#and I want to watch her weave a whole tapestry with the others working as assistants | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mononijikayu · 5 months

Text

nightingale — geto suguru.

In the midst of a fragrant garden ablaze with the intoxicating scent of flowers, they found themselves ensnared in a tender embrace, their whispered words of love and adoration mingling with the heady perfume of blossoms. Each declaration melted her heart a little more, filling her with a sense of warmth and belonging that she had never known before. With each gentle kiss that he pressed against her skin, they were drawn together like magnets, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as though they were two halves of a whole, united in a love that knew no bounds.

GENRE: Greek Mythology AU!

WARNING/s: Romance, First Love, Fluff/Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Grief, Mourning, Death, Mild Smut, Depiction of Sex, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Grief, Reminiscing, Reincarnation;

masterlist

listen: nightingale by norah jones

note: this a rewriting of my work previously but i missed suguru and wanted to write about him and here we are, 11k words long. its my little gift before going on a short hiatus for law exams~ i love you all!!!

SHE WAS CERTAIN THAT SHE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND LOVE AT ALL. She held steadfast the truth: love had never eluded her. The goddess, adorned with affection from her inception, was hailed the instant she graced the world. From within her very being, love's resplendent echoes cascaded, born of two souls who dared defy the world's confines, weaving a tapestry of eternal devotion. After all, she was the daughter of Cupid and Psyche. A goddess of such sensual pleasure. She knew what that warmth of touch meant.

In her every breath, love whispered her timeless melody, painting her existence with hues of passion and devotion. Adorned with the essence of adoration, she danced through life's symphony, each step a testament to the boundless affection that surrounded her. For she was not merely a recipient of love's grace, but a beacon, illuminating the path for all who sought its embrace. And in the tapestry of destiny, woven by the hands of fate, her story intertwined with those who dared to love fiercely, forging bonds that defied the constraints of time and space. Thus, in the eternal dance of love, she found her solace, her purpose, her everlasting home.

The goddess was keenly aware of the affection bestowed upon her by mortals. Adorned with the most exquisite offerings at her temple altars, she sensed a profound connection to those who revered her. Yet, despite her divine status, she recognized a shared humanity with her worshipers. In moments of reflection, as she heeded the prayers of the common folk, she found herself drawn to their desires and uncertainties, feeling a kinship that blurred the lines between deity and mortal. Yearning to unravel the mysteries of love, she longed to experience its essence firsthand—to be enveloped in the warm embrace of another, to lose herself in the intoxicating depths of love's embrace.

As the goddess observed her parents' tender gazes and exchanged whispers of adoration, a gentle envy stirred within her. They seemed to embody the very essence of wonder, locked in a world of their own creation, where their love spoke a language known only to them. They inhabited an island of love, secluded in their devotion to each other. Yet, amidst their affectionate bond, the goddess found herself questioning the nature of her own duty to love. Unable to experience or comprehend it herself, she pondered the true meaning of this elusive emotion.

In the midst of her contemplation, the goddess felt a longing tug at her heart—a yearning to understand the depths of love that eluded her grasp. She watched her parents with a mix of admiration and curiosity, wondering what it must be like to be consumed by such profound affection. Despite her divine stature, she found herself humbled by the complexity of human emotions, grappling with the paradox of her own existence. For while she was revered by mortals as a symbol of love, she remained estranged from its intimate embrace.

Yet, even in her solitude, the goddess harbored a flicker of hope—a belief that perhaps one day she too would unlock the secrets of love's mysteries. With each passing moment, she grew more determined to unravel its enigmatic allure, to bridge the chasm between her divine essence and the tender emotions that danced within mortal hearts. And so, amidst the whispers of adoration that filled the air, the goddess embarked on a journey of self-discovery—a quest to find the true meaning of love and, in doing so, to transcend the boundaries of her own existence.

Occasionally, she finds her youth to be a fleeting thing, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand. She's well aware of its capricious nature, how it can both uplift and burden her. The goddess finds solace in witnessing her parents immersed in their mutual adoration, yet beneath her admiration lies a lingering ache. The solitude of her divine existence weighs heavily upon her, a constant reminder of the emptiness beside her. She longs for a companion who can share in her joys and understand her sorrows, someone worthy of standing by her side as she seeks solace in the answers to her grief.

In the depths of her being, a tumult of emotions stirred ceaselessly. A profound longing lay entrenched within her, echoing like the thunderous roar of Zeus's lightning across the heavens, yearning to be acknowledged and understood. Why must she be denied such desires? Other deities in her midst grappled with their own complexities of love and devotion, yet she remained confined within this cage of yearning—to belong to someone's secluded haven, to grasp the essence of being the bestower of joy and affection.

Her father had always treasured her as the living embodiment of his and Psyche's boundless love. As their only child, she was a precious gift, a testament to the depth of their affection for each other. The thought of parting with her filled his heart with an overwhelming sense of sorrow and apprehension. He couldn't bear the idea of losing her to the passage of time, to the inevitable growth and transformation that awaited her on the journey into adulthood.

Yet, deep down, she knew that she couldn't remain under her parents' protective wing forever. As much as her father cherished her, she understood that there comes a time when every child must spread their wings and venture out into the world on their own. She could see the struggle in her father's eyes, the reluctance to let go of the little girl he still saw in her, even as she blossomed into a young woman.

Despite the pain it caused her father, the goddess knew that she needed to assert her independence and forge her own path in life. She recognized that true living required taking risks, embracing the unknown, and charting a course toward her own destiny. And so, with a mixture of determination and trepidation, she resolved to pursue her dreams and aspirations, even if it meant venturing into uncharted territory.

“One day, I’ll be free to know what its like to.” She whispers to herself under her breath, looking at her mother and father. “I’ll know what love is too.”

THAT DAY CAME SOONER THAN SHE WAS PREPARED FOR. As Cupid and Psyche departed for the Temple of Venus, leaving their daughter behind in the care of the Gratiae, a sense of longing and sadness filled the air. Cupid's reluctance to part with his daughter was evident in the way he held her close, his gaze lingering on her as though trying to etch her image into his memory. Similarly, Psyche cradled her daughter in her arms, her touch gentle and loving as always.

Despite their deep love for their daughter, Cupid and Psyche knew that they were still gods. People had relied upon them.They had to fulfill their duties and obligations, even if it meant being separated from their beloved daughter. The Temple of Venus, nestled in the remote mountainous forests where mortals were forbidden to tread, was a place of great importance to Cupid's mother.

Soon after, they would accompany Venus and her retinue towards the home of the gods, in Mount Olympus. That was much more of a concern to them. It was too much for their beloved daughter. It was a short trip, one that would fly by soon. As far as Cupid and Psyche were concerned, they would return sooner or later to be with their beloved child again.

"Father, why do you not take me with you to visit grandmother?" the goddess questioned, her silk shawl slipping from her elbows. Cupid's lips formed a flat line, while Psyche's eyes widened with fear as she prepared the chariot. "I am a goddess, am I not? Do I not have the right to visit the place within the league of blood and kin? Do I not have a place there too?"

"I love you, my child," Cupid responded, his eyes gleaming with devotion as his fingers cupped his child's cheek. "But you know the reason as to why we cannot bring you along with us."

"I know so, but I am no longer a child—"

"You will always be a child to us," her father insisted, shaking his head and taking a deep breath. "And just as much, we cannot part with you. Not when you echo all of our love in your very being, daughter."

"Your father and I just wish to protect you, my dear," her mother, Psyche, added as she walked towards her, taking hold of her hand. "There are many there that I cannot trust with your well-being. I cannot bear to see harm upon you, daughter. Neither can your father. You know this."

The goddess knew whom her mother speaks of.

She shudders at the thought.

The memory of the incident echoes still.

In the dawn of her parents' youth, this event left an indelible mark on their souls, seared into the very fabric of their existence. Life within the Caelum was fraught with challenges, where every inch of space was claimed by powerful gods and goddesses who brooked no opposition. They held sway with an unyielding dominance, leaving little room for others to find footing.

For Cupid, the prospect of returning to the Caelum and introducing Psyche to his family was fraught with dread. He couldn't shake the worry that gnawed at him, haunted by memories of his mother's treatment of Psyche. How could he not fear the repercussions of such a reunion?

Cupid counted himself fortunate that Psyche had chosen to remain by his side, committed to their union despite the challenges they faced. However, he was keenly aware of the voracious appetite for power that lurked within the hearts of the other gods. Psyche, with her ethereal beauty—silver hair cascading like a waterfall, eyes sparkling like the stars—was a prize coveted by many.

Despite Psyche's reluctance, Cupid knew they couldn't avoid facing his family forever. Resigned to the inevitable, he resolved to confront them and fulfill the obligations expected of them. With a heavy heart, Cupid escorted Psyche to the Caelum, where they were greeted once more by the gods and goddesses. As expected, the overwhelming presence of his family only served to unsettle Psyche, leaving her besieged by their constant attention.

In the midst of the grand spectacle orchestrated by the gods to win Psyche's favor, Cupid seethed with anger, his heart heavy with frustration and indignation. Each deity vied for Psyche's attention, showering her with extravagant displays of affection and lavish gifts, all in an attempt to win her favor.

Apollo serenaded his wife with melodies extolling her beauty and grace, while Neptune presented her with the most exquisite pearl from the depths of the ocean, a token of his undying devotion. Meanwhile, Mercury whisked Psyche away to enchanting locales, captivating her with the wonders of the world.

Mars, fueled by his competitive spirit, engaged in fierce duels with Apollo and Neptune, determined to prove himself worthy of Psyche's admiration. Even Jupiter, the mighty king of the gods, joined the fray, painting the skies with breathtaking displays of cosmic wonder.

Amidst the chaos, Cupid stood resolute, his fury boiling over as he witnessed the discomfort inflicted upon his beloved Psyche. He vowed not to return until the gods ceased their relentless pursuit of her affections, declaring that he would sooner wage war against them than see her suffer.

It was Minerva who ultimately intervened, chastising her fellow gods for their foolishness and selfish motives. She reminded them that Psyche was happily wedded to Cupid, and their ostentatious displays of affection were driven not by love, but by a desire for conquest and control.

For the goddess, the concept of love and marriage among gods and goddesses held little significance. It was a realm of existence where power and dominance reigned supreme, where love was often overshadowed by ambition and desire. Yet, amidst the tumultuous landscape of divine affairs, her father Cupid stood as a beacon of unwavering devotion to his beloved Psyche.

Cupid's love for Psyche transcended the boundaries of divine politics and power struggles. He had risked everything, defying his own mother for the sake of their love. To him, Psyche was the epitome of truth and beauty, worth more than any earthly or celestial possession.

When their daughter was born, Cupid harbored a deep-seated fear that she would one day fall victim to the machinations of the gods. He desired nothing more than for her to find a love as pure and devoted as his own for Psyche, to be cherished and adored by someone who would prioritize her happiness above all else.

The goddess couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration and resignation at the harsh reality of her parents' words. She understood the importance of finding true love amidst the chaos of the divine realm, yet she couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension at the thought of navigating the treacherous waters of love and devotion in a world ruled by power and ambition.

"I understand," she murmured softly, her voice tinged with disappointment. "But I cannot help but feel confined, tethered to the safety of these walls while the world beyond beckons to me."

Cupid's gaze softened as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "One day, my child," he said gently, "when the time is right, you will spread your wings and soar beyond these walls. But for now, trust in us to keep you safe."

Psyche squeezed her daughter's hand reassuringly. "We love you more than anything, my dear," she whispered, her eyes shining with maternal affection. "And until that day comes, know that you will always have a home here, surrounded by our love and protection."

As her parents prepared to depart for their journey to visit her grandmother, the goddess couldn't help but feel a pang of longing in her heart. The prospect of being left behind, even temporarily, filled her with a sense of loneliness that she struggled to shake off.

Yet, as her father reassured her with his comforting words, a glimmer of hope flickered within her. She knew that their separation was only temporary, that they would return to her side as swiftly as the winds that caressed her cheeks.

With a bittersweet smile, the goddess pressed a tender kiss upon her father's cheek and embraced her mother tightly. "Safe travels, father, mother," she whispered softly, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "May Caelus, Terra, and Dies watch over you on your journey."

Her father returned her embrace, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. "And you, daughter," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm. "Take care of yourself while we are away. Listen to the Gratiae and let them guide you in our absence."

With a final nod of farewell, her parents boarded the chariot and began their journey, leaving the goddess standing alone in the quiet solitude of their chambers. As she watched them depart, she couldn't help but feel a sense of uncertainty mingled with determination. She would heed her father's advice and trust in the guidance of the Gratiae, knowing that her parents would return to her side before long.

As her parents vanished into the vast expanse of the skies, the goddess heaved a sigh, feeling the weight of their absence settle upon her shoulders. With a heavy heart, she retreated into the solitude of their manse, finding solace amidst the lush beauty of the garden that her father had lovingly crafted for her mother.

Each flower, a testament to their enduring love, whispered stories of devotion and union that spanned the ages. The goddess couldn't help but smile as she traced her fingers along the delicate petals, feeling a sense of peace wash over her in the tranquil embrace of nature's embrace.

As she gazed out of the window, the sight of the Gratiae seated together on a bench near the fountain greeted her. Thalia, the eldest of the Gratiae and goddess of wealth, flashed a radiant grin in her direction. It was a smile that seemed to carry the gleam of gold, reflecting her divine domain. "Let's play, come!" Thalia called out eagerly. "Our father's gift has arrived—little ships made of gold!"

But Euphrosyne, the goddess of joy, interjected with a note of concern. "Sister, lower your voice! Can't you see? The goddess wears her worries like a cloak."

"Why the sadness, dear goddess?" Aglaia, the youngest of the Gratiae, inquired softly, casting a glance at her sisters. "What can we do to lift her spirits, sisters?"

"Think quickly!" Thalia urged, rising to her feet. "What can we do?"

"Perhaps Poena has made her cry, or maybe Febris has made her sick," Euphrosyne speculated aloud.

"Poena and Febris wouldn't dare cause distress to the goddess," Aglaia remarked with a smile. "There must be another reason."

At times, she marveled at how her grandmother fared with these three as her constant companions. Yet, deep down, she knew their intentions were pure.

"The goddess!" Thalia called out again, breaking her reverie.

As she was about to respond to the call of the Gratiae, a vibrant glint caught her eye, drawing her attention to the ornate mirror adorning the wall. Intrigued, the goddess approached, her brow furrowing with curiosity. The mirror shimmered with a pristine gleam, reflecting the radiance of her temple. Its white stone façade contrasted beautifully against the golden rays of the sun, casting a spellbinding aura.

Located on a small isle in Via Nova near Porta Romana, her temple stood as a testament to her divine presence. Within its hallowed halls, her resplendent statue commanded reverence, adorned in garments painted with graceful hues and embellished with intricate gold reliefs. And there, kneeling before her likeness, was a man.

“Goddess, oh goddess!” A man with dark hair and purple eyes cried pitifully at her altar. “I am praying at your feet, longing that you answer my suffering, goddess, oh goddess! My beloved left me for another. God, oh goddess, give me joy so that I can go through this life without remorse or sorrow. Let me be happy, goddess or goddess!”

As the man with dark hair and purple eyes cried out pitifully at her altar, pouring out his heartache and longing for solace, the goddess couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy pierce her divine essence. His pleas echoed in the sacred space, reverberating with the raw intensity of his suffering.

Her heart swelled with pity as she gazed upon the distraught mortal, his anguish palpable in every tear that fell. Why must mortals endure such pain? What had this man done to deserve such heartbreak? With a furrowed brow and a heavy heart, the goddess clenched her fists, her desire to alleviate his suffering burning fiercely within her.

But he was not alone in his sorrow. Others followed, each sharing their own tales of loss and longing, their voices blending into a chorus of anguish that resonated throughout the temple. The weight of their collective grief pressed upon her, urging her to take action.

With a determined resolve, the goddess tore her gaze away from the mirror and hastened to the stables. Without hesitation, she prepared her chariot, harnessing her steed with practiced efficiency. With a silent command, she descended from the heavens, her divine presence descending into the mortal realm to offer solace to those in need.

As Thalia tried to call out once more for the goddess, her voice echoing through the empty space, there was no response. Confusion clouded their expressions as they pondered the sudden disappearance of their divine companion.

"Perhaps Poena paid a visit," Aglaia suggested, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Or maybe she's simply attending to her own needs. She'll return soon enough, I'm sure of it."

Euphrosyne, ever the optimist, clapped her hands excitedly, eager to divert their attention. "Let's not dwell on it! Come, let's play with Father's gift!"

But the goddess was not attending to personal matters or playing with gifts.

Instead, with a resolute determination burning within her, she commanded her steed to carry her across the skies, venturing into the mortal realm for the first time in her immortal existence.

SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT. The goddess, unfamiliar with the mortal realm, quickly returned her chariot of horses to her palace upon her arrival. Understanding the danger that her divine form posed to mortal eyes, she took swift action to transform herself into the guise of a mortal woman. Gods and goddesses bore such immense magical power within their beings that the mere sight of them could be fatal to mortals. The goddess could not bear the thought of inadvertently causing harm, and so she fashioned a mortal form for herself with her own hands.

Once transformed, the goddess set out for the bustling heart of human life—the city. Everywhere she looked, there was an abundance of activity and vitality, with people bustling about their daily lives, engaged in laughter, song, and commerce. The sensation of the wind against her skin and the warmth of the sun above filled her with a sense of delight.

With a bright smile adorning her mortal face, the goddess greeted those she passed along the way, relishing in the simple joys of human interaction. However, her enthusiasm got the better of her, and in her excitement, she failed to notice the passing carriage, a momentary lapse of judgment reminding her that even gods could be prone to folly.

"Watch out!" a voice cried out, jolting the goddess from her reverie. She lifted her gaze, eyes widening in shock at the sight before her. Caught off guard by the sudden warning, she found herself immobilized, unable to react in time. Desperately, she attempted to summon magic from her hands, only to hesitate. Revealing her powers would betray her presence. "Move, my lady!"

‘What should I do?’

In that moment, she felt another's arms enveloping her, pulling her to safety just as the carriage careened past, crashing into the wall in a deafening cacophony. Gasping for breath, she felt the world go silent around her. Fear gripped her, trembling as she struggled to regain her bearings. For the first time, she felt the weight of powerlessness coursing through her veins.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Sound rushed back, and she found herself gazing into eyes as deep and warm as the night sky. They held a vitality she had never witnessed before, a spark that seemed to transcend mortal life. "Please, tell me! Are you safe, are you unhurt?"

The goddess found herself speechless, her cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment. In that moment, the man realized the impact of his actions and hastily retreated, giving her space to compose herself under the watchful gaze of the sun. A crowd began to form around them, curious onlookers seeking answers about the chaotic scene. Concerned voices inquired about their well-being, but neither the goddess nor the man responded, their focus solely on each other.

With a sense of urgency, the man extended his hand to the goddess, eager to assist her to her feet. Swallowing the lump in her throat, the goddess reluctantly accepted his gesture, her hand trembling slightly as it met his.

‘Even his hand is warm.’ She murmurs to herself.

As the man extended his hand, the goddess's mind raced with fragments of memories, pieces of a puzzle falling into place with startling clarity. She couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity that washed over her, a sense of connection that transcended mere chance. In the midst of the chaos, amidst the concerned murmurs of the crowd, she found herself drawn to him in a way she couldn't fully explain.

At that moment, it clicked. She remembered him—the man who had knelt before her altar in his time of need, his heart laid bare in an act of vulnerability that had touched her deeply. The memory flooded back, vivid and unmistakable, like a beacon in the storm of confusion.

He had been broken, yes, but also kind—so achingly kind. And now, here he stood, extending a hand to help her, his sincerity shining through in every gesture. The goddess felt a warmth spread through her at the realization. His kindness had not been fleeting or superficial; it was woven into the very fabric of his being, an intrinsic part of who he was.

The goddess blinked, shaken by the intensity of the moment and the concern in the stranger's eyes. She struggled to find her voice, her mind still reeling from the near miss.

"I... I think so," she managed to stammer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you... for saving me."

The stranger's expression softened with relief, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It was nothing, my lady. I couldn't just stand by and watch you come to harm."

"I'm alright, sir," she murmured, her voice trembling with nerves, unsure of what to say to the young man. "Thank you for saving me."

"You're most welcome. We all strive to do right by our gods, showing kindness and gentleness in our actions," he replied earnestly. "Though we never know if they'll grace us with their presence."

A soft laugh escaped the goddess's lips at his words, for she herself was among the deities who visited their realm. Generosity was indeed a customary virtue, lest one wished to incur a god's wrath.

"Yes," she affirmed softly.

"Come, come with me," the man urged, his smile radiant as the night sky adorned with twin stars. "I'll fetch you some hot wine and food to settle your nerves. Perhaps restore some of your strength, my lady. You've been through something dreadful."

"W-wait, I don't know you," the goddess stammered, her uncertainty palpable.

"And I don't know you either," the man replied warmly, his eyes alight with genuine joy. "But as I mentioned, kindness towards all is a virtue the gods would surely approve of."

"What... what is your name?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"I am Suguru," he declared with a joyful flourish. "Musician to the king of this realm. And you, young lady, who are you?"

"I'm—" She caught herself, refraining from revealing her true identity. Instead, she offered a human alias. His eyes sparkled with curiosity as his smile broadened.

"My lady, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance," Suguru said, his voice brimming with sincerity.

He looked so handsome like this, she thinks.

Too beautiful for his own good, it hurts.

Her hand rested on her chest.

She could feel her heart beating.

SHE MUST HAVE STARED AT HIM FOR ALL THAT TIME. It had been an ideal day for travel by foot, with the clouds providing a welcomed shield from the sun and a gentle breeze keeping the air pleasantly cool. They made their way to Suguru's residence, situated in the farthest reaches of the city. His home stood in the bustling outskirts near the market center, where the lively atmosphere filled the air. Children darted around, engaged in games of hide and seek, while mothers busied themselves with household chores.

Upon arrival, they found Suguru's dwelling to be modest yet inviting. As a musician, his earnings were dependent on the favor of nobles and kings, and he had been fortunate enough to capture the attention of the newly crowned king. Entering the small room, they found a simple layout: a small bed nestled against the wide window, a compact lavatory, and a small kitchen area with produce stored in closed pots. A solitary table occupied the center of the room, with a lone chair positioned nearby.

In the simplicity of Suguru's abode, there existed a warmth that transcended the mere physical confines of the space. It was a sanctuary amidst the chaos of modern life, a haven where tranquility and comfort reigned supreme. As the goddess traversed the modest rooms, her senses were greeted by the gentle fragrance of grassy moss and the vibrant hues of wildflowers adorning the clay vases in the corners.

Each brick she touched seemed to exude a sense of history and resilience, as if bearing witness to the passage of time and the trials of the mortal world. Despite the ferocious summers and harsh winters that plagued the inhabitants of this realm, Suguru's home stood as a bastion of serenity and stability, offering solace to those who sought refuge within its walls.

Suguru's voice carried a softness as he pointed to the vibrant blue door nearby, a subtle homage to the vast expanse of the sky. "It's reminiscent of the sea," he murmured. "Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can almost hear the waves crashing against the shore."

Curiosity flickered in the goddess's eyes as she inquired about Suguru's countryside home. "Is it similar to this?" she asked, her tone tinged with genuine interest. "What was it like there?"

A wistful smile graced Suguru's lips as he reflected on his distant memories. "It's been too long for me to say," he confessed. "But in my mind's eye, I can still see the beauty of it all. The olive trees swaying gently in the breeze, the laughter of my family echoing through the fields as we went about our daily routines. It was a time of simple joys and cherished moments."

The goddess's empathy shone through as she acknowledged Suguru's longing for his homeland. "You must miss them," she whispered softly, a hint of sympathy in her voice. "But I imagine it brings you comfort to dream of those days."

Suguru nodded, a quiet resolve in his gaze as he returned her smile. "Yes, it does," he admitted. "But life is about embracing the present, isn't it? I may be far from home, but I'm living my dream here and now. And for the time being, that's more than enough."

"It's admirable," she remarked, her gaze softening with admiration. "To find contentment in the midst of longing."

Suguru's expression softened, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Life has a way of leading us down unexpected paths," he mused. "But it's what we make of those paths that truly defines us."

In the quiet hours of the night, as the flames danced in the hearth and the air was thick with the aroma of bread and wine, the goddess found herself immersed in Suguru's world. His words lingered in her mind, stirring a deep contemplation within her immortal soul.

The feast he laid before her was a testament to his generosity and hospitality, a humble offering that spoke volumes of his character. With each bite of the delicious bread and each sip of the aged wine, she felt a connection to the mortal realm unlike anything she had experienced before. It was as if Suguru's warmth and sincerity had breached the barriers between their worlds, inviting her to truly live in the present moment.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching upon topics both profound and mundane. They spoke of family, of dreams yet to be realized, of the fleeting nature of existence itself. And in those fleeting hours, the goddess felt a sense of liberation she had never known before.

For the first time in her immortal life, she felt truly alive, basking in the simple joys of companionship and shared experiences. In Suguru's company, she found a kindred spirit, someone who understood the complexities of life and embraced them with open arms.

As the night wore on and the fire burned low, the goddess realized that true fulfillment didn't lie in the opulence of her divine realm, but in the richness of human connection and the beauty of life's fleeting moments. And in that realization, she found a newfound appreciation for the gift of existence itself.

Suguru's warmth enveloped her like a comforting embrace, his presence a soothing balm to her immortal soul. His beauty, so effortlessly radiant, seemed to illuminate the dim corners of her heart, stirring feelings she had long forgotten. In his company, she felt alive in a way she had never experienced before.

But it was his voice that truly enraptured her, weaving a spell of enchantment that transcended mortal limitations. When he sang, it was as if the heavens themselves had opened up, pouring forth celestial melodies that echoed through the very fabric of existence. It was a gift bestowed upon him by her uncle Apollo, a divine talent that left her breathless with awe.

As Suguru's voice filled the air, each note carrying the weight of his emotions, the goddess found herself moved to tears. His music was a testament to the beauty and pain of the human experience, a poignant reminder of the fragility and resilience of the mortal soul. And yet, amidst the sorrow and longing, there was a glimmer of eternity, a promise of everlasting hope that shimmered like the stars above.

In that moment, as she listened to Suguru's soulful melodies, the goddess felt a profound sense of connection to the mortal realm. It was a reminder that despite their differences, the bonds of love and empathy transcended all boundaries, uniting them in a shared journey through the vast tapestry of existence.

And as the echoes of Suguru's song faded into the night, the goddess knew that she had found something truly precious in his presence. It was a glimpse of the forever she had yearned for, a fleeting moment of perfection that she would cherish for eternity.

"Your voice," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, "it's... divine."

Suguru's gaze met hers, his eyes reflecting the flickering firelight with a mixture of humility and gratitude. "Thank you," he said softly, his words carrying a weight of emotion. "It means a lot coming from you."

"I've never heard anything quite like it," she continued, her heart swelling with a sense of wonder. "It's as if the heavens themselves have blessed you with their song."

Suguru's cheeks flushed with color at her praise, a shy smile gracing his lips. "I'm just grateful to be able to share it with you," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. "Music has always been my solace, my way of expressing the depths of my soul."

The goddess reached out, her hand finding his and intertwining their fingers in a gentle embrace. "And what a beautiful soul it is," she murmured, her eyes reflecting the warmth of the firelight as she gazed into his. "Thank you for sharing it with me."

Suguru's smile widened at her words, a soft glow of appreciation radiating from his features. "It's my pleasure," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "To have someone like you appreciate my music, it's more than I could have ever hoped for."

Their hands remained entwined, the warmth of their touch creating a cocoon of intimacy amidst the cool night air. The crackling fire cast dancing shadows across the room, adding to the enchantment of the moment.

The goddess leaned in closer, her breath mingling with Suguru's as she spoke. "I feel as though your music speaks directly to my soul," she confessed, her voice barely audible over the gentle melody of his song. "It's as if you understand me in a way no one else ever has."

Suguru's eyes shimmered with a mixture of affection and reverence as he met her gaze. "Perhaps our souls are attuned to each other," he suggested, his words laced with a hint of wonder. "Maybe that's why our connection feels…..”

Her own eyes meet his purple orbs. “Natural. Real.”

In that simple exchange, amidst the flickering glow of the fire and the tender embrace of their hands, there existed a purity that transcended the complexities of their worlds. The goddess found herself drawn to Suguru's authenticity, to the genuine sincerity that radiated from his every word and gesture.

His smile, warm and genuine, spoke volumes. It was a reflection of his unassuming nature, of his innate ability to find beauty and joy in the simplest of moments. There was no pretense, no artifice—just Suguru, in all his natural splendor.

As their eyes met, a silent understanding passed between them, a shared recognition of the profound connection they shared. It was a connection born not of grand gestures or elaborate displays, but of the quiet, unspoken bond that had blossomed between two souls who had found solace in each other's presence.

In that moment, the goddess felt a sense of peace wash over her, a feeling of contentment that she hadn't known in ages. With Suguru by her side, she was reminded of the beauty of simplicity, of the power of genuine human connection.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Just that." And in Suguru's smile, she found a glimpse of the divine—an affirmation of the beauty that exists in the natural, the real, and the unassuming.

In the fleeting moments they shared, amidst the warmth of the firelight and the gentle strains of Suguru's music, the goddess found herself immersed in a world where time seemed to stand still. She was hesitant to let go of this precious moment, to bid farewell to the comfort and solace she found in Suguru's presence.

But even as she reveled in the joy of their connection, a sense of responsibility weighed heavily on her heart. She couldn't bear the thought of causing worry or distress to those she held dear, of disappearing without a trace and leaving them to wonder about her fate.

Despite her own yearning for companionship and understanding, the goddess knew that she had a duty to uphold, a responsibility to those who depended on her. She couldn't allow her own desires to overshadow the well-being of others, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness in the process.

As she prepared to part ways with Suguru, a bittersweet ache settled in her chest. She knew that their time together was fleeting, that she couldn't linger in his presence as much as she longed to. But in her heart, she held onto the hope that he would find happiness and fulfillment in his life, that the gods would smile upon him and bless him with all the goodness he deserved.

And as she bid him farewell, she whispered a silent prayer to the gods, a plea for their benevolence and grace to shine upon Suguru, the man who had touched her soul in ways she never thought possible. For in loving him, even from afar, she found a sense of purpose and meaning that transcended the boundaries of time and space.

When the goddess returned to her abode she could not get Suguru’ face out of her mind. She slept that night, dreaming of a man she could not be with. All night, she had wished she had not left but the perfect moment was to leave when he was asleep. It would not be right to stay too long. But the goddess could not help it. She could not help but long for him. And thus, she did return.

SHE KEPT COMING BACK TO HIM. In the days that followed, the goddess found herself drawn back to Suguru's side time and time again—much to his delight. He was ever so happy that she kept coming back to him. He liked seeing her, he liked singing for her. He liked knowing that she was there with him, even just to bid him good night. Despite the weight of her responsibilities and the pull of her divine duties, she couldn't resist the allure of his presence, the warmth of his smile, and the depth of his compassion.

With each passing moment spent in his company, the goddess felt a profound sense of happiness and fulfillment wash over her. She could feel it in every fiber of her body. It was as though butterflies danced on her belly whenever she saw him. In Suguru's embrace, she discovered a kind of joy that transcended the boundaries of mortal and divine, a pure and unadulterated happiness that resonated deep within her soul.

Their time together was filled with laughter and light, with shared moments of tenderness and affection that left the goddess feeling as though she had found her true home in Suguru's arms. His gaze held a depth of adoration that mirrored the vast expanse of the night sky, each star shining with the promise of endless possibility and boundless love.

As they walked hand in hand, the goddess felt the rhythm of her heart syncopate with Suguru's, their connection a symphony of shared experiences and intertwined destinies. His touch, gentle yet firm, filled her with a sense of belonging unlike anything she had ever known, grounding her in the present moment and reminding her of the beauty of simply being alive.

In Suguru's presence, the goddess found herself enveloped in a sense of ethereal contentment, a feeling of peace and serenity that transcended the chaos of the mortal world. For in loving him, she discovered a kind of completeness that she had never thought possible, a sense of wholeness that filled her with a boundless sense of gratitude and wonder.

And so, the goddess treasured each moment spent with Suguru, cherishing the simple yet profound beauty of their connection and reveling in the magic of their shared love. For in him, she had found not only a companion and confidant, but a kindred spirit whose presence illuminated her path and filled her heart with endless joy.

As the day of the celebration approached, Suguru's excitement became palpable, his eyes sparkling with anticipation as he spoke animatedly about the festivities. He regaled you with tales of past celebrations, describing the vibrant colors, the lively music, and the joyous atmosphere that filled the air.

Despite your nerves, you found yourself unable to resist his infectious enthusiasm. The way his smile widened at your agreement to accompany him filled your heart with warmth, dispelling any doubts or fears you may have had.

You knew that stepping into the realm of the gods, even in celebration, was no small feat. But for Suguru, you were willing to brave any uncertainty. His happiness was contagious, and the thought of sharing this special day with him filled you with a sense of excitement and anticipation of your own. As the bustling sounds of the festival filled the air, Suguru and the goddess strolled hand in hand, their laughter mingling with the lively music drifting through the streets.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Suguru remarked, his eyes alight with excitement as he gestured towards the colorful lanterns illuminating the night sky.

The goddess nodded, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "It truly is," she replied, her gaze wandering over the throngs of people gathered in the square. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

Suguru chuckled softly, his fingers intertwining with hers as they navigated through the crowd. "Well, you're in for a treat then," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "This festival is unlike any other. It's a celebration of music, of art, of life itself."

As they approached the heart of the festivities, the goddess's eyes widened in wonder at the sight before her. The square was alive with activity, adorned with colorful banners and shimmering decorations. Musicians played lively tunes on wooden flutes and tambourines, while dancers swayed to the rhythm of the music, their movements fluid and graceful.

"Shall we join them?" Suguru asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he inclined his head towards the dancers.

The goddess hesitated for a moment, her cheeks flushing with excitement. "I... I'm not sure," she admitted, her heart fluttering in her chest.

But Suguru's smile was infectious, his hand reaching out to gently pull her closer. "Come on," he urged, his voice soft and reassuring. "Let's lose ourselves in the music, just for tonight."

With a nod and a smile, the goddess allowed herself to be swept away by the intoxicating energy of the festival, her worries melting away in the warmth of Suguru's embrace. And as they danced beneath the starlit sky, their laughter ringing out like a melody, she knew that this night would be one she would never forget.

The square was alive with energy, pulsating with the rhythm of drums and the enchanting melodies of flutes. The air was thick with the scent of incense wafting from ornate altars and the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling delicacies from street vendors' stalls.

As they stepped into the bustling square, bathed in the warm glow of torches and lanterns, Suguru's hand found hers, his touch igniting a spark of excitement within her. With him by her side, she felt a surge of anticipation, eager to immerse herself in the festivities.

They moved through the lively crowd as one, their steps guided by the pulsating rhythm of the music. Laughter bubbled up between them, merging seamlessly with the joyful chatter of the revelers around them. With each step, they drank in the sights and sounds of the celebration, their spirits lifted by the vibrant atmosphere that surrounded them.

Amidst the swirling sea of dancers, Suguru pulled the goddess into his arms, guiding her in a lively dance that seemed to mirror the pulsing rhythm of their hearts. They moved with an effortless grace, twirling and spinning beneath the starry canopy above, lost in the magic of the moment.

As the night wore on and the festivities reached a crescendo, Suguru led the goddess to a secluded corner of the square, where they found a quiet spot to rest and catch their breath. There, under the soft glow of the moonlight, they shared stories and laughter, their words dancing like fireflies in the night.

Under the spell of the night, they indulged in the heady sweetness of wine, the rich liquid fueling their spirits and igniting a flame of desire within them. As they danced beneath the stars, the world around them blurred into a haze of joy and euphoria, each moment filled with the promise of something deeper, something more profound.

With each sip of wine, their inhibitions dissolved like mist in the morning sun, leaving behind only the raw, unbridled passion that simmered beneath the surface. And as the night unfurled its velvety cloak, Suguru's lips met hers in a tender kiss, the world around them seemed to fade into insignificance, leaving only the electric pulse of their shared desire. The touch of his lips against hers ignited a wildfire of longing within her, a hunger that burned hotter with each passing moment.

"Gods," Suguru whispered against her lips, his voice husky with desire. "I've wanted to do that since the moment I laid eyes on you."

The goddess could only respond with a soft moan of pleasure, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss with a fervor born of longing and need. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the intoxicating taste of him, the heat of his body pressed against hers, and the overwhelming sensation of being consumed by passion.

"Suguru," she murmured breathlessly, her voice barely above a whisper as their lips parted, "I've never felt this way before."

He gazed into her eyes, his own filled with a mixture of tenderness and desire. "Neither have I," he admitted, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along her cheek. "Being with you... it feels like coming home."

A soft smile tugged at her lips as she leaned in to kiss him once more, their connection growing stronger with each passing moment. "I don't want this night to end," she confessed, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Then let's make it last forever," Suguru replied, his voice filled with determination as he pulled her close, sealing their fate with another passionate kiss. And beneath the blanket of stars, they surrendered to the intoxicating allure of love, knowing that their hearts had found their true home in each other's embrace.

In the throes of passion, they surrendered to the pull of desire, their bodies melding together in a symphony of sensation and emotion. Wrapped in each other's arms, they lost themselves in the rapture of the moment, their hearts beating as one beneath the vast expanse of the starlit sky.

As the night wore on and the festivities reached their zenith, Suguru and his beloved goddess found themselves lost in each other's arms, wrapped together under the celestial canopy of stars. Their laughter, the beating of their hearts, is better than the sound of music outside the windows, filling the air with a sense of pure joy and abandon.

As the night deepened and the world around them faded into shadow, they found themselves entwined in each other's arms, lost in a sea of passion and desire. The soft glow of lanterns cast a warm halo around them, illuminating the contours of their bodies with a gentle radiance that seemed to dance and flicker with the rhythm of their hearts.

In that moment, there was no past, no future—only the exquisite beauty of the present, unfolding like a delicate flower in the darkness. And as they surrendered themselves to the ecstasy of the night, their souls intertwined in a symphony of love and longing, they knew that they had found something rare and precious—a love that would endure the test of time, burning bright like a beacon in the night.

"I never want this moment to end," Suguru confessed, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and desire.

"Nor do I," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she leaned in to capture his lips in a tender kiss. And in that fleeting moment, time stood still as they surrendered to the irresistible pull of their love, knowing that in each other's arms, they had found the true meaning of happiness.

And there she felt the thing called love.

She would never trade it for anything.

Not even staying as a god.

She wanted all of this, all of Suguru.

SHE WISHED SHE WAS THERE WHEN IT HAPPENED. In the quiet solitude of her chambers, the goddess's thoughts were consumed by visions of Suguru, her beloved musician. With each passing moment, her anticipation grew, like the rising crescendo of a symphony building to its climax. Despite the confines of her home, she felt as if she were transported to a world where only their love existed, where his music was the only language they needed to communicate.

