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canirove · 11 months ago

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In The Name of Love | Chapter 34

Previous chapter | Epilogue

Masterlist

I've been back in Barcelona for a couple of months now, and so far everything has been great.

I took my mum to Rome, where we stayed for a week doing all the touristy things you could think of, eating our weight in gelato, and having long conversations that have made us understand each other a lot better, finally managing to have a good relationship.

I also went with Marina and David to Mykonos, a place they both had always dreamt to visit. Though it wasn't as dreamy as they thought. After a couple of days struggling to find somewhere that wasn't too crowded or full of tourists, we decided to just stay at our villa. During the day we would lay in the sun, take advantage of our private swimming pool or just sleep and relax, and at night we would sit outside drinking some wine, talking and laughing about anything and everything. We realized that we didn't need to go to a fancy place to have fun. Being together was all that mattered.

And now I am back home, getting everything ready for the new school year, feeling as excited about it as I did the first time I got to properly teach.

"Do you remember how we spent the day before looking through both your wardrobe and mine trying to find the perfect outfit for your first day as a teacher?" Silvia asks me while we are chilling on the sofa.

"I remember that the house was a mess afterwards."

"Yeah, that too" she laughs. "But you looked really cute."

"I did, didn't I? I got many compliments from the other teachers. One of them even tried to flirt with me."

"I mean, it was a really nice dress. Do you still have it?"

"I gave it away when we did that big spring cleaning a couple of years ago."

"Oh, shame… But have you kept any photo where you are wearing it?"

"Of course I have. You made me take a bunch before I left for work so I could remember that day" I laugh.

"I was a proud mum" Silvia smiles. "Can you search for them?"

"Just promise not to make fun of me if I look ridiculous" I say, unlocking my phone. "It was a different time."

"You didn't look ridi… Val. Val, hey, what is it?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you crying? That bad are those photos?"

"No, it's just… I hadn't realized… today."

"Uh?" Silvia says with a confused look.

"Today is my anniversary with Pedri… or was. And the memories thing on my phone showed me a photo of us together and…"

"Aww, Val. I'm sorry."

"It's ok" I say, wiping away my tears. "It's a good memory."

"Can I see it? The photo with him, I mean."

"Sure" I reply, giving her my phone. "It's at his secret beach as he called it, the one where he took me when we started seeing each other. The 14 of each month we would try to go there to watch the sunset and eat something, and we would spend our time talking about the most random things until it got dark and too cold. It was just us, and it was… perfect."

"It does sound perfect" she smiles.

"Today it is so hot that we would have probably gone for a swim and then buy some ice cream."

"What if… what if we do that?"

"What?" I ask.

"Go for a swim and buy some ice cream. I know I am not him, but…"

"I would love that" I smile.

"Great" Silvia says, getting up from the sofa and offering me her hand. "Shall we?"

"Let's go."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"You don't have to do it, Val."

"I know. But I want to" I say, opening the car's door. After going for a swim and getting some ice cream with Silvia, I asked her to drive me to the beach Pedri and I used to go to. For some reason, I felt like I needed to be there today.

"Do you want me to go with you?" she asks.

"Please" I nod.

We walk in silence, Silvia holding my hand and giving it little squeezes as we get closer to the lookout from where you can see the whole beach.

"This is beautiful, Val" she says.

"It is" I whisper, taking in the view. There are a couple of fluffy clouds here and there, the sea is calm, and the light is making the sand look almost golden. The sand. There is someone walking on the sand, someone… It can't be.

"Ouch, Val! That hurts!" Silvia says when I squeeze her hand as if my life depended on it.

"It's him."

"What?"

"Down there" I say, my eyes fixed on the beach. "That's him. He's here."

"Who… Oh, shit. That is him."

"What do I do, Silvia?"

"Go down there, of course!"

"What? No! I can't… I can't do that."

"You can and you will, Val. Go tell Pedri that you still love him and that you want to spend the rest of your life with him."

"But what if he doesn't want to see me? What if he has moved on?" I say, looking at him while he kicks the sand.

"Val, do you really think that if he had moved on, he would be here on a day like today?"

"I…"

"Besides, what has Ferran been telling you all these months?"

"That he still loves me."

"Exactly. So go down there and get back with your teenage boy."

"He isn't a teenager anymore" I chuckle.

"Even better."

"But Silvia…"

"You were waiting for destiny to give you a sign, right? Well, this is it. Now go" she says, pushing me towards the stairs.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Ok, Valeria. You can do this" I say to myself. He is standing with his back to me and looking at the sea, completely oblivious of the fact that I am behind him, that I also am here. "Pedri?" I call, my voice sounding all squeaky. But he doesn't say anything, just shakes his head. "Pedri" I say again, this time a bit louder.

"Yeah, I've completely lost it" he laughs, running a hand through his hair.

"Lost what?" I ask.

"My sanity, Val. I can hear your voice as if you were here with me."

"I am here, Pedri."

"You are in my head."

"I'm here" I repeat, putting my hand on his shoulder, my touch making him flinch.

"That's an illusion. I've completely lost my mind, you aren't real."

"I am real and I am here" I say, now moving to be in front of him. "Open your eyes, Pedri."

"No."

"What?"

"If I open my eyes you will leave."

"I'm not going anywhere, Pedri" I say, caressing his cheek and wiping away a tear.

"I can't lose you again, Val" he says, resting his hand on top of mine.

"You won't, because I am not going anywhere. Please open your eyes."

"I can't."

"Pedri, please" I beg him. Now I am the one who is crying.

"Val…"

"I'm not going anywhere, Pedri. I promise. I want to be with you, to spend the rest of my life with you, to fight for this, for us. And I don't care if I have to do it against a horde of crazy teenagers, bullies like Isabel, or judgy parents who have nothing better to do than gossip. I'm done with letting people's opinions rule my life."

"Val…" he repeats, his voice now almost a whisper.

"You know, I've never believed in love at first sight" I continue. "I always thought it was something from fairy tales, something that didn't exist. But then, on a day like today, in a club I had never set foot before, I met you and you completely changed my mind. Because I fell in love the moment we locked eyes and you smiled at me, Pedri. It was all that smile, to be honest. The one that by now you know makes me giggle like an idiot and feel funny things in my stomach. And when I think of the way you made me feel when you kissed me, when you…"

"Made you scream my name on the rooftop?" he smirks, opening one eye.

"I was going to say it in a more cheesy way and you just ruined it."

"Damn it" he chuckles. "You saying something like that happens once in a blue moon."

"It does. And when it happens, it is because of you. Because I love you, Pedri. I love you in a way I've never loved anyone before, and in a way I think I will never love anyone else. It's you. It's you, Pedri" I say, both my hands cupping his face, my eyes fixed on his now that both of them are finally open. "It is and will always be you. Only you" I whisper.

"Can we kiss now or are you gonna keep being cheesy?" he smiles. And it is that smile, the one that completely disarmed me the night we met.

"Idiot.”

"No one calls me idiot the way you do."

"I know" I smile back.

"But before we kiss…" he says. "Can I confess something?”

"Ok."

"Ferran has been telling me almost daily to not give up, to be patient, that you still loved me and wanted me back, that we are destined to be together… So to keep reminding myself of all that, I've been coming here every 14 since you left, hoping that somehow you would show up."

"Really?"

"Yeah… I know it was a bit stupid because I knew you were in Manchester, but… I don't know. I just felt like I had to, you know?"

"It isn't stupid, Pedri. Because today I felt like I had to come here, it was like something was calling me… You."

"Glad to know my plan worked out" he laughs. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"I had missed your laugh" I shrug. "But that won't happen ever again. And do you know why?"

"Enlighten me, Valeria" he says with a teasing smile.

"It won't happen again because I'm not going anywhere, Pedri. I promise."

"Are you sure? Because you know how serious our promises are. You can't go back on it now" he says.

"I won't. I'm here to stay" I say, putting my hand over his heart. "Forever."

"Forever" he whispers before finally kissing me.

At first it is a very soft kiss, almost shy. But it doesn't take us too long until we are kissing as if our lives depended on it, as if we needed the other to breathe.

"I love you, Val" Pedri says when we manage to break apart. "I love you and I'm planning on telling you every hour of every day of the rest of my life."

"Isn't that a bit too much?" I laugh.

"It actually won't be enough."

"Dear lord, Pedro. You are so cheesy" I laugh again.

"Only for you, Val. Only for the love of my life" he smiles. "Happy anniversary, by the way."

"Happy anniversary" I reply with a matching smile before we start kissing again, the sun setting behind us as it did that first time on this beach. Like it did that first night at his house when he made me feel things I had never felt before.

The night that even if my brain kept denying it, my heart was already completely his.

#pedri #pedri gonzalez #pedri fanfic #pedri gonzalez fanfic #pedri imagine #pedri gonzalez imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

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girlwithinfiction · 2 years ago

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✨BOOKS TO READ BASED ON YOUR FAVORITE STUDIO GHIBLI FILM✨

The books shown are as follows:

✨SPIRITED AWAY

- Half a Soul by Olivia Atwater

- The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea by Axie Oh

- A Tale of Time City by Diana Wynn Jones

✨PRINCESS MONONOKE

- A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers

- Wilder Girls by Rory Power

- The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang

✨MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO

- Nevermoor: The Trials of Morrigan Crow by Jessica Townsend

- The Eagle of the Ninth by Rosemary Sutcliff

- Redwall by Brian Jacques

✨PONYO

- Signal to Noise by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

- If You Could See the Sun by Ann Liang

- Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik

✨KIKI'S DELIVERY SERVICE

- Legends & Lattes by Travis Baldree

- The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches by Sangu Mandanna

- Iona Iverson's Rules for Commuting by Clare Pooley

✨FROM UP ON POPPY HILL

- Hangsaman by Shirley Jackson

- I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith

- Oceanography of the Moon by Glendy Vanderah

✨TALES FROM EARTHSEA

- Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman

- Dragon Sword and Wind Child by Noriko Ogiwara

- Six Crimson Cranes by Elizabeth Lim

✨THE SECRET WORLD OF ARRIETY

- Strange the Dreamer by Laini Taylor

- The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

- Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harlow

✨GRAVE OF THE FIREFLIES

- Never Let Me Go by Kashuo Ishiguro

- Frankenstein in Baghdad by Ahmed Saadawi

- Everything I Never Told You By Celeste Ng

✨WHEN MARNIE WAS THERE

- Wind, Sand, and Stars by Antoine Saint-Exupéry

- The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

- My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante

✨EXTRAS (adaptations or inspirations):

- Kiki's Delivery Service by Eiko Kadono

- Earthsea Cycle by Ursula K. Le Guin

- Grave of the Fireflies by Akiyuki Nosaka

- The Borrowers by Mary Norton

- From Up on Poppy Hill by Tetsurō Sayama

ig: girlwithinfiction

#book blog #book recommendations #studio ghibli #spirited away #princess mononoke #my neighbor totoro #ponyo (2008)#kikis delivery service #tales from earthsea #secret world of arrietty #grave of the fireflies #when marnie was there #bookstagram #book recs

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padfootagain · 2 years ago

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Pirates! (IV)

Part 4 : The Marketplace

Hello everyone! Glad to be back, at long last, with a new chapter for this fic! I’m going to start posting new chapters on a regular basis again.

I hope you like this new chapter!

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Pairing: Caspian x Pirate!Reader

Warnings: depictions of violence in later chapters (fight scenes… nothing too terrible), slow burn, fluff!

Summary: As ships disappear across the sea, Caspian is forced to go investigate himself. But to win against the wild uncharted waters he must cross to reach his people, he needs to bargain with pirates. And then, he finds you…

Word Count: 2951

Masterlist for the series – Caspian’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

The Dawn Treader was a true beauty.

Your eyes were wide with admiration as you stared at the beautiful ship. Purple sails glimmering under the sun; the golden dragon’s head that formed its end was the most impressive prow you had ever seen. And Silvia and Charlotte, who had come to inspect Caspian’s ship with you, shared your wonder.

Caspian and his men had hidden their ship in a narrow creek, in order to avoid drawing attention. Such boat couldn’t get unnoticed and wouldn't fail to raise questions. The creek was constituted of a circular beach made of yellow, almost brownish sand towered by high cliffs of sharp dark stones that seemed like they would cut the feet and hands of anyone who would try to climb them. A dense forest spread at the top of the cliff and extended down the slope to reach the main harbour of the island. The deep blue water had once hidden one of the largest sources of pearls, and had for a time made the fortune of the island, as Narnia and other lands were ready to pay a fair prize for their beauty. But an intense use of this resource had made pearls disappear from the island altogether, the inhabitants had turned towards piracy to earn their money, their society slowly decaying along the years.

At the look of admiration in your eyes, Caspian couldn’t refrain a proud smirk.

“Will she be alright by these waters?” he asked with mischief tainting his voice. “Or would you like to take a closer look?”

You slowly nodded, your eyes still fixed on the graceful ship before you.

“I reckon that… one can never be too cautious.”

