#and remain a bland blank thing to them that they can use however they wish

[medicinemane]

There's something for pretty much everyone to hate about me

It varies what it is from person to person, but I see people's posts, everyone has something they don't like about me, they just don't realize I fall into who they're talking about (or maybe they do but they're making an exception for some reason, but don't do that)

That's just how it is, that's just the truth of things

[theninjamouse]

3, 12, 40? With the shoregrillster trio? In any combination you like

3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

12. Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

40. A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

This is going under a cut because one, it got hecking long and two, it got mildly SPICY. Nothing explicit but you have been warned

Parties are....they’re supposed to be at least a little fun, right?

When it was announced that Gaster’s work on a new environment friendly, cost effective and all around sick public transportation design had been accepted by the city council, there was also the call to a party to celebrate the occasion. You’re beyond happy for Gaster, for his accomplishments in finally getting more steps taken to integrate monster magic into human technology on a world changing scale.

But holy crap, this party is boring.

Calling it a party at all is being generous. It’s just an excuse for people of ‘classier’ society to act like they’re taking part in something grand and to show off how fancy they are by sipping at cocktails and standing around pretending to care about what the other party goers bring up for conversation. But it is an important part of getting full funding for the project, as well as schmoozing up to anyone who might open up lanes for future development, so here you all are.

The majority people here are humans that you don’t recognize in the slightest aside from the occasional ‘oh it’s...that guy. Yeah’. There are a handful of monsters from the science and tech division all involved on the project. They’re mostly keeping to themselves, nervously socializing as little as possible.

Sans was here at some point. You don’t doubt he’s snuck off to find a corner to snooze in, if he hasn’t left the party outright at this point.

Lucky jerk.

However, you will admit, there is an upside to this whole thing. Gaster is not usually one to dress up. At least, not in any level aside from his beloved lab coat that you highly doubt contains more than a scrap of the original material thanks to all the repairs that have had to be done on it.

He’s been talked out of the lab coat and is instead wearing an utterly dashing three piece suit of the deepest purple you’ve ever seen captured by fabric. From the distance between where you’re leaning up against a pillar to rest your feet and him being caught in a circle of engineering heads pelting him with questions, the suit looks black until he shifts and the light catches the lines of shimmering purple.

You sip appreciatively at your drink, eyes taking in the way the suit fits his skeletal frame. Perhaps the night won’t be so boring after all.

“He cleans up really good,” you muse as the air to your left grows warm. “Almost makes the feral cat fuss he made about getting in the suit worth it.”

“Says you; I had to actually drag him out of bed while you were in the shower. He actually tore holes in my sheets.” Grillby leans against the wall as well, offering you a plate of ‘fancy people food’ he snagged from one of the wandering waiters.

Ah, you were wondering about those. You take a piece, not exactly sure what the heck it even is and pop it in your mouth. Your expression twists. “How is it that rich people food always looks so good but tastes like sour air and dried regret?”

“I’m still working that out myself.” Grillby finishes off the plate and sighs.

You shift your gaze to Grillby. He too is dressed to the nines, with a deep red button up, a black and gold trimmed waistcoat and matching tie. He always looks good of course but damn if his snazzy outfit isn’t making the worst kind of butterflies flutter in your belly.

“I’ll make us something actually substantial when we get home,” he continues, oblivious to your less than pure gaze skimming over him.

“If Gaster hasn’t imploded by that point.” The poor guy is fidgeting like crazy. It’s difficult for him to be around so much noise and fuss, this you know from experience.

Grillby looks at you, gaze sharpening a bit as his eyes trail over your outfit. Said outfit for the night is a deep blue one piece, sleeveless suit dress. The smooth material hugs your frame just enough to offer a hint at the form underneath and is blanketed by a sheer capelet that rests over your bare shoulders and gathers together at your waist with a thick belt.

The intensity of Grillby’s staring sends a delightful thrill of heat up your spine. “I guess I clean up alright too,” you murmur, brows lifting teasingly.

“’Nice’ is not quite the word I’d use.” He’s moved closer, plate of food discarded and hand rising to rest rather low on your hip. “Ravishing. Tempting. Something like that.” His head has tilted down, eyes fixated on your mouth.

You pull a goofy face at him, because if you don’t, you’re pretty sure your face will burst under the growing blush in your cheeks. “That’s me, the ultimate temptation.”

He’s not deterred by your teasing. He merely glances around just enough to see if anyone is currently looking your way before his grip tightens and he presses a warm kiss to your lips. It’s soft and gentle and a smile easily comes to your face as you kiss him chastely back.

Then-oh his mouth opens, and you quite forget about your boredom and the fact that your feet are killing you and the taste of bland rich people food on your tongue because Grillby tastes so much better. Your hands rise, gripping the edges of his waistcoat, pulling him closer to you and he makes a sound deep in his throat that urges your mouth to move faster, go deeper-

A laugh rings out, clear and far too close and Grillby jumps like he’s been shocked, pulling away with an eruption of blue over his face. Both of you guiltily look over towards the noise but it would seem that it was just someone laughing at a point in conversation. No one is staring in aghast mortification at the social faux pas.

A little breathlessly, you giggle. “Wow, how scandalous of you. We’re out in the open and everything.”

He shoots you a heated look. “You kissed me back.”

“You used tongue, you cheater!”

He flushes a brighter blue, but you can’t help but notice that his hand remains firmly on your hip. This isn’t fair, stupid party, stupid crowd….

An idea sparks in your heat addled brain. A dumb idea but, well, you’re rather past the point of caring too much.

You press up closer to him again, eyes darting out over the crowd for the briefest moment. You dance your fingers up his buttons. “Why don’t we go rescue Gaster? I think we could all use a... social recharging?”

He blinks and the soft “oh” that escapes him when he realizes what you’re getting at gets your ears burning.

But he doesn’t say no. In fact, he simply nods quickly, steps back and offers you his arm, which you gratefully take. Heels suck and your ankles are not pleased with you. “You want to take the lead?”

“Absolutely,” you say with only a touch of a manic grin actually reaching your face.

Gaster looks on the verge of whipping into a ranting frenzy or throwing an actual punch as the two of you approach. The human speaking to him is going on about engine semantics or something. Incorrectly, going by the promise of violence glinting in Gaster’s eye sockets.

“Pardon me,” you say with syrupy sweetness, cutting off the man speaking. All heads turn, faces going blank with subdued irritation at the interruption. “I need to borrow the good doctor for a bit. Doctor Gaster?”

