to speak when he doubles over dropping to his knees when the fire spreading over the skin on his chest sends him to his knees gasping for air.
Joe keeps a hold on him while Nicky looks him over with clear worry. “Fuck!” Booker groans, trying to arch away. Clawing at his shirt, he tears at it until the buttons plink on the floor as they fall. For a moment, he does not register the dark lines that spread over his sternum. Running shaking fingers over his raw skin, Booker barely holds back the awed gasp at the scimitar and longsword twined together with thorns and roses.
“Well,” Nicky laughs softly, cupping him by the side of the head, sweeping him into a gentle kiss. In that second that their lips touch, Booker feels his heartbeat skip a notch. “I guess this answers things, doesn’t it?”
-- Epilogue --
“That’s the last of the boxes.”
Joe kicks the door shut behind him, dropping the bags in his hands to the floor, ignoring the evil eye sent his way by Nicky who had warned them against scuffing up the hardwood floors. Booker throws himself onto the sofa with a sigh and Joe, grinning like a maniac, does a running start before launching himself onto Booker.
“Oof!” And then after a beat and a wiggle. “Joe, you’re suffocating me and I can feel your dick against my ass.”
They’ve finally moved into their first home together. It had taken a bit more effort after Turkey to keep their fledgling relationship going but all’s well, ends well and Booker is back with them after finishing up his contract with glowing recommendations and growing his contact list. Joe was ridiculously proud and he knows Nicky feels the same too.
They’ll need to work hard over the next two days to spruce the place up in time for their housewarming. Their friends and families will be here and Joe cannot wait to show off his loves. Wrapping his arms around Nicky and pulling him along back to the sofa where Booker is, he basks in the happy warmth of feeling whole with his heart in one piece.
#joe x booker x nicky#booker x joe x nicky#joe x nicky x booker#the old guard fic#gab writes stuff#please dear god give me wisdom to never do this again#this was too long and i am FUCKING EXHAUSTED#I am going to bed
121 notes
·
View notes
Text
HELLO SECRET SANTA... you know who you are and what this is for
my diaries from last year are CRINGE so im rewriting them. plus i have a new pc this go around
Ted (aka Tedeo aka Ledaal Tedeo, he/him, 6′2″) is my obligatory solar dynast, he is a heptagram sorcerer who exalted instead of graduating and now hes on the run from da wyld hunt ! He is a royal brat, a grouch, an appreciator of latest fashions and creature comforts, geniouse Twilight lore supernal, first-age-technology-meddler, up and coming single point stylist and sword fanboy. he has had many outfits over the course of his campaign (my god, actual literal years irl) but this is his current solar swag:
Heres some older pics of him including some previous secret santa gifts.
(x)(x)(x)(x)
Plz do not whitewash and/or ‘Skinnywash’ this guy if you choose to draw him or I will request an edit/redraw. thank u!!
Last Candle Lit Agaist the Dark (they/them, 5′10″) is my weird goth fire aspect. They’re very “scary-guy-in-the-woods”core, and also a sorcerer, albeit they get their powers from some kind of SCP-ass goddess instead of through any careful study. they’re not from the realm, and they’re Not From Around Here either, but now they’re in Gloam trying to track a murderous gang called the Hearteaters, and simultaneously figure out what it means to be a Dragon. Vivisecting animals on strange altars probably doesn’t have anything to do with it, but that’s not going to stop them.
I have a fair bit of art of them from comms and things. Heres some of my favorite pieces:
(x)(x)(x)
And here’s a... Well not an official ref but a picture of them I like more than the ref I made last year
and some more of my own art for good measure:
(x)(x)(x)
Finally we have a NEW ENTRY, Thorn-In-Paw (he/him, 6′5″) whose game just started!! He is a casteless lunar roving adventurer-hero, the son of a lionheaded raksha, a dual practitioner of white reaper and golden janissary, childless but nonetheless a goofy dad, and the living embodiment of the phrase “Dudes Rock”. He only exalted a couple of weeks ago and has no fucking clue what a lunar actually is nor has he ever heard of anything called a “silver pact” or whatever. His spirit shape is a Scimitar Oryx and his tell are his dark cheetah tear-marks which he possesses due to artistic license rather than because lions have those (they don’t).
You can draw his human form or his hybrid form, I will love and treasure depictions of either forever.
He wields a dual bladed spear; you can see what it looks like here (this piece was one of his initial designs & as you can see he has changed a bit since then!)
(x)
Please do not whitewash this dude either!! thx ✌️
star is probably sitting this year out because he’s probably in need of a redesign and i only have so much energyyyyyyy 🅰️
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
youtube
Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared
The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!
#ACLA24#ACLA24Leaders#youtube#youtube video#climate leaders#climate solutions#climate action#climate and environment#climate#climate change#climate and health#climate blog#climate justice#climate news#weather and climate#environmental news#environment#environmental awareness#environment and health#environmental#environmental issues#environmental justice#environment protection#environmental health#Youtube
17K notes
·
View notes
Note
I saw your tags so I'll be the one to ask: can you please tell us more about your space au?
Em!! thank you so much for enabling me! I answered a some things here but i can talk about this endlessly :D I got a little carried away so it’s under a read more :p
I’ll start with a little bit of back story for the sci fi world it’d be set in. There’s a big war for Earth (Andy, Quynh and Lykon fight in it but never run into each other), it leaves it shattered with some people choosing to stay and some leaving in self sustaining colonies (basically big space ships) called Compounds. Humanity eventually comes into contact with sophisticated alien civilizations and are basically considered refugees. Some humans end up mixing with the rest of outer space, some stay in the compounds. The Guard are not exactly ordinary humans, they all have some sort of body modifications, remnants of being ex criminals or ex military, like Andy has a metal arm, some parts of Quynh’s torso are mechanical, Joe and Nicky’s left and right legs respectively are robotic, Booker has a metal arm as well and eventually Nile’s neck to shoulder are mechanical too. They also have longer life spans than the average human because of some fucked up military experiments.
So, the timeline is similar to the canon timeline, Andy (ex military giving up on life) is alone at first, she finds Quynh, they find Lykon and form a crew of space vigilantes (?) with a ship called the Quest. Lykon dies (although Andy swears he isn’t dead, he just mysteriously disappeared) and Andy and Quynh eventually find Joe and Nicky in an abandoned compound after their enemies to lovers speedrun. After a mission goes badly Quynh is launched by the bad guys into deep space on the Quest, while looking for her they run into Booker in an ice planet. They eventually get a new ship, which Andy calls the Steed, because even space!Andy is a horse girl, Quynh comes back to them (that’s where it diverges from the canon timeline because it’s my self indulgent space AU) just before they find Nile.
I also wanted them to keep their weapons similar to canon, so Andy, Joe and Nicky have the labrys, scimitar and sword that are laser enhanced, meaning that they’re still metal but are surrounded by laser, that can be turned on or off and they’re also retractable, because that’s more practical for them and helps them keep their cover as a normal cargo ship. Quynh has modified bow and arrows, she can call them back and if she presses a special button they can blow up, set on fire or freeze things. Booker is more practical and likes to hoard special guns, he doesn’t shy away from using “weird” alien technology. At first Nile is reluctant to use their modified weapons but ends up getting two laser swords.