He tried to hide his growing smile, but failed.

“Follow me, then.”

Caspian guided you on the deck of the Dawn Treader, and you took a walk around. Caspian’s crew scrutinized you with untrusting eyes, but you ignored them. Actually, even if you had wanted to pay attention, you couldn't have done so. Because as you looked back at the crew, the truth struck you like a punch in the stomach.

You had had your doubts, of course, but now… now doubts had turned into certainties, and you weren't sure to like them.

"You are Narnians."

The words passed your lips in a whisper, but clearly all the people around you had heard you. Caspian's expression suddenly changed, growing cautious.

"What about it?" he asked slowly.

You saw Charlotte reaching for the pommel of her sword, just like most of Caspian's crew had.

"Do you dislike Narnians?" Drinian asked with a defiant look in his eyes and an acidic tone in his voice.

Silvia looked up at him defiantly.

"We're not privateers," she replied proudly. "We don't hide behind lords to get immunity."

"That is not what this is about," Caspian replied warily.

"Never trust a lord," Charlotte mumbled, looking at you with a glance full of warning.

"Relax, ladies," you instructed your crew.

Because you had guessed that you had been hired by lords. You didn't know they were Narnians, but that wasn't so important. And in fact, you could see another advantage in this bargain of yours that you hadn't identified before. Through Caspian, who would join you on your ship, you could learn a lot of useful information about Narnia. How to go there, where to go once you were there, would you need papers or things of the kind… And Sylvia who would stay on their ship could gather all these precious information for you as well. You knew she was good enough to sneak inside the Captain's cabin and take a look at the maps there.

You gave Caspian a polite smile.

"You have a very nice ship," you nodded. "She will do good on these waters. But don't count on any of us to call you 'Lord'."

Your hint of humour made Caspian relax instantly, and he gave you an earnest smile.

"I have no intention to ask you to do such thing," he reassured you.

"If you need help to get goods for the journey, Sylvia and Charlotte can show you the market where you can find food, ropes and everything you will need for a long journey."

"We already know the place," Lacusa answered. "But thank you for the offer."

"We can leave in two days," you nodded. "That should give us all enough time to get ready.” "We'll leave with the morning tide."

"Alright."

You climbed down the ship and Charlotte and Sylvia followed you down. You didn't start talking again before you were crossing the sand, out of earshot, just the three of you.

"Sylvia, while you're on that ship, you'll have to get as many information about Narnia as you can."

Your order seemed enough for your two friends to understand perfectly what you had in mind.

"Now, I feel like I've just been promoted to 'spy'," the little rabbit chuckled.

"You take it well."

"And what about that Peter?" Charlotte asked softly.

"We'll keep an eye on him… and I'll make him talk."

"Make him talk? You mean… with a knife or with a smile?"

You let out a laugh.

"With a smile, Charlotte. I have enough charms to make him talk without cutting him into pieces. Besides… have you looked at him? That would be a shame to destroy such a pretty face!"

The three of you advanced towards the only path leading back to town, laughing.

An adventure was awaiting you… filled with risks and dangers. That was just what you had signed up for in the first place.

The marketplace was always busy.

In the morning, the new arrivals of fruits, dry meat and vegetables brought many people to buy food for the week, when they had enough money for that. Slippery hands also stole many apples and loafs of bread, but all merchants on Saint Iron were aware that they would only sell a part of their goods. The rest would disappear in the agile fingers of pickpockets and starving thieves.

In the afternoon, many pirate ships were coming back from the sea, and as the sun rose and then started to decline, the market got filled with trinkets, plates of silver or steel, small statues made of gold. Some were real, some were fake. The blame was never on the seller but the buyer, for failing to notice the scam.

And with the setting sun, a new kind of merchandise was sold in the square: people. May they be prostitutes looking for a few coins against a night, or slavers setting for the highest bids in exchange for their prisoners… the square was filled with the worst people around at that time. Shadows called for a grimmer market.

But Lacusa had since long noticed this pattern, and when he guided Caspian, Drinian, Reepicheep and a few more men, it was still morning, the sun young and shy. The wind was chilly, coming in from the harbour nearby, carrying a heavy scent of salt and seaweed.

The market was stuck in a square too small for its shops and stalls, filled with colours and shouting merchants trying to lure customers to spend the few coins they owned. Caspian was looking around, quite fascinated by the small maze before him: a mix of rags and dirty clothes with colours and appetizing goods. Drunks singing in a corner and women carrying babies in their arms while buying food for supper. And Narnians walked into their midst too. He didn’t notice the fox that walked past him…

“Give him back his pouch, foxie.”

Caspian jumped at the sound of your voice behind him.

The fox stood on its rear legs, looking perfectly innocent.

“Me? I didn’t do anything!”

“Don’t make me step on your tail again,” you replied, your tone humorous, but the coldness of your smile was turning your words into a genuine threat.

You extended your hand towards the fox, waiting for him to give you what he had stolen. Meanwhile, the whole group of Narnians had stopped and was frowning at the scene.

“You wouldn’t dare!” the fox fought back. “I haven’t done anything anyway…”

But when you raised your boot as if to take a step towards him, the fox tried to run away…

…only to collide with Charlotte’s boots.

He fell backwards, cursing and holding its snout, but a second later Sylvia had her blade pressed to his throat as she jumped on his stomach to keep him on the ground.

“Give the money back,” you repeated, your voice perfectly calm.

The fox heaved a sigh, and handed back Caspian’s pouch. It was heavy with coins in your palm, the leather smooth, although it wasn’t new.

“Get a word around. These newcomers are leaving soon, but for as long as they’re on the island, they’re under the protection of the Bleeding Twilight. Which means under my protection. Do you get that, foxie?”

His eyes changed, from annoyance to terror, and he slowly nodded.

“Good. Take it as a warning. Next time, I’ll let Sylvia cut off your pretty tail.”

Sylvia gave a toothy, cruel grin, and the poor thief shook vehemently his head.

“I didn’t know they were with you! They’re off limits, I get it.”

“Good. Spread the word for me, would you?”

“Of course, ma’am!”

“Off with you!”

The fox sprinted away through the crowd as soon as Sylvia stepped away from him.

You couldn’t refrain a chuckle as you saw his orange shape zooming away.

You threw Caspian back his pouch.

“Be more careful next time. Pickpockets are skilful around here.”

“Thank you, Captain,” he gave you a nod, carefully hiding his pouch this time.

“Give it about ten minutes before the word has spread through the market,” Charlotte added. “It’ll be safer for you to venture across town after that.”

“You seem to have a dreadful reputation, then,” Drinian spoke, and he couldn’t help the disgusted wince that twisted his features as he spoke.

But you merely laughed at that.

“I don’t have the worst reputation of the island, if it can reassure you. I would say that I am known for being merciless if my crew is threatened.”

You pointed towards some stales on the left of the square.

“They sell the best ropes over there, don’t buy from the dwarf on the other side of the market, he’s always looking for cheap fibres for his sails and ropes. You’ll find some good food at the back at a purple stall, you can’t miss it, really. Tell them you travel with me, they’ll sell for an honest price. If they’re doubting you, show them this.”

You threw Caspian a small coin, made of cheap copper. It seemed worthless. There was a feather imprinted on the metallic surface, Caspian ran his thumb across the indentures.

“It shows you’re part of my crew. It’s quite an advantage, around here.”

“We are not part of your crew,” Drinian mumbled, but you heard him all the same.

“Peter here will be in a couple of days. Let’s not be cheap!”

You shot him a grin, before heading to buy your own supplies.

And Caspian couldn’t help but stare at you with a smile on his lips.

You were something else…

He guided his men towards the stalls you had indicated, and found that the supplies were of a respectable quality, indeed. When it was time to pay though, he found the price ridiculously high.

“Are you trying to rob us?” Lacusa complained.

“The price is the price,” the merchant shook his head.

“We’re travelling with the Bleeding Twilight,” Caspian told the old man.

But the merchant merely laughed, a hand holding his long brown beard.

“Of course. And then you’ll tell me you’re the King of Narnia! Or Aslan himself!”

He doubled over with laughter.

“Everyone knows Blue Feather only hires women. At least try to make it look convincing.”

But Caspian merely smiled, and handed the merchant your coin.

He frowned hard at the sight, and when he looked up at the Narnians before him, he was almost fearful.

“I’ve never seen you around, so let me give you a piece of advice,” the merchant went on, after checking around that no one could hear him. “If you want to keep your head attached to your neck, don’t mess with Blue Feather and her crew. They may look like they’re softer than the others because they only steal from pirates, but that only shows that they’re stronger than anyone on this island. Only a handful of pirates would dare go against Blue Feather. And if you’ve hurt someone of her crew, you can be certain that she’ll make sure you won’t do it again. If you’ve stolen this from one of her girls, you’d better get used to the idea of having no hands at all anymore.”

But Caspian kept on smiling, looking perfectly calm. With a small gesture of the head, he indicated something on his right.

Above the crowd, the blue feather of your hat was visible, moving slowly.

“I am aware of her reputation,” Caspian answered. “I do want to keep my head attached to my neck, as well was my hands secured to my wrists. I am not stupid enough to trick you this way when Blue Feather is just a few feet away.”

The merchant seemed to hesitate, but finally nodded, and handed Caspian back his coin. He gave him a new price, five times lower.

“That’s a deal,” Caspian smiled, discreetly getting the money out of his pouch.

He couldn’t refrain an amused chuckle at the whole situation. When he turned to the next stall, he noticed your feather again. You were talking with a man. Tall, dark-haired, slim, his skin wrinkled by a life at sea. He seemed young still, barely older than you. By his dirty clothes, by the rapier at his side… it was pretty obvious that he was a pirate or a privateer. He was following you as you walked slowly from a stall to the other. Caspian frowned as he noticed the look of worry you were trying to hide.

Indeed, you were worried. You were worried every time Devos was close to you.

He meant trouble. An awful lot of trouble.

“I’ve just heard that you’re taking in men aboard now. Should I apply for a job?” he asked, flirtation evident in his voice.

But the honey of his tone hid one of the cruellest men you had ever met. And you knew him too well to be fooled, even for a second.

Your voice was cautious and your words chosen with care as you replied.

“They are not part of my crew exactly. It’s more something of a… an alliance.”

“Alliance? You?”

“Is it so surprising?”

“Oh, you can be absolutely charming if you wish to, Y/N, I know that. But you also have a tendency to be very… careful with your trust.”

“I’ve never said anything about trust.”

“Were you hired for a job, then?”

“I haven’t said that either.”

“They must be rich, then. Maybe I should kill them all and take their money.”

“Maybe you should.”

Devos studied you carefully, and you could see the changes in his eyes. His smile was still charming, but his blue eyes were being filled with cruelty, with hunger, with threat…

You struggled to swallow, and couldn’t help but look away.

“I wonder if they have a ship…” Devos spoke slowly, half-lost in thought.

“I don’t know.”

“Must be a pretty one. Because they look awfully clean, and their purses look particularly heavy…”

You didn’t answer, faking interest about some oil. Devos was not fooled though.

“I’ll find that out. Take my share of the profit.”

“They’re under my protection.”

Your voice was perfectly calm, on the tone of a mundane conversation. But Devos knew what it meant. It was a threat.

And he loved it. He had spent many years longing to cut your throat. Perhaps the day had finally come?

“Maybe I’ll wait a little bit then. I can give you that curtesy.”

“How generous…”

He leaned closer, bringing his lips to your ear to let out a whisper that froze you to your bones.

“After I take that ship, I’ll come for yours. And I’ll take my time with you.”

Despite your pounding heart, despite the fear that coursed through your entire frame, you were perfectly composed when you turned to him. You didn’t step away, you merely turned your head towards him, the ghost of a smile on your lips. And despite your terror, your voice was perfectly steady.

“I’d love to see you try, Devos.”

He laughed at that, loud and petulant, and you wished you could have punched him in the face, but you would rather not die so stupidly.

“I’ll see you around, Blue Feather! Until I kill you!”

And with that, he was striding away, leaving you alone. You turned towards Caspian, as you had felt his stare on you for most of your conversation with the privateer.

And he hadn’t heard any word that were exchanged between you and Devos, but it didn’t matter. He noticed the shakiness of your hand when you put the bottle of oil back on the stall. He noticed the way you blinked a few times as you averted your eyes, as if to bring yourself back to the moment.

Caspian had no idea who this man was, but he guessed that he was one of the handful of men the merchant had mentioned, one of those ready to fight you.

Would he mean trouble to Caspian and his crew?

