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baoshan-sanren · 4 years ago

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Chapter 37

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Fuck the Canon: Happy Endings For Everyone

There is no tea.

Not only is there no tea, but the Emperor’s small private study, located just beyond his personal chambers, is distinctly lacking in any accommodations necessary to serve or consume tea.

Ordinarily, WangJi would find himself irritated, even by such a harmless deception. After five days spent in the Immortal Mountain, however, he finds that he has become more patient. Perhaps not with others, but certainly with the Emperor, whose careless attitude and playful nature seem to conceal a much more complex character, one that WangJi has grown to respect.

The Lan Sect does not listen to gossip, but their new lodgings in the Jade Sword Palace make gossip impossible to avoid. Wei WuXian had lingered by WangJi’s side long past midnight, sunrise only hours away by the time they had finally parted. Yet, great many things seem to have happened since then, each one significant enough to shake the Immortal Mountain to its roots.

Before noontime tea, the Young Master of the Jin Sect had seen his betrothal annulled, the Jiang Sect had fallen out of favor, Sect Leader Nie had been given a title, and the Council seems to hover on the verge of being dissolved.

WangJi cannot begin to guess what all of these events mean, separate or together, but he knows that Wei WuXian could not have possibly had a sufficient amount of sleep. He also knows that the world of court schemes and maneuverings, as distasteful as he finds it to be, is an inevitable reality of Wei WuXian’s existence. A part of him is even slightly curious, tentatively attempting to forge a connection between these seemingly unconnected events. Another part of him feels pity, that Wei WuXian cannot begin his day without some sort of upheaval.

Even now, standing by the desk, wrapped in the heavy, intricate layers of the Imperial dragon robes, the Emperor is all exhaustion and tension. Less than a dozen hours have passed since they had seen each other last; WangJi had spent those hours in the peace and silence of the Imperial guest chambers. Wei WuXian looks as if he had spent them on the battleground, fighting for his life.

Still, when he sees WangJi, his face tranforms.

“Lan Zhan.”

WangJi nods in response. He is not sure when he had become fond of the way Wei WuXian says his name, but he can no longer deny the inevitable elation following on its heels. Each time, his name comes with an accompanying smile, and each time, that smile is for him alone.

“I hope you were not expecting tea,” Wei WuXian says ruefully.

WangJi does not dignify that with a response. One must adjust their expectations when faced with an Emperor who runs barefoot over the rooftops, and becomes unreasonably excited over rabbits.

“Uh, right,” Wei WuXian says, “there is something I need you to see.”

The bookcase behind the desk is filled to bursting. Perhaps, if it were only used to hold books, there would be plenty of space, and little to no chaos. But Wei WuXian seems to have filled the shelves with anything that could fit, and many things that could not, creating a precarious mess of objects that could topple at the smallest disturbance. There are numerous jade figurines of all sizes, small pots, boxes and ink stones, a few odd shapes that resemble children’s toys, books and scrolls crammed in between the objects, all with no sense or order.

It is a surprise when Wei WuXian manages to pull out three books and a flat box hiding behind them, without knocking anything to the ground. WangJi realizes that he has shifted to stand on his toes, fully expecting to have to provide assistance, or perhaps even protection from any wayward object that may come flying off the shelf to cause potential injury. No such thing occurs, however, and he places his heels back down, feeling silly for his overabundance of caution.

The flat box looks plain and light. Inside, it holds a single piece of paper, although it is immediately obvious that the paper is an Imperial Order, the Emperor’s stamp bright and bold, and difficult to miss.

WangJi does not expect Wei WuXian to simply offer the paper for perusal, without ceremony, and without any hint as to what the Order holds.

He is even more confused once he realizes that the paper is actually a declaration of succession. In the event of Wei WuXian’s death, the throne is to pass to--

He blinks. The Imperial Order is not long, for there is not much to the actual succession except naming the heir. Still, WangJi reads it again, just to be certain that he has not read the name in error.

He has not.

Well.

While he is reading, Wei WuXian is fidgeting. The dragon robes are not designed for such impatient movement, and WangJi resists the urge to grab him by the shoulders, and tell him to stop plucking at the golden thread on his sleeves. The robe probably costs more than thirty villages are capable of producing in a year.

He offers the paper back.

“I do not understand.”

“Which part?” Wei WuXian says slowly, and WangJi blinks at him.

Is there more than one part to the succession? No, he has read it twice.

“I do not understand why I need to know this,” WangJi clarifies.

“Oh,” Wei WuXian says, smiling again, but it is a nervous smile, as jittery as his hands, “This-- it is important. The-- line of succession. The person I intend to marry should know that the heir has already been chosen.”

WangJi narrows his eyes. He feels as if he had missed a part of their conversation.

His mind inevitably turns to the rumors that had flown rampant in the palace that same morning; the new title granted to the Nie Sect Leader, the dissolution of the Young Master Jin’s betrothal, and the possible dissolution of the Council.

Does-- Wei WuXian mean to marry Jin ZiXuan? It is a preposterous idea. Absolutely ridiculous.

But even so, WangJi suddenly finds that Jin ZiXuan cannot be allowed to live. WangJi will challenge him to a fight, then remove each and every one of his limbs, starting with his head. This should not be difficult to accomplish.

“You are angry,” Wei WuXian says, “I should have-- perhaps I should not have begun with the line of succession. I am not good at--“ he waves his hand, as if the motion is somehow supposed to make his words less incoherent.

He looks agitated and unhappy, and WangJi wants to help, but he is not sure how.

“You want to marry,” he says, trying to establish some logical narrative.

“Yes,” Wei WuXian says, “I want to marry. And before you disagree, I am aware that five days is an extremely limited amount of time to truly get to know another person. I have already gotten a lecture about this from A-Sang. And I have already gotten a lecture from your uncle, who can be extremely rude while remaining polite, a skill I admire, but do not want to confront again. Not if I can help it. And I-- I know life in the Immortal Mountain is probably not what you had in mind if-- if you had marriage in mind. Before today. But I think-- if you are willing to give it a chance, I could make you happy. I would like to try. To make you happy.”

There is a lag in WangJi’s understanding, as each sentence needs to be rearranged in his own mind, just so he can comprehend its meaning. Still, even with the lag, it takes him an abominably long time to fully grasp what Wei WuXian is saying.

Once he does, he finds himself shocked into stillness.

“Are you--“ Wei WuXian looks as if he means to move closer, than stops himself at the last moment, “You look-- more angry now. Than before. I understand that this is not an ideal proposal, what with the-- lack of gifts and ceremony and everything else, but--“

He sighs, apparently forgetting that his hair is neatly arranged, because his fingers make a mess of it in moments.

“An offer of marriage should not make you angry, Lan Zhan. I thought we-- does the idea of it bother you that much?”

WangJi needs to speak. Wei WuXian is capable of drawing thousands of incorrect conclusions before WangJi can formulate a single sentence, and WangJi needs to prevent this from happening, as soon as possible. But what is he supposed to say?

Clarify. This is always a good strategy, especially with Wei WuXian.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” WangJi says carefully, fully expecting Wei WuXian to laugh and deny it.

He believes that he had made his peace with the fact that the Emperor really likes him, whatever that means, when coming from a Divine Ruler. But marriage is-- something else entirely.

Even saying it out loud sounds ridiculous.

“Yes!” Wei WuXian exclaims, “Yes, I am asking you to marry me.”

“Why?” WangJi blurts out, incredulous.

“Why?” Wei WuXian repeats, the dumfounded expression on his face a perfect reflection of WangJi’s own feelings, “wh-- what do you mean, why? Because I fell in love with you. Why else would I marry someone?”

“You--“ WangJi’s throat is completely dry, and seems to have shrank into nothingness.

It is difficult to breathe, let alone form words.

This is utterly ridiculous. The most ridiculous thing WangJi has even heard, seen, or experienced, in his entire life.

And yet, he wants to hear it again. He wants Wei WuXian to say it again. The rush he had felt at those words cannot be described. It is obliterating.

Wei WuXian inches closer, his posture careful, “I still cannot tell when you are just angry, or so furious that you might try and kill me, so-- do not try and kill me? I should have probably led with the declaration of love, huh? I can try again. Lan Zhan, I am in love with you. I would really like it if you would marry me, and become the Emperor Consort. Your uncle has already given permission, and the Council is about to do so as well, or Empire will no longer have a Council. The throne already has an heir, so the succession is nothing to worry about. And since I cannot imagine sharing my life with anyone else, I can swear to take no other spouse, as long as we are both alive in the world. Is that better? Did--“

WangJi does not plan to move.

He does not plan anything. The chaos of thoughts and emotions rushing through his mind can hardly be called thinking, let alone planning. Therefore, he is astonished to find himself acting so brashly. But Wei WuXian does not waste a single moment with something so banal as surprise.

His arms immediately wrap around WangJi’s shoulders, as if they belong there. There is a faint, lingering taste of pears and honey on his lips. His mouth is soft, his breaths hot and fast, his heartbeat a forceful thunder against WangJi’s chest. The exquisite texture of the Imperial dragon robe under his hands has nothing on the actual shape of Wei WuXian’s waist. WangJi can feel the ridges of his spine through the material, enticing but also fragile, and raked with barely perceptible tremors.

Wei WuXian smiles against his mouth, then laughs, his lips pressing a quick kiss to the tip of WangJi’s nose.

“Is that a yes?” he says, “Please tell me that means yes.”

WangJi is not yet capable of forming words. An extremely advantageous hindrance, because he cannot simply accept an offer of marriage, regardless of his feelings.

The bright smile on Wei WuXian’s face begins to fade, and WangJi feels panic, that he cannot explain himself quickly and succinctly, the way the situation demands.

“Lan Zhan?”

“I cannot accept,” WangJi says.

Wei WuXian blinks at him, then shifts slightly, as if to pull away. WangJi refuses to release him, his arms wrapping more securely around the silk-clad waist, fingers clutching handfuls of delicate material.

Perhaps he does so with more strength and urgency than necessary, because Wei WuXian stumbles, catching himself against WangJi’s chest.

“I want to accept,” he clarifies, “but I cannot. I must speak to uncle first.”

“Oh,” Wei WuXian says, “That-- but he-- I have already spoken to your uncle.”

“You have spoken to many people,” WangJi points out, “Everyone whose opinion you care to hear. Other than myself.”

Wei WuXian huffs, his restless fingers now plucking at the thread of WangJi’s robes instead of his own. WangJi would grab his hands to prevent it, but this would mean releasing his hold, and he does not think he is capable of doing so, at least not yet.

“I should be allowed to do the same,” WangJi says, “You must give me time.”

Wei WuXian’s fingers have now found their way to the collar of WangJi’s robes, and the brush of them against the skin of his neck is extremely distracting. The logical part of his brain insists that this is an inappropriate way to have a serious conversation. A marriage, especially one that would make him the Emperor Consort to the Divine Ruler of the Shan Empire is perhaps the most serious conversation that can possibly be conceived.

But Wei WuXian’s hair smells like pears, sweet and heavy, and he keeps biting his already reddened lip. The other part of WangJi’s brain, the one that does not care for logic or propriety, insists that he should stop speaking and kiss him again, regardless of the seriousness of the conversation.

Lan Zhan, I am in love with you.

His arms tighten of their own volition, and Wei WuXian huffs out a laugh. It is a small laugh however, and there is and nervous edge to it, carrying over into his voice.

“How much time? Because-- what if-- what if you think about it, and then-- decide that you do not want to marry me?”

“Then, I suppose you will have to marry Nie HuaiSang,” WangJi deadpans.

Wei WuXian splutters for a few moments, the expression on his face rapidly shifting from shock to displeasure to pure exasperation. Considering how many times Wei WuXian has managed to exasperate him in turn, WangJi does not feel bad.

“Do not joke,” Wei WuXian says, “I am serious. Your uncle had given permission, but he does not like me, and he will tell you all the reasons why marrying me is a terrible--“

“Wei Ying,” WangJi says, effectively cutting off the flow of words, “I want to marry you. I will not change my mind. But you must give me time.”

He is utterly unprepared for Wei WuXian’s bright smile, the warm glow of delight that washes over his face, the tiny crinkles in the corners of his eyes. He is even less prepared to be kissed again, but he is more than willing, Wei WuXian’s mouth eagerly searching for his own.

They should have spent the past five days kissing. Any moment that WangJi had not been kissing Wei WuXian now feels an unacceptable waste of time, one he has every intention to remedy. Although Wei WuXian seems as invested in this plan as he is, he cannot seem to help smiling into the kiss, his lips often darting to press to WangJi’s cheek, his chin, the side of his nose. It is sweet and silly, his restless excitement, and WangJi is now certain that Wei WuXian had been right.

He will be more than capable of making WangJi happy.

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carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

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Next Cinderella AU part ahoy! Time for the whole world to know who the owner of the mysterious slipper left at Florence’s ball -- King Cosimo’s one true love and savior -- truly is...

Makeup in the 17th century was rather limited, though in the later half of the century, rococo fashion brought very pale skin and red lips into vogue in the upper classes, so nobles took to putting on white face paint and powder, rouge, and finally bright red lip color. The closest thing to foundation in the 16th and 17th centuries was Venetian ceruse, an expensive skin whitener made of water, vinegar, and lead. Needless to say, given that last ingredient, it’s unsurprising that using a lot of it would result in hair loss and lead poisoning. People in the 17th century also took to wearing “beauty patches,” or pieces of velvet or silk cut into pretty shapes, to cover up scars or blemishes.

“Lavender’s Blue” is a traditional folk song referenced in Disney’s live action adaptation of Cinderella.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Andre’s plan went into action first thing the next morning. He, KC, and Erika had stayed up all night finalizing their preparations. By the time the clock had struck nine AM, the entire country of Royaume was buzzing with the news that the King of Florence had miraculously survived an assassination plot at the Masquerade and now sought out the “mysterious princess” who had so thoroughly charmed him there so as to make her his queen.

As KC had predicted, soon everyone in the kingdom was preparing for Prince Andre’s arrival so that the eligible young women in their houses could try on the slipper so as to “prove” they were the maiden who had saved King Cosimo. One of those such homes ended up being the Cromwell estate.

Charles Cromwell had been furious to discover that Carewyn had mysteriously disappeared from the still locked tower room without a trace. He’d resolved to use all of his resources to track her down and drag her back home, once breakfast was through. One can imagine that Charles was even less pleased, however, when over that very breakfast he learned the news that Orion had survived the assassination attempt. When he’d seen the scar of Orion’s name appear on his forearm under those of Jacob and Carewyn’s the previous night, he’d thought that it meant that Malfoy and Rakepick were able to tie up the loose ends in his absence, just as he’d told them to. Now it seemed that Orion had just barely managed to survive a dance with Death unscathed...and so not only were his co-conspirators likely in custody, but peace between Florence and Royaume was now a foregone conclusion.

But, it seemed, there was still one chance the Cromwell family could still get ahead. Charles was rather confident that Rakepick wouldn’t turn on him, and Lord Malfoy was unlikely to be believed by either King, given the position Charles had at King Henri’s side and the established friction between Malfoy and Orion. And even if Rakepick was foolish enough to try to betray him, it would be her word against his -- and he knew his word would win out with King Henri, in the end. And now, according to Andre’s decree, the person who could fit the mysterious slipper left at the ball would become the King of Florence’s bride...Queen of an entire country. It was an opportunity Charles knew he couldn’t be foolish enough to pass up -- and so he set about preparing Dahlia, Iris, and Heather for Andre’s arrival.

“My intelligence informs me that the shoe is an unusual size,” Charles instructed them, “so we shall do our very best to ensure that one of you is able to wear it.”

And so the three of Claire’s daughters’ feet were bound in thick bandages under their stockings, compressing their toes so as to make their feet smaller. It was very painful -- all three young women were unable to fight back tears as they waited in the sitting room for Andre’s arrival. They weren’t in much state to walk, so their mother Claire fussed over them by fetching them sweets and peppering them with advice about how to play off their tears as being tears of joy at the thought that they’d see “their precious Cosimo” again.

At long last, after an entire morning and afternoon of trying the shoe on many hundreds of women, Andre arrived at the Cromwell estate, KC and Erika in tow. As planned, not one of the women could wear Carewyn’s shoe -- there were a few who managed to get it on, but were unable to keep it on for very long, whether because it fell off due to being too large or because it was too painfully tight. Andre had had to go out of his way to have the shoe cleaned multiple times throughout the day, so as to make sure it stayed in good condition. One woman had even gone so far as to cut her own toe off to try to make the shoe fit, and Andre had furiously put his foot down, refusing to let someone ruin his work of art with blood stains.

Andre’s arrival at the Cromwell estate was strategically timed to be one of the very last homes with eligible maidens visited. And when Andre greeted Charles Cromwell, decked out in his finest purple and gold velvet tunic, he played it remarkably cool.

“Your Highness,” Charles Cromwell said in a very demure voice. Although his children Blaise, Pearl, and Claire all bowed or curtseyed, he merely gave a respectful bow of his head. “We are truly humbled to welcome you to our home.”

Andre gave a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you, Lord Cromwell.”

His eyes flitted down to Charles’s right wrist, obscured by his long, flowing black sleeve, and then over at KC, whose eyes were slightly narrowed.

“Father was a bit disappointed when you and your family left the ball so early,” said Andre smoothly.

Charles gave something of a resigned sigh. “Yes, well, my grandson Tristan was up well past his bedtime -- Blaise is very meticulous in maintaining such things.”

His eyes then narrowed almost curiously upon Andre’s face. “Rest assured, had I known how the ball would end, I would have remained by your father’s side until the last.”

“I have no doubt of it,” said Andre, just barely managing to keep his voice level. “Your presence would’ve been very helpful, under the circumstances...”

“You mean in answering to the allegations thrown at Lord Cromwell’s feet?” said Erika in a rather blunt voice.

Blaise, Pearl, and Claire all stiffened. Charles himself, however, didn’t react with any surprise -- instead he only raised his eyebrows.

“‘Allegations?’” he repeated very coolly.

Andre acted dismissive. “The magician captured for the attempt on King Cosimo’s life spun a tale of you having hired her to cast the dark spell on him.”

Charles feigned incredulity. “I, hire a magician? Whatever for?”

“She raved about you supposedly conspiring with a Florentine lord to assassinate King Cosimo and sabotage all chance for a proper peace treaty between him and Father,” Andre rambled on, almost the way he would talk to Carewyn about his upcoming fashion design projects. “Naturally, Father and Mother spoke for you and reassured his Majesty that you would never do such a thing.”

“But of course, your Highness,” said Charles. Despite the humility of his mask-like face, his blue eyes flickered with something like satisfaction. “It’s my and my family’s greatest privilege, to serve yours. Why would I ever harm a man who your family sees as a prospective friend and ally?”

“You see, Erika?” said Andre with a wry smile. “I told you Lord Cromwell would set the record straight.”

Erika crossed her arms, her brows high over her narrowed eyes. “Anyone can spout pretty words. That Florentine Lord spouted plenty of them, before the scar on his arm exposed his guilt.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Erika.

“You doubt my loyalty to the Royaumanian Crown, Lady Rath?” he asked softly.

“I don’t trust people who talk more than they act,” said Erika, perfectly undaunted.

“A proper sentiment for a child who thinks so little that she has even less to say,” sneered Blaise.

“Blaise,” Pearl hissed at him reproachfully.

Erika shot Blaise a very hard look. “You can’t be thinking that much, if you’re not taking your father being accused of treason seriously.”

“Erika,” Andre said sharply, as Pearl grabbed a hold of Blaise’s arm to stop him from striding forward and possibly retaliating. “Father has categorically stated that Lord Cromwell couldn’t have been involved with the plot to kill King Cosimo. And I agree with him -- no blood relation of Carewyn’s could possibly have been involved in something so cruel...”

The mention of Carewyn seemed to make all three of Charles’s children’s eyes darken. In Pearl’s was frustration; Claire’s, irritation; Blaise’s, resentment.

“I agree,” KC said, her eyes drifting over to Charles thoughtfully. “Still, it might be good to set Erika’s mind at ease. Lord Cromwell, would you please show us your right forearm?”

There was a strange flicker in Charles’s eyes. “My arm? Whatever for?”

“All those involved with the casting of a dark spell show visible evidence of it,” said KC pleasantly. “The Florentine Lord and the magician both had it on their arms -- if you weren’t involved, then you wouldn’t have that same proof on yours.”

Charles gave a mild shrug. “Very well, then...”

He lifted his sleeve and held his arm aloft.

The skin was ghostly pale and faintly wrinkled...and yet utterly devoid of any scarring or blood-red letters.

Andre, KC, and Erika all gave a visible start. Charles’s lips spread into a very cool smile.

“There now,” he said as he lowered his arm and shook his sleeve back down into place, “I hope that has...put to rest your concerns.”

His diamond-like eyes shifted to Andre.

“Shall we move to the drawing room, your Highness? My granddaughters should be practicing their needlework there, should you wish them to try on that infamous slipper...”

Andre shot KC and Erika an slightly uneasy glance.

“...Yes,” said Andre at last. “Please, do lead on, Lord Cromwell.”

Charles’s cold smile broadened as he stepped aside to let them enter the manor house. Andre strolled forward, his eyes lingering on Charles’s sleeve as he went.

This didn’t make any sense...Charles clearly had been involved. He couldn’t have hired another magician to cast an illusion on his arm, could he?

But, Andre thought, if it were an illusion, then the injury would still be there, even if people couldn’t see it...just like a beauty patch or...

A thought congealing in his head, the Crown Prince of Royaume purposefully stumbled over his own two feet while crossing the threshold. In his fall, he latched onto Charles Cromwell’s right forearm, clutching it hard as he tried to catch himself in a crouched position. Despite himself, Charles couldn’t stop himself from letting out a bellow of pain.

“Oh...my deepest apologies, Lord Cromwell,” said Andre, his eyes very sharp despite the pleasantry of his expression.

He gave another few sharp clenches to Charles’s arm as he hoisted himself back up onto his feet. When he removed his hand from Charles’s, Andre could see some blood trailing out from under Charles’s sleeve, tinted with what looked like something powdery white.

“Ceruse, Lord Cromwell?” Andre said in a very cool voice. “Hardly a suitable healing tonic, for an open wound.”

He shot Erika a significant look. Erika launched herself forward, grabbing onto Charles. All three of Charles’s children made as if to pull her off of him and Charles wrestled in her grip, but it was no use -- within seconds, she’d yanked Charles’s sleeve back up, to reveal a mess of powdery white ceruse stained with blood. Yanking out her handkerchief from the inside of her dress pocket, KC rubbed the residue away, to reveal the same three names that had scarred Patricia Rakepick’s arm.

Jacob Cromwell.

Carewyn Cromwell.

King Cosimo Amari VII.

Blaise, Pearl, and Claire all recoiled.

“Father?” Claire said shakily.

“That should be enough proof to corroborate Patricia Rakepick’s testimony,” said Andre, “both about the assassination plot and about what you did to Carewyn and her brother.”

All hints of pleasantry had left his face as he stared Charles down.

“Lord Cromwell -- for high treason against the Crown of Royaume, I sentence you to be imprisoned immediately and executed at dawn. Erika -- lock him in irons, to be brought back to the palace.”

Charles’s face had become very pale and mask-like, his eyes very wide and dark with shock, rage, and terror. Pearl and Claire both looked horrified. Blaise -- as shocked as he was -- recovered first when Erika tried to drag his father away. He initially made as if to grab at Erika, but immediately pulled back, his hand clasping at mid-air. Instead he whirled on Andre, his eyes very wide with something oddly panic-stricken.

“Your Highness -- please reconsider! My father is old, he’s not in the highest of faculties -- ”

“Everything he’s done suggests otherwise,” said KC rather coolly.

“Please, your Highness,” Blaise plowed on regardless, “my father has always been loyal to the Crown -- he’s served your family faithfully for so many years, just like all of us have -- ”

“For his own benefit,” scoffed Erika.

“Think of his family, your Highness!” Blaise said in a louder, even more forceful voice, almost trying to block Erika out. “Think of where we would be, without our patriarch! Don’t take him away from his children -- his grandchildren...I will take over all of his responsibilities, as head of our family, if you only release him to my custody...”

Andre wasn’t moved by Blaise’s pleas, but he considered the older man critically for a moment as Erika locked Charles onto the boot of the coach.

“You will never sway me to spare your father, Master Cromwell,” the Prince of Royaume said sharply. “However...there might be one person who could. The mysterious princess who King Cosimo wishes to wed heard of the assassination plot your father has been implicated in and came to the ball in disguise to warn him.”

Pearl gave a start. “That girl...was there to protect him?”

Charles actually straightened up slightly on the boot of the coach. His face was still mask-like and his eyes were still very dark and hollow, but he was clearly listening intently.

“She not only won the King’s heart, but ultimately saved his life,” said Andre. “Even going so far as to shield him from the spell’s effects with her own body without a shred of hesitation. She’s a hero: one that soon all of Florence and Royaume will rightly celebrate as a champion of peace.”

Andre indicated Charles with an offhand incline of his head without taking his eyes off Blaise.

“Perhaps if your family contains King Cosimo’s savior as well as his prospective assassin...the first will be merciful enough to speak on behalf of the second.”

With the terms set, Blaise immediately escorted Andre to the drawing room where Heather, Iris, and Dahlia were waiting. All three of them were surprised, confused, and a bit intimidated when Blaise ordered all three of them to try on the shoe -- Blaise was much less composed than Charles, and his gaze much more openly volatile. Sure enough, though, even with how much all three girls tried to make the shoe fit, it was no use. Iris even managed to shove her foot into the shoe, but it was so narrow that it pinched her already injured feet too badly for her to even speak. When she opened her mouth, all she could do was cry -- and so Claire, distraught beyond reason, wrenched the shoe off of her middle daughter’s foot and cradled her in her arms as if she were a baby.

“It’s my slipper!” wailed Iris. “I swear it is! My feet are just swollen, from all the dancing we did last night -- ”

Andre crossed his arms, his eyes rather dull. “Iris, really -- after how long you stayed in the palace, you don’t think I know full well your feet wouldn’t have fit this shoe?”

Iris was so startled that her tears stilled in her wide eyes.

“King Cosimo deserves better than a woman who would only treat him as an object she can use to her own advantage,” Andre said very coldly. “Just as Carewyn deserves better than being around someone who cowardly tears her down when she thinks no one else can hear her.”

Iris’s face lost all of its color.

“Y...Your Highness -- ” she said shakily, but Andre had already turned his back on her.

“Speaking of Carewyn,” he said airily, “it seems she’s the only one left who could save your father now, Master Cromwell. I sincerely hope you haven’t damaged her feet the way you have your other nieces’...”

Blaise’s jaw clenched.

“I’m afraid Winnie has...disappeared, your Highness,” he murmured. “Just last night, in fact.”

Andre raised his eyebrows coolly. “Really? Well, I can’t say I blame her, under the circumstances.”

He turned to KC and Erika. “Well then, if she’s not here to speak for Lord Cromwell, then there’s no sense in delaying. Let us be off for the palace -- Father will want to know we’ve captured the final culprit in the plot against King Cosimo and prepare the execution block...”