Gaster inclines his head. “Excuse me,” he says with the sincerity of a child apologizing for stealing cookies. You swap to hold onto his arm and let him sweep you out of the ballroom, Grillby following on your heels.

“You are an angel,” Gaster groans. “Those imbeciles were trying to convince me to add in ‘a profitable angle’ to the design. Pigs.”

“I think that’s an insult to pigs.” You carefully look him over. “Are you holding up okay?”

He sighs heavily, coming to a stop out in the hallway where the only person present is a coat attendant lost in a book.

“Objectively, yes” he says, rubbing at his skull. “I just wish Asgore did not insist on me staying and playing nice with these people.”

“Sounds like it’s just been a big pain.”

Grillby tugs on your arm.

“It is!” Gaster proclaims, sweeping his free arm back towards the ballroom. “Vultures! Well…most of them are, there was actually a rather fascinating young man who had his facts mixed up but the core of his idea was not a bad one—”

Grillby tugs harder.

“Mmhm,” you hum, raising your eyebrows at Grillby. Just because you can, you let your tongue dart out over your lips for the briefest of moments.

He looks as frustrated as a fire could possibly be. Were the coat attendant not glancing up over the edge of his book, he probably would have scooped the two of you up and gone to work right there.

“Uh, is something wrong?” Gaster, finally noticing the agitated flick of Grillby’s flames, looks between the two of you.

“Well, we’re both kind of…hmm, how to be nice about it…bored? Sorry,” you pat Gaster’s arm. “I know it’s your special night.”

“That’s fine, I’m quite bored myself,” Gaster says dryly.

“Oh perfect!” you chirp brightly. You glance to Grillby and smile slyly. “We had a thought about how to recharge our batteries. As it were.”

Not for the first time, Gaster displays an impressive ability to give the look of raising eyebrows without any actual, yanno, eyebrows. “Do tell?”

“It’s not really a tell so much as a show-oop!”

Grillby’s run out of patience. His hands land on both yours and Gaster’s backs, urging you forward and down the hall. The coat attendant is very pointedly Not Looking as you pass by. Grillby must have done recon or something when you first got here because he seems to know exactly where he’s heading. He takes you down a small flight of stairs and round a corner that leads to a small room that’s empty save for a few boxes stacked against one wall and some unused furniture.

And just your luck, it’s unlocked.

Going by the rising purple on Gaster’s face, he’s caught on to what exactly your ‘recharging’ idea is. “Uh-um, yes I—”

“I didn’t have much of a chance to say it earlier.” Your arm slips smoothly away from his and you turn to him. You have to lift up a bit on your tip toes and pull him down to you to press a kiss against his cheekbone. “You look very handsome tonight. And we are your dates to this thing, and yet we haven’t hardly had a chance to even talk to you.”

Gaster’s blush is now bright enough to nearly compete with Grillby’s flames.

Speaking of Grillby-

He’s moved in behind you, hands dropping to your waist as his mouth descends down on your neck. The heat of his body and fire presses against your back and you have to take a moment to catch your breath.

Gaster’s eye lights have gone wide and bright, flickering with a nervous sort of energy as his gaze darts between you and Grillby. He swallows, though he really has no need for it. “I…this isn’t really the best…what if someone sees…?”

“Then you better move fast,” you murmur. Tugging on his tie, you pull his face down closer. “Kiss me,” you demand breathlessly. “Please?”

There’s a moment where his eye lights shift in such a way it almost looks like they’ve taken on the shape of stars and then Gaster’s hands lift to your face, nearly bonking your nose with his teeth with the speed at which he kisses you. Kissing a skeleton is difficult sometimes, given his lack of lips.

But you’ve had plenty of practice.

One of your hands shifts to pull Gaster closer to you while the other desperately scrambles behind to find purchase on Grillby. His own hands are quite busy, one running gentle circles on your hip and the other moving up, closer to where your chest is pressed up against Gaster’s ribs. His fangs scrape deliciously at your skin, nipping lightly in a way that makes you squirm with a mixture of ticklishness and building heat.

Your hand finds Gaster’s spine, prominent even through his suit and you grab on just below where his ribs end. He jolts at the contact, a breathless curse falling out in a rush of air. Grillby takes the chance to pull away from your neck and captures Gaster’s attention with a heated kiss.

Now quite solidly squished between the two, a soft and breathless noise escapes you as you drink in the building pressure of their bodies, basking in the contrast of Gaster’s silk smooth suit and Grillby’s growing heat. His hands continue to work at your curves, every touch sending a searing wave of warmth over your skin, kneading with a gentle intensity that makes you arch into Gaster.

You have just enough presence of mind left to sputter, “D-don’t tear the capelet.”

He growls, low and deep and oh if that rough and wild sound from such a restrained monster doesn’t make the most embarrassing shuddery moan hum in your own throat. “Take it off then,” he suggests with a tug at the belt around your waist. 

So off it comes, fluttering down the floor, soon joined by Grillby’s more carefully folded waistcoat. Then you find yourself being pulled back, led by him to an armchair covered in a cloth. The force of him sitting makes a heavy whumph sound thanks to your added weight on his lap. 

Gaster had let the two of you slip from his grasp while the extra bits of clothing were being discarded and he watches you now with a face openly full of warm affection. When you grin and beckon at him with a finger, he huffs out a sigh that is probably meant to be taken as annoyed, but just comes off as fond and longing. 

“You two are going to get me in trouble,” he grumbles. “There is a party I’m supposed to be at right now just down the hall, or did you forget?” 

Grillby, busy at work pressing scorching kisses over your bare shoulders, pauses and lifts his head. “So eager to get back, are you?” 

“Not at all. But I’ll be missed if I stay away much longer.” 

You sigh heavily, letting your weight lean back against Grillby’s chest. You might just happen to let your hand trail down to your thigh and lightly run your fingers over the fabric there as you pout at Gaster. 

He’s broken out into a bit of a sweat. 

Sweetly, you plead, “Five more minutes?” 

He stares. He sweats. Then his hand smoothly tugs at his tie and it and his coat joins the other outwear on the ground. “Five more minutes.” 

It winds up being six minutes and forty-two seconds but well. 

Who’s counting?