As she gazed into the mirror, her reflection seemed to blur and fade, replaced by images of Suguru. She could almost hear the soft strumming of his instrument, feel the warmth of his voice wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, suspended in the ethereal realm where their souls intertwined through the power of music and emotion.

Each note that emanated from the depths of her imagination resonated with the deepest recesses of her heart, stirring emotions she had never known before. It was as if Suguru's melodies had become a part of her, weaving themselves into the fabric of her being and igniting a fire of passion that burned brighter with each passing beat.

In that fleeting moment, she found herself lost in the music, lost in the love that enveloped her like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night. And as she closed her eyes and let the melodies wash over her, she knew that no matter the distance that separated them, their love would always find a way to unite them in the timeless symphony of their souls.

Despite the fleeting moments of solace she found in the anticipation of Suguru's music, fate intervened abruptly with the return of her mother, shattering her hopes of experiencing his melodies firsthand. With her sanctuary disrupted, the goddess was left with naught but the echoes of his music reverberating in the confines of her chamber, a bittersweet reminder of the love she longed to embrace.

Yet, even as the physical distance between them widened, the ethereal connection forged through Suguru's music remained steadfast, transcending the boundaries of time and space. In the gentle strains of his melodies, she found solace, a soothing balm to the ache of separation that gnawed at her soul.

Though they were separated by circumstance, their love endured, undaunted by the trials of distance. For as long as Suguru's music played, it served as a lifeline, a beacon guiding her through the tumultuous seas of longing and despair, reminding her that their hearts were forever entwined in the eternal symphony of love.

‘Sing beautifully, great musicians!’ The king of Via Nova said that night that it was full of people. He raised his can of wine in front of Suguru. It was the king’s birthday so he sent all the people to his kingdom. The king looked at his wife. ‘My dear queen, what music do you want to hear?’

‘I cannot think of anything, my dear king.’ Said the queen back. ‘Everything our dearest Suguru sang was full of joy and beauty.’

The king's words echoed through the grand hall, filled to the brim with revelers celebrating his birthday. Suguru stood before them, a sense of humility and reverence in his demeanor as he faced the royal couple. Despite the festive atmosphere, a somber note lingered in the air as the king called upon Suguru to grace the gathering with his music.

With a heavy heart, Suguru bowed his head in deference to the king and queen, his voice tinged with regret as he spoke. "Your majesty, my lady," he began, his tone apologetic, "I fear that tonight, my voice fails me. It is not fit to sing for such a joyous occasion."

The queen's gentle words of praise for his music only deepened Suguru's sense of remorse, knowing that he could not meet their expectations. Yet, before he could retreat into the shadows of self-doubt, Flavius, a fellow musician, stepped forward with a gesture of camaraderie and support.

"Dear friend," Flavius interjected, offering Suguru a drink with a reassuring smile, "Let us raise our glasses in honor of our king's birthday. May this wine revive your spirits and heal your throat, so that you may grace us with your melodious voice once more."

As Suguru raised the goblet to his lips, a sense of apprehension gnawed at him, mingling with the bitter taste of the wine. His gaze shifted to Flavius, who watched him with a smile that seemed to hold a hint of mischief beneath its surface. Despite his doubts, Suguru knew that he could not refuse the king's request, nor could he let down the gathered crowd who eagerly awaited his performance.

With a deep breath to steady his nerves, Suguru drained the goblet in one swift motion, feeling the warmth of the wine spread through his veins like a comforting embrace. As he took up his lyre and approached the royal couple, he felt a surge of determination welling within him, fueled by the camaraderie of his fellow musicians and the supportive presence of the gathered audience.

With each strum of his lyre, Suguru poured his heart and soul into the music, his fingers dancing across the strings with practiced precision. Despite the lingering strain in his voice, he sang with a passion and intensity that captivated the listeners, drawing them into the enchanting melody that filled the grand hall with its haunting beauty.

As the last notes of his song faded into the air, Suguru met the eyes of the king and queen, his expression a mix of relief and gratitude. Though the performance had been a challenge, he had risen to the occasion, thanks in no small part to the encouragement of his fellow musicians and the unwavering support of the gathered crowd. And as he bowed before the royal couple, he knew that he had done justice to the honor bestowed upon him, leaving a lasting impression on all who had witnessed his performance.

As the tragic scene unfolded before her, the goddess could scarcely believe her eyes. She watched in horror as the three Parcae, the arbiters of fate, stood ominously behind Suguru, their presence casting a shadow over the joyous celebration. Nona, with her golden thread of life, Decima, who measured its length, and Morta, wielding her thread clipper, seemed indifferent to the anguish that their actions wrought upon the mortal realm.

"Goddess," Suguru gasped, his voice barely above a whisper as he crumpled to the ground, "help me."

The goddess pressed her hands against the mirror, her heart breaking at the sight of her beloved in agony. "Please, spare him," she pleaded with Parcae, her voice trembling with desperation. "He doesn't deserve this fate."

But Nona, Decima, and Morta remained unmoved, their expressions inscrutable as they carried out their duty without remorse or mercy.

The queen of Via Nova, her voice filled with anguish, cried out in despair, "Save him! Please, someone save him!"

Tears streaming down her cheeks, the goddess could only watch helplessly as Suguru's life slipped away before her eyes, the cruel hand of fate sealing his tragic demise. She longed to reach out to him, to beg and beg until her knees gave out at the Parcae to spare his life, but she knew that her cries would fall on deaf ears. With a heavy heart, she watched as Suguru collapsed to the floor, wracked with pain and sickness, his life extinguished by Morta's decisive cut.

Amidst the chaos and despair, the queen of Via Nova's anguished cry pierced the air, echoing the goddess's own grief and disbelief. The once vibrant celebration had been shattered, replaced by an overwhelming sense of loss and despair. And as the reality of Suguru's fate sank in, the goddess could only mourn the untimely end of a life filled with beauty, passion, and promise.

Flavius killed him.

And did so with malice.

He was gone.

LIFE HAD LOST ALL ITS MEANING. The goddess's tears flowed like rivers, her heart heavy with the weight of sorrow and longing. Despite her divine powers, she was powerless to change the cruel hand of fate that had snatched Suguru away from her. The agony of losing him pierced her soul, leaving behind a gaping wound that no amount of time could heal.

In her grief, the goddess grappled with a tumult of emotions - anger, despair, and a profound sense of injustice. How could the Parcae, the arbiters of life and death, be so indifferent to the pain they inflicted? How could they tear Suguru from her side, leaving her to mourn his loss for eternity?

But amidst her anguish, the goddess also grappled with the bitter truth of their love. No matter how deeply she cared for Suguru, their bond was destined to be fraught with limitations. As a mortal, Suguru was bound by the constraints of time and mortality, while she, as a goddess, existed outside the realm of human experience.

Their love, no matter how pure and profound, could never transcend the vast chasm that separated their worlds. And though it pained her to accept, the goddess knew that their paths were destined to diverge, leaving her to carry the burden of their love alone.

No joy at the very end.

In the days that followed Suguru's passing, the goddess found herself consumed by an unyielding ache, a relentless longing that gnawed at her insides like a voracious beast. Despite her divine nature, she was unable to escape the searing pain of grief that gripped her heart in its icy embrace.

With each passing moment, the weight of Suguru's absence bore down upon her like a crushing burden, threatening to suffocate her with its oppressive force. She yearned to hold him once more, to feel the warmth of his embrace and the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against her own.

Yet, even in death, Suguru remained beyond her reach, his mortal form consigned to the earth while she languished in the cold confines of immortality. The futility of her longing pierced her soul like a dagger, leaving her trembling with the agony of unfulfilled desire.

And yet, amidst the depths of her sorrow, the goddess found solace in the kindness of the king and queen, who had honored Suguru with a dignified burial befitting his stature as their favorite singer. Their gesture of compassion touched her deeply, serving as a beacon of light in the darkness of her grief.

In gratitude for their kindness, the goddess bestowed upon the king and queen her blessing, a gift of peace and pure love to accompany them on their journey through life. Though Suguru was gone, his memory lived on in the hearts of those who had loved him, a testament to the enduring power of his music and the boundless depths of his soul.

In the quiet moments that followed, the goddess found herself haunted by the echo of Suguru's voice, his melodic tones reverberating through the chambers of her mind like a haunting refrain. She closed her eyes, willing the memories of their time together to wash over her like a gentle tide, seeking solace in the sound of his voice that still lingered in her thoughts.

"Suguru," she whispered softly, her voice barely more than a breath. "I can still hear you."

The sound of his laughter, the timbre of his voice as he sang, it all played in her mind like a bittersweet melody, a reminder of the love they had shared and the loss she now endured.

"You were so full of life," she murmured, her heart heavy with longing. "How can you be gone?"

But even as she mourned his passing, the memory of Suguru remained a beacon of light in the darkness of her grief, a reminder of the beauty and joy he had brought into her life.

"I will never forget you," she vowed, her voice trembling with emotion. "Your music will live on in my heart, forever."

The goddess stood before the lifeless body of Suguru, her heart heavy with grief yet filled with a determination to honor his memory in a way that would transcend time itself. With a gentle touch, she closed her eyes and let her divine power flow through her, shaping and molding the essence of the man she had loved into something new.

As she worked, a sense of purpose filled her, driving her to create something beautiful out of the pain of loss. With each delicate movement of her hands, she fashioned the form of a bird, its feathers shimmering with the colors of sunset and dawn. And within its breast, she imbued the spirit of Suguru, his essence merging with the creature in a harmonious union.

When the transformation was complete, the goddess gazed upon her creation with a mixture of sadness and awe. The bird before her was a testament to the enduring power of love, a symbol of hope and renewal in the face of loss.

With a soft smile, the goddess released the bird into the sky, watching as it soared high above, its song echoing through the air like a melody of remembrance. And in that moment, she knew that Suguru would live on, not just in her memories, but in the very fabric of the world around her.

As long as she lives he will be with his beloved.

As long as nightingales sing, she will be with him.

She hopes one day that he comes to find her again.

thousands of years later, modern era;

SHE LIVED WAY TOO LONG SHE THINKS. In the vibrant chaos of Shibuya's bustling streets, the goddess found herself immersed in a whirlwind of sights and sounds that seemed to dance around her. Neon lights painted the pavement with kaleidoscopic hues, casting a luminous glow upon the bustling throngs of people weaving through the crowded sidewalks. Each passerby added to the symphony of the city, their voices blending into a cacophony of chatter that filled the air.

Amidst this vibrant tapestry, the goddess wandered, her senses alive with the pulse of modern Japan. The scent of street food wafted through the air, mingling with the tang of freshly brewed coffee and the faint hint of cherry blossoms. She drank in the energy of the city, feeling it pulse beneath her skin like a heartbeat that echoed the rhythm of life itself.

And then, like a gentle breeze stirring the stillness, a familiar melody drifted through the air, cutting through the noise of the bustling crowd. It was a song she knew well, one that resonated deep within her soul, tugging at the strings of her memory with a bittersweet tug.

Her steps faltered, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized the voice that carried the melody. It was a voice she hadn't heard in centuries, yet one that remained etched in her memory like an indelible mark. In that moment, amidst the chaos of Shibuya's streets, time seemed to stand still as she paused to listen, her senses fully attuned to the hauntingly beautiful sound that washed over her like a gentle tide.

For a fleeting instant, the goddess was transported back to a time long gone, a memory woven into the fabric of her existence. And as she stood there, enveloped in the music that spoke to her very essence, she couldn't help but feel a stirring of something deep within her—a longing, perhaps, or a yearning for a connection that had once been lost to the passage of time.

Frozen in place, the goddess felt a surge of conflicting emotions wash over her as she turned towards the source of the familiar melody. Amidst the throng of bustling bodies, there he stood—Suguru. But he was no longer the man she once knew. Time had etched its mark upon him, transforming him into someone almost unrecognizable.

His hair, once neatly trimmed, now cascaded down his back in a tangled cascade, pulled back into a messy bun adorned with intricate ornaments. His skin bore the ink of countless stories, tattoos that danced across his flesh like chapters in a book, each one a testament to the journey he had embarked upon since they last crossed paths.

And yet, despite the physical changes, there was something undeniably familiar about him—the warmth in his eyes that spoke of kindness, the passion in his voice as he poured his soul into the music that filled the air. It was as if beneath the layers of tattoos and piercings, his essence remained unchanged, a beacon of light amidst the chaos of the world around him.

With each strum of his guitar, Suguru wove a tapestry of emotions that seemed to reach out and touch the hearts of those who paused to listen. His voice, raw and untamed, carried with it a sense of vulnerability that spoke of a soul laid bare, unafraid to expose its deepest truths to the world. He still sang so beautifully. So wonderfully.

For the goddess, watching him from amidst the crowd, it was a poignant reminder of the passage of time and the inevitability of change. And yet, in that moment, as she stood there, enveloped in the music that flowed from his fingertips, she couldn't help but feel a sense of connection—a thread that bound them together across the vast expanse of years and distance, a reminder that some bonds were truly timeless.

As the goddess approached Suguru, her heart fluttered with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. With a hesitant smile, she spoke up, "Excuse me, your music is beautiful."

Suguru glanced up from his guitar, his expression friendly but devoid of recognition. Her heart melted. "Oh, thanks! Glad you think so," he replied, his voice warm and genuine.

There was a pang of disappointment in the goddess's chest, realizing that Suguru didn't remember her. But how could he, when thousands of years had passed? Suppressing her disappointment, she continued with a smile. "I couldn't help but notice... you seem familiar to me. You remind me of someone.”

Suguru shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly in thought. "Hmm, I don't think we’ve met before. But hey, who knows? Tokyo's a big place, but it's surprising how often paths cross."

The goddess nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. "You're right about that. Well, regardless, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm just visiting from overseas."

Suguru grinned, a twinkle in his eyes. "Ah, a traveler! Welcome to Japan. I hope you're enjoying your time here."

"I am, thank you," she replied, her smile widening. "And thank you for the beautiful music. It's been a highlight of my trip."

Suguru's smile grew, genuine warmth radiating from him. "It's my pleasure. Music is meant to be shared, after all. Enjoy the rest of your stay in Tokyo."

With a nod of gratitude, the goddess bid Suguru farewell, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken memories. As she continued on her journey through the bustling streets of Shibuya, she couldn't help but wonder about the twists of fate that had brought them together once more, if only for a fleeting moment in time.

She was happy that he was happy in this life.

She was happy her nightingale still sings.

And so she thinks she can walk away well.

Because her nightingale would live and sing.

Even without her by his side, he’ll be alright.

54 notes · View notes

yournameyn · 3 years

Text

Feeling Deeply Chapter 5

Genre: Arranged Marriage Fic. Fluff turning into angst?

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Summary: The story of two deeply feeling nerds who find themselves in an arranged marriage. (Details here). Our OC is called Brishti. It’s a Bengali name meaning rain. Namjoon calls her Rim (short for her pet name, RimJhim which means the pitter-patter of rain). She calls him Joon.

Warnings: NOT THE NAMJOON OF OUR DREAMS. Argument. Fight over tiny discrepancies that turn out to be a huge problem. Domestic violence. Not a happy chapter.

A/N: Have you ever felt this, reader? When you watch something and realise exactly what you need to realise in that moment? I’ve had that so many times - seeing my feelings mirrored in a show. That’s something that I’ve tried to have Brishti feel here. Also, this is how I see the natural progression of this Namjoon, the one who obliged to duty rather than his dreams. It took me a long time to write this but I love what’s come out. Let me know what you think!

Current Chapter: London, late 1963. Love fully blooms between Namjoon and Brishti. And yet, something’s not right. A visit to the ballet and a conversation brings forth realisations. The inklings that Brishti was trying to avoid transform into writing on the wall.

Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The magic about new love isn’t really in romance or even in true intimacy. It’s in how violent new love is… and just how much time it takes us to feel it’s impact.

In the new love between Namjoon and Brishti, everything had been roses and honey, overflowing, swaying in a gentle breeze. They spent every second possible in each other’s arms. They had to tear themselves away from each other when they had to leave home. And even then, it hurt as though they were part of the same cloth.

Brishti had thought about how they had become woven, their souls an ornate tapestry. Namjoon had told her then about a Japanese tradition of weaving that was a sort of meditation and a kind of worship to a god called ‘Musubi’. The disciples say it is like being part of the cosmic tapestry. Being tied to each other.

“Just like we are… I felt a pull toward you and I followed it. I was scared… so full of doubts about who you were and how this was all going to go… I had promised myself that I would fulfil my duty… whatever happened ” Namjoon had said, petting Brishti’s hand gently, “And I… I still can’t believe it… It… you make me feel like I can… trust myself.” Brishti had looked at her genius then and wondered what a strange world it must be that made a man like Namjoon doubt himself, “Always, always trust yourself, Namjoon-ah.” and settled into the crook of his neck.

It was indeed a strange world that caused Namjoon to build an armour around himself. Because ‘London’ and ‘Lonely’ sounded just the same to him. His years alone in this strange place had been unkind, unrelenting. Brishti had been the only softness he had felt in a long long time. Armours built over years can break in an instant, though. For him, it was the moment when he and his wife had crossed the threshold to becoming lovers. High on the magic of new love, he had not realised it.

Sitting across from each other after that fateful evening, Namjoon and Brishti were both wide awake in the early hours of the next morning. Brishti buttoned up the shirt they never fully took off. Namjoon had tickled her with his toes. They propped their feet against the other’s to see just how vast the difference was (he melted seeing how small her feet were and hadn’t stopped playing with them since). Caressing each toe, he remembered something he wanted to ask -

“How did you know what Saranghae is?”

“Mm…” she stretched her arms, “I know what it means…” Brishti said.

“I know you know… from the way you… after I said it… You asked Yoongi about it?” Namjoon cautiously asked about the only other Korean Brishti knew. To his surprise, she nodded no, still denying him any information. Namjoon had to tickle her foot for the answer.

“Okay! Okay! Wait! Pleeeease!” Namjoon stopped and Brishti bent down to the bureau next to her bed and pulled out a textbook - LEARN HANGUL THROUGH ENGLISH. Namjoon looked more shocked than she had expected. “I asked Yoongi about the book-”

“You don’t need to Rim… I’m not learning Bangla, am I?” Namjoon said. He was touched but he didn’t want his love to do anything he couldn’t reciprocate.

“I would have asked you to learn it… if I wrote poetry in my mothertongue...” Brishti said. Namjoon was shocked. She went on, “You really think I didn’t know?”

Namjoon blushed and smiled and flopped over in Brishti’s lap. She brushed his hair as she explained, “You light up at the mention of lyrics and poetry, you keep a notebook by your side at all times, you’re moved by the things that people usually don’t pay attention to… I know you’re a poet, Joonie.”

Namjoon looked up at her and said, “No one has ever called me that…”

Brishti leaned down and kissed her gorgeous husband. “You are... From what I know, I bet all my books that you are a great one... And… I… I would love nothing more than to be part of your world of words, Joonie… It must be strange… to be understood but in a foreign language. If you would let me, I want to understand you in your language… Do you think that’s something maybe--”

He got up and all but jumped on Brishti, pinning her down to the bed with the cutest puppy-yell she had ever heard. “Yes! Of course, yes!”

They both understood that this was a proposal. The truest kind - a gentle request to explore Namjoon’s universe. They would later joke about how she proposed to him after a month of being married. Namjoon was completely delighted by this person with him, his person… one who really saw him.

He pulled her to him saying, “You’re the best part of my world, Rim...” and kissed her.

Each moment of love flowed through the next. When they had to be separated, they couldn’t wait for the next one, their moment again. On weekends they would visit museums and find their favourite paintings and sculpture or their favourite prehistoric relic and animal. Brishti hated the fact that Namjoon had to work overtime to compensate for these weekends and she often voiced how unfair it was.

In response Namjoon would just give her a peck and say, “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” This pricked her but she was too taken by the man before her to pay heed to it.

Namjoon was just about able to keep a straight face at work but everyone around Brishti was acutely aware of how much she loved Namjoon.

At one point, her colleague and best friend, Min Yoongi had yelled at her, “Yhaaaaa! Stop blushing?! It’s just a clock… what could be romantic about a clock?!” Sayuri-san, and she were hanging around Yoongi’s table when Brishti looked at his new flip clock and started blushing.

Brishti laughed along with everyone else but explained, “It’s involuntary… that’s what happens when you’re married to a poet.”

Sayuri-san corrected, “I know too many wives of poets to know that’s not necessarily true… It is true though, when you’re in love with a poet… Go on… tell us how exactly poet Namjoon makes you blush about a clock...”

Brishti blushed even more at that. Yoongi rubbed his arms and demanded, “Tell us because there’s some really weird things coming to my mind… like you guys have an exact time when...”

Brishti stopped his imagination, “No no no… it’s nothing like that… he loves digital clocks... because he loves to watch the time turn to 00:00… zero o’clock he calls it… and on days he feels sad, it’s like zero o’clock is always there to comfort him… like it’s a point when the whole world holds its breath and he can feel happy again… but these days… with me… he said he wants the clock to keep going after 23:59… he wishes time would stretch on… beyond 24:01…”

Yoongi sighed and sat back down, “You’re making me fall in love with Namjoon… ahhh that is beautiful. He should be published...”

“Imagine him saying this directly to you and you might know how I feel… I can’t stop talking about him...”

“Oh, we know. But honestly none of us care… your poet-librarian romance is getting us through our single-ness.” Yoongi reassured her.

The three of them continued to talk about the ways in which Brishti could repay Namjoon’s wordsmithing in graphic ways.

It was that evening, wasn’t it, when Namjoon had enveloped her back in the warmest hug as soon as he’d entered their flat. Brishti was in the kitchen when she heard him enter but hadn’t expected this. He kissed her neck while telling her the good news, “We got our first Korean client today… because of me… Mmmm… Why do you always smell so amazing?”

Brishti turned around and hugged him again, “That’s amazing! Namjoon-ssi! I’m so proud of you!”

“He’s from a wealthy family… so he can actually afford our firm… its not exactly the work I wanted to do--”

“It is a step toward that idea, right? It’s still good work, fighting for justice?” Brishti asked, stopping him from undermining his own work.

Namjoon nodded, “Yeah… He’s a dancer… Park Jimin. All the posh types know him as one of the best dancers in the Royal Ballet. They call him Jim… as if it’s too difficult to say Jimin?” Namjoon shook his head in disapproval. He began helping Brishti with the chopping and continued, “He was born in the UK and trained since he was 5... He got into the Royal Ballet but he’s been passed up to be a principal over and over even though everyone who has seen him dance apparently knows that he’s far far better… So recently he spoke to the director there... and of course the director made a racist slur and asked not to bother him with this again. He can’t even quit and work at another company because of the contract they have him on. There’s a non compete clause… meaning he won’t be able to dance with any other company. That’s all he wants… to be able to get out of that contract… I’m hoping to convince him to press charges on racial discrimination too. We’re not in the 20s anymore.”

When Brishti didn’t respond, Namjoon looked up at her. “That’s horrible… I’m so so glad you’re taking up the case. But please tell me what you ate when you were alone?” He looked down at the carrot he’d been failing to cut.

Namjoon scrunched his nose and admitted, “Canned food mostly.”

Brishti said, “I’m really really glad you’re getting to do work that you are passionate about, Joonie, you deserve it. Now, you should know how to cut a carrot.”

Namjoon pressed up against Brishti’s back. She reached back up to the nape of his neck and made him moan into her. Then… then Namjoon made her forget how to cut carrots.

He had these ways… Namjoon, with his touch, his voice, his languages both spoken and soundless. He was lighting new paths into her self. She loved learning him. Paths she didn’t know existed, that she’d been longing for.

The scars of the loneliness, emptiness that Namjoon had experienced had turned his longings into a kind of starvation. He needed to be nourished and also devoured. Brishti was just the creature to do it. He could feel her warm fingers trace rows of pleasure onto his skin. He felt them bear down and singe when the two of them had to move away from each other. He felt those ropes tug at him as the end of his workday neared. Namjoon closed his eyes each night at her touch, the feeling and fragrance of her body. He felt blooms of intimacy spring up like seedlings out of the soil of his skin. And deeper. In the earth of his soul. So he did the only thing he could. Reciprocate. Namjoon sowed his love, his desire, his need onto her, into her every night.

There were times, though, when she would feel his absence in the middle of the night and see him working in the dim light of a lamp. She knew he had to work hard to do what he wanted but she also saw he had to continually prove himself to people who weren’t even paying attention. The reason they weren’t paying attention was painfully clear to Brishti but she was yet to experience it’s full stab.

Namjoon wanted to shield her from it. He was counting on an armour that didn’t exist anymore to protect himself and his wife… the reason he liked his life again. Whenever she came out and switched on a brighter light, reprimanding him for straining his gorgeous eyes, he saw that it did prick her - this world and the unfairness he had to endure. She would say something small, an almost-complaint that alerted him… against her for some strange reason. She would say something that would be easy to ignore and yet would prick him, like - “I don’t know why they haven’t promoted you yet.” or “Why haven’t they taken up Jimin’s case yet? You’ve worked so hard on it.” Everytime she did that, he would have to pacify himself.

‘I’ve told her so much about the Jimin case… she’s just really invested’ Namjoon thought to himself. Just so he would avoid thinking, ‘I shouldn’t have told her.’

He would have to calm himself, give her a peck and try to convince her to stop worrying. “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” Namjoon would always say.

Then, Brishti smiled as she always did. While trying to understand why that sentence bothered her so much. After almost five months of exploring this wonderful man, some part of him still felt unfamiliar… like it didn’t fit in with the rest. Still, these things take time, she had heard from so many women over the years. Besides, she was blessed with a man far far above the norms. So, how could she prod? These are things Brishti had told herself - until the night she couldn’t stay silent.

The couple was coming up on their fifth month together and Park Jimin had gifted Namjoon a ticket to the final show of the season as a token of gratitude, for having heard his story.

Brishti was nervous about going to this kind of a gathering and had told her husband to meet her there.

She had enlisted the help of Sayuri-san to look appropriate for the event. Her slightly longer hair was clipped and her eyes were kohled. She wore a burgundy knee length fringe-ended dress that she had received from her gracious host, stylist and make-up artist - an inheritance of her brilliant life tucked into the black pearl beading and deco design. It was a big departure from the usual tie-die or band tees and jeans with her baggy coat. She had carried the coat but felt this strange sort of compulsion to stand in the cold air in the noodle strap dress, for him to see her.

She felt butterflies in her stomach and kept fiddling with the coat she had draped over her arm. It was electric when she saw him.

Namjoon looked gorgeous in a tux. All of Brishti’s nerves were soothed just by looking at him. He had brushed his hair back. Tall and dashing - better than any heathcliffe could ever be. And with his reading glasses, he looked like the lead of a romance novella that would make all the women swoon. Indeed she was swooning. Brishti was suddenly warm in the chilly, windy night. And when Namjoon saw her, blood rushed to her cheeks. Everything inside her was running helter skelter in a panic. Brishti felt everything drop in the few moments it took for Namjoon to reach the top of the stairs. Dolled up like this, outside of her element, she felt like an imposter. Some angel needed to be standing in her place. For the first time, feigning beauty, Brishti felt like she wasn’t worthy of her husband.

She was finally able to keep her feelings aside when he reached her.

Namjoon kissed her palm like a gentleman and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go home… I need a private kind of dance…” Brishti blushed. Namjoon put his arm around her and felt the chill that had settled on her skin. “Aren’t you cold? Why didn’t you wear the coat?” Namjoon asked. Brishti just shook her head no and the two of them walked in.

Brishti assumed that the ballet would be a welcome distraction from the storm that brewed within her. She had read up about the show, the piece they were going to perform -

Tchaikovsky’s venerated Swan Lake. The story of a young girl who falls in love with a prince who promises to save her but fails. Ofcourse there were finer nuances to the story but this was the basic plot. As the lights dimmed, Brishti felt pulled in by the music, the eerie beauty of it’s melody played in perfectly with the questions that were swirling around in Brishti’s mind -

Why do I feel wrong?

Is this what Yoongi was talking about? Anxiety…?

Why does Namjoon look so... different?

Why is he so quiet, so… distant…It’s like he’s keeping himself away from me despite being right next to me, arm in arm, like the true Namjoon is somewhere in a glass case? Deep deep beneath whatever this creature is who is next to me?

I’m thinking too much. No. What is this? Why am I feeling this way?

It’s the music… no its not just the music… something is fucking wrong because all I feel like doing is breaking that glass case that’s locked away My Namjoon and presented this fucking imposter. What the hell is going on?!

Brishti barely managed to keep it together. She kept her eyes on stage…

It was like seeing a moving painting being created by invisible hands and the music was the sound of the brushstrokes, amplified. Park Jimin was playing Rothbart, the owl-like magician who curses Odette into a swan until she finds someone who would promise to love her forever. The questions in her mind and the power of the spectacle before her forced her tears to keep flowing.

Namjoon saw Brishti cry and held on to her. But the more he tried to comfort her, the more uneasy she became, the more she coudln’t contain the tears in her eyes.

The curtain fell at the end of Act three when the prince realises he has been tricked. Brishti, somehow, mirrored his grief. The prince was cheated by Rothbart into believing that his daughter, Odile, was Odette. Rothbart relished his plan so despicably it made Brishti’s stomach turn. The prince had already declared to the ballroom full of people his vow to love and marry the maiden by his side - Odile, not Odette. Park Jimin played Rothbart so skillfully, so beautifully that despite being the villain, despite being covered from head to toe, he was the star. Rothbart giggled delightfully as he revealed to the prince that the girl in his arms wasn’t Odette at all. That Odette was waiting for her prince by the lake. The curtain fell as the prince felt the stab of betrayal and rushed to Odette.

Brishti rushed to where she did not know. She wanted to get away from Namjoon, from this feeling that she couldn’t understand, couldn’t explain. She was angry. She wanted to break something. Tears still flowing down her face, she found a corner that was hidden away in darkness. She went in. Brishti sat on the couch there, for what seemed like eternity, breathing heavily. Nothing made sense. It felt like her insides were twisting into each other. Suddenly, though, a door creaked open and out came an angel. A man, glowing, having just freshened up. He saw her, saw her fear and instead of pulling back in shock, approached with a strange kindness. He held her wrist and stayed silent for a moment.

His beauty was also a kindness to her. In that moment, Brishti could breathe a little bit better. He sat down by her knees, on the floor and when he spoke, his voice flowed like a tonic, “First time at the ballet? It’s overwhelming… I know. You’re okay. You are safe. Rothbart is not here. Talk to me… what are you feeling?”

The tears kept flowing. This man was different, she knew he understood what she was feeling like. She felt safe, but not as if she was with a saviour, rather as though she was with another victim.

“What are you feeling…” Park Jimin repeated. The pieces were falling into place in her head. This is Park Jimin, the man who danced as Rothbart. The man who should have danced the Prince. Who should have played Odette and Odile.

“I feel… rage.” Brishti trembled as she spoke. She could breathe again.

“Yes… Rothbart is… evil… I’m sorry-”

Brishti nodded her head no. “At the prince.”

Jimin was surprised. “Let it out. You can scream in here and no one would know.”

Brishti didn’t need another invitation, but her rage wasn’t a scream, it was a whisper - “I want to hit the prince. How could he not now? He couldn’t see that that girl was not Odette? Is he blind? The way she moved, the way she danced… which only means… it means that the prince knew… somewhere he felt doubt but he… He couldn’t fucking trust himself enough?! I don’t know why this is breaking my heart… Why can’t people trust in themselves?! It’s a pathetic fucking excuse and I can’t buy it… I just can’t. Why did the prince...” Her hands covered her face as she wiped her tears. She composed herself.

Jimin pulled out a kerchief. “May I?” Brishti nodded and he dabbed her face with care.

“The prince trusted his sight more than his soul. And now, Odette will die because of it. As always, the woman pays the price.”

“He dies too, you know.”

“What a waste…”

Jimin smiled, “Thank you… for watching the show, for feeling it so much.”

Brishti managed a weak smile, “Thank you.” Jimin stepped away and sat next to her, at a respectable distance. “I’m being lied to.”

Jimin nodded, “I know what that’s like. I feel that rage against the prince too. And still, we must be kind to our liars.”

Brishti clenched her teeth, “Why? Where’s the fairness in that?”

Jimin moves away, in a dejected kind of daze and pours himself a drink, “That’s the biggest lie, fairness. Cruel joke.”

Brishti walked toward the door. “I should go… Thank you.”

Jimin raised his glass to her.

Brishti wore her coat and walked toward the exit. She found Namjoon in a panic and suddenly felt like she could reach him. He looked so relieved to see her. She couldn’t help but feel awash with love as he crashed into her in the warmest hug. It was as if he was the one who was lost.

“Are you okay? Why were you crying?” Namjoon asked her as he stroked her head and held her in the hug for as long as she needed.

“I need to ask you something.” Brishti whispered as she pulled away. They began walking down the stairs of the theatre.

“Änything.” Namjoon replied.

“Your firm… they refused the Jimin case, right?”

Namjoon froze. His jaw locked up. “Let’s go home.”

The rest of the way, neither of them spoke a word. They entered their home in a cold silence. They washed the night off themselves and entered their bedroom, which was completely devoid of the heat and desire that usually filled it right up to the ceiling. What used to feel like an ocean, now felt like a vacuum.

When Namjoon walked in, Brishti reminded him, as kindly as she could,“I said I need to ask you something. You said, ‘anything’.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.” Namjoon was cold again. Unfeeling. Unreachable.

Brishti tried her best to be calm… “When would you want to talk about it?”

Namjoon breathed in - “Why? Am I answerable to you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we disagree. I don’t think I am answerable to you. What would you have done if I wouldn’t have told you about it in the first place?”

“I would still be feeling what I’m feeling… I would be even more furious though.”

“Fu- why would you be furious? I have to work there, I lost the account. I’m feeling hurt and disappointed in myself and instead of helping me, you’re angry?! What the hell could you be angry at?!”

“I’m being lied to. I’m being tricked.”

“What?!” the contempt on Namjoon’s face made her head throb. He was angry now.

“There are two Namjoons here. I’m being told there’s only one and--”

“That is some philosophical trash that you learned from one of your books. Real life doesn’t work that way. But how would you know?! You don’t have a real job. You have a hobby. A hobby of stacking books in order. You’re just plain lucky that someone is paying you for your hobby. That’s not a job. You of all people cannot tell me about the things I have to do to keep my job. I have tried my best to be as honest as I can be--”

“As honest as you can --”

“Listen to me!” Namjoon thundered. His loud voice might as well have been a punch. It rang through her body and rattled her bones. She had tears in her eyes but clenched them down as Namjoon continued yelling, “Enough… enough with the fucking tears. What the fuck are you so sad about?! I don’t need you to pity me. I don’t need anyone to feel sad for me. I have tried to be a good man - do you even know how much other men don’t even mention to their wives?! I told you everything. EVERYTHING. And now I’m being punished for it. Time and time again I tried to console you… even though I was the one hurting… I tried to be there for you and tell you… as long as I have --”

Brishti couldn’t take it anymore “Don’t. Say that.” She didn’t yell. Her voice was just above a whisper and yet it sent a chill down Namjoon’s spine. She wiped her tears. “I didn’t ask to be consoled. I was just… curious. If a few questions from me hurt so much maybe you should ask yourself why. I’m not lucky that someone decided to pay me for my hobby. It’s nice to know what you really think of my job. But whatever you think, I created my job. I created my life. I fought to come to london. I fought for the right to earn--”

“Oh please... spare me the feminist lecture...” scoffed Namjoon.

“Sure. Take up Jimin’s case.”

Namjoon felt the burn of white hot rage. He wanted to strangle her. He was so used to touching her… and she was his… in this bedroom, he had made her his. He wasn’t thinking. Namjoon strode toward her and held one massive palm over her mouth and the other on her neck and pinned her to the wall. “YOU WOULDN’T HAVE KNOWN ABOUT THAT IF I DIDN’T TELL YOU.”

It took him a few moments to realise what he was doing. Brishti was shocked and tried to scream but no voice came out. She was trying to get him out of his daze when he finally saw her, saw his Rim, horrified… by him. Namjoon pulled his hands back instantly. He saw a red bruise bloom where his hands were - on her face and on her neck.

“This is how you make your conscience shut up?” Brishti’s voice was hoarse. “You think this has nothing to do with your conscience? With the best part of you? The part that you made me fall in love with? Are you really telling me you don’t know that this is why you can’t write the way you used to… You’re killing my Joon and asking me to stay silent. I can’t.”

The searing anger still hadn’t died and it burst out of him, “Why are we fighting like this… over Jimin… why don’t you take up his case if you fucking love him so much?”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“You… Why are you fighting for him against me?!” It was here that Namjoon realised his armour was gone. The idea of who he is... suddenly vanished. And the one thing that had made him feel safe, like his true self, was slipping away. “You’re saying… just tell me… you’re saying what I think you’re saying.”

Brishti did him the only kindness she had left in her, she explained, “Jimin wants to leave but can’t. He stays because he needs to dance. He stays because he cannot get out of his contract. You say you want to help people like Jimin, you roll your eyes at white people who can’t pronounce our names, you feel guilty for asians who have much less than we do… but then you also don’t raise an issue when your boss holds meetings in clubs where people of other races and dogs and women are not allowed. You work overtime for the privilege of weekends… You say you are trying but… as far as I know… you don’t have a non-compete clause in your contract, Namjoon.”

That hit him like an iceberg. Namjoon’s legs gave way and he just sat on the bed.

He watched as Brishti put on her coat and left, covering her bruises with a scarf.

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

Chapter 6 - to be posted.

#bts kim namjoon #kim namjoon #forever rain #fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon arranged marriage #namjoon x oc #arranged marriage #slow burn #slow burn fic #fluff fic #bts fanfic #bts #indian oc #red thread fics

37 notes · View notes

awritingtree · 4 years

Text

Until Every Star In The Universe Dies

Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: Everyone talks about war and its hardships but no one talks about its aftermath. No one talks about the pain of having to learn to live without the love of your life.

@weasleydream‘s 500 followers writing challenge - Song prompts! Prompt 22. “Take me back to the night we met.” (Lord Huron - The night we met). I’m sorry this took so long 💙

Words: 4k

Warnings: a bit of fluff, sadness, mentions of war, mentions of violence, mentions of death, character death (Fred lives don’t worry), depression, mourning

A/N: well all I’d like to say is I’m sorry....... I hope this doesn't flop because I really put a lot of work into this fic 😂 but I did write it during exams so like hopefully you all like it xx

A big big big thank you to @iliveiloveiwrite for helping me with this fic 💙

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

I am not the only traveller Who has not repaid his debt I've been searching for a trail to follow again Take me back to the night we met

Fred sat in the Great Hall surrounded by all the survivors. The battle was over, Voldemort was dead. But then why did he not feel the want to rejoice like everyone else around him? Why did he feel numb to his surroundings - the sounds, whispers, light, joy, everything? It was because the one person that mattered the most wasn’t there with him. How did any of this matter, winning the war and defeating the darkest wizard of all time, if he didn’t have her by his side? He’d lost his person; nothing mattered anymore.

If Fred wasn’t lost in his head, he would’ve noticed George making attempts to get him to talk. But he was lost in his thoughts, reliving every moment they’d both had together; their first date, their first kiss, their first I-love-you, the first time they’d met.