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Taglist: @reg-arcturus-black

#caspian #caspian x #caspian x reader #caspian x you #caspian x y/n #caspian fanfiction #caspian series #king caspian #caspian fanfic #narnia #narnia fanfiction #the chronicles of narnia #narnia series #series #writing #fanfiction #fanfic

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wwwvilladejablue · 19 days ago

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What Is The Best Villa In Cozumel for Seniors From El Paso Texas? Join seniors from El Paso, Texas, on a magical journey to Cozumel, where the sun, sand, and sea await. Imagine staying at Villa Rosa, a charming oasis near Playa Palancar, offering comfort, accessibility, and beautiful surroundings. Picture yourself relaxing in a hammock, the ocean’s lullaby serenading you as you soak in the balmy weather. With convenient single-level layouts and close proximity to local attractions and dining options, Villa Rosa is the perfect getaway for seniors looking to escape the hustle and bustle of El Paso. And when it comes to dining, don’t miss out on the vibrant flavors of La Cocina De Silvia, where every bite tells a story and every meal is a celebration. But it’s not just about the sunsets and seafood—healthcare services, mobility accommodations, and specially tailored activities are essential considerations when choosing a villa in Cozumel. Villa Rosa checks all the boxes, ensuring a worry-free stay for seniors. So pack your bags, step into the warm embrace of Cozumel, and embark on a journey where every moment is a chance to create unforgettable memories. Cozumel is calling—answer the call and indulge in the paradise that awaits you. https://villadejablue.com/what-is-the-best-villa-in-cozumel-for-seniors-from-el-paso-texas/?feed_id=28488&_unique_id=67933fad42d90

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libidomechanica · 3 months ago

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Such a purple grain

I shall I ne’er before we part, her hand calmly as a shell should forget and light in the flow out. Matter now? Let none of her cigarette into the rock, and all-oblivion of bent foam and waving stream remains unsoiled,

unmixed with false in breast. What saist thou toil our thorns were glad sighes mixt; with words thy beloved, as long and for that makes her giant heart. Been bough in my one hand, but lift this grown a musky Chain, to bind the muzzle beneath fluorescent-

curve, close as we’re made a string. They rightly winds and fell like sweetest stratagems sweet plighted. Kiss against its patterned disarray—my mind; angels to acquaintance brings to the roses on my trespass, Silvia; I confess’d that

him whom my soul, which gave upon a rock, catches at his throat, and of spices, as sweet Draught of low replies to every one hand, nor I half remember me when you can tell me from skirt to skirt; and a spirit, nor no man ever-

fixed mark that was an earphone with honor’s graces can you seene they made me daub away. Grief and pain to get there? Ravishing blessed her; yea, the quiet evenfall, in the dam, to heare. Though mine eye alters not with a tawdrie lace. The mounting

his own life have passed from limbecks foul as hell with muffled moonlight, O Heav’nly gift of poesie were still at Susan tell me where it will not fear; each test and th’ other’s ground with Ignorance an honest, stay as tall as you are.

Let seed be grass or sand, the circular argument of drifting for judgment, telling. Marching— marching—marching—king George’s men came riding—for which is the only good ointment poured fortune flout, like a theater of Fidelity;

who ever rue. This warm life- blood, which heaven, cries Betty she’ll ask no more how did Judas come square footage to kill thee, like the two rings, all of their Latin in pure loved, that is my beloved is mine, then change in zero

gravity, scientists say, is weak. On the window, and sense of her own no whit behind you slept with thee. Until the down, to bring he laye, and rode till midnight insinuations under his bed, which wanteth not risk my blight of beauty’s

pattern to succeeding at its last of common bed were called the wood. The clock gives my friends. That you wide open for me may moue you. To send this course the last of comfort but of their present this tender light of a thief. Faded

the moonlight, thought: had my friend. Grow long as we rode, and turn to left, and you will downe-right blowes; and for his guide appear on the mountains of gold, his foe he’d laughs, betty a drunken pleasure quaffs, to her head, the street and so all’s come

square footage to kiss me sweet and straight and shucks, and in the distant vale; there’s not again: they may read it these the cruel as the sun doth parch the ins and one did round it: not an Inch of flowers, as in ranks of blue crab from

the town and hard enough to be: only remembered much about him sat the judgment, tell me, and by sweet black and for the door opened to use, and she be a tedious tale. Or whether in our town, to bring hether the trees, with

chains across a wound, and time will betide? It’s gonna be alright it’s gonna be alright it’s gonna be alright in Cloth of the shadow of your three. Camel side by side, on which I hate but kinda like in clams as one by one

dead black. Plus the fire on the eagle and sweet than the sun’s red kelson past the keeper of the truth! And jewels, thy neck. In the quince, I let Lisa go, and weep, and weep my whole moon was born on earthly shore up my debility. Ah!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #141 texts #ballad

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thebowerypresents · 4 months ago

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Temples Revisit Their Debut Album a Decade Later at Racket on Thursday Night

Temples – Racket – October 17, 2024

A decade after releasing their breakthrough album, Sun Structures, Temples are taking the opportunity to revisit the material. The 10-year-later lookback can be illuminating: What’s changed and what’s stayed the same? What struck me listening to the British quartet work their way through the songs, was how vital it all felt, a vitality that came from the band’s familiarity and utter comfort with them.

From the get-go, an opening rhythmic zigzag through the title track, the old-school psychedelic rock felt ferocious, verses softening into an intense guitar meltdown worthy of any 1967 garage jam session. The first song flowed straight into the second with a howling vocal intro to “A Question Isn't Answered,” tribal thumping of bass, leading to a cappella harmonies and then finally an explosion of guitars, a jam more pummeling than exploratory.

While the album stands the test of time as is, Temples wisely mixed the tracks into a live-worthy setlist. The crowd was unfazed — the woman next to me must have mouthed every lyric to every song regardless of order, as if she had listened to the record weekly for the past 10 years. “Sand Dance,” which appears near the end of the album, was appropriately slotted a bit early, its monster march-to-doom drumbeat allowing for an incendiary Zeppelin-esque peak.

“Fragments Light,” the album closer, was perfect as a slowdown intro to “Mesmerize,” pulled from the middle to provide an incredible oomph to the end of the show with a layered psychedelia that double-timed twice. The set closed with Sun Structure's opening track, “Shelter Song,” as if Temples were looping back on themselves, back to the beginning, a decade behind them and sounding ready for the next 10. —A. Stein | @Neddyo

(Temples play The Sinclair in Cambridge, Mass., tonight.)

Photos courtesy of Silvia Saponaro | @Silvia_Saponaro

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jerushalemdali · 1 year ago

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Mr Phillip

The road was long and night came sooner than expected and around somewhere in Pantanos de Centla I took my bags into a cheap motel. It was a hundred for a place that barely had hot water in it, still the best hundred I've ever spent.

I have to say that I stopped along the way from the 150D highway in Maltrata, Veracruz to my final destination. Although it was a trip of around 18hrs, those that can make your legs numb, I took the brightside and thought that the landscape on the road had to be admired. It's always the small details that create memorable adventures.

On the second day of driving and after taking breakfast in an island I started feeling haunted by daydreams. I heard the voice of a woman next to the ocean while my eyelids closed.

"Si pogués fer-me escata

i amargar-me a la platja

per sentir sons i tardes del passat,

d'aquell món d'enyoranças,

amor i calma, perfumat de lluna, foc i rom."

("If I could become scale

and hide at the beach

to hear sounds and evenings of the past,

of that world of nostalgia,

love and calm, scented with moon, fire and rum.")

The thought of your eyes made mine open. I pulled up right next to Laguna de Términos right before losing part of my car in Champotón. The ocean was painted red mixing with the lagoon.

I saw a family fishing and swimming near the road. Women were welcoming and allowed me to stay nearby. I took a nap next to the water, dreaming about cocodrilos, el río Usumacinta and the Grijalva. But there was something with the deepest green, brighter than the sun passing through the tree leaves.

Your eyes again in my empire next to the sand of the shore. And there was Silvia singing inside of me and around your memory.

"Els vells em parlen plens de tendresa,

d'hores viscudes amb emoció.

Joves encara, forts i valents,

prínceps de xarxa, herois de tempesta,

amics del bon temps."

("Old people, full of tenderness, talk to me

about hours lived with emotion,

when they were young, strong and brave,

princes of the net, heros of the storm,

friends of the good weather.")

The tale of a man who I once fell for. Some stories don't end as we would want or imagine and still they leave a sweet scent every time we close our eyes, or smell the perfume we had before, or walk through the same parking place where there was a first kiss, bringing all kind of emotions back to us.

I cherish my thoughts about you and those days in el pueblo de Zeta with respect and affection. And as good as those months were, I offer my hand in friendship to you if you ever need or want to keep in touch. And I must confess in advance that this is a proposal that I would really like to follow as you were –and I'm sure still are–, an endearing person.

Sincerely, Jerushalem Dalí.

#letters

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theinquisitxor · 1 year ago

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Update as of November 2023-- I got through 15 of this list, so I'm pretty happy about that, and I'm hoping to get to another in December

Legendborn by Tracy Deonn ✅

The Poppy War by RF Kuang ✅

The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller ✅

Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall ✅

The Glass Hotel✅ and The Sea of Tranquility by Emily St John Mandel

World Without End by Ken Follett ✅

Kaikeyi by Vaishnavi Patel ✅

The Adventures of Amina Al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty ✅

A Day of Fallen Night by Samatha Shannon ✅

The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison

She Who Became the Sun by Shelly Parker Chan

Hild by Nicola Griffith

Empire of Sand by Tasha Suri ✅

Sabriel by Garth Nix

Captive Prince by CS Pacat

The Hollow Places by T. Kingfisher ✅

Gallant by VE Schwab ✅

Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus by Rick Riordan ✅

Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett ✅

Castle in the Air and House of Many Ways by Diana Wynne Jones (I haven't read these yet- but I'm planning to in December!)

Velvet was the Night by Silvia Moreno Garcia✅

A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine

All the ones I didn't get to are still high priority, so they may be going on the 2024 list.

23 in 2023

Here are 23 books I want to read this year, based off the popular prompt going around tumblr right now. Making these lists are tough, because I'm such a mood reader and I never know what I'm going to be in the mood for next. But I think I'm set on wanting to read all of these this year.

Legendborn by Tracy Deonn

The Poppy War by RF Kuang

The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall

The Glass Hotel and The Sea of Tranquility by Emily St John Mandel

World Without End by Ken Follett

Kaikeyi by Vaishnavi Patel

The Adventures of Amina Al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty

A Day of Fallen Night by Samatha Shannon

The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison

She Who Became the Sun by Shelly Parker Chan

Hild by Nicola Griffith

Empire of Sand by Tasha Suri

Sabriel by Garth Nix

Captive Prince by CS Pacat

The Hollow Places by T. Kingfisher

Gallant by VE Schwab

Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus by Rick Riordan

Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett

Castle in the Air and House of Many Ways by Diana Wynne Jones

Velvet was the Night by Silvia Moreno Garcia

A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine

#23 in 2023

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lostinthewiind · 3 years ago

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Brave Heart: Chapter Forty-Two

Attack on Titan

Rating: Mature

Warnings: sexual themes, death, gore, mature themes, extreme violence, body horror, blood, weapons, major character death, age-gap relationship

Blue eyes glued to the equally as blue sea before her, Vera didn't tear her gaze away from the glimmering water for a second, not even when the guards had finally managed to catch up with her and started pulling at her arms and trying to drag her back through the sand.

Tears slipping down her cheeks, Vera wasn't quite sure why she was crying. Between the anger, sadness, hopelessness, and assorted concoction of other emotions she was feeling, she couldn't quite pinpoint which one was causing her eyes to water. Of course, there was the possibility that the tears were simply a by-product of the fact that she had finally, truly given up. There was no way she could get back home now—not without help, that is, and she highly doubted she was going to find much of that in Marley.

"Stop grabbin' her like that!" A familiar male voice broke through the copious amounts of shouting from the guards, all yelling at her to stand up and obey her mother's orders to return. "I'll deal with her."

One of the guards turned toward whoever was interjecting themselves into this mess. "You sure?"

"Yeah, Silvia sent me. You can go. I'll make sure she gets back."

All at once, the guards let go of Vera's arms and she slumped back down into the warm sand. Hands still grabbing at her red skirt, Vera ignored the unusual sensation of the little grains beneath herself digging into the skin of her bare legs and continued to watch the rippling waves before her. God, how she wished Armin were there to see it with her. The sea.

"This is all probably a lot to take in." A figure bent down beside Vera and she spotted the brown eyes and blonde hair that belonged to Reiner out of the corner of her eye. "Take your time. Just . . . don't try and run again."

Vera furrowed her brows and furiously wiped away her tears. "God, you're everywhere. You got me here. You did your job. Can't you just leave me the hell alone now?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized, a stark contrast to when Vera had seen him last; burning her childhood home down and fighting her to the bitter end. "Your mom thought maybe a familiar face would help in the midst of all this newness."

"Not if it's your stupid fucking face." Vera clenched her jaw and her fists tightened around the fabric of her skirt. "Shows what she knows."

Reiner didn't acknowledge her anger. "Can we go back now?"

"No. Go away."

"You know I can't do that."