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: We can play the game, and play it well. (A Earl von Morgan story)

(For the initial story that introduced several of these characters please follow this link: https://niqhtlord01.tumblr.com/post/186229837551/humans-are-weird-threatening-a-human-does-not-end )  The summer breeze warmed the air outside the Sanssouci Palace as nearby tourists walked on their way, stopping every now and then to take a picture of the majestic German estate. A monument to the mixture of beauty and symmetry that had made one sentient machine envoy break down in joy at finding another species in the universe that could understand the beauty balance. Inside however, in a small out of the way office, a group of officials were having a heated discussion with such language being thrown between them that if one were to have heard them would have mistaken the people inside to be brothel goers rather than government officials.  The gilded room wore golden embroidery trim, the table and chairs carved from wood some several hundred years that had been painfully maintained with great expense, and the windows polished so cleanly that all manner of creatures ran head long into them on an hourly basis. One such bird struck the window with such force it woke Morgan from his light slumber.  He rubbed his eyes as if he was in deep thought and took a look around the room. His aides were still as lively as they were before he nodded off and some looked as if they were about to lunge over the table and grapple with those they were arguing with. He straightened himself out and smiled at such youthful vigor and that was partly why he had picked them for his staff. They saw things in a different light and were not constrained by standards or protocols the such that Morgan was bound to follow. He chuckled at the idea when he remembered how he had pulled a gun on several representatives several months ago when they threatened him with war unless he complied. Thankfully none of them had spoken to their governments or issued a censor to him so he felt like had flown under the radar safely.  Suddenly realizing something he took out his pocket watch and looked at the time. “That’s enough now.” Morgan said as he tapped his cane against the table three times to get his staff’s attention, their arguments dying down as one by one they returned to their seats. “Unlike the British I am not fond of going round in circles which this conversation has inadvertently turned into.” Several of them chuckled as they straightened themselves and their papers out.  A knock on the door stole everyone’s attention but Morgan simply nodded to one of his aides to go and let their guest in. The door slowly was drawn open and in stepped the Insectoid hive’s representative, Tilith. She still wore her peoples beaded strands to hide her face but she now donned a modified Japanese kimono. Her spider legs clicking as they touched the ground and caused the fabric to flutter.  Morgan rose from his seat to greet her as did the rest of his staff. “Hive Lord Tilith, your presence is as always a ray of sunlight in this bland political landscape.” he said as he bent down to kiss her outstretched hand. Tilith cocked her head to the side and chuckled, “And your formality is as ever respectful though unnecessary. Come, let us speak as friends.” Morgan stood up and motioned for his aides to bring in a specialized chair for the hive lord to sit upon.   “Tilith, I have already told my staff about the coming meeting but I think it would also be best for them to hear it from you as well.” Tilith nodded and stared at the surrounding faces. “In the next three days the daughter of the Hive queen will be visiting Earth and staying at our embassy. Should you wish to improve your standing with the Hive, you must first win her over.” A low murmur spread across the table as the staff took it in.  “Pardon me Hive lord.” A young female staff member spoke. “Forgive my ignorance but you are a representative, surely your words would be of higher regard to your government rather than the words of a princess.”  Morgan eye Tilith as she shifted in her chair, her beaded cover rattling. “I can forgive you but I recommend you never say such things again. Some of the more traditional of my species would take grave offense to your words.” The young woman who spoke shrunk back into her chair and remained quiet as Tilith continued. “What you must understand is that the government of our people is centered around the queen and her royal princesses to a far greater sense than any of your previous kings or queens. It is difficult for me to explain as you have never been part of the Hive and are all individuals, so it would be as if explaining color to the blind.”  Morgan rested his hand on his chin and stroked it. “So we need to win this princesses favor then, yes?” Tilith nodded. “Indeed, for the queen cares deeply for her daughters and has great value in their words. They are young, but they are not foolish. I am only here because I see great value in humanity and wish to further our friendship, but I will not assist you. You must be the ones to win her favor for this friendship to have any meaning.” “Well said!” Morgan clapped his hands together. “For our partnership to grow we will show this princess the worth of humanity.” The surrounding staff applauded and nodded as well at Morgan’s declaration before he waved them to silence. “And of course we would never ask you to betray your people Tilith, though could we trouble you for some small details?” “Such as?” Morgan returned to his seat.  “For instance, can you tell us the princesses name and where she will be staying?” “The princesses name is Roxana, and she will be staying at the embassy.” “Does she have any places she wishes to visit during her stay?”  Tilith reclined into her chair and crossed her taloned fingers. “She will not be leaving the embassy during her visit.” Morgan stared at her for a moment as if comprehending her statement and scratched his head. “Is there a specific reason as to why?” Morgan ventured, unsure how much information Tilith was willing to divulge. “Some of her retinue are the more traditionalists I spoke of and are afraid of what exposure to humanity might do to the princess. They see your individuality as a cause for concern and wish to limit any influence you might part on to the princess.  Therefore they have decided to keep her within the confines of the embassy, claiming to the princess that humanity is dull and uninspiring and not worth her time.”  Some of the staff scoffed at the notion. “Then why even have her come at all then?” “Her arrival has nothing to do with humanity and more to do with me. All members of the royal family make regular trips to the Hive’s embassies to get familiar with the ambassadors to ensure they are acting in the Hive’s best wishes. In truth I doubt you would be able to arrange an audience with her with how heavily they are screening her.”  “I see. Very clever of them.” Morgan leaned back in his chair while rocking and looked at the ceiling. He stared at it for about a minute before leaning forward and staring at Tilith, a clever grim creeping across his face. “We can not meet the princess, but I think I have a way for her to meet us.”  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Three days later the princess arrived at the Hive’s embassy and had remained there ever since. Shortly after Morgan arrived in his governmental vehicle and approached the gate of the Hive embassy, one hand holding his trusty cane while the other carried a diplomatic package. Though the wall surrounding the embassy was human in nature, the embassy itself was a massive upside down bee hive like structure that pushed out of the ground and towered into the air. The wall was more or less to stop ignorant tourists from trying to get up close and take a picture of the structure as the insectoids were highly territorial and would take their actions as a threat to their domain and would most likely rip the tourists limb from limb.  