He swept out the door of the manor, Erika and KC behind him, perfectly ignoring how Blaise, Pearl, and Claire dashed after him.

“Your Highness, please -- ”

“We can more than pay any penalty -- please reconsider -- ”

“Please don’t do this -- ”

“I will only accept King Cosimo’s princess’s defense of Charles Cromwell,” Andre reiterated coldly without looking for them. “You clearly don’t have her under your roof, so this discussion is over.”

“But Winnie might still fit the shoe!” said Claire desperately.

Pearl and Blaise shot her a thoroughly appalled look.

“Claire, how dare you suggest such a thing!” snarled Blaise. “As if a low-bred girl like our Winnie could ever charm a King!”

Claire trembled, but actually managed to stand her ground for once.

“B-but her feet are a strange size!” she whispered to her siblings desperately. “They’ve always been ugly and narrow and misshapen -- her shoes were always falling off! And...oh, Blaise, if she could fit the shoe, then at least Father won’t...won’t...”

She broke off, the last flicker of her courage having long been spent.

Both Pearl and Blaise looked like they’d swallowed a lemon. One could wonder what horrified them more -- the thought of having to appeal to Carewyn for help in saving Charles’s life, or the thought that she might actually end up fitting the shoe and becoming Queen of Florence.

Despite the nausea in Pearl’s expression, she nonetheless seemed to come down on Claire’s side. As stupid as Claire could be...Andre himself had said Carewyn was their only hope now.

“Just...just give us time to find Winnie, your Highness,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “She can’t have gotten too far...”

Andre crossed his arms. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

“One.”

Everyone turned to look at Charles. He was sitting very still on the boot of the coach in chains. His eyes were so dark in how they glinted that his pale face resembled a skull with diamonds trapped behind his eye sockets.

“There is a boy under your employ called Bill Weasley who trespassed here a week or so ago with his brother, demanding to see my dear Winnie when she was too ill for visitors,” he said in a very cold, detached voice. “Perhaps you should ask him where he’s taken my granddaughter.”

Andre’s lips spread into a very pleased smile. They hadn’t visited the Weasleys’ home since the only single girl who lived there was eleven-year-old Ginny...but Bill and Charlie had planned to sneak Carewyn out that night with Talbott and Badeea, so even if she’d chosen to stay at Talbott or Badeea’s home or even somewhere else, they would undoubtedly know where she was staying.

“You know the way to the Weasley family home, right, KC?” Andre asked over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Very well -- perhaps they’ll have Carewyn’s new address, then.”

It took Andre’s royal entourage and the accompanying Cromwell coaches about two hours to migrate up the mountains that held the Weasley home. Blaise, Pearl, and Claire had all insisted on coming on behalf of Charles, and Blaise hated the thought of anyone besides him tending to Tristan, so soon the entire Cromwell clan had been piled into their family carriages. Dahlia, Iris, and Heather in particular had to be carried from the house into the carriages by their father, Arsen, and Kain, since their feet were still in too much pain for them to walk on them.

Fred and George had spotted the approaching entourage first, from their spot dangling out of the nearby trees while picking apples with Ron and Percy. The four boys barreled back to the house to get Arthur and Molly, but it wasn’t long after they’d told their mother everything they saw that the sound of whinnying horses signaled their arrival. And as soon as Blaise opened the door of his white coach, he stiffened sharply at the sound of a familiar voice singing through an open upstairs window -- one that, when Andre opened his own gold coach, made the Prince beam from ear to ear.

“I love to dance, dilly, dilly, I love to sing; When I am queen, dilly, dilly, you'll be my king. Who told me so, dilly, dilly, who told me so? I told myself, dilly, dilly, I told me so.”

It was Carewyn. For you see, when the Weasleys returned to the Burrow in the wee hours of the dawn after Orion’s coronation ball, they were delighted to find Bill sitting by the fire, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his arms wrapped around Charlie and Carewyn, both of whom were sleeping soundly with their heads resting against his chest. Bill had just barely managed to hush his younger siblings so as not to wake the two, and Molly immediately bustled around to fetch another couple of blankets to wrap around all three of them, as well as some pillows so as to make Bill more comfortable. In the morning, Carewyn had been pretty set on leaving to find her own place -- but as one might expect, all of the Weasleys shut that idea down, passionately insisting that she stay with them.

“No, I can’t put you at that kind of risk,” Carewyn had said insistently. “My grandfather will be angry enough to know that I ran away -- if he knew Bill and Charlie had a hand in it, that you all were harboring me -- ”

Arthur took hold of Carewyn’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry about us, Carewyn. I don’t fear Charles Cromwell a ruddy bit, and that goes for Molly too.”

Molly nodded. “Definitely! And after the things we’ve heard, Carewyn...oh, dearie, there’s no way in the world we could ever let you go back to that...that...”

“Demon in human skin?” finished Charlie darkly.

“Not the words I would have chosen, but yes,” sniffed Molly.

Carewyn opened her mouth to argue further, but Bill leaned in to give her a light, chiding tap to her nose.

“Don’t argue with them, Carey -- once Mum’s made up her mind, there’s no changing it.” He grinned. “She’s rather like you that way.”

Carewyn’s expression melted into a weaker, watery smile.

“...Thank you,” she whispered. “All of you...thank you.”

And so now, at the moment that Andre and the Cromwells had arrived at the Burrow, Carewyn had been cleaning in the upstairs hallway, singing as she always did whenever she was working.

Ginny, Molly, and Arthur rushed out of the house, greeting him, KC, and Erika with smiles and hugs. Erika in particular was very confused by the family’s almost aggressive amiability, but Andre responded in full, squeezing Ginny as if she were his own sister and clapping Arthur warmly on the back. It was not a welcome revelation for any of the Cromwells, to see the Prince on such good terms with the family of the people who they thought had stolen Carewyn away. And when Molly volunteered to go fetch Carewyn, she came down dressed in a modest teal dress (a hand-me-down from Molly, which Molly and Carewyn had managed to tailor enough to fit her), Bill and Charlie just behind her.

“Carewyn!”

Andre opened both of his arms and brought them around Carewyn in a warm embrace.

“Andre, it’s so good to see you,” she murmured, closing her eyes to try to hold in her emotion.

The Crown Prince pulled back enough to look her over.

“That color is absolutely radiant on you,” he fawned over her. He glanced at the neatly tied bow in her ponytail. “Especially with your ribbon...a pale blue like that is a perfect shade to contrast your hair.”

Carewyn smiled wryly. “Well, light blue is my favorite color. My real one, I mean.”

Andre blinked, before his face broke out into an even broader smile. “Oh, that’s so much better than ash gray!”

Carewyn’s gaze was then caught by what was attached to the boot of Andre’s coach. The sight of Charles Cromwell locked up in chains, his diamond-like eyes boring into her with an endless, dark stare, made all traces of a smile fade from her face.

Charlie, however, couldn’t fight back a huge, smug grin.

“Well, well,” the second-eldest Weasley spoke to Charles dryly, “if it isn’t Lord Cromwell. Not so high-and-mighty now, are you, you no-good feck?”

“Charlie,” said Bill, but his voice was hardly reproachful as he glared down at Charles. “Don’t waste your breath on the likes of him: he’s not worth it.”

“I do believe I made it clear that your family was to stay away from mine, Bill Weasley,” said Charles in a very low, dangerous voice. “You have a lot of nerve, to steal from me -- ”

“That’s just it, though, Lord Cromwell,” Bill cut him off, his voice growing a bit quieter and harder. He brought an arm around Carewyn, bringing her right up against his side protectively, the same way Jacob might have so long ago. “Carey is my family. So I intend to do whatever I have to make sure you and the rest of your lot never lay a foul hand on her again.”

Blaise’s eyes flashed dangerously. “How dare you -- !”

He raised a hand as if to try to strike Bill, but Carewyn stepped in his way.

“Blaise,” she said in an unusually sharp voice, “the entire Cromwell family was slated to attend the masked ball hosted by the King of Florence...and yet I was not counted among you enough for Grandfather to even consider taking me with you. You can hardly expect me to be considered part of your family now.”

Blaise went sullenly silent. Carewyn looked up at Bill, her stoic expression unable to completely contain the gratitude and affection she felt toward her friend, before she turned to face Andre more seriously.

“Andre...” she said slowly, “it’s not that I’m not glad to see you, but...what is all of this? Why did you bring them here?”

Andre’s eyes twinkled in amusement.

“Last night at the masked ball,” the Prince of Royaume explained, “King Cosimo met a beautiful, mysterious woman dressed as a robin in a pair of shoes made of what looked like colored glass. He danced with this woman and no one else, before the two disappeared from the ballroom altogether. It was only just before midnight that they reemerged, with the woman dashing across the ballroom toward the front doors...the lovestruck King running after her, begging her not to go.”

Andre’s lips curled up in a wider smile.

“This ‘mysterious princess,’ as everyone at the ball called her, had warned King Cosimo of a planned attempt on his life. Had she not come to the ball and danced with the King, it’s certain that he would’ve died, and that all hope for peace between Royaume and Florence would have died with him. Yet she fled the ball so quickly that she never got the recognition she deserved from either my father or King Cosimo for her courage. And because of the powerful illusion she disguised herself with, which made her look different to every single person at the ball, no one knows who she is.”

Andre swept over to the coach, picking up the beautiful hand-painted "stained glass” slipper he’d left on the seat. He cradled it in both hands as he showed it to those assembled. Carewyn’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon it.

“This glass slipper,” said Andre, his smile broadening enough to show his white teeth, “is the only thing she left behind that night, as any indicator of her identity...and whether because of some magic in the shoe or the talents of some incredibly talented master of fashion,” he waggled his eyebrows cheekily, “it has not fit any of the hundreds of women who have claimed to be its owner, seeking to earn King Cosimo’s hand in marriage.”

He beamed at Carewyn much more warmly.

“I seem to recall, however...that you possess a set of feet that is very difficult to properly shoe.”

Carewyn looked from the slipper to up at Andre. Her face was very stoic, but her blue eyes rippled with something deeper.

“I do believe I said that the Cromwells did not allow me to attend the ball, Andre.”

“Yes,” granted Andre. “But our mysterious princess didn’t come with the Cromwells.”

“This ‘princess’ also very clearly wanted no recognition for her ‘courage,’” said Carewyn, crossing her arms. “Why else would she wear such a thorough disguise? Why else would she run from the King before the stroke of midnight, when this illusion she supposedly wore would’ve worn off?”

Andre looked a bit embarrassed. “Well, perhaps...but for a woman so brave...well, it seems rather strange, to want to hide...to deny the best parts of herself: avoid a chance at true happiness, with someone who clearly loves her.”

Carewyn faltered. Andre smiled fondly.

“Please,” he said, “won’t you just try the slipper on? I promise, I cleaned it on the way here.”

Carewyn had to suppress a giggle behind her hand. Her eyes slowly softened upon Andre’s face, before she finally relented and gave a nod.

Charles, Blaise, Claire, Pearl, and the Cromwell cousins all sticking their heads out of their white coaches all watched as the Prince of Royaume bent down in front of his friend, letting her lift her skirt enough to expose her feet. Slipping one of her way-too-big brown shoes off, Carewyn then easily slid her foot into the stained glass slipper.

Which, of course, fit like a glove.

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peppersonironi · 4 years ago

Text

Batfam/Avengers Crossover Chapter Six: Blooming Bromance

Tagging (Let me know if you want to be tagged): @the-fair-maiden-of-fandom

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types

Relationships: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Natasha Romanov & Damian Wayne, Clint Barton & Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tim Drake & Duke Thomas, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Dick Grayson/Wally West, Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd,

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Barbara Gordon, Justice League (DCU), Alfred Pennyworth, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton, Thor (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Alfred the Cat (DCU), Bat-Cow (DCU), Goliath (DCU), Selina Kyle’s Cat Isis, Kate Kane (DCU), Duke Thomas,

Additional Tags: Batbrothers (DCU), Avengers Meet The Batfam, MCU/Batfam crossover, Crossover, no beta we die like robins, rated T for Jason’s language, I bleeped it out though. Just to be safe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, canon? What’s canon?, Deaf Clint Barton,Deaf Character, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Happy Batfamily (DCU), Birdflash and joyfire are implied/referenced,

Summary: Tim hangs out with the youngest Avenger. A bromance is blooming.

Tim sighed into his mug of coffee. Everyone in his family - minus Stephanie and Babs, since they didn’t live at the manor - had been gathered in the cave to discuss the ongoing conversation between some of the interdimensional visitors. They - consisting of Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Steve Rogers, and Tony Stark - seemed to have been really freaked out by some of Jason’s snide comments, and were now discussing if the bats were in fact trustworthy.

Tim blamed Jason for this whole mess. Jason couldn’t hold his stupid tounge, so now Bruce had called everyone - after Cass told him what was happening - together to spy on their guests and work out a plan.

Their conversation wasn’t that interesting either. It was everyone going back and forth, never changing their own arguments. The most interesting thing that happened was when Stark hopped on a computer and started to do research on them. Not that they found much.

“No way in f*** are we amicable!” Jason exclaimed when the article was brought up and read aloud.

“Aw, you sure little wing?” Dick asked, elbowing Jason.

“T-t,” Damian said, rolling his eyes. “Will you two imbeciles shut up? I’m trying to listen.”

Turns out there wasn’t much more. As soon as the Avengers dispersed, Tim turned off the computer. “Now what?”

Cass frowned. “They need trust. Show them.”

Bruce nodded. “Yes, it would be best if they trust us, as we are the ones sending them home. Lack of trust might provoke unnecessary responses from them. It would be best if we can work well together.”

“Show them.” Cass repeated vehemitaly.

“I agree with Cass,” Tim replied. “We shouldn’t just tell them to trust us. That could be taken quite badly. We need to show them.”

“How?” Duke asked. “I don’t know if you guys have noticed, but you are definitely not good at showing your emotions well.”

Bruce sighed heavily. “Yes, Duke, you have made that abundantly clear in the past.” Duke smiled at that, looking rather sheepish. Bruce frowned in concentration. “Let them make the first move. If they try to question you, don’t hold anything back. Try to be friendly.” Tim noticed he directed that last part at Damian and Jason.

“Don’t hold anything back?” Jason asked, an evil smirk growing on his face. Tim shuddered inwardly at whatever gruesome tale Jason was planning on sharing.

“Within reason,” Bruce growled.

Duke stood up. “Well, that sounds good for you guys, but I have Gotham to patrol.” Duke strolled off with a decidedly self satisfied smile on his face. He clearly thought that he was getting out of sharing his life story.

Bruce sighed once more. “Very well, Duke. Good luck.”

Duke nodded his thanks as he made his way to the changing rooms to get ready for his patrol.

*****

“Dude, this is incredible!” Peter had given Tim a chance to look at his web-shooters, and Tim was being a total fangirl over it.

“Thanks,” Peter replied, seeming quite proud. “The basic design is mine, Mr. Stark supplied some improvements though.”

Tim nodded as he continued to examine the device. “Are these veins turbine pumps?”

Peter grinned. “Yup! They compress the web fluid before shooting it out through the spinneret holes which cold-draws the solution and extrudes it through the air, where it solidifies.”

“And during the process the nylon gains a four-fold increase in tensile strength?”

“Exactly!”

Tim shook his head at the brilliance. “Wow, this is utterly brilliant!”

“Thanks! Do you want to see the chemical formula?” Peter asked. He seemed really eager to talk about it with someone his own age.

“Of course!” Tim hit his forehead. “Gosh, I’m sorry! I completely forgot you came to me to see if we could make more.”

Peter shrugged, “no worries. I’m glad you like the devices.”

Tim reached over to one of the coffee tables in the sitting room they were occupying and handing it to Peter, who promptly began to write down the formula.

Upon seeing it, Tim gasped uncontrollably. “Oh my god, this is the greatest thing I have seen in a long time!” Peter had to be a genius to come up with this, Tim decided.

Peter grinned at Tim. “Really?”

“Totally!”

“You guys done fangirling?” A voice came from the door. “ ‘cause we have some people to decimate!”

Tim looked over to find Jason leaning against the doorframe, two nerf guns in hand.

“Decimate?” Peter asked.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Capture the flag on the back lawn in five. Bring whatever non-lethal weapons you want. You can get ‘em approved before the game starts.” And with that, he strolled off.

“You guys play Capture The Flag?” Peter looked excited.

Tim stood up, organizing the notes, then setting them aside. “Yup! It can get pretty wild though. Think you can handle it?”

Peter grinned. “I think so.”

*****

“Welcome to the 67th annual Bat Fa-”

“It's not annual and you know it Dick.”

Dick pouted as he looked over at Tim. “Come on, Timbo, let me have this!”

“Drake is correct, Grayson. You are acting idiotically.”

Tim glanced over at Damian. “You’re admitting I’m right?”

Damian glowered at his brother. “Of course not.” “But you jus-”

“Are we playing or not?” Someone had managed to rope Bruce into the game, but he was being pretty snippy about it.

Dick sighed, looking defeated. “Fine. Capture the flag. You all know how to play?” Everyone nodded, except Thor.

“I am unfamiliar with this specific midgardian game.”

Dick nodded. “Ok, that’s fine. Good chance to go over the rules anyway. There are two teams, each take one side of the playing area. So each team has a flag, or item of some sort that they each place in a visible yet defendable position. Part of the team defends their flag, while the other part attempts to steal their opponents’. If you get caught on the opposite team's territory, they put you in jail. Only one of your teammates can get you out, by tapping you. Get it?”

Everyone nodded. “Good. A few extra rules that must be followed,” Dick looked pointedly at Jason and Damian as he continued, “ include: no maiming. Serious injuries of most kinds are off limits. Lethal weapons are also out, unless you know how to use them nonlethally. You are also not allowed to leave the playing area at any point. Nor are you allowed to use cookies as bait in any traps. Especially Alfred’s cookies.”

Dick looked pointedly at Tim during the last rule, much to Tim’s chagrin. It had been one time!

“And finally, no touching Alfred’s shrubbery.” Everyone with the exception of the Avengers cringed at that. “Everyone understand?”

There was a chorus of “Yups” “Yes’s” and “f*** yeah, b****!” Tim didn’t need to be the world’s second greatest detective to guess where that last one came from.

“Good,” Dick said, grinning. “We’ll have two teams. Captains are Bruce and me. Let’s get into a line and start dividing.”

Tim got in line, grumbling slightly. A few of the Avengers had also joined, specifically Peter, Thor, and Banner. Tim wasn’t sure how much of a help Banner could be without “Hulking out” as Peter put it, but the guy seemed smart. It seemed like it would be an interesting game.

“Lil’ D!” Dick called, quite predictably. Damian grumbled and walked over to Dick’s side.

Bruce took longer to choose. He examined the faces of each person, one by one. “Tim.” Tim smiled, he had been expecting Dick to choose him, but with Bruce, Tim didn’t have to deal with the demon brat.

Dick chose Thor next, then Bruce chose Jason. They continued back and forth till Dick’s team consisted of Damian, Thor, and Banner. Bruce had chosen Tim, Jason, and Peter. Cassandra had opted to Referee the game, much to everyone’s relief. They could play everyone against Cass, and his sister would still win.

“Flags?” Cass asked once everyone had assembled with their teams.

“I got these from Alfred!” Dick said as he grabbed two large banners from beside a tree. One was Green, the other Blue.

Cass nodded. “You get Blue. Bruce, green.” Once Dick had handed the other banner to Bruce, Cass continued. “Ten minutes to plan and hide flags. Then go.”

They split up, Tim following right behind Bruce. “Ideas?” he asked when they were all in the cover of the trees that they had chosen for their side.

“The flag will go up in the old oak tree, as high as you can get it, Peter. I want Jason on Guard Duty near the tree, I’ll be farther out doing a border patrol. Tim and Peter, you’re both on infiltration duty. Skirt the sides as much as possible. Dick will most likely be trying to cross over, avoid him if you can. Watch out for Damian, too. He'll be joining Dick. Thor will most likely be guarding their flag along with Banner. He won’t be able to resist the pun. They should be pretty easy to take down.” Bruce paused for a moment, thinking. “Dick will probably place his banner somewhere near the westward fountain. Use the ivy wall to the east as cover.”

Everyone nodded, and separated. Peter scrambled up the oak tree with ease, and placed the banner at the literal top. It’d be almost impossible for anyone to reach it, but Tim knew Dick would love the challenge.

A couple minutes later, the guard routes were established, and Tim had shown Peter the way to the flag by drawing a diagram in the dirt. Tim quickly wiped it away, however, when Cass sounded an Airhorn. Tim had no idea where she had gotten it, but didn’t bother trying to figure it out. Tim sprinted to the side almost immediately, Peter right behind them. They wove through the trees, keeping to the shadows. Peter wasn’t nearly as stealthy as Tim, but they both kept out of sight.

Right as they were about to cross over the border, Tim stopped them. “Let’s get an aerial view before we proceed.”

“Sounds good,” Peter replied as they started to climb a nearby tree. Turns out it was the right choice, because they were awarded front row seats to Bruce grabbing Damian by his collar.

“Not today, Damian. You’re going to jail.” Bruce smiled fondly as he carried his youngest son away from the border and off to the previously chosen prison.

“Grayson!” Damian shreeked. “How dare you abandon me! Unhand me this instant, Father! Grayson! You shall rue the day I make my escape! This insult has not gone unnoticed! I refuse to be kept against my will by plebeians! You had better drop everything to assist me Grayson, or -”

Damian’s outraged voice slowly faded away as he was hauled off.

“Oof,” Peter said. “Think Dick will get him out?”

Tim snorted before shaking his head. “Knowing Dick, he’ll be remorseful for a bit before completely forgetting about the kid.”

Peter nodded. “Well, one less person we have to deal with, right?”

Tim grinned. “Yup! We should probably get going.”

*****

“Mmff! Mfffff-mmmf!”

“I think we did a good job, whattaya say, bug-boy?” Tim and Peter grinned down at a bound and gagged Thor and Banner. Both trying and failing to escape their bonds.

“I think we did quite well, bird-boy.” Peter replied. “But we should probably get going.”

Tim nodded as he plucked the banner from atop the fountain, right where Bruce said it would be.

“Let’s go!” they race off towards the border.

It didn’t take them long for them to reach the wide patch of grass marked with a hastily placed length of rope, but their path was blocked. Thor had managed to get out of Peter’s webs, and chased after them. He stood facing them, his hammer out, pointing at their chests.

“Halt! I must not allow you any further.”

Tim grinned. “Bet I can take him down first.”

Peter grinned right back. “You’re on!”

Togather, they charged the norse god. Peter was flipped over Thor’s shoulder, shooting his webs out and pulling Thor’s helmet over his eyes, though he quickly pulled it up again. Tim unleashed a flurry of batarangs, which Thor dodged. This, however, set him off balance. Tim activated a smoke bomb, and expertly navigated the limited visuals to attack Thor, who was in the process of throwing Peter to the ground.

When the smoke cleared, Thor was once again on his back, taken down by Tim. Peter was also on his back.

“You okay there, Peter?”

Peter groaned and rolled over. “Yup. You won, though.”

Tim crowed. “Hah! Yeah, I did!” He offered his hand to his downed companion. You did a good job too though. We make a great team.”

Peter stood, and together they crossed over the border holding the banner just as Dick came out of the trees being chased by both Jason and Bruce.

“Aw, crap.” Dick said upon seeing Peter and Tim already back on their own territory.

Almost immediately, Cass appeared. A newly freed Banner also appeared. Well, he limped out of the trees.

“Team Grumpy Wins,” Cass says triumphantly. It took a moment for Tim to realise what she had said.

“Wait, I thought we didn’t use team names?”

Cass smiled and pointed at Bruce. “Grumpy.” She then turned to Dick. “Happy.”

Jason smirked. “That’s an accurate assessment.”

He and Cass high-fived.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dick said good naturedly. “Good job guys. You up for another round?”

“Different teams this time,” Tim replied.

Dick smiled, “Sounds good! Maybe Dami should lead this time.” Dick’s eyes widened. “Crap! Damian!”

Everyone burst into laughter as Dick sprinted towards Team Grumpy’s jail.

#Avengers Meet The Batfam #dc/marvel crossover #batfam #avengers #batfam shenanigans #tim drake #peter parker #capture the flag #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #jason todd #duke thomas #damian wayne #natasha romanoff #cassandra cain #bruce banner #thor odinson

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marmarparadoxa · 4 years ago

Note

Hello!! I want to raise just a couple of points: 1. I know lots of people say “Erwin > humanity” for Levi, because back during Midnight Sun (Serumbowl) he prioritized Erwin’s comfort over humanity’s chances. By letting Erwin die, it meant he was ready to cripple their future. What do you think?

2. What always bothered me is that BEFORE he used to say he would continue his fight for freedom to give meaning to his soldiers’ deaths. But NOW he explicitly said the thing that can give meaning to their deaths is if he kills Zeke (ch112) - and not fighting for humanity’s freedom. So it seems like outwardly he is fighting for their island like a good little soldier, but deep inside that wouldn’t be satisfying to him, because his main objective is revenging Erwin&Co by killing Zeke (the infamous promise) - that’s what Isayama implied, imho. The two goals were conveniently locked together for most of the story (“I will keep Zeke alive for now only because I can kill him later”, “Killing Zeke will stop the Rumbling” etc), so that Levi doesn’t have to choose what’s more important to him, and his obsession and reason for fighting are never challenged.

Hello! Sorry for the late reply. Let’s try to untangle all of what you have raised up here.

1. I find that expression a quite misleading way to phrase this matter. The fact is, while I do think that Levi’s choice was eventually dictated by his ‘personal feelings’, the said feelings being related to Erwin’s comfort, I don’t think that this choice generally meant “crippling humanity’s future” , nor do I think that it meant that for Levi. What follows from above is that you can’t draw from that the conclusion that Levi was ready to undermine the future of humanity.

- As regards the ‘personal feelings’ part: Erwin, beyond being their invaluable, unwavering commander, the one who led them so far, till that tragic end in Shiganshina, was the person who gave Levi a new purpose in his life, that Levi followed till then. And even if it was him who sent Erwin riding to his death, Levi wasn’t ready to lose him yet. In my opinion, when Levi said that humanity cannot succeed without Erwin, that they needed him if they wanted to defeat the titans, what was coming out in that particular moment was not exactly his rational judgement, but rather his resistance to let go of one of his dearest ones, such a significant person in his life. Certainly I’m not claiming that Levi didn’t think of Erwin as a formidable asset in their struggle (because he obviously thought that, and Erwin was irreplaceable as a matter of fact), but simply that it was basically his emotions spilling out there. Eventually, however, Levi chose to let him rest, because he understood that by letting go his dream, Erwin had finally found release, and that reviving him, Levi would have simply put another chain on him, forcing him to be the “devil” they needed again. And eventually, it was this that dragged Levi to choose not to revive him, or better, to choose this place and time, for Erwin’s death. This way, he let him go free.