Y/N was walking through the corridors of Hogwarts late at night, heading back to her common room after a tedious evening detention. She was completely exhausted, the reason for which she’d gotten detention was completely unreasonable and spending her entire evening scrubbing cauldrons clean seemed to be a harsh punishment for being ten minutes late to Potions, in her opinion. But that was Professor Snape, always hating on all students and making their lives a living hell.

She sighed, massaging her aching hand as she made her way through the barely lit corridors, her fear of the dark driving her to reach the common room in record time.

Suddenly something knocked into her with a force so strong causing her to go crashing to the floor. She barely had a moment to comprehend what had happened before a warm hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her up and along with them as they ran through the corridors, turning at corners and running up the many stairs. She could see the back of a red-hair’s head, a Weasley no doubt, a twin perhaps from the late-night escapade he seemed to be upon.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to pull her hand back with no success; his grip was too firm.

“Mrs. Norris. Filch,” was the only thing that fell out of the twin’s mouth as he quickly shoved a tapestry aside before pulling her into the small space the tapestry was hiding with him.

“What the he-” Fred covered her mouth with his hand.

“Shh,” he said, pressing a finger against his lips.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him but stayed quiet knowing she’d regret it if she didn’t listen to him; he was more experienced than her in these situations. Soon enough, the purrs of Mrs. Norris and the shouts of Filch echoed across the corridor.

“I know you’re here! Come out, come out wherever you are.”

Filch’s footsteps and shouts drew closer.

She held her breath as they momentarily paused outside the tapestry before continuing onwards, releasing her breath only when she could no longer hear them. She turned to look up wide-eyed at the chocolate brown eyes staring down at her in curiosity. Both their chests heaved heavily, trying to get enough oxygen into their lungs.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Fred in question once she’d caught her breath, “And what exactly were you doing that Mrs. Norris was after you?”

“I don’t want to know,” she stopped him from answering her question.

“Now that’s a smart decision, love,” said Fred with a smirk, “What were you doing out so late?”

“That’s none of business,” she rolled her eyes and stepped away from Fred, moving the tapestry aside to get out of the cramped space.

“Well, um, thank you I guess,” she stammered out before awkwardly turning around, making her way towards her common room again.

“You never told me your name!” she heard Fred shout out after her.

She spun around, continuing to walk backwards in the direction she was heading, watching a grinning Fred stand next to the tapestry.

“Y/N Y/L/N!” she called back before racing away as the shouts and purrs of Filch and Mrs. Norris headed towards them once again.

She giggled hearing Fred curse out loud as she ran away. She thought this would be the first and last time they would interact. But unbeknownst to her, a friendship would blossom between the closest trio of friends Hogwarts had seen; “Closer than the Marauders,” McGonagall would come to say in a few years.

And then I can tell myself What the hell I'm supposed to do And then I can tell myself Not to ride along with you

Fred found himself in a slump, one that he couldn’t seem to get out of. All his days now consisted of laying in bed; hiding away from the world, reliving every memory he had with her. On some rare days, he would pull himself out of bed to go and sit in the garden not uttering a single word, only looking out into the horizon. George would join him at times, sitting there in silence until the last light of the day had faded away, replaced by the glowing moon and twinkling stars.

On that particular day, Fred was roaming around the room absentmindedly. He was not sure what to do, not sure what he could do anymore. His want for living, waking up each day and facing the world was gone, buried six feet under the ground, soul floating up to the sky to become one of the stars she’d always admired.

He suddenly bumped into a table, all the things he’d been avoiding piled onto it, falling onto the floor with a loud crash. The soundbox he’d gifted her fell open, a familiar bittersweet melody echoed throughout the quiet Burrow.

It hit him all at once, the first sob fell free from his body as he sank onto the cold, wooden floor.

The door to the bedroom flew open as George hurried in. The tune had reached his ear and he knew that nothing good would come from it. George rushed to the hunched-over figure and gathered him up in his arms.

Fred’s breaths came out in gasps, he was struggling to breathe; the walls felt like they were closing in, pushing all the air out of the room. Tears streamed down his face.

In the kitchen, Molly could be seen gripping onto the countertop, her knuckles white, not being able to deal with the gut-wrenching sobs that sounded through the Burrow.

George remained quiet, holding his best friend and rocking him back and forth.

“It hurts. It hurts so much,” Fred cried out.

George’s heart broke at the raw heartbreak in his brother’s voice.

“I know. I know,” George said softly, trying to keep himself together.

“Make it stop, please. Please make it stop,” Fred pleaded, clawing at his chest.

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this without her, George. Bring her back.”

George held Fred in his arms, heart aching for his two best friends; one dead and the other may as well be. He wished he could bring her back. He missed her too.

“Take me back,” Fred muttered over and over again, pleading the universe to rewind time and let him live these past seven years with her again.

“Take me back to the night we met.”

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

What was he supposed to do without her in this world? They had their whole life planned out. They were supposed to get married after the war and live out the rest of their days with each other in a small home at the edge of the ocean. They were supposed to dance early in the morning every day as they made breakfast, and come back home to welcoming arms each night after an exhausting day of work. They were supposed to have their own children, grow grey and wrinkly together; help the other when their bodies had begun to fail.

Fred twisted the ring between his fingers, staring at what-should-have-been; the simple gold ring that belonged on her finger, not dangling from the chain around his neck.

“You really love her, don't you?” asked Molly as she watched her son stare at his girl who, in Molly’s eyes, was the perfect match for him.

Fred adored her; he adored everything about her. And everyone in the presence of the both of them could see it; could feel the love radiating from them. He was devoted to her, worshiping the ground she walked on.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the sofa which Ginny was leaning against as she sat on the floor. The soft orange light from the crackling fire lit up the side of their faces. Christmas music drifted through the Burrow from the radio in the background.

She was wearing one of Fred’s jumpers, the sleeves folded up to her wrists to allow her fingers to weave through Ginny’s soft ginger hair, so much like her brother’s; dutch-braiding it into two sections. Fred watched Y/N throw her head back laughing at George’s joke, the sound of her laughter bringing a smile to her boyfriend’s face.

Fred’s eyes didn’t waver from her as he answered, “I’m going to marry her mum.”

His eyes drifted away from her to look at his mother, “I know we’re only seventeen and we’re still young but there can be no one but her.”

Molly teared up at seeing Fred speak so maturely, the same boy she thought would never settle down, always busy with pranks and whatnot.

“Oh, Freddie,” she said, pulling him into a hug.

Fred groaned at his mother’s overly affectionate and emotional tendencies but gladly accepted the hug. He watched over his mother’s shoulder as Y/N looked up towards their direction, her eyes meeting his, and sent him a small smile before returning her attention to George and Ginny’s hair.

“Come back to me,” he whispered into the abyss.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met

Fred crawled out of bed one morning. It was extremely early but sleep would not come to him. He’d been tossing and turning all night long, but he supposed he could count this as the most sleep he’d gotten in months. The nightmares from the battle; the wall crumbling, her lifeless body flashing in front of him every time he closed his eyes, keeping him awake.

The circles under Fred’s eyes were darkly visible from several feet away, his cheeks had become hollow from the lack of self-care. His unruly hair had lost its bounce and shine, his eyes had lost their light.

His feet lightly padded across the room, closing the door softly behind him. He carefully made their way down the stairs, avoiding the steps he knew would creak so that no one would wake up.

Fred waved his wand to get the water boiling for some tea as he entered the kitchen. He sighed and sank into one of the chairs, resting his head in his hands which were propped against the wooden table by the elbows. He clenched his hair, pulling at it, as tears started to make their way down his face as his mind drifted away.

It was a quiet summer morning. The sun had just begun to rise, soft, warm golden beams infiltrating the Burrow’s windows through the white lace curtains. Y/N and Fred were the only people awake in the house.

Y/N was preparing the kettle for morning tea as Fred stood leaning against the counter admiring the love of his life. She was protected against the early morning cold by one of Fred’s sweaters that Mrs. Weasley had knit ages ago. Fred had long since outgrown it but it fit perfectly on her petite body.

She jumped slightly as she felt hands wrap themselves around her waist and a body pressing against her back. She relaxed as Fred pressed a kiss on her trapezius before resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Come dance with me,” he whispered into the quiet of the morning.

“What?” she laughed.

Fred spun his girl around to face him and pulled her against him.

“You heard me,” he said with a smirk before proceeding to dance goofily around the kitchen with her.

Quiet giggles filled the air as they danced around the small space, Fred occasionally dramatically twirling her around.

As their energies started to drain, Y/N rested her face on her boyfriend’s chest slowly swaying to the music of their hearts, both their eyes closed and smiles spread across their lips in content. Fred rested his chin on her head. He held her flush against him, softly humming a melody he’d heard fall from her lips many times before.

The sound of the kettle’s whistle blowing and feet rushing down the stairs brought Fred back to reality. He quickly got up and moved the kettle, setting it on the kitchen countertop. He leaned against the countertop for a moment, attempting to pull himself together. He took a breath, wiping the remnants of a memory he’d treasure for all time to come.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he mumbled, heading towards the cupboard that stored the mugs.

Ginny frowned looking at the person in front of her; the person that was always so full of joy and life.

But now she was gone, taking his light away with her and all that was left behind was a human shell moving around the kitchen like a ghost of his past self.

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears

“I’m scared,” Y/N whispered into the dark as she lay on her side.

She felt Fred shift around next to her in the bed so they were facing each other. The moonlight from the window highlighted Fred’s features; the flames on his head, the melted chocolate in his eyes, the constellations across his nose and cheeks.

Fred watched her, the scared look in her glazed eyes shining brightly through the dark room. But she still looked beautiful, ethereal in the silvery moonlight.

“Me too.”

They laid there in silence, staring into each other's eyes, relishing in the feeling of being in the other’s arms because who knew if they would be able to do this again. The war was coming, everyone could feel it. The darkness looming over the world had reached its optimum point, the muggles noticed it too whether they knew what it was about or not.

“If anything happens,” she started.

“Hey, let’s not talk about such things,” said Fred softly, raising his hand to caress her cheek, “Nothing is going to happen to you, my love. I promise. I am going to make sure nothing happens to you.”

“If anything happens,” she persisted, “Just know I love you. I will love you until every star in the universe dies and their light can’t be seen anymore.”

“And I’ll continue to love you after that,” whispered a teary-eyed Fred with a loving smile, before leaning into a kiss.

Their lips moved slowly and gently against each other, treasuring this moment for it could be one of their last.

They laid in bed in each other’s arms that night. Sleep was the last thing on their mind as they exchanged small kisses and quiet I-love-you’s, and wiped each other’s tears away. They stayed awake as the morning light streamed into the bedroom lighting up the world in a soft orange glow, staring at each other knowing that could very well be the last night they got to do this.

When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

Fred’s fingers danced across the frame, tracing her face. Tracing her face the same way that her fingers would always trace his freckles; playing connect-the-dots. A loving smile would appear on his face as he’d feel her fingers ghosting over his cheeks and nose, eyes shutting in pleasure.

He saw his broken reflection staring back at him as a teardrop trailed down his cheek and fell onto the glass.

It was a picture from the first day after their seventh year was over, their first time together at Weasley Wizards Wheezes. They’d made their way there right after the Hogwarts Express had arrived at King’s Cross station.

It was the day they’d decided to move in together.

It had been a few months since they’d seen each other; each moment away from each other felt like years. He had not felt her body as he held her against him, fitting together like missing pieces of a puzzle. He had not seen her beautiful eyes or heard her angelic voice. He craved her vibrant presence like he had never craved anything before.

“Freddie!”

Fred turned around towards the sound only to feel someone jump on him. He stumbled back due to the force, holding the person tightly against him. Y/N clung to him, her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands around his neck. Her face was buried in his neck whilst his was buried in her hair, breathing in the intoxicating scent he’d missed the past few months.

“I missed you,” Fred said quietly.

Y/N pulled away, standing again with Fred’s help.

“I missed you too,” she said, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. He still looked the same: the same sturdy body, the same ginger hair and chocolate brown eyes. The same chapped lips that were always pulled in an infectious smile, the same hands that never failed to ignite the skin they left in their wake, trailing against every inch of her body like a blazing fire. The only thing different about him was his choice of clothes.

“What is that ghastly thing?” she questioned, staring at his dragon-skin clothes.

“You don’t like it?”

“No. As I said, it looks ghastly. I very much prefer you in your normal simple clothes but if you like to wear this… Well go ahead, I won't stop you. It is your choice.”

Fred chuckled at his girlfriend and leaned down to kiss her nose.

“You’re lucky you’re cute or I’d be extremely offended.”

“Oi! Stop hogging her all to yourself,” said George before pulling Y/N out of his twin’s arms and spun her around as they hugged.

Fred watched the interaction with a smile on his face thinking they already behaved like a brother- and sister-in-law would.

He wished the shop could’ve waited till their final year was over, instead of starting it in the middle of their seventh year.

Looking back on it now, Fred hated the decisions made from his side. He could only think about all the time he had missed out on - a few months of time that could’ve been spent with each other.

“Should’ve stayed together,” he thought as he held the picture against his chest, sobbing into the silence of the night.

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

The world that was once orange and warm, was tinged blue without her. Food no longer had any taste, the sun was no longer warm, birds no longer chirped, the butterflies in his stomach had abandoned their home. Music was no longer mellifluous, the joke shop was no longer humorous, home did not feel like home anymore. His heart no longer beat.

The world was dull and bleak without her; hopeless. The fundamental part of his very being, his core felt broken; irreversible, never to be mended again.

In a single moment, his entire world had come crashing down around him. Irretrievable.

“Why? Why did you leave me? Why do I get to live whereas you died?” he asked, his throat constricting as he compelled himself not to cry.

“Why? Why did you push me out of the way?”

“NO!”

The air exploded just as soon as he felt someone push him out of the way. His body flew through the air as the sound of the wall collapsing rumbled through the corridor.

Fred groaned as he sat up, moving the stone and wood aside. His eyes burned because of the dust floating through the cold air blowing in from the side of the castle that had been blown open due to the sheer force of a casted spell.

He hurriedly got up as he remembered what he’d heard right before the blast had occurred. He stumbled through the rubble, terrified, and began to search through the wreckage, having no care of the ongoing war around him.

He moved a large stone out of the way only to find a hand adorning a familiar ring that was shining through the debris.

“No. Please no. No no no,” Fred choked out, hurrying to move the broken wall pieces aside and uncover the body, hoping it wasn’t her even though deep down he knew it was.

The world fell silent as Fred fell onto his knees, numb to the shock that went up through his legs. He let out a blood-curdling cry at the sight of her unmoving body; eyes unblinking, staring up at the ceiling but seeing nothing.

He gathered her up in his arms, moving her hair and dust out of her face.

“Wake up love,” Fred begged. “Please. Oh Merlin, please no.”

He held her face against his chest, trying to protect her from harm, clinging onto her, refusing to let go. Even as Percy and Ron tried to pull him away to get to safety, Fred did not budge.

“Wake up. Please love. Please,” he pleaded to someone who would never hear him again, who would never respond to him again.

Her unseeing eyes stared ahead hauntingly as Ron ripped Fred away from her body and dragged him away from the impending danger. Fred continued to fight against Ron, shouting at him to let him go. He couldn't leave her alone, he had to get back to her. She couldn’t wake up all alone in the middle of an ongoing war.

“No! I can’t leave her alone! Let me go! LET ME GO!”

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met

“I miss you. I miss you so damn much. Come back to me, please,” Fred sobbed with a hoarse voice.

He still had a hard time believing she was gone. She had so much left to do; her future was filled with so much promise. So many days not lived, so many words not said.

Fred would risk his life, give everything away, his soul, if only he got to see her smile, hear her laughter as she laughed at one of his jokes once again.

“I can’t do this without you. Please, I need you.”

Fred didn’t know how long he stayed there, crying to the dead.

The sun had started to set; the yellow, orange, red, purple and blue blending together in the picturesque scenery; one that artists wrote poems about or created paintings of.

He sighed realizing he had to leave soon or his mother would get worried and send out a search party after him. He wiped his blotchy face using his sleeves as he got up, looking around the cemetery melancholically.

The first smile, in months, broke out on his face, similar to the rays of sunshine peeking through the breaks in the clouds after a storm, as a gentle breeze grazed his cheeks, the feeling equivalent to fingers tracing the freckles on his cheeks and nose, playing connect-the-dots.

“I will love you until every star in the universe dies and their light can’t be seen anymore.”

“And I’ll continue to love you after that,” Fred whispered softly, tracing the name on the stone before turning around and walking away.

Y/N Y/L/N

A loving friend, daughter and fiancé

“For every dark night, there's a brighter day.”

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

If you enjoyed reading this fic, please like/comment/reblog! Your opinion/feedback is welcome, appreciated, and motivating :)

General taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @pregnant-piggy @approved-by-dentists @kashishwrites @remmyswritings @angelinathebook @idont-knowrn @coffee--writes @kinkyduuh @ickle-ronniekins @the-mighty-bookworm @chaoticgirl04 @malfoyspogue @dracofeltonmalfoy @dracosmainhoe @tinylumpiaa @gcdric @theweasleysredhair

Lmk if you want to be added to the taglist :)

130 notes · View notes

mothdalf · 4 years

Text

@finweanladiesweek

DAY ONE: Míriel Þerindë and Indis

I’ve depicted them both in their wedding gowns here, sort of two different moments in time linked together.

Under the cut is a VERY long head-canon/meta that eventually kind of turned into a fic, hidden in case you just want to focus on the art.

Indis is a Vanyar lady from the House of Ingwë, I like to think she was close in age to Finwë and they met when the Vanyar and Noldor first arrived in Valinor. They end up dancing and socialising at pretty much every event and are pretty good friends. That friendship has the potential to change into something romantic. But what’s the rush? They’re immortal. He’s a king, finally establishing a safe place for his people. There’s no danger here. No need to produce heirs. No need to marry the first person you dance with.

Míriel didn’t enter the picture until later. I like to think of her as half-Telerin hence her silver hair. Her parents were a Noldor nis and a Telerin ner who met during the great journey, her mother choosing to remain with her husband and the Teleri who lingered East of the sea. As a result Míriel was born on Tol Eressëa, and is quite a bit younger than Finwë and Indis.

Despite her typically Telerin looks, Míriel was a Noldor at heart and immersed herself in Noldorin culture and craft, soon settling on embroidery and weaving. She even journeyed to the House of Vairë to further her textiles skills and learn from the Vala and her Maiar.

I like the idea that many elves in Valinor follow a specific Valar, learning from them and acting as emissaries and ambassadors and links between them and the elves. Any elf can choose this (e.g. Celegorm and Oromë) but it is more common among the Vanyar. It just so happens that Indis is a devotee of Vairë.

So they meet in the House of Vairë. And they’re very different. Indis is philosophical, interested in the themes, and the music, and the history of Vairë’s tapestries; Míriel inspects the stitches with a magnifying glass, and has to be stopped more than once from teasing the fibres apart to see how they’re woven together.

Indis channels logic and a cool composure, very insightful and granted foresight in many matters. She’s mindful, and always present, finding pleasure in this very moment. Míriel buzzes with ideas, sometimes her head hurts and she can’t think straight because she HAS to work through this next project, move on to the next one, she can’t step away she can’t stop. And her composure can be obliterated by one blow to her pride.

But somehow the friendship works, opposites attract sometimes. And upon their return from the house of Vairë, Míriel invites Indis to Alqualondë. And after that they visit each other often, and share letters once Míriel has learned to write Sarati. And if those letters ever start to take on a more flirting tone- well there’s no rush for them either.

It’s on one of these visits that they run into Finwë, Indis introduces her new friend, and the rest is history. It’s only after this that Indis turns her keen insight on herself and has an “oh shhiiit” moment. And now her best friends are engaged and what is she supposed to do?

She helps Míriel dress for her wedding day, arranging jewels, combing her hair, lifting the heavy embroidered fabric of the wedding dress she worked for months on over her head, and finally placing her crown on top.

They’re happy. She’s happy for them. There’s no betrayal or tricks or seduction, just love. Besides it’s probably better Finwë marries a Noldor woman anyway.

So when Míriel announces that she’s expecting a baby, Indis is sure the dull foreboding she feels is nothing but jealousy from a deep part of herself that she tries to shut away. She watches and helps Míriel as she pours all her creative efforts into beautiful things for this baby. Toys and clothes and blankets and anything else she can think of. Indis teases that the child won’t have to repeat an outfit for at least 100years at this rate. They take a trip back to the place they met and work together at one of Vairë’s vast looms to make a tapestry mural for the nursery.

But soon the frenzied crafting starts to slow. And slow more. Until Míriel barely bothers to do anything. People who know her are worried, but she just takes her husbands hand and says that she’s tired, after all she is working on something special at the moment.

When Fëanáro is born Indis watches her friend scream and curse, and eventually weep with joy as she whispers to her husband “he’s the most perfect thing we’ve ever made”

Things do get better for a while. But Míriel’s eye starts to twitch when people congratulate Finwë on their son, until eventually she barks out “of course he’d get the credit! I only did all the hard work” in a rough, sarcastic laugh that’s so unlike her. She doesn’t go to any formal events after this.

She sobs to her husband that she’s frightened. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. She’s happy, except that she’s not. She finds no joy and no inspiration, she’s cold and tired and feels like she’s fading away.

Finwë suggests a trip away, so they go back to Míriels house in Alqualondë, and she doesn’t feel as watched, as judged, less angry and paranoid.

But the grief doesn’t lift. She can’t settle to work, she can’t find anything she wants to work on, her head is emptied of ideas and full of fog and she just wants to sleep.

Indis comes to visit them and finds Míriel in the nursery one evening, crying quietly. At first she won’t talk, simply saying that she doesn’t want to wake him, but the tears don’t stop and eventually she whimpers that she’s scared, and she’s disgusted with herself. Because she loves her son so much, but she can’t help but resent him. In some small dark part of her mind she’s angry with him, for taking her happy life away from her, taking her strength and her drive.

Indis takes her hands and pulls her to her feet and down the stairs to Finwë. “we’re going to Lorien. Tonight. Staying here isn’t helping her and she needs more than this.” She towers over both of them and there’s no arguing with her tone.

Irmo and Estë help all they can. Nienna helps more. Eventually Míriel calms. Almost eerily.

One night she calls Indis to the garden of Lorien. Míriel embraces her and kisses her cheeks and thanks her for her help. She holds her hands and tells her she’s sorry, but she’s made her choice.

Indis tried to change her mind. So does Finwë when he runs toward the sound of a raised voice. Not Míriel this time.

She asks Indis for a moment with her husband. And Indis runs to fetch Fëanáro.

She hands the baby to Míriel and asks how she can leave him, he needs her.

Míriel’s face crumples but her resolve doesn’t. “I’ve already given him everything I have”

She presses the baby into her husbands arms and kisses him before lying down on the stone bench and closing her eyes. Míriel sighs, finally feeling peaceful, and doesn’t breath again.

After the resulting uproar has died down, Indis doesn’t see Finwë very much. She visits occasionally and reads his letters about Fëanáro’s brilliant progress eagerly, but nothing is ever as it was.

When they meet again by accident on Oiolossë, it all comes back to them both. They’ve missed each other, they miss Miriel, but they don’t have to loose each other. So they fall in love, and she comes back with him to Tirion while they make a plan. Fëanáro (the equivalent of a 10yo) is wonderfully pleasant to her, he asks about his mother a lot, and shows her all the things he’s learning about and working on. He’s so like Miriel that Indis doesn’t know how Finwë stands it.

When they first tell him that they want to get married, he doesn’t think much of it, at least until he picks up on the gossip and controversy, it’s only then that he starts to realise that something is different.

Indis gets ready for her own wedding without her best friend.

Fëanáro doesn’t take the Statute well, and the problems start. He decides to move away to continue his studies. Indis is not invited to visit him when his Father is.

Finwë is terrified when Indis gets pregnant with their first child, but she’s not. “I am not Miriel. As much as some might wish that were the case.”

The relationship between Fëanáro and his half siblings is a whole separate post. But the things he says about her and her children hurt Indis.

Sometimes she wants to scream at him “I knew your mother! I was her friend! I lost her too! She would hate to hear you talk to me this way!” but she won’t. She can see how he feels and she understands why, but this doesn’t mean she takes the way he treats her children lightly, and he wishes Finwë would back her more in this. But she bares it, and she teaches her children to be kind.

This all changes with the incident. Fëanáro can lash out, he can say cruel things, but he has never threatened one of her children before. And he never will again if he wants to keep his head on his shoulders. She hears the Valar’s judgement, and knows she will comfort Finwë over his sons banishment, as much as she is grateful for it.

The rage she feels when Finwë decides to go with him is cosmic. But it’s when she sees Nolofinwë’s face that she snaps. She tells him with eyes sharper than any sword that if he chooses to go, he can never come back to her. No matter what happens between his sons, she will never forgive him for what he’s doing to her’s.

The news of his death makes her heart hurt in the strangest way. She’s closed herself off from him but the pain bleeds through. At least now he can be with Miriel, she thinks. He made it clear where his heart truly lay when he left. She laughs until she sobs, then composes herself to comfort her children.

She nearly sends Fëanáro to reunite with his father in Mandos when he insights her children and grandchildren to follow him across the sea. She nearly faints when Arafinwë comes back baring tidings of the kinslaying, the streets Míriel showed her around littered with bodies and the beach they would walk along in the evening wet with blood.

Indis stands beside her youngest son when he’s crowned and moves back into her old rooms in Tirion, abandoned when Finwë left for Formenos. After all, she’s been a ruling queen for longer than Arafinwë has lived. She’ll make a good advisor.

In Mandos Míriel is faced by the life she chose to leave behind. First her husband, and then her son. She speaks with Finwë for a long time, and many hurts are healed, but they’ve both made choices they can’t take back. Míriel stands by her decision, she chose to stay, at least in part so Finwë could move on, they make their peace with other, and she encourages him to return and make peace with his other wife. News of their son’s death stops him. He knows that he will remain, it’s with Fëanáro that his heart truly lies, not Míriel, whatever Indis may think. So he appeals for her to be allowed to leave in his place, every inch the king as he points out that the statute will remain unbroken.

She is allowed to see Fëanáro once before she leaves. There are no words for how she feels. So sad, so proud. She’s so sorry to leave him again, but she promises to watch over his sons.

Míriel returns to life, but she doesn’t return to the life she left. She stays close to the halls, and goes to a timeless place, but one she knows well.

It just so happens that Indis is a devotee of Vairë.

So much is different, and there’s a lot to work through, and it’s hard. But being back where they began, with a new life for each of them, is made easier with this reprise of their youth.

And if, as their friendship blooms again into a new form, Míriel eventually asks about the specific wording of the statute, and what it means for them being the two living parts of this three person marriage, well- there’s no rush to figure it out.

189 notes · View notes

dreamylyfe-x · 3 years

Note

Woah boy here we go ok. I need to tell you about my feelings for Bound. Which I have been meaning to do for literal weeks, but I read it so quickly the first time I wanted to give myself a slower second read through in the hopes that it would help me form some manner of coherent thoughts to offer you about why it is so brilliant.

I regret however that that strategy does not seem to have worked. I started a little notes doc with thoughts for each chapter and it began with full sentences but then as I went on and got more pulled into just reading the story the sentences turned into mere collections of words and then single word exclamations. The last note I have is jaaaaamiiiiiiieeeeeee!!!! And after that I gave up the pretense of taking notes at all and just let myself devour.

I think it is perfect?? Perhaps it is a perfect piece of writing???

From the outset, the very beginning of the prologue it is so visceral. Your descriptions of feelings are so physical, that the whole time one of them is in pain, I also feel that I am in pain. And so I feel like I have spent quite a lot of the story in pain, but the phenomenon of that makes me feel that I am so closely connected to both Ian and Mickey and I love it. And likewise when they are feeling joy or desire or relief. God the relief! It starts in that first reunion they have at the Kash and Grab after the gun incident, every second of that is filled with this wonderful release of physical tension, and then it simply escalates from there. I can't begin to describe how effectively you manage to convey the experience of having an emotion as part of your physical body, and how that is heightened by the soul bond aspect of the whole thing. Incredible.

What else? The world building! Heavens. I have read not that many soulmate AUs, but in terms of creating and explaining the rules of this adjacent universe where soulmates exist and endowing it with history and prejudice and letting that all just bleed into and across the story, you have eclipsed every single one. I totally buy into this parallel history and the nuances of opinions and variety of bond experiences and antiquated terms for gay bonds, it's all a very rich tapestry and I think you've done an excellent job of weaving it.

I am so here for a story that follows the canon without exactly recreating it. There are so many moments where you can pick out specifics from the show that are reflected or echoed, but are in a different context or setting, and yet manage to create that same feeling. And it's great because it's like a little easter egg, a little hit of recognition, but also is original in its form and serves its own purpose within your story. It connects us to Shameless without binding us into it and it is very deft and I enjoy it immensely.

We also have to talk about characterisation. Which. I actually don't know if I can talk about at all eloquently but you have to know that I am enamored with it. Ian and Mickey, but equally MANDY my beloved, who is sharp and brutal but also caring and so willing to help. I really like Ryan, I feel like you totally have that guy's voice, even though we knew him for only a few short moments, and I like that you made him not at all a predator. These kids need some adult advice once in a while! Which leads me onto Veronica. Best Aunty I love her, she is perfect.

But mostly I am just in awe of how you have written these versions of Ian and Mickey who feel so true to who I know them to be. I appreciate so much this Mickey who is accepting of his feelings for and connection to Ian from so early on, but that you haven't transformed him into someone who is really very soft in expressing those things. He is still motivated by fear and that fear makes him hard-edged, even when his insides are goo. And I love your Ian, who is sunshine itself, but also so much more alone than he ever is in the early seasons of the show because he isn't able to be out even to Lip really. His relationship with Monica is so heartbreaking and his descent into his loneliness and into resentment and feeling like Mickey doesn't care, all of it feels like something I could have been watching on the show.

That thing that Shameless does where they give you a little moment of pure wonder, and then follow it up by socking you in the mouth, it's that. You've captured that.

I swear there is so much more I could say but I feel that would be maybe concerning and you might take out a restraining order. But honestly I have been thinking about how to write this more succinctly for days and I couldn't come up with a way that could accurately convey how excellent I think this fic is in less words than I have used.

In short though, I love your writing and this work specifically and am very invested in reading the next chapter and all of the chapters after that.

🖤 Howl x

Hello! I'm slow! I'm sorry about that!

I'm also blown away. This whole thing is amazing and makes me grin like an unhinged person. But I sometimes am like "should I reply privately or is that rude?" -- I think I landed on that it's rude (so apologies to people I've done that to) and I apologize for my neuroses.

So first of all: super glad you like Bound. Super glad you have feelings about it! Totally love that you tried to make notes -- it's truly amazing that you'd make that kind of effort over it. Much love. 💕

Bound started life as a one-shot so sometimes I’m momentarily surprised when people talk about how the story starts in season one. I’m glad you enjoy the relief because I feel like it’s the emotion I write with them the most and a lot of times I’m like “I hope this doesn’t feel repetitive…” (though. Not a problem in recent chapters I guess). But. A bond under threat has a euphoric quality when they get to be together.

Also, because it was a one shot I didn’t expect to have to do much world-building, but that’s maybe one of the things I have the most fun with. Like tonight I was doing the dishes and starting wondering about how, exactly, things work when you bond with a psychopath. These are the things that haunt me.

I like the idea of the socio-economic impact of soulmates, so I very much want the other characters to continue their canon journeys. It’s maybe a little pessimistic but I see enough situations where we decide something that occurs naturally is wrong and must be fixed for me to think that people would accept the actual rules that seem to exist around soulmates without wanting to shape them into something else.

So happy you like the characterization! I’d never written Mandy before the one-shot but I immediately loved her. And I love wiring so many of the characters. Iggy. Fiona. DEFINITELY V. So glad you enjoy Mickey and Ian, too. I don’t think absolute security in a relationship is entirely possible for Mickey — but also, even knowing that he’s bound and that Ian loves him, it can still be really uncomfortable for him to be open about everything that means to him. I also, since I will probably never write a 3x12-4x07 fill-in fic I really wanted to get into Ian and Monica. That relationship is so interesting to me.

I don’t know who these people are who look askance at people taking the time to tell them they really like their work ARE, but I assure you I am not among their number. Truly so grateful for this. Thank you for your time, your attention and your really kind and thoughtful words. It truly means so much to me.

#asks #bound #my fic #thank you so much for this!#truly made me smile

14 notes · View notes

writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

Chapter 32- Chaos in the Clouds

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

After a successful battle against more of Dolios’s dark forces, Ren, Tango, Impulse, and False take a much needed break to enjoy Edenswell, the city in the sky. Little do they know, their peace will soon be shattered by death.

____________________________________

The temple of Tyn was a haven of truth, the quiet whispers of candor mixing with the swift whisks of shuttles crossing the tapestries. Woven stories, facts and history written where no lie can ever be told. Finished panels hang from the wooden pillars, waving gently in the high winds of Edenswell. All is well, all is silent, truthful. Sincere.

Until Impulse goes crashing through the main hall, splinters of wood spraying across the worshippers and weavers. From the broken pillar, a thunderbird perches, empty lightning coursing through ashen wings. If it weren’t the patches of husked feathers falling off in clumps and the burning white eyes, it would look like it’s usual stormcloud color.

But the husk beast leaps down, talons scraping against the wood, it’s squawk as loud as thunder. Impulse shakes his head, shaking free from the dizzy spell and plucking a splinter as big as his finger from his hair. Through the dancing tapestries, the hermit can see False, Tango, and Ren stumble after the monster. He rises to his feet, offering a grin to a nearby priest. “I totally don’t have this under control.”

He didn’t mean to say that. But the words that were on the tip of his tongue came out as what he was thinking. Damn truth spells, his words have done little except make the pilgrims feel worse! Impulse offers a meek smile, and hops over the husked thunderbird, a well-timed explosion tossing him over the enormous bird’s head.

Ren’s hands cross, fingers symmetrical before snapping outwards, twisting and turning to summon his magic. “Let’s get this little birdy wrangled up, y’all.”

With a chuckle, Ren casts his magic. The circle tightens, trails weaving into a braided rope. Just as he imagined, a lasso appears in his hand. Beside him, False calls out orders. Like the general of an army. “Tango, Impulse, keep it distracted for Ren!”

“Hey Impy, think it’ll taste like chicken?” Tango laughs, fire blazing around him. He taps his heel against the cloud beneath his feet, and condensed water burns into steam, the floor falling away from the thunderbird. Together, the two keep the bird preoccupied, completely oblivious to the spinning rope of Ren’s lasso.

Of all the cities the hermits thought would be safe from Dolios and his dark magic, surely the city in the sky would be. But the reports of unrelenting storms and flocks of broken-winged birds led them straight to the crystal. Nestled in the heart of a hot spring spa, in the depths of the clouds and open to the sky, False and Ren managed to destroy the corrupted crystal. But not before this thunderbird discovered them, and attacked with the strength of a hurricane.

“I think he’s mad he didn’t do his job! Protect the crystal, kill any nosy townsfolk.” Impulse chuckles, snapping his fingers and blasting the flank of the bird. Ash of the husked form collapses, head rearing back and lightning crackling under the wings and feathers. Generated by the beat of the beast’s wings. But before it can release it’s thunderous caw, matched with the bolt of lightning, amber magic twists and wraps across the thunderbird’s beak.

“Got’em, boys! False?” Ren grins, digging his heels into the cloud vapor. HIs ears tuck against his head, fur meeting hair as he struggles to keep the eagle from escaping into the sky. What Ren wouldn’t give for a buff from Wels right now.

False doesn’t hesitate. She never does. She leaps onto the back of the bird, heels digging between feathers and flakes of the soulless, lifeless body, and raises her blade. The rippling metal turns bright red. As hot as freshly forged metal waiting to be doused in oil. Without wasting another second, she cuts the husk down.

The form beneath her feet crumbles like fall leaves, ash and embers picked up by the winds of the cloud city, with False left to collapse onto the ground. For a place built in the clouds, her ass feels anything but cushioned.

But she’s grinning all the same, accepting Tango’s hand to help her up and elbowing Ren in the stomach. “One less creepy beast in the world. And one more crystal in the books.”

“I’d say we earned ourselves some rest and relaxation. Edenswell does have some of the best spas and retreats in Lairyon.” False lets her sword clatter to the cloud, pulling a hand through her hair and the clumps of blood and dirt from her locks.

“I dunno about a spa, but I saw the Festival of Mimé is going on, and I wanna have some fun while we’re up here with our heads in the clouds.” Tango points out, which causes Impulse’s eyes to light up.

“The festival of Mimé? That’s the biggest fireworks showcase in the kingdom! They have a contest every year to see who can do the best exhibition, and I’ve always wanted to see it.” Impulse has already turned towards the sound of music and celebration, in honor of the god of joy.

“Why not just watch it if you can join it, my dude?” Ren points out, stretching aching muscles, hands over his head and pulling them taut. Both Tango and Impulse stop dead in their tracks, and False only groans from her spot on the ground.

“Ren, you mad genius. We’re going to blow that contest away. Literally.” Impulse’s toothy grin appears, matching his friend’s. False finally rises up, shaking her head.

“You guys are adults, you do what you want. Just...don’t burn down the damned city.” False waves them off, and goes in search of somewhere peaceful to rest and recuperate. She could use some healing as well. That thunderbird did a number in battle. Ren, Impulse, and Tango are left to their own devices.

A dangerous thing. The three clamber over one another to be the first at the entrance to Mimé’s temple. At the mouth of the open courtyard, color blossoms across the grass in flowers, flags, and festivities. Kids run past dragging kites and blowing pinwheels, while adults are celebrating with their own joyous creations. As soon as the hermits are through the archway, flower crowns have been set upon their head. Impulse even managed to find ones that wouldn’t catch fire upon Tango’s hot head. Music and dancing fills the open air, surrounded by brightly colored food and even brighter laughter and crafts.

Ren lets loose a low whisper. “Guess Mimé and Blumiere share one thing in common- creativity is joyous.”

“We’re going to wake the ancient ones with our joyous fireworks show.” Tango grins, searching for the contest. But he notices another pageant going on. “Hey, Ren, look. A pet agility course.”

Ren rolls his eyes, but his tail wags without his consent at the idea of running it. “I’m an imagination mage, not a dog. It was one mixup.”

“One mix up that left you with ears, a tail, and a joy to chase carts.” Impulse snickers. “Come on, RenDog, you’d be the most handsome dog in the whole pageant. And the fastest.”

“What’s the harm? It’s all good fun, Mimé would want that. I dare you.” Tango’s words are all that Ren needs to hear, and the mage plods off to join the pet parade.

Tango and Impulse waste no time getting to work. A hellbound mage and an explosions wizard, teaming up to make the best fireworks ever seen by the entire kingdom.Mixing together all colors, all patterns, daring to go bigger and better than any other contestant, it’s Tango’s wild ideas and Impulse’s refined magic that allows them to slowly tune towards perfection.

But not without a few mistakes along the way. Their first attempt at a spectacular sight turned into a show fit for ants, not for gods. And there aren’t even ants in Edenswell- it’s a city in the clouds, for Stratis’s sake.