They usually fight against criminals who try to take advantage of the chaotic situation that is a whole race finding their footing in the vastness of space, but they also end up fighting a lot against rising governments (or even old ones, that remain from Earth) that try to exploit people’s fear and resentment, but their front is a cargo ship, so they do actually have to do the cargo ship work (they’re kind of known as not the best in the cargo transport industry but are still hired a lot because they are willing to go to more dangerous parts of space).
They have an alien creature akin to a horse that Andy rescued because she loves animals in all shapes and forms and they keep it on the ship, Joe and Quynh have to constantly keep it from eating their plants, Nicky feeds it, Booker pretends to hate it but would die for it, Nile loves having it next to her while she’s flying.
Their ship is so modded that they have a big chunk of their income dedicated to bribing control officers who ask too many questions (why does a cargo ship have a fully equipped fighting cockpit? why is there suddenly a money bill in your hand? we will never know). Nile enjoys going on semi legal space ship races with their cargo ship, mostly for the comedic potential of turning up with an ugly, clunky ship, that Quynh, Joe and Booker modified so much that it’s actually pretty fast, after she gets the hang of it she starts winning races and makes a name for herself.
Andy and Nicky go on regular contests on who can find the most outlandish alien ingredients without making the rest of the crew sick, they bet on things like money to weird weapons, they also enjoy cooking together with said ingredients later and try to make a decent meal out of it (the rest of the team bet on who will make the best meal, they are pretty competitive but in a loving way).
Anyway I have so much to say about this AU, but I’m still working out some world building things and some finer points in the plot so I hope this makes sense <33
#i got a little carried away but thank you so much for asking about my space au#idk if this makes sense bc i jumped from topic to different topic but yeah#tog space au#the old guard#this is ok to rb but very messy srry :D
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
SBI d&d AU: Ph1lza Character Sheet
As I promised, here is the first of many character sheets I have prepared!
I used the 2019 interactive character sheet, so it is extremely full. There is a lot of stuff, so if you’re new to d&d do not fret. Under the “read more” is both the link to the actual character sheet (which is on my google drive because I still can’t figure out an easy way to post it here) and a small summary with everything you would need without going through the whole thing.
As always, if anyone has questions (or just wants to chat and nerd out) my dms are open, and anon asks are turned on! A special thank you to @whatimevendoinhere , without whom this thing wouldn’t exist!
(( Every character is also at level 5. The short reason for this is because I can, and I want. The long reason is because it allows me to flesh out their skills a bit more, make each of them a bit more “fitting”, because at level 1 you don’t really have a lot of choices. Also, I really wanted some of them to multiclass, and you can’t do that at level one. ))
Philza:
[ google drive folder ]
Druid (5) - Circle of the Land, Artic
Elf, Wood (250 years old)
Skills: History, Insight, Perception, Persuasion, Religion, Herbalism Kit
Languages: Common, Elvish, Celestial, Druidic
Weapons of choice: Scimitar
Special abilities: Wildshape
As an Action, Phil can assume the shape of a beast he has seen before, gaining all its game statistics (except for Intelligence, Wisdom and Charisma). He also assumes its Hit Points and Armour Class, and can’t cast spells in that form. When he reaches 0 HP in beast form, he reverts back to his elf form, and any excess damage carries over.
(At level five, his favored forms are Octopus, Ape, Reef Shark and Warhorse. )
Most used spells:
Cantrips: Create Bonfire, Thorn Whip
1st level: Healing Word, Entangle
2nd level: Hold Person, Heat Metal
3rd level: Sleet Storm, Tidal Wave
Magical Item: Boots of the Winterlands
BG (Noble)
Philza of the Greenwood was born to be a king. Since the day he was born, he had been taught how to rule. From politics, to economics, to the main languages spoken in his real. From magic, to sword fighting, to archery, to horseback riding. From how to host a banquet, to how to take care of his people.
He was born in wealth, but that did not make him vain or selfish - he knew, in a profound way that made his people love him and his ancestors rejoice, that his power only came from luck, and it would stay in his hands for as long as he used it for good.
As he reached adulthood, he knew that soon he would be able to take over his father, ready to take that burden and relieve the king's old shoulders - just in time to allow him to enjoy a handful more centuries of freedom from all his responsibilities.
Then, during a sunny afternoon, he met the love of his life. His other half, somebody who he knew he would give the world to, if he could.
Phil asked her to marry him thirty years later, the day of her 150th birthday, with a ring of pure silver he'd forged himself - it had taken him so much time and so many tries to get it perfectly, but it had been worth it.
Then, he'd packed his bags and, after making sure that everything would be fine in his absence, he'd left.
Tradition wanted that if one was to propose to someone else, they would have to prove their worth before the marriage contract could be sealed.
Phil had grown up hearing stories of the great battles his mother had won in his father's honour, fighting back the creatures of the night that had been plaguing their lands centuries before, and the treaty she'd been able to sign - the physical proof of both her prowess in battle and her strength as an ambassador.
Father still loved to recall how his soon to be wife had stormed into the throne room, her armour shining despite the evident use, one hand on her sword and one holding out the signed parchment.
There were no big wars to be fought - their realm had been at peace since then - but Phil had promised to himself that he'd bring to his love the closest thing he could find, and the one that would make her the happiest. Tales, of his travels around the world, as he walked among the people he will not rule over, learning how the rest of their plane of existence lived every day, and helping them as well as he could.
Then, one day, he'd go back to his home, to the other half of his heart, and hope that the good he would bring in the world would be enough to prove his worth for her in the eyes of the realm.
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
the old guard + dæmons
a completely self-indulgent au bcos dæmons sit squarely in the Top Five Best Storytelling Concepts Ever Created and i will absolutely fight you on this it’s the hill i will die on
i made a post about this that evolved in a beautiful thread, with so many great ideas being shared by a lot of wonderful people, and then spent a couple of days thinking about possible shapes and possible names and this probably longer-than-comfortable post is the result of all that so i hope you enjoy let’s discuss let’s talk about this god i just love dæmons so much
first things first, some ground rules of how dæmons might work when taking into account the old guard’s particular flavor of immortality. @fleurdufeu suggested that the dæmon gets Severed with the person’s first death, the one that triggers immortality. and with each death (@en-sam-malas also brought this up) the dæmon can travel farther and farther away and can stay awake when their human is sleeping, contributing to the general idea of Otherness™ the old guard carries with them, especially in a world with a dæmons. @dearest--gertrude also suggested that just like the first deaths takes longer to return back from, dæmons would be slower to reappear— taking maybe two or three days the first time (which would add to the shock of having discovered immortality bcos like??? i’m alive??? and without my dæmon??? what the fuck???) to movie-time when the dæmon’s body is already there even before the human comes back to life. which only leads to the fact that when the final death comes the dæmon does disappear in a puff of golden dust like in hdm and creates a general wave of Angst (like i imagine that’s how Andy and Quynh knew that it was Lykon’s time, bcos his dæmon just disappeared and didn’t return)
@en-sam-malas added two Great Ideas, which is that most of the old guard would not have grown up with the taboo of not touching other people’s dæmons and so would use them in battle against other humans (which highlights their Otherness™ once again), and that their dæmons can probably undergo changes of shape— not as frequent as a child but following big traumatic events, like their first death, huge losses and grief and so on, and that’s the idea i’ve built on when looking for suitable shapes for each of them so here we fucking go (note that i did omit Lykon bcos we know so little of him atm but maybe when more material comes out we’ll be able to figure him out better???)