- As regards the consequence for humanity’s future: But even if by choosing to let Erwin die Levi consciously deprived them of the brilliant strategic acumen and relentlessness of their commander, I don’t think he believed that by doing this he was jeopardising the future of humanity. I think that for the following reasons.

Choosing to not give the injection to Erwin, he gave it instead to Armin. And Isayama made sure to let us know that Levi did recognize Armin’s potential. We saw Levi overheard that EMA convo, when he first heard Armin talking of his dream, something he thought back right before making his decision. Also, as all others, Levi was aware of the strategic talent which Armin displayed any number of times in the middle of difficult battles and situations. As Levi later told him, it is true that he has a power that no human has.

Still, at that time Armin was still very young and lacked experience. However, when Levi was left alone on that roof, and eventually chose to let Erwin go, he had seen Hange, he knew they were still alive. And besides the fact that since Hange were alive, it meant that he wouldn’t be the only veteran left, he wouldn’t be left alone, Hange was in fact the very person that Erwin designated as his successor as commander of the Survey Corps, the person Erwin deemed capable of leading them, when he would have been gone. So Levi knew that even if he would have chosen to let Erwin die, they wouldn’t have been left without a guide, there would have been someone able to lead them, someone with a brilliant mind and a years-long experience. Hence, someone able to face whatever was waiting for them.

Summing up, while I believe that Levi’s choice was ultimately driven by his personal feelings for Erwin, I don’t think that this choice meant undermining humanity’s chances, not generally speaking, neither, more importantly for the purpose of this discussion, from his point of view. Therefore, he choice he made doesn’t by any means mean that he was “ready to cripple their future”.

2. “NOW he explicitly said the thing that can give meaning to their deaths is if he kills Zeke (ch112)”

Well, yes. Levi thinks that he’ll be able to prove the meaning of their deaths, by killing Zeke. However, this isn’t referring to all of his comrades’ deaths - rather, Levi here is referring only to the deaths of those who perished in that desperate ride toward the throwing-rocks Beast Titan back in the battle at Shiganshina. If we limit ourselves to speak about those deaths, I think it’s true that Levi thinks that he could prove the meaning of them only by taking down Zeke, only by fulfilling his promise to Erwin, thus avenging their sacrifice. And it is true that Levi longs for the day when he’ll be able to do it.

But their deaths are not the only ones that Levi bears the weight of proving the meaning of. Levi saw so many of his comrades dying in their struggle against the titans, in their fighting for humanity’s survival. And Levi’s struggle in facing the fact that that hope they all died for was now turning against them, turning out to be just a delusion, shows us that he still thinks that the only way to give meaning to all of those sacrifices is always that: to carry on his comrades’ will, by keep on fighting for what they and he always fought for, or humanity’s freedom. And here Levi’s having a hard time, because how is he supposed to accomplish it, how is he supposed to make sense of that, if what they believed in turned out like that?

Since Eren started the Rumbling, then, all of what Levi has done and said persuades me that he does want to stop the Rumbling, as much as all others on that airplan. In chapter 133, he proposed Hange’s plan of killing Zeke as the most feasible way to stop the Rumbling, a moment later in the Paths he asked Eren to stop, after that, it was he who asked Armin what they’re gonna do now.

Beyond that, there’s no way that Levi can stand by and watch while the whole humanity is being trampled and slaughtered, it goes against his personality and values. I send you back to this answer by @oldsummerdream, where very pertinent points are made about it.

Regarding Isayama's Q&A, I don't think it has added anything new. We know that Levi wants to fulfill his vow to Erwin, we know that he bears obsessive feelings toward Zeke (and in the abovementioned post, you can also find a plausible explanation to why Levi clings so much to Zeke and to his promise). It is not implied though that these are his only motivations and that he doesn’t care about humanity’s future.

Regarding the fact that these two goals (killing Zeke so as to fulfill his vow to Erwin, killing Zeke as a means for stopping Eren and the Rumbling) are conveniently locked together, or they’re not mutually exclusive, it is true. I think it’s worth noticing that Levi didn’t immediately try to kill Zeke when he got to the island, but it’s true that he could count on the fact that he’d only have to wait a little more, and eventually get his revenge. And now, killing Zeke seems indeed the easiest way to stop this massacre.

However, given what I said above, there’s enough for me to believe that Levi’s priority is still that of fighting for humanity, and only then getting his revenge. If it’s not enough for you, or for many others, though, the upcoming chapters might provide us with a certain answer. In the event that the Alliance finds out that killing Zeke won’t stop the Rumbling, they would have to direct their efforts elsewhere, on Eren, and possibly Levi would have to choose what’s more important to him. But it’s not granted that we will be given an enlightening moment like that. We just have to wait and see.

#levi ackerman #erwin smith #serum bowl #armin arlert #hange zoë #zeke yeager #snk meta #snk 112 #snk 133 #what's levi fighting for?

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serararku · 4 years ago

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Dancing in the Sand Pt 3

The sun had ducked beneath the horizon by the time Zevi made it to the designated area at the edge of the territory. Just like Era described, the half-sundered boulder concealed a crevice only a young kitten could run through. Between the dry shrubs clinging to life rested the path he was instructed to follow, but he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. He half-expected an animal had made its home in the widened opening halfway through this secret passage, but what he found was far more intriguing.

A small clay pot filled with hastily made arrows sat along what looked to be an old campsite; half of them were of terrible quality, with the others not even finished. A pile of rocks cut and sharpened sat in the corner of this little hovel. But the paintings are what held his attention the longest. There were two Miqo'te standing side by side with the sun shining over their heads; one was short with black hair and blue eyes, and the other was disproportionately tall, with long white hair and an over emphasis on its bright orange eyes. There was no doubting it- this was Era’s doing when she first left her tribe to search for S'tage. This place was cut off from the elements, meaning these paintings would last for decades… perhaps even much longer. She had to be down here for a few days in hiding to make these drawings, as well as all the projects she started but never finished.

"Would she do this for me?" A thought crept along the back of his neck to whisper doubt into his ear. "If I were captured… would she devote this much energy to save my life? If he returned from beyond the grave… would she run off with him?" R'zevi couldn't decide if it was the dropping temperature of the desert night or his waning confidence that was responsible for the chill running up his spine, but he could no longer ignore this dreadful cold. But he wasn't here to sit in this cave to witness the obsessive adoration his lover once had for another man. With nothing else left to look at, he promptly turned to leave this place behind.

As soon as he stepped out of the narrow passage and into a wide clearing between the crags the hair's on the back of his neck stood up; immediately he stopped and looked upward, locking eyes with a band of tribal women wearing beige leathers for camouflage, and armed to the teeth with stained bone spears and longbows. They stood along the edge of the cliff, their eyes glowing dimly against the backdrop of the starless sky. Was he caught? Was this a search party he was supposed to avoid? Zevi’s mind was abuzz with questions with limited ways to find answers. They knew this area far better than he did, so running was probably not a good idea. On the other hand, Era would likely never forgive him if he fought them, especially if he managed to wound, maim, or even kill any of them. Against his better judgement he remained perfectly still, his pale blue eyes glimmering right back at them. This silent staring contest would have to continue until one of them made a move.

“It’s alright. This is the one she promised.” A voice called out in that familiar huntspeak, provoking Zevi to turn his head. A tribal woman stood beside a bed of flowering cacti, armed with only her flowing brown hair and glowing green eyes. It was like looking through time to stare face to face at Era twenty summers into the future. He knew they would look alike, sure, but he expected her to have some features from her father; the resemblance was almost uncanny. She looked up at the women and nodded, sending the hunting party away to give them some privacy. “Come closer… we have much to discuss.”

Zevi’s ears flattened for a moment as he warily watched the hunting party move away. Gradually his ears lifted as it seemed that the party had no intention of doubling back. Satisfied that he wasn’t about to take an arrow -- or worse, to the back, he turned his attention to the woman before him, taking a few cautious steps in her direction. “S’yuun?”

“Yuun is fine. You must be Zevi, yes?” She calmly smiled, seemingly relaxing once she heard his voice.

“Yes, my name is Zevi.”

“Wonderful.” Once she was close enough to touch, she began to circle him, poking at his chest and stomach inspectantly, before running her fingers along the scars and muscles on his arms; she seemed to be grading him. “So you’re the one who convinced my daughter to abandon her duty for so long, hm?”

He watched as she sized him up, his brow furrowing for a moment while she touched his form; he’d expected an inspection of some kind, but this wasn’t quite what he had in mind. “Convinced?” He repeated, indignantly. “I was concerned for her when she decided to return, to visit the tribe, but I never tried to convince her not to go. Era’s will is her own and I’ve known that from the beginning.” His gaze continued to follow the older Miqo’te, cautious -- but trying not to be overly guarded.

Just as Era warned, her mother had a poor grasp of personal space. She reached up to run a hand through his hair, traced his jawline with a finger, and pressed her palm against his chest in several places. Zevi struggled to resist pushing her hands away; she was making him feel more like a prized pig or a slab of meat than an actual person. Even worse, she either didn’t notice or didn’t care how uncomfortable she was making him. “That’s not entirely true. Era is governed by her emotions. Just like her father.” At last her inspection ended when she wrapped her arms around her waist, and he could breathe easy- for now.

“She...can be a bit emotional at times, yes...” He admitted.

Yuun didn’t seem to hear him while she practically undressed him with her eyes. “Plenty of scars and muscles. And not bulky, ugly muscles. Lean. Practical. A real body befitting a real man… unlike our Nunh.” She then motioned for him to follow her, but she didn’t walk far. Just a few paces away she unfolded a fur blanket and draped it along the ground. She sat crossed-legged before patting the blanket beside her. “Have you… come to kill him?”

Zevi waited for her to sit before easing down onto the blanket, with an eyebrow perking at the comparison. His ears tilted back as his brow furrowed - he’d had these talks before. “It’s not my intent, no. Era doesn’t seem too keen on sharing, and when I left my tribe I made the decision to live in the Free Cities, rather than attempt to become a Nunh -- I hear the life expectancy is a bit better for Tias there.”

“How peculiar…” Yuun’s smile was soft but fleeting. “I have three sons. One is still with us, too young to yet survive on his own, and two sons out there training to become Nunhs. A part of me hopes they succeed… but the chances of that are… very slim. They were frail kittens when they were born, and…” She trailed off to wring her hands together. “I wish they had the courage to leave this life behind. Maybe… they’re in your tribeless cities with lovers of their own?” Her voice was more hopeful than factual, as if she was trying to convince herself of what she was saying.

“Maybe they did make the decision to give the Free Cities a go - there are many Tias out there, quite a few of them with families of their own. So it is a possibility…” He trailed off, swallowing roughly and lacing his hands together, unable to stop the frown that formed as she spoke of the choice he knew was inevitably going to come.

Not eager to dwell on the idea of her dead sons any longer, she cleared her throat and promptly changed the subject. “Well… if you’re not here to kill Vahli, then there’s only one way this ordeal will play out. My daughter will be found out eventually, and she’ll have to make a choice. Her family… or you.”

His gaze dropped to his hands, his hair long enough to cover his eyes. “I know that. I’ve always known that there would be a choice. First with Tage, and now with her family. I’ve never hid my wishes...for her to stay with me, have a family with me...but as I said, Era’s will is her own. Whatever she decides I’ll stand by - even if that means watching her leave.” He exhaled sharply before looking up once more.

Yuun couldn’t hide her laughter, or perhaps she didn’t even try. “Hahahah! If you think Era wouldn’t choose you over us, you haven’t been paying attention! This is bigger than a fawning obsession for a man she’s never mated with. What you two have is real, is it not? You have given her what no Nunh ever could. Happiness… happiness and the freedom to pursue it.”

Zevi blinked slowly. “I...yes, it’s very real. I just want her to be happy - whatever that means. I’d very much like for it to be with me...I enjoy our time together and she makes me happier than I can remember being. But I also know she loathes the idea of losing you. We’ve...briefly talked of the future before, of children...and the one damper on the conversation was the thought that you wouldn’t be able to see them.”

Yuun turned to watch the flashes of lightning far off in the distance, falling silent for a few long breaths. “I would love to be there when she gives birth to her first kitten. To hold my granddaughter in my arms… or grandson.” Her gaze flicked to Zevi for an instant as a smile danced along her lips again. “But I know she would never be happy as a tribewife. The bloodlust of her father courses through her veins. She’s a warrior, through and through.” Yuun eventually turned her body to face Zevi directly. “I want you to do something for me.”

He watched her for a moment, before letting his gaze get pulled away by the distant lighting - a small smile gracing his features as he recalled another impactful thunderstorm not all that long ago. His attention was pulled back as she spoke of ‘tribewives’ and he tilted his head as she turned to face him. “What’s that?”

"Protect my little kitten. Be her voice of reason when next she does something reckless." Her stare was piercing. "And I want grandkittens. Lots of them. I may never see or hold them myself, but… knowing she is happy will always be more important."

Zevi nodded as she spoke, turning to focus on Yuun once more - rather than watching the distant lightning. “I’ll do my best...in all regards. And maybe...one day...you will get to see and hold your grandchildren. I mentioned we talked about children - but we did note it might not be for a little while…”

Yuun didn't seem to mind, simply shrugging and turning back to the storm. The wind was beginning to pick up, tossing her auburn hair aloft before she reached up with both hands to tame it. "When she left us to chase after that dead man, I was convinced my oldest daughter would never return, or worse- get herself killed out there. Many nights I had nightmares of her laying in a pool of her own making, calling out for me as she faded away. I don't expect you to understand the loss of a child, but… it was all I could think about for moons on end. And just when I thought I had grown numb to the pain, I turned around and she's standing there smiling like she never left." She gave Zevi a side glance before continuing with, "Knowing she's alive and happy is good enough for me. Take her far away from this place when the time comes, Zevi of the Raptor Tribe. She deserves a peaceful life… you both do."

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair - a nervous habit. “I’ll take care of her, Yuun. I never felt at home with my tribe. I didn’t feel at home in the Free Cities. I didn’t know what home was until I met Era.” He paused, before his ears folded back a bit. “I...didn’t mention my tribe. How did you know?”

She gave him a playful smile before reaching over to trace her fingers along his chin to wipe away any comfort he had built up since sitting down alongside her. "Your markings gave it away. It's difficult to tell at a distance… but up close it's obvious." Yuun licked her lips before continuing. "More than a few Tia from your tribe have come to challenge our Nunh." She leaned over and took his hand to trace the markings on her own face. "See? Every woman from the Zu Tribe has the same markings. We check those to ensure a bought tribewife or upcoming Tia isn't from another sect… to prevent inbreeding."

“That...doesn’t surprise me. The fact that there have been more than a few Tias from my tribe. There were quite a few Nunhs when I was growing up who didn’t last very long. My father was one of them.” His brow furrowed and he hummed thoughtfully, as he lowered his hand. “I never paid any attention to the markings, but then again - I didn’t have any intention of remaining with the tribe, so I suppose I didn’t need to.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck before glancing out towards the storm in the distance once again. Yuun must have noticed the tonal shift when he mentioned his father; and she had just the thing to distract him.

"The love for my children is boundless. However the intimacy between two kindred spirits is something I will never know firsthand…" The woman casually untied her fur wrappings, letting what little clothes she wore slide down her figure. She then turned to gaze at him with a familiar hunger in her eyes, as naked as the day she was born; and when she reached out for him, she draped a leg over his lap to straddle him.

It took a moment for Zevi to process what was happening. His eyes widened as she settled herself onto him, the action effectively knocking him from his shock induced stupor. He’d known there might be an attempt - he’d been acutely aware of just how close the older woman was as he’d sat down on the blanket. "Lay with me like you do with my daughter.” Her voice was soft and eager now, but it sounded more like a command than a request. She could feel his heart pounding against his chest, and it only made her devious grin grow. “I want to taste true love for myself. These desert nights are so cold… won't you warm yourself inside me?" Yuun didn't even wait for his reply before she pressed her breasts against him when she leaned forward, her hands slipping between them to undo his belt.

He blinked hard several times and swallowed roughly, but he reached down to still her hands before the belt could be removed. “Yuun...no.” He looked up with a face flushed red, his gaze locking with hers. “I love your daughter, and I made a promise to her. I won’t break that promise.”

She paused from undressing him, but didn’t make a move to get off him. "You know what she had to do in order for our Nunh to listen to her, yes? Was that not fair to you? Why should you keep a promise when she did not?" She slowly brushed her nose against his, and brought her alluring voice down to a whisper. "Tell me you don’t want this..."

“I know...what she did with the Nunh, yes. She told me the day she returned.” He gave a shaky exhale as he paused to gather his thoughts. “I was...angry, hurt - on some level I still am-...but I knew it was a possibility when she left.” His ears flattened against his head. “I almost expected it, to be honest. She wanted to see her family again, and there was going to be a price to pay. But that...that was Era’s choice. When I give my word, Yuun, I do my best to see it through. I gave Era my word - I won’t betray that trust, even if she betrayed mine.”

A warm smile lit up her face as she stared into his eyes, eventually pulling her hands away from his waist to caress his chin. "My, my… you are a strange one." She then looked hungrily at his lips, silently contemplating whether or not she would push him onto his back and sleep with him anyway; instead she leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, before lifting her leg and to slide out of his lap. "I won’t tempt you any further." Yuun assured, running her hands through her hair one last time before she began reaching for her furs. "But I should warn you about that other Tia. He had no such restraint to reveal how he felt about my daughter." Her bright green eyes flashed in his direction again once she pulled her clothes over her head. "He loves her, I think. A different kind than you two share, but just as passionate. Safe travels… and thank you for humoring me."

Zevi relaxed as she slid off of his lap and dressed before his gaze narrowed in her direction. “...What other Tia? K’thalen??”

Yuun simply shrugged, visibly disappointed that her night would end with far less excitement than she had planned. "I didn't catch his name, but he's certainly of the Hipparion Tribe. Dark skin and yellow eyes… does that sound familiar?"

He nodded as he focused on fixing his belt. Era had the same air of disappointment when he told her no; yet another personality quirk she inherited from her mother... “K’thalen. She was living with him when we met and was intimate with him for a time.”

"People don't change so easily. Passion doesn't burn out at the snap of one’s fingers." With a gentle sigh and a subtle frown, Yuun reluctantly rose to her feet to begin preparing her trip back to the heart of her territory. "Era may be obsessed with you, but that doesn't mean her previous lovers have let go of their desires. Just some food for thought."

He stood, casting one more glance out at the horizon and the distant storm. Appropriate. “We’ve discussed Thalen. Part of the reason she moved into my apartment was because of the...of my discomfort with her living with him.” He frowned as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. Yuun on the other hand simply pretended she knew what an ‘apartment’ was. “...I wouldn’t expect other’s passions to fade overnight. Maybe it’s naive - but I trust her, Era - to be honest with me about what she wants...even when it’s painful to hear. If she wanted to be with K’thalen, she would be.”

Yuun silently stalked Zevi while he was distracted by the distant lightning, before running her hand down his arm and across his stomach to feel his muscles again; if she wasn’t attracted to his body, she certainly would have fooled him. "My daughter isn't the one you should be worried about. Men are driven by their desires… and even the best of them can succumb to their cravings. This Thalen seems harmless and kind enough, but the desire for her remains."

Zevi gave a long, slow exhale - focusing on what she was saying rather than the trail of her fingers. “The warning is duly noted. I can’t stop Thalen from wanting her, but I can do my damnedest to make sure that Era’s needs and desires are met...that she doesn’t have the need to look elsewhere to be satisfied…”

She turned away to pull the blanket off the ground before casually suggesting, "You could always challenge him for Era's affection. If you think you can take him, it would make him think twice about pursuing her when you're not around… or you could eliminate all doubt entirely and kill him."

He frowned as he glanced back over his shoulder at her. “I will do what I have to in order to protect Era, but she is also able to choose and take care of herself. Thalen can pursue - but that doesn’t mean she has to give in to his requests or desires. Ultimately, it’s Era’s choice to make.”

“It is her choice.” Yuun repeated, smiling briefly. Her sharp whistle carried far over the Thanalan wastes, as if she was calling something… or someone. Out of the darkness a lone woman came running, armed with a scimitar and small round shield. “Unfortunately this is where we have to part ways, unless you’ve changed your mind?” She gave Zevi a playful wink, but she didn’t wait to listen to his refusal again. “Chaje, I am ready to leave.” The stranger undressed Zevi with her gaze as well- he was beginning to notice a trend around here. She gently took the woman by the arm to usher her back to her territory. Yuun glanced over her shoulder one last time and waved, choosing to depart without muttering another word.

Zevi watched them leave, his form finally relaxing. He had played this scenario over and over in his head for the full week before tonight, and he was still woefully unprepared for what actually happened. Yuun was, in an uncomfortable number of ways, just like her daughter; she knew what buttons to press to get a reaction out of him. A fully developed woman straddling him while completely naked was not something he was prepared for as well; still his heart was pounding against his chest and his face remained vibrant red. That was perhaps the biggest difference between mother and daughter. Yuun was bold and definitely not lacking any confidence.

He could stand there like an idiot all night trying to process what just happened. A part of him-- a throbbing part, couldn’t help but wonder what would be happening right now if only he had taken Yuun up on her offer; but he had officially worn out his welcome, and he needed to leave. A sigh slipped from his lips before he turned to make his way back, following the same route that he’d used to arrive at his destination.

---

Collaborated with @rzevi-tia-ffxiv

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ibeuchu · 4 years ago

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{Diego x sister!reader} Nuthouse

summary: After escaping the apocalypse y/n and her siblings are scattered over time in Dallas. One day, while looking through newspapers she sees a note about very familiar looking loony being kept in a local nuthouse…

note: I just wanted to say it’s my first thing i have ever written so I’m sorry for the chaos, also english is not my first language and it’s just for fun. Let me know what you think! Enjoy xoxo

11 months and 14 days. Thats how long ago y/n landed in Dallas after an impressive time jump. However, no matter how impressive this time travel was, after a harsh landing at the back of the shops, it didn’t take much time for y/n to realise that something went wrong. No sight of her siblings. Anyone. She cursed under her breath. Of course it couldn’t go right. Nothing ever goes right with her family. It wasn’t perfect. Imperfect to say is quite a light word. Not to say dysfunctional. But after all, it was her family. After all that shit with funeral, Vanya and saving the world she thought that maybe… there is small chance… a tiny chance… to feel like a real siblings… Again. And first time. Like a real family that actually spends time together and talks with each other because they simply like it. Not because their father died or they have to find an owner of some bloody fake eye. But just because they are a family. Nevertheless she had to forget about it now. After searching for her family for weeks she actually gave up walking on the dark streets at night and looking for any evidence that might gave her hope to see her brothers and sisters again. During the day she worked in a fashion salon. With her artistic skills she quickly found a job as a helper of local fashion designer. Not to say her „futuristic” ideas were warmly welcome by the extravagant old owner. Deeply in her heart she thanked her father for drawing lessons.

Despite moving on with her life she still had this feeling that told her it’s not over. Something is gonna happen and her family is no doubt involved in it.

It was 8:50 in the morning and y/n was just about to finish her breakfast, sitting outside the local bakery sipping her black coffee and nibbling her croissant.

Five would kill for that coffee.

Stop. She couldn’t think about them now. Now she had a job to do. And it was to search all of the available newspapers about new deliveries to the haberdasherys. She needs to know when to buy new fabric and materials before the opponents do it. She heard a rumour that this week that one small shop at the end of the road is gonna sell silk. Very limited amount so she must be fast. While wondering if short, pyjama like silk dresses are a go for she turned last page. Some notes about missing people, some notes of wanted murderers, some notes about weidros from the local nuthouse. But just before flipping the newspaper off her gaze landed on these weirdos. On one of them to be specific. And to be even more specific on a dark haired man, with deep brown eyes and a sizeable scar going just above his right ear.

This can’t be…

Or maybe it can…

If I survived the space jump then maybe…

Nooo you’re working too much y/n your brain doesn’t work clearly…

No, what the fuck! I may be the one they should send to this madhouse but I’ll recognise my brother everywhere!

And this is him… It’s Diego.

Next thing she knew she was driving blue Cadillac to the address she found in a phone book. She left old Carl note about urgent family business.

He’ll be surprised. I told him I don’t have any contact with my family. Well that wasn’t a lie.

After what it felt like an eternity she pulled on a parking lot outside grey building. She almost run to the entrance and next second y/n found herself sitting on a very uncomfortable chair with her hands on the oak table. When she sat there she finally let her brain do its work.

What are you going to do now huh?

What are you gonna tell him?

Hi, what the fuck did you do to be put in a nuthouse in 70’s??

Or maybe hey, I thought you died??

Any of those options suited y/n. The fact they weren’t in a good terms before Vanya’s recital didn’t help. It was all about the same thing as always. Diego wanted to be a Batman, y/n didn’t like the idea of her being a Robin. Especially when they had to work together to stop their sister from starting an apocalypse. It didn’t sound like a perfect time to play superheroes and villains. Nevertheless things got complicated even more when Hazel and Cha Cha killed this lady cop Diego was fond of. His maniacal will to get a revenge didn’t go well with y/n’s cold calculating brain. Yes, she was a bit like Five. But only a bit. She slightly regretted that her smartass brother wasn’t there with her.

He would know what to say.

Maybe not something nice and fitting the situation… But still.

Lost in thoughts y/n was fiddling with her fingers but abruptly stopped when she heard the chair across from her being moved. Man wearing white hospital like clothes was standing behind it. He sat down slowly. The scar wasn’t visible under his long messy hair. He didn’t say a thing just sat there in silence.

What did you do this time?

y/n asked quietly her voice not cooperating with her. She half smiled though her eyes remained serious.

I was just… you know… messing around.

He chuckled lightly, his eyes never leaving hers.

y/n couldn’t get over how much he changed. Physically that is. On the inside he was still the same old Diego, she knew it. His eyes didn’t lose that sparkle and y/n knew he was up to something. She just didn’t know what it was. Yet.

How long have you been here?

She asked when she managed to keep her voice steady.

5 months and few weeks. But it won’t be long.

What do you mean? She asked curiously.

He leaned in, their foreheads almost touching. It was weird to be so close to him after such a long time. Now she could see every detail of his face. A few new tiny bruises. Little scars, almost invisible if you’re standing next to him. And few wrinkles around his eyes. Well we’re not kids anymore she remembered herself. She wasn’t the only one who was studying their sibling. Diego was in a slight awe. She looked good. Like really good. Not like someone who has been literally thrown into different timeline in unknown city without family nor friends and somehow had to keep her shit together. She was really beautiful, Diego thought. And she has grown up. She always looked very young, her facial features stopped her in her 20s. But now she was more mature. More beautiful.

He stared at her for a good while totally forgetting why they bent down.

Well? What are you planning? She broke the silence a bit confused.

Oh yes…um… I’m sawing bars on the windows. It’s a matter of days they won’t see me again. He smiled mischievously at her.

Well she was right, Diego changed only on the outside. Inside he was still the same goofball as always.