As he neared the gate two armored insectoids stepped out from the gatehouse and moved to intercept Morgan. They were easily twice his or Tilith’s height and their armored exoskeleton was strong enough to deflect point blank small arms fire and in some cases even tank fire as well. They carried no weapons as their talons were strong enough to slash through solid steel like it was paper.  Morgan tilted his head upwards and looked up at the warriors and nodded a greeting. “Good morning my fine giant friends. I am representative Earl von Morgan and I have an appointment today.” The warriors looked at each other and then back at Morgan. “No....visitors....today...for...princess....” the taller one stated. His voice was thick with clicking and he struggled with the words but Morgan was able to still make them out.  Morgan smiled. “I would imagine so, but I am here to see Hive Lord Tilith, not the princess.” The warriors again stared at each other and then back at Morgan. They were far from simpletons but the way their brains were wired they needed more time to process their thoughts and memories. They were probably combing their memories to see if they had been told to block any entry to the embassy or just those wishing to meet the princess. The other one raised a talon and pointed at the box Morgan was carrying. “What.....is....in....the box?” Morgan hefted it so the warrior could better see it. “This is a package Hive Lord Tilith requested me to get for her the next time I was traveling.”  “Must....be....scanned....” They held out a hand for the box and Morgan handed it to them. They then returned to the gatehouse and closed the door leaving Morgan and the other warrior standing awkwardly in silence. A few moments later they returned and handed the package to Morgan. “You.....may.enter..” The guards stepped aside and motioned for Morgan to continue in. He nodded to both of them and entered the embassy.  As he gazed up at the towering structure Morgan reflected that he had never been inside of the structure before and wondered what it looked like. He had seen the inside of bee hives on Earth but he doubted it would be exactly the same.  Standing in front of the entrance to the hive was Tilith who waved to him as he approached. “Good afternoon Mein Fräulein.” She motioned for him to join him at a small table. They both sat down and Morgan placed his package on the table.  “It is a pleasure to see you again, though I am unsure how meeting me is going to help you meet the princess.” Tilith remarked as she rested her head on a hand.   Morgan simply chuckled and tapped the package. “That is what this is for.” She regarded the covered package questioningly. “Please tell me you did not sneak another weapon in?” Morgan laughed louder and slapped his hand against the table. “No, no. Nothing so dastardly this time. Why don’t you open it up and see?” Tilith reached out and gently opened the coverings to reveal another box inside. With a nod from Morgan she removed the lid.  Before the cover was even fully removed a sudden rush overcame Tilith. A tingling sensation that ran along all of her legs and caused her fingers to twitch and she dropped the lid back down on to the box. She let out several gasps before looking at Morgan. “What is this?!?!” she demanded of Morgan.  “This my dear,” he said as he reached over and pulled off the lid in one go, “is chocolate.” The sudden sensation returned and it was even stronger than before. “We have them as treats. This is from a local bakery I know of here in town.” “What do you mean by “treats”?” Tilith asked as she focused all of her eyes on the chocolates. There were a variety of different sizes, shapes, and colors; no two were alike. “We eat them. Try one and see for yourself.”  Tilith cautiously reached out with a hand and selected one and slid it under her strand covers and took a bite out of it. Morgan watched in silence as she did so and was somewhat confused that after the first bite she stopped moving. Though he had done extensive research and selected chocolates that would sit well for her people, he couldn’t help but become concerned that he had missed something.  That feeling didn’t last long however as Tilith quickly devoured the rest of the chocolate with such vigor that her silver strands covering her face flew away revealing her face below. She munched on it for several seconds before swallowing and letting out a long gasp.  “These are beyond anything I have every tasted in my life!” She remarked as her arms and legs outstretched, as if the very excitement now inside her could barely be contained. Morgan himself let out a sigh of relief and smiled. “They really are aren’t they? Why don’t you try another?” Without needing more prodding Tilith happily devoured another one. “I remember you once told me how heightened your peoples senses are and how you crave sweet flavors. So I figured I would introduce you to some of our best desserts.”  She nodded enthusiastically as she finished the second one. “We do indeed. I can see now why you’d bring these to win over Roxana, but how will you get them to her when her retinue won’t let you get close?”  Morgan leaned back and clasped his hands. “I won’t have to judging by your reaction. Being here in front of the main entrance to the hive with a soft breeze carrying blowing inside, coupled with your heightened smell, I imagine that the aroma of these treats is now finding it’s way through the Hive. So when the princess smel-”  A loud scuttling sound from behind made Morgan stop and turn around to see a massive insectoid come storming out the Hive entrance and come straight at him. This form would have easily towered over the guards Morgan had met at the entrance and was roughly the size of a bus in length with a maw on the front large enough to swallow Morgan whole in one bite. It scuttled on a dozen rows of feet and moved rapidly across the ground like a centipede. It came charging at Morgan and Tilith and for a moment he thought he was about to be trampled to death when the new figure dug its feet into the ground to stop its forward motion and halt directly in front of them.  The dust cloud it generated from stopping made Morgan cough and attempt to wave away the dust. He looked over at Tilith to make sure she was okay when he saw her bent down bowing her head to the dirt at the newly arrived figure. Sudden realization hit him and he wondered if this large figure was in fact princess Roxana.  He quickly straightened himself and bowed to the large insectoid. “It is an honor to meet you Princess Roxana. I am humanities representative Earl von Morgan.”  “What is that delicious smell coming from?” came the reply in a soft childlike voice that confused Morgan. He looked up again to see a new figure suddenly appear on top of the massive form that looked similar to Tilith in shape but much smaller. They wore elaborate carvings of gold the sculpted to their legs like a glove and along with a vibrant gown. Unlike Tilith they wore no face cover and her insecotid face was on full display.  Morgan pointed to the table with the box of chocolates still open. “They are delicacies of my world your grace called chocolates.” He motioned to Tilith who was still bowing on the ground. “Representative Tilith had heard tales of them and wanted me to bring her some samplings to be given as a gift to you during your stay.”  Roxana moved lower along the massive insectoids side to be closer and inspect the box, but her legs never touched the ground nor left the massive insectoids body. Roxana frowned and glared at Morgan. “If they were meant to be a gift for me why are two missing?” She turned her gaze to Tilith who trembled slightly.  Morgan took a step forward but the massive insectoid let out a low growl that made him stop dead in his tracks. He wagered this was some form of specialized bodyguard cast meant to protect the royal family. “That would be because I ate them your grace. Tilith wanted to be sure that they weren’t poisoned so she randomly selected two and made me eat them, observing me to see how I would react. She is very protective of you.”  