The next mistake was loud enough that even False heard it from the hero’s spring baths that healed her wounds. She peeked one eye open, seeing yellow and red blossoming in the open roof of the Hero's baths. She only sinks lower into the azure waters, shaking her head. They’re adults, she doesn’t always need to run in and be the S-Class mage. She’s going to enjoy this rest, dammit.

After trial and error, error and trial, night falls on Edenswell and the fireworks shows begin. Sound mages ease the explosions to sensitive ears, allowing music to swell with the colors that blossom in the sky. Sincere shows, wishes in the sky, and large extravaganzas dazzle the crowd and illuminate the air in place of the sun.

Tango and Impulse are last to show, and with each entry before them, they get more excited. Tango just wants to snap his fingers and light it up now, so everyone can see all the hard work they did. Ren disappeared hours ago, and they’ve only caught glimpses of his brown ears or colorful outfit since then. But at least False arrives just in time for the show. “Where’d you lose Ren?”

The two shrug, noticing that her wounds from this morning’s battles have already faded to scars and False looks more refreshed, ready to battle than ever. Whoever duels her next better watch out. “He joined the pet party or whatever. Seems like he was having a good time last we saw.”

Tango laughs at Impulse’s words, still in disbelief their friend actually crashed a pet show. But that’s Ren for them, wild and innovative, and never backing down from a dare. “You ready to see the biggest, best, most awesome and perfect fireworks-ification you’ve ever had the honor to lay eyes on?”

“I’m ready to see whatever it is you two have created.” False steps back, materializing a large shield, the blade pointed out and disk protecting her chest. “From a protected and safe distance away. I’m not making another cannon mistake.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Tango grins, and snaps his fingers. Fire erupts at the base, dancing along an intricate, twisting sequence that False can only compare to Mumbo’s redstone lines. Fireworks blast off into the sky, dancing in spinning circles and straight lines, set off at the perfect time that when they explode, they paint the dark night with colors that twist and dance, intricate patterns flowing in seamless design. Music swells with the dazzling paint, the musicians inspired by the incredible sight before them. False is mesmerized, feeling the purples and blues and greens and whites light up on her face, the joy of watching such a show reminding her what it means to be a hermit. To see her friends create, to see the beauty of unrestrained magic.

The finale blows the sky open with every color of the rainbow and then some, illuminating the entire city, but even under the crescending music False hears Tango and Impulse curse at the same time. The colors fade into streaks of light, embers falling to the city like a meteor shower. False shakes her head, realizing at some point in the show she put her shield down. She was too enamored by the fireworks. “Okay, I’ll admit- that was fantastic.”

“But it wasn’t perfect.” Tango grumbles. “We messed up the pattern in the grand finale.”

Ren bowls into the three, tail wagging and eyes alight. “Dudes, I could tell that was your fireworks, that was the coolest thing ever! Mimé must be stoked, he probably hasn’t seen something that epic since the ancients!”

“No, it really wasn’t.” Impulse kicks the ground. “We fucked up the end, it’s not what we imagined.”

There’s a loud thwap, sparks flying from Tango’s head while Impulse hisses, rubbing the crown of his brown hair. “That was the most incredible fireworks show i ever saw. You two are gifted with explosions- that I already know- and that was badass. Even if it wasn’t what you imagined, I thought it was beautiful. Because it was you two’s work, your heart and soul, even your mistake was a part of you guys.”

“False is spitting truth, bros.” Ren adds, nodding his head. “That was so cool, you guys made your idea come to life! Wasn’t it fun making it?”

Tango and Impulse pause, looking at the sizzling remains of their fireworks. The ash stained grass, a few chunks missing from the cloudcover. And they laugh. “It definitely was a blast.” Impulse croons. “I hope Mimé thought that was as cool as it was to make.”

“I definitely think it was a joy to watch.” False hums. She rolls her shoulders, eyes roving across the festival. People’s eyes sparkle, conversations and fingers pointed towards the sky. “And I think others feel the same way. Congrats, hermits. No only did we save the day, you guys made it a little bit brighter here as well.”

“And I won best in show!” Ren chuckles, showing off his medal. The others laugh, and he tucks it away. “None of you guys tell the others about this.”

“No, we’re telling everyone.” False snorts.

#next chapter yinz better have tissues #ao3 version gonna be updated in tags because shits going down #light of lairyon #lol #hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #wizard au #wizard hermits #wizard false #wizard ren #wizard impulse #wizard tango #falsesymmetry #rendog #impulsesv #tangotek

21 notes · View notes

lillaxtrigger · 3 years

Text

Young Hope: Chapter 39

The near cloudless skies above let the afternoon sun beam down upon the city of Townsville, most of its light reflecting off the glass of the towering skyscrapers and redirects down towards the estates and manors that make up the upper crust district. The sunny glow seeps its way straight through a small window set along one of these manors; resting along the floor of a seemingly random dark room; a stream of dust passing through the sunshine when the door to this room creaks open. From the light that comes out from this doorway, the room is revealed to be filled with numerous party supplies. A lone figure stands within this very light and waltz’s right on through the doorway, shutting the door behind him as he makes his way into the walk in closet. With the closet door shut, the room starts to dim back and lets the sliver of natural sunlight be all that illuminate the closet; a young man with a blue mane dressed in white glazing over the party decorations, fancy cups and plates, tapestries, fancy sculptures, even a shut down automaton dressed in a suit.

Can’t believe Kingsley’s folks got a whole closet filled with this kinda fancy party stuff; makes a guy wonder how often they throw these kinda stuffy shindigs. Lookin at all these kinda decorations, doubt any of them were any fun ragers that didn’t even draw out even a little bit of a cheer; much less set about half the building on fire. Maybe the robot has some sparks in em, but it might be a safe bet to say that it ain’t gonna be hostin even a four year old’s discount birthday bash anytime soon…What was I doing here again? ...Oh right, the tapestries. That’s it. Reminding himself of the reason he had ventured into this darkened walk in closet in the first place, Tore reaches right over the numerous plates, cups, and decorations and grabs hold of a couple of rolled up pieces of cloths from one of the shelves; the blue boy zipping out from the dust filled closet with tapestries in tow.

Straight out through the hallway does Tore go through a fancy hallway, passing through the pictures of Kingsley with his happy family that hang along the wall; making his way towards the front lobby while keeping the rolls of cloth tight in arm. Amidst his rush out from the hallway however does he wind up bumping straight into somebody; both of them and the tapestries spilling onto the carpeted floor. “Ah!” Its in shaking off the little bump and rising back on his feet that he see’s who exactly it is he had wound up running into; the young daughter of the estate, dressed in a pink hoodie and black leggings. “Watch where the hell your going!” she rudely barks. “Sorry, Chloe. Couldn’t see ya while carrying these for yer bro’s party.” The mere mention of her brother’s party sours the young girl’s mood even further, incentivizing her to head straight towards the door; even as Tore continues to speak while picking up what he dropped. “So, how good are ya-” Hearing the front door slam shut makes him turn back towards the front, the red head he was trying to converse nowhere in site. “-Holding up…” Huh, guess she’s still tryin to workout some stuff after what happened with Circe half a month back. Can’t really blame her sour mood with what she went through; least she’s actually going out of the house now.

Within the main hall of the estate, a girl with flowing dark brown hair dressed in green army jacket covering a salmon pink dress carefully holds a golden chandelier above her head and hovers it straight up to the roof; keeping her eyes on the top of the decoration as she nears the hook set along the ceiling. Carefully does she weave the top of the chandelier right along the hook and slowly backs away to let the exquisite ornament dangle on its own; its golden finish shimmering against the sunlight that seeps inside. Just as the young lass lets out a relieving sigh from finishing this task, her nerves are wound right back up when hearing Tore echo out: “Got me the good’s Cayenne!” The girl glances back down towards the entrance to the main hall to witness the blue boy run right inside while he asks: “Where ya want em?” “Where do ya think Kingsley said, dumbass? Just hang one of them up at the top of the stairwell.” “On it.” Cayenne giving her these instructions, a pair of white wings sprout out from along his back and ascends straight up to the very top of the twin stairwell; landing right along the very center and scanning length of the roll to try and find where it ends. “Hey uh, I don’t see an end. How do ya open this?” Right as he asks this, the boy manages to find a lone button set along one of the sides and claims that he: “No wait, think I found it.” Pressing this button, Tore watches the whole tapestry roll down from the railing and unravel into a gorgeously sown picture that hangs just above the hall set between the twin staircases.

“Huh. Figure it was gonna be some old family heirloom from like medieval times or something. It don’t look half bad though.” “Does it look alright to you?” Cayenne aggressively questions. Standing behind the stairwell railing does the blue boy peer down to the finely knitted tapestry that he had just freshly rolled out, finding the top to be facing the floor below. “You mean from my perspective or yours?” Upon the indigo angel’s cheeky little comeback, the spice queen can’t help but let out audibly upset gnarl; prompting Tore to correct himself with: “Kidding. Just-just kidding here, kay? Gimme a sec to find the button.” “Nrr. The withdraw feature seriously has one hell of a fuckin kickback. So don’t be acting like such a reckless jackass and just hold-”

Before Cayenne could give anymore words of warning to the blue boy, he manages to find the same button he used to unravel the tapestry and wastes not another moment pressing it. The entire knit work art swiftly rolling right back up and snapping shut as it flings itself into the air; smacking Tore right in the face as he takes off. From the top of the stairwell does the rolled up tapestry careen through the air and straight towards the freshly hung chandelier; the rolled up cloth slamming against the golden decoration hard enough to knock it off the hook and send it plummeting down towards the hard marble tile. In but an instant is the golden chandelier reduced to nothing but pieces that scatter across the floor in a loud crash; both the spice queen and indigo angel hovering down towards the wreckage as Cayenne’s fists violently tremble. “God fucking dammit! What the hell is wrong with-” Before Cayenne could unleash all the enraged fueled screaming and cursing bubbling within, her anger starts to simmer when he finds the blue boy showing signs of growing worry, but rather seemingly on the verge of crying while staring down to the wreckage he caused. Amidst letting loose a short growl does Cayenne instead decide to walk off and simply let the boy be; the spice queen strolling straight down the hallway set along the left. Swear that blue dumbass sometimes just doesn’t fucking listen. Like seriously just pisses away anything ya try and say to him.

While walking through the carpeted hallway, Cayenne witness a lone door set along the side crack open with a young man with orange hair peering out from within and asking: “Just heard a loud crash! Is everything okay!?” “Ain’t anything that bad, Kingsley. Just the blue dumbass out there wound up breaking one of your guys’s chandelier.” A small sigh escapes from the boy genius’s lunges as he is relieved how: “Least nobody got hurt.”

“Kingsley. Get your sweet buns in here and let me finish.” a voice within the room urges. Seeing the boy genius retreat back, Cayenne follows him in to find a flamboyant boy with partially blonde hair dressed around his black haired crown; Kingsley stepping onto a small stool as he asks the boy: “Benji, do we really need to get my measurements now of all times? All of us are in the middle of prepping for a big formal tonight.” “Bay-be, this big party you guys are throwing is about this big young superhero team you all are forming, ain’t it? So you all serious need some uniforms to match the motif, something that just screams iconic to go along with this little league of yours.” Speaking this does the small crystal earring hanging right along the side of his head start to let out a strange sparkle; a roll of measuring tape set along the table behind them hovers in the air and is drawn straight into his hands. As Benji wraps this length of measuring tape around his clients waistline, he hears the boy genius assure how: “Do-don’t get me wrong here. I’m thankful for the help I’m getting in prepping for all this.” “Please, sweetie. Its the least I can do after your mom taught me so much about clothes and armor design. And from the sound of things out there, you need all the help you can get.”

“And speakin of actual needed help, that indigo dumbfuck out there’s already wound up breaking a chandelier, tore up a couple of table clothes, and wound up shattering some glass in the span of like two hours. Why in the hell are you keeping him around if all he’s gonna do is just wreck shit.” Cayenne gets back on topic with. “Agh….When Mally and the other’s wound up getting back home, she told me all the sort of stuff Tore’s been through these past two and a half weeks. From the way she put it, it sounds like things got incredibly bad for him on his end too, like something that just tore is soul in half. Figured that giving him something to do would keep his mind off it.” “Not that I don’t sympathize here, but I doubt keeping him workin’s gonna cheer him up all that much. Ya ask me, he needs to sort through all that emotional bullshit.” “I’m sure he will. He just needs some downtime to think things over.”

“Yeah so, how’s that thinking stuff going for you?” the spice queen then questions. “Whaddya mean?” the genius asks. “Y…Yer fuckin with me, right? You and my aunt just came up with this whole club fulla fresh out the pussy heroes ready to shove their feet straight down the forces of evil’s asshole with you at the top and you ain’t even sweating a drop here. Won’t lie here, ballsy, but a little worrying. You feeling okay?” “I’m...still pretty surprised myself. Wonder if all the stuff we went through before hand might’ve prepped me for something this big. Feels like yesterday when we escape that little fortress out in the middle of the tundra, got kidnapped by a gang twice, almost died to Circe, having the whole town come after me in a manhunt, my girlfriend’s dad nearly blowing up the town, my sister getting possessed, my parents souls getting taken…” Among the distant ring running through his head, the sounds around him grow muffled as he himself grows silent; a lone voice pushing through the deafening ring with: “Kingsley...Kingsley...Kingsley...Kingsley!” The last shout that blurts out from the spice queen manages to snap him straight out from his haunting moment of reflection; the boy genius shaking his head before peering over to Cayenne with: “Di-da-du. My-my point is that with everything we’ve been through these past several month or so, leading a whole generation of new young heroes against the forces of evil should be simple in comparison.” “You sure you’re alright?” “Don’t gotta worry about a thing Cayenne, I’m fine.”

Rising from under them does Benji cut straight between the two to add how: “You know what isn’t so fine? I need to split outta here to snatch up a particular sort of fabric I got in mind for the uniforms, one that they only sell along the east end of Townsville. Gotta make it over before the animals in opening hours grab them.” Right as the fashionable young boy was about to race right out, Benji stops dead in his tracks to turn back and question: “Oh, before I go. What color are you wanting for the uniforms?” “Uh...the logo we got’s purple. Maybe find a shade of that.” Kingsley suggests. “Fantastic choice, I’ll see what I can do sweetie.”

“I seriously can’t believe he’s gonna be in the tech department.” Cayenne disbelieves. “You haven’t seen the kind of high tech state of the art armor he makes.” Kingsley argues. “While were talkin about it. You still haven’t really picked out a supervisor for that branch yet, haven’t you? Ya got me rockin the combat division, your girl on knowledge and info; and for some damn reason, you went ahead and made that pussy little ghost boy head of supernatural.” “Hey, I’ll have you know that Damian’s gotten a lot more brave and bold these past few months; he ain’t even disappearing when he gets slightly anxious.” “But we still ain’t got anyone sitting their ass down on the seat for the tech department. If we plan to announce this whole alt young justice bullshit, then we can’t show up on stage with half a deck here, and with you acting as leader, I doubt that you’ll have time to fill both bottles with piss.” “Yeah, I know. Its why I’ve been looking into a couple of promising people I heard about. Even got Mally suggesting somebody, but I still need to look into them.”

Before the two could speak even another word on the whole matter, the violent sound of a rumbling explosion catches there attention; both of them facing towards the door leading into the hallway; Cayenne barking: “The hell was that?” “Sounds like it came from the front hall, come on!” Kingsley claims as he rushes out the door alongside the spice queen.

Leaping out from the end of the hallway, both of them are left alarmed when greeted by the site of blazing flames enveloping a pair of large flower pots set along the side; the flames threatening to climb up the wall and reach the decorations hanging above. What draws their attention however is the blue boy standing before the blazing pots with bits of cake and candle at around his feet; all the while panicking with: “What do I do!? What do I do!? Why aren’t the water sprinklers going off!?” “Uh. My dad’s been dismantling the sprinkler system so it could deal with electrical fires more effectively.” Kingsley answers. “Well ain’t that fan fucking tastic! How the hell we supposed to put this out!” “I got it.” they hear another voice shout out. Glancing towards the direction of this call do they see the misses of the estate race right in with a fire hose in her hands; the big hipped milf pulling back the lever to unleash a torrent of gushing water. In a matter of moments are the flames threatening to climb the walls of the manner doused by the downpour of water; the gorgeous pot of flowers left under these flames reduced to a charred crisp down to the remains of their petals.

Turning off the flow of water, Kingsley’s mother drops the hose straight down onto the floor before she herself falls to her knee’s; lamenting how: “Those two pots...They were thirty thousand dollars each. There’s no way we could replace them for the formal tonight.” Clutching the blue boy by his shoulder, Cayenne jerks Tore to face her and aggressively claims that: “Ya got ten fucking seconds to say what the hell happened here, else those flowers ain’t the only thing that’s gonna be set ablaze!” “I-I don’t know. I seriously just went to the bathroom for about 3 minutes and when I came back they were on fire.” Pinching one of the frosting covered candles off from the marble tile, the misses of the house looks closely to the soaked party candle and concludes how: “Oh...I think this might be my fault.” “It is?” “Huh?” “Xcuse me? “Let me show you why.” the mother insists.

Through a pair of twin doors, the misses opens up to reveal to them an assortment of sweets and pastries set along the kitchen; most of which of moderate quality, something she explains with: “I don’t really tend to bake all that often, but I wanted to break out the over mitts for this special occasion. I woke up around seven mixing batter, pouring sugar, and laying bread crust all just to make this whole splurge for all the guests that’ll attend.” “Geez, splurge really is an understatement here.” Kingsley comments Among them does Cayenne notice one of the cakes holding several candles having a big chunk broken right off and asks: “Guess this was the little firestarter? The hell happened?” “Oh. It happened when I was pulling out a couple of homemade pies I left in too long out from the over. Part of the baking sheet was stuck on the oven grill and I had to jerk it out. I pulled so hard that I flung both of them through the air; one of them wound up smacking a piece of the cake off and flew straight into the front hall. I saw some of the candles fly off the cake and land right into the pot of flowers; as soon they caught on fire, I raced out toward the nearest fire hose they had. Can’t believe that my baking blunders nearly caught the entire manor on fire.” “Hey, don’t worry about it.” Peering over do all of them see the blue boy scrapping some of the splattered pie off the wall and shoving it straight into his mouth; Tore complimenting how: “This beef pot pie you made ain’t half bad.” “Its supposed to be apple.” the mother replies. After swallowing all that he had shoved in with a single gulp, the indigo angel lets out a little hiss and jest how: “Maybe adding some cinnamon might fix it.” Alas does this little attempt to ease the room only fuel the misses dismay more and have her put her hands against her face, all the while Cayenne shakes her head at him with an upset gaze. “B-but I might be able to fix those flowers.” “Really? How?”Kingsley questions.

Returning to the set of burnt oversized flower pots set along the main hall, the three watch closely as Tore stands before the charred petals; the blue boy’s wings sprouting forth as he takes in a deep breath, From where they watch do Kingsley, Cayenne, and the Misses behold as bits of glimmering color penetrate the walls of the estate to gather into the indigo angel until his figure is coated in a thin layer of lively aura. With the power that he had mustered, Tore thrusts the palms of his hands out towards the two charred remains of flora and cast forth all he had gathered upon them; letting the light that he engulfs them in seep straight into their petals. Yet despite his best efforts to restore the bouquets to their previous natural glory, all the colorful light that seeps into them only manages to bring but a single flower back from its burnt demise; a single flower that blooms among the ruin. “What? Aw…” the angel moan. Beholding the minimal restoration, Cayenne gives a less than sincere applause as she sarcastically praises how: “Wow. What a miracle. Truly the coming of the holy is thy.” Midst her little sarcastic jest does she feel Kingsley elbow jab her side, causing her to stop her little insincere praise. Approaching one of the burnt pots herself, Kingsley’s mother reaches out to the freshly revived flower and plucks it out from its scorched others; beholding the colorful sheen shimmering along the flora’s restored petals.

“Hey, don’t sweat about it, Tore. They’re just a bunch of flowers, nothin too important.” the boy genius attempts to comfort with. “But I was looking to bring both pots back to life. God, I can’t get anything right today.” the indigo angel claims. “That’s a fuckin understatement.” the spice queen whispers under her breath. “How bout not worrying so much about the décor. The party doesn’t start til later tonight. I’m sure we can handle it.” Kingsley suggests. “Well, what’s that leave me to do?” “Uh...Ya know, there’s gonna be a good dozens of people that are attending this little party, some of them pretty important guests of honor. Some of the catering servants we usually got to handle all that are taking their vacation days. Maybe you could help keep the party going, make sure everyone’s having a good time, refreshments aren’t running out, just miscellaneous stuff.” “And not to be a complete fuck up while yer at it.” Cayenne rudely adds.

Upon that very moment do the front doors swing right open, revealing the very fashionista himself strolling straight in with a bounce in his step; claiming to them all: “Well if that’s the case, it’d pain me to see him going around catering in those rags.” “Its been like 20 minutes, how the hell are you back already?” Cayenne wonders aloud. “What’s wrong with what I got on now?” Tore question. “You’re joking, sweetheart. Just look at the poor thing.” From the designers words does the blue boy peer down to his short sleeved white blazer, looking to the numerous stains, burns, tears, wrinkles, and stretches littered across its once pure white fabric. “It’d be a downright felony to have you serve wearing that mess. Come. I shall sow you a suit worthy to match.” Benji exclaims, grasping the blue boy by the collar and dragging him down the hall. “Well, with half of the treats ruined. I better get back to baking before the party starts this evening. I just hope that I don’t wind up making another mess like that again.” the mother claims as she retreats back towards the kitchen.

With both of them left along with one another, the spice queen strolls over to Kingsley side and once again asks him: “Hey, you sure can handle all this?” “Um- of course I can. I’m sure when Renee and Damian get here, things should be smooth sailing from then on.” “With the kinda shit that goes on with all of us, it’ll be a hell of a miracle if it does” Cayenne comments as she walks off. As his spicy pal floats off out from the main hall, Kingsley is left alone with nothing but some new thoughts running through his head; pondering on Cayenne’s very words.

Several hours pass as the afternoon clear blue is replaced by the twinkling night sky that hangs above the entire city, the lunar glow of the half moon shinning down onto the manor and reflecting off the roof of the dozens of vehicles that pull into the massive driveway. Stepping out from these vehicles to an array of people that stroll through the driveway to the manor front doors; some dressed fancy while other’s dress more casually as they enter the estate. Beside the front doors are a pair of door keeps that kindly greet the numerous guests that enter with: “Evening folks.” “How are you doing?” “Welcome to the estate.” “Hope you have a pleasant time.” “Please direct yourselves to the main hall.” These very guests step through inside to behold the Spicer manor’s main hall to be decorated with numerous finely woven tapestries, towering statues, lines of pots filled with flowers, and paintings depicting family and friends. Set along the sides of the main hall be the catering platter holdings small portions of meat, cheeses, crackers, punch, some alcohol, even some of the humbly made cakes and pastries that the Mrs had made.

Along the side of this grand hall, the blue boy himself peeks out from the dark recesses of the left hallway and beholds the numerous guests that fill the main hall and slowly spread themselves out through the abode; a small anxious breath escaping from his bit lip as he stares to them all. Don’t think about what happened then, Tore. It’s a new night. New moment. You’ll get yer mind off what happened then in no time. Just focus on what your friends are counting on ya for and play the servant. Circulating these thoughts through his head does the indigo angel finally steps out from the hallway darkness and right into the light of the main hall, letting the light hit his suit of deep indigo blue complimented with an undercoat and cuffs of silk white. His blue main held into a short ponytail that dangles behind the crown of his head.

From the side of the hall, the finely dressed blue boy makes his way straight to the platter table and swipes a silver platter filled with small little meats and snacks; the angel’s eyes glued to the treats as he attempts to hold back the chance to dunk them all down his gullet. Snap outta it, man. These ain’t made for you, these’r for the guest. Just hold the platter above your head and try not to look at the delicious cheese, warm moist meats, and savory salty crackers together in cute little sandwiches… After taking a moment to shake off the temptation, the blue boy strolls away from the food table and ventures out towards the guest further off; holding off even taking so much as a glance at the food he delivers.

From the platter table, the blue suited boy strolls over to a couple of guest enjoying the party and attempts to lower the tray in his hands down to present them the selection of snacks; only to wind up accidentally bumping the silver tray into their side and nearly spilling the goods. Before all the little sandwiches could smack against the guest, the indigo angel manages to slide them back onto the tray in the nick of time; swiftly offering them in a sort of faux innocent manner with: “Snacks?” Despite his little blunder, the guests swipe some of the little treats right off the plate with some hints of offense; Tore soon strolling off towards the dozens of other party goers while attempting to keep what remained of the food he carries on the silver plate.

Perched atop the manor’s front hall stairwell, Kingsley keeps his eyes peering down to the numerous guests partaking in the parties pleasantries below; all of them sipping wine, eating little sandwiches, and generally mingling among each other. Just look at all of them down there. Wonder what they’re even expecting outta all this...out of all of us...They’re expecting someone who can lead the this new team to keep the peace, to fight off the forces of evil. What if we can’t...What if I’m not-

Among his thoughts of doubting self reflection, a familiar voice cuts through and snaps him back to reality as he hears: “Hey, Kingsley.” “Jolting out from his thoughts does the boy genius swiftly turn around towards second floor hall to discover his supporting blonde, Renee, approaching; the girl’s eyes reflecting a distinct worry as she asks him: “Is everything okay?” “Oh. Y-yeah, everything’s fine. I just really didn’t expect so many people to show up.” “What exactly did you expect after the announcement of the Vanguard League a week ago? Everyone here’s practically looking forward to see the impression of this new teams leader. Why don’t you go down there and mingle a bit?” Upon his girl suggesting such, Kingsley constantly shifts his eyes about as if searching for way out, stuttering out how: “Uh-uh-uh...Ma-maybe not now; the party just started. They should get some time to enjoy themselves. Besides, you really want me to go down there looking like this? An occasion like this calls for more formal wear. Let me just get dressed in the suit I got in my closet.” Watching her boy race walk right past and head straight down the second floor hallway, a stark worry is reflected in the smart blondes eyes as he watches the boy genius retreat into the depths of the hall.

Slowing his walk down to a simple wander, Kingsley takes in small, calming breaths as he travels further into the decedent hall, constantly shifting his head back and forth from his front and back. As he peers back to the hallway he strolls through, a lone figure suddenly rises up from the carpeted floor before him; the boy genius nearly falling back from the unexpected visit. After keeping himself from falling right on his ass, Kingsley starts to calm himself when realizing it only be his friend, Damian; the boy apologizing with: “Oh! Sorry for popping in so suddenly like that...You feeling alright? I mean I know I kinda scared you, but you just seem so tense.” “Yeah. Just feeling a tad nervous about the party here.” “Believe me, you ain’t the only one here. When you suggested for me to be the head of the Supernatural department, I seriously nearly fainted hearing you say that. I really didn’t know what to think. But afterwards, I took some time to process all of it, and I realized how honored I was that you would choose me of all people to help you run something this huge. I’m still feeling a little tingly to be honest.” “Really? How exactly did you process all that?” “I just simply thought of all my loved one’s who I would make proud, all the people who’ll look to me for guidance, all the other’s that’ll count on us to be the mainline defense against this new budding evil. You know, given everything else we’ve tackled together, I started to understand why you thought there would be no one else better for the job.” “Hmm…” “I think I should go down there and introduce myself to all the guest that came to see us. Why don’t you just take a little bit of time to think things over and come down when you’re ready. Alright?” “Yeah. I might do just that.” Having given this tidbit of advice to his friend, Damian hovers out towards the direction the boy genius had came from; leaving Kingsley with all these newfound thoughts running through his head.

Back within the downstairs kitchen, Tore finishes pouring out several glasses of wine set along a silver platter; the blue boy setting the wine bottle aside and very slowly lifts the plate off the table; careful not to spill a single drop as he carries them all out. Out from the kitchen twin doors, the indigo angel first strolls over to a couple of gents and ladies; presenting the freshly poured wine and offering with: “Refreshments?” “Oh, delightful.” “Choice.” “Fine and Dandy.” “Thank you, young man.” After serving to the more fancy folk, Tore ventures over to some dressed in more casual wear; offering them the drinks with: “Some wine?” “Thanks there.” “Nice.” “About time they got drinks out.” With but half of the refreshments having been taken, the blue boy starts to venture out towards the other side of the hall; careful with what wine he still had atop the platter he carried. Got those, now just to see if some of the other guests along the east wing want anything like some refills or snacks or-

Amidst this thought does he fail to see where he walks and bumps right into one of the guests; all the wine glasses he had been carrying spilling right onto the floor as both of them fall. “Ah, jeez. That’s coming out of the paycheck.” Tore comments as he starts to pull himself back up. Glancing over does he see another having fallen onto the floor and rush straight over to help the finely ruby red dressed woman a hand; apologizing to her with: “So sorry about that.” Taking the boy’s hand, the blue boy pulls her back on her feet; the pinkish red young lady looking to the boy with her three eyes and implores that: “I’m the one that should be sorry. I seriously wasn’t looking here I was going.” “That makes two of us then.” he rebuttals, the two of them sharing a little bit of a laugh between them. “So, you enjoying the party so far?” the blue boy then asks. “Oh, absolutely. The people up here have been so nice and friendly; never thought that life out here would be so much different up here.” “Up here? You come from down south?” “Oh, way down south.” the young lady answers. “Guess that’s two for two we got here. I came from up North, all the way up to the country of Maple leaves and pine tree’s. Winter’s up there a little too cold, but other than that, it was a real nice place to live at. Bet you don’t gotta worry about winter’s down there, do ya?” “Oh hardly. You’d be hard pressed to find even a little tiny flake of snow drop down where I’m from.” “Really? You even seen snow before?” “Of course I’ve seen snow silly. I’ve seen a lot more places that have a lot more to offer then that.” “Hey, I’ve done some big traveling around pretty recently, even to some places that ain’t really nice and neat; still, fun memories...mostly fun. From the way you’re putting it, sounds like she’s got some good stories stashed in that head of yours.” “Oh sure. Though I doubt I’d seen as much as my dad; he’s been practically everywhere. You should really come meet him.” “Ah what the hell. Seems like everyone here’s served pretty well. 10 minute break wouldn’t hurt. Name’s Tore.” “Vera, Vera Lucitor.” the girl introduces with a curtsy as both her and the suited blue boy both stroll along the halls past the numerous other guests and head straight out to the west wing of the hall.

Out along the east side of the hall, Damian waves goodbye to a couple of guests as he floats away; to which he feels somebody grasp his shoulder with: “Hey listen.” Jolting back from ho had grabbed him, the ghost boy calms himself when seeing it to be the spice queen herself; Damian noting: “Well, this is certainly a surprise. Hard to believe you came down here on you’re own. You usually don’t enjoy associating with the more fancy folk.” “You kidding. I hate this fucking uptight shit. Came down here looking for Kingsley. He said he’d be down here in a minute.” “How strange. I just ran into in a couple minutes ago. He said he was rather nervous about the party, so I thought he should take a minute to himself.” “That’s not what he told me.” A third voice chimes in with. Peering out from the crowd beside them do the two witness Renee approach them, continuing to state how: “He told me he was going to change into a suit.” “Really. Might be possible that he’s just doing all three at once.” the ghost boy guesses. “Still, it ain’t like him to mix his story up that much. Maybe we should give him a ring, see what’s going on with him.” Cayenne suggests. “I tried that already; didn’t get a single answer. You think something might be going on with him?” “I’m not too sure. Maybe we should try finding him and find out what’s going through his head.” the ghost boy offers. “Might not be a bad idea. How bout you go search upstairs while Renee and I stay down here in case he comes back down.” This little search party set up, Damian hover straight up through the second floor, leaving the girls to start their search up through the first.

While strolling through the west corridor leading down towards the west hallway, both the indigo angel and young lady continue to chatter among themselves over the numerous adventures that both of them had; Vera continuing off with: “I still remember my trip down in the Hydro kingdom. All the water Nymph’s I met were so nice down there; even offering us tools that let us breathe underwater to take in the sites of their ocean. Just so many beautiful sites I wish I could’ve taken pictures off. They’re cities were lovely sites too, just decorated with jewels, seashells and gold. And the cuisine, never in my life did I taste sea food so delectable.” “Sounds real fun. I remember when my family went down to the middle of the bahama’s for a vacation and we wound up having to fight back against a raging forest beast that was kidnapped people left and right, including our mom. So Roy, Mally, and I went through the woods and fighting this massive monster the size of a giant mound. After punching a part of its shell clean off, we manage to wind up beating it down and send it running right off; setting all the people it kidnapped free. After that, the town we were staying at went and gave us a banquet to celebrate. Think Mally might’ve vomited after finding out a dish she ate had lizard testicles in it. I still remember her beating Roy upside the head as he was laughing over it. Can’t lie, almost bust out giggling myself just watching it all.” “I figured you didn’t cut it as a servant all that well; but I didn’t really think you’d be such a natural warrior like my mom. I’ve seen her in the depths of combat outnumbered, armed with but a single sword; the best I could compare the way she fights is with the grace and elegance of the wind itself.” “Funny. Most of my friends say I fight with all the grace of an overly tipsy Irishman drunkard’s worst nightmare. Guess they mean I can take a lot of hits and still keep on brawlin. Like I seriously remember this one time I got stabbed in the stomach and I was still swinging.” “Really? What sort of teacher did you have to help develop that sort of resilience?” “I can thank my Bosnia war vet grandma taking both Roy and I in for one summer. She really knew how to take a dirty bomb and somehow hit back ten times as hard.” “Sounds like she has a lot more in common with my dad than anyone else I know.” “What’s he like?” “He’s pretty much a clean cut and kind sort of man. Though I won’t lie that the few times he loses his temper can be pretty explosive.”

When finally venturing out from the corridor and entering the west hall, Vera peers through the crowd set before them and states how: “I think I can see my family from over here.” “Which one are they?” the blue boy questions as he gazes out through the crowd. “They’re the couple with the toddler in the woman’s arms.” This little detail given, Tore manages to spot the very woman donning a blood red dress holding a little tike with horns dressed in a little suit in her arms; all with a horned man with three fiery red eyes standing beside them both. “Hey, I think I...think I...Oh…” A sense of overwhelming dread begins to slowly settle in the boy’s stomach when he realizes why all of them look so very familiar, drips of sweat beginning to run through his head as he peeks over to the young woman beside him, the last pieces of the puzzle clicking in his mind. The memories of traversing through hell’s very keep and facing their king still fresh on his mind.

While the indigo angel is left utterly horrified upon these newfound realizations, the young woman beside her starts to skip over towards her family and waving to them with: “Hi everyone!” “Vera. How are you liking the party so far?” her mother in the blood red dress asks. “It’s going so wonderfully thus far.” “I am rather curious of what this New Vanguard league has to make of itself. The bold confidence to lead through danger is something not many can hold.” her demonic father states. “And speaking of new faces. I just got done chatting with a quite interesting gent who’s told me tales of his exploits set though his numerous journey’s. I wish to introduce you all to this boy named Tor-” Vera attempts to introduce, only to turn around to find nobody waiting beside her. Peering through her surroundings, she attempts to spot the very boy in question; swearing to her family how: “Huh? Strange. He was just right beside me.” Peering out towards the direction his daughter had come from, the horned father gazes outwards to notice a figure of indigo blue hurrying through the corridor leading to the main entrance hall; a rather suspicious glare set within his three eyes.

Racing out from the hallway and across the main hall, a myriad of panicking thoughts race through the blue boy’s mind as he dart straight towards the other side; disregarding every single guest that calls for his assistance. “Say, could I get I refill?” “Are there any more snacks?” “Excuse me. Do you know where the bathroom might be?” Why is he here!? Why is did the king of hell gotta come up here tonight of all nights, at this place of of all places!? And of course the girl with three eyes is her dad, so obvious. Should’ve realized it sooner. You think any of them would’ve recognize who their daughter was talking to? Know the mom probably would. The face of someone who broke into yer baby’s room is one that your never gonna forget. Wouldn’t be a stretch to say she’d pull out long sharp blade and finish her castration appointment on the spot. Okay, think Tore. What’s your best bet on slipping outta here? Can’t just barge out, it’d cause too much noise. Maybe hiding somewhere til the parties over? Nah, Kingsley and the other’s are gonna want an explanation. They might be able to help though. Sure Kingsley could think of a plan involving a fake mustache and a slightly understandable foreign accent...or would that be too racist?

Opening one hallway door after another, both Cayenne and Renee peer into every room they come to; all the while calling to their friend with: “Kingsley?” Cracking open one room, the blonde sees nothing but darkness wafting within the bathroom; not even a single figure hidden among the shadows. “Kingsley?” Swinging open another door, the spice queen peers into every corner of the decked out lounge, only to find no one held within. “Kingsley?”

Meeting up with one another, the very first thing that Renee asks Cayenne is: “No luck on your end either?” “Afraid not. Where the hell could be possibly be hiding? Swear to fucking god if he wound up bailing…” “That’s not like him though. This isn’t like him. He wasn’t that skiddish about being the teams leader a couple days ago. You think the pressure might be just now setting in?” “With all the damn organizing he’s been doing keeping him busy, I wouldn’t be shocked if it did. Can’t help but wonder what sort of shit he’s been dealing with right now.” “Guys!” the both then hear from across the hall, the familiar voice making the spice queen let out a “so done with this shit” breath. “And speaking of having to deal with bullshit.”

Gazing out towards the direction of the hysterical screaming, both girls behold the blue boy himself sprinting through hallway like a maniacal marathon man; his arms flailing about as he races right towards the both. Right before the indigo angel could run right into them, Cayenne reaches over and clutches Tore right by his face; the Spice Queen tossing the boy back onto the carpeted floor. As they watch the blue boy arise off the scarlet red carpeting, Cayenne then questions: “Alright; what the hell sort of fucked up brain hemorrhage are you suffering from now to race through the hallway like a screaming jackass?” “We need to get everyone the heck outta here pronto! The king of hell himself is in the building!” Tore warns. “Yeah? He’s a part of the guest list, dumbass.” the spice queen answers. “What!? But why!?” “The underworlds Royal family are famous not just as celebrities, but also for the diplomatic work in multicultural relations. They could give the league a vast network of connections if we manage to impress the king.” Renee elaborates. “They’re serious here just to chill and mingle. That’s it. Why the hell are you freaking the fuck out so much?” Cayenne questions.

“Ahh...S-So, Mally told you all about the trip I took with Mall, right?” Tore starts to explain with. “Yeah…” Cayenne confirms. “And about the Halo’s that we needed to collect to get the warpgate to work better.” “The hell’s your point?” “Well, one of those rings we had to get was stashed underneath the Lord of Hell’s castle.” “You fucking didn’t.” “Yeah...And while I broke into their home and swipe the Halo from under them. I might have wound up breaking into their young son’s room and scarring him, nearly got my balls cut off by the queen, bust through a couple of their walls, had Mall mow down a good chunk of his forces outside...And to escape, we had to work together to beat the Kings into an unconscious mess. Th-that-that’s all, really.” Both girl are left unsurprisingly astonished with all the blue boy said he had done underneath the king of hell’s own roof; Renee pleading to tell her that: “Please tell me you’re not serious.” “Augh…Sounds pretty bad saying it all out loud, don’t it?” the indigo angel admits. Upon having heard all of this, a small chuckle is all that could escape from the Spice queen’s mouth before she starts to stroll off and mention how: “Whelp. It’s been a hell of a ride knowing ya.”