5 minutes left! y/n heard the guard yelling

She smiled slightly and went to pull back when a hand grabbed her own one. She looked up. Diego stayed bent forward on the table holding her hand eyes glued to the oak surface. She slowly took a grasp of his hands returning to face him. When she was back only few inches away he looked up. His eyes were no longer cheeky and cocky. Now they gave her a warm look. Maybe a bit sad? No, not sad… maybe… She couldn’t figure out what was hiding in them. There were some emotions she couldn’t really locate.

y/n… She heard him whisper quietly

Being that close didn’t help.

I-I-… I’m sorry… for everything…and-

She shook her head firmly. The last thing she wanted to do now was to blame anyone. Especially someone who was so close to her heart.

No Diego, its okay. Really. Everything that happened… it was a hard time. She gave him one of her smiles that make it impossible to argue with her.

She slightly hung her head so he couldn’t see the sight of tears that appeared in her bright eyes. Here it is. Unemotional y/n in tears. Great. She felt someone rest their forehead on hers. God how she missed him. All of them. He gave her small bit of feeling like it was all right now. She felt his firm grip on her bony hands. She lost some weight and it didn’t went unnoticed by Diego. His overprotective brother instincts kicking in but what could he expect? She had to work hard to face this new situation, not to mention it was y/n after all. Always caring for others, never for herself.

She looked up.

If ,as usual, something goes wrong with your plan- she heard him chuckle- I’ll get you out.

She half smiled raffishly. He met her gaze. Giving her hands a final squeeze he leaned even closer and whispered:

I think someone here has a hero complex and wants to save others. He smiled at her.

Now y/n could clearly see what was hiding in his eyes. Well it wasn’t even hiding. He was just happy to see her. The happiest he has been ever since some carless childhood moments.

Y/n snorted lightly. You’d wish. Here we are, things getting back to new normal.

Finally she straightened her back. It was quite painful considering the position she was sitting in. She stood up and circled the table heading to the exit. She put a hand on his shoulder when she was passing him, his eyes never leaving her figure.

When she was just about to press the handle-

y/n.

She half turned her head.

Have you already talked with five?

Before her brain could process the infromation-

…I...WHAT?

#tua #the umbrella academy #tua imagine #tua x reader #tua x you #the umbrella academy x reader #diego x reader #x reader #diego hargreeves #tua five #tua allison #tua claus #tua luther #tua ben #tua diego #tua vanya #the umbrella academy imagine #source: me

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thiswasinevitableid · 5 years ago

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indruck volcano pls?

Here you go! I based Indrid’s mer-design on a Chinook Salmon.

Duck’s search history is getting weird.

In his defense, the last few weeks have been pretty damn weird.

It started two weeks ago, when he was checking tree specimens along the river. One minute he was engrossed in his work, birds chirping and the sky blue above him. The next the hair on the back of his neck was straight up, and he was positive someone, or something, was watching him.

Gradually, the feeling subsided, and he chalked it up to random case of the heebie-jeebies.

Except, two days later, it happened again. And then again the day after that. Each time he looked around, kept his ears on high-alert, and came up with nothing. The fourth time it happened, he got a glimpse of the back and tail of something human-sized and pinkish-red disappearing beneath the water.

He knows his wildlife well, but he’d never seen anything like that. That night, he sat down at his computer for research.

River fish of the pacific northwest?

Biggest species of freshwater fish in pacific northwest?

Are there pink sturgeon?

Pink fish near Mt. Saint Helen's?

How to report illegal, exotic pet selling ring?

The next day, he was leading a tour around the river walk, when something pink-red caught his attention. He kept one eye on it as he spoke, noticed it disappeared under the surface whenever anyone else turned to look it’s way. Towards the end of the tour, he glanced over to find, instead of reddish scales, red eyes watching him from a definitely human face. It blinks, then ducks beneath the current.

Mermaid sightings in Washington?

Animals commonly mistaken for mermaids?

Are mermaids real?

Proof of mermaids other than that freaking discovery channel mockumentary?

Two days later, he’d been bending over the embankment to see if that was a native turtle or a released pet in the water when his hat dropped of his head and into the water, rushing away before he had a chance to go in after it. It was, as his friend Aubrey would put it, a bummer. That hat had pins from all the parks he’d been too, and the first nametag he was ever given as an official member of the park service.

Just before his rounds took him away from the river, he spotted something on a rock at the edge of the water.

His hat.

He was about to thank his luck that it got caught on the stone when he noticed that it had clearly been placed there, and that there wasn’t a speck of mud or dead leaves on it. And whoever put it there had thoughtfully weighed it down with several colorful rocks.

And there were no recent footprints on the shore save for his own.

“Uh, thanks?” He called out over the water, feeling sillier by the second. No response came.

He turned, headed up the bank, and swore he heard over the burble, “You are welcome.”

Can mermaids talk?

Are mermaids friendly?

Which brings him to now, several days later, as he’s back in the same patch of water, trying to fish out the turtles that were, indeed, someone’s non-native pet that had been turned loose.

“You are going to lose your hat again.”

“FUCK!” He stumbles back, landing on his ass in the shallow water. Across from him, peering around a rock, the man who definitely has a fishtail, looks concerned

“Oh dear, in most futures you did not fall.”

“You’re a fuckin’ mermaid. I ain’t crazy! Wait, futures?”

“I can see the future. And no, that is not a thing all merfolk can do, since you were about to ask.”

“I...how...god what the fuck is goin’ on?” His pants are taking on water at an alarming rate, but that is the least of his worries.

“I am introducing myself to you. I thought that was a custom merfolk and humans had in common?”

“It, uh, it is, but, uh, see, most humans don’t expect to ever meet a merperson on account of we assume you ain’t real.”

The merman sighs, “I know. And those who do see us are often frightened. Or try to capture us for money.” Cautiously, he swims away from the rock and over to Duck, stopping a few feet away, water shallow enough that he can keep his arms resting on the pebbly sand and tail flicking drops of water into the air, “but you are not one such human. Which is why I wanted to know you.”

“You, uh, you wanna know me because I don’t seem like I’m gonna sell you off to a sideshow?”

“Among other things. I have been the steward of this portion of river for years, seen many tend to these woods. You have such an air of caring to you when you work, and such competence, it is fascinating to watch. Also I enjoy that you sometimes speak to the trees.”

“I just want ‘em to know they’re grownin’ well.” Duck mumbles, blushing.

“It is charming. If it is alright, I would like to continue watching you when you work. Perhaps I could even talk to you while you do, if it is only you and I around?”

“Uh, sure?” Duck shrugs, “can’t promise sparklin conversation, but I ain’t opposed to the company. Might learn more about trees than you ever care to know.”

“Splendid!” The merman claps his hands together, “some day, in return, you can come swim with me and you can learn more about fish and current than you care to know.”

His enthusiasm skips across the water and Duck catches it.

“You got a deal. Name’s Duck, by the way.”

The merman grins, teeth sharper than Duck expects, “It is nice to meet you Duck. I am Indrid.”

Mermaids carnivorous?

Should you offer to share your lunch with a mermaid?

Indrid, true to his word, appears now and then over the next few days. Sometimes, if the trails or river are busy, Duck will just see flashes of tail, or a flicker of a face peeking around a rock.

Other times Indrid will float on his back or even climb up onto a rock to watch him work. He asks Duck questions about birds, and trees, the various behaviors of humans that confound him. Duck, in turn, asks him about his life in the river, about the layout of merfolk up and down this part of the state.

Some days, Indrid is nowhere to be seen. But on those days, Duck will spot pictures drawn into the mud or sand of the riverbank, as high up as Indrid was able to manage. Sometimes, it’s as simple as a drawing of a merperson waving. Others it tells Duck where to spot a rare salamander or songbird. Once or twice, it’s reminder of something Duck needs to do that day after work, something he meant to write down but didn’t and is glad for the reminder of. He assumes Indrid must use his future sight for those.

On the days when it’s only messages in the sand, he’s always sure to leave a happy face (or the words “thank you” once he teaches Indrid how to recognize it).

It’s been three days of sand messages, the longest stretch yet (Duck misses him, keeps hoping he’ll turn and see that toothy smile) when Indrid finally appears and asks, “would you like to swim with me tonight?”

Given that it’s pushing a hundred degrees (the kind of day that makes him feel as though the mountain will erupt at any moment) and he’s fairly certain Indrid either can’t or won’t eat him, Duck says yes.

When his shift is over, he heads down to their agreed meeting space, an inlet that’s off limits to the public and has a calm current.

“I assume you wear those because otherwise the water is too cold for you?” He points at Duck’s swimtrunks, the spare pair he keeps in the car.

“Kinda. Mostly to, uh, preserve our modesty.”

“Ah.” Indrid says with the tone and nod that Duck knows means, “I understand but think it is a bit silly.”

As soon as he’s up to his chest in the water, Indrid is swimming around him, talking animatedly and brushing his body along Duck’s back. Duck shivers at the contact, tells himself it’s from the unfamiliar, cool scales.

Their conversation turns to Indrid’s younger years, and he admits to harassing a flock of college students who were tubing and kept chucking their beer cans into the water.”

“How’d you get ‘em to stop?”

“My tail is rather strong, so I got it under their tubes and just-” he flicks his tail out of the water with a huge splash, the bulk of which hits Duck.

“Ackhey!” He splutters, giggling.

“ApologiesAH!” Indrid shakes his head in surprise when Duck splashes him back. The human gets another wave directed at him by Indrid’s tail, and when his vision clears the merman is gone.

“Uh oh.” He says just as Indrid pops out of the water in front of him, drenching him as he does. The tail sneaks behind his legs and knocks them out from beneath him. But before he goes under, willowy arms grab him.

“I win.” Indrid grins.

“Guhhuh.” He flails a bit, trying to right himself, and his hand slides up Indrid’s tail.

“Mmmmmm.” Indrid sighs as he helps him up, “that feels nice.”

“Is it, uh, can I do it again? It’s kinda cool, never felt anythin’ quite like it.”

“Of course.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder as the human runs his hand up and down his tail, noting the dark flecks in the red.

“It been the same color all these years, or does it change?”

“That’s a fascinating question….”

They talk until the sun goes down, resting against each other all the while.

Merman tail sexual thing?

Can a human fall in love with a merman?

Can a merman love a human?

Merman porn?

Two days later, Duck is just starting his rounds by the river when Indrid emerges, eyes frantic.

“Duck, Duck, the volcano-”

“Oh fuck me, is it-”

“No, it is not erupting again, but, but there will be an earthquake on account of it’s seismic activity. You need to clear the visitor center, the roof is going to come down and it will kill twenty five people. You have fifteen minutes.

Duck runs, is winded by the time he reaches the center, and no matter how he tries, his coworkers will not listen to him (he wishes Juno was working today, he might be able to tell her the whole truth).

Out of ideas and time, he pulls the fire alarm.

The center evacuates in a hurry, and just as his boss is about to ask what the hell he’s doing, the ground shudders once beneath them. Then again, more violently, thirty seconds and an eternity all once of cracking and shaking and shouts of alarm.

The visitor center is ruins.

But everybody is alive.

-------------------------------------

Duck rolls his pants up, wading a little ways into the water as he chucks stones into it

“You did it.” Indrid surfaces, swimming over to float off to his left.

“Yeah. Guess I did. Got two days suspension for pullin’ the fire alarm though.”

“I am sorry.”

“Ain’t the end of the world. Uh, are there any more of those comin’?”

Indrid thinks for a moment, “No, none so severe in the forseeable future.”

“And the volcano?” He steps into deeper water.

“Still not erupting any time soon.”

“Can, uh, can I ask you the odds of one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“Uh, what, what are the chances of you and I kissin’?”

Indrid swims the few feet between them, looping his arms around Duck’s shoulders and planting a single, cool kiss on his lips.

“Indrid.” Duck whispers, ready to wade in over his head just for another kiss, knowing for certain Indrid would never ask him to.

“Before you ask: yes, my sweet, I do see many more of those in our future.”

#indruck #mermay #mermaid au #mermay fills #indrid cold/duck newton

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x0401x · 4 years ago

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Akiba Souken Interview with Jizue

On the original soundtrack of “Hoshiai no Sora”, which demonstrated the uniqueness of Jizue.

The ones who composed the soundtrack of the TV anime “Hoshiai no Sora” were the instrumental band Jizue, which is based in Kyoto and widely active both nationwide and overseas. It is said that they, who claim to have always wanted to work with video, encountered “Hoshiai no Sora” due to a certain coincidence. Their music, which is pleasant to hear despite being so technical, draws the youthful patterns of a soft tennis club, matching splendidly with the worldview of “Hoshiai no Sora” as it approaches the emotions of middle school students. We have asked members Inoue Norimasa-san and Katagi Kie-san about the soundtrack CD, released on December 25th 2019.

Raw || Index || Ko-fi/PayPal ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

Being provided with an environment where they could unleash the uniqueness of Jizue.

——Jizue is a band with a long career, right?

Inoue: We used to be a song band at first, but it has been thirteen years that we became an instrumental one.

——Why did you decide to be an instrumental band?

Inoue: Counting with the drummer who has left the band by now, we, the three male members, were childhood friends from grade school. We had always been a song band, but we sensed limitations somewhere along the way, so we decided to create cool sounds with just our instruments. Then, we started wanting a pianist, so we added in (Katagi) Kie-chan, who was an acquaintance of our drummer.

Katagi: I was always alone, playing from classics and jazz to pop, so Jizue was the first band I ever joined. Since it is an instrumental band, so I could play the piano as much as I wanted, and it is really fun to build up strength by overlapping with the other instruments.

——Instrumental bands have an image of talent to them, so hasn’t this genre been on a rise in the past years?

Inoue: I do not know whether it has been on a rise or not, but many cool instrumental bands have been around since the time when we started ours, and in comparison to before, I think this genre has been receiving more recognition lately.

Katagi: Instrumental bands have been blending into regular rock festivals often, and costumers who got to know about the genre through soundtracks for doramas have been gathering up at live concerts.

——In these circumstances, Jizue started making music for animated works, right? How was it decided for you to be in charge of the “Hoshiai no Sora” soundtrack?

Inoue: This is something that we also only came to know about later, but the cue was that the director of the recording company happened to have listened to one of our songs, “March of Monkey”, by chance. Then, he looked up the band name and recommended us to the anime’s staff.

Katagi: We had made music for commercials before, but it was our first time working with a soundtrack, so we were happy.

Inoue: Like, “A soundtrack commission has finally come our way”. We were happy, but at the same time, we had no idea how to make it (laughs). At the first meeting, Director Akane said that he wanted us to create Jizue-like tracks without being too conscious of the anime’s worldview, so we were relieved.

——How was Director Akane’s first impression?

Inoue: There were no detailed orders like, “I want you to add a sound like this” or, “I want you to use a melody like that”, so I thought he was the kind of person who was going to let us create freely. The only thing that surprised me was when he told us to make forty or more short tracks, with one to two minutes of length for each. I wondered if people make that many tracks for an anime.

——I believe the specific orders for the tracks were made through a music menu. How was it?

Katagi: Yes, we received a menu. The emotions he wanted us to express through certain tracks were written there, together with their length and tempo, so it was a new way of ordering.

——Who wrote the compositions?

Inoue: I was mostly the one who did it. All the members of Jizue write tracks, but we thought had to bring out a sense of uniformity for the soundtrack, and that it was necessary to have someone take the initiative. So I allocated the members, asking Kie-chan to take care of the piano tracks.

Fast and clear melodies are one of the “flavors” of Jizue.

——How did you get into composing the tracks?

Inoue: There was an order from Director Akane for us to make a number of main songs, so we started from there. At first, we made three-minute tracks like usual and went on to consolidate their images. The initial tracks from the OST, “Ingenuity”, “W -Hoshiai no Sora-“, “slow and sure” and “heart rate”, were conceived like that.

——“W -Hoshiai no Sora” was also included in your latest album “gallery”, which you released July 2019, with the title “W”. Does that mean you already had this track from the very beginning?

Inoue: No, it is a song that we made from scratch for “Hoshiai no Sora” and we liked it a lot, so we asked permission to include it in our own album. “W” is a title we put on it with both the meaning “doubles” and of “versus”, as in fighting against an opponent, and it is a song that we made with the excitement and dizziness of a game match as its image.

——It is often used in the anime and is also the track that represents “Hoshiai no Sora”.

Katagi: When I watched it online, the comments would go, “Here it is~” in unison whenever “W -Hoshiai no Sora-“ started playing. That made me happy.

——Katagi-san’s high-speed piano is cool and I think everyone loves it.

Inoue: Melodies like that are one of Jizue’s quirks, so we thought we should use them in this soundtrack too, no matter what. Ever since the earlier stages, we have been adopting passages fast enough to make people go, “So they can play that much”. I believe that this gap of having clear melodies in-between is characteristic of Jizue, so for this time, I would write phrases that were, if anything, quick-paced, and would ask Kie-chan, “Can you play this?”.

Katagi: I played by practicing a lot (laughs). “W -Hoshiai no Sora-“ has a tense air to it and I think it is a cool track.

Inoue: The track is not just hard to play - there is a sense of liberation from the hook’s melody, so it resulted in a track that is easy to ride on. Not just the anime’s staff but also the people who watched the anime have liked these tracks that we made the way we wanted, so we have this feeling that we created good tunes.

——This time, when you were making the soundtrack, what did you have in mind?

Inoue: There are tracks in it that last less than a minute, so I had wondered for a moment if people would enjoy listening to such short ones, but when I listened to them in sequence when working on the mixing and mastering, they sounded amazingly good. If I had to tell you why, I would say it is the track’s feeling - there is this sensation that the feelings of the tracks we want people to listen to the most are lined up in rows. When I realized this, I found soundtracks to be fun.

——I believe there were tracks for depictions of everyday life that you would not normally make. How was it trying to produce these tracks?

Inoue: We made them enjoyably, without any resistance whatsoever. We had the desire to bring out the uniqueness of Jizue even in such tracks, so I think they turned out as slightly eccentric daily life tunes. For example, their tempo becomes irregular.

Katagi: Nori-chan is the genius type when it comes to songwriting. Just from him humming a tune that he came up with at random, the tempo becomes irregular, but you can listen to it without any sense of misplacement whatsoever, even when the time signature goes from seven to eight. He is also a recording engineer, so by the time he creates a melody, he already has an image of its sound as a whole in his head.

——So you have a clear vision of the final form from the initial phase of composition.

Inoue: I do. This specially applies to instrumental bands, but I believe that the coolness of a track changes greatly depending on its sound design.

——While Jizue’s compositions are complex music pieces backed by advanced techniques, I had the impression that they were easy for the ears to get familiar with.

Katagi: Normally, when we are creating them, we members have an unspoken consent to make the hook’s melody into something that people can sing to, no matter what. Beautiful things will definitely resound within people’s hearts, regardless of how difficult they might be, so we think it is good to put in such melodies.

Getting to create tracks that take a full swing on emotions due to being given a setting from the outside.

——I felt that the nature of Jizue’s music was a perfect fit for “Hoshiai no Sora”.

Inoue: It makes me happy when people who watched the anime think so. When making them, we wondered about how the sounds would go with the animation, but when we actually saw it on-air, they matched so well that even we were surprised. As expected of that anime’s staff, starting with the director. We made countless tracks for the games, but all of them were used in good ways, so since they match so well, I wanted to have made even more of them (laughs). As we made a soundtrack ourselves this time, I started paying attention to the soundtracks of other animes.

Katagi: We would look forward to every episode of “Hoshiai no Sora”. We were only told the story of the early stages, so we were curious about the continuation.

Inoue: We were told it would have not just a sense of youth but also pain, yet I had not imagined it would be this much of it (laughs).

Katagi: In the menu, there was a specification like “fear toward his father”. We made a dark song with just the piano, but when we watched the initial parts on-air, the dad turned out to be way worse than we had pictured.

Inoue: The episode about Itsuki-kun getting the burn marks on his back was a huge shock, and I was like, “You can’t do that to kids, no matter what!”. But the mother’s suffering was also conveyed and felt realistic. I got sad.

——This is a series where the amount of painful scenes is not small, so while making tracks for youthful scenes and heated-up tennis scenes, you also had to make sorrowful and disturbing ones.

Inoue: And make them we did. There are not such dark tracks amongst our usual ones, but I personally like melodies in minor a lot, so I made them without any resistance.

Katagi: We were able to shake off our emotions and create these tracks thanks to the setting being given to us from the outside, like how it went this time. We normally write tracks while picturing sceneries and stories that have moved our own hearts, but we had never made such worked-up feelings into the theme.

Inoue: It was interesting to make them by being granted a theme. And I was really happy to have a proper response and see them properly matching the animation.

——Who decided the track titles and order for the soundtrack CD?

Inoue: I decided on both. For the track order, firstly, I wanted to line up the tracks we made as the main themes of the series, going from the lighthearted tracks into the dark zone from that point on, and then make a beautiful flow toward the ending theme, “Kago no Naka no Bokura wa”. I really like the opening and ending themes of “Hoshiai no Sora”.

Katagi: I think coming up with titles for all thirty-four tracks was a hassle (laughs). You did a lot of research on English language when thinking about them, right?

Inoue: I thought they had to match the mood of the tracks no matter what. Also, there is a code hidden within the titles altogether.

Katagi: There is actually a meaning as to why there is upper case mixed with lower case.

Inoue: We hope people enjoy this too.

——Do you want to keep making anime soundtracks from now on too?

Inoue: We so do. If any anime’s staff calls to us, we want to do it right away (laughs). A discussion has been raised about us making a series by merging Jizue itself with animation, and there are many opportunities to deliver our music through video series collaborations with an apparently wide scope of people, so we would like to keep actively going at it in the future too.

#hoshiai no sora #hns #sportsanimedaily #fysportsanime #stars align #jizue #hoshisora #interview #my translation

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wistfulcynic · 5 years ago

Text

To Keep It All The Year (3 /4)

Anyone up for a spot of pure fantasy in which people are essentially good and their positive actions are rewarded with deserved happiness? Yeah, me too. It’s been a WEEK, for me and @katie-dub and anyone else in the UK with a conscience and a shred of human decency, so let’s all have a bit of an escape.

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is a broken man, betrayed by everyone and everything he thought he could believe in. He’s all but given up on life until a fateful meeting with bartender Emma Swan and her son Henry gives him a reason to live again, and a chance to redeem his past.

All it takes is a little Christmas magic.

On AO3 | Tumblr: Part One | Part Two

Thanks as ever to @thisonesatellite who keeps me fuelled with whisky and lebkuchen, a paring ordained by the gods, and also because MAGICAL WREATHS OMG WUTTT ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Tagging all the folks from the last tag list, PLEASE do let me know if you want to be added or removed. @kmomof4 @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @darkcolinodonorgasm @snowbellewells @stahlop @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @jonirobinson64 @tiganasummertree @ohmightydevviepuu @shardminds @jennjenn615 @superchocovian @teamhook

PART THREE: THE FUTURE

Killian moves out of his apartment that very afternoon. He can’t bear to spend another moment there. He needs a fresh start in a new place, one that will encourage him to be better rather than indulging the worst of him.

Everything he owns, every single thing, fits into a large satchel and a medium-sized suitcase. Packing it all takes less than an hour. Killian drops his key into the landlord’s mailbox and heads across town to a guesthouse he found with a quick internet search, not a great place but his finances are limited and it’s still better than that apartment. There’s an actual bed, for a start, and part of him is tempted to crawl into it and drink until his chest stops aching and he no longer sees the crushed look in Emma’s eyes each time he closes his own, but he has made promises to himself and he intends to keep them.

So instead he falls back on the least damaging of his old crutches and heads out for a walk. The guesthouse is a bit rough around the edges but the neighbourhood whose western boundary it marks is a vast improvement over his old one. There’s an elegance and dignity in the slightly run-down buildings here, like they’ve aged gracefully and in comfort without any of the desperation and squalor that characterised his old place. They’ve kept their head up, even through hard times, and they haven’t given in. A lesson lurks in there somewhere, he thinks.

He’s been wandering for about half an hour when his attention is caught by a door. Not a particularly remarkable door, but has a jolly little Christmas wreath hung upon it which brings a smile to Killian’s face. Something about those little wreaths always draws him in, he thinks. Something he can’t quite put his finger on...

The door is made of wide wooden planks painted a deep forest green and boasts an old-fashioned brass knocker in the shape of a roaring lion. It belongs to what appears to be a small bookshop, and as Killian pushes it open he feels a stirring of eagerness that he hasn’t felt in years. He can’t remember the last time he read a good book. Something layered and complex, he thinks, with a well-crafted world that he can dig into and lose himself for a while.

The shop is surprisingly spacious, with row upon row of tall wooden bookshelves lined up straight as soldiers along its walls and a broad central aisle leading to the till and a small cafe at the back. Twin spiral staircases rise up on each side to a mezzanine where he can see more shelves and a cosy reading area with overstuffed sofas and armchairs and a few scattered beanbags of the perfect size for children. Killian walks slowly down the centre aisle, aware his mouth is hanging open and barely resisting the urge to spin around, gaping in awe. Were he asked to give a description of his ideal bookshop it would be precisely this, he thinks, from the aged patina on the shelves to the fluffy grey cat curled on a cushion in the window, to the truly dizzying array of books. It is magnificent.

“Can I help you find anything?” Killian shakes himself from his reverie and turns to see a petite brunette in towering heels smiling a friendly smile.

“Ah, no thank you, lass,” he replies, “I’m just br—you know what, actually, yes. You can.”

He explains what sort of book he’s after and the woman—Belle, according to her name tag—leads him around the shop in search of it. She makes excellent recommendations, a fair number of which he’s already read, but after an enjoyable hour or so Killian has a small armload of books he can’t wait to crack open and perhaps, he hopes, a friend.

After he pays for them he and Belle stand at the till for another ten minutes or so, chatting amiably. Killian formally introduces himself and informs Belle that he’s just moved to the neighbourhood and is out exploring. He’s just about to ask if she knows a good place to eat when he spots the small sign taped to the cash register.

“Are you hiring?” he says in surprise.

“I am. I could use an assistant three or four days a week,” says Belle. “You interested?”

“I might be,” Killian replies. He’ll need a job to afford the new life he intends to build for himself, he thinks, and working in this lovely little shop with Belle would be a dream come true.

“Any retail experience?” she asks.

“None. But I’m a fast learner and fairly widely read.”

“I’ll say,” says Belle wryly. “Okay, let’s give it a try. I can start you on—” she names an hourly wage that has Killian’s eyes widening.

“Is that the standard market rate for a bookshop assistant?”

“Nope.” Belle’s voice is cheerful and also makes it clear she doesn’t intend to answer any questions on the subject.

“Er—okay. Well, that would be more than satisfactory.” Enough to give him the new beginning he needs, he thinks. More than.

Belle nods. “When can you start?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Perfect.”

—

Belle lives above the bookshop, in a two-bedroom flat that she claims can get a little lonely. She claims this a week into the new year when she learns that Killian is looking for a place to live, and insists on showing him the spare room that very minute.