Nile
i’d like to think that as times grow more modern, dæmons’ names grow more modern as well— bcos Nile’s from Chicago, her dæmon could be called Jazz (bcos of the city’s history with the music genre) or Hopper (bcos Hopper’s Nighthawks is in Chicago and Nile loves art??? is it a stretch??? i’m open to better ideas for sure). her dæmon probably settled sometime after her father’s death into a german shepherd, as suggested by @stevie-harrington bcos in hdm many soldiers are shown to have a dog dæmon and dog dæmons are reliable and intelligent, pack animals that can hold their own in a fight. when she comes back from her first death Hopper is not with her, which only adds to the uneasiness the other marines feel around her bcos how tf is she alive without her dæmon this is just Wrong. he reappears when she wakes up in the back of the van, and it’s only on the plane that she realised that something is different about him and that he’s not exactly a german shepherd anymore— i’d like for his first changed shape to be one of those dogs that could be wolves and toy the line between the two (bcos it’s a bit more wild and also bcos i’d like Andy to have a wold dæmon and for Nile’s to resemble Andy’s since it’s vaguely implied she will take her place as leader of the old guard)
Booker
Booker’s dæmon is called Manette (which means “bitter”/”bitterness” and i mean,,,,nomen omen) and when it first settled it was a marmoset, as suggested by both @mewbotz and @fleurdufeu, an animal dexterous enough to help him with his forgeries and also deeply family oriented (marmosets mate for life are very involved in bringing up younglings which would make sense to Booker falling deep into desperation once his family passes). Manette changes the first time when he dies, and again @fleurdufeu suggests she could turn into a carrion crow to blend in with the others while Booker hangs for three/four days, brings him idk insects to eat and stays on his shoulder and they both cry bcos they don’t understand what happened to them and they feel each other but they’re also so different (crows are also family oriented and they mimic sounds so in theory she’s like her previous form but also with trauma and the imagery of death). she could turn into a cinereous vulture when the last members of Booker’s family die, reserved and passive and isolated, and then during movie-time she’s something even smaller, maybe even a mouse, bcos grief has twisted Booker into something that he himself cannot recognise and he sleeps with Manette in his hands like he used to do when she was a monkey and it feels almost the same but not quite. i’d assume that after the ordeal with Quynh she changes shape again, maybe if he starts healing up a bit???
Nicky + Joe
they go together bcos a) obviously and b) their dæmons have very similar stories and changes of shape so it makes sense for me to talk about them together
i called Nicky’s dæmon Glauca, which is a sort of shortening of the Homeric epithet given to the goddess Athena, glaukôpis aka bright-eyed (you get it??? like Nicky himself when will Luca’s eyes leave me in peace the answer is never). bcos he was born in a coastal city i’d like to his dæmon to have settled into a sea bird, and i chose the shape of a scopoli’s shearwater, a bird that’s native to Liguria and a good swimmer
i chose Zahara for Joe’s dæmon, a name that means most exquisite bcos i thought about the fact that he was an artist and a poet but i’m Very Much Open to more informed opinions than mine. Zahara’s first shape could have been a fennec, native to Northern Africa and a very outgoing kind of animal which i feel would match Joe’s personality
the first change for both of them is, again obviously, when they kill each other for the first time. when they find their dæmons again after having spent like three days in a blind rage and confusion and pain and where is my dæmon have it lost her what have i become it’s his fault they’re both smaller in dimension, bcos they’re in shock, and more vicious than their original shape, so i picked a stoat for Nicky and a genette for Joe— both small carnivores, native one to Europe and the other to North Africa, and they just tear into each other again for a not-better-specified amount of days it’s just sword scimitar teeth claws whatever. i then see Nicky and Joe sort of “making peace” and travelling together from Jerusalem to the sea, where they part ways, and the shock is so great, the reflection they go through when they’re apart so massive that causes another change, this one the farthest away from their “personality” as they struggle to understand who they are now and what they have become. Zahara becomes a blackbird and Glauca a cape hare, shapes that neither of them feel like are right
when they both start to make peace with what they have become and realise that there might be Feelings popping out, say like a couple of centuries after Jerusalem they’ve caught glimpses of each other in other Crusades and such, both dæmons change into cats. smaller cats for now, and when Joe and Nicky go and look for each other and find each other in Malta and realise that they love each other and share some poetic and lyrical declaration of eternal adoration they wake up and find their dæmons in similar shapes— big cats, like @mewbotz suggested. Joe’s dæmon settles into a leopard, majestic and sun-like, while Nicky’s becomes a panther, hiding in the shadows, fiercely protective and betraying Nicky’s nature of actually being a Pretty Dangerous Guy. and @mewbotz goes on to say that Joe and Nicky are so inseparable that their dæmons actually follow the other around, a way to always make sure they’re safe, and so it looks like Joe’s the one with Glauca the panther and Nicky’s the one with Zahara the leopard and in that way they’re never really apart and it’s Beautiful
Quynh
bcos they’re both so old, i have this idea that neither Quynh not Andy remember the actual very first shape their dæmon took (like Andy says that she doesn’t remember the faces of her sisters, for example). i’d like for him to be called Giao Long, a name lifted from Vietnamese myths about dragons, but again i only acquired this knowledge through internet searches so if anyone more informed wants to weigh in i’d be Very Happy
when Quynh’s riding with Andy, her dæmon is a crested serpent eagle, as suggested by @fleurdufeu, with the beautiful image of it flying close to Quynh’s arrow as it sails towards its target like @mewbotz said. the fact that their dæmons are so eerie and strange contribute to the English townspeople believing Quynh and Andy are witches, and when they throw Quynh overboard her dæmon is left flying above the water and it’s just a horrible cycle of madness with the dæmon changing shape to a bird to a fish to an insect reaching her into her cage flying above just mad with grief and pain like Quynh herself is
they find each other when she gets out but they’re both broken and twisted in an ugly way, and the dæmon has turned into something she can keep close— i’d partial to the idea of a snake bcos she was “a pit viper in a fight” and even tho they can separate like every other immortal they never do bcos the trauma is too great
Andy
i got Andy’s dæmon’s name from the Italian wikipedia page about Scythians and for the life of me i can’t find the same info in english but like, apparently there was a mythical/semi-mythical Scythian king called Colassai??? i find it a very fitting name and like Andy herself he could have shortened it to Cole in the modern age
Andy doesn’t remember his first shape (but i realised the deer was a pretty important animal in Scythian culture so maybe it could have been one???), but when she meets Lykon her dæmon is a wild boar— still an earthbound animal, brutal in a fight to match her axe-wielding fighting style. when she meets Quynh, their dæmons match (immortal wives and immortal husbands with matching dæmons for the win) and @fleurdufeu suggested it might be a golden eagle, The™ steppes’ predator
losing Quynh definitely triggers a change of shape and Andy’s dæmon becomes earthbound once again, as if Quynh’s death clipped its wings, and it become maybe a fox??? smaller, still vicious, still useful in a fight. then, when Andy’s in Australia with Achilles (as per the comics but also the movie bcos i think they showed Andy’s portrait in the cave) her dæmon could take the shape of an Australian-born animal, maybe a dingo??? and in movie-time her dæmon is a full out wolf, leader of the pack, brutal in a fight— and Nile’s dæmon slowly starts to resemble Andy’s wolf
and that’s the end of this dissertation-length monstrosity if you managed to get here wow i’m truly Moved
#the old guard#daemons au#joe x nicky#yusuf al kaysani#nicolo di genova#sebastien le livre#booker#andy#andromache the scythian#quynh#nile freeman
72 notes
·
View notes
Text
whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter three)
Chapters: 1, 2, 3
Huge thanks to my lovely friends who beta this for me @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian!
Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment on Ao3!
----------
Molly realises the true responsibilities of being a prince to a realm with a doubtful king...
Alternate: come and get your homoerotic sword fighting, fellow gays
---------
Mollymauk wondered if people speculated about why he spent so much time down in the practice yards, why the early hours of the morning often found him in the armory or out in the moonlit space at the very centre of the castle courtyard, scimitars whirling like shards of starlight in his hands. Probably they assumed he was down here fucking a succession of stable boys and chambermaids, or else this was where he met his personal smugglers who provided him with various powders and pills and injectables.
He wondered if his father ever proudly spoke of how martial his son was, if he ever boasted of his prowess with weaponry. If he ever took comfort in the fact that, despite it all, at least his heir knew how to kill.
Mollymauk didn’t know what he hoped for. He’d long ago given up on trying to understand what the king wanted from him or whether he cared.
The truth was, training just gave him some comfort. It was repetitive, rhythmic and required all of his attention, even thud of his heavy heartbeat. It was simple. When he was swinging at the wicker targets or spearing sacks of flour shaped vaguely like people or deflecting bolts of low level magic that would give him a faint electric shock if they found his flesh, he wasn’t thinking about how he hadn’t been allowed outside of the castle walls more than a year now. He wasn’t thinking about the poorly concealed fury in his father’s eyes when someone had spoken against him in the last council meeting, the frequency with which the occupants of those other seats rotated out, certain formerly important members that he hadn’t heard from since they’d shown their dissent towards some of the latest policies, the angry letters that came from neighbouring kingdoms.
And he wasn’t thinking about how before too long, it would all be his. And he had no idea what he would do then.
He was no fool, despite his carefully sewn costume. He knew the king was keeping him on a short leash these past few years to groom him for the throne he’d occupy one day, so he could learn to inspire the same fear, the same flinches from a gaze alone, the same ruthlessness. He’d had his years of freedom, of slipping past his guards at night to go to the lower echelons of the city and tip in gold at the taverns. He’d been allowed his friends and their little adventures. He’d been allowed to be himself.
And look at the trouble it had caused.
Mollymauk closed his eyes to it all and slid his scimitars out of their sheaths. The yard around him was silent, these earliest hours just past midnight were the only times when the castle and its hundreds of residents made no noise at all. Just after when the night guard took their leave but before the bakers rose to start up the ovens and begin the morning’s bread. He could be completely alone here.
Beau usually said she would kill him for messing with her grounds, asking him if he was a godsdammned Expositor trained monk of the Cobalt Soul explicitly hired by the king to serve as the master at arms or if he was a pampered parrot of a prince whose grip was always off so he scuffed up her training swords and couldn’t work a staff to save his life. But they both knew about these little night time visits he made when he couldn’t sleep or when the day had just been too much for him and not a word was said. Sometimes he caught her putting the dummies back into place after he’d forgotten exactly how she liked them aligned or rebrushing the sand in the training circle after he’d not done it to her exact specifications. A look would pass between them when she saw him watching, a momentary pause, but then they’d go right back to good naturedly insulting each other as only two friends could and not another word would be said.
Mollymauk was grateful for that. Not that he’d ever tell her.
He’d stripped down to just a loose shirt, bound by the leather guards on his forearms and his tight leggings, hair pushed back off his face with a band. The night air rose chills on his purple skin, prickling as it filled his lungs, waking up something inside him.
His first cut was so sharp it could be heard as it pierced the air. Mollymauk revelled in the stretch of his muscles as he held his sword out in a low lunge, holding as still as he could for a few pulsing heartbeats before sweeping into a whirling storm of attacks at nothing. High cuts, low arcs, turns that brought one leg flush with his nose, seconds where the swords changed hands, moments where one hand was splayed on the sand below him and supporting his whole body, snapshot instants rushing by like lightning. It was a dance and by gods, did he miss dancing.
The swords dance fit his heartbeat so well, when one sword stopped dead with a metallic ring, it was as if his heart had frozen in his ribcage. His eyes snapped open.
And found his nose inches from Caleb’s, his eyes bright and a small smile playing on his face. And his fingers tight around the grip of the short dagger whose guard had caught the point of his scimitar.
“I told you years ago that these curved swords of yours are too easy to turn,” he said in that soft, unassuming way of his.
Molly huffed out a laugh, shoulders relaxing though not enough to break the block between the two blades, “So I move so fast no one has a chance to turn them. Problem solved.”
Caleb’s mouth quirked and one eyebrow lifted as he eyed their crossed blades, “No one?”
“Well...we can’t all be Volstruker.”
Something inside Mollymauk thrilled, against his better judgement. Times like this he could convince himself the last ten years hadn’t happened at all and the Caleb by his side now was the Caleb he’d fallen in love with.
“Perhaps...though you really need to tell me if you’re ever planning on leaving your chambers in the dead of night, your highness. I don’t mind admitting you scared me half to death.”
Molly’s smile curdled with guilt, “Ah. I’m sorry. It’s...it’s been a while since I needed to think about things like that.”
“No harm done,” Caleb allowed, “This time...though as long as I’m here, would you prefer to train with a partner?”
Molly’s laugh rang out across the empty yard and bounced off the stone towers that surrounded them, as he finally broke the embrace of their blades and stepped back, “So you can beat the tar out of me like you did when we were kids?”
Caleb replied with simple courtesy, “Oh, I’m sure his highness’ skills have improved at least somewhat. And if not, well, it is as you say. We cannot all be Volstruker.”