“Guys, come on! Don’t make me beg here! If I winds up getting caught out in the middle of this party, the devil that’s among us’ gonna have his Kybr hide roast to a delicious crisp served neatly with a side of gravy coated mashed potato’s and freshly salted stuffing.” Despite the blue boy’s desperate plea, Cayenne continues to head down through the hall; only stopping when hearing Renee claim how: “Cayenne. We’re in the midst of forming out own superhero team, so dealing with situations like this is gonna be something on the clock.” “Oh come the hell on, Renee. Why the hell do we gotta stick our necks out for a guy that brought all this shit on himself.” “Because that’s something that heroes do.” The blonde reminding her of such, a frustrated sigh escapes from the spice queen’s lips as she starts to return to their side and mentions how: “It’s shocking how I’m not used to this shit.”

“So, any idea’s?” Tore asks them both. “Think the best thing to do is to call Damian and have him whisk you away. All with no one being the wiser.” the blonde first suggest. “Not a bad idea there. Just gimme a sec.” the spice queen compliments while pulling out her phone from her pocket. After fidgeting with her phone for a brief moment, the spice queen puts it up to her ear and hears the tone ring; waiting as the tone keeps repeating and repeating in her ear. Alas does the tone simply redirect straight to his voicemail, Cayenne putting her phone away as she curses out: “God dammit! Did he leave his phone at home again?” “What now?” the indigo angel questions. “Whelp, with the phoning in option gone. I’ll have to buckle down and try and find the pissy little ghost boy myself. Renee, get this dumb blue bastard some new digs to cover up with while I try and look for him.” the spice queen commands as she glides through the hallway. “Wait, what should I try and do while and she’s gone...Great…” “So, do I gotta return the suit?” Tore questions, Renee taking her glasses off to pinch the top of her nose.

Along the corridors upstairs, Damian phases through every wall and every door in his way whilst searching for the boy genius himself, flying through bathrooms, bedrooms, and lounges as he constantly calls out with: “Kingsley? Kinglsey? Where are you?” Oh lord, just where the heck could that boy possibly be? But it really isn’t like him to hide the truth like this? Why would he not tell us anything? Does he not want any of us to worry about him? Is he ashamed of have second thoughts? If I had know that being the team leader was what really was on his mind, we could’ve talked things through, let him know that he ain’t alone on all this. Let’s just hope that he’s not feeling unsure enough to do anything drastic.

“I’m not really so sure about this. You really think this might fool anybody.” the indigo angel claims, gazing to himself in a full body mirror while donning a gorgeous indigo blue short gown; its sheen finish reflecting the light of the room. “I’m exactly sure about that; but with how urgent this is and with what little time we got, there really isn’t that much other options to work with. Besides, this was the only dress she could find around here that would look good on you.” the blonde beside him states, applying eye shadow of a similar color. “Never thought I’d look that gorgeous in a dress. The fabric and eye shadow compliments my hair amazingly. I can kinda see why Roy likes doing this sometimes.” “I only wish I had more time to work, but the guests outside are gonna want to know what I was doing this whole time; so this quick little revamp is gonna have to work for now.”

Tore’s visual transformation finally finished, the blue boy strikes a sassy pose as he admires himself in the mirror; Renee admitting: “I didn’t really expect you to have that sort of figure. It really work.” “It does, don’t it. So what sort of escape route ya got in the works?” “Hmm. Front door is obviously out; some people might see through the ruse. Going through a window might just seem conspicuous.” “Can’t exactly fly out, either. With wings as bright as mine, people are gonna see me fluttering out in the night…Didn’t exactly see anyone going to the garden. You think with this sort of party, it be pretty crowded.” “I think Kingsley mentioned something about a problem with the garden water sprayers and the fountain. With nobody around, it might just serve as the perfect escape route; just go through, jump over the fence and run through town to get back home.” Renee plans through. “Sounds like we got a plan here. Though I might need another to explain to my mom why I’m coming home in this.” “Hmm...Pulling it off this well, I’m not sure she’ll see a problem.” “True.”

Along the left side of the main manor hall, the pair peek out from the shroud of darkness set along the west hallway corridor; both of them beholding the numerous party goers mingling among one another, all while a few other servant race around tending to their requests. Pouring drinks, serving snacks, all the things that Tore himself was tasked with. “Hmm, seems pretty okay to me. Don’t see a pair of horns anywhere in site.” “Most of the manor’s first floor looks pretty packed with guests; that except for the kitchen over there. That’d make a good midpoint between the front and back halls.” Renee elaborates. “Let’s just hope that the king’s family haven’t split up; if any of them recognize who I am, might as well be dead on the spot.”

The first part of their little escape route planned out before them, both the blonde and crossdressing angel emerge out from the hallway and brave ahead through the front manor hall; weaving through the numerous guests and few servants that shuffle among eachother. “Excuse me.” Renee apologize as she swerves through the crowd. “Pardon me, good sir.” Tore says, attempting to put on the best ladylike impression he can. “Sorry.” “Just need to get through, so sorry.” “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves.” “I love the suit you got on, is it silk?”

All seems to be going rather smoothly as the two of them make their way towards the pair of twin doors leading into the kitchen; Renee whispering to the blue boy she leads: “Almost there. Once we get into the kitchen, we’ll figure out a way from there.” “Yeah, thanks for all the-” Right in the midst of thanking the blonde for her gracious assistance through this predicament, the blue boy then feels something tug on the back of his dress; Tore glancing back for his hopeful expression to shatter when finding that something to be the very young lad of the hellish royal family himself gazing up to him. “Oh lord.” Tore utters. “What is it?” Peering back herself is Renee alarmed to see the devilish horned little tike smiling up to them with a precious grin; that weariness setting into maximum overdrive when hearing a woman close by call out with: “Issac! Where are you sweetie?” In a matter of just seconds do the two witness the human queen of hell herself cut through the crowd as she starts to strolling over to her lost little child; Tore’s eyes shifting about in a panic as he tries to come up with something with just seconds to act. With not many options to work with, Tore grabs hold of the blond beside her and shoves her gently in front of the little horned baby boy; the blonde whispering to him: “What are you doing!?” “Keep’em busy!” the indigo angel feverishly requests as he retreats out in the opposite direction.

While the blue boy heads out behind her, Renee peers back just in time to face her majesty approaching and scooping her little boy in her arms; the little tike letting out a little cute giggle while his mother thanks the blonde with: “Oh, I can’t thank you enough for finding him for me. the boy can get really rambunctious and slips away from time to time to chew on stuff.” “Uh-R-really. How old is he?” Renee responds to her with. “Little bitty Issace here just turned two, those little horns of his just grew in about five months ago.” “Ha ha ha ha, sounds like he can be an adorable little trouble maker, can he? I wonder what having him for a brother wound be like?” the blonde girl jests, slightly peering out towards one of the golden statues set behind the mother. Within the shimmering statue’s reflection can she see the blue boy she had been escorting slip through the crowd and head straight through the doors leading straight into the kitchen; a slightly relieved breath escaping from between her lips as she hears the queen herself ask: “So what pray tell are you planning on the future for this Vanguard league.” “Uh, well. We already have most of the leader division seats filled. It won’t be long before we manage to find the last one to fill in.”

Back upstairs does Damian continue to phase through every single room set along the floor, searching for even a single sign of the boy genius among them; all the while he continues to call out to him with: “Kingsley, where are you. All of us are getting worried here.” “Where the hell are you mopping, dammit!?” he hears a familiar voice crassly shout out for. Phasing straight through a couple more rooms, the ghost boy peeks right through a door to discover the voice belonging to the Spice queen herself roaming through the hallway; Damian grabbing her attention by asking: “Cayenne, you’ve had any luck in finding Kingsley?” “You mean you haven’t sussed him out yet?” Cayenne questions in return. “Oh, I tried. Believe me have I tried. I’ve phased straight into every single room, nook, cranny, and closet set throughout this floor; and not once did I see even a single orange hair of his. I just don’t know where else to look.” “Hmm...Think I might know where he’s hiding. The one place he always goes to think to himself or cry, often times both.”

Within the dark recesses of secret storage space lies dozens of miscellaneous toys, tools, portraits, clothing, and numerous boxes that hold more than meets the eye; some of the contents within threatening to overflow and spill out onto the dust ridden floorboards. Suddenly does a random stack of boxes begin to tremble from something shaking underneath; the grunts of the ghost boy all that manages to make it through as he struggle to open the door held under these boxes. “It’s all too heavy.” “For fuck’s sa- Just lemme try.” “Wait, I think I can-” In a single instant are all the boxes set over the trap door sent flying through the dusty air as the way is flung right open; the light from the hallway downstairs flooding the space as Cayenne hovers up; Damian phasing straight through the floor beside her as pieces of junk rain down. “What’s so wrong about simply me phasing through the floor?” “Where’s the hell’s the fun in that?”

Its then that the two then hear a brief shaking sigh sound off from across the space; Cayenne strolling over to the side to flip a switch; the light bulb above illuminating the entire attic and finally discover the boy genius himself huddled in the dusty corner, his head buried in his knee’s. “Kingsley? Are you okay?” Damian questions as he hovers over to him, only for his words to go unanswered in place of some light sobbing. “Dude, the hell is up with you?” Cayenne then joins in with as she walks closer. “Am I good enough?” both of them hear the boy utter out. “Come again.” “Am I the right sort of person for this kind of job? To lead an entire team of young budding heroes against rising evil, an evil that we must keep at bay else the people I sworn to protect risk being hurt or worse. And all the other’s that will have to look to me for guidance, all of them hinging on my every word for hope and inspiration...I-I didn’t really didn’t put it into perspective much before tonight; but now that I am, that sort of overwhelming pressure and responsibility, its... What if I do something wrong, something I can’t go back to and fix. Like send a bunch of young heroes to their deaths. Wind up making a mistake that cost dozens upon dozens of people their lives. Something that could very well change the course of history for the worse. I wouldn’t know how to fix that; or even if it could be at all.” Such unrelenting worries spiraling through his mind cause the nervous young man to quake in his boots as bouts of sweat run down through his skin; his friends before him looking to Kingsley with great concern.

Down along the back hall of the main floor, the blue boy dressed in silky indigo peeks out from the kitchen twin doors and gazes out past the numerous guests enjoying the spread out platters of cake and meat entree’s to find the glass sliding door leading to the backyard. Hung on the handle of the sliding door was a single dangling sign; one that read out that: “Due to plumbing maintenance issues. Entry into the backyard garden is prohibited. (Yes, again.)” The moment of truth. A little further through the minefield and it’ll be home free from then on out. Just gotta not mess this up.

This little self motivational pep talk going through his head, the finely dressed indigo angel emerges out from the kitchen and blends into the fancy dinning crowd like a serpent through the bushes; slithering through the numerous guests and party goers that enjoy their meals and snacks. In his little sneak out through the back dinning hall is his attention drawn out to the side, his pupils growing when beholding the incredible platter spread out along the length of a table set along the side; all the little sausages, salamis, cracker sandwiches, cakes, fruits, pieces of stake. Eh, maybe a little bit on the way out wouldn’t hurt.

Strolling right over to the table filled with delectable little treats, Tore wastes not a second partaking in the wonderful spread set before him; some he shovels straight into his mouth while others he indiscreetly stashes away in the breast of his dress. This might as well as count as a whole dinner and dessert. Midst his little picking platter detour towards the exit, he fails to see where he was sidestepping and winds up bumping right into someone and fall right onto the floor; wiping off some of the food that splattered onto him while claiming that: “Ah, sorry. Didn’t really see-” The indigo angel quickly snaps silent when glancing over to who he had just bumped into and discovers that somebody to be coincidentally the very same demon princess he had ran into before, parts of her dressed stained with steak grease. “No. I should be sorry. I-” Vera attempts to retort with, but stops speaking when peering over to find no one before her; swiping off some of the food that got on her as she rises confused. Glancing around to figure out who she might’ve ran into, the princess fails to notices a couple of feet sliding straight underneath the tablecloth; the indigo angel keeping his mouth shut tight as he crawls along towards the other side of the platter table.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” a voice questions. Gazing over to her side, the demon princess finds her father walking over to her side; Vera answering him on how: “Oh, I’m just fine dad.” “Did you simply just trip?” “No, I...I thought I just bump into someone. But I’m not sure who, or even what. I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t find a soul.” As her daughter explains this, the king’s eyes venture out towards the very back of the room; where a lone figure with matching indigo hair and dress slithers out from the dining hall and straight into the backyard garden. His eyes squinting as a sense of familiarity starts to creep upon him.

“Why did you decide to try and hide up here and not talk to us.” Damian questions, staring to his friend huddled in the corner. “How could I even start? Having been appointed the leader of the Vanguard league about a week ago and now of all times in the middle of an introduction party are doubts and pressure starting to set in; how are people gonna look seeing me like that? I supposed to be the spearhead against rising evil, but they haven’t even properly formed the team yet I’m already shaking?...I’m not so sure now if they made the right choice putting him in charge.” Kingsley worries. “That ain’t the kinda shit I seen you do.” he hears the spice queen pierce through with. “What are you alluding to?” “The hell I’m saying his that we’ve been dragged through all sorts of bull, and every single time we’re drowning in the absolute worst piss, that carrot top ya got for a head goes into overdrive to get us out. All the kids Circe had kidnapped, Renee’s dad nearly blowing up the city, everyone’s souls getting fucking ganked; even when you’re knocked outta the game, the work ya put in gets us all so damn far. I’m not fucking with you when I say I think we’d all be long dead if you weren’t there covering our asses.” Hearing this coming from his friends causes him to cease quaking in his boots and start to stand back up; lifting his head up to theirs and questioning with a slight smile if: “You really mean that?” “We seriously couldn’t think of anyone better for the job if you left.” Damian assures him.

Out behind the Spicer manor, Tore ventures through the garden in his efforts to distance himself from the party as far as he could on foot; his eyes glued to the brick wall set along the very end of the garden as he weaves around and hopes over several dug up pipes among the garden path. Just several more meters and over the wall, this whole night’ll just be a thing of the past; just another wacky and cooky night of cross dressing shenanigans full of comedic close calls and socially awkward misunderstandings. Just the usual teenage dramatic comedy happy hour on whatever the heck channel or streaming service even airs those anymore. Wonder if I should keep the dress?

Alas, before the finely dressed blue boy could bound right atop the wall, Tore peers his eyes right along the top and screeches dead in his tracks; his pupils shrinking as he slowly starts to waddle back as he beholds the very king of demons staring down upon him. Oh...oh no. “To think, after you and your partners transgressions, you decide to nest right above my kingdom. Foolishly wondering about as if I would not seek justice. After all that you two have done; breach my kingdom’s abode, destroy my forced, threaten my family; the tormentous pits of the damned would be but a mercy. Instead, I shall carry your execution out myself; engulf your entire being in the depths of my scorching pyres until nothing remains of you in this world. Not even a single piece of your soul.” Promising such to the indigo angel under him does the demonic king leap down from the top of the brick wall and land before the blue boy; the earth quaking in a glowing hellish red as his feet stamp onto the ground.

Everyone in the manor sitting behind them stop right where they stand and gaze about to wonder what’s causing the commotion; some of them falling on their asses while the trembling shakes the entire estate. Within the attic above does Kingsley nearly plummet down into a display of pointy figurines, Damian catching him before he could fall right into a single figure. “What the fuck is that?” Cayenne exclaims. “It sounds like it’s coming from outside.” Kingsley answers.

Erecting out from the cracks of this trembling earthquake be a shell of unholy red power with patches of brimstone covering its surface; threatening to encase both the king of demon’s and the indigo angel within. The blue boy rockets up in a frantic hurry to outrace the forming barrier in hopes of escaping; his hopes dashed when the spherical prison encloses at the top and cuts off the angel’s escape. Slamming right into the top of the cage does its inner layer let out a violent pulse of orange red that sends Tore plummeting back down towards the garden earth; crashing straight down into the concrete set before the cages very conjurer.

Outside this newly formed prison do most of the guests that dwell inside the manor all look out through every glass door and window they could see from, including the king’s own daughter; who attempts to reach out to him with: “Dad, what are you doing!?” Yet do the princess’s words fail to bait even a single bit of the demon’s attention as he keeps his sites to the angel rising before him; his majesty swinging his open palm upwards to let a geyser of hellfire erupt right underneath the boy and launching him up in enveloping flames.

Among the crowd watching the chaos unfold before them, the queen herself manages to squeeze herself through the other guest with her young baby boy in her arms; peering upwards to the figure her husband had just set alight. All of them behold as the scorching blaze that engulfs the boy above is dispersed all at once as the boy’s angelic white wings sprout forth from his backside; his facade having been burned away to reveal the angel underneath. Most of his dress covering his upper torso destroyed, the make up covering his face chipping off under the heat, and the band holding his hair burned away and letting his indigo blue mane flow out; all of these details together giving the queen the answer of who he really was. “...Him! That little miscreant! He’s the exact same boy who broke into our home and terrorized out baby boy.” In listening to that single realization is the crowd around her left utterly astonished, some of them gasping while others say among themselves how: “Did that really happen?” “I heard recently that the royal family’s home was attacked.” “Can’t believe somebody would try and scare poor Issac like that.” “What a little blue asshole.” “Hope the king lights this little marauder aflame!” Soon enough is the entire spectating crowd riled up into a maddening cheer, their numerous praises and encouragements coming out from their mouth being for the king to beat the little blue punk into a sobbing mess. Agh, great. Not only am I gonna die, I’ll go down in history as the jackass that deserves it…Maybe I just had this coming. Peering down to the demon king himself, Tore could see the blazing fury held within his very eyes; a wave of hellfire beginning to erupt from his entire body. Whelp, if I’m going out like this, better get as much fun outta it as I can.

Upon the realization of there being little way out of this predicament, indigo angel quickly decides to start off by delving straight down to where the fiery king stood; constantly flipping through the air as he plummets downwards with but a single leg sticking out. Right as the blue boy’s spinning axe kick was moments from slamming straight onto the demon’s horned head; the king halts the boy’s descending kick with just a single arm; Tore feeling as if he had hammered the back of his foot against a solid wall In a matter of moments does the demonic king let out a blazing burst of flames from his body that blows the blue boy away and send him out through the rest of the garden; the angel’s very body crashing straight through the stone fountain set in the middle and through numerous other flowers making up the rest. Tore manages to flip back onto his own two feet and grind himself to a skidding halt moments before he could hit the side of the unholy cage, soon glancing out in the direction he came from to behold a blaze of fire streak out towards him like a lunging serpent. As he witnesses his angelic foe spring up from the very flames he had cast forth, his majesty launches himself straight after him in a fiery explosion and reaches out in just a matter of moments. Hanging just above the indigo angel, the hellish royalty unleashes a blast of hellfire that sends the blue boy careening back down towards the earth below; the crowd inside cheering for the king as the angel crashes into the dirt.

Just above the cheering crowd of guests, Kingsley, Cayenne, and Damian all peer out a window overlooking the entire garden and peer out to the ensuing brawl between the angel and demon; all the while the boy genius question: “What’s going on!? Why is hell’s King trying to roast Tore alive!?” “Seriously, its been like half an hour since we split up. What the hell did we miss?” Damian asks as well. “Heh heh heh heh. Okay, so you guys are seriously not gonna believe the shitshow that blue dumbass wound up getting into.” Cayenne offers to elaborate.

Behind the spectating crowd gathered beneath them Renee joins in watching the ensuing fight alongside the numerous guests; asking one of them: “What on Earth is happening right now?” “I’m wishing to know the exact same thing.” the blonde hears someone beside her say. Peering off to her side, the blonde girl discovers the questioning voice to belong to none other than the princess herself; Vera adding: “Just what is my dad even thinking doing something like this.” “Seriously can’t believe that blue asshole broke into their royal family’s home and terrorized their family.” they hear someone vent. “Wait what!?” the princess exclaims. “No! He’s not like that. It’s all just one big misunderstanding. Does he even look like somebody like that to you.” Renee attempts to informs.

Despite most of the crowd either ignoring or dismissing the blonde, Vera peers back up towards the chaos and watches closely as her father continues to duke out against the angel; the unholy king letting loose a bevy of fire from his maw that transforms into a demonic creature of flames that pursues his majesty’s foe. The indigo angel glides away from the pursing monstrous blaze, fending away the fiery beast with a volley of pale rays; all the while the princess state how: “He does seem rather familiar. The blue mane, the white wings, the light coming out from his body; all of it’s just making bells ring in my head. Just where have I seen him before?” Its in thinking back to not so long ago that she remembers the moments she was just moments away from the cold grip of death; bleeding out underneath a pile of broken castle rubble, surrounded by darkness. In but seconds his the vial of shadows lifted away, her site blurred to everything except a figure dressed in light; that very same glow enveloping her and pulling her away from the brink of demise. Among her recovery does her vision start to return, all the while the figure began to fly away down the castle corridors; the princess only able to make out white wings and a blue mane from the retreating figure. “That person...It was him...Oh no.”

Hearing this from the princess, Renee looks over and sees Vera attempt to slip through the thick crowd in hopes of making it outside; only for the overwhelming numbers to shove her aside. Coming over to the princess’s side does the blonde help Vera off the floor, all the while hearing her state how: “If I can’t get through, I won’t be able to break dad’s cage in time to tell him.” “You know how to break it?” Renee questions. “I’ve seen my dad use this barrier many times and saw how he breaks it open when he’s done. But even if I got out there, I’m not sure how I could even reach up around it by myself.” Its in hearing the princess lament of such that Renee peek out through the window set beside the sliding glass door and gaze upwards to discover her boyfriend and his pals watching the ongoing brawl through a second story window: “I might know some people who can. Come on, we gotta hurry.” the blonde girl tells the princess as she races back from the crowd, the princess she tells this to feverishly following after her.

With just a single blast of white does the indigo angel blow away the pursuing flaming demon, the monstrous pyre evaporating in the ray of pale power. This tiny victory is unfortunately short lived however as a pillar of rising flames erupts right behind the boy with a demonic silhouette underneath its blaze. The very moment that Tore turns back towards the column of fire, a hand of fiery brimstone reach out from the flames and grasp hold of the angel’s neck, the blue boy feeling the incredible heat radiating underneath the rock palms grasp as the king of hell emerges out from the blazing inferno. Amidst struggling under his majesty’s burning grasp, the king himself take his other brimstone covered fist and prepares to swing its hard rock right into the angel’s face; Tore repeatedly beating against the rock clutching his neck tight, the brimstone cracking with each it. With the fifth strike does the boy manage to burst the brimstone holding him up apart and free himself from the demonic king’s grasp; though his escape proves too late as his majesty slugs the angel right in the face with his other brimstone gauntlet, sending Tore spiraling down towards a part of the garden lined with numerous statues.

Among the resulting rocky collection of dust and dirt, the king hovers back down upon the earth where he had struck the blue miscreant down to; peering around to a number of statues that lined out along the walkway wayside that bare items such as books, weapons, and other tools, some baring a sort of resemblance to both Kingsley and Chloe. In strolling along the garden path is his majesty in his search, the hellish lord is left unaware of the angel himself hiding behind a statue of a beautiful woman holding a scale of justice in her hand; Tore himself peering out through the rest of the garden for anyway to tip the metaphorical scale. Okay Tore, you went through this before and barely survived the last time against this guy. Taking this guy head on right now is a seriously bad idea. Maybe not with what’s in the tank right now, but maybe with what’s around. A bit of juice outta turn things around. Glancing out towards the foliage that makes up the garden, the indigo angel realizes his options in drawing out nearby power having been cut short; most of the flowers, vines, and other lively greens that once stood in bloom among the decor now engulfed in a blaze of hellfire Doesn’t seem there’s a lot left to work with here, but what about outside; All the other plants and animals out in the city. Should be more than enough to borrow from it all to make it through this.

Setting his mind on the life that lies beyond the garden, Tore clasps his hands together as he focuses on the plants, people, and animals that dwell within the city. Come on, need something here. Yet no matter how hard he focuses on all that live beyond the garden, even to those with the manor just outside; the angel opens his eyes to find not even a single bit of colorful light coating his body. Wh-what? Why hasn’t anything came yet? Focused on all the living things in Townsville, but there’s not even a single glow of color here. Why is this happening now!?

Left at a flustered loss over the lack of power he had failed to gather, the blue boy has little time to ponder how or why as he feels an incredible heat come from behind and turns back to witness the stone statue he hides behind start to melt before his eyes; Tore crawling backwards as he sees the demon king standing right behind its stone. Raising his fist up high, the demon king’s hands suddenly combust in a blazing fury as he starts to swing them down to the angel before him; Tore managing to flee back away before his majesty hammers his fist down to the ground in a blazing quake. Among the bursting flames does Tore peek back in his retreat to see his hellish foe relentlessly pursue after; his mind running a hundred miles an hour thinking of what other options he has. Fine, if anything out there won’t help out, then there’s might be something in here that can; something that can quell this guy’s fiery temper. But what? Among his swiftly look around does the blue boy manage to spot the remains of the broken fountain; some of the pipes sticking out from the stone and dribbling water out from within. Hey, that might work.

Before the indigo angel could take the chance to delve down towards the busted fountain; the king himself swoops right beneath him with hands of blazing fury; Tore evading his grasp as the demon cast forth a bevy of flames up towards the boy above. In the middle of evading his majesty’s blistering hellfire, Tore delves right down towards the king himself to deliver a couple of kicks to counter with; one right in the stomach and one straight into his face. Attempting to send out a third one however, the indigo angel winds up getting his leg caught right in his hellish foe’s clutches; the demon king seeing fit in the moment to light the boy’s leg ablaze. Enduring the burning pain, the blue boy swings the leg the demon king holds straight upwards and flings his majesty up into the air above; following up by firing a beam of white straight upwards out to the ascending demon and using its force to descend down towards the ground.

Recovering from the unexpected counterattack, the demonic king plummets down towards the plume of stone dust with his burning red eyes locked to the cloud; seeing the figure of the boy he pursues. While the king of hell drops downwards towards his angelic foe, the dusty cloud starts to let him see the blue boy grasp something from under his feet and uproot it up to the surface; ultimately caught off guard when witnessing the angel pull out a massive pipe pointed up towards him. “Get ready for the flood!” Tore warns with a smile. Descending down too fast to stop himself in time, all his demonic majesty could do was grind himself to a halt just before the open end of the pipe; preparing to face an entire torrent of gushing water from the quaking pipe. Alas when the pipe finally stops shaking, nothing but a pitiful stream is all that drizzles out from its steel depths; Tore looking inside to wonder if that was really all the water it had as the king lowers his guard. “Does...does he not know people shut their water off when working on their piping?” Kingsley questions. “Oh my fucking god…” Cayenne sighs while shaking her head.

In realizing the angel’s attempts to thwart him having blown up right in his face; the hellish king uncovers his face and tilts his burning scowl down upon him; returning his remark with: “Cute. Wish to see what a real flood is like?” With but the snap of his finger, the entire garden ground underneath starts to violently tremble as fissures form between what foliage had yet to burn; the remaining flowers combusting into flames when geysers of lava spew out from earth. The fiery hot goo swiftly covering the earth, Tore leaps upwards into the air to avoid its molten heat; the boy peering down in his ascent to see nothing but a few statues and rocky stands peek out from under the melting lava.

Taking in the view of the unholy red prison starting to flood with the fiery hot goo from the second floor, Damian claims to both his friends how: “Okay, this is getting too outta hand. We need to do something.” “My thoughts exactly.” the spice queen declares before leaping out through the window and towards the scene. “Cayenne, wait!” Kingsley attempts to warn. Spurring her friends warning aside does Cayenne charge straight towards the side of the unholy prison; putting as much force as she could as she rams her shoulder straight onto its side. The very moment that the spice queen touches the surface of the barrier is a powerful pulse of hellish power unleashed, one that blast Cayenne aside and have her crash right into the side of the manor. “The hell was that shit!” “A rather counter intuitive attempt with solve this with force, I’d say. Allow me.” the ghost boy scolds her with as he hovers out towards the red cage for a go. Approaching the hellish barricades surface does the ghastly young man turn himself completely intangible, gliding out towards the red wall as fast as he could. Yet strangely does this as well prove fruitless; the unholy cage stopping Damain right their and pushing him away; despite being totally incorporeal. “What!? How!? Why can’t I phase through it!?”

Its midst their questioning mysticism that Kingsley hears somebody behind him give them their answer; responding to the ghost boy’s quarrel with: “Only royal blood can unlock the seal. Without doing so, everything, even souls, are kept in and out of its unholy walls.” Hearing this answer, the boy genius quickly peers back to find both his blonde lover and the princess of demon’s herself standing behind him; Kingsley going: “Renee! Wait, you know how to break it open?” “Indeed I do. Those chunks of brimstone that line the barricade are the locks that ultimately keep the cage together. If they are unlocked, the cage shall shatter.” Vera elaborates to them. “So, you know where the key is?” Renee questions. Upon hearing the blonde girl ask this does the princess take off the pointed crown set atop her head and pricks one of her fingers with one of its sharp ends; a thick crimson leaking right out from the tip of her finger. “It’s right here.” “So you were being literal? Why?” “It’s a family practice. With but a drop will the brimstone locks break, I simply need someone to break through the layer’s underneath to reach them.” In hearing the princess explain all of this does Kingsley peer down through the window to see both of his friends still struggling to pierce through the prisons unholy defenses; Cayenne constantly beating against its surface while Damian repeatedly attempts to phase through, both yielding little to no success. “I’m not sure that’ll be enough. We need to do more than that.”

Inside the unholy prison itself, Tore continues to flee from the grasp of the demonic king of hell in a boiling sweat; all while beholding his majesty thrusts his palms down towards the lava beneath them both and commanding the molten liquid to spew up in geysers after the angel. As the blue boy weaves around the spewing strands of red hot goo, he could feel his very skin on the cusp of boiling as the incredible heat from these flung strand beats down upon him. Finding a couple of approaching waves of lava far too large to evade, the indigo angel instead fires out rays of pure pale power against these encroaching hellish waves; effectively dispersing the boiling before it could engulf him. Despite having spurned away his hellish foe’s cascading waves, his efforts proves to be nothing more than a distraction as king of hell plummets downwards from above with a blazing flame in the palm of his hand. The very moment that Tore turns back is one that is far too late, discovering his demonic royalty hovering above and unleashing the hellfire he holds in his hand; engulfing the angel in a plume of his fiery wrath as he’s blasted back.

While holding in the overwhelming desire to scream out, the blue boy careens through the fiery garden air in a smoking mess; threatening to crash right into the side of the hellish red barrier. But in the nick of time does Tore manage to regain his aerial balance and stop himself moments before he could slam straight into the side of the cage; the smoke enveloping his body disappearing to reveal the numerous burns along his skin. Okay. Can’t really call on any sort of power from outside. Every living thing in here that could’ve been a source of power is submerged in a sheet of boiling lava. And the King of hell is still aiming to burn away what skin is still left. If there’s nothing left around here to draw life from… With his demonic foe on the verge of striking him down, the indigo angel takes his focus away on the seething burns left along his body and starts to concentrate on what life he held within; the pain he feels eventually numbing as a colorful power starts to well from within the depths of his soul.

“Enough dawdling here. The time of your punishment is at hand. Say what prayers you have left, for they will not be answers for where you shall be sent!” the king of hell tells the angel before lunging after with hellfire engulfing his entire hand. Right when his hellish majesty was on the verge of striking the boy down with a furious hellfire, his assault thwarted on the spot when the blue boy grasps his wrist moments before he could be struck. Left astonished by the unexpected grab, his hellish majesty glances down to the blue boy as Tore in kind peers upwards; the angel’s eyes flashing a rainbow of colors along his pupils. ...Then I’ll just use what life I got left.

His fist coated in a colorful aura, the indigo angel straight slugs his demonic foe right in the chest; the incredible force of the assault hard enough to send his majesty crashing down into the pool of lava, with the red hot goo splashing onto the sides of the red unholy cage. “Whoa!” Kingsley exclaims. “Holy shit!” Cayenne shouts. “Dad!” Vera screams.

Yet mere moments after taking the descending splashdown straight into the pool of fresh hellish lava, the demonic king surfaces up out from the molten goo in an ascending burst straight after the angel above; globs of the boiling liquid clutched in his hands. Closing in on the indigo angel, his majesty scatters the globs of fiery goo straight out towards the boy above in little pieces. With small bullets of flaming lava coming straight at him, Tore rockets straight down towards the approaching flurry of flung lava; sticking his arms out towards the spread as he begins to twirl through the air in a straightforward aileron roll. The colorful life force held within his hands combined with the swirling velocity, the indigo angel spur away the flung scatter of molten liquid; piercing straight through the storm and towards its very sender.

Upon nearing his demonic majesty does the blue boy cease spinning through the air, focusing all the power he has in a single fist; ready to slug the demonic royalty straight in the face. Alas when Tore was on the cusp of punching his foe right in the shnoze, the king of hell weaves right around his swing with hellfire coating his fist; his majesty countering back with own brand of a fiery strike straight onto the boy’s backside. The burning assault sending him careening across the blistering hot garden air, Tore sticks his legs out towards the side of the cage he threatens to crash right into and manages to land right on his feet; the unholy prison wall letting out a furious pulse of flames that launches the blue boy back out towards the very demon that had conjured it. In but a matter of moment does the indigo angel return out towards the king of hell and swings his leg straight out to his majesty, the glowing blue boy landing an overwhelming kick right to the king’s side hard enough to send his fiery foe careening aside. As the demonic royalty recovers from the swift counterattack, the indigo angel thrusts his palms out towards the demonic royalty and fire out an incredible wave of colorful life out towards his majesty; the incredible ray widening exponentially as it streaks through the blistering hot air. The colorful ray proving too wide to dodge, the king of hell commands the magma beneath him to rise up before the encroaching wave and hardens its molten goo into fiery stone in but a matter of seconds. Though the wall of hardened lava manages to take initial brunt of the colorful ray, it quickly begins to weaken under the constant stream of power and breaks apart in a matter of seconds; the overwhelming blast engulfing the fiery demon in a flash of of bright colors.

Once the light from the incredible wave starts to finally dim, the indigo angel peers down to the pool of lava beneath to discover his fiery foe left floating along the surface; then witnessing his majesty swiftly snap right out from his dazing stupor in a roar of blazing hellfire. Arising out from the molten pool does the king of hell once more face the radiant colorful angel with a burning rage reflected in his bright red eyes; his entire body engulf in a scorching fury as he proclaims that: “That’s it! This has gone on long enough. I thought of making this quick, but you seem to wish for this to drag on. No more! I’m going to fry you alive from where you float!” While listening to the hellish devil’s decree, an encroaching dizziness begins to seep its way into the boy’s head; his vision blurring in and out as he threatens to pass out from exhaustion. Come on, don’t give out just yet. Just a bit more.

Right outside the barrier do both Damian and Cayenne hover above the unholy prison with both Vera and Kingsley riding upon them; the boy genius informing the spice queen that: “We need to break open that cage as fast as we can. Cayenne, take Vera around and break the locks holding it together.” “On it.” Cayenne simply complies with, gliding down to the crown of the hellish cage with the Vera atop her back. “Right. Damian, I need you to take me over to the water pressure controls. They’re right down in there.” the boy genius then orders the ghostly young man he rides on; pointing to a little steel shack set along the corner of the backyard. “Alright, hang on.” the ghost boy complies, delving down towards the very shack his friends pointed out. As they dive down towards the small steel shack, Damian turns both himself and the boy genius on his back totally intangible and phases right on inside; Kingsley hopping right off his back when landing inside and race straight over to a set of pressure valves and control panels within its walls.

While the boy genius starts to get to work on the panel and turning the numerous valves; the ghost boy behind him argues: “Kingsley, are you sure about this? The pipes underneath all that lava are probably sealed shut by now. I doubt any water would get through, even if we break the barrier.” “I know, but that’s not what this is for. When we bust it open, all that lava inside’s probably gonna spill out all over the place. So if we can’t stop it from spilling, I think it’s better if we try and slow it down while keeping it from reach the manor so no one watching all this gets hurt.” “If you didn’t want anyone in the splash zone, why didn’t we break them all up first?” “With what little time we have to work with, I got Renee to try and work on that, maybe clear a way for them to escape.”

“Seriously people. We need you to evacuate the estate before the situation here becomes any worse. Don’t any of you understand how severe this could turn?” Renee tries to reach through the observing crowd with. “You’re kidding, right?” “I sure am not gonna leave now and miss all this.” “I wound up traveling across the world just to see what this new team has up their sleeves and sure as hell ain’t leaving now.” Among their overall noncompliance can the blonde not help but let out a frustrating growl; swiftly calming herself down with a little breath before she could do or say anything crazy. Oh Kingsley I seriously hope you have a plan working for this.

Above the very barrier before them do all of them watch as Cayenne hovers just above its very top; the princess riding atop her eyeing the brimstone chunks along the outside. “So, ya saying that these locks are under a sheet of brimstone right?” “Indeed, but none of you have yet to tell me how you plan to break through their layers.” Vera claims. “The hell’s so fun about telling you? Why don’t ya just see for yourself.” “Wait, what do you mean by tha-” Just before the princess could finish questioning the spice queen’s statement do they both start diving straight down towards one of the brimstone slabs along the unholy barricade; Vera holding on for dear life as Cayenne prepares to strike away at the stone. In just a single swing does the Spice queen manage to bust through the brimstone’s outer shell; swiping away the debris to reveal a hellish insignia with a hole dead on the middle. “Damn, that looks fuckin sick. You need to dunk your finger in there or…?” “No, no. Th-that won’t be necessary. Just give me a moment.” the princess tells her, her body still quaking from the unexpected drop down. Hovering her finger right over hellish insignia, the princess lets the blood seeping from her finger drip straight into the hole; the entire face alights in a glow of orange and lets out a horrible shriek from under its stone. While covering their ears from the trembling screech, both of them witness the brimstone crumble apart in a burst of hellfire; the unholy prison’s red walls starting to flicker as the lock falls apart. “Hell yeah. One lock down, three more go.”

Gliding within the burning air of the red cage itself does Tore continue to fight off the devils hellish assault, pushing away the demonic king with a pulse of pure colorful life. In being pushed back that the king of hell command the lava beneath in to rise out from the earth and bellow out towards the indigo angel; the intense light from the boiling lava covering the boy as he rushes outwards. With but a wave of his hand, the blue boy casts forth a colorful wave that disperses the fiery hot goo wave and rockets out towards the king himself; his entire body coated in a lively colorful aura as he nears. Seeing the indigo angel incoming, the demon waves his arms upwards to conjure a whirlwind of fiery hot flames from right underneath the blue boy; engulfing the boy in a tornado of blistering heat. Tore blocks his body from the fiery inferno blowing at him from all sides, enduring through the searing flames as his body starts to glow brighter and brighter in a multitude of colors; a light that the king beholds beyond the blaze of his whirlwind. Finally does Tore unleash all he had in an overwhelming shockwave that disperse the flaming whirlwind, the almighty push casting his hellish fiery foe straight down into the pool of molten liquid.