Her flat is tidy but comfortable and the room she shows him plainly furnished, with polished hardwood floors and plaster walls painted a warm ivory. A large chest of drawers takes up one corner and in another is a metal framed bed spread with a quilt that he’s sure is handmade. There’s a single wide window framed by soft yellow curtains that turn the afternoon light golden and a single framed poster on the wall, of Waterhouse’s Miranda. Killian stares at the painting for some time, thinking it should probably upset him. Instead he feels soothed, by the room’s gentle simplicity and by the shipwreck safely tucked away in the brushstrokes of an oil painting. He moves in the next day.

He and Belle get on splendidly. Their habits mesh in a comfortable way, both being meticulously tidy early risers, equally content to spend their evenings in heated argument about books as in the silent companionship of reading or watching television. Killian almost wishes their easy friendship could develop into something more, though it does occur to him that he’s never had a woman as just a friend before and perhaps this is a thing that might do him some good.

That and he still dreams of soft golden hair, and green eyes that see into his soul.

He begins to eat regular healthy meals, sharing the cooking duties with Belle, and after a month or so of that he joins a gym. He still goes on his long, rambling walks but far less frequently than before, using them as an opportunity to explore new neighbourhoods rather than a desperate attempt to escape his demons and he never, never stops at the docks.

He also starts seeing a therapist, on Belle’s gentle suggestion after one too many nights of being woken up by his nightmares. She can recommend one personally, she confesses, for the very same reason that she is able to pay him so well. The bookshop is financed by hush money—she spits the words—her lavish divorce settlement from a man who controlled and abused her for years and when she finally managed to leave him tracked her down and nearly killed her. She grips Killian’s hand tightly as she tells him this, tears rolling unheeded down her cheeks, yet there is a ring of triumph in her voice as she explains how he signed over more than half his assets to her in exchange for her promise not to prosecute, or sell tales of his abuse to the press.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken it,” she says. “Maybe I should have exposed him instead, or pressed charges. But he could weather bad press or bribe his way out of jail time while it will take him years to build his business back up again. Decades, even. And meanwhile I have my shop. And my freedom.”

Belle knows as well as Killian does how heavily tainted money can weigh on person’s conscience, and that the only way to bear its weight is by turning it to something good. She’s a survivor, just like him. Just like Emma.

Slowly, so slowly, Killian feels the parts of himself he thought were broken beyond repair begin to mend, and every day he focuses on that healing. He nourishes his body with exercise and good food and he nourishes his mind with books and conversation. He nourishes his soul as well, with his therapy sessions and with the bookshop’s weekly children’s story time, which Belle insists he take charge of after catching him watching wistfully from behind a shelf as she sat surrounded by a semicircle of rapt faces, reading an adventure book.

He was thinking of Henry.

He thinks of Henry often, and of course of Emma. Every time he rambles through a new part of the city he wonders if they are living there, perhaps in one of the sprawling houses with soft green lawns in the residential areas, or maybe in an airy loft in one of the edgier, artier neighbourhoods. He hopes that wherever they are they’ve found a true home of their own, with security and comfort and reliable childcare for Henry. Emma no longer needs to work so she could study full time if she wished, or do something else entirely. She wouldn’t strictly speaking need to do anything, but if Killian knows her—and despite the short duration of their acquaintance he’s quite certain he does—she will want to keep studying, for her own satisfaction and to find a career that suits her. Emma Swan could never be content sitting around all day doing nothing. She would want to do some good in the world, regardless of her personal circumstances. The kindness she showed to a strange man in a bar when she had next to nothing of her own was proof enough of that.

It hurts to think of them but it’s a good sort of pain, a gentle, bittersweet ache that warms his heart, nothing like the tearing agony he felt for so many years whenever he thought of Liam. Thoughts of Emma and Henry inspire him, keep him moving steadily along this new path he’s chosen to tread. Though he’s certain he’ll never see either of them again he wants to live his life in a way that honours his feelings for them.

He doesn’t go back to the bar where he and Emma met, not often. It’s just a place to drink without the magic her presence lent it, and drinking is a thing he’s trying to do less of these days. But the following Christmas Eve he finds himself back in his old neighbourhood standing before the plain brown door. There’s a jolly little Christmas wreath hung upon it, and Killian knows by now that he’s powerless in the face of those wreaths. He lets it draw him in through the door and over to a stool at the bar where he orders the expensive rum Emma gave him last year and sips it slowly as the memories that infuse the very air of this place both warm and pain him. He’ll allow himself this, he thinks, just this one small lapse. He’s worked hard all year, he can have one evening of self pity. His Christmas gift to himself.

“Hey, sailor.”

The voice is impossible and yet he hears it, turns towards it in astonishment then scrambles to his feet.

“Emma!” he gasps. He stares at her, drinks in the sight of her, of the face that’s haunted his dreams for a year lit up by a bright smile. “What—what are—I had no idea you’d be here.”

“I almost wasn’t,” she replies. “I was at a Christmas party across town, actually. but then I just had the strangest urge to come here and so here I am.”

“It’s wonderful to see you, love.” His astonishment ebbs and gives way to a fierce and fearsome joy. He can’t believe she’s here, right in front of him and real, and so lovely he aches to look at her. “How are you? How’s Henry?”

“Henry’s great. I’m great. We’re great.” She laughs.

“That’s... well, it’s great.” His smile is beginning to hurt his cheeks, but he could no more stop smiling it than he could make the Earth spin backwards.

“It is,” she agrees. “Listen, um, can we sit down somewhere?”

“Of course. Can I get you a drink?”

“Yeah.” Something shifts in her smile, sharpens it in a way that steals his breath. “I’ll have a rum.”

He orders one for her and another for himself and they sit together in a small, round booth in the corner of the bar. It’s cosy and intimate and it envelops them, making Killian’s heart pound and his mouth go dry.

Emma seems unfazed, giving him a cool once-over as he slides in beside her on the leather seat. There’s a new confidence in her demeanour now, the kind of quiet assurance that forms in people who answer to no one but themselves. It sits well on her, he thinks. Comfortably, like it was always waiting for her to slip it on.

“You look good,” she tells him.

“Um.” He feels himself flush and gulps some rum to wet his throat. “Thank you. You look lovely, but then you always did.”

She observes him in silence for a moment, sipping her own drink. “I looked for you, you know,” she says.

“You did?”

“I did. Do you know how many Killian Joneses there are in the phone book?”

“Er—no.”

“Zero,” she declares. “Including you.”

“Ah. Well I don’t really—”

“But,” she interrupts, “as it turns out, I’m pretty good at finding people, even when they don’t want to be found. I found you, eventually. In that bookstore where you work.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I was going to come in but you, ah, weren’t alone. I saw you through the window, standing with a woman. Laughing.” She stares into her glass. “I’d never seen you laugh like that before. Or at all.”

“A woman?” Killian frowns in confusion. “What woman?”

“A really pretty one with long brown hair,” says Emma quietly. “Cute dress, very petite. You looked... close.”

“Belle,” he says. “My boss and flatmate.”

“Flatmate?” Emma repeats with an odd note in her voice. Her eyes flicker up to him then back to her glass.

“Er—my roommate,” he amends.

“I know what a flatmate is, Killian.”

“Ah. Yes of course, I just, er—”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

He’s taken aback by the non-sequitur, and the shy smile that accompanies it. The shy smile and the eyes shining with something that makes his already galloping heart pound harder still. “Well, it’s Christmas Day,” he replies weakly.

“That’s also a thing I know.”

“I was just planning to have a meal with Belle, maybe watch some Christmas movies,” he says. “Nothing special.”

“Why don’t you and Belle come to my house instead? For dinner?”

“Oh, well, I—”

“Come on, you have to,” she cajoles. “Henry would never forgive me if he found out I’d seen you and not invited you. He talks about you all the time.”

“He does?”

“He does.”

Killian takes another gulp of rum, emptying the glass. He feels dizzy at this turn of events, almost afraid that they will turn out to be nothing more than another fevered dream. Surreptitiously he pinches his thigh and when he feels the sharp prick of pain he risks a look at Emma. She’s still smiling, that same hopeful, expectant smile he’d been so powerless against one year ago. “Well, I’ll have to check with Belle but I’m sure she’ll agree,” he says. “I’ve—mentioned you and Henry once or twice myself, she’ll be over the moon to meet you both.”

Emma’s smile turns radiant. “Give me your number and I’ll text you the address,” she says. He does, and a moment later his phone dings with a new message. Her address he recognises from his rambles as belonging to a part of town that’s nice but not ostentatious, with comfortable family homes and plenty of parks and very good schools. He thinks about Emma and Henry living there and feels a warm glow of sheer delight. It’s exactly what he hoped for, for them.

“I have to get home,” says Emma. “I told Henry’s babysitter I’d be back by midnight. But—you will come over tomorrow, won’t you? About noon? You promise?”

Killian smiles. “You have my word. I’ll see you then.”

—

Belle agrees to have dinner at Emma’s with as much enthusiasm as he predicted, practically dancing with excitement at the prospect.

“The mythical Emma and Henry!” she sings. “I feel like I’m about to meet a unicorn, or Santa himself.”

Killian’s stomach is dancing too, with anxiety and eagerness and hope. Foolish hope, he tells himself firmly, but it ricochets around his insides nonetheless and refuses to be quashed. He walked away from Emma a year ago so she could have the freedom to make her own choices and she chose to find him, to invite him back into her life. He’s not certain quite what that means but he thinks—he hopes— that at the very least he won't have to go another whole year without seeing her and Henry. That thought alone is enough to make his Christmas bright.

As he stands in the shower with the hot water flowing over him he thinks about how very different his life is than it was just a year ago. The fact that his shower is hot and the water plentiful is the very least of the changes. He no longer has nightmares, no longer feels haunted by his past or fears he might be swallowed up by bleak despair. The dark moods still come from time to time but he is prepared for them now, equipped to weather them without turning to self-destruction. He feels healthier than he has since his navy days, physically as well as mentally. His paunch is gone, replaced with firm muscle, and though he’ll never be as ripped as some of the younger men he works out alongside, he’s toned and strong and that’s enough for him. His complexion now has a ruddy glow, especially when he returns from one of his walks, and he’s begun to take more care with his appearance again, keeping his hair trimmed in a flattering style and investing in a nicer wardrobe.

He gets out of the shower and towels himself dry, then dresses in some of his new garments: charcoal trousers and a black sweater over a shirt with a soft tonal pattern, pale purple and blue against dove grey. He wonders what Emma will think of his new clothes, what she will think of all the changes this past year has wrought in him. He wonders if she’s thought of him the way he’s thought of her.

He wonders what he can bring to dinner this afternoon. There’s a bottle of good wine in the cupboard that he and Belle planned to have with their own Christmas meal and of course many things in the bookshop he’s sure Emma and Henry would love. That should be fine for gifts but still something troubles him, an itchy sort of tingle at the back of his mind, like he’s forgetting something vital. What was it that he brought for them last year? He frowns as he tries to remember. The ship for Henry, that was it, and flowers for Emma from that odd little shop, the one with the florist who reminded him of... of...

Bloody hell.

Killian reels, gripping his bedpost for balance as memories from the year before come flooding back, clear and perfect as though they happened only yesterday. It couldn’t be, he thinks, it’s impossible, and how could he not have noticed at the time? How could he not have seen?

Magic, little brother.

“Killian!” Belle raps sharply on the half-open door of his bedroom, her tone of voice suggesting she’s been calling him for some time. “Are you ready to go? It’s nearly half past eleven.”

“Aye, love.” He breathes in deeply and stands upright. “Be right there.”

They go down to the shop where Killian selects several books for Henry, some of which are slightly above his age group—because a child should have a library that builds towards the future—and, remembering the shelves in her old apartment, a picture frame for Emma made of delicately carved rosewood. He wraps them carefully and rings them up on his employee account as Belle calls them a cab. It’s not far at all to Emma’s house but when Killian suggests they walk Belle informs him crisply that while he might enjoy a snowy stroll across twelve city blocks her shoes would not, and takes out her phone.

The quiet Christmas streets make the ride a short one, but Killian is glad of even a few minutes of peace to sit and to think and spends most of the journey staring out the window at the snowy trees and lawns and attempting to sort through the chaos in his mind.

“Why didn’t you put the wreath on the door this year?” he asks Belle.

“What wreath?” She turns to him with a small frown.

“Last year there was a Christmas wreath on the door of the bookshop,” he replies. “A small one, made of evergreen and holly with pinecones and cinnamon sticks and a big red bow. It’s what caught my attention as I was walking by, why I went inside.”

Belle shakes her head. “There wasn’t any wreath, Killian, though that’s a lovely idea. Maybe we can get one for next year.”

“Aye. I know just the shop to get it from,” he mutters, and then the cab pulls up to Emma’s house.

It’s a charming little house, two storeys of dark red brick with slate blue trim on the windows and on the wide porch where comfortable looking wicker furniture and outdoor toys are all jumbled together. There’s a snowman on the lawn, jaunty and quite pleased with himself in his red and green striped scarf and an actual top hat, surrounded by piled-up and solidly-packed mounds of snow and the gruesome remains of what was evidently a long and hard-fought snowball battle.

The mat lying at the foot of the front door reads Welcome! Everything is fine in soothing green lettering and Killian and Belle exchange a grin as they ring the bell. From within they can hear the sound of voices and then the door swings open and Emma appears, looking festive in skinny jeans and a green sweater with the cartoon face of Rudolph on the front, his nose large and round and glittery red. There’s a plastic holly sprig behind her ear and a bright smile on her face.

“Hey!” she says. “Come in! You must be Belle, I’m Emma. You can hang your coats just here.”

They do so, shrugging the coats off and handing Emma the wine and gifts which she accepts with a laugh that holds a touch of surprise. She leads them down a short hallway and into a cosy living room with a plush sofa along the wall and a tall and brightly decorated tree in the window. A fire blazes beneath a wooden mantelpiece where Christmas stockings labeled Henry and Emma still hang, empty now, and bits of wrapping paper and ribbon still cling to the rug in front of it. Killian has just enough time to observe these things before a miniature whirlwind bursts through the door and barrels into his solar plexus.

“Killian!” Henry cries, squeezing him in a tight hug. “Mom said you were coming but I couldn’t believe it. I missed you. Why didn’t you ever come back?”

Killian’s chest feels as tight as Henry’s arms as he struggles for breath and for the words to explain his conduct. “I’m sorry, Henry, I just—I—I had some things I needed to sort out with myself, before I could be good company to others.”

“But you’re here now, right?” Henry pulls back and looks up at him with brown eyes as wide and trusting as ever. “And you won’t go away again?”

Killian hesitates. He doesn’t want to presume, but then again Emma did come to find him. Surely it wasn’t overstepping to say he would visit Henry from time to time? He senses her watching him and looks up, catching her eye with an imploring look. She nods to him and he swallows hard before returning it.

“Aye, lad,” he says, stroking Henry’s hair with a hand that’s not quite steady. “I won’t go away again.”

“Good,” says Henry solemnly, and then his face lights up. “Guess what? I have my own room now!” he cries. “Do you want to see it?”

“I do indeed.” Killian glances at Belle who waves him away. “Go,” she says. “I’ll stay here and chat with Emma.”

Henry’s room has bunk beds with Thomas the Tank Engine sheets and an overflowing toy chest in one corner. There’s a small bookshelf as well, with the beginnings of a fine library already on it, and taking pride of place in the centre of the very top shelf is the ship Killian gave him last Christmas.

“I play with it in the tub. We have a tub now,” says Henry when he notices Killian looking at the ship. “Mom made sure we did but she says I can’t play in it every day because I splash too much and take too long, but on Saturdays I can play as long as I want.”

Killian takes a moment before replying. “What else do you like to play with?” he asks hoarsely.

Henry shows off his toys and books and though Killian is anything but an expert in parenting he can see that they’ve been carefully chosen for both fun and enrichment, and that while they are plentiful there aren’t too many for one child to use. Emma hasn’t spoiled him, or herself, despite how easily she could have.

When they head back downstairs they find Emma and Belle laughing together on the sofa, each with a cup of hot chocolate in hand and a plate of Christmas cookies on the coffee table in front of them.

“Hey!” says Henry indignantly. “I want hot chocolate!”

Emma gives him a stern look and he flushes. “Please,” he adds.

“There’s some for you in the kitchen,” she says, setting her mug down on the table and getting up. “Would you like some too, Killian?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replies.

They drink their chocolate and munch their cookies and conversation flows easily and merrily among them. Killian is amazed at how well Emma and Belle have hit it off and Henry is ‘on his Christmas behaviour,’ Emma says with a laugh, sitting on the floor playing with his trains and listening, occasionally piping up with a question or comment. Belle and Killian tell them all about the bookshop and Emma promises to bring Henry there as soon as possible.

“For the story time!” cries Henry, eyes wide at the prospect, and then Belle suggests he might like to open the presents they brought him. He squeals with delight at the new books, and Killian gets so caught up in telling him about them that he doesn’t notice Emma quietly unwrap the picture frame until he hears her soft “Oh!”

He turns to see her staring at it with misty eyes and an expression that makes his heart clench. “I know how you love your pictures,” he says softly. “I remember.”

“Henry, what do you say we find a place for those books on your shelves,” says Belle. “Then maybe you can show me your room and the ship Killian gave you last year?”

She ushers Henry from the room, leaving Killian and Emma alone, staring at each other.

“Emma—” he begins, just as she says “Killian—” and they share a nervous laugh.

“Me first, please,” she says, and he nods.

“Of course, love.”

She licks her lips and takes a steadying breath before she speaks. “When you walked away last year,” she begins, “outside the bank, I was so hurt. I know why you did it—I think I know��but it still hurt and for a while I was angry. I thought—I thought we had a connection, and then for you to just leave like that, I—” She shakes her head. “Well, I tried to forget about you and move on, build this new life for myself and Henry, and I did build it but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All year I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and I missed you. That may sound dumb since we only spent a day together, but that’s how I feel.”

“It doesn’t sound dumb at all,” he says. “I missed you too.”

She gives a small, choking laugh. “I thought you didn’t,” she says. “When I saw you and Belle in the bookstore, I thought, well, he’s forgotten all about you.”

“I definitely did not,” he replies. “I couldn’t. I thought about you too, all year.”

“Really?”

“Oh, aye.” He attempts a smile. “Every day.”

Her eyes are liquid soft and their expression makes his blood hum. “I don’t want to go through that again next year,” she says. “I want to… to see you, and not—not just as a friend.”

“Emma—”

“And don’t say you’re too old! I know that’s what you’re going to say.”

“It is true.”

“It’s not. You can’t be more than what, thirty-four, thirty-five?”

“Thirty-five.”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“That’s—”

“But I don’t care about that, Killian. I like your silver hair and that you’ve had experience of the world. Sometimes I feel like I missed out on so much, getting pregnant so young and since then my whole life has been Henry and trying to get through college. And now I have all this money and I know there’s so much I can do with it, and places I can go, but I don’t really know where to start.”

“Love—”

“Not that I want you to be a tour guide or like an adviser or something, I want—fuck, I’m making a mess of this.”

Killian realises he’s holding his breath, forces himself to exhale and draw in fresh air. “Emma,” he says firmly, “there’s nothing I’d like more than to have a place in your life, and Henry’s, in whatever capacity you wish.”

“Whatever capacity?”

“Aye.”

“So if I said I wanted you to be my—” she takes a deep breath—“my date for a New Year’s Eve party I’m invited to, you’d agree?”

“It would be my honour.”

“And then if I asked you out to dinner?” she continues. “My treat.”

He laughs. “I know a restaurant I think you’d love.”

“And afterwards? If I invited you back here for some coffee?”

“You do make excellent coffee, I don’t think I could refuse.”

“Then if I wanted to go out again, someplace else?”

“You could choose the restaurant, and I would pay.”

“Then maybe a movie sometime?”

“At the old cinema near the bookshop.”

“And what— what if, after a little while, I wanted to have coffee again in the morning? You’d—you’d stay and have that second cup with me?”

“I would love nothing more.”

She nods. “That’s the capacity I wish.”

She’s so close now that he can count the flecks of gold in her eyes and he realises that her hand is on his thigh and his is on her hip, and then she closes the remaining distance between them and kisses him. He moans and pulls her closer, his other hand tangling in her hair as hers curls around his neck and he loses himself in the taste of chocolate and cinnamon on her tongue and the promise of her lips on his. The promise of a future, their future, together.

There’s a clattering noise of footsteps and loud voices on the stairs and they break apart. Killian leans his forehead against Emma’s, revelling in the sight of her dazed and happy smile, and silently thanks Belle for her discretion. Emma stands and pulls him to his feet, and when Henry and Belle appear she beams at them both.

“I think dinner’s nearly ready,” she says. “Henry, let’s go set the table.”

Belle gives Killian a smirk that’s thoroughly ruined by the delight dancing in her eyes. “You look happy,” she says. “And a bit shell-shocked.”

“Aye, to both those things.”

“And you appear to be wearing lipstick,” she teases, handing him a tissue and grinning at his blush. He wipes his mouth and when he offers it back to her she takes his hand as well.

“I’m so glad for you,” she says. “Merry Christmas, Killian. The first of many, I think.”

Killian looks into the dining room where Emma and Henry are laughing as he sets the table and she lays the food out on it. “Aye,” he says gruffly. “I think it will be. I hope.”

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #christmas fic #christmas magic #healing #in mind and body and soul #captains swan #captain book #captain cobra #captain cobra swan #there may be a kiss #to keep it all the year #profdanglaisstuff

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lunelantern · 5 years ago

Text

~Sasusaku analysis ~

~Sasusaku analysis ~ ~~ Sasuke and Sakura - - pair analysis ~~ ~THE BRIDGE SCENE~ (Team 7 Reunion - - after the Five Kage Summit)

----PART 3---

And Sasuke knows as well.

Sakura isn't a naive egocentric fool. She is humble enough to admit the limitations of her skills. Inwardly, she didn't think that she'll lay a single finger on Sasuke, let alone kill him.

Which makes the reader (and Sasuke) wonder why exactly is she doing there? What's her motivation? She obviously can't be fool enough to expect that she'll stop him when he survived the Five Kage and Shimura Danzo and has Akatsuki and Team Hawk as allies.

It's suicidal mission from Sakura to attempt something like this which makes us wonder whether she didn't come to plead with him to stop acting so erratically - which she does in the first panels - or kill him.

Maybe Sakura had a change of heart en route after she realized that this isn't the Sasuke that she hoped /expected /prayed to find, and her repentine decision almost cost her life.

It's subtle and barely visible as Sasuke flawlessly hides his emotions and draws the shinobi mask on his irate face, but we can depict a subtle nuance of bittersweet amusement at her foolishness; what exactly is she trying to do, facing him with such obviously conflicting and erratic approaches? Her lack of solid prior plan is unflattering to someone like Sakura, because Sasuke knows exactly what kind of person Sakura is.

He knows that she has a brilliant mind, tactical and analytical skills, creativeness and talent and tremendous skills that she polished under the tutelage of the legendary Sannin and Kage, Tsunade Senju herself.

And this is the best that she can come up with? It's almost like HE doesn't recognize THIS Sakura anymore and her approach becomes a copious source of dark humor mixed into the concoction of this tragi-comedy.

Symbolically however, Sakura's indecision and her pendulating emotions are illustrative for how terrible the battle between the shinobi and the lover is, for both Sasuke and Sakura.

One can have more friends, family members, enemies, teachers, idols or brothers, but a lover is singular. SHE... Is only one. She's unique and thus all the pent up feelings percolate to one single person alone and that puts a lot of pressure on Sasuke.

As for Sakura's part, her pain is so hauntingly lucid that it's almost palpable. We can actually taste the pain on our own tongues as we hear the soul-crushing despair of her unspoken words.

"I don't care!" She states flippantly with such an implied confidence that's almost ignoramus and she follows the trite in the same manner. "I'll follow any order you give me."

Only someone with the author's superb skills can create an almost comical situation in the cusp of a tragic angst that's rapidly escalading to the peak of its drama.

By Sakura's statement I could almost picture Sasuke starting to laugh and hiss something along the lines of: "Are you stupid?"

She will follow any order, who is she, Haku?

Of course, it's just obvious that Sasuke - - as playful as Suigetsu humorously correctly depicts him - - enters this game and starts to play.

If Sakura has no problems in following any ominous order from him that's overtly bordering the Criminal Code, if she wants to be like Haku - - a soulless disposable tool in the hands of a renewed criminal with a penchant for arbitrary murder - - then he'll treat her exactly like this. Emphasizing that if she wants to be a helpless puppet in his hands then she'll become like Karin and share her fate. He practically shows her with a real life example, her hasty words materialized.

You want to follow any of my orders and join me? Then you'll be staying in Karin place too - - half-dead and ignored.

Clearly, she didn't think about what she was mumbling and how stupid it sounded and she didn't strategize before. Sakura should have chosen her words more carefully.

It's only when Sasuke makes his intentions known to her does Sakura realize the extenct of her mistake and implicitly the fact that she is actually in real danger.

Her shock is evident as it hit home. We see the black background as we glimpse into her consciousness and souls, a familiar technique used in the manga when the author lets us glimpse into the characters minds. The transition between the exterior and interior is highlighted by the dark background.

In the end, symbolically their moment stops with the panel of her kunai wavering and stopping as she couldn't pierce through the Uchiha crest meaning that she couldn't quench her love for him as she accepts him for what he is - - Sasuke AND Uchiha.

Her falter must be interpreted in conjunction to Naruto’s words when he says that he and Sasuke will finally make amends when both of them will stop being tied to their designed role and, in a sense, Obito is right when he sarcastically tells Naruto that he is also selfish for trying to force Sasuke to accept his life philosophy (the political triumph of democracy as status quo). In which case, Sasuke's family name becomes a hindrance, an impediment.

But that's not the case with Sakura. No, she falters and stops with her kunai never piercing through the Uchiha crest that's sewed on Sasuke's back (she is not backstabbing him by hitting where it most hurts - - his family).

No, Sakura loves ALL of him. He accepts every part of him with his past and present, she sees him at his lowest and she still loves him with unfaltering despair. Her love stands this test, Uchiha surname is a huge burden even in Sasuke's shoulders but Sakura's unyielding love is benediction and suffices in shouldering even this burden (the Uchiha "curse" / the primordial curse).

Consequently, she eventually takes the same infamous surname, Uchiha, and wears it with pride and love, accepting, assuming what it represents, with both his flaws and qualities.

She doesn't try to change anything in Sasuke. She accepts 3very part of him. She never wavered. She loved him before and she loves him now in fact, she never gave her love a moment of respiro. She loved him continuously with same bravery and ardent passion. Sasuke attacks her when she is on the verge of laughing a physical attack as a logical self-defense, treating her as he'd treat another shinobi who attacks him, with his signature attack.

If Sakura wouldn't have attacked him, Sasuke wouldn't have laid a finger on her. He reacted accordingly to her.

When she was honest with him, his face softened.

When she attacked him with murderous intent, he retaliates never taking her lightly as respecting the strong shinobi that she has become (he didn’t take her skills as subpar, as if it was enough for him to simply step aside to avoid her attack).

She could have pour all her heart out openly and uncensored and he'd have listened to her; he always listened when she said she loved him. Never interrupting her as long as she was sincere with him.