“You’re on. Simple straight blades, if you would be so kind.”
Caleb quickly fetched two from the armoury, their edges filed down so they could serve as training swords. Molly couldn’t help but note Caleb was dressed similarly to himself, a simple sleeping shirt thrown over the trousers from his black uniform, cut close so as not to hamper his moves in combat. He also couldn’t help but note his sleep-tousled hair, not tied away from his hard features, the gentler set of his face than any daylight hour saw, the almost see through cotton of his simple shirt…
Molly slapped himself mentally, turning away as soon as his blade was in his hand. You aren’t being fair to him he snapped, control your damn self.
Best to start soon, so he could chalk his raised pulse and flushed cheeks to something else. He turned as Caleb finished tying back his hair and settled into an easy starting stance, mirror to the one Molly quickly established. Their blades tapped once, as if two old friends in greeting, before Caleb lunged forward with a sudden advance. Molly had to move swiftly to block it with a hurried, sloppy front guard.
He looked at Caleb, scandalised, “Weren’t you asleep not ten minutes ago?”
The ghost of his old friend smiled at him and broke the guard cleanly, beginning a rapid exchange of slash and parry that Molly visibly struggled to counter. It had always been this way between the two of them, Caleb’s Volstruker training more than a match for Molly’s own, even after he’d gotten a Cobalt Soul monk as his instructor. In a way, he’d always secretly appreciated each time Caleb knocked him into the dust.
It was just one of the many ways Molly could know Caleb had seen him as a friend rather than a prince.
For a while it was just the clang of their blades against each other, the scuff of their feet in the sand and their own rapid breathing. Or rather, Molly’s rapid breathing. Caleb was like something robotic, never seeming to tire or miss a single move or break a sweat. Molly, in comparison, could feel a blush raising on his chest and see his breath fogging between them.
In fact, the only time Molly saw any change in his expression was when an empty fade of Caleb’s brought their swords kissing sharply in front of their faces, their noses inches from each other. He thought he saw something in Caleb’s eyes then but it could well have been a flicker of moonlight, a second’s beat before they stepped apart and Caleb lunged again.
Molly was flagging badly after another minute of combat, shoulders heaving and brow furrowing as he moved from guard position to guard position, not even able to try and land a hit on Caleb. Before too long his arm would fail and Caleb would have him.
There would have been something comforting about that. Something familiar.
He was a little regretful when the time finally came to shift the position of his feet ever so slightly, to centre himself almost imperceptibly differently. At Caleb’s next slash, he doubled over, hissing through his teeth, pivoting away from Caleb and cradling his sword arm.
“Ach,” he heard Caleb groan, “Molly, I’m sor-”
He didn’t even get a chance to finish. Because in the time it took to form those syllables, the sword changed from one of Molly’s hands to the other and he struck cobra fast. One foot smartly hooked Caleb’s from underneath him, Molly’s perfectly undamaged sword arm pushing his chest so he went down heavily onto the sand. Before he even registered what had happened, his prince’s sword point was at his throat.
Molly grinned down at him, framed in moonlight, “Yield?”
“Yield,” Caleb didn’t even hesitate. If Molly were in the mood to really indulge himself, he’d have said it was awe making his voice so breathless, “I don’t...what happened?”
“We’re not children anymore, Caleb,” he replied, not hiding the tinge of sadness in his voice, “And I am not Volstruker. I tricked you.”
He was relieved to see the smile break on Caleb’s face and how readily he took the offered hand that replaced the swordpoint.
“No. No, you most certainly are not Volstruker, your highness.”
Once he was upright, Caleb looked at him earnestly, barely even noting the sand in his hair, “Can you teach me how to do that? How to feign it so effortlessly, how you shifted your weight like that…”
Molly chuckled, “Wasn’t part of your training, hm?”
“No,” Caleb frowned a little, though at some thought in his head rather than at his prince, “No, the Volstruker… they wouldn’t ever have thought of it. Showing any kind of weakness, ever even seeing it could be an advantage...it is not their way.”
Their way, Molly bit his lip. Not our way.
He wasn’t being fair, he knew that. But how was any of this fair?
“I can teach you,” he nodded quickly, “Of course I can teach you.”
“You teaching me something...” Caleb smiled, “It would make rather a nice change, wouldn’t it?”
It would be about damn time, Molly thought tiredly.
Neither of them noticed they hadn’t yet unclasped their hands.
Things seemed to have gotten a little easier for Caleb over the last months, at least in some areas. Molly was at least relieved to see that he was willing to spend time with their friends.
It had been awkward at first, when he’d been avoiding them entirely outside of when the constant tether between him and the prince forced it on him, when no one seemed quite sure how to act around this new version of him. Quick hellos whenever Jester came in for one of their regular chats, hellos that fast turned tearful. Sad glances from Beau whenever he accompanied Molly to training, ones that quickly turned to anger on her face. Yasha staring at his back with an unreadable expression.
There had been one quite terrible instance when Veth had come in to change Molly’s bed linen one morning and come face to face with Caleb coming out of his own chambers to greet the prince as he finished dressing. Veth had frozen in place, her eyes wide and so heartbreakingly sad as she faced the young man she’d considered a second son. Caleb had opened his mouth, searching for something, anything, to say but Veth had turned and fled before he could. He’d gone very quiet for the rest of the day, Mollymauk noticed.
But Molly couldn’t avoid his friends forever, not when they’d been the only thing that had gotten him through the last ten years. He missed the evenings where they’d lounge in one of the many royal sitting rooms with their feet up on furniture older than they were, making jokes and laughing, and somehow everything would seem alright. He missed how easy everything had been.
And, as it turned out, sometimes things could be made easy. Because after a few times standing in the corner like a ghost, Caleb was pulled back in slowly and steadily, like a man coming in from the bitter cold to a roaring fire. No one was quite sure how it happened, when he started to smile at Fjord’s stories of the sea again or let Veth sit in his lap like she used to or when Yasha began to shave his beard for him again. There was no grand moment when they all whirled around to see him sitting there in the same spot he’d always occupied, the one that no one had dared move into after he was taken away. It happened gradually, the way small streams ford deep canyons. The way raindrops can bring down a prison wall.
The way hope could bloom in the pit of your stomach no matter how hard you tried.
It was one of those long, golden evenings where all of their schedules somehow managed to align and they all found themselves in the room they usually took over. The fire roared, thanks to Caleb, and the wine was flowing for those who cared to partake, the whole air smelled of freshly smoking wood and velvet and warmth. One of those nights where Molly could look around and feel truly, deeply fortunate, the way all the riches and status and power never made him feel.
“...I’m only saying, if a princess can’t eat lemon cakes at midnight, then what is the point of being a princess?” Jester was saying huffily, her head resting in Beau’s lap, “I’d even go down and make them!”