Roxana’s glare softened for a moment before it returned to a frown which she then directed at Morgan. Speaking to an insectoid without a face cover was an interesting experience to say the least, let alone one of royalty.  “The scanners would have detected any poison when they were examined at the gate.” Morgan shrugged and smiled. “Like I said, she is very protective of you and wanted to be sure.”  He took hold of the box and held it out to the princess. “Would you like one?” Roxana’s face lit up as the box was held in front of her. “Yes!” She reached out with a hand to grab one but stopped suddenly as if torn between wanting and not wanting before withdrawing her hand.  “Is something wrong your grace?” Roxana pouted and crossed her arms. “My retinue said I’m not supposed to touch anything human.” Morgan looked at the box and then at Roxana. “I see. Then how about I chuck one into your mouth?”  Roxana glared at him intensely and the massive form growled again as if sensing her ward was being insulted. “You dare treat me as if I’m a child?!” “Heaven’s no my grace.” he said as he wave his hand to the side as if to dispel the idea. “I was merely thinking of a way to get what you want without breaking your word to your retinue.”  She perked up at that and placed a hand on the bodyguard who then promptly calmed down. “I’m listening.” With his free hand he picked up the chocolate she had been originally reaching for. “If I throw it to you and you catch it in your mouth, then you did not touch anything. In fact, you would be tasting it, which is different from touching.” Her face began to light up again as she eyed the chocolate in his hand. “That way, you still keep your word to your retinue while at the same time getting what you want. Am I wrong?” “I like your thinking!” she loudly announced and moved closer to him. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, which to his somewhat horror was now large enough to fit the head of a small child inside of. He tossed the chocolate at her with his best aim and she quickly caught it and began devouring it. Roxana had the same reaction Tilith had had before and was twitching around excitedly to a point she almost lost her grip and fell to the ground before righting herself.  “Another!” She demanded as she finished. “Of course, which would you like?” Morgan pointed between the remaining ones until Roxana nodded rapidly over one with a white rose on it. He picked it up and was just about to throw it again when a loud voice interrupted him.  “HOW DARE YOU!!!!” Morgan turned to see a group of robed insectoids pouring out of the hive and surround him. Morgan nodded to the one who had originally shouted to him. “Good afternoon. My name is-” The robed insecotid strode forward and slapped him across the face causing him to tumble to the ground, the chocolates now strewn across the ground.  “How dare you treat our princess as if she is one of your live stock!” the same robed isnectoid declared. “Have you now shame?!!?” A chorus of acknowledgement came from the other robed insectoids as they began issuing their own insults. Morgan was rubbing his face and reached for his cane to help him rise. Seeing this the cane was quickly snatched from him and held out of reach leaving him no choice but to rise to his feet unsteadily.  “I feel there has been a grave misunderstanding.” Morgan began, his words slightly slurring as he realized his cheek was beginning to puff out from the slap which had more force than he originally thought. “I was only-” Another slap sent him once more to the ground, harder than before. “You will stay silent if you wish to live human.” “But you don’t understand.” Morgan began again just as the robed insectoid raised their foot to stamp on him.  Suddenly, all of the insectoids grabbed hold of their heads and began curling up into balls on the ground. Morgan looked over through blurry eyes and saw Tilith doing the same as if she were in pain. Morgan turned his gaze upwards and saw the princess with her mouth wide open once more but not a sound coming out.  Maybe something humans can’t hear?, Morgan wondered as he lay on the ground. This went on for a minute before the princess closed her mouth again. The bodyguard outstretched a massive leg and scooped up Morgan as if he was made of paper and stood him up straight,   One by one the robed retinue rose to their feet and bowed to the princess. “Princess Roxana-” the robed figure that had slapped Morgan began before being cut off by the bodyguards foot crashing into them. It slammed them to the ground hard and kept them there by pressing down on their chest.  “You are the one with no shame.” Roxanne began as she slowly moved down the bodyguards leg. “You attacked a representative of a friendly nation, and one  who had brought me a gift at that which is now ruined by your actions.” She stood just above the struggling robed figure as the bodyguard’s leg began to apply more pressure on their chest as if to crush them.  She looked over at Morgan. “You are the offended party here. What should I do with them?” He looked down at the insectoid that had struck him now looking at him with desperation in their eyes.  Morgan brushed some dirt off his coat and coughed. “No need to be so harsh my grace. This was all brought about by a misunderstanding.” Roxana looked at him surprisingly, then tapped the bodyguard who moved their leg off the robed figure who began gasping for breath.  “That still leaves the matter of my ruined gift though.” Roxana looked down at the figure as they began inching away expecting the bodyguard to crush them.  Morgan calmly stepped between the two of them and smiled at the princess. “Think nothing of it. I can get you another box and have it to you by tomorrow.” “But I want it now!” Roxana pouted and the bodyguard growled at their wards displeasure. Morgan calmly placed his hand on his chin and paced back and forth. Finally stopping and snapping his fingers he turned and looked at Roxana.  “Very well. How about I go and contact the chocolate maker and have him make you a fresh batch today at his bakery? He would be honored to have you taste them fresh.” Roxana rocked her head back and forth considering the option. “Why can’t you make them bring the chocolates here?” “I could, but I would have thought you would like to try them fresh when they are even more delicious then the one you had just now.”  Roxana’s mouth begin to open and close at the idea of the chocolates being even better. “They taste better fresh you say?” Morgan nodded. “Of course. The ones I was presenting to you I got yesterday when he was open. Today he closes his shop but I am sure he would open it for me if I asked.”  Roxana began clapping her hands in excitement. “How very thoughtful of you. You do me a great kindness after my retinue treated you so poorly.” He smiled and shrugged. “All water under the bridge your grace. I shall take my leave and contact the baker. I shall return within the hour and then we can proceed to their bakery.”  Roxana nodded and then tapped her bodyguard who turned around and began returning to the hive, her retinue following quickly behind. The one that had slapped him glared at him before following after the others.  Once the princess had gone Tilith rose from her knees and reached out to Morgan who was now swaying on his feet slightly. “Are you alright?” She helped him sit down as he rubbed his cheek. “Nothing a few shots of spirits can’t fix.”  She sat down across from him and looked him over. “You did me a kindness by covering for me before. Your cleverness knows no bounds it seems, using the chocolates to draw the princess to you.” Morgan chuckled but stopped as it hurt his cheek to laugh. “That reminds me.” He said as he looked at her with his smile back on his face. “When we go to the bakery I need to get you a box of chocolates as well.”  Tilith slammed he hands down on the table and looked at him in the eyes. “You better not be joking.” He waved his hand to the side and grinned. “I’ll make it two to prove that I’m not.” 