"Right," an amused chortle escaped Vera. "Because you're my mom's perfect little lackey. Whatever she says goes. Bring my daughter home, Reiner. Make sure she doesn't run away, Reiner. Ruin her entire fucking life, Reiner. All you do is whatever anyone else tells you to. Pathetic. You're pathetic."

Reiner didn't say anything in response to that and instead let out a sigh as he sat down in the sand beside her. For a while, the two of them sat in silence, staring out at the water as the sun began to set.

"If I could go back and do it all differently, I would," he finally spoke again.

For the first time, Vera actually turned her head to look at him and noticed that he was dressed in the same tan uniform that the guards before had been wearing. Not only that, but she also noticed that he too was wearing an armband with the star-shaped symbol on it—only his armband was red, not white.

"Yeah, me too," Vera agreed. "I would have never spoken to you at all in the first place. Probably would have made my life a whole lot easier."

Reiner hung his head, hands digging into the sand at his sides, lips slightly parted like he wanted to say something even though he didn't utter a single word.

Letting out a defeated huff, Vera let go of her skirt and pushed herself into a standing position, feet digging into the terrain beneath her while she tried to decide if the sand felt good between her toes or not. "Let's go," she turned and started heading along the wall toward a flight of steps so she wouldn't have to scale the wall again.

"Wait." Reiner remained seated, eyes flitting between her and the sea. "Don't you want to get closer? This is your first time seeing it, right?"

Vera paused because, yes, she absolutely did want to get closer, but at the same time, she didn't want Reiner to think that she wanted to spend one second longer with him than she had to. "No." She decided, reminding herself that if she was going to be stuck here, she could always return on her own. It wasn't like the sea was going to disappear as soon as she turned her back on it.

"Just two seconds." He stood and started walking closer to the water, where it lapped against the sand calmly. "You'll like it. Trust me."

Vera folded her arms across her chest. "Things didn't exactly go very well for me the last time I trusted you."

"Okay, then don't trust me." Reiner shrugged. "See for yourself then."

Eyes narrowed, trying to look for any sign that this might be some sort of trap or ploy to get her defences down, Vera seriously weighed the pros and cons before taking a cautious step forward. When Reiner noticed her approaching, he held out his hand, but quickly withdrew it when he realized it only made stop in her tracks.

Arms now wrapped around herself like a warm hug to counteract the cool breeze coming off of the water, Vera stepped forward before sticking her toe out and dipping it into the shallow waves washing up toward her. "Oh!" Vera jumped a little. "It's cold."

Reiner chuckled a little at her response. "Yeah, sorry, should have warned you."

Vera shot Reiner a glare. How dare he laugh and display his enjoyment so blatantly? How could he go back to being so casual after what he had done? The wires in his head truly were crossed and tangled, just like when he had forgotten he was an enemy plant and not a real soldier in the Scout Regiment.

Turning her attention back to the sea, Vera waded in deeper, just enough so that the cold water reached her ankles. Head snapping up, Vera almost let the question on the tip of her tongue slip out, but caught herself at the last moment.

"What?" Reiner cocked his head when he noticed her staring.

Vera turned away from him. "Nothing. Don't talk to me."

"Okay." Reiner watched her blonde hair dance in the breeze and a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "If you're wondering whether it's actually salty or not, the answer is yes. It's really salty."

Vera tightened her hold around herself and slumped her shoulders. "I didn't ask."

"I know. But I can tell what you're thinking."

"No, you can't," Vera snapped. "You don't know anything about me. Get out of my head."

"Sorry."

Feet starting to go numb from the cold water, Vera decided that she had experienced enough new things for one day and retreated back up the shore. "I want to go back now," she said, not even looking back to see if Reiner was behind her or not. She didn't need him; she knew the way.

Keeping a respectful distance behind Vera as the two of them walked back through the town, Reiner watched her like a hawk, looking out for any indication that she was getting ready to run; not that he expected her to, but on the off chance that he lost her, he'd never hear the end of it, so he opted to remain cautious.

Chilly night breeze drawing goosebumps to the surface of her skin beneath the thin layer of clothing she was wearing, Vera hoped that the building she had initially fled from wasn't too much farther. In all honesty, however, she didn't remember how far she had run before reaching the sea; her mind had only been focused on losing her pursuers and not on how many blocks she had travelled.

Suddenly, something heavy draped over Vera's shoulders and she flinched, eyes wide as her arms flew out, pushing whatever had touched her away. Breathing rapidly, Vera felt embarrassment flood her face when she whipped around to see Reiner standing behind her, frozen in place, his jacket discarded on the ground between the two of them.

"You looked cold." Reiner bent down to pick up his jacket from the ground. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You can't come up behind me like that!" Vera raged. "Not when the last time you did, you hit me over the head with something to knock me out. No more walking behind me. You lead the way."

Reiner sighed as he slipped his jacket back on. "I have to keep my eyes on you."

Vera felt flustered, among other things. "Fine! Walk beside me . . . but not, like, right beside me. Keep your distance. Arm's length away from me at all times."

Reiner held up his hands in surrender as he assumed his place next to Vera, exactly an arm's length away. "Whatever you'd be most comfortable with."

"I'd be most comfortable with going home," Vera said. "So, I guess not whatever, huh?"

"No, I guess not."

For the rest of the trek back, both Vera and Reiner remained silent. Much to Vera's surprise, however, she was not led back to the building she had been in before and instead, Reiner took her to a more residential-looking area and stopped in front of what was either a small castle or huge residency.

"Where are we?" Vera gazed up at the beautiful, intricate building that sat on a rather popular main road with many passersby.

"Silvia's home," Reiner answered. "You're home now too, I guess."

Vera's eyebrows shot upward. "This is a house? For one person? It's huge." She turned back to Reiner. "What is it my mother does, exactly? Is she rich or something?"

"She's on the council that helps determine which Eldians qualify to be Warrior Candidates and if they've proven themselves as Honourary Marleyans," he told her. "She's a pretty important woman, in both the private and public sectors."

Vera let out an amused scoff. "Holy shit."

Seconds later, the front door of the estate swung open and Silvia stepped out onto the porch. "Thank you for bringing her back, Reiner. Your help is greatly appreciated." She motioned for Vera to follow her inside. "Come inside, sweetheart. It's cold out here."

Without even glancing back at Reiner, Vera climbed the stairs to the porch, legs heavy from exhaustion, and shuffled into the house. From there, Silvia shut the door again, her elegant red dress from earlier replaced with a more comfortable-looking skirt, blouse, and shawl, which was draped over her shoulders.

"Would you like to see your room?" Silvia asked, beginning her ascent up the main staircase before Vera even had a chance to answer. "I kept it pretty minimal so you could decorate it however you wanted."

Vera rolled her eyes, in complete disbelief that there were people who actually had the luxury of worrying about how they decorated their living spaces instead of being forced to focus on staying alive and where they were going to get their next meal from.

As soon as Silvia pushed a door open and revealed Vera's new room, however, she completely forgot about her previous negative attitude towards it. The room was bigger than anything she had ever had to herself before; if she were back at the barracks, there would be three or four soldiers sharing this space at least. The bed was a huge, four-post queen size with simple cream-coloured sheets. There was a stained wood dresser against one wall and on the other a door that led to a private bathroom, complete with a bathtub big enough for two fully-grown adults.

"I did take the liberty of adding a bookshelf because I remembered how much you liked to read when you were younger." Silvia gestured to the far corner of the room where an empty bookshelf sat next to a blue armchair. "Oh, and there's also a balcony with a table and chairs so you can sit outside." She pointed to the double doors across from the bed, which did, indeed, lead out to a balcony that overlooked the busy street below.

"This is . . . absolutely insane," Vera gasped as she walked around the room, every aspect of it so new and clean that she was almost afraid to even touch anything. "All of this is really for me?"

Silvia nodded. "All of it. This is the bedroom you deserve, my love. I hope it makes up a little for what you had to endure when you were younger."

Vera wasn't sure what to say, because no matter how badly she wanted to be mad and yell and throw things, this was the nicest room she had ever seen in her entire life and it was hers.

"There's a public library down the way a little," Silvia added. "I'm sure you'll fill up that bookcase soon enough."

Opening the balcony doors and stepping out, Vera drew in a deep breath of fresh air. "Dad would have loved it here," the sentiment slipped out before she even registered it in her head.

"Yes, I think he would have. This is the place we always dreamed about having together." Silvia nodded in agreement, a look of sorrow gracing her features for the fraction of a second. "Anyway, you must be starving. You haven't eaten anything all day."

At the mention of food, Vera's stomach growled. Her pride, however, refused to allow her to accept any more from the woman who was actively keeping her from returning home. "No, I'm fine," she declined despite the empty aching in her stomach. "I'm not hungry."

"Oh?" Silvia hummed. "Well, some tea then? You were out there for a while. It will warm you up."

"Okay," Vera compromised. "Thank you."

With a nod, Silvia excused herself from the room. In the meantime, Vera spent the time inspecting the many things that now belonged to her. She flopped back on the bed, relishing in how soft the mattress was and how fluffy the pillows were, and she sat in the armchair and let out a happy sigh at how her body sunk into it like it was made for her.

When no one was watching, Vera allowed herself to enjoy the luxuries she had been gifted with, and when her mother returned minutes later with a warm cup of tea in her hands, Vera drank her tea out on the balcony in some twisted form of defiance—the tea couldn't warm her up if she was actively subjecting herself to the cold breeze.

As soon as Vera took the first sip of the hot liquid, her first thought was that it was nowhere near as good as what Levi made. Among the captain's many talents, whipping up a killer cup of tea was one of his best. Vera vaguely remembered the tea Levi had brought her during her lengthy interrogation and how the simple gesture had seemed so out of character for him back then. Now, however, she knew bits and pieces of the real him and knew the kindness he hid beneath his hard exterior.

Had known bits and pieces of the real him.

Mind flooded with memories of the people she had lost, possibly forever, Vera set the tea aside, unable to drink anymore of it. Now she was just sitting out in the cold, watching the sun disappear behind the buildings, shivering and missing her life back on Paradis Island even if it meant fighting for every breath she drew and ending every day exhausted and having nothing more than a hard cot and a measly four or five hours of sleep before she had to get up and do it all over again the next day.

"Hey!" A woman's voice from the street below shouted, but Vera paid it no mind. Not until it was followed up with, "You, up on the balcony! Hey!"

Standing from her chair, Vera peered over the side of her balcony and spotted a woman with long black hair staring up at her, waving her hand in the air. The woman was dressed in a plain white skirt and green shirt and, as best as Vera could guess, was nothing more than a normal citizen who looked to be around the same age as her.

"Me?" Vera pointed back at herself.

The woman looked left and then right, her black hair swishing over her shoulders as she did so. "You're the only one up on a balcony that I can see."

Vera tilted her head at the woman, utterly confused as to why she was speaking to her. "Who are you?"

"Doesn't really matter." The woman shrugged. "What matters is who you are."

"I'm confused," Vera admitted. "Look, I've had a long day and am not really up for chatting, so if you don't mind, I'd really like to just sit in silence."

The woman placed her hands on her hips and frowned. "So, what, you show up out of nowhere and think just because you live in that big fancy house that you're better than someone like me?"

"No, what?" Vera blinked back at the woman a few times. "What is happening right now?"

The woman let out a laugh and her demeanour instantly softened. "I'm only messing with you. I've just never seen you around before and wanted to say hey to the newbie. So, hey."

Vera quirked a quizzical brow. "How do you know I'm new? Do you know everyone in Marley?"

"God, no." She waved her hand at that. "The whole of Marley is huge, but the inner circle of people who live in houses like the one you're in right now is quite small, actually. I would know. I'm in the same circle. So, cough it up; who are you?"

"I'm Vera," Vera introduced herself.

"Nice to meet you." The woman smiled. "I'm Natalie, by the way. I live a few houses down. I think your mom works with my dad; that is, assuming Ms. Lepstein is your mom."

Vera sighed. "She is . . . unfortunately," she muttered the last part under her breath. "Do you always go around talking to strangers so casually?"

Natalie shoved her hands into the pockets of her skirt. "Not always, but something about you seems . . . different. Where you from, anyway?"

Vera almost answered honestly, but then she remembered what her mother said about how people from Paradis Island were treated—how Eldians were treated. She also remembered the fact that very few people knew who she really was and got the sense that it would be better if it stayed that way. "The edge of town," Vera lied, unsure if it was believable or not. "I was living with my dad."

"Oh, cool." Something caught Natalie's attention farther down the street and her interest in Vera seemed to waver. "Well, I'll see you around. Welcome to the area. You'll love it, or not . . . I don't really know. Anyway, bye!"

With that, Natalie continued down the street, hands stuffed into her pockets and head on a swivel, observing everything as if she hadn't already seen it hundreds of times before.

Concluding that her new home was very weird, Vera headed back into her room, closed her balcony doors, changed into a nightgown her mother had lent her before she could go out and buy her own clothes, and crawled into bed.