Even so... Even if her emotions are a roller-coaster and she caved in babbling and rambling incoherences, he still calmly converses with her, in fact, Sasuke talks more to her than he normally does. Sasuke isn't a talkative person and yet he chatters with her.

"Are you really willing to betray the Leaf for me?" against, his manner of speaking reels with romantic substrate, akin to lovers` conversation. Me, you, Sasuke hardly use such personal undertone. He gives her one final chance to come clean to him because he says" really", so he tempts her playfully further appealing to her feelings, throwing her words back at her.

He knew that she was more than willing to leave the safety of her village as a child, to leave everything - friends and family - behind and become a traitor for him when she was 12, even though her lack of life experience prevented her from having a clear representation of the consequences of her actions.

What about now when the more mature Sakura DOES have the clear representation of such an act? Did her feelings change? Will she follow him blindly?

Does she still love him?

He's willing to listen, he provoked her even to answer just like wanting to confirm for himself whether she's the same woman who loves him - - who HE loves - - or a complete stranger who grow over her childhood crush (like Karin).

He also tests whether is an infatuation or genuine love for Sasuke has been an unwilling subject of women attention and flirts before (Mei, Ino, Karin, the young employees from the Land of Waves...).

She replies with a seemingly confident tone. "Yes... If that's what you want me to do."

Sasuke knows that 3 years ago, she would have so it unconditionally and he thanked her for that.

Now he's skeptical the atmosphere is not romantic anymore; is cynical, is mischievous, it's reeling in underlying ambitions and dark schemes, is mocking and ironic, is deceiving and cruel, sarcastic, bittersweet with laced irony, is trifling and clownish.

Totally different from the sincere atmosphere that melted our hearts in their farewell scene.

When the 12 years old Sakura in all her earnest innocence and naivety offered to join him and desert the village... He believed it and even thanked her for that devotion in the name of love.

But this Sakura... He doesn't believe anymore and consequently he asks for a PROOF. which he didn't in Part 1 because it wasn't necessary for he believed it.

A lover doesn't need a token for their love because love when honest and reciprocated doesn't need to be proven.

And yet that's what he asks for it and she gets trapped into his game falling badly for it. "Hmpf..." He snorts like he's amused by her pathetic attempt to lure him in a trap, mocking her and playing her game. "Then prove it." he is no more "playing at romance", he's not Sasuke the lover anymore. He's just the wicked shinobi who just killed one of the best shinobi in the Leaf.

"Kill her and I'll accept your offer." the trap is so blatantly obvious and amateurish that's even laughable. Obviously, that in order to kill Karin who's lying right at his feet, Sakura has to come ridiculously close to him - - the enemy. Which is a fatal mistake for a shinobi. You don't casually parade to Karin and pass him by with the intent to kill him and expect Sasuke to be a silent voyeur.

But one can't notice how incredibly erotic and sexy this dialogue is if deconstructed and taken out of the battle context. It is teeming with that archetypal dark and sensual bad-romance that conjure the darkest most sinfully delicious and incredibly erotic love stories in popular fiction world.

The thrill of having a dark hero who's unpredictable, passionate, dangerous, savage, the one who could give a woman glimpses of a scorching passion and fulfill her darkest desires.

Sasusaku is the very epitome of the passionate couple.

A quick glimpse over the dialogue is deliciously hot if taken out of the context and very uncharacteristic for someone like Sasuke.

"Sakura..." the way he says her name in that low baritone voice that sends delicious shivers along the spine.

"What do you want with me?"

"Why would you want to join me? What are you trying to pull?"

"Are you really willing to betray the Leaf for me?"

"Hmpf... Then prove it."

"Kill her and I'll accept your offer."

"well? Can't you handle this Sakura?" this particular line and the mocking way he says it so enticing dangerous like a bad boy... Is overly sexy. Is hot, is dark dangerous and erotic, is the exact type of fiction that entices because it oozes of pure passion. I can't help but replace the j spoken word in my head: "Can't you handle ME... Sakura?" are you capable to be with the current me?

It is hard to discern what's sincere and what's deceiving from this heated interplay between Sasuke and Sakura because it's written intentionally ambiguous and enigmatic to keep us constantly enticed and confused.

There's a fine line between shinobi and lovers and we are just as confused as the two protagonists.

Apparently, one wouldn't associate Sasuke with intimacy passion and erotica but the Uchiha is full of surprises and severely underestimated.

He is perfectly capable to "play at ROMANCE" when he so desires. When he shuts Kakashi down with "You want me to play at ROMANCE?" Sasuke automatically implies that he KNOWS how to do so. He isn't an unschooled rookie in the art of romance, he isn't the disimpassioned man that has no appetite for love and intimacy.

Not in the least.

And this is the only woman that he ever loved romantically and proved to do so only his inconsistent and dynamic character perfectly masked his emotions. He's way more subtle than the others.

He is calm up and composed, even letting her to bypass him closely knowing that she had weapons hidden under her clothes.

Objectively speaking the confrontation is absurd and lacks any verisimilitude. Sakura isn't credible and Sasuke is ironic, calm and abnormally tranquil and playful.

He's way too serene considering who he has just fought. I couldn't guess that Danzo`s death brought Sasuke a pang of relief as he's directly responsible for the downfall of Uchiha but revenge is like a drug; it never brings relief and the more you have the more toy crave for. And one would never satiate. So he experiences a momentary relief.

But that's not the case for the purpose of this entire scene is to emphasize the internal conflict between the shinobi and the lover.

#Sasuke symbolism #Sasusaku explained #Sasusaku pair #Sasusaku romance #sasusaku analysis #Sasusaku #Sasuke and Sakura love #Sasuke and Sakura symbolism

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darkpoisonouslove · 5 years ago

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“Life at The Ancestral Manor”

Summary: Griffin wanted to share her future with Valtor but in agreeing to give him her life she also agreed to give it to the way things happen in his home of tradition that his mothers are making sure will be upheld. Can she hope that relationship will be allowed to grow and develop when she needs to put her everything into surviving each day they try to make her something that she’s not?

Mentions of death, murder, self-mutilation, arson, cults, coma, physical and emotional abuse, parental abuse, sex, sex toys, not consented to stop of birth control, alcohol abuse, cooking deer meat in detail (which was oddly disgusting to me so...) and strong language. Also, there are mentions of Bloom x Darkar and Bloom's portrayal isn't very flattering although it is just a reimagined version of the events in canon (plus, a few details that weren't there).

I had the mighty need to see Griffin and Valtor living with the Ancestral Witches for some reason the other day and I set out to write it. Well, this is what came of it. A lot of super fucked up stuff because it is the Ancestral Witches. Also, it is super long again because, of course, it is.

"That was delicious, Griffin," Valtor praised as he wiped his mouth with his napkin after he was done with his French toast.

Griffin smiled at him gently as she was careful not to let any venom seep out of her and poison him. "I'm glad you liked it." At least he appreciated all of her efforts. She was an early bird but that didn't make her love the fact that she had to rush to the kitchen and get started on breakfast instead of curling up into Valtor's side and greeting him with a kiss when he woke up. Of course, she didn't have to when there were people she could fall back on to do it for her but that meant never being allowed in the kitchen again and she'd fought too hard to earn her own agency of choice to let that happen.

"It certainly exceeds a number of other meals I've had," Belladonna said, her voice smooth like the surface of ice under your fingertips and just as cold, killing the compliment before it could even turn into such.

Griffin forced the smile to keep stretching her facial muscles when her mother-in-law's golden eyes found hers despite the discomfort that caused her. That was as much as she could hope to get from the woman who killed animals in cold blood for fun and had taught Valtor to do it, too. Or rather it was all she hoped there would be to her condescension.

"Rather simple, but we all have to resign to the limitations when you have to do it all yourself," Belladonna continued, making Griffin let the breath she was holding out of her nose as slowly and inconspicuously as she let her own pride slip out of her hands and shatter on the floor without even a sound to mourn its pitiful end. She couldn't make a scene at breakfast. It would just ruin her whole day when they made it their mission to make it hell. "I don't understand why you insist on doing it when the help is right here to do it for you but it is your choice and we all respect that," Belladonna kept stuffing ice cubes in her heart to make it freeze over like her own and have water flowing in her veins instead of blood. Even all the tea in the world couldn't warm her now and it was just Valtor's warm presence at her side that kept her from dying in the embrace of the hypothermia that was her mother-in-law's weapon of choice.

"I enjoy it, Mother Belladonna," Griffin said, her voice cutting lines in the thin ice separating her from the freezing water below that she was skating on. She could let her righteous anger sharpen her as much as she wanted as she tried to cling on to everything she loved and not let it sink in the cold indifference that was being forced on her but there was no escape from her frozen prison when Belladonna was taking away all of her sources of joy with ease as the fight was on her territory.

She couldn't help but catch Lysslis' smile of belittlement when it was designed to draw her attention to her and get in her head where it would start taking apart who she was to make space for who they wanted her to be. She'd need all that luck Zarathustra had wished her when she and Ediltrude had learned the three witches were to be her mothers-in-law. Having to force herself to cook every day because she would lose her kitchen privileges otherwise was draining every spark of happiness she was getting from the activity already but she wouldn't let them win. It had barely been half a year after she and Valtor had gotten married in the dead of winter and she still had more fight in her even if the heat of summer was not helping when she was home from school and trapped in their killer company.

"Simplicity is trending right now so if anything, Griffin is just staying up-to date, mother," Valtor took her side–quite literally as they were sitting opposite of his mothers at the long table in the dining room–and she would kiss him if she could. Currently though, she couldn't even catch his hand under the tablecloth since his mothers were watching them restlessly like the stars never stopped looking over all of the planets and they would see it instantly which would just pose a problem to the two of them as the three old hags didn't approve of witnessing displays of affection.

They didn't approve of affection in general and had only taken her as a daughter-in-law after DNA tests that had confirmed a child of hers and Valtor's would have an excellent genetic makeup making her nauseous in the process as they'd erased her humanity with one quick swipe over her being. The tests and the fact that she had golden eyes like all the other women of the Ancestral Manor. She'd literally been picked for her body and it had felt like she'd entered medieval times instead of her new life as Valtor's bride. But if anything, it had only stated loudly how much she loved him to go through all of that and be with him. Even his mothers had looked impressed by her determination and hadn't even allowed themselves to insinuate she was a gold-digger.

"Of course, she is," Tharma said, her voice crackling like static like it always did. She always felt like she was about to explode and Griffin was pretty sure that it was like that because that was exactly what was happening. The woman–Griffin would only truly believe any one of them was human when she saw their corpses since none of them seemed to have aged for the past twenty-five years which might have just traumatized Valtor more with the promise of their curse hanging over his head for an undetermined amount of time–didn't even have the proverbial short fuse and could self-detonate on the spot if it weren't for her sisters to keep her collected with their icy gazes and creeping terror. "That is what has kept this family afloat for centuries and every member needs to keep to it." Meaning that they would throw her out the moment she couldn't catch up with their impossible standards.

"Yes, mother," Valtor said, the response automatic at this point but that didn't seem to upset any of his mothers. It seemed to please them rather–nothing better than turning your child into a robot keeping to your every command–and win Valtor and her the opportunity to focus on each other for the time being. "What are you doing today?" Valtor asked, pulling her away from the dreadful reality of their presence and into what was left of her own life, of their life.

He always cared and stopped to ask how she was doing even when his mothers had already piled two hundred other more pressing things on his shoulders. Although, in their eyes everything was more pressing than love and it was a joke when that included "the family reputation" when they didn't even have a definition of family. And if they did, it was distorted by all the shards of cold that were the only remains of their souls.

"Ediltrude and Zarathustra are coming over so... trying to stay sober would be a good start," she said, doing her damnedest to keep her eyes on him and not on the warped reflections of them that his mothers' gazes were when they shared the same eye color but the emotions that came through in the gold were vastly different.

She hated herself for slipping into the anxiousness their presence loaded her with like she was nothing more than yet another weapon they could yield to hurt him like they'd done their whole life by turning what he loved against him and making him hate it. They would interfere anyway so she had to make the most of it and focus on him. Him and what the day had to offer once she managed to free herself from the net of their scrutiny.

"You know how hard it is to refuse Ediltrude to drink with her." Valtor and Ediltrude had hit it off that first Christmas and she'd never gotten to meet his mothers at the appointed Christmas dinner which had given her one last holiday free of their presence but there'd been retribution from them towards Valtor that had kept him from seeing her as well. "Even when it's eleven a.m." That wasn't going to be her saving grace either and she could only hope for a miracle to keep the alcohol away from her and Ediltrude away from it.

"I'm sorry, dear," or a curse, "but you're going to have to reschedule," Lysslis grabbed at the chance to ruin her plans so viciously that it was bleeding toxic glue on her to get her stuck in the place they wanted her, in their own garden of misery they'd personally grown just for her in some sort of sick gift that did everything for them and nothing for her. Nothing good that was. "Today will not be possible," Lysslis said and Griffin was surprised she'd given her the opportunity to speak a few sentences before she'd let her own tongue slither out. But of course, that way it was Griffin's words that ripped into her when she'd allowed herself to believe she could have something her way in the home from hell.

"I thought you didn't have any urgent work today, Mother Lysslis," Griffin let herself play dumb when she'd double checked with their personal assistant. Mandragora was an oversized pest that completely deserved her name when she started screeching the moment someone who wasn't her bosses poked her the wrong way–or any way, really–but she wouldn't allow herself to lie to her if it concerned her and her mothers-in-law's dealings did since they insisted on holding all their meetings at the mansion as if offices didn't exist. But apparently they weren't too old to retire but were too old to work outside the mansion.

"Exactly," Belladonna said and Griffin could only hate herself for how helpless she was against the way her blood froze at a single word from the woman. "There will be nothing to distract us from the presence of your mismatched friends," she said and Griffin couldn't even draw in all the breath she needed when the ice needles of Belladonna's gaze on her would poke holes in her lungs if she allowed them to expand past their normal movements. "I will never understand how someone with your poise and grace can stand to be around people who are so... unrefined."

The trap clicked closed, holding both her heart and her tongue and threatening to pluck them out if she dared let them run free but she couldn't just keep sitting obediently like a dog while Belladonna threw insults of her friends in her face like they were treats she'd deserved for good behavior. She had to stand up for herself and her friendship.

"That's okay," she let the honey drip from her lips sweet like a topping they'd all hopefully choke on to go with her steely gaze that would've cut through anyone else but only had the ice of Belladonna's biting back into it in a warning that was more a red flag rather than a courtesy even if her rage was already burning white hot and Griffin hadn't even started. "You're busy figuring out so many other things. We've got this one covered for you, Mother Belladonna," Griffin said, looking right into the molten abyss that her mother-in-law's eyes were as if it wasn't absolutely suicidal and wouldn't doom her to a terribly agonizing death. But she needed to let her know just what she meant with that.

Belladonna had just sisters and a son she'd done her best to break and mold according to her own vision while Griffin had the twins who were her sisters in everything but blood and her husband she loved enough to accept even as he came packaged with three sociopaths because that was what love was. But of course, there was no way for Belladonna to know that when all her friends were fake and the best she could hope for after her own husband's death–or murder–were the business partners who only stayed in contact with her out of obligation. She was sure no one would stick around which just posed the question how genuine any sisterhood between her mothers-in-law was. And they could all hear it echoing loudly around them even if Belladonna would love to crush it under a block of ice just like she'd handle her.

"Speaking of meetings," Lysslis saved her–not before Belladonna made it clear that had Griffin been anyone else other than Valtor's wife, she would've stuffed her in the fridge and served her in small pieces at her annual reception celebrating the foundation of the family business year after year so the guests would be infected with her agony for life even if they wouldn't know it–although they definitely weren't speaking of meetings but rather of a killing match at this point but Griffin wasn't quick to relax before she learned the price of the little miracle she'd let her have. "I will have you inviting your mother to come shopping with us next Saturday," she was quick to inform her what suffering she'd traded her current predicament for and her tone was so casual as she knew she'd set it up perfectly to make Griffin sacrifice what little time she actually got to spend with Valtor in the name of an activity she hated even when she was with her friends. Of course, she'd pick Saturday even when they could go shopping literally any other day of the week.

"Of course, Mother Lysslis," she agreed so readily that it made her sick of her own pretense. Or rather the lack of such when she knew she didn't have any other choice but to leave herself at Lysslis' hands now since Belladonna was still mad at her and Tharma was normally angry on a good day and neither of them would hold back Lysslis' wrath was Griffin to unleash it. All she had left was to hope she'd manage to stand her ground while going around stores that were far off from the plane of existence of a high school teacher since they'd let up a bit on trying to dictate her choice of clothes after the preventive measures she'd taken in regards to that. "If I may ask who "us" includes so that my invitation will be the most accurate version of itself?" Griffin prodded carefully even when she knew that kind of sneakiness would never work with Lysslis.

"The three of us, you and your mother, of course," Lysslis said, the metallic rays of her mind piercing through Griffin's heart easily when it was so softened by the hope she'd let fill it that she'd only have to stand straight under the burden of Lysslis' cunning and manipulations.

Great. It was bad enough when she was being buried under all the insecurities Lysslis managed to dig out without even damaging her manicured nails in any way to get her to bend to her will. Having all three of them against her when they made her head spin with how fast they had her in and out of different outfits was a battle she wasn't sure she'd be able to win even with her mother by her side.

History was more Valtor's area of expertise but she could find herself in need of turning to it and making it repeat. They'd left her alone the previous time when she'd set the wardrobe on fire–all the clothes they'd bought that afternoon had been lost by the time Mike had arrived with his firemen and she'd only mourned the money that had been wasted instead of going towards something productive–and they hadn't tried to order her around directly after that. They'd instead taken a stealthier approach, mostly leaving Lysslis to handle her by fishing out her fears with her teeth hidden behind the warpaint that her blood red lipstick was.

She used them to decorate her attitude of supremacy while she decorated Griffin however she wanted to when the shadows she'd grown in her mind were twisting and turning it as they tried to snap it in half and Griffin was too busy trying to free herself from them to have any energy left to spare on keeping Lysslis out of her head as well. There was no way she could handle all three of them when they sank their claws in her and tried to rip her apart to stuff the pieces of her in whatever clothes they deemed appropriate. So another arson might be due. Even if the only reason Tharma hadn't slapped her for endangering the mansion had been that Valtor had stepped in front of her and gotten slapped himself.

Despite their constant verbal abuse and mind games, they'd never allowed themselves physical violence before that. And after it, too, as Tharma had spent the next week suspended in her room and the glaring empty space on Belladonna's right had somehow only reinforced the idea that she was an all-powerful monster not to be messed with. The lack of reaction on Valtor's part towards the bruise forming on his cheek had been what had made her break down in their bedroom, though, and lament her choice until he'd picked her up and carried her to the bed where he'd told her to never stop defending her agency when it wasn't her that was hurting him. It had never been. And she'd worn his fierce love of her like her armor against Lysslis' attempts to convince her that it was all her fault.

It had worked that time. She could only hope it would work again even if that left her heart too malleable and easy to manipulate.

"It would be nice to spend some time with her," Lysslis said and Griffin would have been afraid of how easily the lie dripped from her lips if she weren't used to it. In fact, assuming that everything that came out of her mouth was a lie was the best way to deal with Lysslis and avoid falling for her traps. It might have been unfair if it weren't true ninety-nine percent of the time and the fact that even Tharma and Belladonna were mindful of her and double checked her story when she'd done something on her own just confirmed that. "We haven't seen good old Emalyn in so long," Lysslis shook her head as if in regret. And perhaps it was.

Perhaps it was regret that they had to socialize with a lowly middle class retired nursery teacher. Emalyn was everything that they weren't and knowing Griffin carried her genes was only looked over because the DNA tests overrode it in importance by proving that those were the perfect genes to combine with Valtor's and somehow that made Griffin's genetic makeup desirable all of a sudden.

And to call her mother old as if they weren't ancient even though they didn't look the part? That was an insult Griffin would never swallow if her mom hadn't warned her not to get into fights with her mothers-in-law on her behalf after they'd made a remark about taking all the expenses on the wedding since, apparently, Emalyn and that dead husband of hers were no good to even pay for their daughter's wedding–which had been far bigger and much more expensive than Griffin had ever wanted it to be but she'd had no say on the matter as they'd insisted that a new marriage in the family had to be a public affair–and Griffin had been ready to rip they heads off. Emalyn had stopped her, though, and reminded her that it would only hurt herself and Valtor and her mom could never want that for them which had proven that she was the only mother either of them had despite allegedly having four.

Griffin mirrored that smile Lysslis gave guests when she wanted them to know that all that they were was met with contempt. She'd learned how to reflect it even if some of the effect was lost when she could never hope to have been capable of pulling it off without seeing it first. "I'm sure she shares the sentiment." She most certainly did considering the depth of the resentment thriving in the shade of the words.

"Now that that's settled," Tharma stepped in and drew her attention away from where Lysslis looked proud that Griffin had picked something up from her instead of being offended, "we can talk about dinner."

"Is there anything special you would like for dinner, Mother Tharma?" Griffin asked, her stomach trying to do a somersault that would send all of the food she'd just ingested back up her throat to make space for whatever Tharma would want of her now but Griffin held it back. She couldn't let them now she got sick whenever they made their requests that ranged from mildly offensive through awful to horrendous. Especially when she was sure they suspected. She couldn't give them the confirmation herself.

"Valtor will have some good news for us tonight so I thought we should celebrate," Tharma said and Griffin did her best not to clutch at her fork since she was pretty sure she would snap it in half even if it was solid stainless steel. Which was exactly the same reason that she didn't try to catch Valtor's hand to help him drain off some of the pressure Tharma had just piled on his shoulders if there hadn't been enough of that already. "And a special occasion calls for a special meal, doesn't it?" Tharma asked as if they were kindergartners whose brains hadn't developed enough yet to make a simple connection if it weren't pointed out to them. And also to let the dread set deep inside Griffin's body when she'd most certainly have her cooking some animal they had caught.

"You know that Argulus is our best client so you need to be at the top of your game," Belladonna reminded Valtor as if he hadn't been working at the company ever since he'd turned eighteen. By now he would have most certainly learned that even if his mind weren't as sharp as the diamonds they were selling but she just had to nag as if Valtor hadn't renegotiated contract terms with Argulus before. They were practically friends and even if loyalties weren't really a thing in their business, she was sure that Argulus would at least try to resolve any potential issue before going elsewhere for his precious diamonds.

"Yes, mother," Valtor agreed, his tone snappy when his patience was starting to give way under their distrust in him even after they'd stolen his youth and replaced it with preparations to become the head of the business and he'd been doing the job for years. "I always am." Valtor seemed to have had the exact same thought and she wanted to smile at them sharing a mind but that would be misplaced and would most certainly get stained by his mothers' intolerance of their happiness if they saw it. And they would.

"Hardly true half of the time," Lysslis was quick to cut off his unexpected bout of confidence like it was a flower she'd decided to pluck off for decoration of her table. Except she didn't like flowers and it had been completely unnecessary, not to mention far heavier a crime when it was her own son she'd hurt. But of course, she only cared about that in a backwards fashion where she was prouder when the damage she'd done was bigger.

Griffin had to do something since she couldn't watch him like that. He already looked like a sunflower that had withered prematurely and she needed to stop them before they could do more damage. Even if it meant drawing their attention to herself.

"I can cook his favorite-"

"Roast leg of venison," Tharma interrupted her before she could even suggest that she did something her husband would enjoy even if the dinner was supposed to celebrate his success and the order was clear in the tone that allowed no objections. Not that she could have any–as much as she hated to admit it–since they certainly knew their game better than she did. She wouldn't be caught dead going near the stuff if they weren't making her. "Sliced venison tongue salad as an appetizer and venison liver crème caramel for dessert will complete the menu to perfection," Tharma said, looking at her like she expected her to throw up on the spot. Which, frankly, sounded like an appealing option.

"Yes, of course, Mother Tharma," Griffin agreed as she did her best to hold in her disgust–especially when it came to the dessert idea–but she might have started turning green since Tharma looked pleased. Though, that might have been how quickly she'd relented when she knew she didn't have an alternative. She rarely had any other option but to do as they wished. As if they were giving her the occasional treat for being such a well-trained lapdog and if the cooking adventures that awaited her hadn't made her sick already, then that thought was certainly helping.

"Valtor, don't forget there's also a delivery coming in today," Tharma turned to him, a look of warning striking him to remind him it was all very secretive and had to remain that way. Which was why the deliveries were made directly to Valtor's office and personally to him instead of to the house where either the personnel or a random guest could get their hands on the forbidden knowledge of what was in Tharma's box. Well, the deliveries were for all the three witches.

"Don't worry, mother, your products are in good hands," Valtor allowed himself the indiscretion which to Griffin was amusing but Tharma didn't seem to appreciate the threat of having the insides of her words exposed even if it was too late for that. Valtor had already told Griffin it was their ozone cosmetics that were proving to be the fountain of their youth. That and the countless souls they chewed on slowly year after year and consumed the energy of everyone around them to sustain themselves. The perfect crime indeed. "Have I ever forgotten before?" Valtor asked and she had to catch his hand to let him know she was proud of his continuing bravery after they chewed into him every time he displayed it. She couldn't care less that they'd notice. Let them see.

"Of course not, Valtor," Tharma seemed to agree which meant that there was more. "You'd never fail to listen when I remind you." There it was. And of course, she'd steal everything he deserved the credit for. They weren't just energy vampires. They sucked out entire lives and they'd been doing that to Valtor under the guise of raising him ever since he'd been born.

"Go now," Belladonna urged, her gaze cutting into the space between the two of them to indicate that she was in a rush to separate them. Heaven forbid they actually got to enjoy any of their time together when they weren't locked in their own bedroom.

"Yes, mother," Valtor didn't try to protest since it would only get them both snowed in under an avalanche of critiques and he wanted to save them from that. "Have a nice day," he barely spared at his mothers before turning to her. "Goodbye, Griffin," he said as he made sure to catch her gaze and let her know how much he loved her since saying it out loud would only draw the dirt of their disapproval to it. "Make the best of the day," he said since he knew very well that she much preferred to be at work instead of stuck at home with his mothers all day–he'd been through that hell and knew it even better than she did–and kissed her cheek, his lips letting so much tenderness soak into her skin even though the contact was brief.

"Have a nice day yourself," Griffin wished as she squeezed his hand. She knew how much he overworked himself when she was the one massaging all the stress out of his stiff muscles every evening while his mothers were resting all their burden on his shoulders.

"Well, now it will be," Valtor squeezed back to let her know he'd gotten the message. "Even if it doesn't want to," he said before letting go.

Griffin smiled at the optimism that needed just a ray of encouragement to come out from under the years of trauma and bad experiences his so called family had buried it under and completely on purpose at that. But they hadn't managed to smother it in all the cold they'd given him instead of oxygen. It was still there and she was ready to shine on it with all of her love to see it grow and reach for the cosmos since it was strong enough to do that. Especially with her faith in him to support it.

"You should start on dinner, Griffin," Belladonna said, her cold breath making the surface of Griffin's eyes freeze over to keep the sight of Valtor's retreating back out of them and it sent chills down her spine.