[noonachronicles]

Everlong Pt. 6

Kwon Jiyong/ G Dragon X Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: mild language

Genre: Hades/Jiyong. Greek God AU. Fantasy.

A/N: Holy crap, I did it. I have an update. I was getting worried there. I’m so incredibly sorry about the wait. 

Update Tag: @kathrynwynterbourne , @astarlitworld, @blue-lungs , @violagoth​ , @un-idntfied , @optimizche​ , @de-gabyconamor​ , @134340-cm​ (I think that's everyone??)

Moodboard by bae @memoiresofaneternaldreamer

There were stars in the sky. Not just a few flickers of light scattered across the dark blanket of atmosphere stretched out overhead. They were not satellites orbiting the earth or airplanes that could be mistaken for the universes slowest shooting stars. Stars, they were unmistakably stars and there were millions, maybe billions, maybe an infinite number of them twinkling above you. You found it impossible to look away. Countless shimmering diamonds attached to a taut dark sheet spread overhead.  

Having spent your entire life in the confines of the city with its light pollution this wasn’t a sight you were at all familiar with and it was absolutely stunning. The banks of the river were black, a dull black like a chalkboard that had been used and wiped clean, never able to get back to its original sheen. Where the trees were lined up one next to the other it was an even darker, bolder black. The visual was bland, the complete opposite of the sky above.

You’d found an uncomfortable position, tucked between the two wooden planks that crossed the width of the boat and acted as benches, but it left for a perfect view. Jiyong sat on the bench nearest your feet. His hand rested on the tiller. He hadn’t at this point needed to direct the boat and the tide was moving quite forcefully down the river. You’d noticed, as he was pushing the boat with you in it into the water, that there were no paddles. When you asked about it he just said that the Styx only flowed in one direction, towards Hades.

As you laid cramped at the bottom of the boat with your head rested on the bench and your eyes skyward, mesmerized by the stars above, Jiyong sat mesmerized by you. He’d been captivated and bewildered by you. While the boat moved over the water his mind raced trying to figure out who you could be. Hard as he tried he couldn’t think of any possible connection  between you and the deities, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be something he was missing. Maybe you were the daughter of a daughter of a daughter of some women one of his brothers or cousins had slept with ages ago. He was convinced there was some tie, you were able to see more than any mere mortal and capable of doing more than you should have been. You fascinated him, and if he was being honest you terrified him. In the comfortable silence of the boat ride he decided that he had to visit the fates, he had too many questions and was sure they were the ones with the answers.

“I used to have friends.” you said breaking the silence after a while, still staring up at the stars. “When I was younger I had a lot of friends. People really liked me.”    

“I’m sure you still have friends,” Jiyong returned, “and I know positively that people like you.”

“No, I don’t. I really don’t have friends.” you confessed and looked over at him, “I thought about it before this. Before coming here with you, I realized that I didn’t have anyone to say goodbye to. Is that sad? Did you have someone to say goodbye to?”

“I don’t have anyone,” he admitted, “except you.”

He could tell you were blushing, even in the dim, silver lighting of the moon. Slightly flustered, you continued on, “I would have said goodbye to you, if it wasn��t you I was leaving with.”

“Since I’m your friend.” he said with a small, very pleased smile. He didn’t know why but that still made him so happy. “What would you have said to me? In your goodbye.”

“Well I would have done it in a letter, because I’m not really good with goodbyes.” you closed your eyes and imagined the way the stationary would look sitting on a desk in front of you. You’d have used the cream colored paper with the navy blue embellishments, and your black ink calligraphy pen. Elegant and a little romantic, you thought, like him. “Jiyong, I...oh this is stupid, I can’t.”

“Please, yn, I’m doing this pretty big thing for you. All I want is this one very small thing from you in return.” He teased.

“You’re horrible.” you groaned, “Fine, I’ll do it but just don’t look at me, okay? Look away.”

“Okay.” He laughed and turned away from you before rolling his eyes lightly as you dramatically cleared your throat.

“Jiyong, I’m going away for awhile. I’m not sure if or when I’ll be back. Just in case I don’t get to see you again, there are some important things I needed you to know.” You envisioned your hand moving across the paper, the words filling in the blank space. Your cheeks burned as you realized the truth of what you were going to say next, “You, uh, you’re my best friend.”

“Not sure I deserve that.” he got the words out quickly.

“Shh,” you hushed, “We may not have known each other for a very long time, but we know each other very well and that’s what matters most. I am a better version of myself when I’m around you, Jiyong. My favorite version of myself. The most honest one. I never have to hold back any part of me when I’m with you because you seem to be able to handle it all. The dark and the sad or the light and playful. You see who I truly am and remain unphased. You’ve given me someone I can put my trust in and spill my guts to. You make me feel unjudged. You are a good man, one of the best, and I’m happy when we’re together. I just wanted you to know how important you are to me before it’s too late. I wanted you to know that I love you.”

Everything around you fell silent except for the rush of the river and the sporadic smack of water against the boat. You couldn’t even hear your own breathing, you weren’t sure that you had been. With your bottom lip between your teeth you looked over at Jiyong. He was still looking out over the water, leaving you with the perfect vision of his profile showered in moonlight. You noticed the silhouette of his prominent adam's apple as it bobbed in his throat, but that’s the only movement you could see. Other than breathing he was a sculpture. A beautiful sculpture that made your chest tight if you stared too long, so you had to turn back to the sky.  

You cleared your throat again, ‘“That was it.”

There was no acknowledgement as he remained silent and unmoving. You focused on the stars to distract yourself from the growing regret you’d felt following your confession. Just above you the stars were still plentiful but you noticed as your gaze moved across the sky in the direction the river was moving they were beginning to peter out. Dulled by the lighting of the sky as it moved from its deep indigo to a lighter royal blue. You sat up in the boat to get a better look at the sky changing color. Near the horizon you could see something glowing bright with oranges and yellows, lighting up the sky around it. Your heart started to race figuring that you were getting close to Hades. Fear was building with the image that it really was just built out of flames and stone and filled with screams of torment. Panic started to set in and you knew this was not the time for Jiyong to give you the silent treatment, you needed him.

“If you don’t say something right now… I’ll take it back. Everything I said.” you threatened hastily.

Finally there was movement as he rubbed his face with his hand and turned back towards you. As your eyes met you had to keep yourself from letting out the long satisfied sigh of relief you knew was locked up at the back of your throat. You couldn’t tell just by looking at him what was going on in his head and it was making your mind race. In his eyes there was sadness but you could see the joy in them as well and you were left not knowing what any of it meant.    

“I-” he stopped as quickly as he started.

“What?” you asked as he just kept looking at you, “You’re being weird. Don’t, don’t make it weird.”

“Thank you, for what you said.” he said quickly and shifted uncomfortably on the seat, the wood creaked slightly beneath him.

You wanted to ignore that part of you had wished he might say it back. Even platonically it was nice to be loved, and you’d thought that he might but you’d been wrong before. You didn’t want to admit that you’d been expecting a little more back than just a thank you, but you guessed it would have to do as the sky was getting brighter and you needed to move on to a new conversation.  