“If you did, we could kiss the kitchen goodbye,” Molly flicked his tail at her nose, she was well in target from where he sat on the carpet, leaning back against one of the settees to be close to the fire, “Most of the western castle too, probably.���
“Stone doesn’t melt, idiot!” she shot back at him, swiping at his tail like a kitten. Yasha, who had her feet in her lap, somewhere within the skirts of her voluminous dress, snorted.
“Dragonfire can melt stone,” Fjord interjected, sipping his wine, “Saw the ruins of Port Udall once. All the buildings were slumped over like old candles, even the stone ones. The rest of it was bone and old ash and nothing growing. They said an ancient red dragon did it.”
“There! If an ancient red dragon can do it, Jessie can definitely do it,” Molly said firmly, before yelping as his sister caught his tail again in retaliation.
“Thank the gods nothing like that has ever come here,” Veth shuddered, glancing up nervously as if dragons might descend at any moment, “Think of the damage it would do to the lower levels…”
“It would be hard for them to look worse than they already do.”
Of course it was Caleb who’d spoken, his voice was softer and quieter than everyone else’s. And now it was especially faded and sad, enough that the light, jovial tone shrivelled as if it had fallen in the fire, while all eyes went to him.
“What’s that mean?” Beau frowned.
Caleb seemed to shrink a little, as he always did when he was bearing the weight of more than one person’s attention. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Um...well I saw it as I rode through the city. Have...have any of you been down there recently? To the slums?”
“Slums?” Molly repeated, something gripping his stomach in a tight grip.
“That’s what Master Trent called them,” Caleb blinked, looking around them all, “And..well, the description was accurate.”
“There have been more beggars around the docks recently,” Fjord admitted, looking like a man having a difficult realisation. It was mirrored around the group.
Except on Mollymauk’s face. Mollymauk only felt simmering fury.
“And in the marketplace,” Caduceus echoed, “Everyone I’ve seen, I’ve given food to and I’ve treated some deficiencies I’ve seen but...there’s new faces all the time it seems.”
“Tell me, Caleb,” Molly managed to get out through his gritted teeth.
“Well…” he seemed hesitant, probably seeing what was building in the red eyes staring at him, “There’s shacks thrown up all around the inside of the city walls, some on the outside too when they can’t find the space. There was filth running through the streets, there’s no gutters down there so people must be getting sick. Everyone looked...well, desperate. There were, um...there were children. I don’t think they had anyone to look after them. They seemed hungry. Master Ikithon said a lot of them were coming in from the country, the harvest was so poor that many of them lost their farms when they couldn’t pay their taxes.”
Molly’s voice came out with the dangerous regularity of someone about to explode, “And you’re telling me, Caleb, that I knew none of this. I’m the fucking heir to this entire kingdom and I had no idea my people were starving less than a godsdamned mile from where I’m sitting right this fucking second?”
His voice grew to a roar at the end and a crack ran up the glass goblet he was holding. The wine became vinegar on his tongue. No one knew what to say, there was only the crackling of the fire. Or perhaps that was the fury sparking in his chest.
“There has not been a single word of this at any council session I’ve sat on in the last year, no petitions in court. No word of any kind of help, no plan for what to do. Just more and more shit about the fucking taxes that are apparently starving those people. Is that what you’re telling me, Caleb?”
“Yes,” Caleb’s blue eyes were steady and sad, none of the wariness he saw in his friends.
“Then what the fuck is my father doing about this?” he demanded, barely recognising that he was looking down on them all, that he’d stood up at some point and hardly noticed, “Where the hell is he when his people actually need him? I’m just supposed to inherit a kingdom full of starving people who think the man on all their coins has abandoned them? Is this what being a fucking king is?”
Finally the glass shattered in his grip, filling the stunned silence with an icy crunch and a quick hiss of pain he assumed only he could hear as the shards bit into his hand. The anger burned away quickly, leaving a cold, empty vacuum in its wake that shame and hopelessness rushed to fill. Trembling, he pressed his one good hand over his eyes.
“I’m sorry…” he croaked, “I’m not mad at you all, I just…I shouldn’t have lost my temper…”
He knew his sister had stood and taken his hand by the sweet, almost sugary, vanilla smell of her magic, warm as it ran into his cuts and closed them.
“This isn’t the only thing he’s been keeping from us, is it?” she asked sadly.
Molly opened his eyes, wishing there was anything he could say to take the hurt from her voice. She played the innocent, for her and their family’s benefit, but those wide, purple eyes saw more than anyone would expect. He just wished there were better things to look at.
She’d always wanted to believe the best of their father, the way she wanted to believe in everyone, even after his relationship with their mother had started to fray and he’d caused such damage to Mollymauk. But it wasn’t just him who’d started to see the way the crown had poisoned the man they both used to look up to.
“Well…” she sighed, when her brother’s silence answered her, “This doesn’t have to be the way things are. This isn’t the kind of king you have to be.”
Molly inhaled and exhaled slowly, the ghost of the cuts prickling as he flexed his hand to better hold Jester’s, “He isn’t going to like it.”
The shame at the fear in his own voice roiled inside him. How much had been sliding past because he’d been too scared to see it, how many people had been hurt because he couldn’t stand up to the king?
All of a sudden, the distance between him and his friends shrank, he felt them close about him. He felt hands on his shoulders, on his back, on his arms, eyes on him that didn’t judge or scorn. If this room was the only place where he didn’t have to think about everything that worried him, all the imperfections in his life, then this was where he could be brave.
This was where he could decide what his duty really was.
Mollymauk drew himself up and nodded, “And he can go ahead and not like it. He wants me close, he wants me as his heir then he can deal with the decisions I make. What the hell is he going to do, throw me in the dungeons?”
“You’d break out in five minutes tops,” Beau smiled wryly.
“And we’d come get you in ten,” Fjord nodded firmly.
Molly’s laugh was thin but it was there and he felt better for hearing it, “Well then...I’m going to need some gold. Not from the treasury, my own. We’ll need to bring in food from along the coast, I’ll send a request right now. But until then, we’ll take from the kitchens. We have more than enough, there’s damn well going to be some to spare for our own people. Beau, Yasha, go and commandeer us some wagons.”
“Right now, my prince?” Yasha’s flickering smile showed she knew the answer.
“Of course right now,” Molly nodded, “We’ve let far too much time go by already. Anyone has a problem, tell them they can take it up with their crown prince.”
“And their princess,” Jester interjected, beaming.
Molly grinned back at her proudly, “Are you all with me?”
The resounding, affirmative reply was all Molly needed to carry this the rest of the way with a smile on his face.
He handed out jobs and dispersed them, feeling an unfamiliar but welcome sense of pride in what they were doing, in each of his friends and, if he was honest, in himself. It was then he noticed Caleb, still where he’d been sat for the entire evening, not having moved a muscle though his eyes said everything his friends had if in a different way.
“I’ve been a bit of a fool, haven’t I, Caleb?” he sighed once they were alone, feeling the edges of that pit still inside him, still with some room for guilt and shame.
Caleb rose, crossed the space between them and grasped his hand, steadying him enough that the bad feelings retreated.