"Of course, Mother Belladonna," Griffin agreed and quickly slipped out of her chair and towards the kitchen. She didn't have to object when she was perfectly content with finally being out of their sight as their eyes were like molten lava just waiting to erupt and swallow her to bury her in a cage of obsidian. Even the nightmare waiting for her in the kitchen was a better option than that.

Once in the kitchen–that was suspiciously empty even though there was always personnel in there but, of course, they wouldn't let her have any help when they'd set out to torture her–Griffin made it her first order of business to pull a deer leg out of one of the freezers. They should have probably been kept in a different space altogether considering there were a lot of them–and all were full of hunting game–but her mothers-in-law liked to keep their trophies nearby. And in this particular instance it made her job easier since she only had to get the meat to the table where she could leave it to thaw while she looked for recipes.

She was no expert on cooking meat and the one time she'd cooked deer meat, all three old hags had complained it was overcooked and stiff. She could ask them on how she was supposed to cook what they wanted but after the humiliating experience of having them lecturing her about it the previous time even though they hadn't cooked a thing in their lives and the kitchen was her territory but they'd still trumped her when they knew how well cooked venison was supposed to look and taste, she would sooner die than let them coach her again. Which would still happen if she didn't pull the three-course dinner off so she needed to do her research. Fortunately, that was when the internet came to her rescue.

Of course, they'd give her tasks that would send all of her day to hell. The total time she'd need for all the dishes if she decided to cook them separately was about nine hours which would still leave it ready in time for dinner but would make her unwilling to set foot in the kitchen ever again which would mean that they'd won. So multitasking it was.

That would have been much easier if she was actually acquainted with cooking any of those dishes and also didn't prefer to cut out their tongues and cook them instead of the deer tongues she was left with even though they still made for a better company than her mothers-in-law. Not to mention that the leg she'd gotten was too big for the recipe she'd found and she needed to switch it with a smaller one. At least the kitchen was well stocked so she had the ramekins she needed for the crème caramel. Products and utensils were not the problem, really. No, what was the problem was that it was all set up against her.

The crème caramel was the cherry on top truly since they knew desserts were her pride and specialty and were doing their best to turn that against her. Succeeding, too, unlike her who wasn't even given the chance to come out of that fight victorious since, apparently, the liver for the crème should have been soaked in milk from the previous evening. They were setting her up for failure and she was starting to lose it long before she'd made it to any of the actual cooking.

She considered calling her mom but that would definitely fall under procrastinating. Especially when she went on a long rant about how unfair all of it was even though she'd known it would be like that when she'd said "I do" to Valtor. Besides, there was enough time to call her after she was done with that cooking disaster to proceed to the shopping disaster that was showing on the horizon like an antipode to the sunrise she loved dearly.

She had to call the twins to tell them not to come and, hopefully, convince them to stay on the phone with her and keep her company while she cooked even if distractions could prove to be counterproductive. It was the only way for her to handle what was supposed to be one of her favorite activities and she could only count on their love for her to override the fact that she was going to wake them up at least an hour earlier before they would get up now that it was summer vacation. But she needed them to keep her sane like they'd done when her father had died.

Griffin shook her head to make the horrifying memories drop out of it and shatter against the floor as she called Zarathustra. It was the lesser evil since she was probably awake but still doing her best to catch a wink of sleep anyway and could spare Ediltrude the early awakening and Griffin her sister's wrath for the aforementioned crime.

She held her breath as the phone rang and it was yet another reminder that her dear mothers-in-law were killing her but she pushed the thought down to suffocate instead of her. The universe seemed merciful at least in that regard as Zarathustra picked up and even though the call ended up waking Ediltrude, they both agreed to stay on the phone with her and talk since their meeting was so rudely canceled.

"They really denied us access to the sacred ground?" Zarathustra asked, her disbelief far too real considering she knew how the three witches operated but that just made Griffin love her more and be that much more grateful that her friends were so genuine and never made her wonder whether they truly liked her or were just faking it. She could count on them to take up any problem with her they had to her and it was the most comforting thought at the moment. "That is so disgustingly privileged." Zarathustra scoffed and Griffin could practically hear the disdain forming curses in her head over the speaker phone.

"Believe me, I know," Griffin huffed. "This is my home, too, and I should be able to invite my closest people here," she said, still somewhat surprised that she could think of the mansion as home when she hated so much about it. But it was Valtor's home, the only home he'd ever known, and he'd told her that her presence made it livelier when there were more plants around and the aroma of oregano tea and cookies was luring towards the kitchen. She wanted to be where he was and be his home, and have him be hers, too. "But no, our friendship will sully their décor, I suppose," Griffin said, nearly grateful for the rage over their treatment of her relationships as it would help her get through the meat. Quite literally since she needed to make holes in the leg for the garlic cloves.

"Griff, they're just trying not to go broke since they'll need to restock their liquor cabinet after me and trust me, that shit is expensive as hell," Ediltrude joked, trying to brighten her mood since she could most certainly feel the energy vibrating and brewing inside her even through the phone.

It was enough to scald a normal person but there was no one who fit the description around since her friends were on the other end of the line–and also disaster personified so they were safe on all accounts–the personnel was gone and her mothers-in-law were ancient demons Valtor's father had somehow managed to summon from hell. Most certainly by mistake or ignorance. Nobody would want to be married to a monster like any one of them as Lysslis' husband had proven as he'd filed for divorce just a week after the wedding.

"They're the ones who are way too much expenses on my life," Griffin said as she impaled the meat with the knife. No point in stalling. She had to get to it if she didn't want to be kitchen bound all day like some modern version of Cinderella. Only it was the evil mother-in-law and her sisters against her. Not that that made the fight any easier for her. Quite the opposite, in fact, and all she had left to do was stab the meat with her outrage like she'd completely lost her mind to it. She probably looked like a psychopath so, again, good thing that no one was around. She was pretty sure her mothers-in-law would leap at the chance to have her drugged on her prescribed meds if she gave them a reason to think she needed a psychiatrist.

"Are you sure you should talk like that while in their kitchen?" Zarathustra asked and made her want to scream since she knew how fierce both of the twins were. If they were scared of the witches, then she had to be, too. And she was, but she really didn't appreciate being reminded of that when she had to share living quarters with them. It left her feeling like fish out of water in her own home. Especially when she knew they were well aware of her hatred of them and returned it but still tolerated her when she was the wife they'd needed to buy their son anyway.

"It's my kitchen, Zara," she did her best to cushion her voice as she snapped. It wasn't her friend's fault. No one was at fault except for Belladonna and her sisters. "After Valtor and I got married, we got ownership of the mansion, remember?" Griffin said, trying to convince herself more than anything else.

The mansion could be hers on paper but it still bowed to them completely and so did she when she was more a part of the interior rather than a human being with her own mind and right to making choices. She wouldn't truly be the Mistress of the Ancestral Manor until they were gone even if Belladonna had officially passed the title down to her and despite herself, she wanted to be. She wanted to be if that meant that they would be free of them. Maybe then she could even have a child when she was free of the terror of what they would do with it. Perhaps even a girl and not the obligatory boy to continue the family lineage and find himself a housewife to take care of the precious mansion passed down from generation to generation and binding every next one in its old-fashioned and offensive traditions. Once they were gone, she could set her own rules. If she'd manage to outlive them and the stress they were burying her under as it was far more than six feet on top of her at this point and it'd barely been half a year since the wedding.

"I hate to break it to you, sister, but you're still under their reign," Ediltrude said as she'd sensed her thoughts and was trying to keep her grounded which was not just useful but necessary considering the fight that awaited her but right now it felt good to be in a fantasy. In a world she'd made up where she could have a daughter with beautiful golden eyes that were just that. Beautiful eyes and not a sign that she bore the makings of a Mistress of the Ancestral Manor, a wife. She would be the heiress and own the place. She would be the one who could bring the change the mansion needed and drag it out of the past to forge her own future, one that wouldn't be owned by a breathless, soulless house and the old witches it had made.

"Yes, that was a clause in the contract," Griffin said to grasp at tangible things and the legalities of their deal were the most palpable thing she could think of when they left her with the presence of her mothers-in-law which would last for heaven knew how long. Though, hell would probably be more in place in that sentence. "We have to take care of them until death finally manages to pry life out of their claws." There were chills running through her that weren't coming from the cold meat in her hands when she wasn't sure if even death was stronger than her enemies. And that was a very disturbing thought considering it had taken her father away when he'd always been the most secure heart in her life. "So for the next 30-40 years." Or so she hoped. She could just pray it wouldn't be more even if she weren't religious. She'd never been, and her encounter with her now mothers-in-law had only solidified that position.

"Aren't they, like, ancient?" Ediltrude asked, the pages of her magazine rustling when she probably used it to demonstrate her confusion in a grand, dramatic gesture. And here Griffin had sworn to be careful not to end up with another drama queen as a friend after Ediltrude and Hagen–and herself, too, but that did not go into the current train of thought–only to find herself married to one.

"Yeah. They can't be under seventy at this point even if their magical cosmetics take off twenty years," Zarathustra joined her sister and Griffin was grateful that they were doing their best to provide some comfort but she knew it wasn't up to them when the three witches were in the picture and the cosmetics weren't the only magic at play there. Good diet–despite their passion for hunting, they were careful with the cholesterol that could prove to be the one gun to end them if they didn't control it which, of course, they did very closely–and eating souls were giving splendid results so far. Well, splendid for them.

"Oh, they are," Griffin said, her knife almost flying out of her hand at her own theatrics. "They are seventy-three. At least Belladonna is and I'm still not quite sure whether they're triplets or not." They never disclosed anything personal but that had come out during the transfer of the mansion to the only result of terrifying her all the more when she'd learned she'd been far off in her guess of the woman's age. "But I'm not really sure they're mortal," Griffin confessed and it was so much scarier to hear the thought out loud even if it had been plaguing her mind since she'd learned their age.

Really, they didn't look older than fifty despite their white hair that Griffin could think of at least two purposes for. One, make them look like apparitions to increase the natural terror they awoke in whoever was standing in front of them and two, clash with their painted faces and nails and their designer clothes to tell you they were of age but still had far more class and beauty than you could ever dream of. And it worked on both accounts leaving you with the need to scream but you had to mute yourself somehow because that would just give them more life power and would hand victory to them.

Ediltrude laughed. "Come on, Griffin. The women may be vicious witches – I mean, reindeer meat? Who even eats that nowadays? And knowing that they caught it themselves... Oh, wow, okay." Griffin heard her moving in the armchair she was sitting in, the leather one that definitely did not fit with the rest of the interior of their living room but they both loved and she knew why when she'd found herself dozing off in it more than once since it was that comfortable. "I am starting to see your point," Ediltrude said in that voice that was slightly slowed down from her normal speed of speaking when her mind was racing. "How the fuck are they still hunting at that age?" she asked when she finally did the math that threw you for a loop when it ended in an infinity symbol that stood for their eternal life.

"I'm telling you," Griffin sighed. "They're not human," she said, any thought of stabbing them with the knife she was holding dying out when she wasn't sure she wanted to murder her own hope that they would be the ones to die some day. She wouldn't be able to handle the result of her experiment and the consequences of it. Even if they didn't do anything to her for the attempt on their lives. They would've already done it with the knowledge that it hadn't been an attempt at all when they weren't mortal.

"Well, Lysslis did have a violent reaction to Ediltrude's cat," Zarathustra said as she tried to prove to her that there was fear in her mothers-in-law, too. And it would have worked if the reason for that hadn't been that the cat had snatched a photo album out of Lysslis' bedroom. The way she'd looked around had suggested she was hiding it from her sisters and Griffin supposed that was because it was full of old pictures.

Lysslis wasn't the sentimental type even if she managed to look the part but she certainly was one to keep dirt on her sisters which made Griffin suspect that the album was old and contained evidence from their youth. Evidence that could support the rumors that the three of them had made their way into the manor with deception by having gold injected in their irises which had left them blind and in need of lenses that replaced their lost sight by sending electrical impulses to the brain with the coded visual information.

She wouldn't have trouble believing it at all. She'd seen their ambition taking lives–literally–and was sure that it went as far as mutilating themselves as well. Everything for the metaphorical crown.

That, of course, did not help convince her that they were people and only did the opposite instead even if it brought them down a little on account of them not having all the characteristics of a Mistress of the Ancestral Manor but that hardly mattered when they'd proved that they were the most fearsome women to ever have that title. And Lysslis was cold-blooded enough to keep proof of their monstrosities against her sisters, though that did hint that she was afraid of them. But on the other hand, who wouldn't be? Even monsters could fear other monsters. Especially when they were the same as them.

"Though, they were looking at the snakes like they were moving belts," Zarathustra said like they'd shared the same inner musings when Griffin knew that hadn't been the case. The twins had insisted that it wasn't possible when she'd told them what claims were going around when it came to her mothers-in-law.

"Hush, my babies are still traumatized," Ediltrude scolded which wasn't unexpected since she'd forbidden the topic after she'd had both snakes wrapped around her like they were trying to suffocate her which hadn't really been their intention and had hidden their heads under her hands. They'd gotten scared when they'd felt the thoughts the three old hags would've loved to make true and that only Griffin and the twins had been standing in the way of. As if Ediltrude would ever let anyone hurt her snakes. She would sooner kill than let anyone lay a hand on them or on her sister and that was one thing Griffin could always guarantee no matter who Ediltrude was facing.

"She's cuddling the snakes, isn't she?" Griffin asked as she already had a mental image that she was sure was absolutely precise. It was the other typical characteristic of that leather armchair as it was the usual place where the snakes liked to lounge. Especially if Ediltrude was there–or Zarathustra or Griffin, really–and they could climb all over her.

"Yep. I have a completely insane sister," Zarathustra said and Griffin could see her shaking her head at the sight of Ediltrude cooing at the snakes and stroking them. It was an odd image but one that Griffin was used to by now and had found herself replicating even if she hadn't liked Ediltrude's very idea of pets when she'd had to room with them from the get-go in their college dorm. They'd grown on her, though, and she'd found herself happy to feel them slithering over her the first time the twins had visited the mansion and Ediltrude had thought it appropriate to bring them with her to cheer Griffin up. It had even worked as the snakes had seemed like absolute angels compared to the three she now lived with when she knew the ones curling into her wouldn't hurt her.

"Oh, shut up, Miss I'll-just-go-and-join-a-cult," Ediltrude threw at her sister and almost made Griffin rub at her temples before she remembered she'd just been touching the deer meat and that was definitely ill-advised. She couldn't help the impulse when a fight between the twins was brewing, though, and them focusing on each other was definitely the first and only sign of that as their squabbles only needed so much to kick into motion.

"We agreed to never bring that up again," Zarathustra screeched angrily and Griffin could imagine the way her whole body was moving forward, ready for a fight. Something both twins were always prepared for which made for an explosive atmosphere. Something she'd gotten her fair share of when they'd been roommates. "It was a mistake, okay? You of all people should know enough about that," Zarathustra kept it up and Ediltrude would bite the bait and start harping on, too, in a second and she would lose them to their argument. She had to do something.

"Come on, you two, break it off!" Griffin cried out and it was more desperate rather than authoritative but that was all she could manage at the present time. "I need you to keep me company through this hell of a day, not send each other to hell," she said when she knew that would get them back to her. They were good friends even if they crossed the line sometimes with their teases that went from mischievous straight to cruel faster than a rally car accelerated.

She was picking up Valtor's car figures of speech which was just another thing they would prod into if they knew so she had to be careful not to give herself away.

"Sorry, Griffin," both twins chimed in at the same time which she was sure left them glaring at each other but they kept to the truce she'd called and she was grateful to have their support when there was not much of anything else keeping her focused and stopping her from melting into a puddle of self-pity under the judgment of her mothers-in-law's golden eyes that she could see in her mind perfectly now that they'd taken the time to so helpfully engrave it there.

Dinner took about all day despite her decision to work on the dishes parallel to each other and she ate lunch in the kitchen like she was their servant but that was not correct. She was more of a slave, really, and she was getting tempted to start looking into ways to get away with poisoning them, the only thing that was stopping her being that that wasn't her. Her parents hadn't raised a murderess and she wouldn't let her alleged new mothers make her something that she wasn't, make her like them.

There were rumors that Belladonna had killed her husband for cheating on her which Griffin knew weren't true as much as she hated admitting it. Belladonna certainly wouldn't have tolerated cheating despite how cold and uninviting she was–which was fair enough since that didn't give anyone a pass for cheating–but that was a problem she would have resolved before it had even become such and far more delicately, for certain. A little bromine in his drinks every day and there was nothing to worry about which might have been just the perfect solution from another point of view as well but that was none of Griffin's business and she really didn't need, nor want to go there.

No, what had most certainly seen the three sisters–she was sure Lysslis and Tharma were in on it and might have even helped–committing murder had been the fact that they'd wanted to raise Valtor a certain way and getting rid of his father had been necessary to make sure he wouldn't interfere with that. Which had probably also been the reason behind Valtor's grandmother "falling" off the balcony in the light of day. If they hadn't posed a threat on Belladonna's plans for Valtor's upbringing they probably would've still been alive–her husband at least–and following her agenda just like everyone else was.

Remembering she was one hundred percent certified living with murderesses was not helping her relax when the exhaustion was flaming in her muscles so she dragged herself over to the library to pick a good book to crash on the couch in there with. It was the one place that she adored in the mansion–other than her and Valtor's bedroom–even if Lysslis was often there herself.

There were so many books gracing the shelves with their elegance and knowledge or countless worlds waiting to be explored and it was the richest room in the mansion. It was a dream come true to have a library that size and Griffin took all the chances she got to enjoy it.

She found a book of poetry that seemed to predate even her mothers-in-law–and that was magical in a whole another way as it was proof that they hadn't been there from the start so maybe they wouldn't make it to the end either–and curled up in its embrace. The words were caressing her tenderly–especially when she imagined them in the context of her and Valtor's love–and managed to unwrap some of the day's tension from around her to let her get more comfortable. Almost to the point where she'd fall asleep but that thought was ran over by the sound of Valtor's car pulling over at the driveway.

She laid the book down on the table carefully, letting herself lose the page as all that mattered was finding her way out of the room as soon as possible, and ran down the stairs to greet him. They usually didn't let her do that when they held her hostage in the living room and watched her like she was the wild game they were hunting that day. They didn't want her going out in the rain–concerned about how any potential illnesses would reflect on her ability to bear children, no doubt–but it rained so often over the mansion that she was starting to hate it when she couldn't do any gardening even if it'd used to be a relaxing sound to read a good book to while sipping tea which, really, made perfect sense as a lot of things weren't at all as enjoyable as they'd used to be.

She got the upper hand that evening as she rushed to the door before they could block her way as they came from the study. It was supposed to be Valtor's nowadays but they had no qualms about coming and going as they pleased and rummaging through the documents. They'd even spoiled the surprise when he'd reserved a quiet villa at the seaside for them since they hadn't been able to spoil the vacation itself. At least not to the point to which they'd wanted to.

Sarah stepped out of her way and rather enthusiastically, too, instead of with fear like she avoided the old witches that still acted like they were her bosses when she was officially working for her and Valtor now. It could also have something to do with the fact that she was getting starry eyed at the sight of her and Valtor together as she seemed genuinely happy about them–though, that could be because they treated her as a human and not just as the help–and even congratulated them on their happiness every time she found the occasion.

Griffin opened the door and was met with a bouquet of white gently greeting her eyes as if Valtor had known she would be the one to meet him this time. It must have been some powerful intuitive cue since that was a rarity and he couldn't have predicted it any other way.

"For the woman of my heart," Valtor said as he grinned at her and handed her the gardenias.

She could feel their sweet scent reaching her even when her fingers hadn't even caressed the blossoms yet. It wafted through the air to encapsulate her in itself and entered her brain to pull forward memories of all the previous times he'd brought her flowers–not just gardenias–that were just as exquisite as the bouquet itself.

Griffin took the flowers from him and stepped away to let him in. "Kept safe and sound," she noted as she felt the plastic container that was undoubtedly full of water under her fingers. It was like a small plastic vase hidden under the bouquet wrap to keep the flowers fresh.

"Vanessa knows what she's doing," Valtor said as he took off his coat and let Sarah put it away.

"She certainly does." Unlike that daughter of hers. "And you do, too," Griffin praised as deserved. He'd learned her tastes–though, Vanessa probably knew just as well and would have had him covered anyway–and knew just how to make her day which she really appreciated after the day she'd had. "Come here, man of my heart," she said as she pulled him towards herself, careful not to damage the flowers after he'd found the time in his busy schedule to get them for her.

Her lips were on his and his body pressed into her finally felt like she'd come home after she'd been kept on edge all day like only his mothers could do to her when they shook her sense of self to the very core and made her doubt everything she was and knew. Everything except Valtor and her love for him. That always came out victorious regardless of what schemes they were running–and they'd done their best to separate them by pushing various ghosts of the past in their way until they'd realized that their futures were entangled together and there was no one who could do anything about it–and she trusted she could draw strength from it any time.

Valtor did, too, as he let himself sink into the kiss and pull her deeper in as well when their tongues were dancing together like they sometimes did in the privacy of their bedroom where it was just the two of them in the universe and the rhythm of the music that wrapped around them to keep the happiness of those moments safe and protected. His hands were on her waist and holding her close to him like he always did. It was the most reassuring thing to know he wanted her with him always. Especially when she wanted the same.

She wanted to be with him, for as long as the stars would shine on them when they climbed on the roof at night to watch them. She knew their love would be endless like the string of words of the countless books in the mansion's library was. The two of them had a long road ahead that nothing could block even when they were bound to returning to the manor no matter how far they'd managed to get during their latest car ride but it still felt like home when she was with him.

"Somehow that didn't sound too sincere," Valtor murmured when they parted even if the words weren't supported by the ecstatic beating of his heart under her palm. "I might need more convincing," he cupped her cheek, the softness of the touch begging to have more added to it and she couldn't refuse even if she'd wanted to. And she could never get mad at him just because he was looking for excuses to draw her into another kiss even if he didn't need them when she would give him all the love and all the tenderness he wanted. It was something she wanted to do with her life and nothing could make her doubt that no matter how many slippery slopes she had to climb to get to him.

Griffin leaned in again but she'd barely felt his lips against hers when Belladonna's voice made for a crack between them and shoved an entire replica of Antarctica in it forcing her to pull as far away from the cold as possible which left space between her and Valtor as well.

"If you're going to have sex tonight, at least do keep it down," she said, her voice even like it was gliding on a solid foundation of ice and not their private and intimate experiences but that couldn't phase Griffin anymore. "You make more noise than a gathering at the patio," Belladonna added her finishing touch of humiliation, the burning gold of her eyes scorching at Griffin's skin when she looked at her to let her know that one was directed exclusively towards her.

"I guess it's time to use that ball gag you bought for me," Griffin said as she turned her head towards Valtor but let her gaze seep towards her mother-in-law out of the corner of her eye. Hopefully, she'd drown in the lack of shame in it.

It had felt like she'd been engulfed in flames the first time she'd gotten reprimanded about her loudness by her witches-in-law which had coincidentally been about the wedding night since she and Valtor hadn't even gotten a proper honeymoon on pretext that it wasn't the season for holidays–as if there weren't a ton of places where it'd been sizzling hot at the time–and the manor needed to get acquainted with its new Mistress which wouldn't have been a problem if they'd let her move in before the wedding but they'd insisted that that wasn't possible since she wasn't an official part of the family yet. She'd felt like a criminal caught red-handed and it had left such a profound acrid taste in her mouth that she hadn't been able to eat until they'd forced her to because she needed to stay healthy.

She'd been throwing up most of the first week of her married life and had thrashed in bed in the midst of her nightmares–not just because of the severe meddling in their private affairs, but also because of the control they were trying to exercise over every aspect of her life while giving the illusion they were passing everything in her hands only to overwhelm her more with the care for the household and make her beg for their help–instead of sleeping serenely in Valtor's embrace. They'd both ended up sleep deprived and exhausted in the middle of the work week and she'd sworn she'd never let them get to her head like that again. She'd play their game if that was what they wanted and she was going to win it.

"It would seem so," Valtor said, his arm snaking around her waist to keep her close when that gave him not just courage, but safety. Quite literally since he'd admitted to her that they hadn't allowed themselves to be as cruel to him after they'd learned she was a part of the picture as they'd been before that. Probably because they didn't want her to know about the monstrosities they'd committed against him before that and she hated to think of his suffering so she didn't when she knew he didn't want to talk about it either. She would gladly listen if he wanted to talk, though. So far he hadn't but she was there for him if and when he decided to share. "If we can't soundproof the bedroom," Valtor noted and it was a clear accusation or at least retaliation despite how casually it was thrown out there. They'd raised him in their image, after all, and deserved their own venom spat in their faces so that it would leave his system and free him of itself when it could never be useful for anything except paralyzing him in its drops like an insect caught in amber.

"The mansion needs to remain authentic, Valtor," Lysslis said, her words far closer to a hiss than she normally allowed them to get. But it was no wonder considering how touchy a subject change was when applied to the manor.

Lysslis–and her sisters, too–were hellbent on keeping the house as it was which she was sure had nothing to do with the fact that all of the previous owners had only done the necessary construction work to preserve the visage of the building and had avoided altering it in any way. They were just using the pretext of that to keep the manor the soulless home that it was and keep all of its inhabitants trapped in that paradox. It was just their hunger for control and power masked as care which was their trademark but that didn't make it any less grotesque.

"And it would be much easier to put up with the noise if it were an occasional occurrence but you two insist on fucking like rabbits," Tharma said, not missing a chance to stab at their active sex life to kill it.

She seemed to have difficulty getting over that time she'd walked in on them having sex in Valtor's office but it was her own damn fault for not knocking and barging in like she owned the place when she never had, all the decisions she'd ever made for the company falling over it through the channel of Belladonna's temporary reign while Valtor still hadn't been of age. She'd been absolutely scandalized and Griffin suspected that it had something to do with the fact that Valtor would forfeit work to have carnal fun which just added to Tharma's incomprehension, she was sure, since the woman was the only one of the three sisters who had never been married, and she'd been furious that they'd put her in a position in which she didn't have the upper hand when she was so hopelessly lost.

"We've raised you to be a lion, Valtor," Belladonna said and Griffin was surprised by the precision of the comparison when Valtor was the alleged king of the world but it was the lionesses that had made him who knew how to hunt and set the rules of the game. He was nothing but an oversized kitten on a leash in his mother's lap. "The least you can do is make sure the company and the family name get their next heir if you insist on imitating street cats," Belladonna didn't let the opportunity to express her own disdain with their priorities slip through her fingers that could be nothing short of ice cold when that was what her heart was.

"Thank you, Sarah," Griffin took the time to show her gratefulness for having her flowers removed from the scene–especially when she saw how quick Sarah was to make her escape and it was completely understandable that she didn't want to get caught in the upcoming storm–because she was sure they wouldn't handle the intensity of the argument that was about to plow into them. And even if they could, she didn't want to stain them with the ugliness of her reality when they were meant to brighten the bedroom with their beauty and weave a fantasy of another life around her with their sweet scent. "Contraceptives do tend to prevent pregnancy," she said as she turned her gaze on Belladonna now that the bouquet wasn't threatened with withering away under her fierce attacks towards every part of Griffin's life when she tried to bend it to her will.