“Is everything on fire?” you asked.

His eyebrows scrunched on his forehead, “What are you talking about?”

You nodded your head towards where the sky was bright. “Hades, is that it? Is everything on fire there?”

Jiyong looked over his shoulder to see what you were talking about. He shook with a laugh and then turned back around, an amused smile playing on his lips, “We’re almost to Hades, yes. However, my dear, that is just the sunrise.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How can there be a sunrise if it’s the underworld? Shouldn’t it always be dark and ominous? Like a cave or something.”

He groaned as if he’d heard the same thing a thousand times before, “Underworld is a misnomer. It’s not just another version of hell. You’re not sucked down into a lava pit in the middle of the earth. It’s the world beyond life. It doesn’t really have anything to do with being under anything. Hades is where everyone goes. The good and the bad. There aren’t a bunch of reanimated skeletons crawling around grabbing at ankles and there aren’t spirits floating around everywhere moaning about how sad it is to be dead. There are parts of it that can be unpleasant but there are also parts that are… not terrible. Once you see it you’ll understand. It’s really quite beautiful.”  

There was something in the way he spoke that reflected a passion in him that you’d rarely actually seen before. Only a handful of times, like when the two of you had shared hour long conversations, usually arguments really, about greek mythology at the bakery. Or, you had to admit, he sometimes looked like that when he told you about how you deserved so much better than Jiho. It was rare, but it was also your favorite thing he did. His eyes seemed to shimmer. His posture changed. Jiyong always looked smug, but when he was passionate he turned inexplicably confident. He spoke with his hands, moving them from his chest and then forward as if offering you a gift. Though he never seemed like he was talking down to you, he only ever offered from his wealth of information.

You smiled to yourself and said, “I’m not really sure where your slightly obsessive admiration for the underworld came from but, if the inside is anything like the outside, I think you might be right.”

“What?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. You pointed over his shoulder.

Growing steadily ahead of you were the walls of Erebos. Easily hundreds of meters tall and longer than you’d even begin to assume. It was black, onyx, with streaks of gold marbled throughout that shimmered in the light of the rising sun like glitter. Every few meters, at the very top of the wall from what you could tell, were spouts releasing steady streams of water that crashed down heavily like waterfalls.

“Are those the gates?” You asked looking a little further ahead.

There was a large opening in the wall. Boats of varied sizes were lined up outside the gates patiently awaiting their turn. Small boats like the one you were in were packed with more people than should ever have fit. Yacht sized boats with just a few people leaning over the bow of the boat to get a good look at what was happening just inside the gates.

With wide, fascinated eyes you caught sight of what looked like enormous frilled-neck lizards. Scales of vibrant greens and blues shimmering all over their bodies, they skittered up and down the gate towers. Once a few boats passed through the gate their neck frills would expand like an opened umbrella and they would emit bright blue flames from their throats that shot across the opening in the wall creating a barrier and causing the incoming boats to stop and wait. You were finding the whole process surprisingly organized.

Circling the sky above the boats were five hybrids. They had the bodies of women with the heads and wings of ravens. Every once in awhile one of them would break from their flight path and swoop down over the boats as if scanning them for anyone out of place. You’d hoped you wouldn’t get to see what happened if they did find someone who didn’t belong. However, you did. After one of the raven women swooped towards a sailboat there was loud screeching and then you watched as she pulled the form from the boat and tossed it from her beak into the air. The body was caught between the beaks of two of the still circling raven women and promptly torn in two, each piece bursting into feathers that showered back down gently into the river.

You gulped and looked at Jiyong who seemed unfazed by the sight. “So, how do we get inside there exactly? I’m a little worried that we’re not...on the list.”

“Don’t worry. We’re not going that way.” He grinned and grabbed the tiller tightly in one hand before turning it. “We’re going this way.”

Jiyong directed the boat towards the giant, solid wall and you turned to him with wide eyes. “That’s not a way, that’s a wall.”

“How much longer?” He asked looking at you with genuine curiosity.

Your nose scrunched, “How much longer until what?”

“Until you actually trust me as much as you claimed you do.”

Sitting back you crossed your arms over your chest. He was being playful but you felt a little annoyed. “Oh, you heard that part? I wasn’t sure you’d actually heard any of what I said. Even though you basically begged me to…”

“You’re upset with me.”

“Not currently, but I will be if you don’t pay attention to where you’re going. We’re about to go right under that waterfall and I don’t have a change of clothes for this trip.”

Jiyong didn’t move his eyes from you and he didn’t change the direction of the boat. It moved closer to the waterfall, closer to the wall, and your fingers twitched anxiously as you watched but you didn’t say any of the snarky comments that were running through your head. You weren’t about to give him the satisfaction. He could just soak you both in water and crash the boat, and you’d wait until afterwards to tell him I told you so. You took a deep breath as the bow of the boat inched near the waterfall, just waiting for the splash of water against the dark wood. Instead the water began to part down the center like a set of curtains just before a play.

“- the fuck.” You muttered under your breath as the water spread open even further allowing the boat to pass completely untouched.

As you passed under the fall you reached your hand outside of the boat and beneath the falling water, skeptical now that it was even real. Your lips parted just slightly in awe as your palm filled with the cool, clear liquid. Still fascinated by yet another one of Jiyongs tricks you looked ahead to see one more. The wall which had seemed so solid and impenetrable before had opened into a tunnel. You hadn’t been watching so you couldn’t be sure if the opening had been there all along, hidden by the fall, or if it had opened as you arrived like how the water had parted.

The tunnel gave you a nervous feeling in your gut and for maybe the first time you thought things felt like how you expected them too. It was dark in the tunnel, you could barely see an inch in front of you. There was no way to know what was in the water below you or pitch black that was surrounding you. You’d never been fearful of the dark but this felt heavy and consuming. It was more like a sense of claustrophobia causing your chest to tighten with fear.

Obviously the wall had been enormous in height and length but you hadn’t realized that it was so large in width as well. It must have been since you still couldn’t see the other end of the tunnel even after the opening behind you had closed. You thought for a second to reach out, to hold Jiyong for comfort, the weight on your chest growing heavier with every millisecond spent in darkness. Before you’d even lifted your fingers bright blue flames began to erupt from sconces that lined the tunnel walls. It wasn’t much but it was luminescent enough that you finally found comfort.