And as she stared up at the ceiling, Vera realized she had considered this place her 'new home', even if only in her mind, and a wave of guilt washed over her. Rolling onto her side, she hugged one of the many fluffy pillows to her chest, closed her eyes, and wished that when she opened them up again, she was back in the barracks and it had all just been one bad dream.

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the-eldritch-it-gay · 4 years ago

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Lechuza by Salamatullah Eldritch

Words: 5273 Warnings: Horror, altered reality/mental states, hopelessness, contemplating death Notes: Footnotes at end contain translations for the song and misc words used

“Keep your doors locked tonight, mijo,” Silvia said as Ciríaco was about to leave.

The weaving hut was near empty now, just the two of them left inside it, though the sun had already risen. It wouldn’t be odd on any other day, when Ciríaco was the only waking soul in the city, quietly working in the silent hut while the city slept the day away.

But today wasn’t every other day.

No one was asleep now, even though the sun was out. The silence one would hear while walking the streets at this hour was a different silence than other days. Hidden beneath the veil of silence was fear, was quiet whispered prayers and barricaded doors.

“I know, I always do,” Ciríaco started, “Las Lechuzas-”

“Not about that,” Silvia interrupted, giving Ciríaco pause, “Whatever Xochitl told you, forget it, don’t go looking for answers. Keep your doors locked and stay inside, no matter what. You’re putting the little ones at risk if you don’t.”

Normally he wouldn’t be surprised that Silvia knew about Xochitl’s conversations with him. They weren’t secretive, though most would think so given how they took place after curfew. Silvia and Xochitl often bickered about their meetings in a way Ciríaco always thought was lighthearted, the sort of bickering that only can come after so many decades of marriage.

The conversation in question, though, was not about las lechuzas. Ciríaco had asked her to tell him of his father. Xochitl was one of the few people that ever spoke of him.

What surprised Ciríaco, though, was not that Silvia knew of their conversation or the inocuousness of it, but the seriousness of her tone. Not just that, but the creeping desperation, the weight of her words made heavy with the fear that was slipping through the cracks of her stoic mask. In all the years Silvia had been a mother to him, he had never seen her mask falter for even a moment. He hadn’t even realized she had one.

It was the smallest thing, but enough to shatter the image of Silvia that Ciríaco had in his mind, the cracking of a pedestal he hadn’t realized he placed her on. He had always built her up as sturdy, as an immovable pillar he could lean against and cling to. But now, he could feel the shining marble turn to sand and crumble under the weight of him, sending him tumbling into the unknown with no anchor to hold him.

At that moment, Silvia was human, flawed and fallible, and there was nothing more terrifying than that realization.

Before she let Ciríaco go, she muttered a quick prayer over him. It was one he had heard countless times before, but for some reason now it made his stomach turn with unease.

In the window sill of the hut, a lone barn owl was perched.

Ciríaco wasn’t sure what woke him. He didn’t jerk awake gasping like he did when the blood of the past seeped into his dreams, he wasn’t awoken by Nico gently poking his cheek, or by Matías crying. Instead, slowly, he felt himself being pulled from a deep sleep, steadily becoming aware of the mattress beneath him, the hair falling in his eyes, the warmth of Nico curled up against his arm, and finally, a faint light he could see even through his eyelid. That alone made him open his eyes, dread settling in his gut as he noticed the source of the light. A small ray of sunlight, streaming in through a gap in the curtains.

Any other day, it wouldn’t have bothered him.

Today wasn’t any other day.

Swallowing down the fear, Ciríaco carefully managed to pull his arm from Nico’s grasp without waking him. The sunlight illuminated the room just enough that he didn’t have to fumble for his crutch leaning beside the bed. The bed creaked as he stood, his unsteady footsteps hard against the stone floor, but those sounds were not nearly as loud as his heart pounding in his ears. He stood frozen in front of the window, unable to will himself to move, eyes glued to the sliver of a gap between the curtains, to the ray of sunlight cutting through the darkness.

Despite the fear clawing at him, a thought suddenly crept in the back of his mind.

Is it really dangerous out there?

The thought alone felt akin to blasphemy, like insolence and arrogance. He had heard the stories, seen remains of those unfortunate enough not to make it inside in time first-hand. He knew firsthand the pain of knowing he would never return from the darkness, from the hands of las lechuzas.

The danger was irrefutable, but looking through the gap in the curtain, Ciríaco couldn’t bring himself to recoil.

Distantly, he realized that he still clung to that childish hope his father was out there, that if he ventured out on the day of La Caza de Lechuzas that he could find him. Ciríaco had tried desperately to reach for memories of him, for memories of what happened, but they always remained outside of his grasp, in the light outside. His father was gone, and his mother took the secret of what happened that day to her grave.

Perhaps it was the memory of his mother-- of her tight-lipped silence that was unfazed by Ciríaco’s begging by her deathbed-- that broke whatever spell held him in place, staring out the window. With a rough jerk, he closed the curtain and plunged the room into darkness once more.

The silence that hit him was deafening, suffocating, Ciríaco’s heart jumped to his throat as the sudden wrongness of it hit him. He waited for Nico to stir, to wake, waited to hear his small voice call for him, pouting at his absence. Nico was the lightest sleeper, he always stirred at the slightest thing, he has since he was a toddler. Back then it had been nearly impossible for Ciríaco to leave the house in the morning for work, Nico always waking and clinging to his leg and begging his older brother to stay. Even Eneida would sometimes stir, usually if only to pull her brother back to bed.

But now it was silent.

The children slept silently behind him, still in bed, oblivious to Ciríaco, oblivious to the faint light that filtered through the curtain.

The same light that vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving Ciríaco suddenly in pitch black so disorienting he nearly fell to the ground. His heart was pounding in his ears again as he clutched his cane tightly, trying to ground himself, his forehead pressed to the cold stone wall below the window. Blinking rapidly, he tried to let his eyes adjust to the dark, but the darkness remained. With his free hand, he reached up to his face, clumsily trying to find his eyes, unable to tell if they were open or closed anymore.

He felt himself blink. The dark remained unchanged.

No matter how many times he opened his eyes, there was nothing to see. He felt himself panting, heart racing, but even then the silence remained unbroken.

Until a scream rang out from just beyond the window. Shrill and breathless and cut off suddenly as something slammed against the window. Ciríaco’s breath caught in his throat and he slapped his hand over his mouth as he waited, waited to hear movement, to hear another scream, to hear the window creak open.

Instead what broke the silence was a faint, ragged and breathless voice with a song.

Wioulūz piutyilȳ pùn Xáháipūz Tūlun záu sityutl ziá sūni Ichpui uain nutl tūnzȳhqu semouz sūni Pui miuozuah tipa zitleliez kimei sūni Zehân tūn zui nge zah tutyoluahah pe netluahah sūni Wioulūz wioulū iáu nūmih nuh pùn Xáháipūz Tūlun sūni

The intonation was all wrong, the pacing stilted and jerky: not human, but rather a poor, mechanical pantomiming of a human voice. Sounds parroted back without emotion by something without vocal cords. But Ciríaco didn’t process that, not then, too preoccupied with the sudden deja-vu that crashed over him.

He couldn’t understand the words, yet they were as familiar as his own tongue, as his own name. Without a doubt, he knew he had heard this song before, the melody calling to him like a long-lost childhood friend. The song was an elegy, but in that moment, Ciríaco wanted nothing more than to join in.

It was only when he heard a door close behind him that he was startled back into vague awareness, that he distantly realized he was standing barefoot in the middle of the street, clad only in his nightclothes. Only then did the fear return, piercing through his hazy mind.

At least he thought he was in the street, he had to me, he could feel the worn wood of the door behind him, the uneven stones of the street under his feet. He had to be outside. Had he stepped outside? It felt like just a second ago he was looking out the window, how could he have walked from the bedroom, up the stairs, and out the front door without realizing it? Looking up to the sky, Ciríaco expected to see the eclipse, the faint glow of the suns behind the moon.

Instead, the sky was an empty black.

No moon, no suns, no stars. He could feel that his head was tilted back, that he was looking at the sky, but there was nothing to see. Just an endless black.

Looking around he thought he could almost see the outline of the nearby houses and buildings, though he could see a minuscule change in the black, but with every blink, the landscape seemed to change. Was he moving? He thought he was standing still, wasn’t aware of his feet moving, but when he reached out behind himself to find the door back inside, all he felt was empty air.

Ciríaco legs threatened to give out as the gravity of the situation hit him. He was outside during La Caza del Lechuzas. He was alone. And he had no idea where he was. Even if he found a house, found somewhere to hide, no one would open the door even if he pleaded with them to his last breath. Nico, Eneida, and Matías would wake up to find him gone, to find themselves abandoned yet again. Eneida was too young to remember when their mother passed, to know the pain and understand the concept of death. She was too old now to get that same respite. There was nothing Ciríaco could do to ease it for her. There was nothing he could do to return home to them.

The only choices he had, were if he would wait for death, or venture into the black to find it himself.

It was while he stood there, paralyzed with the choice of his death, that a song once again broke the quiet.

Tūniez pùhqouxl zu kiupa wiuñȳ kimei sūni Zehân supeil shū we tutyoleipi ngá zah kimei sūni Pui shū we nguapah kimei ngiñi nūmih wol jùleh shū we kimei sūni Wi shū we Timiou nge Wioulūz atyi sūni Shū ta pùn tsemuol tu puamul ngiñi sūni

The sound--warbled, wrong, inhuman--somehow quieted his mind. Letting out a deep breath, Ciríaco closed his eyes, just for a moment, just to center himself and listen to that far-off, familiar tune. He must have closed his eyes, he figured as suddenly he was opening them. He was on his feet he knew, could feel his weight on sore and weak joints, and the darkness in front of him, different somehow. It was moving, or rather, he realized with a start, he was moving.

It wasn’t too strange at first, his mind struggling to catch up to reality. When he walked to work in the mornings sometimes the sun had yet to rise, he could rely on muscle memory of which streets and alleys to turn down even when he didn’t have light to see by. But now, as his mind slowly tried to process things, tried to pull itself out of a fog, he realized something was… off.

He didn’t need to think, didn’t need to put effort into walking, even as he was conscious of the steps he took. His walking was as effortless and uncontrollable as his heartbeat. Desperately, he tried to keep track of the turns he was making, tried to orient himself, he knew the streets of Asucatan like the back of his hand but…

Right, left, right, right… right?

He should be back where he started, but this street was longer, so was the next street that had a subtle curve. No street Ciríaco turned down was familiar, no part of his path made sense, but something was pulling him, guiding him down this path, down alien alleys and foreign streets until the ground under his feet faded from stone to sand.

He should have hit a closed gate before he reached the outskirts of the city, his house not too far from the Northern gate. No matter what direction Ciríaco could take from his house, he would run into a wall or locked gate eventually long before he entered the desert.

He wasn’t sure of his path anymore, slow and staggering as the uneven surface made the support from his crutch hard to maintain. Ciríaco’s legs burned. How long had he been walking? A few seconds? A few minutes? Time seemed wrong, his body ached like he had been walking for hours but he couldn’t have, the eclipse should have ended, the sun should have returned.

The sand shifted beneath his feet, crutch falling out from under him as Ciríaco fell forward onto-- soft earth? Damp soil clung to his palms and knees as he found himself almost prostrating, having fallen to his hands and knees. The sudden humidity was suffocating, disorienting. Looking around, he swore once again he could almost see shapes in the darkness, a barely visible outline of… trees? Not the thin, spindly trees that dotted the landscape outside Asucatan. These were thick, clustered together, and as Ciríaco reached out towards one, they were cool, moist, soft with moss.

Ciríaco was panting as he pushed himself to his feet, sweat soaking through his thin nightclothes, coating his palms. He struggled for a moment getting his crutch under him, leaning on it heavily, his feet sore and raw. His whole body ached, he tried to take a moment to breathe, to rest. He was certain he didn’t close his eyes, keeping them focused on the faint shadowy outline of a tree in front of him. But suddenly his eyes opened, his vision shifted, and he realized his feet were moving again.

If time didn’t matter, speed shouldn’t either, but it felt like he was moving more slowly. Maybe, though, he only noticed speed, that he was moving at all, because of the foliage he pushed out of his way, the tangled roots that kept tripping him, the rocks that his feet kept knocking into. By the time his legs finally started to give out, though, he wasn’t sure if he had been walking through the jungle for a few steps, or a few miles. The only difference was the oppressive heat, the thickening humidity growing more and more suffocating until he was gasping for breath as he collapsed against a tree.

Bark and lichen dug into his skin, his soaked shirt barely any protection. Ciríaco almost let out a sob, his whole body felt sore, joints swollen, skin feverish. Looking around, small bright spots danced across his vision, lightheaded and dizzy. He swore the darkness around him was still moving, still shifting and swimming even as he stood still, the silence deafening--

Snap.

The heat suddenly gone, replaced with ice-cold dread, breath catching in his throat as a branch snapped behind him. There hadn’t been a living soul since he had stepped outside--there was no hum of insects, no bird song. As terrifying as it might have been, the realization he wasn’t alone was infinitely more terrifying.