"Perhaps you should rethink taking them," Belladonna said and the wording was all wrong when it wasn't a suggestion. It was an order at best and a threat at worst and Griffin had learned enough by now to know that it didn't matter which option it was as she had to be scared of both and of the way one would inevitably turn into the other if she let it.

"Perhaps you should rethink whatever horrid idea just started forming in your head." She could practically hear the thoughts in Belladonna's mind moving slowly but surely like an iceberg waiting to sink her tiny boat when it broke it in pieces upon collision. "If you switch out my pills and get me pregnant without my consent, I swear to you you won't see even the outside of this house ever again and I won't give a single fuck about the goddamn contract," Griffin spat out, clutching tightly at Valtor as all she had left to do was pray that she'd made herself clear enough, pray that she'd scared the monsters because she didn't know of another weak place of theirs that she could hit and it would be the end of her if she'd failed.

"Well, if that child has your character, it will at least be worth the wait," Belladonna said, letting her know she'd won the fight and she could breathe freely. For now. Hopefully, even until she herself decided to go through giving birth. "Not so much if it's like Valtor who never dared stand up to us."

She looked at him as if her words weren't piercing deep enough and she needed to hammer them in his heart through his eyes so that she could break them, too, and make him unable to see anything beautiful in the world ever again. She was just being a fucking bitch now since she knew damn well they'd abused him into obedience every time he'd tried to exhibit something else and Griffin would gladly remind her that but Valtor's grip tightening on her waist stopped her.

"Argulus and I did strike the deal, mother," Valtor said, his voice firm as if his eyes weren't trying to bleed tears when Belladonna's words had cut deep into his soul. He still cared about her approval which was masochistic and practically suicidal when he would never get anything but freezing water on his enthusiasm about any activity of his that just made it sizzle out and the steam carried away a part of his soul with it. It was painful to watch the best proof that Belladonna did not love him, did not know what love was at all, since she could see what she was doing to him and there was no reaction from her.

Not a normal one at least since she observed him like he was an experiment and she was waiting to see how long he'd need to crack under the crushing lack of praise from her.

Now that she was married to him, Griffin was a guinea pig, too, serving as a test subject to see how much you could break someone by torturing the love of their life, the only thing holding her in place was Valtor's arm around her when she knew she was his support just like he was hers. She could help with his burden and he could help with hers when they chose to carry them together and didn't do it because they were forced to.

"Excellent," Tharma said, the word like a whiplash echoing around them when it was so out of place. "Then all of your wife's work won't have to go to the garbage," she said, making Griffin nauseous even though she was used to the irresponsible waste of resources that the manor was a home to.

She had absolutely no doubt that they would've thrown out the dinner they had her cooking all day in the case of failure to punish both Valtor and her and then would've nagged at them about the meat they'd had to sacrifice when hunt was becoming harder throughout the years. Yet, they always came back proud of the murders that never dwindled in number just like they only used their old age when it was in their interest.

"He and his wife will be coming to dinner tomorrow evening," Valtor ignored the remark when it couldn't possibly ruin his mood more than it had already been but his words made Griffin's head snap towards him.

"Valtor, Faragonda and Hagen are coming tomorrow," she reminded gently as she didn't mean to scold him even if she felt near tears herself. There was no way she'd be allowed to have her "unrefined" friends over when there was a semi-business dinner going on and so instead of having people she loved over she would have to stand the company of another rich-and-proud-of-it couple in her home which she was used to by now as there was someone over for dinner at least twice a week but in this particular instance she was even less thrilled about the company.

"I'm sorry, Griffin," Valtor said as he looked at her, the ice of his eyes begging for her forgiveness which she would've granted far easier if she weren't struck in place by the lightning bolt that the realization that her gardenias were an apology and not a romantic gesture was. "You know Argulus insists on sealing the deal with a dinner and they'll be out of town for the next two weeks."

Of course, they would be. Bloom was probably flying to cloud nine at the idea of another expensive vacation. Or rather was carried there by Argulus who was a slave to her every whim which was the least he could do after taking her away from her family and changing her until she wasn't herself anymore. Though, it was arguable how much you could be changed without your own agreement and that had left Vanessa and Mike blaming themselves for not giving her a better life, for not giving her the life that Marion and Oritel would have sponsored had they been alive to raise their own daughter.

Griffin was sure they were turning in their graves thanks to the spoiled brat Bloom had become after she'd met Argulus who'd revealed her origins to her and had made her pursue the family fortune until she'd finally taken her claim over it just a month after the two had gotten married which was a bit of a coincidence too suspicious to be one to everyone with half a brain but, unfortunately, one half of Bloom's had been full of her newly found funds and the other one of her husband so that hadn't registered. And while that was a good enough excuse in that particular instance, it did nothing to justify the fact she'd stopped visiting Daphne at the hospital and had left Mike and Vanessa help her fight through the coma she'd been sent in by a reckless motorcyclist that had hit her on her way out of Argulus' office after a fight with him about her sister.

Griffin couldn't believe that was the same girl she'd held in her arms when she'd still been a teenager herself but Marion had trusted her enough to let her hold her baby. The future had seemed so bright before the coordinated attack meant to take out the entire family that had left the two girls orphans instead but at least they'd found their way to a loving home only for Bloom to turn away from that because of that vulture that her husband was.

The only thing that had Griffin keeping her mouth shut was that she'd only met Valtor through his connection to Argulus and her connection to Bloom. That and the fact that she didn't want to upset Mike and Vanessa who would inevitably hear Bloom's complaints were Griffin to say anything which left her begrudgingly accepting that she had to go through that dinner the next evening. Really, the only worst thing would have been having to stand Diaspro and all of her greatness now that she was doing whatever she wanted with all of Erendor and Samara's fortune after Bloom left Sky and he was led right back into the trap of Diaspro's arms around his neck.

"This can't wait," Valtor said, his voice quiet but it was the apologetic tone that pricked her all over like it was trying to see where she'd bleed from first. He was terrified of her reaction when the memories of his mothers' outbursts were playing in his mind and she hated the fact that she'd given him a reason to make the connection when she herself had quite the temper and enough pettiness to go for revenge instead of resolving the conflict.

"You'll just have to cancel your appointment, honey," Lysslis said, staining yet another pet name with her venom. She knew damn well Griffin would never be able to stand Valtor calling her any of the ones she'd used. And she'd used them all. She'd made sure there wasn't something special that only he would call her and he'd have to resort to her name which everyone else used as well. Lysslis thought she could diminish their bond like that but her name would always sound differently coming from Valtor's mouth when all of his love for her was woven in it. None of his mothers could ever sully that.

"We'll have to plan the menu so the help can get to it right away tomorrow morning," Tharma said to remind her that her cooking was good enough for her common-folk friends and even the three Mistresses of the Ancestral Manor were resigning to it to fulfill her wishes but her meals weren't refined enough for their high society guests. And after she'd spent all day cooking their requested dinner. It was crossing the line which would mean something if there were any lines for the three of them.

"Let me play you something, Griffin," Valtor caught her hand and held all of her anger as if it was his doing and his responsibility. His eyes were begging her forgiveness and she couldn't take that away from him when they'd already taken everything from both of them. It wasn't his fault her plans were abolished yet again. She'd known that business always came first even when he didn't want it to and he just wanted to make things right for her which she appreciated but didn't want to burden the notes with his guilt which would undoubtedly warp the melody.

"I would love to hear anything you have for me," Griffin made sure to emphasize the last word and was happy to see it reached his heart and he read into it, his shoulders falling out of the stiff embrace of the stress that had been wrapped around them to leave him able to play the piano with all of his skill and that was an ocean she could float in forever.

They headed towards the living room, still entangled as they were when they pushed past his mothers who, surprisingly, did not try to object but followed them there. Of course, they wouldn't let them have a private moment anywhere outside their own bedroom even when they had to plan the dinner the following evening.

Belladonna looked at her as she was settling down next to her sisters to tell her what she'd heard many times echoing in her head after the woman's gaze shouted it inside her brain. You chose to be the next wife of the Ancestral Manor.

But she hadn't. She'd only ever wanted to be Valtor's hence why she was next to him on the bench in front of the piano even if she had no business there since business had nothing to do with their relationship much to her mothers-in-law's chagrin. And if letting the manor and the three witches that controlled it claim as much of her time as they could get their claws into was the only way to spend the rest of her life with him, then she was ready to pay the price. Because she didn't even want to try to imagine a life without him. She could do it, she knew. But it wouldn't be real. It wouldn't be a life. Just existence.

She laid her head down on Valtor's shoulder knowing that he wouldn't mind. And nobody was asking his mothers, the sounds of the piano shutting them up when even they didn't allow themselves to interrupt art when it was engraved all over the manor and was practically a part of it. And their love was the purest form of art as they kept weaving it together despite all the sharpness in its way as the melody proved when it filled the emptiness of the mansion around them and drowned out any scorn coming from his mothers to let them grow together despite all attempts of his mothers to turn them into something they weren't. They were in love and that was their home.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #ancestral witches #winx belladonna #winx lysslis #winx tharma #winx ediltrude #winx zarathustra #winx bloom #winx darkar #bloom x darkar #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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jahaanofmenaphos · 4 years ago

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Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

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QUEST 11: SLISKE’S ENDGAME

QUEST SUMMARY:

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske’s games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat’s design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske’s madness once and for all...

CHAPTER 1 - INTO THE ABYSS

Of all the people Seren thought she would have an audience with on that day, her brother was the last she expected, and certainly the last she wanted. But Zaros was insistent, and while every advisor around Seren urged her to turn him away, Seren sensed an importance in his visit that required her attention. If he was to reveal some small modicum of his plans to her, at least Seren could try and keep his intentions in check.

Zaros was a stain in the perfectly sculptured crystal palace. He was a blot of darkness, a symbol of corruption in an otherwise flawless city. For miles around, the icy white walls shone brilliantly in the sunlight, emerald roofs glowing and twinkling, sapphires shining from the windows. Zaros was a shadow, a vacuum of insincerity and manipulation that Seren spent her entire life trying to escape from. Now, with five days left until Sliske’s endgame, she allowed him into Prifddinas, a city he had been barred from visiting since he first stepped foot on Gielinor.

At the top of the Tower of Voices, the two siblings that were nearly as old as the universe itself conversed to the backdrop of chirping birds and the sound of distant harps.

Seren shook her head firmly. “After what you did... after what you made me do? How can I trust you?”

“You cannot,” Zaros admitted. “What you did… what I made you do, it is unforgivable. We are both damned by it. But it was a necessity. The only solution to the damage you had wrought.”

“She was our mother,” Seren’s voice cracked at the term, the wound as fresh as ever.

Zaros disagreed, “No. She was our creator. I know enough of my study of mortals to see the difference between the two. If they had been your elves, would you have even hesitated?”

“That's not fair…”

“Little is. We both know enough to be certain that the universe does not recognise fairness. Regardless, I come to you not in the hope of reconciliation, for I know that is not possible.”

Seren couldn’t help but laugh, a mirthless sound full of indignation. “No. It really isn't.”

“I come in the expectation that you recognise the danger here,” Zaros continued, “That we cannot stand in opposition. Not now, while there is too much at stake.”

Seren nodded, grimly. “The Catalyst. It cannot fall into their hands.”

“No. It would be catastrophic; the damage they could do. It could wake the elder gods prematurely.”

“But even if it did, perhaps that is the way of things,” Seren argued with despondent acceptance. “Perhaps it is Gielinor's destiny.”

“You do not believe in destiny any more than I, Seren,” Zaros countered. “You know that events must be guided, orchestrated; things happen because they are made to happen. Not because the universe has decreed it.”

“Perhaps,” Seren may disagree with Zaros’ methods, but some of his philosophy did align with hers, though she was reluctant to admit it. The divergence was that Zaros believed he should orchestrate everything. Seren believed him the last person who should be in charge of the destiny of others. “But I will not let you claim the Stone, Zaros.”

“As long as the Catalyst is out of the younger gods’ hands, that is all that matters,” Zaros affirmed, resolutely. “I do not intend to tear the world apart like they would. But our plan for the Stone is secondary - what is imperative is claiming it.”

“And how do you intend to go about that?” Seren queried, still wary. “Sliske has something planned during the eclipse. He is an unpredictable being, one that is difficult to plan against.”

“Sliske’s game is a formality,” Zaros stated. “He is foolish to deign to think he has any modicum of power or control over us. The agreement I made with Zamorak and the others will ensure the outcome sways in my favour, but only if I have your assistance, sister.”

Jahaan knew he needed allies, but despite being the World Guardian, they were few and far between. In fact, Jahaan could count all those he genuinely entrusted with his life on one hand.

Azzanadra wasn’t an option - he’d undoubtedly be standing beside Zaros, and understandably so. Wahisietel no doubt would refuse to even get involved in his brother’s twisted games. Ozan was-

Jahaan violently shook his head, forcing the man from his thoughts.

That only left one name that sprung to mind.

Short of dying and coming into contact with one of his avatars, Jahaan figured the best place to start looking for Icthlarin would be in his temple in Sophanem, Menaphos' sister city. Before Ozan had helped repair relations between the neighboring cities, legitimate migration was off limits. Fortunately, the bridge connecting the sister cities was open to the public once again.

Jahaan entered the back room of the temple to find Icthlarin and Death already in a heated discussion.

“Icthlarin, think about what you are suggesting,” Death implored, a pained weight in his glowing cyan eyes. “You do not have the powers the other gods possess. This is reckless! They could destroy you!”

“They could try,” Icthlarin countered. “Do you have such little faith in me?”

“In you I have the greatest faith. It is in them that my faith wavers. They cannot be trusted, and they will show no mercy.”

“And I would not expect them to, but this is a debate for another time. At present, we have a guest.”

Icthlarin and Death turned to the doorway to see Jahaan standing there, sheepishly. “Uhh… was I interrupting something?”

“Death is just concerned for me, my friend,” Icthlarin explained, a sad smile on his features. “He worries that I will not return from Sliske's game, but I must go regardless. It was I who brought Sliske and the Mahjarrat to Gielinor, a mistake that I must do everything I can to correct.”

Shaking his head clear of the cobwebs such memories brought forth, Icthlarin regarded Jahaan with a steady resolve. “Death and I have come to an agreement. Neither of us will seek the Stone for our own personal gain. We have no true need for it, and we cannot adequately protect it from all of the other gods. If we are to claim it, we shall find a way to keep it buried, away from all the gods, and Sliske, once and for all. Will you join us in this pledge?”

Smiling thinly, Jahaan nodded. He wanted nothing more than for the Stone to be buried for all eternity, and while that didn’t work so well the last time they tried it, hopefully with the help of an actual god they would stand a better chance of success.

The dark shape of the moon had stolen its way across the bright desert skies, capturing the brilliant clear cerulean and replacing it with thick, heavy purple, dripping through the skies like ink. The ominous atmosphere was suffocating, the tension of the impending event palpable.

As darkness overwhelmed the skies, Jahaan knew Sliske’s endgame had begun.

The meeting point was just east of Nardah, a small desert town north of Sophanem. Thanks to Icthlarin’s teleport, Jahaan didn’t have to face the magic carpet experience once again. Luckily, the desert was much cooler on this day, for he brought with him heavy armour and a rucksack full of provisions to prepare himself for the upcoming trials Sliske would no doubt unleash. Brushing some hair from his eyes with the back of his gloved hand, Jahaan and Icthlarin crossed the final distance to the meeting point.

As they did so, Jahaan wanted to get something off his chest while he still had the time. Before long, the game would begin, and they’d all be lost in the chase for the Stone. “Hey Icthlarin?” he began, quietly.

Curious by the odd tone, Icthlarin turned to him. “Yes, friend?”

“I’ve decided,” Jahaan began to smile now, content and wistful, determined and ready, akin to the faint flickers of fire in his eyes. “Let’s be honest, I’m probably not going to survive this. If I die, don’t take me to an afterlife. Get rid of my soul. I… I think I’ve done all I want to do here. It’ll also be one last way to piss Sliske off, knowing that I threw away the soul he wants so badly.” Jahaan forced himself to chuckle, but it was grim and hollow. He struggled, acutely aware now more than ever of his own mortality.

Icthlarin’s brow furrowed; he stopped walking. “Are you sure, Jahaan? You might not be in the best place to think clearly.”

“No, I’ve thought about this a lot,” Jahaan maintained, and it was the truth. Ever since Ozan… Jahaan realised he’d had his fill of life. He’d had so many adventures, lived so much, but all the good was behind him now. There was nothing to look forward to. Besides, he didn’t want to tie himself down to a deity in the afterlife. He was just… done. “I’ve made up my mind.”

Already at the meeting point were Marimbo and Brassica Prime, two deities whose absence had, in all honesty, gone pretty much unnoticed in the past years of Sliske's games. Even at the original meeting at the Empyrean Citadel, they'd refused to attend, finding such affairs tedious and not worth their time. Jahaan wondered why they'd finally decided to show up now, of all times. Have they been playing possum all along? Do they really have a plan to get the Stone?

Once he realised what he'd just considered, Jahaan broke out into a chuckle. And your winner is… a drunk monkey and a divine cabbage…

To break him out of the amusing thought he was lost in, the air crackled, energy and light reacting against each other as a crash of white lightning teleported Armadyl and a handful of his aviansie warriors into the area. Soon afterwards, a blue sphere faded into view, and once it disappeared, Saradomin had arrived, flanked by a band of imposing White Knights and Commander Zilyana. The blue-skinned god smiled wryly at his bird-like counterpart.

“Ah, Armadyl. I should have guessed you would be one of the most eager to arrive.”

“I merely see no point in being 'fashionably late'. We all want this over with as quickly as possible,” Armadyl countered, giving a friendly nod of greeting to Marimbo, Jahaan and Icthlarin.

A quick pulse of green energy teleported Death next to Icthlarin. “Are you certain about this, Icthlarin?” he checked, voice low, but apparently loud enough for Saradomin to hear.

Saradomin clucked his tongue in disapproval. “Yes, Icthlarin, should you really be here? Don't you have duties to attend to? You must know the Stone will never be yours.”

“Do not pretend to comprehend my duties Saradomin,” Icthlarin replied. “Your attention only focuses inwards. I serve a greater purpose.”

“What arrogance! You dare pretend to know my will?”

During this, Seren, Zaros and their respective entourages teleported into the fray - Seren with her elves, and Zaros with Azzanadra and Char. Seren arrived in a wisp of blue particles, while Zaros came in a storm of purple energy.

In an attempt to calm their tensions, Armadyl stepped forward, his arms stretched between them in a gesture of peace. “Gentlemen please, there is a time and a place for this argument once the Stone has been claimed.”

At that moment, Zamorak teleported in from a sphere of red energy, followed by Hazeel, Moia and Lord Daquarius.

Eyes narrowed, Armadyl added, “On second thought, if we must channel our anger somewhere, I believe the perfect target has just arrived.”

“Try it,” Zamorak spat, rounding on the winged deity. “It's been so long since I've had the pleasure of watching an avianse burn.”

“I'LL KILL YOU!”

“Yes! Armadyl, together we can destroy him once and for all!” Saradomin cheered, his followers’ hands reaching for their weapons in preparation.

“And give Sliske exactly what he wants?” Seren pointed out. “He wants us to fight. He wants to turn this into the next God Wars.”

“To destroy each other now would serve no purpose except for Sliske's amusement,” Zaros concurred. “Calm yourselves and be rational.”

“Zamorak needs to pay for his crimes!” Armadyl maintained, his voice dripping with bitter hatred.

Then, a mysterious voice floated around them. “Yes… Armadyl. He should pay. Strike him down now. Kill him. Vengeance could so easily be yours…”

Easily, Zamorak clocked the voice’s origin. “Fuck off with your baiting, Sliske. Show yourself and get this over with.”

“Oh well, if you insist…”

From black lightning, Sliske teleported into the area, his arms waving outwards in a grand gesture of welcome, though with a cockiness only he could attempt to pull off.

Instantly, Jahaan felt his throat go dry, the air being sucked right out of him in the presence of Sliske. Eyes flashed with cinders; he wanted to be sick. He wanted to take out his dagger and slash that cruel smile off his face once and for all. He wanted to run, take off into the desert and never look back, but he felt a gravity pulling him down, a weight fusing his feet to the sand beneath him. Jahaan wanted to look at Icthlarin for reassurance, at anyone or anything to distract him from Sliske’s pull.

Sliske’s canary-coloured irises shone out of the dark recess of his hood, attaching themselves to Jahaan’s emerald eyes. It was fleeting, but Jahaan could have sworn he saw a slight upturn of Sliske’s lip, a cruel yet sincere smile meant only for him. Swiftly, it was replaced by the mask of manic joviality he used to greet the rest of the crowd. “Welcome, welcome! Oh, it's so very good to see you all here. Well, to be honest, I rather hoped to see a few less of you, but we’ll make of the situation what we can. Now, before we get onto the main event, please, a round of applause for those of you who actually followed the brief and killed a god. You know, as you were meant to.”

He gestured towards Armadyl, his smug, sing-song voice carrying his words. “Armadyl, a round of applause to you. You were the first to really embrace this game. The way you decapitated Bandos… exquisite! Bravo, bravo!”

“I didn't do it for your game, Sliske,” Armadyl growled in response.

“Oh no, of course not. You murdered a god for peace, love, justice, blah, blah, blah…”

Then, his expression darkened severely as he turned to Seren. “You, dear, dear Seren. You had the greatest kill of them all, didn't you? Matricide. You took the life of your very own mother… our mother, Mah, who dreamed us all into existence. Part of me hates you for that. Odd isn't it? That I should care, that her death should matter in the slightest? And yet the sting is there. That slight knot in my stomach, that dull pain in my chest... I mean, bravo! You have done what so few others have achieved…” his eyes traced the crowd, finally settling upon Jahaan as he finished, “You... hurt me.”

Seren took a deep, extended exhale. “You can stop this madness, Sliske. Call off this game. Let this end.”

Sliske laughed, a bitter cackle. “And ruin everyone's fun? How could I do such a thing? I made a bargain, and one must stick to their bargains.”

Stepping forward, Zamorak sneered, “I’m not much of a team player, but what’s to stop us all setting aside our differences and making toothpicks out of your ribcage?”

At this, Sliske let out a hearty laugh. “I suppose nothing, except for the fact you’ll never find the Stone without me. And that’s why we’re all here, isn’t it? Ah, except we're not all here. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce our latest contestants... the dragonkin!”

From the darkened skies, a fierce cry pierced through the tense air, with the swooping of heavy wings to follow it. The sound grew louder, nearer, until three dragonkin descended to the ground, the earth shaking as their sharp talons embedded into the dirt.

Eyes wide, Saradomin demanded, “What madness is this?!”

“So this is your grand plan? To attack us all with dragonkin… again?” Armadyl chided, adopting a subtly defensive pose as he regarded the newly arrived dragonkin.

“Come now, don't be so rude to our guests. Kerapac here has shown nothing but the absolute pinnacle of good manners. The dragonkin have every right to be here. After all, the Stone of Jas is sort of their forte.”

“This is outrageous,” Saradomin maintained. “I will not stand for this!”

Sliske called his bluff. “Then leave. No one is forcing you to be here. All of you are free to leave. If you don't want the Stone then you can just totter off home and be free of this… indignity.”

Predictably, Saradomin remained quiet.

“Anyone? No? I didn't think so. So let's cut this bluster right now shall we? None of you are going to leave, so-”

“I am,” Brassica Prime, the cabbage god, cut in with defiance and confidence in its low, bellowing tone. “What need has the mighty Brassica Prime for such shiny baubles? Does deliciousness itself not flow through these very leaves? Am I not nutrition incarnate? The Cabbage of a Thousand Truths is like a carrot on a hook, dangling over the cooking pot. You boil yourselves alive to reach it only to find that it is withered and tasteless, leaving only bitter regret on your pallet.”

Marimbo, god of monkeys, spoke up, “Yeah… what leafy said. All this fighting and backstabbing, there's so much more we could be doing instead. You keep your stupid stone, I'm going to go and play more amusing games.”

With that, the two of them teleported away.

Sliske could only stand there in bafflement. “Well, okay… that was… right,” he shook his head, trying to regain his train of thought. “Well, none of the rest of you are going anywhere I assume. So let's discuss what is going to happen next. Below you sits the aptly named ‘Heart of Gielinor’. A focus for the vast anima mundi of this remarkable planet. From its walls I have carved a great labyrinth. To whomever gets through the labyrinth the fastest I will gift the Stone of Jas. A simple concept, but it will become oh so much more...”

Jahaan didn’t like the delivish turn in Sliske’s tone. It spelled trouble.

“Now, we’ve got a lot of strong contenders here - and Icthlarin - so it really is anyone’s game,” Sliske continued, “But I do hope one of the more interesting gods takes the prize. My money’s on Zamorak - think of the chaos you could cause, brother!”

Zamorak jumped to the bait. “Yes, immense chaos! Why not skip the formalities and just give me the Stone now. Save this little game for another time.”

“Nice try, Zammy. But I worked all week on this maze and you’re going to damn well play. Now, there is a big glowing orb in the labyrinth. That’s your initial goal. The first person to reach it gets to deal a significant blow to a contestant of their choice. Be the first through the portal and I will grant you the power to eject the entourage of any god! That's right, they will have to traverse the rest of the labyrinth alone, making them much more vulnerable to, oh I don’t know, perhaps an adversary with a grudge wanting to settle some old scores. Also, thanks to their past accolades in godslaying, Armadyl and Seren have earned themselves a little head start. But don’t let that discourage the rest of you. And with that, let the game begin! Ready… set... GO!”

Not wasting any time, Jahaan rushed into the portal Sliske created, entering the maze. Luckily, he didn’t fall from too great a height and managed to catch himself quite nimbly with a break fall, avoiding injury. For now, at least. Looking around, he was dismayed to see he had been separated from Icthlarin, hoping he’d find him soon so he didn’t have to traverse the maze alone.

The walls surrounding him were an impenetrable dark grey stone composed of jagged rock, towering about fifteen feet above Jahaan, with a murky grey mist forming some sort of translucent ceiling. Blindly, he started to hurry down the long corridors, hoping for a sign, a hint, anything that suggested he might be going in the right direction. However, wherever he went, the identical walls stretched away from him as far as the eye could see. In his peripheral vision, Jahaan noticed what looked like the head of a statue, so he went towards it, pleading in vain that it would be the first step to conquering the labyrinth. Just as he approached it, however, the eyes began to glow, and the booming, slick voice of Sliske echoed throughout the vast chasm.

“Oh… just one more thing. Those with divine natures may be feeling a little... odd... right about now. That’s because I have removed your divine nature from you. In short, I have brought you all down to the same level. Each of you is now no more powerful than the lowliest of World Guardians. It should be a novel experience for you. But enough of this idle chatter. There is a Stone waiting to be claimed. Go get it.”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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