teva seraphim resub. d9. fin.

Born into tragedy and violence. Multiply that by three, and you get the Seraphims. Triplets, all sharing the same raven black hair and dark eyes that resembled their mother's. Whatever traits they shared with their father, they did not discuss. The man walked out on them years ago, when they were tiny infants in their mother's burdened arms. But did she ever treat them like burdens? No, never. Her love for them burned hot, it was unchallenged. It never died until the day her heart stopped beating, blood dripping down her neck.

Teva will never forget that day.

Never forgive, never forget. Peacekeepers executed their mother in public, scarring four little boys for life. They did not care about her crimes - they had been trained to inherit the gang she raised from the ground up. A legacy that seeped deep into district nine's roots. It was blood money, but it was how the Seraphims survived. Killing their mother only made them angrier, and more stubborn than ever before.

She raised them to be leaders, to be responsible, to be respectful to those who earned it, and to carefully watch those who didn't. Tate was the level-headed one, and a bastard at that. The two clashed heads like bulls, but would take a bullet for one another at the end of the night and laugh about it as they nursed their wounds. Tripp was the quiet one, but damn if Teva wasn't jealous of his aim. The bastard never missed. How is that even possible! A man who earned respect, even if he hadn't been Teva's blood brother.

Teddy was the adopted brother. A young mind to teach and mold into someone of impenetrable strength, despite his weak heart and unfavorable odds. He had a wildfire of his own that often rivaled Teva's, but nobody could blaze quite as bright as he did. Teva had the temper of a boar and the stubbornness of a bull. He was always the most passionate of the family, and to a dangerous extent. He could control himself around those he loved, but as one of three leaders in the gang, he breathed fire against those who deserved it. He was not against killing if it was necessary. Shootings happen, knives get pulled and tossed. He has several scars to show for it. None bring him shame.

At the same time, their mother taught him respect and responsibility. Kill only for a good purpose. Do not bully innocent women or children. Protect each other. These were life lessons he cherished. Who said you couldn't be a family man and a criminal? Teva would do anything for his brothers.

On a good day, Teva slept until noon and didn't burn down the kitchen fixing lunch. He wrestled with his brothers, climbed on rooftops, watched clouds until it was time to work. On a good night, his gun remained in his belt. No bullets fired, no blood shed, just a night in town making sure everyone is in line. On the best nights, he got drunk or visited his boyfriend Cal. Another person he would take a bullet for.

On bad days, he lay in bed ached by wet bandages. Violence was a norm, and it got easier, but he hated anything that put him out of commission. On a bad night, he was crouched behind a crate, avoiding storms of bullets and sprinting away from the first white uniform he saw. None of them had been caught yet. Teva knew what it meant if they did: a bullet to the head, or the detention center. Both were grim options.

Teva, ever the optimist, liked to pretend he was invincible. Bad things happened, but they wouldn't happen to him! Not if he followed his values and didn't fuck up the next knife fight. So what of gang members had shorter life spans? Not him. He would grow old and die with Cal at his side, ridden with scars but still very much a bright and burning star.

At the very least, it stopped him from worrying himself to death.