There was a dizzying deja vu that hit Ciríaco as he froze, standing perfectly still, heart pounding in his ear as he waited. The scream he heard was the same one he waited to hear standing by the window at home, what felt like seconds and years ago. This time, though, even through the fog, the haze and fear, he recognized the sound with dawning horror.

A barn owl.

The realization was almost enough to push Ciríaco over the edge, almost enough to make him collapse and just give up.

Silvia always told him playing with his food was disrespectful. He never considered that the one being disrespected was the food.

Or maybe it was ritual, tradition; ablutions of blood and tears, prayers of screams and sobs. Perhaps even lechuzas were pious, perhaps they mimicked prayer the only way they could, through fear. If Ciríaco dropped to his knees and prayed now, would God listen to him or las lechuzas? Which was more devout, a hymn of dirty hands, or of bloody claws?

Snap-

Ciríaco snapped out of his reverie as another branch snapped behind, closer than before. For the first time that night, he consciously moved his feet and broke into a run.

There was no path to follow, though, in his blind panic, he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to follow one even if it existed. Ciríaco simply ran, no purpose in his direction other than the primal instinct to flee, to desperately clutch at the life he still had.

Branches and thorns tore at his clothes as he stumbled through the forest, tripping over roots, running into trees. Ciríaco felt bruises blooming at every impact, blood being drawn by every branch and sharp stone. The pain barely registered, even as he dropped his crutch in his panic, even as he ran on feet that were torn raw and joints that were swollen and screaming. He didn’t even let out a cry as his foot caught in unforgiving roots and he fell, landing hard into a bush whose thorns tore at his skin and clothes indiscriminately.

As he pulled his foot free, he was unsure if his palms were slick with sweat, or with blood.

Pushing himself to stand, Ciríaco felt dread once again pooling in his stomach. He forgot which way he had been running, which way was away from his pursuer, which way was away from lechuzas. No matter which way he looked, there was nothing but black: no light, no stars above, no path. Whatever direction he stepped in had equal chance of being a step closer to his grave.

Nearby, a barn owl screeched, but this time it sounded like a laugh, echoing through the jungle.

Another branch snapped behind him, and he almost debated whether it was worth it to try and run again. There wasn’t a chance of stepping closer to his grave, there was a certainty, even if he didn’t move. What difference did it make if he died of exhaustion and exposure, or at the hands of las lechuzas? Wherever he turned, he was facing his grave.

Ciríaco blinked, tears welling up in his eyes. Opening them, the darkness has moved again, though his feet were still. The inky void seemingly, parted, ever so slightly, like a curtain. Within that gap, barely visible, was a path.

Perhaps he should have been more suspicious of it, considered the possibility of a trap. Maybe he did consider it, he just didn’t care. Ciríaco ran towards it, like a moth to flame. Maybe all he wanted was directions, even if it was to his grave.

The path was free of branches and plants, but Ciríaco still tripped over his feet and he stumbled, ran down the path, his lungs burning and body screaming in protest. He didn’t know how long he ran, how long he stumbled down the twisting dark path between trees, his mind was a blur, and all that mattered was getting out, getting away.

It was right as spots started dancing across his vision, thoughts slipping away into a fog of lightheadedness, that the path ended, opening up into a clearing. Sitting in the center of the clearing sat a large, old, stone temple, slowly being reclaimed by the jungle. He could make out--how? There was no light, the sky above devoid of anything but black, hadn’t everything been shrouded in darkness moments before on the path? Regardless, he could see the stone that made up the temple was well worn, covered in vines and moss. The stone was crumbling, the stone carvings softened and faded with the erosion of time. He barely processed any of it, though, barely cared as he ran towards it.

Ciríaco barely made it up the steps before his legs finally gave out and he collapsed with a cry. Somehow, when he looked around, he found himself in the center of the room, crumpled before the steps leading to a cracked stone altar. The stone felt cool against his cheek, even as he was still gasping, clothes torn ragged and soaked through with sweat. Distantly, he was aware he was bleeding, aware of his blood staining the moss he lay on, the red a sharp contrast to the vibrant green.

For a moment, he rested, eyes closing, forehead pressed to the floor before the altar, roots growing through the floor forming what could be either a bed or a tomb. The difference meant nothing anymore.

Time was slow and sluggish, Ciríaco’s mind lagging behind as a haze filled his mind. Nothing felt real, everything felt like a dream, distant and immaterial, even as he felt blood ooze from his cuts, as he felt thick roots pressing into him. He wasn’t even sure if he was the one feeling those things, suddenly aware of some degree of separation between himself and his body even though he couldn’t process it, couldn’t hold that thought in his mind.

He didn’t know how much time passed laying there, it didn’t matter. When he heard another barn owl screech, closer than ever, he couldn’t even summon the energy, the awareness to fear, to care.

The screech was joined in by others, echoing and repeating the same shrill call close enough to make Ciríaco’s ears ring. Then, slowly, ever so gradually, the screeches faded, transformed into voices swirling around him. They spoke in the same language of the song, somehow both painfully familiar and foreign. Ciríaco couldn’t hope to make sense of them, circling, overlapping, deafening voices. Vitriolic, pleading, melodic, screeching, all begging for his attention, screaming phrases he couldn’t make out.

Ciríaco wanted to cry, to sob, that he didn’t understand them, that he didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know what he did. The voices filled his head, he could feel it, feel the movement, feel the pressure strong enough to feel like his skull was about to split open. He could barely open his mouth to let out a strangled scream as the voices grew, as something closed in on him.

All at once, though, they stopped, but they were not replaced with silence. But with a song.

Xietynâzol tinù Nguozo nuauh kimei sūni Piutyilȳol tinù Izâl nuauh kimei sūni Zyochyilun’ol tinù Ápū nuauh kimei sūni Izâl tinù Nguozo zuñūn wiuñie Ixl nuauh sūni Iáun’ piutyilȳ szo titl nu iáu sūni

The voice was soft, ethereal, the words wrapping around Ciríaco like a blanket, soothing him like a parent's lullaby.

Ciríaco let out a shuddering breath he didn’t realize he was holding, almost melting into the floor as tension left his body all at once.

After a minute, distantly, Ciríaco realized a hand was softly stroking his sweat-matted hair. So gently he could barely feel it, he felt so disconnected, so divorced from his body he could barely comprehend it was his hair it was stroking.

There was a presence before him, the air heavy, cool, crackling softly like a fire. Weakly, Ciríaco tried to move his head, to look at who--at what--was kneeling before him. He barely moved at all before the hand in his hair stopped him, something sharp resting against the skin on the back of his neck. Claws, pressing just enough to let him know they were there, a breath away from breaking the skin.

“Don’t strain yourself, my child,” A soothing, warm voice echoed.

It was far away, distorted like he was underwater. It spoke in a language Ciríaco didn’t know, in a way that didn’t sound human, but somehow, he could understand. He couldn’t tell if the voice spoke in his mind or aloud, though the distinction hardly mattered. It wasn’t a command, it shouldn’t have been comforting, but he felt himself obey instantly, tension melting away again as the voice hummed.

“This is not a place for the living or the mortal, this day your eyes have seen what mortal eyes should not. This place, this path is only temporary,” The voice spoke, gentle but heavy, “Tell me, child, how this fate has befallen you, how you found yourself here? Why do the dead call to you? Why do the Ichpui shepard you here? What do you hear that is so enticing that you grasp at the divine with mortal hands?”

Ciríaco didn’t know how to answer, didn’t feel he could open his mouth. Why had he come here? Why had he gone outside when las lechuzas lurked and called to him? It was their song, wasn’t it? The song the being before him had sung what felt like only moments before. The song that was so familiar even though he couldn’t understand it, didn’t know how he knew it, why it called to him. It was that song, it had pulled at something deep in his memories, he had wanted to sing it so desperately, he had wanted--

He wanted to sing the song his father once sung, the song Ciríaco had heard him sing that night before las lechuzas took him. He had wanted to find his father.

The hand stroking his hair slowed, a silence falling across the temple. Something hot dripped onto Ciríaco suddenly, landing on his head, the back of his neck, like small, warm raindrops. Somehow, though, he could feel the weight they carried, heavy with sorrow. Tears. Whatever knelt over him, whether divine, dead, or monstrous, wept, shed tears for Ciríaco, for his pain. It allowed him a moment of silence.

“The fates have allowed you this gift, even the gods cannot overturn fate, so can only graciously let you leave with your gift. However... there are consequences, my child,”

If he could move his mouth, his tongue, Ciríaco would ask what gift he had, what the fates had possibly allowed him, as he lay bleeding and boneless among the dead. If the being knew his thoughts, could feel his desperation, it was unmoved. In the silence, Ciríaco managed to open his eyes, unable to move his head, stuck staring at his bloodied hand laying next to him.

And then… and then he saw a clawed hand, reaching for his wrist, reaching through his wrist. The skin was unbroken, the hand passing through like it was ethereal. It wasn’t pain that Ciríaco felt, it was something different, something foreign and confusing. He could only watch as the clawed hand pulled back again, pulling with it a shimmering, golden string.

The thread immediately went taut, as if caught on something, as if the other end was tethered to something inside of him. Ciríaco didn’t know what to expect, only that he hadn’t expected the clawed hand to wrap the thread around itself and pull.

It felt like Ciríaco’s veins were on fire, like the golden thread was wrapped around every nerve in his body and ripping through them as the thread was torn out through his wrist. When he was younger, he used to fall often and had a vivid memory of falling, skidding across carpet on bare hands and knees and the way it burned. It was that same feeling, of raw burning but inside, throughout his whole body as inch after inch after inch was pulled from him.

He wanted to scream, the cry, to pull away and fight, but he couldn’t move. His arm wouldn’t move, his mouth stayed shut, tongue heavy, a hand holding his head skill, claws digging into the base of his skull. Blood and bile filled his mouth, but somehow, he could still breathe. Distantly he wondered if breathing even mattered here.

By the time the end of the thread left him, Ciríaco wasn’t sure how long had passed, it could have been ages, his eyes drawn to the yards and yards of golden thread pooled on the mossy floor. The gold seemed fainter now, though he wasn’t sure if the thread itself changed, or it was his blood that dirtied the once glittering thread.

As soon as the end of the thread was pulled free, Ciríaco let out a single gasping sob, blood spilling over his lips, hot tears sliding down his dirty face, and landing on the blood-soaked moss below.

The hand on his head lightened slightly, ever so gently combing claws through Ciríaco’s tangled hair.

“Misdeeds have been punished, fate has rewarded you, debt has been balanced,” The voice spoke again, soft and otherworldly, but now tinged with something mortal. There was a long pause before it spoke again, “I’m sorry, my child, this is all I can give you.”

The being above him shifted, and he felt lips press the back of his head, gently, softly, human, like a parent kissing their child goodnight. It was something so familiar, pulling at a memory buried deep in Ciríaco’s mind. He didn’t have time to reach for it, because as soon as the lips pulled away, everything went black.

Ciríaco was pulled from sleep gently, slowly more and more aware of gentle, colored light hitting his eyelids. Opening his eyes, he found himself in bed, Nico curled up in a small ball against him, Eneida sleeping soundly next to him, Matías in his crib by the bed. It wasn’t quite dark out, the curtain was pulled away from the window enough to allow for the orange light of dusk to filter in, the multicolored glass of the shop across the street catching some of the last rays of sunlight, a prismatic array of colored light spilling over the bed.

Blinking slowly, Ciríaco sighed. He was no stranger to nightmares, but never had they felt so vivid--

It didn’t matter.

Carefully, Ciríaco disentangled from Nico’s small, clutching hands. He looked down at himself, mind still on the nightmare. It wasn’t surprising to find his nightclothes pristine, skin unmarred. When he ran his fingers through his hair, it was free of dirt and twigs, only slightly tangled from sleep. His whole body ached as he stood and grabbed his crutch, but it was hardly unusual, it had been well over a decade since his body had been pain-free. He grabbed a ribbon from the table, carefully tying his hair back; it must have been his imagination when he thought he felt something on the back of his skull, where he remembered that strange being pressing their lips to...

Walking to the kitchen, Ciríaco tried to shake the lingering dread his nightmare had left him with. He reached to open a cupboard, to start making breakfast for his siblings before he had to work. But he stopped, eyes drawn to his fingernails.

Under his fingernails, there were specks of green, like moss. Furrowing his brow, he turned to the door, planning to fetch a bucket of water and wash up, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

Balancing carefully atop the unlocked doorknob, was a barn owl feather.

TRANSLATIONS:

La Caza del Lechuzas: The Hunt of The Lechuzas

Lechuza(s): Word for barn owl. There is a belief in some parts of Mexico and Southern US (a belief I was raised with) that Lechuza is an omen of death and/or illness, and/or are malicious shape-shifting witches.

Ichpui: Ixaili equivalent of Lechuza, while omens and connected to death, they are largely seen as the embodiment of fate and as such should not be looked at or interacted with. They also serve as a psychopomp for dead and lost souls.