“I think you’ve been scared for a long time, Mollymauk,” he spoke softly, eyes gentle and reflecting the movement of the fire, the same one that turned his hair into burnished copper, “But now you’re becoming the king I always knew you were going to be.”
“Always?” Molly found himself having to swallow hard, feeling every inch of Caleb’s skin that pressed against his own.
“Of course. From the moment I met you, I knew you would be a king I’ll be proud to stand beside.”
This high up on the battlements, the wind found its way under Molly’s hood even as tightly as it was pulled down to cover his distinctive purple hair. He felt a churning dizziness in his stomach as he peered over the edge and saw the ground so far below him.
“Ready?”
Beside him, Caleb blended almost perfectly into the evening shadows thanks to his uniform and his bound up hair. Molly might not even have known he was there, if his hand wasn’t on his arm to steady his prince.
Molly flashed him a grimace from under his hood, “Feels a hell of a lot longer than a year since I did this.”
Caleb’s chuckle found him even with the wind whipping around them, “But are you ready?”
He swallowed hard and nodded, feeling the truth of it on his tongue, “I’m ready.”
He went first, partly to prove to his friend that he wasn’t quite as terrified as he appeared, partly to get it over with. One step out into the dizzying expanse of the thin air, the forty or so feet between him and a messy death. The second’s worth of terror as everything dropped and the world began to accelerate around him. And the inhalation, the relief so sharp it was like a mouthful of alcohol as his hand caught the edge of the stone crenellation he’d just leapt from and he held fast.
Molly couldn’t help it, he laughed wildly, stretching out as far as he dared into the nothingness with only the hand keeping him anchored and the flat of his boots on the pebbled wall. The wind snagged his cloak and tried to rip it away but he let it try. He felt like he could have taken flight at that moment.
“Quiet!” Caleb whispered, as he dropped down too with much more grace, “Someone will hear us.”
Though as the wind lifted back his cowl, Molly could see he was smiling.
The rest of the way down the wall was easy, there were pebbles and divots put into the old stone for easy handholds. In fact, it had been specifically designed so, in just this one part of the immense outer wall, with the goal of giving the royal family a secret, easy way out if they became besieged. Molly suspected that he wasn’t the only one to use it for this exact purpose, sneaking out of the palace past his curfew to go drinking with his friends.
Once they hit the ground, they disappeared into the small grove of trees that grew around the castle as an extra line of defence and a pleasant garden for autumn walks and summer picnics. As soon as they were underneath the leaves, black in the thickening twilight, they were invisible to any guards atop the wall who might think to glance down. Molly’s heart stayed in his throat as he ran after Caleb, having to steer by the faintest flickers of his cloak hem in the almost solid blackness before him. Twigs snapped under his heels, the air was cold enough to make his throat ache and his lungs burn but the grin never slipped from his face.
He couldn’t help it, he threw back his head and laughed wildly again, the sound bouncing off the trunks and sounding like the call of half a hundred demented birds.
It just felt so good to breathe again.
The meeting point hadn’t changed from when they were foolish kids doing exactly this. It was the same clearing on the outer edge of the copse, on the far side so they were still hidden from the city. Molly and Caleb weren’t the first ones there, Caduceus and Fjord were already waiting for them, greeting them with the correct response to their own whistled tune, the same they’d always used so they would know it was friends approaching. The girls came after, Beau and Jester already giggling and hanging off each other, Yasha smiling as she carried Veth on her shoulders.
Molly saw something similar to his own excited energy mirrored in his friends. Everyone seemed to feel acutely just how long it had been since they allowed themselves something like this, something that felt like a victory.
When they were children, it would have sufficed just to stay in their little clearing, chase each other around and build forts and knock each other into the little stream. But they certainly weren’t kids any more and they knew of a different way to spend this evening.
There was something undeniably beautiful about the kingdom’s capital, Asarius. Not many visitors would think the same upon seeing the black stone nearly everything was wrought in, its winding street that curved around the hill the city sat on and then branched off in endless alleyways and bolt holes like arteries in a body, the shiny, volcanic cobblestones that lined the streets, the stink and din of hundreds of bodies pressed close together by the city walls. But Mollymauk had always found home here. He loved the paper lanterns that swung above their heads to light the streets, the ones he risked pulling his hood back just a little so he could properly see. He loved the babble of so many voices around him, the brushes of other people’s lives as they streamed alongside his own, never realising that it was their crown prince and his retinue passing them by. He loved the many different carts each selling something exciting and delicious or, well, at least exciting. He loved the different languages, the different kinds of people, all finding their own place in Asarius.
And one day, that place would be under his protection. Every face he passed as they walked down the main street towards the glow of red lanterns would be one of his subjects one day. One of his people.
After the last few weeks, the thought didn’t give him the same terror as it once did.
It had broken his heart to see the poverty festering like a disease in Asarius, the first night they’d taken wagons of food down to the poorest parts of the capital. Every city had its less well maintained streets, it’s darker, more shadowy parts, he knew this, but what he’d seen that night was outright neglect. Children with no families to go home to, curled in gutters like stray dogs. Women clutching babies to their chests in a futile attempt to give them some warmth their humble shelters couldn’t provide. An old bone being seen as a feast, hacking coughs audible from every corner, hungry, defeated eyes from the shadows.
It was neglect. It was cruelty. And it had blossomed under his ignorance.
He’d stepped right off the wagon on that first night, so quickly even Caleb hadn’t been able to catch his arm. He’d taken a loaf of bread from the carts of food stacked in the bed and gently approached the closest citizen, a tabaxi woman with a cub on her knee, sitting on the porch of a lopsided shack with only the city wall to keep it from tumbling over entirely. He’d gone to one knee in front of her, saw her expression turn to one of pure shock and fear as she’d realised exactly who it was.
And as he’d pressed the loaf into her hand, he’d apologised to her. And he’d sworn his family would never forget it’s people again.
It would not be a quick or easy fix. Molly couldn’t go with the wagons every time, as he’d wanted to at first, but he knew to push it only so far. Instead he kept the memories close to his chest, the people’s hands he’d shaken, the children whose hair he’d ruffled fondly and asked their name, the stories every elder had told him. He kept their pleas and their needs and their struggles, took them gladly on his own shoulders and made thousands of promises he intended to keep. Instead, he watched the wagons leave every week, laden with food and oil and fabric he’d purchased, and felt a little more like a prince.
Of course, his stomach had been a solid block of ice when the subject of the charity had been brought up in the council meeting, ever so gingerly, nervous eyes darting to the king to see how he would react to news of every mouth in the slums singing his son’s praises. They’d all known, naturally, that the alms weren’t officially sanctioned, that Mollymauk had acted without his father’s permission.
He’d been every bit as fearful to see what his father would say, he’d felt every second of that long, terrible pause tick by. But he had made himself sit back casually, one leg thrown over the arm of his chair, he’d made his eyes meet the king’s in a steady, even gaze. Only Caleb’s strong, sure presence at his side and the memories of the joy he’d brought had kept it all from crumbling.