From this overwhelming wave, the colorful aura that irradiates out from the boy’s body starts to fade away to unveil his skin left nearly gray; Tore clutching his heart as he tries to catch his breath. “Ah...Oh god...Can’t keep going anymore...Might just burn myself out.” “You’ll burn either way.” a voice from below claims. Peering down beneath his feet does he see a pillar of lava spew out from the below and flutters back to avoid the seering goo; his escape failing to take him far as an arm pops out from the molten liquid and tightly grasp his neck, the devilish pyro emerging out and finishing with: “I promise such.” Midst his struggle to free himself from the fiery king’s clutches, the blue boy grabs hold of the king’s horns and pushes back with as much strength as he had left to muster; his majesty letting out a seething growl as he begins to take in a deep breath. When seeing his hellish foe taking in a deep breath, he realizes all too well what the king’s next move was and shove his knee straight into the devil’s jaw; the indigo angel keeping the devil’s trap shut as bits of lava escaping from the demon’s nose. The demonic king’s cheeks puff bright orange as he starts to choke on all the excess lava gathering in his mouth; tearing up as he finally lets go of the blue boy and kicks him away, vomiting all the molten goo out from his maw. The demonic royalty takes a brief second to cough out bits of lava as he rubs the part of his chin the angel had kneed; his other hand trembling as he peers over to the blue boy and calls him a: “Cheeky little bastard.”

Just outside the unholy prison do all the numerous dug up pipes littering the garden starts to spew out a torrent of rushing water; all of it starting to soak everywhere from the stone paths, the grass, the foliage, every drop spreading out along every inch of the backyard. Up along the crown of the devilish cage does Vera let a drop of her blood peter out from her finger and fall straight into the brimstone lock; the symbol surrounding the hole letting out an unholy shriek before crumbling to pieces. Witnessing the red power that makes up the bubble flicker more frequently, the spice queen claims that: “Just one more.” Right when they were about to hover out towards the final lock, both of them hear a familiar voice call out from the distance; peering out to find both Kingsley and Damian gliding over as the boy genius orders: “Heya, lets switch!” “On it!” Cayenne complies, taking grasp of the princess atop her back. “Wait, what the hell do you think your-” Without even a single warning does the spice queen straight up toss Vera up out towards the ghostly young man hovering above, all the while Kingsley leaps down as she arises. Almost simultaneously, the boy genuis manages to land right in Cayenne’s arms just as Damian catches the princess amidst her ascent; Vera taking a brief moment to calm herself while riding atop the ghost boy’s back. “Oh...Oh dear…”

Held within the spice queen’s grasp, Kingsley peers down and watches as the open pipes soak his backyard in more and more water; Cayenne asking the boy: “You wanna say what you got in mind or are we just pissing in the wind?” “At this rate, most of the water here won’t be enough to stop all that lava. I think we need to do something else to keep it from reaching the manor, something I think you excel at.” “Whatcha got in mind for me to fuck up?”

After explaining what else the boy genius has in mind, Cayenne hovers out over towards a stone column set over the garden and setting Kingsley down at its very top; the boy genius watching as the spice queen fly out near the manor and delve down towards the ground set between it and the garden. All the numerous guest spectating these events jump back as Cayenne dive bombs down along the ground and scrapes through the dirt with her bare fists. Seeing his spicy partner starting to make out a ditch between his home and backyard, Kingsley peering over to Damian and the princess hover above the cage.

When floating just inches away from the last brimstone lock guarded in a layer of brimstone, Vera wonders to the ghost boy: “I do wonder how you plan to break through the layer to reach the lock.” “Oh please, I’m not a brute. There won’t be any breaking needed.” he claims. Gently grasping the princess’s arm the ghost boy turns her limb completely transparent, Vera letting out a little shriek before Damian tells her to: “Calm down. It’s alright. Just simply dunk your hand right in where the hole is.” “Uh...okay.” Carefully, Vera does what he instructs and is astonished to see her arm phase straight through the brimstone like nothing was there. The blood from the demon princess’s finger dribbles down from the tip straight down through the brimstone; soaking through until dripping into the lock hole underneath. Like before does the hard rock begin to scream out before it falls apart, the entire red bubble holding both her father and the boy he fights trembling at the seems. “What is going on?” the ghost boy questions. “I suggest we flee before it burst open.”

Upon the princess’s warning does Damian take her away from the red cage as it starts to quake far more violently; suddenly collapsing in a powerful burst that breaks the glass of the manor and knocks the people inside on their asses. With the walls of the unholy cage broken does the lava that was kept inside start to spill out further through the garden; the guests of the manor running like hell as a big wave of the molten goo flows out towards them. When arising right out from the ditch that she had just dug out, Cayenne sees some of the lava melting the stone column her pal stands atop off; the base of the pillar melting away as it threatens to tumble down into the scorching lava. Immediately does the spice queen spring into action and dart straight towards her falling comrade, snatching Kingsley right out from the air moments before he could take the fiery plunge. While hovering above, Kingsley watches as the lava that spills starts to collide with the water streaming through the backyard; only slowing the molten liquid down as he head straight for the manor. “Come on. Come on.” the boy genius utters. With sweat running down their foreheads, Kingsley and Cayenne watch as the lava starts to fill up the freshly dug out ditch set before the manor; growing more tense as the lava starts to reach the top. But with how deep Cayenne had dug and the running water starting to slow it down, all the lava that spills out manages to just rim the very top of the ditch, both of them letting out a huge sigh knowing their home and all the people within were safe and sound. “Holy shit...So, now how are we gonna take care of that shit show.” the spice queen wonders, pointing out towards the continuing brawl.

Despite the red cage that had encased them both having vanished, the demonic king continues his onslaught against the indigo angel; slugging the boy with fiery swing after another and scorching him further with every strike. Though Tore attempts to counter the king’s flames, he proves far too exhausted and spent to reliably get any hits of his own in; failing to even raise a single hand up as all that be left for him is to endure his majesty’s blazing wrath. Placing his palm right underneath the blue boy’s head, the king unleashes a burst of searing flames right from above; a fiery blast that sends the angel plummeting down towards the earth. Crashing down into the charred soil below, Tore still feels the scorching heat beat against his back; despite there not even being a single glob of molten liquid left. When attempting to pull himself off the blistering hot earth, the blue boy only able to pull up onto his ass moments before his demonic foe lands before him; Tore left frozen in place as the king of hell looks down upon him with a fiery glare. Not even a word is spoken between them as his majesty raises his hand to the sky and engulfs his arm in a thick burning layer of hellfire; the light it emits rivaling that of the sun. Whelp, really facing the heat now, and with a nearly empty tank of gas too. Body here’s practically more burns than skin. And lookin like the final stop here is a one way road straight into the fiery depths of oblivion. If this is the way this road trip ends, better just use what fuel I got left. These determined thoughts ringing through his head, Tore faces the demonic king head on as the colorful aura that had once coated him returns in full force; its rainbow glow matching that of the very fires that he faces.

Seeing the two on the verge of clashing at any moment: Vera peers down to her ghostly ride and demands that: “No! Damian, let go of me!” “From this high up!? But-” “There’s no time! Just do it!” On Vera’s request does the ghost boy complies and releases the demon princess from his grasp, letting her plummet down towards both her father and the angel; the princess gazing down to witness both her father and the angel lunging out towards one another. Right as the two were about to lunge upon each other in a clash of lively flames does Vera drop between them both; urging the two to suddenly stop dead in their tracks, their blinding light dimming as they behold the princess standing between them.

Even as her legs quake from the drop that she had just endured, the demonic princess stands before the fury of her burning father and demand out from him that: “Daddy, you need to stop, right now!” “Vera?...Why!? After this miscreant broke into our home, scared your mother and brother, stole the family treasure, and beat me unconscious! Why after all of that do you wish for his life to be sparred!?” “Because he had saved mine!” the princess answers, his daughter’s responds quelling some of the king’s burning fury.

In my hurry through the castle hall’s, parts of the roofs had collapsed onto me and buried me underneath their dark red stone; it honestly felt as if my chest had been smashed open and that death was knocking on my door. That is until I started to feel a warm glow run throughout my body and return me to reality once more. The unbearable pain that I had suffered from had vanished in a matter of seconds as I began to return; awaking from my stupor to find my dress torn open in places where I had felt this agony. Rising up from the behind the rubble, all I could see retreating from me was a figure donning a blue mane and wings of pale white gliding deeper into the castle. Since then, I couldn’t help but wonder if those events had actually transpired or if they were simply a hallucination brought on by a concussion. But seeing this boy with my own eyes proved to me that it was no mere illusion; if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be standing here before him tonight.”

His daughter having told this side of the story to her, the demonic king takes a calming breath as the flames enveloping his body disperse; quelling the murderous rage he had gardened towards the blue boy. Yet does a thin layer of doubt remain as his majesty marches right past his loving daughter and over to the boy behind her; Vera staring in concern to her father as he walks beside her while uttering: “Daddy?” Standing tall just inches away from the kneeling angel, Tore takes up a stance as the king stares down upon him with a fiery orange glare; the only words that he says as a demand to the boy to: “Start explain. Now.”

About a half an hour passes as the lava that dwells within the ditch starts to cool from the water flowing from the pipes; whatever fires and flames that lingered having been dowsed out. Sitting patiently beside him does the fiery royalty listen to the indigo angel he was but moments away from roasting in burning hellfire as Tore goes on to finish with: “Once I realized who the Kybr truly were and what they were like; I wound up having to fight Mall in hopes of stopping him. If it weren’t for my sibs and their friends helping me to stop Mall and destroying the warp gate’s core, the Kybr would’ve wound up flooding the universe.” “Is that all?” the devil beside the angel questions. “Yep…” the blue boy simply responds back to with hints of disappointment. Hearing the last of what the blue boy has to say for himself, the king of hell lets out a small sigh as he rises back on his feet and stroll out towards his daughter; telling her to: “Come on, Vera. We’re heading back home.” “Um, okay. Thanks again for all your help, Vanguard League.” the princess thanks with as she follows her father out towards the backdoor. The misses of the estate coming out from the sliding glass door, she winds up running into the exiting royalty; who apologizes to her with: “I apologize for the mess I had caused tonight. I promise to pay off the damages.”

Despite the night having just been saved, Kingsley can’t help but peer over to the blue boy; watching the angel as he slouches over with his hands over his face. Before he could go over to try and comfort the blue boy, he suddenly feels somebody giving him a big pat on his back and glances over to find Cayenne congratulating him with: “Damn, Kingsley. You’d did a fine ass job keeping yer cool under all that heat.” “Uh, thanks. Pretty surprised myself on how cleanly I handled it all. I thought for sure I was gonna crack among the action.” “Well, I can safely assure that you handled it all with such incredible grace and fortitude; even I was shaking through most of it all.” the ghost boy hovers over and praises. Racing right over to his side does Renee give the boy genius a great big hug, embracing her boy tight as she claims how: “I told you that all those worries you had were just in your head. Even when things turn out their worst, you become your very best and bring out everyone’s A game.” “You guys think so? Maybe being this whole leader thing won’t be as bad as I was inflating it to be.” Kingsley corrects. “I wish I could say the same about our garden.” he then hears his mother lament.

Peering aside, the boy finds her mother grieving over the site of her now destroyed backyard; what remained of the numerous colorful flowers and bushes that made up its natural beauty now left charred and burned beyond any sort of recognition. “It might not be that bad, Mrs. Spicer. We could just rebuild and replant everything again.” Renee attempts to cheer her up with. “I’m not sure that’ll be possible. The soil itself is far too charred and burned for anything planted here to grow. I’m not sure if it’ll ever recover.” Damian points out, a statement which only furthers the mother’s sorrow.

Rising out from his self pity does the indigo angel behold the consequences of what his fight with the demon king had entailed; the smoke wafting from the burnt foliage covering the night sky. “God...all this is just my fault. None of this wouldn’t have happened if I was here. If I didn’t go with all and wind up nearly dooming everyone.” “Oh Tore...yeah it pretty much is.” “Cayenne!” Kingsley snaps. “What? It’s cause if him that the king of hell through a big shit fit in the first place.” “But he was just trying to help us with the party; how were we supposed to-” “No...Cayenne’s right. I gotta try and make up for all this. All the trouble I just wound up bringing here.” the blue boy states. “Just how do you plan to start? This garden’s practically lifeless the way it is.” the ghost boy tells him. “...I might know how.”

Among saying such does the angel start to stroll out towards the very center of the destroyed garden, taking in a deep breath of the smoke arising from the earth. Once standing right in the midst of the ruined garden, the indigo angel exhales the breath from his lunges and closes his eyes while clasping his hands in a prayer; once again focusing all the plants, animals, and people that reside outside the garden wall. All throughout the city are little bits of colorful light drawn out from within every single thing alive within Townsville; be it from the biggest of elephants held within the zoo to the smallest of insects that crawl along the underbelly of the town. The countless bits of life all flutter through the city skyline and gather out towards the upper district; every single piece taken straight out to the backyard where they all drawn within the blue boy’s body. Kingsley, Cayenne, Damian, Renee, and the Misses stare upon the indigo angel as his entire body and the wings on his back is enveloped in a rainbow of aura that alights the entire backyard in a colorful glow. Holding all the lively power he had gathered throughout Townsville, Tore thrusts his arms straight down into the charred earth beneath his feet and sends it all surging through the soil; the once burned and scorched ground now glowing alight in a multitude of lively colors that shine across the neighborhood.

Soon enough does this brilliant light start to fade, letting all that dwell within the once ruined backyard all behold the overflowing flora that spreads out before them; numerous flowers, plants and tree’s of dozens of families and species now standing before them all in an incredible burst of nature and vegetation. “What?” Cayenne utters. “Wow.” Renee softly awes. “Amazing.” Damian gawks. “Our garden. It’s practically overwhelming. Everything’s flourishing greater than ever.” the misses of the estate gushes. Peering over is everyone’s attention drawn to the blue boy who had made it all possible, resting soundly against the base of a thick oak whose height rivals the manor before it. “Can’t believe he did all this in mere seconds.” the blonde girl surmises. “He brought not just the plants, but the soil itself back from the clutches of death.” the ghost boy marvels. “If he can do all this. Just what the hell are we supposed to do about this blue bastard.” Cayenne questions. Kingsley stares out to the indigo angel left soundly sleeping underneath the massive thick oak; letting his burns rest as the nightly wind brushes the leaves down from their branches and flutters onto the slumbering blue boy. “I don’t know Cayenne. I really don’t know.”

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

Thank you all for sticking around here for this long. And I wanted to start off this season by finally firing a Chekov's gun that I set up a while ago. Also wanted to do something with Kingsley processing the thoughts of being a leader to a budding organization with big plans since it wasn't really touched upon. Also add in some little details that weave into the mainline story here.

I'd say I'm at a near competent in terms of writing skills, but there's always more out there I could learn from and improve. I hope all of you stick around to see that process take place. Thank you.

#lillaxtrigger #Young Hope #callyieverse

4 notes · View notes

siderealxmelody · 4 years

Text

The Frightful Secret {Coulson}

@sigynofficial - my answer to what drove Loki to the Mind Stone and subsequent insanity.

@continuingthefamilyname - this is very marvel focused I apologize, but I wanted to share.

@armandlucienduval

@agentsterling - no need to read this if you don't want to. But since you asked about Sof...I thought I'd share.

@thevictoryofthepeople - this is very marvel focused I apologize, but I wanted to share.

@candy-addicted-angel - this is very marvel focused I apologize, but I wanted to share.

@waywardlightbearer

Tl;dr for people who don't want to read/don't know what's happening. Majority of my races (sans humans) believe in creator called Eyn Sof and that it destroyed itself to better guide the many races as their many different gods. All gods are aspects of this one Eyn Sof. It is benevolent and all loving....except that all is a lie. All of creation/multiverse is a giant experiment done to appease It. A indescribable entity that exists outside of reality. It was put into motion by It's helpers who my race see as messengers from Eyn Sof, who they think of as sentient stars, meant to watch over and guide them through life. The messengers go to great lengths to make sure no one ever knows this truth, for it will shatter anyone who learns it.

It sat before him, calm and level headed. Perhaps it knew, perhaps it understood what was stalking Inhumanes he'd been saving.

"What are you? Why were you hovering over one of my fallen agents?"

"I am only here to help Mr.Coulson, I mean no harm. You saved one of my people, I mean to only return the favor."

Coulson nodded filing that note for later. Rosa Incara, she'd been held captive for 5 years by a madman. He'd been a renowned painter till he'd fallen off the radar some 3 years ago.

His team had only gotten involved because his paintings held some inhumane markers - the same ones he'd felt a need to draw.

She'd been like this, detached but cooperative. Then she'd disappeared from her cell, in the ensuing manhunt this one had shown up. Coulson didn't like to be in the dark, didn't like not understanding the bigger picture.

"Where is Ms.Rosa now Mr.?"

The man gave a thin smile and nodded.

"Right, a name, Slate. Call me Slate. She is safe, home."

"Why were you near my agent? She feels fine but -"

"She will be, she...there is much you do not know. I fear to tell you but -"

"Please, share Slate. If whatever you know will keep humanity safe then -"

"The - everything is matter yes? Stars, planets...people? It's all made of atoms and those atoms - no - no this isn't...imagine the universe is orbiting a giant blackhole, like the center of your galaxy, can you picture that?"

Coulson was skeptical about this exercise but nodded.

"Yes, I can picture it. Go on."

Slate nodded and looked at his hands.

"The universe is slowly being shredded, feeding the blackhole. Don't ask how it first came to be that's all whole different explanation. Regardless, the universe is being shredded right? All of that matter needs to go somewhere. It - it goes to The Hallow Lands. Do you know it? Have you heard the term?"

Coulson nodded, he had. When he'd been stabbed by one of the Chaturi blades he'd saw the Chaturi's deepest fear - a place of never ending dread. He'd asked Lady Sif about it after he'd come back and she'd called it The Hallow Lands, a face worse than Hel.

"I know it, yes. What's your point?"

"My people, we - we weren't much more advanced than you when we pierced the veil separating our world from It. We moved through a blackhole and decided to go deeper in it and not out. It - do you know Eyn Sof? Do you know the story the Celestials and other aliens say of it?"

He nodded Sif had been much more willing to tell this one. He hadn't been too moved by the story, he was surprised though that so many races worshiped it.

"That it existed with us at the dawn of the universe. It wished to understand us and guide us. We wished to worship and love it but could not speak to it. So it-"

"Tore itself apart into infinite tiny pieces so it could permeate every atom, so that we could all have a tiny piece of it with us from the moment we are born till our death. This shift cracked the first universe into the multiverse we know now. Yes, yes, exactly. That - well we didn't know that the story would catch on quite as much as it did."

Coulson felt something in him shift, a piece of ice traveling from his brain and into his blood. Something about this felt wrong, as if his very being didn't want to know - didn't want to understand what he was hearing.

He gripped the arms of his chair and took a deep breath. He began to note how reluctant this Slate had been for the last few minutes. He pushed his worry as to why down. This could help his team, could help him understand what was going on. What had been going on since he'd heard about the missing painter.

"Slate, just tell me. This - this stopping and starting is wearing thin."

"Are you sure Mr.Coulson this knowledge isn't one you can't take back. It will be seared into the minds of all who hear it. Though I suspect you already know what I am going to say. You've been there remember?"

Coulson blinker and the panic subsided. He felt like himself again, and he knew he had this thing.

"How do you know that? Were you a part of Operation Tahiti? Did you-"

"No, no, my people went through the blackhole Coulson, we saw It. Call it God, the Devil whatever you wish...it was beyond such simplistic names. It didn't like us there of course but we said we could help it understand everything outside of its realm. It agreed, and we got to work...I - I work as a Reaper Mr.Coulson, I take the dead to It for it to understand and study. It lives their lives, feels their pain...it has walked so many lives Mr.Coulson more than I could quantify. As to how I know? You shouldn't have tried to bring people back, your friends shouldn't have tried to bring you back..your thread had been cut and now it's been reknotted and allowed to continue. I wonder whose thread you've taken. A soldier's? A doctor's? A murder's?"

Coulson refused to look away or rise to this thing's bait.

"Is that what Rosa was? A Reaper is that why Avery kept her locked-"

"No, no, she - she is a Sower, she gives inspiration, her kind measure the thread of each life...she shouldn't have been here. But Sowers tend to be fascinated about the lives they've measured out - she got too close...beings tend to become addicted to her and her...life-force."

Coulson just nodded, it was horrible but made sense with all the bruises she'd suffered.

"Right, still doesn't explain why you're-"

"My race deals with the living Mr.Coulson, but there are other bits of matter, stars and planets...do you know what deals with those? We call them Pests they were from our world as well and are voracious. They can't feel anything, they've adapted too well to The Hallow Lands but they yearn for the living, for feeling and experience -"

"What are you saying Slate? That one - one of these Pests is here?"

"Yes, why do you think my kind carry scythes? It isn't for working the fields, it's to keep our threads safe from the pests who wish devour it...One had scented your anomaly and has come to take care of it...I'm here to kill it."

Coulson nodded and shuffled his papers, hoping to calm himself. He stood and asked before he could stop himself.

"What does all of this have to do with Eyn Sof? Why are you so reluctant to speak on that?"

"Because Eyn Sof as you all know it is a lie. It - it isn't evil or good, it just is. We were tasked to make a mutliverse to a particular frequency and look. Each thread weaves a giant multiversal tapestry that It watches Mr.Coulson. The frequency? It is tuned to be a massive symphony only it can hear...of course this is how we understand it. I'm sure to us it is all odd but to it we are -"

"Eyn Sof isn't real?"

He tried to ignore how his voice quivered. Wasn't this what Loki had said as he'd been dragged away? Was this what he had meant?

Slate gave him a sad smile and shook his head.

"No, no, we needed a unifying theme and thought to slip in this story to even everything out. It is real but Eyn Sof and all the legends that surround Them aren't. I'm sorry Mr.Coulson. I implore you for your own safety, don't tell Thor or any of the other aliens you end up meeting...I'm not sure if they'd believe you. More importantly, I'm not sure if they'd allow you to go unscathed. I will need your help in tracking down this Pest once it is slain I will leave. Your world will be safe from threats like me or my kind."

Coulson nodded and turned and locked the door to the interrogation room. He was thankful he'd decided to interrogate this one at one of his hidden black sites.

He took the tape out of the control room and destroyed it till it was a pile of ash. No one - no one needed to know what he did.

#character check in

4 notes · View notes

diddlesanddoodles · 4 years

Text

DUMPLING ch 36

She watched with a muted fascination at the gathered giants. Though she was really only able to see the world passed the tree trunks of their legs, she was well able to sense their tension. It was almost as though she could smell it, like metal and upturned earth. Guards in their red leather armor stood close to the King, hands resting upon many hilts, ready to lunge and defend their liege.

Under the thickening dullness of her mind, Nenani heard the wind-chimes. With difficulty, she braced herself against the lipper barrels and forced herself to stand onto shaking legs.

The metal dome entrapping the serpent rose up, accompanied by the grunting efforts of Farris, Saen, and Avery. A black thing lunged out of the dark, once gleaming black scales now marred with gray and bleeding pot marks and burns in a crisscrossing patterned all over its body. Guards struck down with their swords to block the creature from slithering away between their legs and gave Yale just enough time to move. Yale lunged down upon it as it tried to slither away in another direction, pushing his entire weight down onto the snake’s body and gripped the back of its neck just below the thing’s jaws. It writhed violently beneath him, bucking the giant up and off of it as though he were nothing. Large black coils looped around his neck and squeezed.

There was shouting and the scurrying of many legs, the unsheathing of swords and there was yelling. Loud enough to drown out the world. But suddenly, she didn’t feel the presence of the lipper barrels against her back and the snake loomed large and enormous before her, its body continuing to curl itself around Yale’s neck and chest and she heard her friend wheeze pitifully. There were many hands trying to pull the creature off of him, swords pointing down at him, aiming for the snake, but far too close to Yale. She weaved around the forest of dark leather boots and broke through the throng of them.

Her hands were up and all she could see was the frightened eyes of her friend as they stared down at her and it summoned from within her a bitter hatred that burned her from deep inside and the angry red and yellows of her flames shifted into a vibrant blue and white that turned the moisture in the air to steam. The fire that had before swirled around like water and vapor hardened into distinct shapes, vines with thick wickedly sharp thorns and they fell upon the serpent, ripping and burning its flesh. Wide furrows were racked across the creature, ripping it open. All around her the giants gasped and involuntarily stepped back, panicked whispers rippling through them in waves.

The snake recoiled at the her fire and she fell back, pulling it with her and she heard Yale take a loud gasping breath as the many hands of his fellow cooks grabbed him and pulled him out of the snake’s weakening hold. Someone was yelling her name.

The milky white of the serpant’s eyes met her own, close enough to feel the heat of his breath on her face and her arms shook terribly as she held it there, her mind feeling as tight and brittle as a thread pulled too taut and ready to snap.

“You’re majesty! Now!”

The glowing blade of the dagger sunk into the serpent’s skull with a sickening schlk and the milky white of its eyes drained away to reveal deep amber irises just before they rolled back into the dying creature’s skull and a black mist crept out from the corners of its mouth. Maevis began to chant something loudly above her and the black miasma swirled about as though the magician’s words agitated it, hurt it, and then all at once the whole black mass of it was sucked upwards. Upwards and into open mouth of a glass jar held in the magician’s hands. He slammed a stopper into it once the black mist had settled inside. Only then did Nenani release her hold and the blue vines misted away into plumes of white steam and she fell back onto the ground, gasping, and black overtook her senses.

……………………………………….

“Hold her still,” said a voice, far off, but familiar. “That’s it. Now we just...”

“Is she breathing?”

“Stand back, dammit!”

“Go sit down, Yale!”

“IS SHE BREATHING?!”

Something pressed up against her chin and forced her head back and something shockingly cold was poured down her throat and she jolted to alertness. It tasted medicinal and spicy and it made her want to gag.

“Easy now, little one,” Maevis said, his voice gentle but tense. “Don’t fight, just drink. As much as you can.”

His voice was oddly commanding and she took several long gulps of air before she allowed more of the medicine down her throat. She felt as though she was drinking gallons of the vile brew before it stopped and she was allowed a respite. Laying in someone’s arms, she gasped and coughed, everything tingled alarmingly and her head swam and pulsed with a painful headache. She opened her eyes to see Farris’s worry stricken face above her and Maevis standing back, slipping a small flask back into his pocket.

“She’ll be fine, Farris,” Maevis said, his face set into a grim frown. “The potion’s done it’s job.”

Farris’s starred down at her and she was at a loss for what emotion she saw. His brows were narrowed, but his eyes were unfocused. She felt his arm around her pull her closer to his chest, one hand curling around her shoulder and rubbing her arm lightly.

“How do we keep that from happening again?” He asked Maevis, voice quiet and not sounding at all like himself.

“I’ll come up with something,” Maevis replied. “Her magic is all out of sorts and unfocused and spills out all at once. It needs a cap or any time she uses her fire...well. She runs the risk of...”

“So she can just drop dead?” Farris growled. “Just like that? Stop breathing and die?”

“It’s a danger all elementals face when they first come into their magic, Farris,” Maevis replied. “If they drain themselves too much too quickly, it could stop the heart.”

“Maevis,” came the voice of the King. “Do you know of a way to prevent her from spilling her magic like that?”

“I have a solution in mind. It’ll only take me a moment to procure it.”

“Then please, see to it. Once you have it, we will convene in the great hall. There’s much we need to discuss about what is to be done now.”

“Your majesty,” Maevis replied and Nenani heard his footsteps grow quieter as he left.

“Farris,” said the King, “Please see to your staff and all what needs to be tended to. I will have Donal send you some support workers to help get everything back in order. Do not be too concerned with dinner service. We’ll manage well enough with what we have in cold storage and be content. Now, where is Haiyer?”

“I have ‘im here, yer majesty,” came Bart’s voice. “He’s ain’t hurt none, just rattled a good bit.”

“I will send Lolly down in a moment to come collect him. For now, however, I will take Nenani with me. I don’t want Annie to hear of what happened until her daughter is recovered.”

“Aye,” Farris replied dully and Nenani was shifted about in his hold and laid into Warren’s outstretched hands. She was too weak to protest or ask questions so she laid passive in the King’s arms as he issued several more orders before leaving the cook camp. She closed her eyes for only a moment and then suddenly they were in a corridor, the air much warmer and smelled of dusty tapestries and old wood. Time seemed to slip between her fingers like so many grains of sand and she closed her eyes again for what seemed like only a few seconds before she opened them again and she was no long being held by the King, but nestled in a thick padding of soft fabric on a very large and long table. Glancing up, she found the ceiling to be a dizzying way up, far higher than any other ceiling she had seen in the castle. Many large windows lined the impossibly long room and in between each was a long ornate tapestry that glistened as though woven with gold thread.

“...some sort of fixture, a lantern maybe. Place them about the castle grounds.”

“And these would alert us to the mage’s magic?”

“Yes. We will need a good many of them, but I believe this will be our best chance at preventing what occurred today from repeating itself.”

“Yes, about that. What did we see exactly, Maevis? I don’t recall ever hearing of a Silvaaran fire mage do anything like what I just witnessed.”

“To be honest, sire...I am not entirely sure myself. Her mother’s bloodline is old and to the Silvaarans’ way of thinking at least, pure. Her being a fire mage is hardly surprising given her heritage. Her father’s bloodlines however are, from a magical standpoint, very unassuming. Very little to any magic at all. But the potency of Nenani’s magic I find to be...quite shocking. I’ve never seen a fire mage transfigure their flames like that.”

“When she was revealed to be a fire mage, I took it upon your authority that her fire was harmless. What she did today was far from harmless.”

“She’s only a child, sire. She wouldn’t...”

“Let us not mix words here, Maevis. She is a child with the power to kill. She is an untrained, wild mage.”

“The amulet will help. She wont be a danger to anyone...”

“...unless she feels threatened. Which you know just as well as I how probable that is. Especially now. She experienced that first hand did she not? One of the rangers? When she first arrived?”

“Ah, yes. I believe she did.”

“And if such an incident were to happen again now that she is bloomed? Am I to be content with a dead ranger?”

“I will work with her. She’s a smart girl. She’ll learn how to control it with some time.”

“I do not need to be told of her virtues. Nor do I hold any ill will towards the poor girl. But we must be sensible about this. Annie said that she had put a seal on her once before. Would it be possible to do so again?”

“...If at all possible, sire, I would very much like to avoid that option.”

“Why is that?”

“I’ve already tried once before. The Princess’s original seal broke...it broke weeks ago. When the wyvern attacked.”

“The wyvern?” A long pause. “So it wasn’t you who...”

“No. No I wasn’t the one to kill the wyvern. It was her.”

“...why did you not inform me of this at the time? Why did you lie and say you had slain it?”

“...I was scared for her. I thought...that if I could seal her again, everything would go on as normal. But the seal...it hurt her. She complained of pain constantly. The seals were never designed for the mages’ comfort, quite the opposite in fact, and I hate that I ever did such a thing to her. So if at all possible, I would like to keep her unsealed. I do not know what kind of seal Oira could manage, but...”

“Maevis, I appreciate your devotion to the girl, but we must remember the people of this country, this Kingdom. We serve them as protectors and this mage, Aidus, is a very real threat. We cannot allow ourselves to be distracted this way.”

“I do remember, your majesty. But I cannot turn my back on her.”

“Nor am I asking you to. If this amulet does as you say, then the matter is settled. Once she has recovered some, you will begin instructing her on how to manage her magic and we will revisit this at a later time.”

“She was only trying to save Yale. They are very close, those two. And anger is a very potent fuel for mage fire. She must have buried a lot of it for so much to pour out of her.”

“I do not doubt you, my friend. And the fact that no one else was burned tells me the truth of it. But she cannot be allowed to wield such power without the tools to do so responsibly and safely. As you say, she is only a child. And one who has been through much. In any case, it might prove a useful distraction for her. A constructive outlet...”

Nenani lay within the fabric, numb and filled with emotion at the same time. What had she done? She made the King angry. He sounded so angry…she didn’t mean to do it. But she did and even as she regretted it, she was still all the same glad she had. She couldn’t let Aidus take someone else from her. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t. He couldn’t have Yale. Or anyone.

Never again...

“Nenani,” came the King’s voice above her and she jerked in surprise, looking up to find him frowning at her. “You must calm yourself, child.”

It was only then that she realized she was all aflame and the fire pulsed when the surge of fear hit her.

“I’m sorry...” she said quietly.

Maevis stepped up behind Warren and reached out to pushed the fabric around her away, a gloved hand tucked itself under her shoulders and eased her up so she was sitting. “Don’t be scared,” he told her. “You’re all right now, Nenani. I have something that I believe will help with your flames.”

Something glistened in his other hand and he carefully placed a metal chain around her neck, using the tip of one finger to carefully lay the large amulet down. A familiar fire opal the size of a goose egg rested heavily against her belly, the chain being so long on her. She starred down at it, the colorful flecks of iridescent colors within the stone shining when it caught the light. There was pressure in her belly and a the feeling of something pulling at her and pulling inwards. The flames that danced around her faltered and died as the stone began to glow. After only a few moments, the light died away and she was her normal self.

Maevis grinned in clear delight and relief. “I call that a success!”

The King too looked relieved and nodded. “I am glad,” he said with a sigh and then leaned down slightly to peer at her. “Now, Nenani, did you hear what all we were just discussing?”

Without meeting the King’s eye, she nodded. “I didn’t...mean to do anything bad. I just...He’s taken so much from me already. I wasn’t going to let him take Yale too. I...I don’t even know how I did all that...I just did.”

“Do you know what happened after?” asked the King and she shook her head. “You stopped breathing, little one...”

“I...I did?” she asked looking up at him, her belly doing flips with unease.

“When an elemental uses all of their magic,” Maevis explained. “And I do mean all of it, it’s potentially fatal if emergency actions are not taken. Such as the potion I gave you. You’re newly bloomed, Nenani. And as such, you do not know how to regulate the flow of your magic. So when you used it as you did, it poured out all at once. That potion I gave you was a restorative.”

She suddenly realized why Farris looked the way he had and she bowed her head feeling shameful. After all the time having him worrying over her, she went and did it again.

“But, don’t worry!” Maevis was quick to add, tipping her head up gently with a finger. “I am going to teach you how to manage your magic so it never happens again.”

She nodded mutely. “So...did it work, at least? What you were trying to do?”

Maevis nodded. “Yes, I was able to extract the essence from the serpent. It’s locked up in the library under seventeen layers of protective spells and I may still add more tonight.”

“At least it worked,” she offered inanely.

The King nodded. “It is our hope to have a warning beacon in place soon. Maevis believes he can use the captured essence to create a barrier spells to detect the mage’s presence should he attempt to enter the grounds under guise again.”

“Which reminds me,” Maevis said, looking to Nenani with a serious expression. “How was it that you knew the serpents were Aidus’s avatars?”

“I didn’t. Haiyer did,” she replied and seeing Maevis’s bewildered stare elaborated. “He...he has an imaginary friend who he said told him to hide because there was one of Aidus’s snakes around.”

The King was not able to fully suppress the dubious smile that came to his lips. Looking to Maevis, he asked “Do you think he might be a mage as well, Maevis? That he may have sensed Aidus?”

“I do not think it so, but I haven’t had a moment to study the boy properly,” mused the Magician. “He is of the age where any magical talents would begin to show. Though...foresight is awfully rare and I’ve never heard of it appearing in the Silvaaran bloodlines.”

“I don’t...I don’t think it’s him,” Nenani said, earning herself the attention of both giants.

“No?” asked Maevis. “Why is that?”

“When he was telling me about her –his friend,” she said. “He said she was a fairy, but Mama and Lolly said fairies aren’t real.”

Maevis nodded, grinning a little.

“So you don’t think it could be a real fairy?” she asked.

Maevis and the King shared a look. “No, dear,” Maevis replied with a light laugh. “I am afraid it far more likely the little prince merely imagined this fairy friend. They are only to be found in folk tales and children’s stories.”

“But then,” she said. “How does he know who Bertol is?”

Maevis’s patient eyes narrowed and his mouth turned into a sour frown. “Bertol?”

“Haiyer said that his fairy friend lived in the mountains with a giant...named Bertol.”

Beside him, the King laughed. “Bumbling Bertol? Wherever would the boy have heard of him?”

But Maevis looked pensive. “He wouldn’t have. At least, not that I could imagine. If he does have foresight, it might explain him knowing the name. But until I have a moment with him, I could not say for sure.” Maevis tapped his lips idly as he considered the information. “Nenani, that little stone of his. Where did he get it?”

“I gave it to him when we were still out in the wilds with Keral. He was scared so I just picked up a rock that looked pretty and told him it was magic. To help him calm down. It was just a rock I found.”

Maevis’s eye opened wide, his mouth hanging open agape and he said nothing for several long seconds before he then started to giggle. Warren looked to the magician in mild confusion. “Maevis?”

“You just told him it was magic? That’s all?”

“Yes...” she replied, unsure and a little bewildered by the magician’s reaction.

“Oh my goodness,” he said, breathing heavily and then turning his gaze to Nenani, eyes bright with mirth. “My dear child. That was a blue quarts stone! You remember what I said about stones of power? That rock is a minor stone. A quarts.”

Nenani just starred, confused. “Huh?”

“You charmed it,” Maevis replied with a grin. “You implanted a piece of your magic inside when you gave it to him.”

Nenani opened her mouth and then closed it again as the King began to laugh. She regarded Maevis with pure befuddlement. “Wha...what? You...you can do that?”

Maevis nodded, wiping at his eyes. “Yes, dear. You can. It’s the same principal that works with that fire opal there. When presented with magic, it’ll pull it inside the stone. The greater the stone, the more power it can hold. A minor stone cannot hold much, but a simple charm would fit nicely. When you gave little Haiyer the stone, some of your magic was pulled into it. Charming it.”

She sat there dumbfounded and perplexed at the idea which only seemed to make the pair of giants chuckle more.

“But then,” she asked, “How does he know about Bertol?”

Maevis was unable to provide an answer, but decided that once he had a moment and things had settled, he would examine Haiyer to see if the small boy had in fact came into his magic, but instead of another young fire mage, they had a young oracle. And somehow no one bothered to notice.

“Oracle?” Nenani asked, unfamiliar with the word.

“Someone with the gift or foresight. The ability to see the future.”

“So...is Bertol an oracle?”

Maevis snorted distastefully. “Not in the least.”

“I didn’t think Oracles were real,” Warren admitted as he slipped onto one of benches alongside the long table.

“Exceedingly rare,” Maevis replied, taking a seat as well. “But they do appear in contemporary sources. Perhaps the Queen may know more.”

“Why would she know about Oracles?” asked Warren.

“Oracles are almost always found among the water mages. The water element lends itself to foresight. Her majesty would have grown up on tales of water mages, being from Ibronia.”

The King looked thoughtful and nodded. “I will ask her tonight.”