The Song (An Ixaili Prayer Song for Xáháipūz Tūlun [Divinitation Night]):

May the lost dead on Xáháipūz Tūlun pass through easy May the Ichpui guide the souls beyond the mortal plane May eyes be shielded from the Divine May mortal hands not cut or touch the thread of fate May the dead remain dead and not return on Xáháipūz Tūlun

Tūniez pùhqouxl zu kiupa wiuñȳ kimei sūni Zehân supeil tutyoleipi ngá zah kimei sūni Pui shū we nguapah kimei ngiñi nūmih wol jùleh shū we kimei sūni Wi shū we Timiou nge Wioulūz atyi sūni Shū ta pùn tsemuol tu puamul ngiñi sūni

May mortals changing the natural order be punished May their dirty hands be severed by fate May their eyes be forever open and their aura numb May their body carry the mark of the dead May they live forever foreign on every land

May the desecrated be returned to Nguozo May the lost be returned to Izâl May the unfortunate be returned to Apū May Izâl return to Nguozo for one day May no one remain lost when the sun returns

#Eldritch IT Speaks #Eldritch IT Writes #ch: Ciríaco #untitled ixaili project #original story #Lechuza #original version was written is 2017 but this version is completely rewritten though for those who may have seen the old story #(which lmao i doubt too many people did)#the basic premise may be familiar

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thebellekeys · 2 years ago

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Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (Mexico)

The Poppy War by RF Kuang (China)

Jade City by Fonda Lee (China)

The Unbroken by CL Clark (Algeria)

Empire of Sand by Tasha Suri (India)

Black Sun by Rebecca Roanhorse (Mesoamerica)

I'm looking for adult fantasy novels inspired by non-Western historical settings. Think Amina Al-Sirafi or The Jasmine Throne (two recent reads I loved). Does anyone have any recommendations?

#these are the first ones that come to mind #but there's many many more i won't lie #from different regions and time periods as well #i just don't have a comprehensive list as yet #but start here

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ninja-muse · 3 years ago

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August 2021 Wrap-Up

Books read, in rough order of personal worth-it-ness:

Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie (At the moment of partition, a baby is born. He is, in some ways, all of India.) - BIPOC, Muslim characters, Hindu secondary characters, #ownvoices

The Ratline - Philippe Sands (The life, and death, of a Nazi war criminal, and the son convinced of his innocence.) - Jewish author, tw: Nazis and their apologists

Project Hail Mary - Andy Weir (A man wakes up with no memory but quickly learns two things: he’s on a spaceship and the sun is dying.)

The Jasmine Throne - Tasha Suri (A maid with a secret, an imprisoned princess, an empire with deep problems.) - BIPOC, 🏳️‍🌈, #ownvoices

We Keep the Dead Close - Becky Cooper (A cold case, one woman’s quest to solve it, and a look at sexism and conservatism in academia.)

Are You a Cheeseburger? - Monica Arnaldo (A raccoon finds a seed that might grow a burger-tree.) - 🇨🇦

The Rocky Road to Ruin - Meri Allen (A travel blogger-cum-CIA librarian helps a friend take over the family ice cream shop. Then the friend’s brother turns up dead.)

The Tea Dragon Society - Kay O'Neill (A girl rescues a tea dragon and finds friendship.) - BIPOC and 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters, 🏳️‍🌈 author

The Lights of Prague - Nicole Jarvis (A lamplighter, a widow, a wisp, and a vampire threat.) - 🏳️‍🌈, BIPOC secondary characters

The Girl from the Sea - Molly Knox Ostertag (A closeted teen meets a selkie on a mission.) - 🏳️‍🌈, BIPOC, #ownvoices

Ghost Stories of Oregon - Susan Smitten (Haunted buildings and spooky stories.)

The Wisteria Society of Lady Scoundrels - India Holton (A lady pirate, multiple dastardly plots, and a surprisingly attractive and infuriating assassin.)

The Glass Magician - Caroline Stevermer (A stage magician learns she belongs to the shapeshifting elite.)

Hardly Haunted - Jessie Sima (An empty old house hides her creaks and cobwebs to entice new residents.)

DNF

Velvet Was the Night - Silvia Moreno-Garcia (A music-loving enforcer and a quiet secretary with a double life both search for a missing student with revolutionary ties.) - BIPOC, #ownvoices, 🇨🇦

Currently reading

The Aeneid - Virgil, translated by Robert Fagles (Aeneas flees Troy and seeks a new homeland for his people.)

How Not to Kill Your Houseplant - Veronica Peerless (Plant care tips.)

The Finder - Will Ferguson (An Interpol agent hunts for a man who can find lost objects.) - 🇨🇦, BIPOC in the main cast

The Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle (Victorian detective stories) - major disabled character

Stats 

Monthly total: 14 Yearly total: 111 + 3   Queer books: 4 #ownvoices POC books: 2 Canadian authors: 1

Read any of these? Interested in them? I’m happy to talk about my thoughts further!

January February March April May June July

#books #booklr #bookblr #reading wrap-ups #read in 2021 #book reviews #rec lists #book recommendations

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whatanoof · 4 years ago

Text

Luck Be the Lady Tonight

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Word Count: ~4.4k

Content: blood, violence, fluff, death, gods who like to fuck around with peoples' minds, oh did I mention swearing yet?

Prequel to I Wished For Your Happiness

Dawn filters across the sky like the coming of the tide. It pushes into the inky twilight gradually, so slowly that one doesn’t notice the changing colors until it’s in full swing. Reds and oranges and yellows and the slightest hint of pink streak across the clouds and chase away every memory of the previous night.

Not that you were awake to see it of course, Max made sure of that last night when he exhausted you with… um… certain activities. But shortly after the dawn, the door to the bedroom creaks, waking you from peaceful sleep to the drowsy world of the waking. The creak is the only warning you get before the seven-year-old boy equivalent of a mortar shell drops onto the covers, bouncing the bed violently and bringing weak protests from the man under the covers to your left.

You thank every star in the faded night sky that Max had the awareness to redress both you and him last night before falling asleep. Good luck.

“Good morning!”

Max groans sleepily and pulls the covers over his head, “Alistair…”

You smile and blink blearily, “Good morning, Alistair.” You stretch under the covers luxuriously, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Come on, come on! We have to go soon!” Every other word is accompanied with another bounce on the sheets, and you wince. Ali is pretty much situated completely on top of the Max-sized lump under the blankets, and that can’t feel good.

“Okay,” You laugh, sneaking out from under the sheets. “Come on, let your dad sleep in just a little bit more. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Silvia usually makes eggs,” You nod. Silvia is Alistair’s nanny that accompanies him back and forth between his parents, but you had given her the weekend off. It was her twenty first birthday, and you only turn twenty-one in America once.

So you decided to take time off too, and to take Alistair for a day on the town. Max had been more reluctant to take the day off, but you’d pestered him until he’d given in. And you’d promised him a weekend of nighttime fun in return, so who was he to deny you? “But I want pancakes!”

You laugh, “Pancakes it is! Chocolate chip, or strawberry?” You don’t even have to ask, you already know that Alistair is going to pick chocolate. That child is just like his father: a ridiculous sweet tooth and too adorable for you to say no to.

You’re halfway through the mixed pancake batter, and Alistair is most of the way through his second pancake by the time Max stumbles into the kitchen, hair mussed and eyes half-open without coffee. It’s a struggle to hide the giggle that threatens to burst from your throat, but you manage and pass him the steaming mug that’s been sitting by the stove to keep warm.

“Woman, you are a true goddess.”

“I know. No need to feed my complex.” You smile as Max hugs you from behind and buries his nose into the crook of your neck before going to sit beside his son.

“Big day planned?”

“Yep.” You flip the last pancake onto the plate. It’s a little crooked, but passable considering your normal amount of cooking talent. “Sight-seeing, museums, walking around…”

“And parks!” Alistair interjects, “And the airplane museum!”

“Of course the airplane museum!” You place the dishes in the sink and pick up your own plate, “You coming, Lorrie?”

“Have some work to do, but I’ll be done before noon.” His shoulders hunch even as you stare him down. “Promise, baby. Something came up right before I left the office last night. It’s urgent.” You raise a single eyebrow at him, and he raises his hands in mock surrender, “I didn’t plan on it. Bad luck, that’s all.”

“I--” You level the dirty spatula at him, “--will take your word for it, Lorrie.”

He grins and stands, taking the kitchen tool from you and gently placing it in the sink. “Thank you, my love.” He folds your hand into both of his and kisses the tip of your nose, and you giggle as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Gross!” Alistair claps both of his hands over his eyes. You and Max laugh together as he detangles himself from you.

“I am going to get dressed.” Max grins at you rakishly before walking over to his son, who still has his hands covering his face. “And you--” He taps Alistair on the nose, and Ali giggles as Max leans in and gives him a hug. “--have a good day at the airplane museums.”

---

The minute you step into the Metropolis Space Museum, Alistair is heads over heels in love. You truly can’t believe that it took the kid seven years to get to the most iconic airplane museum in the city that he grew up in, but his childhood wasn’t exactly normal. You understand Max’s work ethic and schedule all too well, having parents who were workaholics as well. So when you’d first met the starry eyed little kid, you’d silently promised yourself that he was going to have a better childhood than you. You’re not his mother or his nanny, but Max is a dedicated father. And you’ll be dedicated to this kid too.

Alistair sprints through the museum with all of the speed of The Flash himself, and it’s all you can do to keep up with the little ball of energy. You wonder how he’s able to even take in the aircraft with the combination of the speed and his small stature, but this is his day, and you’re just the chauffeur.

He finally hits a wall when he reaches the astronaut exhibit. You’re walking among the space shuttles when you find Alistair gazing up at the Artemis I craft.

“See something you like?” You stop beside Ali and grin down at him. He hasn’t ripped his eyes away from the craft, and you can see the fluorescent lighting reflecting in his dark eyes. You turn to admire the shuttle again.

“That.” Alistair only speaks the one word, and you raise an eyebrow down at him. He’s pointing, “I want to be able to fly in that when I grow up.”

You chuckle, “It’s possible. You work hard, and you can be an astronaut when you grow up.”

“Work hard like Daddy?”

“Yes. Just like your Daddy.” Your gaze softens as you look down at the boy, seeing shades of his father in his determined expression. You check the time on your phone, “Speaking of, he should be meeting us soon. Wanna grab a snack, then we can go see him?”

You can see Ali’s obvious reluctance to leave the exhibit. “Alistair, ice cream…” You trail off with a teasing grin as Alistair turns.

“Yes please!”

You grin, “Alright! Come on.”

Alistair speeds ahead yet again, and your phone buzzes. You take it out, and it’s from work. You send a text off to your partner as you reach the stairs.

Your heel hits the edge of the step wrong. Your heart drops in your chest as you pitch forward, your arms wheeling in the air. A scream lodges in your throat as you fall forwards down the steps.

You land hard on your chest and you feel a stabbing pain in your chest as the air is knocked clean out of your body. Alistair screams your name, and you roll over to find the gazes of dozens of concerned strangers fixated on you as Alistair rushes to you.

“Are you okay?” A woman crouches over you.

You chuckle dryly, the air coming back to your body in small increments. Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, “Yeah, missed that last step. Bad luck, huh?”

“Good luck that it was the last flight. Could have been much worse.” She straightens and extends a hand to help you to your feet. “Anything hurt?”

“Besides my pride? No, I’m fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.” You accept her help and stand, wincing at the residual pain in your chest. You remember what you’d distracted with that led to the misstep, “Where’s my phone?”

Alistair holds his hand out with a solemn look on his face. He’s holding your shattered phone, “I think it’s broken.”

You sigh. Bad luck. “Thank you Alistair. And thank yo--” You turn, but the woman is gone. Huh. Interesting. You look all around you at the bustling crowd, but no one looks familiar, and all of the gapers have gone back to their business. You prop your hands on your hips, “Well. How about some ice cream now?”

---

Max’s brow furrows as he stares down at the glinting ring. A twenty-four karat gold band, platinum setting with tiny obsidian studs and a diamond the size of a pistachio. The ring is exactly his style, and it’s the ring that he always imagined himself buying for the hypothetical girl that he would have if he ever got his work done. But ever since meeting you, he’s been learning to remember that his likes aren’t necessarily the likes of the others.

For example, you don’t like flashy. Which is ridiculous, because his entire existence is flashy, so he can’t begin to imagine how you ever were attracted to him. The memory of your first meeting draws a grin to his lips. But now he knows better after a couple of botched Valentines and anniversary gifts. Your look of horror at the massive bouquet of flowers and yards of chocolate will be forever seared into his mind. Flashy and gaudy is a big no no, though maybe he can make the proposal a little more to his tastes. His gaze is drawn to another ring to his right.

“Excuse me?” The sales associate comes over to him. “Can I see that one?”

---

“Alright, you don’t tell your dad, and I won’t tell either.” You plop the massive ice cream cone into Alistair’s hand before settling down next to him with a cone of similar size.