“Well done,” the king had eventually replied, one hand coming up to stroke his goatee, “It would seem you’ve finally found a...pet project...that interests you, son. For the time being at least. Chancellor, make sure that in future the charity is paid for by the crown treasury. Just in case my son gets bored and his attention wanders. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it, Mollymauk?”
Molly’s shoulders tightened and he felt the same tension in Caleb beside him. He was an expert in speaking his father’s language and he missed not a single word of what lurked beneath his light, joking tone.
“Fine by me, father. You’ve got me there,” he shrugged in response, flicking his tail idly, “After all, it needs to be done. And...well, it really is a job for the king, isn’t it?”
I can speak it just as well as you, father, are you proud? And I won’t forget what you did. I’m sure you’ll return the favour.
Molly knew some kind of retribution would be coming. But he wouldn’t think about that tonight. Not when the red glow of the lanterns up above was cutting through the gathering night and there was music on the air and the smell of alcohol, a wide variety of perfumes and sparking fires.
They swept into one of the taverns they’d always gone to in their younger days, one where they knew they could count on some discrecion when they pulled their hoods back. As soon as he was under the lintel, Molly felt himself wrapped in warmth and loud, laughing voices and embraced the giddy relief inside him.
Gods, it was so, so good to breathe again.
He let the night run away from him, gladly. It was as if he’d never been away, finding warm, eager welcomes at the dice tables, at the bar, on the dancefloor. In every corner, people clasped his hand and thanked him for his generosity in helping Asarius find it’s pride again and said how good it was to see him back amongst them. Molly gambled freely, he bought drinks, he laughed and swapped stories with the other patrons, he flirted gamely with the servers. In flashes he saw Yasha dominating at arm wrestling competitions and winning almost as many as Jester, he saw Fjord reenacting a fight with some pirates for a captive audience, Cad was choking on some drink Veth had bought for him over at the bar, Beau was making a barmaid blush.
He took a moment to himself, leaning against a beam and taking it all in, enjoying the ache in his jaw from smiling so much. He knew it should feel like ten years ago but, somehow, it didn’t. It felt like here and now.
The only difference was he was happy. At this moment he was happy.
Caleb was sitting at a table by himself which, in fairness, was exactly where he would have been ten years ago. There was, however, a small mug of beer on the table in front of him that had a few sips taken out of it at least.
“You know, for all people hype this up,” he said as Molly approached, turning the tin mug in his hands, “I’d have expected it to taste better.”
Molly laughed, “Not seen you drinking before…”
“No,” Caleb admitted, a smile tugging on his lips, “It seemed like the night for trying something new.”
“Indeed. But how about something old?” Molly returned, suddenly shy and not hiding it on his face.
Caleb’s eyes flickered to his own, questioning. When he saw the hand Molly was extending to him, his expression shifted into something unreadable and he almost lost his nerve.
“Would you like to dance with me, Caleb?”
After a few moments, his old friend smiled and nodded, taking his hand, “Someone might need to protect you out there after all.”
“And there’s no one I’d want more,” Molly beamed.
The musicians were especially fine tonight, the kind of lively tavern music with laughing strings and skirling drums and bawdy lyrics everyone could join in with and slam their drinks on the table to. It was very different from the stiff backed balls that had been his only entertainment recently.
Caleb smiled nervously, “They only taught me how to waltz at the Soltryce Academy.”
“Oh, I seem to remember you not being all that bad,” Molly smiled, holding up his arm for Caleb to mirror as a bright country dance tune burst out from the corner where the musicians were pressed, “But even so, maybe you’ll get lucky and someone will try and assassinate me.”
So at least Caleb had a smile on his face as they began to dance, twirling through a loose knot of other couples like two leaves caught on an errant breeze. It was the kind of stomping, rhythmic, simple two step that left plenty of time for their gazes to linger and hands to brush across each other.
“Not all that different from swordplay, eh?” Molly teased, his voice low under the music.
“I’d rather have steel in my hand, I think,” Caleb smiled, though there was something brittle about it, like he was making his mouth do the movements while his eyes were elsewhere.
When they swapped places, Molly looked around with a moment’s anxiousness. Was he about to be assassinated on a dancefloor? But the place looked much the same as it had before, his friends still mixing and laughing and drinking, part of the warm tapestry of everything.
“I wanted to say thank you,” Molly put in gently, to try and distract him from whatever was causing his anxiety, letting something inside him open up, “Tonight has been...well, it’s been wonderful. It’s been the best night I’ve had in so long and...between this and you opening my eyes to what was going on in my own city, I feel like I’ve remembered who I am. And not just that, I’m becoming someone I actually want to be, ever since you’ve come home. You were right, whatever it looks like, my life is better with you.”
He’d said more than he’d meant to but the night was just so perfect and it had just been so long since he’d felt so free and so like himself, so far from everything he’d been feeling under his father’s thumb. It was like a deep hunger was finally being sated.
And when the dance brought Caleb and Molly back together and he saw the tears in his eyes, it all came crashing down.
“Fuck…” Molly cursed, stopping dead even as the music kept going and the world kept turning, “Oh fuck, Caleb I’m so sorry...that was too much, I shouldn’t just have rambled on like that.”
“No,” Caleb shook his head, a slight tremble in his hands, “Gods help me, it’s not that, it’s the opposite…”
“Caleb…” Molly breathed, the giddiness from before now a sickening emptiness. Suddenly the lights seemed too bright and the music too loud, the laughter around the room now aimed at him.
The rest of the world caught up with them in a sharp, sudden lurch. Cold wind poured through the door which had been thrown wide. Framed in now harsh red light was one of the royal messengers, their eyes wide and the set of their mouth grim.
“Word from the palace,” their voice sounded through the room like a death knell, “A curfew is in effect from this moment forth, all citizens of Asarius must return to their homes and clear the streets. The Jagenoths have invaded our northern shore.”
The pronouncement was greeted with silence and stares, the kind of silence that followed the sound of ice cracking underfoot. Molly was so aware of the eyes on him, the weight of their shock as they looked to their prince.
From across the bar, he saw his little sister mouth his name, the naked fear on her face.
He found he had no comfort to give them. He’d had the floor ripped out from under him, just the same as the rest of them. All he could think of was the way his father had smiled at him across the council table, the hardness in his eyes.
He wasn’t surprised when the words finally came from the messenger.
“The kingdom is officially at war.”
#widomauk#royal au#tw: brainwashing#mollymauk tealeaf#caleb widogast#cr fic#please reblog and comment!
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
youtube
Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc
The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!
#ACLA24#ACLA24HighSchoolStudents#youtube#youtube video#climate leaders#climate solutions#climate action#climate and environment#climate#climate change#climate and health#climate blog#climate justice#climate news#weather and climate#environmental news#environment#environmental awareness#environment and health#environmental#environmental issues#environmental education#environmental justice#environmental protection#environmental health#high school students#high school#youth#youth of america#school
18K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