Wherever the conversation might have lead to was interrupted by the large set of doors at the far end of the room flying open and several giants pushed their way inside with quick and deliberate steps. They marched with purpose and brought with them a stiff and uncomfortable air, riddled with anxiety and anger.

“Your majesty!” said one of the giants at the front of the group. He was a giant of medium build, but his form was puffed out by a lavish green coat of fine embroidery with fur lined collar and cuffs. His face was set into a decidedly disagreeable frown and he seemed to be covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

Warren sighed and rose up from the table to meet the group. “My Lords,” he said to them collectively and then to the green coated one, “Lord Eldherst.”

“Is it true?” the green coated giant demanded. Nenani was a little shocked at how brazenly the man was speaking to the King. Lord or not, it seemed horribly rude and Nenani found herself a little offended on behalf of Warren. She knew none of the faces and it was then that she realized all of them were dressed in fine doublets and jerkins and coats. Some had jewels on their hands or around their necks. They were more richly dressed than the King.

“My lords, there is nothing to fear,” said the King, his voice both commanding and reassuring at once. “The threat has been dealt with and precautions are being put into place as we speak.”

The green coated giant huffed through his nose. “Do you mean to say that the fire mage has been cast out, your majesty?”

There was a sickening drop in the pit of her stomach and she tried to duck down into the fabric around her. Maevi’s hand rested on the table not too far from her and he very slowly began to inch his hand towards her, his eyes never straying from the group of Lords. The King stood stiffly, taking in each of their faces, and then addressed Lord Eldherst.

“No, sir. She has not,” he replied cooly. “Nor will I.”

The man did not seem to like that answer at all. “Your majesty, it is dangerous to have that thing on castle grounds!” Brown eyes abruptly turned her way and Nenani ducked into the fabric. Maevis’s gloved hands reached out to her, abandoning all pretense, and pulled her to him and folded the cloth around her more securely. Sweeping the entire bundle up, Maevis rose to his feet. The green coated man’s face turned a strange shade of pinkish purple and he waved an angry and accusing finger at her. “That thing should be brought to the Hill tribes where it’s chaos can be contained in a place of less importance! The west wing is destroyed, the kitchens are still in pieces, and now we have giant serpents coming onto the grounds and attacking our staff! That thing is cursed and we should rid ourselves of it before someone is killed!”

The large group of agitated giant lords all murmured sounds of agreement and someone from the back yelled out, “Here, here!”

“My lords,” said the King, his voice echoing through the hall. “I hear your concerns, but I must remind you all; your grievances are with the one who had caused these misfortunes and I assure you, it is not a little girl to whom your wrath should be aimed. As you all have been informed, what we face is indeed a human mage, but it is not Nenani. The young Princess is not our enemy.”

“Yes, Princess. As you have said, my liege. But is it not true that her mother was struck from the Silvaaran royal house? Her name removed from their records? What debt do we owe still that we haven’t already paid that we should take in and honor the dubious status of a human woman and her bastard?”

“Maevis,” said the King, his words sharp and angry. “Take Princess Nenani to the library and see to her recovery.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Maevis replied with a graceful, if not stiff, bow and he turned, covering her with fabric and shielding her from the eyes of the gathered lords. Underneath, she shivered and swallowed against the lump in her throat. The day’s events played inside her mind and she recalled the look of her fire when it turned blue and took the form of vines with thick thorns, sharp and curved. The gasps from the guards around her. The King’s anger. Lord Eldherst’s fear.

What did she do?

Gods above, what did she do?

#Dumpling #G/t story #g/t writing #Giant/tiny #fantasy giant #Nenani #Yale #Farris #Maevis #Warren #Eldherst #magic #g/t

34 notes · View notes

tysonrunningfox · 4 years

Text

Crown Loyal: Part 5

It’s Princecup but it has a kitschy name now I will not be stopped (but I had to write the chapter in comic sans so if it’s bad it’s because I made a deal with the devil)

Ao3

“Are you coming?” Hiccup asks, and as much as she wants to impose Prince Haddock over him, especially in the ostentatious car after a day of him flashing a credit card in some shade of obsidian she hadn’t known existed until she saw Fishlegs pull one out one day to rent a tank for an exhibition, he’s still just Hiccup right now.

Dangerously Hiccup. His hair ruffled from trying on a dozen stupid suits, sleeves rolled up his forearms, hand working anxiously on the stick shift. The most princely thing about him is his expression, a placid, friendly one she recognizes from balls and galas where he’s playing a part, and that makes her more nervous than any security threat she’s ever heard.

“Or, you know, you could just wait in the car and if there happens to be a kidnapper hiding inside and waiting to sell some royal body parts on the black market.”

“We haven’t had any threats about that.” She rolls her eyes, and it’s worse because he’s right, and she’s never seen the hunting lodge before and that long buried royal curiosity is bubbling in her chest.

He pauses, drumming his hands on the steering wheel, and she wishes she hadn’t put down her gun, because it’s comforting weight against her back helps her remember that she’s working.

“Spit it out, what are we doing here?”

“Can I take your gun to protect myself?” He winces even as he asks, leaning over like he’s going to grab the weapon from where it rests by her feet, and she stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“No.”

For the first time in their less than professional working relationship, that seems to be the answer he wants, and he leans a little closer, just close enough to remind her how tiny the cab of his sports car is.

“Probably best, my dad would kill me if I shot one of his tapestries in self-defense.” He laughs at his own unfunny joke and she shoves him back to his own side of the car, wincing when the buckle of her watch scrapes against the leather seat. “Hey, sports cars and heirs can be replaced, but not medieval dragon hunting tapestries.”

“Where’s your sweater?” She unbuckles her seatbelt, “I’ll just grab it for you.”

“And leave me unprotected?” He grins, predicting her answer and getting out of the car before he even hears her muttered ‘no’. He gets the door open before she can make sense of the glossy handles, and offers her his hand, too hopeful for her to shove it away. Plus, the car is really low to the ground and he did take her on a long enough ride for her to get stiff, and she hates her own excuses and the fact that she hasn’t quit, or something.

But if she quit, who would protect him?

No one she trusts as much as herself.

The realization is a bitter inevitability as she reaches back for her radio, doing her best to ignore the all too recognizably impatient sound in his throat as he tries to stop her.

“Fishlegs might need me.” She tugs her hand from his, fingers immediately clammy, and gestures towards the front door with an hand uncertain under the lack of weight from its lack of weapons.

“Not very good service up here.” His bouncy shrug is as hollow as the rest of his expression and she hates how she wants to fill the space he’s missing. She hates how sometimes he feels like a worthy crown and she’d be ok with being absorbed. It makes her push back harder against everything he shouldn’t be.

Much like the stories that allegedly take place within them, fairytale castles aren’t and never have been real.

The confusion between castles and palaces has always infuriated Astrid, mostly because of her military history education. Of course, some building with a giant, manicured lawn instead of a moat and rows upon rows of glistening first floor windows isn’t a defensive structure. Castles were damp stone on rocky hills, and while she did enjoy visiting some of Berk’s most famous ruins, it was from a historical, tactical standpoint. Back when she was a private hoping to prove herself, she thought about what it would have been like to be at one of those battles up on those crags, to help. What she could have done to sway the outcome.

Private Hofferson would be wildly disappointed at how she’s faring in her current battle. The battle she shouldn’t be fighting.

When she first got her job at the palace, the concept of a fairy tale dropped even further from her realm of possibility. The palace is, on the surface, glamorous and historic and royal, but its security system undercuts every part of that, weaving between the layers of tradition to supply a modern safety net. Bullet proof glass carefully installed in windows framed by two-hundred-fifty year old plaster, steel shutters hidden under the ornate valences outside. Modern electricity routed through ancient walls to cameras and outlets and wireless internet. Wired connections to military involvement.

A glossy bunker meant to keep relics safe, like a museum.

A museum where Astrid is a display case.

“The summer house,” Hiccup is awkward as he opens the front door with a sleek key on his sleek sports car keychain, completely at odds with the heavy, ancient door that creaks open with a poof of dust. “Or hunting lodge, if your general frame has the heat capacity of a nuclear power plant.”

He laughs, and it’s nasal until he steps inside, where the echo in the ancient foyer turns the sound regal.

The room is rich, dusty wood, a fireplace at the opposite end closed off by a small but ornate cast gate. The tapestry on the wall is covered by protective plastic, glazed with a season’s dust, but it’s still beautiful, hand-woven and ornate, a demonstration of devotion to power.

But more than that, it’s real. Protected, for when it will be useful, but real. Real construction, real rugs that smell mothy, real paneling that smells like carved cedar. Walls that dampen sound outside and make her believe that this is another world, a safer world, a world where she doesn’t have to think about what’s outside of the walls.

Her radio gives a burst of static that threatens to ruin the moment.

“None of the rooms have full power, of course, no internet in the whole place. I used to hate coming here as a kid until…wait, I still kind of hate it because it’s me being shut in with nothing but my dad and Gobber—”

“Stop,” she says.

Her voice echoes, a little too loud, the old walls absorbing it and shouting it back.

If she were someone else, her fairy tale would look like this.

She would stumble upon a royal residence and be accepted. Or no, acclimated.

This is a life that seems livable. Old wooden walls, tapestries painting her countries history. A life that feels more real than the glitz at the palace.

She pauses in front of a painting of King Hiccup the Second with a handsome gray horse. The resemblance is undeniable but more reminiscent of Hiccup’s prince-face than his actual expressions and she looks at him before she can help it.

He’s staring at her, hesitant like princes aren’t, biting his lip, hand in his pocket.

“What?” She wishes she sounded harsher, but it’s hard when he’s so close and, as much as her patriotic pride doesn’t like to admit, vulnerable. He feels like an emblem of this place, of Berk.

And so much more.

“I’m just here to get my sweater.” He points down the hall, leading, and she says the word she never thought he’d want her to.

“No.”

“You get to tell me when I’m being stupid, not when I’m cold,” he laughs, grabbing her hand and trying to lead her down a hallway that might be cozy if it weren’t so dark.

“Hiccup,” she says quietly as she jerks her hand free and he fumbles for her fingers again in the dangerous dark, “Prince Haddock.”

He stops short, shoulders rigid enough that they tense the crisp fabric of his expensive shirt. It fits him well, she notes, too well. Or just well enough, given how far out of her depth she is, amidst all the old royalty haunting these halls.

“Don’t.”

“How—”

“Not now, not when I’m…” He exhales before facing her, face determined in the waning light through the ceiling length windows facing into the courtyard.

Trusting windows.

If anyone is in your courtyard, the battle is already over.

“When you’re what?” She knows the answer. She knows the answer is easy for him and hard for her and more obvious for all of it. She knows how much she likes his long warm fingers on her upper arms and she knows how alone they are and for the moment, in this ancient, storied castle, how dangerous it isn’t.

This could be theirs for right now.

“Not when I’m confessing.”

“Isn’t the Chapel on the West side?”

He kisses her. Clumsy and urgent and determined to sweep her off of her feet and maybe she wants him to. Here. Where anyone would be willing to succumb to a prince. Where royalty feels real, between safe, heavy walls.

“I’ve gotten everything I’ve ever asked for,” he whispers as he kisses down her neck, fingers curling around her arms as he pushes her back into a plastic covered tapestry that she wouldn’t shoot if her life depended on it.

His though.

“Charming.” She goes to push him away but her fingers curl in his shirt, entirely out of sync with her determination to keep her job.

“It’s not,” he pulls up, kissing her nose on the way and igniting a hot curl of something fond and real in her chest, “it’s obnoxious.”

“Both.” She consigns herself to it, for a second, her radio heavy on her hip as she pulls him closer to her, heel around his calf. And he feels right, like he did the other times. And she reaches for this to feel wrong, like it did before.

The castle wall is cold and Hiccup’s hand are warm where they carefully untuck her shirt like its cheap fabric is anything like the priceless tapestry behind them.

“No,” he whispers, peppering too sweet kisses across her cheek even as his hands clamp on her ribs, almost hard enough, “no.”

“Ok,” she goes to shove him off, glad that for once he was the one to find his senses, but he rests his forehead on her shoulder, breathing hard, his hair tickling the side of her neck.

“I wanted to talk to you.” He laughs to himself over some joke that wasn’t worth telling, “but we—this is why—”

“You’re right.” She disagrees with everything about his tone, pushing him away from her with trembling hands, attempting to dismiss everything comforting about the heavy stone walls around her. “We shouldn’t.”

They’re defensive, sure, but modernity is useful too. No cameras. No warnings. Nothing to hide from. Nowhere to hide.

“I’m never right if it keeps you away from me,” he says it, all at once, like buying a sports car. Like it means nothing and everything. Like he doesn’t understand how impossible that is to respond to, especially when there’s no one listening.

Astrid has thought about dying for Prince Haddock. About taking a bullet. About jumping in front of an attacker’s knife.

But she’s never contemplated protecting his heart.

As always, protecting herself wasn’t part of the equation, and she thinks of his portrait at the academy. She thinks of him in the barn, hay in his hair. Of him puffing out to fit shoes that don’t feel quite right and how it’s the only time that admitting doubt and fear has ever seemed brave.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me for.” She sticks to the truth, because it’s the only thing that could ever compete with heavy walls.

“I do,” he nods, eyes bright in the darkness, hands softening against her, voice filling the room like it belongs in every corner, like he feels the walls as part of him.

“Hiccup—”

“Everything,” his smile is wincing, like he just dealt a blow that he wishes he didn’t have to, “I know I’m asking for everything.”

“You really are obnoxious,” she laughs under her breath, crumbling like a palace under siege as she hits his shoulder with the back of her hand, not bothering to push him away.

It wouldn’t work. She doesn’t want it to and she’s never been good at lying to herself.

“Don’t forget horribly spoiled.” His knee notches between hers as he bumps his nose against hers. “Bratty is one I’ve heard a few times. Uncompromising.”

“I did say I’d help with that,” she lets her arms wrap around his neck and her chest feels lighter even as her stomach churns under the lack of cameras to keep her in line.

Influence should be added to the Haddock crest alongside honor and glory, because she never needed reminders of the rules before he came into her life.

“Too late.” He grins like he knows he’s won something, “I’m a lost cause.”

“You know I don’t believe that, or I wouldn’t try so hard to keep you alive.”

His jaw drops, faking offended, and she laughs even though there’s no going back now. The door clicking shut doesn’t sound enough like a dungeon to make her pause, even though she’s seen the gilded cage snap shut across Hiccup’s expression more than enough times to respect it.

“Here I thought you did that because you liked me.” He seems to weigh the statement for a second, “and it’s your job.” ‘Job’ is a dirty word surrounded by so much history and duty.

“I could ask for a transfer.” She lets her fingers tangle in the too long hair at the back of his neck. “Snotlout can’t seem to keep a guard around for more than a few weeks, I’m sure Fishlegs would be glad for a break finding replacements.”

“No,” he frowns, “I like that you’re obligated to spend so much time with me.”

“There has to be a compromise here.”

“I don’t trust anyone else.”

“Someone else kept you alive for twenty four years.”

“And look at me, a spoiled, uncompromising, obnoxious brat.” He leans down to whisper in her ear like he’s keeping a secret from the walls, “you were committed to helping me with that, unless you’re a quitter, in which case—”

“Hiccup.” She doesn’t want him to go there, to use that voice that makes everything sound so easy, like he can snap his fingers and summon the solution on a silver platter. “We…have to be better about hiding it, ok? No one can know, we can’t disappear together for hours on end—”

“I know I’m an embarrassment, but you can’t tour the crown jewel gallery if you’re too proud to be seen with me,” he nudges his hips against hers, missing the point with deft intention and she cups his chin, forcing him to look at her with stern fingers.

“You can’t get everything you want.” She lets her thumb brush across his lip and his tongue darts out after it as his eyes flick down.

“Keeping a secret around the most highly monitored properties in Berk,” he kisses her, pulling back just far enough to murmur against her lips, “could be fun.”

“Great.” She grins, tugging on his hair just enough to stop him from distracting her further. “We should get back.”

“But we haven’t gotten my sweater yet,” he ignores her hold on his hair and kisses her jaw, “from my quarters…” His breath is warm on her neck as his hands migrate back to the buttons on her shirt, “my imaginary sweater that I made up so that we could finally talk.”

“We’ve been gone for hours, I have to get back.”

“We’ve already been gone for hours,” he pushes his birthright bundled luck, “what’s a couple more?” He gets a button open and strokes her lower stomach, grinning against her cheek when she shivers. “Plus, I feel so safe here. More than normal. You’re doing an excellent job—”

Her radio crackles to life with a shockingly loud burst of static before Fishlegs’ unusually panicked voice pours out into dark.

“Rumblehorn has been compromised. I repeat, Rumblehorn has been compromised. All available units report immediately.”

#princecup #httyd fic #hiccstrid au #modern au #bodyguard au #modern prince hiccup #or as i call him precious spoiled bratboy

34 notes · View notes

curiosity-killed · 4 years

Text

quiet

@givemeunicorns this turned into more hurt/comfort than kissing so uh whoops

Word count: 1235 Pairing: Wangxian

50 kisses prompts

Resentment curves, carves, slices splintering lines across his skin. Even now, reforged into the seal, the energy is alive and hungry. It licks lashes across his back like a many-tongued whip, scoring tallies into his flesh. Splinters slip beneath his skin, slide needle-like into empty veins. He can hear them coming. Outside the cave, in the gloom that hangs like rags across the hills. Swords rattle, robes rustle. There’s the groan of corpses, shambling, shuffling, coming back. There’s a crackle, a hiss, the familiar sting of ozone on his parched lips. He needs to destroy it. He needs to break it, crack it apart, make sure no one else can use it. His fingers shake on the seal, trembling, quivering with wasted energy. He can barely move his hands anymore, his whole body growing cold and stiff. He’s been dead for so long, since he was dropped into this mass grave, since Wen Qing cradled his core in her careful, bloody hands. His stolen time is running out, there’s no resentment that can piece a broken soul back together for this long, he always knew it was a short-term solution — it was only supposed to be long enough for revenge, long enough to carve Wen Chao’s sins into his own skin — but then Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji had found him and then the war and then the Wens — the Wens, he can’t leave them to be massacred, he can’t — “Wei Ying.”

They’re going to die and he can’t protect them, can’t stop it as the screams start, as the blood runs red across the floor. Yanli’s voice calls his name, high and wailing. He can’t do anything, he’s frozen, helpless, rigor mortis setting in. Useless, useless again, he’s just here to watch to bear witness to his own failures again —

“Wei Ying.” He jolts with it, hand lashing out. His wrist is caught before it makes any impact, before his fingers can shape a seal. The hand around his wrist isn’t punishing, isn’t pinning him in place; he could slip loose if he wanted. Releasing a shuddering breath, Wei Wuxian comes back to himself. The jingshi is quiet and dark around them, still with the deep of hush of full night. “Sorry,” he says, closing his eyes tight. “Sorry, did I wake you?” It’s a pointless question: why else would Lan Zhan be awake this late? Wei Wuxian opens his eyes and draws in a breath. It stings in the back of his throat, like ice water over a burn. Lan Zhan’s hand shifts, gently lowering their arms to the blankets. His thumb smooths a loose ellipse over the bone of Wei Wuxian’s wrist. “Was it the Burial Mounds?” he asks. Wei Wuxian’s lips twist, bitterness in the seam of his mouth. They both get nightmares — he wonders if anyone left the Sunshot campaign free of them — but Lan Zhan’s are quiet. Eerily still: Wei Wuxian only knows when he’s had one because of the way he pulls Wei Wuxian close, the silent slide of tears down his cheeks. Wei Wuxian’s dreams are not quiet. He wakes screaming, hands bent into claws, teeth bared around blood that dried years ago. Sometimes, it’s just fear, just amorphous dread closing choking hands around his throat. Sometimes, it’s memories: screaming himself hoarse around the gag Wen Ning had gingerly fixed in his mouth while Wen Qing’s hands moved inside his opened chest, reaching out for Jiang Yanli too late as blood soaks the white of her mourning robes, biting his teeth down on screams as Zidian burns lines into his back. The worst are the ones like tonight, the ones that take memory and weave it with imagination, a thick tapestry of hurt and old grief. It all slides together too easily, seamlessly, till he wakes shaking without knowing what’s real, uncertain in his own memory. “Ahh sort of,” he says, hedges. His voice comes out shakier than he’d like. He’s trying to be better about this, about talking things out instead of cramming them deep down in his chest. He and Jiang Cheng have worked on it together, in a way. It’s stilted, awkward, deeply uncomfortable, and they always wind up both looking anywhere but at each other by the end but it’s — it’s good, he knows. It’s healing, purifying the old infection. Lan Zhan won’t judge him, he knows. Might understand better than anyone — anyone left alive, anyway. He and Wen Qing had sat up more than a few nights in the Burial Mounds, listening to the seething resentful energy that wanted, hungered, and only didn’t turn its teeth on them because of Wei Wuxian’s white-knuckled control. More than that, he doesn’t want Lan Zhan to feel helpless, closed out, ever again. So he’s been trying. Some nights it’s easier, to talk about it. When he says ‘shijie’ or ‘Quionqi Pass,’ Lan Zhan gets it. He doesn’t need all the extra context that tangles up in Wei Wuxian’s throat. Tonight is not one of those nights. Beside him, he can feel Lan Zhan’s exhale, and then his wrist is turning over and long hair tickles against his exposed skin. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, low. He presses a kiss to his fingertips, to his palm, to the pulse point along his wrist. “You are alive.” A kiss to his shoulder, to the junction of neck and shoulder, to the soft tender spot under his ear. “You are home.” To his cheek, his forehead, the corner of his lips. “You are loved.” Feather-light against his lips, barely a brush. Wei Wuxian presses forward, leans into the warmth and reassurance there. His other hand comes up to comb back into Lan Zhan’s hair, loose and still a little damp from the bath. Lan Zhan answers, pulling him close till their legs are tangled, their bodies a firm line of heat drawn together. Pulling back, Wei Wuxian draws in a shaking breath and rests his forehead on Lan Zhan’s chest. His hands have slipped down to clutch at Lan Zhan’s robe, as if he could hold him here if Lan Zhan didn’t let him. As if Lan Zhan would want to go. Exhaling, he loosens his hold and draws his arms around Lan Zhan’s chest instead. Tucking close, he presses a kiss to Lan Zhan’s neck and holds on. A hand runs up and down the flat muscles of his back, just firm enough to feel almost like a massage. With each sweep, he can feel the tension leeching out of him. As the adrenaline and desperation fade away, his body grows tired and limp in Lan Zhan’s arms. The fanged shadows of the Burial Mounds no longer linger in the night shadows of their home; he can hear no echo of screams in the steady cadence of Lan Zhan’s heartbeat. He straightens just enough to meet Lan Zhan’s gaze, though it’s hard to see in the dark. Without his core, his senses have always been a little diminished; he knows Lan Zhan can see him fine. It’s enough. Leaning in, he presses a last kiss to Lan Zhan’s lips. “Thank you, Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, lips brushing. One more, punctuation, and he sinks down alongside his husband. Lan Zhan’s arms hold him steady, his heartbeat drumming soft and even against his cheek. When Wei Wuxian slips into sleep this time, it is deep and easy and quiet.

#wangxian #untamed fic #mdzs #cql #wwx #lwj #my writing

16 notes · View notes

a-world-in-grey · 5 years

Text

Sola HCs

because I need something that isn’t angst

-Contrary to what most people think when they meet child or adult Sola, bby!Sola was not a difficult baby. Or even a difficult toddler. Regis and Aulea are 100% Prepared for the Terrible Twos and Threes, but they just... never happen?

-That’s because, unlike most Lucis Caelums, Sola is very casual with her magic, using it to communicate when words aren’t enough. As a baby, most of Sola’s communication is nonverbal, which isn’t really a problem because most of the people she’s communicating to also have magic and can understand her just fine.

-(Everyone picture Cor and bby!Sola staring at each other, magic coiling around them but not saying anything. Just staring. And various expressions that indicate yes there is indeed a conversation happening, but Astrals help anyone else trying to understand. Cor and Sola sure won’t.)

-As a result, Sola doesn’t talk for the longest time. Sure, as a baby she babbled, but her first word never really came. Regis and Aulea are worried for months, even though the doctors and speech therapists reassure them that there’s nothing seemingly wrong with Sola. She’s communicating without problem, the little girl just doesn’t want to talk yet.

-Sola’s first word comes at a two years old. Cor is napping with Sola in a sun patch when a Crownsguard comes to fetch Cor for a meeting with Regis. Only, Sola does not want to let go. Cor stares his goddaughter down, magic swirling in gentle reproof, but Sola clings all the more stubbornly, her own magic chanting no, until Cor finally tells Sola firmly that he has to go.

-And Sola Scowls (pouts) full force at the unfortunate Crownsguard and, in the growliest (squeakiest) voice she can muster, says, “Mine.”

-Cor may or may not be Smug. Especially when Sola will Not. Stop. Saying It.

-Regis is Dying from the Cute. He has pictures. He has video.

-Sola’s favorite game is Hide-and-Seek. She just... doesn’t always tell you that you’re playing Hide-and-Seek. When this happens Cor is the best one to find her.

-Sola is very sensitive to magic. Partially because that’s how she communicates most of the time, but it’s also partially innate. Regis and Co find out very quickly that this enables Sola to find them anywhere. It also means Sola wins every game of Hide-and Seek.

-Cor of course, takes that as a challenge.

-At four, Sola is able to tell when Regis or her Uncles are Hurting, even if they’re halfway across the Citadel. When this happens, she will find them and literally sit on them so they won’t move and keep Hurting.

-When Aulea is pregnant with Noctis, she’s on bed rest fairly early on. Aulea takes to weaving near constantly. Sola, spending every moment not studying or training with Cor, curls up beside her mother and watches as she weaves a massive tapestry. Sola asks all the questions she has, and Aulea teaches Sola her craft, even getting Sola a mini-loom of her own.

-It’s not uncommon after that for Regis to find Aulea and Sola together, Sola’s face screwed up in concentration as she clumsily mirrors her mother. Sola’s fascination as the tapestry takes form under her mother’s hands, and her delight when she completes her own, small tapestry of a sun against a black background. It’s no masterwork, but Regis hangs it in his office with pride.

-Sola takes up the loom again when she starts dating Libertus. Because this is Sola, goddaughter to Cor ‘No Restraint’ Leonis, her first project is a massive design as tall as she is and twice as wide. It takes her two years, given how little time she’s able to dedicate to it, but Sola is beyond pleased with herself when she finishes it.

-If a tapestry appears in the Kingsglaive HQ one morning, depicting Galahd in its glory… All Titus is able to tell the stunned Glaives is that it’s a gift, for while the artist ‘knows they cannot replace the real thing, they wanted the Glaive to have a piece of home.’ The Glaives wander past the tapestry in a daze for days, and Sola pats herself on the back for a job well done.

-Of course, the Glaives are as curious as Coeurl cubs and three times as persistent, so Sola gets to enjoy the utter Chaos as the Glaives try - and fail - to figure out who the unknown artist is. (She probably shouldn’t find their frustration so amusing, but this is HILARIOUS.)

-(And if in the next three years, two more tapestries of equal size appear in HQ, rekindling the Glaives’ search, well… It’s harmless, and Sola has to get her kicks in somewhere.)

-Sola has a Sweet Tooth. The whole ‘how do you want your coffee/as black as my soul’ meme? Yeah, that’s Sola in a nutshell. Nyx cringes at Sola’s coffee, because that’s not coffee anymore you HEATHEN. Crowe - who is not allowed to have coffee on pain of the worst training course Titus can think up - snickers from where she cradles her tea while Libertus hoards half the coffee pot because Do Not Talk to him before he has his coffee, he is Not Awake.

-You want to bribe Sola? Chocolate. Any kind, all kinds, you bring her chocolate Sola will happily contemplate Vicious Retribution on your behalf. (Unless it’s pepper chocolate, then her Vicious Retribution will be on whichever idiot thought that abomination counted as chocolate.) This woman always has chocolate stashed in her armiger and the rest of the Glaive would really like to know just How Much she’s got, because she NEVER RUNS OUT.

-The Glaives take great glee in watching the rookies trip over Sola’s hot buttons. Because, well, she Smol, and under the uniform no one can actually see just how much muscle Sola’s got, and no one ever thinks Sola’s one of their heavy hitters. So someone inevitably makes a comment on her height, and promptly gets demolished during the next spar.

-Mechanics… aren’t really Sola’s thing. Oh sure, she’s spent more than enough time with the royal mechanics alongside the other Glaives so they can fix whatever problems pop up in the field, and so she can keep her motorcycle in working order, but it’s not really her passion. Even if her obsessive perfectionism means she could probably start a career as a mechanic. Cid grumbles that at least ONE idiot Lucis Caelum knows their way around an engine.

#Shadow of Heaven's Light #ffxv #Sola Lucis Caelum

19 notes · View notes

artemisegeria · 4 years

Text

The Fabric of Our Lives

A/N: Today is the two year anniversary of my writing Scarlet Vision fanfiction, so I wrote a fic celebrating their second wedding anniversary. Rated G, no warnings.

“What’s the theme,” a large yawn that she unsuccessfully tried to cover escaped her, “of this year’s present again?” Wanda’s eyes closed as she sank further into the couch cushions. She had been getting fatigued much more quickly over the last eight weeks. Vision had been pressing her to see Doctor Cho or another medical professional, but she insisted her tiredness was simply a result of their active lifestyle.

Vision smiled at her. He had to admit that he found her extremely cute when she was so relaxed. They had decided last year before their first anniversary to follow the traditional order of anniversary gifts. Well, it had been Vision’s idea, and Wanda had gone along with it. “Cotton. This versatile material represents both comfort and strength. Like threads of cotton woven together, so too will our marriage become more interconnected in time.”*

Vision had already started to create Wanda’s anniversary gift. He had rented a

“Right. Cotton. Interconnected. Got it.” She didn’t even bother to stifle the next yawn.

Vision smiled indulgently at her. “Would you like a foot rub, my love?”

“Yes, please.” He lifted her feet into his lap, pressing his thumb into the arch. Within minutes she was snoring. Vision shifted to carry her into their bedroom. When he settled beside her, he set to thinking about what he could give her that fit his theme.

***

Wanda had finally taken Vision’s advice to see a doctor. She was sitting in their room, clutching the results of the tests they had ordered.

Pregnant.

It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

Apparently not.

She read the results for what felt like the millionth time. She and Vision had discussed having children, the possibility of adoption, what their life would look like if they chose to bring children into it. They had been certain that they would have to seek out artificial insemination if Wanda wanted to become pregnant.

Now all their speculation was proven worthless. She was pregnant with Vision’s baby, no matter how unlikely it seemed. As the reality sunk in, Wanda let herself feel the happiness of this gift. Being parents was something both she and Vision wanted, but she hadn’t yet let herself feel the full extent of how much she wanted it. She didn’t want Vision to feel guilty for the difficulties they might have in conceiving.

When she felt the edge of Vision’s mind returning, she shut down their connection, walling her mind off carefully. She needed a little more time to get used to the idea before she told him. She quickly put the paper away in her nightstand drawer. Vision entered the room with a soft smile on his face, which she gladly returned.

But when he felt the wall in her mind, his mouth puckered in confusion. She patted his knee and smiled at him to reassure him. “I can’t have you guess what I’m giving you for our anniversary.” She felt a pinprick of guilt, but justified that she would tell him the truth soon enough.

“Ah. Then I shan’t pry.”

“Movie?” she asked, to distract him and herself.

“That sounds lovely.” They selected a light-hearted comedy on Netflix and cuddled up together. Wanda found herself focusing more on the feeling of Vision’s heartbeat beneath her ear than the ridiculous plot on screen. She smoothed her hand up and down the material of his pajama shirt, needing to touch him to remind herself that this was her life.

As always, with or without their mental link, Vision sensed her need for comfort. He swept her hair to the side, first rubbing her neck before moving his hands down the length of her back, kneading and massaging. She melted further into his body.

Before she knew it, the room had darkened, and she noticed that Vision had turned off the movie. The covers were pulled up firmly around her chin and Vision was still awake with a book in hand.

She struggled to sit up. When she finally managed it, she kissed Vision on the cheek. “Good night.” She didn’t like to go to sleep without wishing him well for the evening.

“Sleep well, Wanda.” She relaxed back against the pillows, content in the knowledge that her growing family was safe and together.

***

Vision traveled to the apartment he had rented to hide his project. The tapestry stood as he had left it several days previously, still only half completed on the loom. He eyed it critically. It did not look as he had envisioned it. But he supposed he would have to wait to see the finished product.

He continued his weaving. He focused entirely on his project. The rest of the world became immaterial as he poured all his love for Wanda into his work. Hours passed as he wove the threads into a seamless whole, hoping to make them as strong as the bonds that held their marriage together.

It was dark when he finished that day’s portion. He took a leisurely flight back to the mansion. The breeze of the cool night air reinvigorated him after a day of stillness.

Wanda was already asleep by the time he returned. He tucked her in carefully and lay down next to her. She stirred, reaching across the bed for his hand. Vision drew her hand to his lips. “I am back, Wanda. Sweet dreams.”

She murmured something that he could not decipher before relaxing again. He settled one arm around her as he transitioned into his resting mode to keep her company.

***

Wanda gradually got used to the idea of her pregnancy. At least it gave her an idea of what to give Vision for their anniversary. She placed the order with a week to spare before their date night. She had planned last year’s anniversary, so it was Vision’s turn this time. And he was not giving her any hints. Any time she angled for hints, he simply smiled at her and said that she would find out on the night.

So, she went about her days, trying to conceal her anticipation of the revelation she was about to make and her curiosity about the date. All while trying not to act too different than usual. When she received the notification that her items had arrived, she rushed down to the guard station. The mail had not yet been sorted, but the agent on duty was one she was friendly with. She helped Wanda find her package, and she hid it in an unused room in the mansion.

Then, she went down to one of the training rooms to burn off some of her anxiety. She was mindful of not expending too much energy because fatigue still plagued her, but she would not have minded an excuse to take a nap.

Later that evening, she asked Vision to read to her. He chose one of her favorite fairy tales. She imagined him reading to the babies and smiled to herself. She let the smooth, rich sound of his voice carry her away. As had happened many times recently, she found herself snug in bed a while later. Vision was lightly stroking a hand through her hair, and she sank into him.

***

Vision bade farewell to Wanda early in the morning on the day before their anniversary. He had wished to finish his project before then, but a last-minute mission had derailed his plans somewhat. He was grateful that he had put a cushion in his schedule, just in case.

He had only to clean up the edges of the tapestry before presenting it to Wanda. His wife. He was still taken aback by that fact. She had chosen to share her life with him, and he would always be grateful for that.

After finishing the tapestry, Vision carefully rolled it up and tied it neatly with a ribbon, placing it in a cylindrical poster container. He hoped Wanda would like it. He hoped he would not needlessly open old wounds.

***

Wanda couldn’t help fidgeting as she sat through another meeting. She appreciated that Carol and Sam’s meetings were faster than Steve’s, but she needed to get away to finish wrapping her anniversary present. Not to mention to keep some distance between her and Vision, lest she give away the secret early.

She fled as soon as the meeting was over. She had experimented with wrapping the presents separately and having Vision open a number of bags and boxes. But in the end, she decided that she could not bear his usual calm approach to opening so many packages. She was already tying herself up in knots imagining his reaction.

***

Vision watched Wanda eating the meal he had prepared with pride. They were sitting on a blanket on the floor of his rented apartment. She was devouring the lasagna he had prepared with relish and had barely stopped to say a word. When she finally looked up, she was blushing slightly. “That was really good, Vizh.”

Wanda eventually offered him a bite, but he declined. He was eager to have her open his present. Wanda finished her meal in a few more minutes. “I am glad you enjoyed it. Are you ready for dessert?”

“Dessert or dessert?” She wiggled her eyebrows on the last word.

“The former.” Her pout enchanted him, as always.

“Fine.”

He removed the chocolate-covered strawberries from the cooler he had brought for their makeshift picnic. When she saw them, Wanda immediately forgot her faux annoyance. She ate one strawberry with the same enthusiasm that she had eaten her entrée. A piece of chocolate stuck to the side of her mouth, and Vision gently wiped away with his thumb. “Another?” She nodded. Vision selected one, pressing it to her lips. He licked the juice off his fingers when she was done.

Wanda was staring at him dreamily, but she clapped her hands together. “Okay. Present time.”

“May I go first, Wanda?” He had waited long enough to present this to her.

“Sure.” She looked oddly relieved at his request, but Vision was more concerned about the reception of his own gift.

“Just one moment.” He phased through the other room and pulled out the cylinder. When he presented it to Wanda, she seemed perplexed.

“What is this?”

Vision held back a smile and struggled to maintain a flat tone. “I believe the general theory behind gifts is that the recipient opens the gift to discover what is inside.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” She tossed a wadded up napkin at him. Vision let it bounce off him harmlessly. She pulled the top out of the cardboard tube and turned it upside down to let the tapestry out. She pulled on the string that was holding together. The tapestry unrolled and Wanda stared at it. She was utterly still, enough to make Vision fear he had misstepped.

Vision gazed at his handiwork over Wanda’s shoulder. It showed their wedding as it would have been in an ideal world. The entire team was present at Clint’s farm. Natasha and Pietro were standing with Wanda. Her parents were sitting in the front row. Vision had not wanted to cause pain, but he thought she deserved a taste of what their wedding should have been.

Wanda’s wide smile and tear-filled eyes when she finally turned from the picture reassured him. “How long did this take you?” Her voice was still shaky with unshed tears.

“Roughly six weeks.”

“Thank you.” She slid closer to him, leaning into his chest. “This is amazing.”

He stroked his hands through her hair and relaxed into their embrace. He almost forgot about his present when Wanda slowly pulled away from him. “Let me get yours.” She levitated a medium-sized box from her bag over to him.

Wanda’s tears faded away. Vision noticed a new pitch of excitement in her. Her hands were shaking, and her powers fizzed more wildly around her wrists, spreading up her arms. Her energy was infectious. Vision abandoned his usual careful unwrapping and tore through the paper covering the box.

The first item he uncovered was a miniscule item of clothing. He gingerly unfolded it. The front read, “Marco…” The next onesie read, “Polo…” Vision was smart; he knew the likely meaning of this present, but his mind shut down at this new information. He simply pressed forward with the next items in the box.

Vision pulled out the next set. One read, “copy;” one read, “paste.” The final set bore the declarations: “Yes, we’re twins.” and “No, we’re not identical.” Beneath those were two matching adult-size shirts. The top line read, “Overachiever.” Below that was an image of four tiny feet and below that, it said, “I never do anything halfway.”

When he reached the end of the clothing, he sat still. Dumbstruck was too small a word for what he was feeling. He was also struck blind and deaf. His neural processing all but stopped for a few moments.

Soon he distantly realized that Wanda was clutching his hands. “Vizh. Please say something.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

“With twins.”

“Uh-huh.”

Wanda was still staring at him pleadingly. Something about her worry allowed Vision to regain functionality. A smile that he could not contain broke out on his face as he slid his hands up her arms. When he reached her back, he pulled her toward him and leaned back so that Wanda was resting on top of him.