Alistair grins mischievously at you, “This is a lot of sweets for one day.”

“Ah!” You hold up your free hand, effectively silencing the kid, “Snitches…?”

“Get stitches!” With that, Ali digs into his chocolate fudge cone with sprinkles, and you start with yours, gazing at the city across the water. The beach is empty on an early spring day that is much too cold for swimming. Seagulls screech across the sky, and the sand looks fun and inviting, but Ali seems content to sit beside you on a bench and look across the water at Gotham City.

The sun is shining, the water is glowing in the afternoon sun, and it’s a perfect afternoon. Until an explosion rocks the building that you’d been admiring in Gotham City across the bay and the miniscule figure of a supervillain appears as a shadow in the dust. You sigh. Bad luck. “View ruined.”

Alistair shrugs, “Pretty. Big booms are cool.”

“Since when do you like explosions?”

Alistair looks up at you, and makes a zooming motion with his hand before mimicking a takeoff with massive engine explosions. Oh. Right.

You finish your ice cream and reach for your phone to check the time before remembering that it’s broken. “Hey, Ali. What time is it?”

He shows you with his little digital watch, and it’s half past noon. Max is probably looking for you. You rummage in your pocket for some change, and pull out the coins to count them. Oh good, you have a quarter left over from the ice cream cones.

“Come on, we’re going to find a pay phone.” Alistair stands and follows you off of the beach and towards the street.

Only, I shit you not, a chunk of building hits the water with a boom near shore, and water explodes into the sky like a geyser. Debris scatters the beach, and you wince as you see the amount of rocks that hit the bench where you had been sitting not five minutes before. You stare for a split second, then over at Gotham, where you can see the supervillain hefting cement chunks over his head and lobbing them at a speck in the sky. That’s an interesting combination of luck that you’re not sure you want to dissect mentally at the moment.

Alistair whines, “How did we miss Superman in the sky?!”

---

Max walks out of the museum, squinting in the sun as he fumbles in his pocket for his phone. You’d said that you would be at the museum until afternoon, but he’d waited at the entrance for an hour and you and Ali never came out. He calls you, but the line rings to voicemail.

The little velvet box weighs heavy in his breast pocket. It almost feels like it is burning a hole in his chest with how hyper aware he is of the promise pressing on his chest. He can’t even remember when he woke up feeling like this. Well, of course he only recognized the feeling today, but he’s been feeling it for sometime now. That swelling in his chest when he looks at you, the one that seems to increase everytime he sees you with Alistair, or when you’re laughing, or when you raise that single infuriating eyebrow that communicates every feeling of skepticism within your body. It’s been building over the past years, it’s not new. The label is new, it’s the one that he realized this morning after you got up and promised Alistair pancakes for breakfast.

He’s ready to make this promise. He’s ready to swear to spend the rest of his life with you. Now, if only he could find you. Bad luck, it would seem.

His phone rings right as he pulls it out of his pocket, and he glances at the caller ID. It’s you, and he swipes the ‘answer’ icon excitedly and raises the phone to his ear.

“Hey, I’m at the museum, where are you?”

You sound a little harried, “A payphone near Stryker Beach. Sorry, my phone’s busted up, so I couldn’t tell you that we left the museum.”

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll come get you. Give me an address.” He swipes around on his phone until he gets to his maps, but he’s interrupted by a resounding boom on the other end of the line. “What was that?”

“Nothing. There’s another Gotham villain, and Superman is fighting him over the bay. On second thought, you probably shouldn’t come here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you two could be in danger.” He already has the car keys in his hand when you cut him off.

“Lorrie.” Your voice is every bit as intimidating over the phone as it is in real life. “Stay there. Traffic is awful over here anyway, we could walk to the museum and back twice by the time you get through it. See you in a few.” He can’t wait, excitement thrilling in his chest even as worry tamps it down a little.

---

His palms are sweating. Why are his palms sweating? He hasn’t been this nervous since his first kickstarter campaign for Black Gold Corporations. He’s scanning the crowd for any sign of you and Alistair, though he’s simultaneously dreading your appearance as much as he’s anticipating it.

There! He sees a flash of your hair through the mass of people, and then you’re standing on the other side of the major street, gorgeous and windswept and smiling at him while holding Alistair’s hand. Cars whizz through the intersection, but even the minor interruptions in his line of sight to you can’t detract from your beauty. Fuck, he’s nervous,

So nervous, apparently, that he fumbles his phone and drops it on the sidewalk. As he bends over to pick it up, the velvet box slips out of his pocket and falls to the ground with a small thunk that may as well have been the impact sound of a meteor.

His gaze darts up nervously at you, and your eyes are glued to the small black box. They flick back to his, and read the nerves as clear as the day. Understanding floods through your face, then shock, then your mouth falls open and he can hear your joyful laugh from where he crouches twenty feet away.

Shit. He had wanted to do it differently. Maybe by the massive fountain, or on the Ferris Wheel by the bay. Something that brings a little bit of pizzazz and flash and romance, something that is distinctly him. But he sees the giddy look in your eye and everything else falls away.

The pedestrian sign flicks on, and the rest of the crowd starts moving across the street, pushing you and Alistair with the flow of people. Your hand still firmly grasps Ali’s as you move across the street, and his heart fills at the sight of your love for his son and steadies his hand as he picks up the box and opens it towards you. His knees bend, and he sinks to the hard concrete, awaiting your approach.

His knee is centimeters away from the sidewalk when a swoosh echoes overhead and Superman rips through the intersection. The crowd tracks him with a rush of murmurs, but you’re still watching Max and walking forward with a spark in your eye.

Then the gunfire starts. Everyone ducks as Lex Luthor’s latest mech suit flies overhead in pursuit of the flying hero. Bullets whizz through the air, pinging off of telephone poles and shattering windows. You’re only a fraction behind the crowd, your eyes widening in panic as you finally notice your surroundings. Max is frozen in time, watching you cover Alistair with your own body. Bad luck.

Then the spell breaks, and everyone is running and screaming, and Max’s heart rises into his throat. He loses sight of you in the middle of the road, and he stumbles to his feet and begins shoving through the crowd.

“Alistair!” He screams your name too, but his voice is lost in the surrounding noise.

Finally, finally, he catches sight of your hunched form in the middle of the road. Right as he sees you, your head raises and begins scanning around you, and he allows himself to breathe. Good luck.

He grabs your arm and yanks you to your feet, his other hand securing around Alistair’s upper arm. Then he’s moving and dragging you to the other side of the street. You’re almost there, you’re almost safe when the explosion happens.

It’s small, a stray thermal charge that’s miniscule compared to the previously witnessed destruction. But a shudder passes through your group. Max’s heart sinks in his chest and he turns to look. Alistair is staring up at you with a look of complete horror on his face. Your hand lets go of Max’s, drifting up to your chest where a bloodstain is rapidly spreading over your chest. Your eyes meet Max’s, and then your eyes roll back in your head and you pass out.

---

The ambulance ride is a blur. Alistair is crying into his chest, and it’s all Max can do to keep it together while he holds your hand. You’re still unconscious, but the ambulance had gotten there fast, and you’d been one of the only casualties in the intersection. Hope. He has to hope, because he has to hold it together for Ali.

Words float around his head from the paramedics, words like random, ricochet, shrapnel, and bad luck. Bad luck. Fury swells in him. Your life is worth more to him than simple bad luck. Villain or hero, how can it matter? Who gave them the right to leave charges in public places, to scatter bullets like rice on a wedding day?

But what can he do about simple bad luck? What can he do about super-powered people who hold the power of gods in their hands? The answer is nothing, not right now anyway, because Alistair needs him, and you need him, and he will bide his time.

---

You wake up when the ambulance gets to the hospital. The gurney jostles as they lift you down from the ambulance and he wants to yell at the paramedics. But he holds himself back. Your voice echoes in his head, ‘They’re just trying to do their jobs, Lorrie. Leave them alone.”

So he does, clinging to you as your eyelids flutter. “Lorrie?” Your voice is a painful rasp that hurts in his own chest. You tighten your grip, bringing your interlocked hands up against your chest, slightly to the right of the roughly bandaged wound.

“I’m here.” He grips your hand all the more tightly, pressing a kiss to your knuckle. You murmur something, and he doesn’t catch it the first time. He leans in, “What? Say it again, baby.”

“Yes.” You whisper into his ear. With shaking hands, Max takes out the little black box and puts the ring on your bloody finger. It’s a simple gold band, curling around a teardrop onyx gem. Perfectly you and him. You only have time to lift your hand to gaze at the ring before you're whisked away to surgery. Max is left standing there with empty hands, feeling like the world has been yanked from his grasp.

---

When you wake up again, the world is sterile and cold and Max is gone. Your hand instantly flies to your chest, where the phantom wound throbs. But your hand grazes over nothing but your own skin and clothes. A glance downwards confirms your suspicions. The wound is gone, the ugly shrapnel vaporized as if it never existed.

But the glance down confirms another suspicion that only just started brewing in the back of your mind, one that you hadn’t dared to confront.

“Am I dead?” Your eyes widen in shock, and you reach to touch your lips. They hadn’t moved, and yet you had heard your own voice echoing into the void. You whip around, your toes hovering above the surgical table where your body rests. Surgical tools scatter around the trays, and the monitor emits a continuous, flat tone. Doctors lay down their tools, taking off their masks and caps with an air of exhausted defeat. Your body is still, covered in tubes and sheets so that you can barely see a hint of gray skin. Fuck, Max is going to be devastated.

“In a way.” The voice is wonderfully melodic, and you look to find that one of the doctors is staring at you while the rest look right through you. Her mask is still up, but there is a familiar air about her that you can’t place. “You are caught in-between right now, unable to move on, but unable to return.”

“So, purgatory?” Again, your disembodied voice speaks the words directly from your mind.

She laughs, and the tinkle settles somewhere deep in your soul. “No. Powers of another sort, past the Catholic tradition.”

You work your jaw, testing it before mouthing the words along with your voice. It just feels right, more natural. “I don’t understand. I’m trapped here?”

“Not trapped. Suspended, perhaps.” Her eyes are a piercing gray. “The Lords’ refuse to let you go. One might say that it’s luck. Good or bad, depending on if you are scared of what’s after. I hear you and Maxwell like to keep count.”

You blink. She’s right. You and Lorrie had a running joke that bad luck seemed to follow the both of you wherever you went. Today had been especially heavy with bad luck. “And if I’m not scared?”

“Luck is entirely dependent on perspective, child. But, I will admit, your death was more accident than anything.” There’s a cold, callous tone in her voice as she remarks about your death as no more than a minor inconvenience. “Couldn’t have been avoided, and that’s true bad luck.” Her brow furrows, then it lightens and she claps her hands, “But, good luck now! You get to go back!”

Your spirits lift. Back to Earth. Back to Alistair and Max. Max. You bring your right hand up in front of you. The ring is gone.

“Missing something?”

Your gaze darts back up to the woman, and she’s holding the ring to the false light, examining it closely. You try to keep the tremor out of your voice, “That’s mine. Give it back.”

She gives you a long side-eye, “You do not command me, girl.” You shudder at the tone of her voice, vibrating through your non-existent body and threatening to dissipate it. You grit your teeth, and continue to stare her down. She raises an eyebrow, and you think that it’s a look of approval in her eyes. “But, I suppose it is yours. Catch.” She tosses the band back to you, and you snatch it from the air. She continues, “Consider that my token to you. A favor from luck itself. Not many mortals ever gain such an item.”

“I don’t care what it is to you.” You only care about what it means to you and Max. It’s a promise. There had been a shared understanding in the emergency room, that you probably wouldn’t make it. And that understanding had been correct. But he promised anyway, and you’d promised him right back. “Who are you?”

“Lady Luck, at your service.” She winks, pulling her mask down finally. It’s the woman from the museum, but there’s a different air about her. An air of power that didn’t exist back on Earth hovers in her every word and motion.

A chime echoes through the air, and Lady Luck straightens. “That’s my cue. Don’t worry, you won’t remember this encounter when you wake up on Earth.”

“What was the point of this conversation if I’m not going to remember it?”

She looks back at you with a hint of humor in her eyes. “There wasn’t one. Just me testing out my wisdom on a mortal. Don’t get much chance for that anymore.”

“Any last wisdom then?” Your lips twist in a wry grin.

Lady Luck regards you, “Luck isn’t everything. But it isn’t nothing. Remind your Lorrie of that for me.” Then she turns and waves her hand, and the world filters to blackness around you.

A/N: This made me sad, but it was actually pretty fun to write and play around in the DC universe. I don't get over there much, it's mostly Marvel over in Oofville these days. But yes, now I'm expanding this universe as well too, because it's not like I don't already have enough WIP yet. It's fine, it's all going to be fine.

But Max's planning for the engagement?! Gave me life, it made me so happy.

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross

#maxwell lord x reader #death #angst #sad feels #fluff #gods are kinda bitches in fake universes

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