She giggled into his neck as he gently nibbled her earlobe and pressed kisses to her cheek and jaw and neck. Joy spilled out of him in a laugh as well. He was chuckling into her shoulder for many long moments.

When they both finally calmed down, Vision cradled Wanda’s face in his hands to draw her gaze to his. Her expression had settled into a bright smile that was at odds with the tears pouring from her eyes. She reached down to wipe the tears from his own cheeks. “We’re really having two babies?”

“We really are, Vizh.”

“This is the best present that I have ever received.”

“Me, too. I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but I needed a little time.”

“And that is the true reason you’ve been shutting me out?”

“Yeah.” Their eyes met for an endless moment. Vision would remember this for the rest of his existence.

The moment broke when they collapsed into giddy, overjoyed laughter again. Vision wrapped his arms tightly around her. Their little family was growing. Their marriage held more than enough love to nourish a baby. It was only appropriate that their love and marriage would bring two children into the world.

Together, they would weave their love together into a fabric that would never be torn apart.

*The previous two sentences were taken from a search result on google because I really liked the wording and thought it sounded like something Vision might say. Available here: https://www.thespruce.com/traditional-second-year-anniversary-gifts-cotton-2301868.

#fanfiction #scarlet vision

6 notes · View notes

coeurdastronaute · 5 years

Text

Essays in Existentialism: Atlantis 4

Previously on Atlantis

The morning came, steady and through flickering lights against the window, unstill and blinding like a disco ball and lava lamp worked together to form a hybrid. Even behind her eyelids, the patient could see the light dancing through the waters and window before trying to make her join the land of the living yet again.

The oil she was given to rub on her bruises smelled like sweet mint, and it stiffened slightly in the night on her rib, while the kelp compress left nothing more than a pale cut on her forehead and bruising around her eyes. With a small grunt, Clarke gave up to the whims of the underwater world, and opened her eyes as she pressed a hand against the soreness that slept still, sound and happy, in her muscles and bones.

Slowly, still fuzzy around the edges from the concussion, the world came into focus again, and Clarke found herself staring at the ceiling of the ornate room that had become her own during her stay. Rich blues and whites mingled in the most pristine and perfect marble she’d ever seen, while the rich tapestry that covered one wall burst forth in colors and a story, artfully done and purposeful.

Two days ago, she’d been on a research vessel in the middle of the ocean working with her mentor to discover a way to stunt evolutionary tendencies in viruses. Two days ago, she was a girl who didn’t fully believe in the myth of Atlantis, or that Aquaman was a king who ruled more people who could breathe under water.

But she woke up again in a bed that smelled like oranges and sunlight, wrapped in a blanket that was soft and stiff, like clothes dried on a clothesline. She’d eaten a dinner that consisted of her third grade favorite lunchbox lunch, with a reigning monarch in said potentially imaginary underwater country. And nothing made sense.

With no small showing of effort, Clarke propped herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, testing her body all over again, learning how it worked today, and being slightly amazed by how well it felt. The lingering soreness felt like she’d worked out too hard for a whole week straight, but was by no means as terrible as she’d felt less than ten hours ago. She sat there for a few moments and caught her breath, afraid to test her body, but knowing that she must. Clarke pushed herself from the bed and stood, balancing like a baby deer on its new legs.

Everything seemed to work well enough, and she was afraid of the potential pain, but true to the words she couldn't understand, the body began to heal and she found herself wincing for nothing at all.

“I guess I just put more on,” Clarke wondered aloud as she looked at the table across the room that held the ointments and bottles. “But what… how did she combine them?”

Making it across the room, she picked up an intricate bottle and tugged at the stopped, sniffing the inside as a black liquid sloshed about, seen through the pure blue of the bottle. The door cracked and began to open, and the new sound made Clarke drop the bottle so it shattered on the ground, covering the pristine floor with a rather stale smelling liquid.

“I’m sorry-- I didn’t-- I wasn’t sure anyone would come in, and I wanted to--”

“Ti káneis na-eme?” the same old woman asked, hurrying as much as her old bones and bent back would allow. “Tha dilitiriásete ton eaftó sas.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“Kínisi!”

The nurse pushed Clarke slightly as she began cleaning up the dropped liquid, careful to avoid touching it as best she could. Somewhere between shooting her a look and muttering something Clarke was certain was a curse, the nurse humphed and began cleaning up the shattered glass, her displeasure clearly apparent.

A knock tapped softly for a moment as Clarke proceeded to apologize again and get pushed away from trying to help. And if she couldn’t get more mortified of her current predicament, the embodiment of earthly perfection entered the room with a worried furrow.

“I just came to see if you would like breakfast,” Lexa offered, staring at the mess and offering her forearm to Clarke to help move her away from the clean up. “But it looks like you might be busy. Eínai óla kalá?”

“Peismatáris kai adéxia. Léte óti eínai meletitís?”

The princess chuckled and tried to swallow it when Clarke gave her a pointed look.

“That’s a very concentrated combination of venoms and plants, used as a slight numbing agent in the healing process,” she explained, translating very loosely. “More than a few drops would paralyze or potentially kill you.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“You weren’t. She just finds it very difficult to believe you are someone who studies medicine.”

In an instant, Clarke snapped her eyes away from Lexa’s pretty green ones, and turned them on the old woman who put the discarded vial in her basket before setting up for another treatment.

“She should teach me instead of letting me nearly kill myself.”

“Althea is our best healer. She helped deliver me, and my mother, and my mother’s mother and father. Her knowledge would take you years to even start to understand.”

“Are you calling me dumb, too?”

“No, no,” Lexa hurried as Clarke crossed her arms. “Just that she knows enough to fill an entire library. She wrote the books on our modern methods. Books is plural.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s called me dumb a few times,” Clarke sighed as those elderly hands tugged on her shirt once again.

“She has,” the princess smiled and nodded. “I was--”

In an instant, her shirt was tugged up again, and Clarke realized that she was now showing off her stomach and ribs and much too much underboob to the future ruler of a futuristic underwater country that no one was ever allowed to visit. But she was stuck, and the princess was staring. Clarke knew that because she tried to maintain eye contact to pretend nothing bad was happening to her.

“Um, I was…,” Lexa furrowed again before quickly turning around when she met Clarke’s eyes. “I’m sorry. She’s much more intent on getting you better than we might have previously realized.”

“Whatever she’s doing is working. I feel better than I could have imagined.”

“Léei óti aisthánetai kalýtera,” Lexa explained.

Clarke watched as the old woman moved with her eyes nearly shut, the wrinkles covering every part of her face, wearing deep the long lines of living into her very fabric. All she did was hum slightly and press another compress to Clarke’s ribs.

“How do I… I want to thank her, for everything.”

The nurse tugged on Clarke’s jaw, pulling at her shoulders so that she could get a good reach on the wound on her head, repeating her process, though slightly more gently than the ribs.

“Efcharistó,” Lexa explained, peaking over her shoulder, thankful to find the stranger more clothed than before.

“Ef--ef--,” Clarke tasted the word, attempting her best to get over the hump of saying it. “Efcharistó?”

For a second, the woman paused and nodded slightly. Clarke smiled and looked down at her side before holding her hand against the fresh press while Lexa spoke with the healer, bowing deeply to her before earning a kiss on her forehead and a tap of a hand against her cheek.

Freshly ready to heal, Clarke felt full in the room with Lexa, and wasn’t sure what else there was to say or do. It took Lexa a moment to find the protocol.

“I came to see if you would like to eat, and… I can’t show you much, but you’ll be here for a few days while we prepare the Spindrift, and I could show you some things.”

“You don’t have to supervise. I’m sure you have other… princess things to do?”

“My mother is busy with her embassy, and my father is busy saving the planet. I currently have nothing planned,” Lexa explained, clasping her hands and letting them hang in front of her.

The crest on her shoulder was proud and ancient. The soft fall of her braids against the deep green and cream color of her frock was picture perfect, and all before breakfast was even served. The princess held an entire world together, and she was going to be the link between words, born of both.

And she was gracious enough to save Clarke’s life in her spare time.

“And I had a few questions about Land… if that’s okay?”

“Breakfast first,” Clarke decided, her smile warming as Lexa returned it at the offer.

“I can do that.”

XXXXXXXXX

“So this is just one of your gardens?” Clarke asked as she walked out onto the balcony that was so large she forgot it was suspended partly above the city.

Stacked, the buildings seemed dripping in greenery and elaborately inlaid, as if every story was intricately planned and prepared. There were bits that reminded Clarke of old textbooks or picture books from when she was a child and went through Egyptian and Greek Gods phases of learning. Giant statues, with limited features but strong poses, warriors and thinkers alike, stood guard throughout the city from the view. Towering figures held up buildings, while greenery and trees filled every inch, weaving together a lattice roof over the shops and buildings below. Sleek lines dictated the skyline.

Standing on the private balcony garden, Clarke surveyed much of the city she’d missed from her window view of the palaces back patios and gates. Now, she saw the dome that sat around the city, saw the architecture, felt the breathing, pulsating thrum of the entire place.

“It is. We have a few royal gardens. Some of the most prized and ancient plants are here, and are often open to the public.”

“But not today?”

“Only during the high holidays.”

It was lush and alive, the entire city was a steady noise and hum, but the gardens were quietly removed from it, shadowed in giant trees and overgrown shrubs she couldn’t quite place. Every way Clarke looked, she found something mesmerizing, something that brought up more questions, something she knew she’d never see again.

“How do you… How did you get all of this here?”

“Atlantis has always existed, even before the shift,” Lexa explained, her hands careful linked behind her back.

She walked perfectly straight, her gait natural and fixed, her body fluid. Clarke caught herself watching the princess as much as she watched the entire world around her that no other person who walked on land had ever seen. Chestnut hair in intricate braids, her strong brow, the green of her eyes, the soft slope of her chin and smile-- it was distracting, even in a palace.

“And you can breathe… underwater?”

The princess ducked her head and chuckled.

“Yes, all Atlanteans can breathe both. Evolution was as kind to us as the gods were.”

“I have so many questions, I can’t decide where to start.”

The pair wandered along the path as Clarke wracked her brain and overheated with the information. Lexa saw to it that they were left alone and undisturbed, the palace gates shut tightly and all entrances to the garden monitored by the guards she trusted the most. For just a few moments, she allowed herself to enjoy the company of the girl she saved, who had a peculiar way of looking at things, who blushed sometimes, right on the edge of cheeks.

“Maybe don’t ask any questions,” Lexa offered after a moment of quiet as they came to the edge. She took a seat on a planter wall under a flowering tree with big blue and purple petals. “Just live this moment.”

“Is that what you do here?”

“I do tend to enjoy my time in my home, yes.”

Clarke took a seat beside the princess, careful to hold her ribs as she readjusted.

“I want to know everything. It’s a curse, I’m afraid.”

“I suppose I’d be the same way on land,” Lexa acquiesced. “I wouldn’t know where to even begin, but something about sitting here, feeling, touching, tasting, hearing-- it’ll help you understand Atlantis more than any question.”

“I would actually imagine that the few questions I have about the field surrounding the city, or the evolutionary tactic of breathing underwater might be illuminating.”

Again, Lexa caught herself smiling, but she swallowed it and looked up at the light filtering through the branches and petals. She closed her eye and took a deep breath, willing the visitor to do the same.

Neither spoke, but rather took the time to enjoy each other’s company and the quiet moment that neither world would ever know about. Clarke listened, catching a far away laugh of a child playing something. She heard a hum and a rushing of water, she heard the long, drawn out caws of some kind of bird that existed within the microcosm. After a few minutes, she reached up and plucked a petal from the tree, careful not to disturb the rest of the large flower on the branch. It took up her entire hand, and she rubbed her fingers along it, feeling the thick, velvet touch it had, smelling the sweet, musky hint it hid.

Lexa watched as the stranger felt her world, and she wasn’t sure what she expected from Clarke, but she hadn’t expected her words to be taken quite to heart. For an instant, she almost believed she could see when Clarke began to understand and feel it, the ease and peace that came in the gardens.

“When I was young, maybe only five or six, my father took me on land,” Lexa explained. “He introduced me to his father. We went to a building, shaped like a long tube that had a light on top. He said it was where he grew up, and he showed me all of his things, and my grandfather showed me his world. I remember the taste of the salt in the air and the smell of the fishermen coming home. I remember the feeling of the net in my hand as I played with it. I remember my father sitting on top of this light with me, and he pointed to the entire world. I could see for miles and miles. He told me it was my job to protect my people from those on land, and it was my job to protect the land from all else. That was how we united the two. But I didn’t listen, not fully. I had an ice cream cone.”

Clarke watched as Lexa spoke, as she confessed and said more words than she imagined the princess ever normally said. It was not the story of a princess though, but rather that of a stranger, offering something innate, something of themselves.

“Are you not allowed on land?”

“No,” she shook her head curtly.

“You should come. See what you’re destine to defend.”

“I’m destined to complete much more training here,” Lexa sighed. “Once the world turned its back on my father, once they condemned Atlantis, he was forced to choose. He chose us.”

“But he still helps?”

“He’s not a heartless man.”

“It just seems incredibly selfless.”

“Being a good ruler is about seeing what others don’t, doing what others won’t, and being what others can’t,” Lexa recited.

“You’re a good person.”

“I try very hard.”

Clarke smiled at the honestly and looked at her own hands as her fingers knot themselves together. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her shoulder felt warm as Lexa somehow moved close enough so that they were now touching.

“If you ever change your mind, you could come on land. I’d show you around.”

“You would?”

“Fair is fair. I’m not sure we have anything this beautiful though,” Clarke confessed.

There was a grin. She saw it as Lexa’s eyes went dreamy. Clarke found herself leaning closer, her body moving on its own. Lexa searched Clarke’s face and shook her head.

“I don’t know. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

For a second, Clarke was swept up in green eyes and the lips that disappeared for an instant behind the peak of a tongue. It was entirely unfair that someone like Lexa, who saved her life, who cared, who gawked and awkwardly wasn’t sure how to move when her shirt slipped up a little, was also so entirely too delicious looking.

Instead of doing it, instead of leaning forward, Clarke looked toward the city below the palace, and she smiled slightly as a blush snuck up her neck.

“Are all Atlanteans so charming?”

“No, not too many.”

“Good to know.”

“Should I take you back so you can rest?”

“Don’t trust me to make it back alone?” Clarke teased.

“I do, but the rest of the guards might have a bit of doubt.”

Lexa stood up and held out her hand for the stranger to take. With no hesitation at all, Clarke took it and let herself be lead back into the palace.

XXXXXXXXX

Word reached the control room quickly that the King was on his way back, the crisis from outside officially dealt with, his aid offered and accepted for another victory. No news covered if there had been losses on the side of the Justice League, and the Queen wasn’t sure what mood he would return in, but was grateful he was at all.

Quietly, she surveyed the reports on her screen and grew more and more excited to see him, finally allowing herself the moment to reflect on the past few days and how hectic they’d been coupled with the constant nagging about his return.

But her husband was stubborn, and would always come home.

“I’m going to my chambers for the evening,” Meera announced as she stood, the rest of her entourage doing the same. “Monitor the fleets to the south and the shifting and quake potential off the coast of South America.”

“Yes ma’am,” the commander nodded.

“If my husband makes it home, please let the morning rotation know to push the meetings until the afternoon.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll take an update about the Spindrift as soon as possible.”

“I”ll get in touch now, your highness.”

“Goodnight, friends,” the queen paused at the door. “Today was a success.”

With her notes tucked under her arm, the queen made her way out into the hallway, her guard trailing slightly behind her, as she was known to prefer. It took a lot to run a nation, and it took a lot to unify two who didn’t want it. But she knew it was for the best, and she believed in it so much, she obsessed.

Slowly, the queen made her way down the hall, eager for things to return to normal.

As if on time, she heard an unfamiliar sound of what she thought to be her daughter laughing, though it died away quickly. Her pace slowed considerably as she approached the corner of the hall and she waved her guard to slow, taking their time before reaching sight of the two girls.

Looking decidedly much healthier, the girl from the land stood, her arm wrapped around Lexa’s for support though she walked much better, and looked to have more color in her cheeks than the last time Meera saw her. She was pretty, beautiful even. Shorter than her daughter, though not by much. Her hair was much lighter than she originally thought, and her eyes a bit lighter as well. She watched Lexa when she spoke, hanging on every word, her smile constant, while the princess spoke passionately before catching her earnestness and pulling back slightly.

The queen was barely moving as they paused at Clarke’s door. Lexa moved and dropped something in her hand, quick to try to pick it up, a blush on her cheeks as she opened Clarke’s door for her. The queen smiled to herself at her daughter’s antics, at how she struggled to say goodbye, at the fact that as soon as Clarke’s door closed, the princess leaned against the wall and sighed, collapsing under her own head.

It was only then that the queen picked up her pace, as if she hadn’t seen anything at all.

“Are you ready to take our guest back to land?”

“Yes, of course,” Lexa answered as she stood up straighter, losing the human in her movements. She was rigid with responsibilities.

“Your father is returning.”

“Good news,” she smiled, perking up slightly.

The mother and daughter gave each other a look, a knowing look, a certain look that they deciphered and danced around.

“We should walk and discuss a few things,” Meera decided.

As much as Lexa wanted to protest, to go back to her room, to sleep and forget, she knew that the suggestion wasn’t optional, and with a heavy head, she nodded.

144 notes · View notes

beeblackburn · 4 years

Text

Pretender Reads A Little Hatred, Part I, Chapter Four

For those keeping score, I’m clipping through a chapter-a-day! Goes without saying spoilers ahead for the entirety of The First Law works beyond the keep reading. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Title: Keeping Score Point-of-View: Savine dan Glokta

Glokta once thought this of Valint and Balk:

So this is what true wealth looks like. This is how true power appears. The austere temple of the golden goddess. He watched the clerks working at their neat stacks of documents, at their neat desks arranged in neat rows. There the acolytes, inducted into the lowest mysteries of the church. His eyes flickered to those waiting. Merchants and moneylenders, shopkeepers and shysters, traders and tricksters in long queues, or waiting nervously on hard chairs around the hard walls. Fine clothes, perhaps, but anxious manners. The fearful congregation, ready to cower should the deity of commerce show her vengeful streak.

—Last Argument of Kings, Too Many Masters

I don’t think he ever anticipated said golden goddess to be walking in the flesh.

But she is no goddess, no. Not of the benevolent kind.

She is the Devil, kin to the devil-blood themselves.

Sparks showered into the night, the heat a constant pressure on Savine’s smiling face. Beyond the yawning doorway, straining bodies and straining machinery were rendered devilish by the glow of molten metal. Hammers clattered, chains rattled, steam hissed, labourers cursed. The music of money being made.

She is Kanedias, overseeing the workers, hot at the forges, seething with production and things that worked, just like him.

One-sixth of the Hill Street Foundry, after all, belonged to her.

Caring naught for humanity, this is another workshop set in Hell, full of Shanka, workers made to do the Master Maker’s bidding.

One of the six great sheds was her property. Two of the twelve looming chimneys. One in every six of the new machines spinning inside, of the coals in the great heaps shovelled in the yard, of the hundreds of twinkling panes of glass that faced the street. Not to mention one-sixth part of the ever-increasing profits. A flood of silver to put His Majesty’s mint to shame.

But, unlike Kanedias, this devil-blood cares more for money than weapons, the work leveraged to profit instead of done for the work itself. And, as the times go, smaller, meaner people walk beyond the shadows of greater people.

And whose shadow better than the first to commit to the power of coin?

“It was money that bought victory in King Guslav’s half-baked Gurkish war,” said Bayaz. “It was money that united the Open Council behind their bastard king. It was money that brought Duke Orso rushing to the defence of his daughter and tipped the balance in our favour. All my money.”

—Last Argument of Kings, Answers

This devil-blood walks in the shadows of the First of the Magi himself, only further committed to the High Art of making money.

And, on a voice standpoint, just read how much Savine’s POV is precise in the details of her workshop, how much numbers and calculations factors into it. How many longer, lingering sentences and more complex vocabulary there is, compared to Rikke or Leo’s chapters. This is a thinking woman, full of ambition and comfortable in the Other Side.

But, what is a Kanedias without his Jaremias? Or, better yet...

“Best not to loiter, my lady,” murmured Zuri, fires gleaming in her eyes as she glanced about the darkened street.

A Bayaz without his Yoru Sulfur?

She was right, as always. Most young ladies of Savine’s acquaintance would have come over faint at the suggestion of visiting this part of Adua without a company of soldiers in attendance. But those who wish to occupy the heights of society must be willing to dredge the depths from time to time, when they see opportunities glitter in the filth.

“On we go,” said Savine, boot heels squelching as she followed their link-boy’s bobbing light into the maze of buildings. Narrow houses with whole families wedged into every room leaned together, a spider’s web of flapping washing strung between, laden carts rumbling beneath and showering filth to the rooftops. Where whole blocks had not been cleared to make way for the new mills and manufactories, the crooked lanes reeked of coal smoke and woodsmoke, blocked drains and no drains at all. It was a borough heaving with humanity. Seething with industry. And, most importantly, boiling over with money to be made.

Quite the ambitious woman, Savine is, and with the prerequisite lack of scruples that a child of Glokta would have. Yet, Glokta never had this sort of ambition to him, even before the Gurkhul Empire got to him. After, he was just trying to keep his head above water and do his best to win. If I had to put my finger on where Savine gets her ambitions from, first trilogy-wise? I’d say it’s West more than Glokta. Savine shares quite a few characteristics with Glokta, but it’s that need to rise that I feel she shares with her uncle Collem West.

And look at this dense microcosm of the peasantry! Full of squalor, wretched stenches, spaces full of cramped families, it’s a tapestry stitched full of misery, and all Savine sees is that very humanity being put to use for making money.

Savine was by no means the only one who saw it. It was payday, and impromptu merchants swarmed about the warehouses and forges, hoping to lighten the labourers’ purses as they spilled out after work, selling small pleasures and meagre necessities. Selling themselves, if they could only find a buyer.

There were others hoping to lighten purses by more direct means. Grubby little cutpurses weaving through the crowds. Footpads lurking in the darkness of the alleys. Thugs slouching on the corners, keen to collect on behalf of the district’s many moneylenders.

I once read about how the only differences between the great and small thieves is a matter of legality and scale. And it really shows here, how we’ll take advantage of the poor conditions that the working class must endure, only to fill our own pockets. It hardly matters whether we steal with a small pleasure given or a sharp knife at the back, it’s taking advantage of those without much to line our own bottom lines.

Risks, perhaps, and dangers, but Savine had always loved the thrill of a gamble, especially when the game was rigged in her favour. She had long ago learned that at least half of everything is presentation. Seem a victim, soon become one. Seem in charge, people fall over themselves to obey.

So she walked with a swagger, dressed in the dizzy height of fashion, lowering her eyes for no one. She walked painfully erect, although Zuri’s earlier heaving on the laces of her corset gave her little choice. She walked as if it was her street—and indeed she did own five decaying houses further down, packed to their rotten rafters with Gurkish refugees paying twice the going rent.

Then it’s not really a gamble, is it, Savine. That’s stacking the deck, reaping the rewards of it, and patting yourself on the back for being a daring risk-taker, you fool. If that’s the root of your arrogance, then, boy, is this world going to topple you sooner than later because it doesn’t treat the arrogant much better than the merciful. And, boy, is Savine not lacking in arrogance. She reminds me of a pre-bridge Glokta, in terms of how much she buys into her own hype.

An intriguing nugget, though, is her predisposition with presentation. That need to perform and look a certain part. It’s definitely something Glokta, back then, never felt like he had to. I get more shades of West here and his need to perform to a certain standard, but I also think the question of gender has to be considered with how Savine feels she has to perform. It’s an interesting wrinkle in how Savine zigs where Glokta zagged in terms of their respective youths.

Also, Gurkish refugees? (arches a brow) What the hell happened to the Gurkish Empire? Or, are these just people who got tired of the cannibalistic slavery? I can’t really blame them, but is the Union really that much better, guys? Hmmm. Either way, way to take advantage of marginalized people in a racist society, Savine. You’re a class act, m’am, truly.

Zuri was a great reassurance on one side, Savine’s beautifully wrought short steel a great reassurance on the other. Many young ladies had been affecting swords since Finree dan Brock caused a sensation by wearing one to court. Savine found that nothing lent one confidence like a length of sharpened metal close to hand.

Whoa, whoa. Finree wears a sword nowadays? ... Actually, given how Hal’s dead, I can definitely see this as a way to establish authority and put herself on the same level of respect as a man in the Union. And, given how much there’s institutional sexism in that society, I can’t really blame her. Though, given the round of PTSD she got last handling a blade... I’m sure she doesn’t want to actually kill anyone with it now.

Honestly, though, good for Savine and those women of the Union. Better weigh your hopes of safety on a sword than the mercies of your men or enemies.

Savine gathered her skirts so she could squat beside him and look in his dirt-smeared face. She wondered if he sponged the muck on as artfully as her maids did her powder, to arouse just the right amount of sympathy. Clean children need no charity, after all.

Wow, Savine, has it ever occurred to you that the conditions you benefit off of aren’t as pristine as you make it out to be? Have you considered that maybe the world isn’t a projection of your own inclinations to performance?

Just no empathy here, none at all.

She was not at all above sentimental displays of generosity. The whole point of squeezing one’s partners in private was so they could do the squeezing in public. Savine, meanwhile, could smile ever so sweetly, and toss coins to an urchin or two, and appear virtuous without the slightest damage to her bottom line. When it comes to virtue, after all, appearances are everything.

The boy stared at the silver as though it was some legendary beast he had heard of but never hoped to see. “For me?”

She knew that in her button and buckle manufactory in Holsthorm, smaller and probably dirtier children were paid a fraction as much for a long day’s hard labour. The manager insisted little fingers were best suited to little tasks, and cost only little wages, too. But Holsthorm was far away, and things in the distance seem very small. Even the sufferings of children.

“For you.” She did not go as far as ruffling his hair, of course. Who knew what might be living in it?

I’m very reminded of capitalists donating to particular charities while turning a blind eye to the very real exploitation and labor abuse they perpetuate and are supported by. They can afford to look virtuous and get ass-pats for giving what’s effectively their pocket change, but god forbid they do things like get taxed heavier or give enough to put a good dent in most cases of institutional poverty. It’s all about appearances, and so long as you close your mind to the golden pillars, stained with blood, your entire enterprise is supported on, you can justify any means for profit.

And what frightens me about this is... this isn’t some relic from the past. Child labor is still a thing world-wide! And plenty of capitalists rely on them, plenty of our industries rely on them, just to squeeze out extra money to gild their bottom line. And we turn a blind eye on them and ignore the moral horrors of them out of convenience, because to look those children in the eye would make us monsters. And Savine prefers not to feel like a monster, but is more than willing to keep up the hellish circumstances that churn out her money.

“None more blessed, my scripture-teacher once declared, than those who light the way for others.”

“Was that the one who fathered a child on one of his other pupils?”

“That’s him.” Zuri’s black brows thoughtfully rose. “So much for spiritual instruction.”

Zuri’s certainly got a character, being a more cynical follower of religion, huh. I wonder if she’s been disillusioned by her faith, just like Temple was. And why she went to the atheist arms of the Union. I also wonder if this isn’t a commentary on how our religious leaders end up falling short of the actual beliefs and commit to the obscene and awful while papering it over with their high position.

Zuri whipped out a cloth and wiped down a vacant section of the counter, then, as Savine sat, she slipped out the pin and whisked away her hat without disturbing a hair. She kept it close to her chest, which was prudent. Savine’s hat was probably worth more than this entire building, including the clientele. At a brief assay, they only reduced its value.

And who’s partly responsible for that discrepancy of worth, huh, Savine?

She planted one elbow on the stretch of counter Zuri had wiped so she could lean closer and draw out both syllables. “Savine.”

“That’s a lovely name.”

“Oh, if you enjoy the tip, you’ll go mad for the whole thing.”

“That so?” he purred at her. “How does it go?”

“Savine… dan…” And she leaned even closer to deliver the punchline. “Glokta.”

If a name had been a knife and she had cut his throat with hers, the blood could not have drained more quickly from his face. He gave a strangled cough, took a step back and nearly fell over one of his own barrels.

Well, well, well! Glokta’s gotten quite the name for himself, it seems! Can’t exactly be surprised, given he’s the effective ruler of the Union and the Arch Lector of the Inquisition, but it’s a far cry from the simple Inquisitor he started off as, way back at the first trilogy’s start. He’s riding high at the top and Savine gets to use his name to put the screws on random dumbfucks.

Quite theatrical with her words, Savine is! She knows when to let her opponent in, so she can skewer him. Her fencing is such that she knows how to leverage her father’s name to a fine emotional stab to the throat once her opponent dips in and she lunges for the kill. Say one thing about Savine dan Glokta, say she knows how to fence, just like her father.

“If I spent all my time shut up with Mother, we would kill each other,” said Savine. “And I feel that business should be conducted, whenever possible, in person. Otherwise one’s partners can convince themselves that one’s eyes are not on the details. My eyes are always on the details, Majir.”

Oh, dang. Is that exaggeration or do Savine and Ardee not have a good relationship? Also, dang, is Ardee still alone in her home? That’s... actually really sad, given how lonely she was at the first trilogy’s start. She deserves better.

Also, Savine’s not wrong, but at the same time, I can’t read this as anything other than Savine not wanting her partners to fuck her over somewhere. Which, I can’t quite blame her for, but when she’s as rich as she’s implied to be...

My understanding runs thinner. Though, I suppose she wouldn’t have gotten the wealth she did by being a passive business partner that way.

“A promissory note from the banking house of Valint and Balk.”

“Really?” Valint and Balk had a dark reputation, even for a bank. Savine’s father had often warned her never to deal with them, because once you owe Valint and Balk, the debt is never done. But a promissory note was just money, and money can never be a bad thing. She tossed the pouch to Zuri, who peered inside and gave the smallest nod. “It’s coming to something when even the bandits are using the bank.”

Majir mildly raised one brow. “Honest women have the law to protect them. Bandits must take more care with their earnings.”

!!!!! WHOA, WHOA, WHOA. Is that a smart call, Majir? Glokta’s not wrong there!!! There’s half a trilogy detailing how awful that bank is!

Savine, what are you doing. For such a ruthless and to-the-point woman, that’s pretty naive to assume money is money when your father himself warned you against it! Banks have ruined better people than you, and it’s indebted your father! How can you say something like that and think it smart?

(Bangs head against desk)

“True.” Majir watched her turn away, big fists pressed into the counter. “Do pass my regards to your father.”

Savine laughed. “Let’s not demean ourselves by pretending my father gives a dry fuck for your regards.” And she blew a kiss at the terrified barman on her way out.

This, along with her pinching Majir’s cheek earlier, makes me think Savine just gets off on punching down and patronizing people lower than her. Makes for a killer ending line, but it doesn’t suggest any good things about Savine as a person at all.

Dietam dan Kort, famed architect, was a man who gave every appearance of being in control. His desk, scattered with maps, surveys and draughtsman’s drawings, was certainly a wonder of engineering. Savine had moved among the most powerful men in the realm and still doubted she had ever seen a larger. It filled his office so completely, there was only the narrowest of passages around the edges to reach his chair. He must have needed help to squeeze himself through every morning. She wondered if she should recommend her corset-maker.

“Lady Savine,” he intoned. “What an honour.”

“Isn’t it, though?” She made him lean dangerously far across the desk in order to kiss her hand. Savine studied his, meanwhile, big and broad with fingers scarred from hard work. A self-made man. His greying hair was painstakingly scraped across a pate quite obviously bald. A proud and a vain man. She noticed a slight fraying of the cuffs on his once-splendid coat. A man in straitened circumstances, intent on appearing otherwise.

In short, a man Savine will take pleasure in wringing. And I must take note of the passages here, how much Savine’s POV attends to the details of her surroundings, of the appearance and small notes that others would miss. In a lot of ways, she’s the opposite of Leo, someone who takes pains to note the presentation of another because she’s very driven to it herself and thinks to leverage that knowledge to squeeze those who can be.

Also, I kind of wonder if noble titles can be bought in this world, given this assumption of Dietam dan Kort as a self-made man. Either that or Kort’s just a son from a smaller family who managed to get a good opportunity through this new age. Either way, given the way Savine’s accumulated her wealth, despite her noble title of Glokta, I imagine he’s similar to her, if only not as successful.

Zuri placed Majir’s pouch on the desk as delicately as if it had been deposited by a summer breeze. It looked very small on that immense expanse of green leather. But that was the magic of banks. They could render the priceless tiny, the immense worthless.

I’m reminded of Daniel Abraham’s The Dagger and the Coin and how the big twist was this dawn of paper money about to circulate throughout the world. And how it’s a sort of magic in its own right... but it’s always a blessing and curse, just like magic in the Circle of the World.

“Of course!” He was unable to disguise a note of eager greed as he reached across the desk. “I believe we agreed a twentieth share—”

Savine placed one fingertip on the corner of the pouch. “You mentioned a twentieth. I remained silent.”

His hand froze. “Then…?”

“A fifth.”

There was a pause. While he decided how outraged he could afford to be, and Savine decided how little to appear to care.

Eager greed, huh? Me thinks, the raven call the crow black here. And there’s another note of projection in Savine’s POV, it’s a consistent note of Savine seeing intent where there might not be. She does it with the link-boy about how dirty he was, and now, she does it with Kort’s outrage. She just can’t seem to think that these reactions and people are genuine. Her head’s full of presentation and performance, and she just seems to internalize that there’s always a double-meaning to everything and everyone.

It’s honestly a really fascinating note about how unreliable Savine might be, how much her predilection with appearances bleeds into how much she reads into the world.

“When I confide, in strictest confidence, that you are short of investment, lacking the necessary permissions and troubled by restless workmen, it will be all over town before sunup.”

“Sure as printing it in a pamphlet,” said Zuri, sadly.

“Good luck finding an investor then, reasonable or otherwise.”

It had only taken a moment for Kort to go from bright red to deathly pale, and Savine burst out laughing. “Don’t be silly, I won’t do that!” She stopped laughing. “Because you are going to sign one-fifth of your enterprise over to me. Now. Then I can confide in Tilde that I just made the investment of a lifetime, and she won’t be able to resist investing herself. She’s not only loose-lipped, you see, but tight-fisted, too.”

Oh, very hard power here, Savine. Corporate blackmail and underhanded threats, I very well see. It must do your black heart a bundle of joy to punch down on fellow nobles. There’s barely any carrot here, mostly the stick.

“Greed is a quality the priests abhor.” Zuri sighed. “Especially the rich ones.”

“But so widespread these days,” lamented Savine. “If Lady Rucksted sees some gain in it, I daresay she can persuade her husband to make a breach in Casamir’s Wall so you can extend your canal into the Three Farms.” And Savine could sell the worthless slum buildings she had bought on the canal’s likely route back to herself at an immense profit. “The marshal’s notoriously stubborn for most of us but to his wife he’s a pussycat. You know how it is with old men and their young brides.”

In a lot of ways, this feels like a statement of the new generation, the new wave of greed that Sult disdained way back at the trilogy’s start is in full swing now. Now, Sult was a classist bigot who wanted the peasantry to knuckle down to nobility like old times, but at the same time, we see how much this attitude of greed has bled into the nobility themselves now, far beyond the realms of the merchants Sult once held in contempt. And Savine plays to get ahead of the others, already thinking reaches ahead of her competition here. Profit’s the name of the game, and she’s a natural hand at it...

“The first to do so.” Where it could service Savine’s three textile mills and the Hill Street Foundry, incidentally, and sharply raise their productivity. “I daresay—for a friend—I could even arrange a visit of His Majesty’s Inquisitors to a labour meeting. I imagine your troublesome workers will be far more pliable after a few stern examples are made.”

“Stern examples,” threw in Zuri, “are something the priests are always in favour of.”

... Though it doesn’t hurt to have father’s institutions as muscle to sweeten the pot, huh. Really, Savine, this is embarrassing if you think this is a fair game between you and Kort. You stacked the deck and have the dealer on your side and I imagine this wasn’t the first time you’ve leveraged the Inquisition in your business deals. (snorts)

Kort sagged, his chin settling into the roll of fat beneath it, his eyes fixed resentfully upon her. Clearly, he was not a man who liked to lose. But where would be the fun in beating men who did?

Savine really gets her kicks off punching down people lower than her. That’s like, an inherent part of her psychology, huh.

“A notary from the firm of Temple and Kahdia is already drawing up the papers. He will be in touch.” She turned towards the door.

Hey! Temple’s business! Sounds like he’s done well for himself since Red Country, I hope he’s doing well with Shy, Pit, and Ro! Though, dang, Temple, could your business not help out a woman like Savine?

“They warned me,” Kort grunted as he slid Valint and Balk’s note from the pouch. “That you care about nothing but money.”

“Why, what a pompous crowd they are. Beyond a point I passed long ago, I don’t even care about money.” Savine flicked the brim of her hat in farewell. “But how else is one to keep score?”

Oh, oh my. I know I’ve mentioned Kanedias, Bayaz, and West, but this part? This part? All Sand dan Glokta, down on a bone-deep level. This is the part of Glokta that just loved to lord his dominance over those who couldn’t punch back. The part that just loved to feel superior to everyone else, way back back at that bridge when he thrashed those fencers and wanted to wound West when his own blood was drawn. The part of him that can’t stand to lose, the need to win at all cost.

It’s all about the conquest with her and her father. There’s no higher-minded purpose behind it, it’s just the winning.

As a chapter, Keeping Score, is a microcosm of Savine’s character. There’s an arc in it, but not as strong as one as Where the Fight’s Hottest, nor is it quite as impactful as Blessings and Curses. But it has plenty of Abercrombie snark and some great starting fencing, though, with opponents that Savine can easily take down without much effort. But it sets up a great industrial age sweeping over Adua and how much that change’s going to affect the world going forward... and how Savine’s going to take that change by the tails.

As a character... Savine’s 100% more interesting than Leo in a lot of ways, but at the same time, wow, is she just a spectacularly scummy person in most ways Leo just isn’t (aside from him being a oblivious musclehead). A capitalist who leverages her father in power plays and corporate blackmail, just to gain even more wealth that she doesn’t need out of a need to win. There are definitely interesting aspects to how Savine differs from her father and her historical DNAs, but in a lot of ways? She feels very reminiscent of pre-bridge Glokta in a way that makes me realize that man would’ve been downright insufferable as a POV.

I can take Savine, because I definitely think she’s got a ton of potential and, you know, there’s no way Abercrombie would let her stay the same the entire book. Though, a curious thought is that Savine strikes me less a fantasy archetype than a modern archetype in a fantasy world. Hm. That’s an interesting thought, especially considering how much Temple was a modern character dropped in a fantasy western world.

PART I

Chapter One: Blessings and Curses Chapter Two: Where the Fight’s Hottest Chapter Three: Guilt Is a Luxury Chapter Four: Keeping Score Chapter Five: A Little Public Hanging Chapter Six: The Breakers Chapter Seven: The Answer to Your Tears Chapter Eight: Young Heroes Chapter Nine: The Moment

#a little hatred #a little hatred spoilers #the age of madness #the first law #joe abercrombie #savine dan glokta #a little hatred part I

3 notes · View notes