Something about the entire situation made you flashback to a weekend you’d spent one summer in elementary school with a friend you’d had. Her parents brought the two of you to some kid centric theme park to celebrate her birthday. You spent more time trying to figure out the mechanics of the rides and how they’d created the fantasy world than you did gawking over cheesy characters. Being in the tunnel made you think of the doors that were hidden in the walls of the rides. Stacks of fake boulders in the Swiss alps or knobby trees in a fairy forest that hid the doors that employees would sneak through to go behind the scenes.

You knew what you were doing. Using the correlation of the two things to cope with how unbelievable this whole thing actually was. Maybe you could just pretend that you were at a crazy Hades themed amusement park. Jiyong was just an employee showing you all the inner workings of the macabre Disneyland. If it got you in and out of the underworld with a sense of childlike wonder instead of ptsd inducing fear, you could deal with being a bit delusional in the meantime.

“You doing okay?” Jiyong asked quietly as you finally caught sight of a beam of light at the end of the tunnel, indicating its end.

“I’m okay. I’m just processing everything.” You looked over at him, face as sharp as ever even in the soft light of the blue flames. “Or maybe more like actively not processing.”

The small beam of light slowly grew into a clear opening in the tunnel. As the boat was about to pass through to the other side, he said, “You know you’re safe here with me, right? I’ll protect you.”

You nodded, if there was one thing you knew wholeheartedly in this very uncertain situation, it was that you were safe with him beside you. You smiled, genuinely, as the sun finally hit your face once more, “I know.”

The boat continued on down a narrow canal with a steep stone embankment. Once you’d gone so far that the wall had almost disappeared from view there was an old concrete dock that lead to a stone stairwell that had been dug into the embankment. Your feet tapped anxiously on the bottom of the boat as you waited for Jiyong to tie it off on the dock. You were ready to get out, ready to see more. Ji got out first and reached a hand into the boat to help you onto the dock.

Once your feet were planted on the dock your hand squeezed his tightly and you gasped. “Oh my god, it’s him.”

Jiyongs eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You sounded like a star struck fangirl. “It’s who?”

“He’s so handsome.” You whispered with big doe eyes.

Now entirely confused, Jiyong turned to the stairway. Cerberus, the beast of a hound, was galloping his way down the steps, excited to see his favorite god had returned home. His cheeks rounded into apples with his smile as he realized you were just excited to see his dog.

“Do you think we can pet him?” You whispered before your face suddenly fell in concern, “Wait, is he gonna eat us?”

Jiyong chuckled, “I don’t think so. He looks friendly enough.”

Your heart was racing as the beast got closer, he was much more than you’d expected. His body was slightly larger than that of a bear, broad and muscular like a bulldog. All three of his hound heads were of different breeds. One was a grumpy looking thing, huge wrinkly face with droopy jowls like a neapolitan mastiff. Thick strands of slobber dripped from his mouth and pooled at your feet as he sniffed at your shoes. Another was much fluffier, but still massive, similar to a leonberger. He was much more friendly, already licking at your face and neck, tickling you all over with his soft fur. The third was actually slightly terrifying. Much more reserved, not getting too close to you, just observing. He had a very short coat with sharp, square features, impressively pointed ears and a thick wide neck.

“Dogo.” Jiyong whispered. The angry looking one turned to him and softened, nuzzling his snout into Ji’s outstretched hands.

“He knows you.” You beamed.

“I...visit often.”

Scratching behind the ears of the closest head you smiled over at him, “I think it’s cute.”

He grinned, still rubbing Dogo’s snout, “We should go soon incase someone comes along. Unfortunately, he can’t come with us, he’ll have to head back to the gates.”

You tried and failed not to pout. “Of course. I forgot he was a working boy.”

“Go on.” Ji said just as Dogo sniffed at your palm and let you pet the top of his head, “Protect the gate. We’ll send treats.”

All three heads turned expectantly towards him at the word and then the massive hounds body was trampling its way back down the dock and up the stairway until he disappeared completely. The two of you followed suit and headed towards the stairs, only much more leisurely.

“Did you like him?”

“Like him? He’s my best friend in the whole underworld. I love him.” you scoffed.

Jiyong’s mouth dropped in shock, “So quickly I’ve been replaced!”

You laughed as you hit the first steps, “He’s not what I expected though. Nothing in this place so far has been what I expected.”

“What were you expecting of him?”

“I don’t know, bigger...meaner. Teethier.”

“Teethier?” he chuckled.

“Yeah. Isn’t he supposed to eat people or something? He should have big scary teeth. That dog never ate anyone!” you argued.  

“Oh, he absolutely does eat people.”

You remained unconvinced, “Are you kidding, he is the goodest of boys. He probably never hurt a fly.”

“He is a good boy, that’s true. However, that beast eats only people. It’s his whole diet.”

You shook your head in disagreement “He didn’t even try to eat us, not for a second, not even the mean one.”

Jiyong rolled his eyes, “Dogs are great judges of character. He didn’t try to eat us because knew he didn’t have to. He knew we were good.”

“Are you saying I’m inedible?” you asked catching sight of the top of the stairs which you were grateful for as you were running out of breath.

He hummed gently before responding, “I mean, I might eat you, but I’m not a dog… which makes me a terrible judge of character.”

“What do you think I’d taste like?” You slowed slightly, a step or two behind him.

“Sweet.” he answered too quickly.  

“That was quick. Have you thought about what I’d taste like before?” you joked.

He hopped down a step and back you against the stone wall that separated the embankment and the stairway. His chest was pressed against yours, one of his hands was on your hip and the other was lifted to his mouth, his finger pressed against his lips as a sign for you to keep quiet. Your mouth had fallen in surprise and as you realized his intent you tried to suck in a breath of air that you hadn’t allowed yourself before. Just beyond the stairwell you could hear footsteps and voices.

“Have you heard anything from him?” one voice asked.

A second voice responded, “Not a single thing since he left.”

“We should have gone for him. This is taking too long, everything is in shambles.”

“Deimos, brother, please. You’re being dramatic and panicking, which suits you...but even still. Everything is fine. The underworld will survive another day without its fearless leader.”

The voices began to fade away after that. You’d been watching Jiyong as he listened to the voices. You argued with yourself that he was in your face anyway and that you might as well appreciate the view. It surprised you that with every word the voices spoke his jaw would clench as if in anger. A red blush grew on the flesh that was nearly hidden by the collar of his shirt. You wouldn’t have noticed it so much if you hadn’t been thinking about how easily you could press your lips to his jaw and his neck. And how if you just lifted your hand and pushed aside his dress shirt you could kiss his collarbone, as it was staring you in the face.

“Often.” He whispered and you snapped back into your body. Your body which was pressed so close to his. He was smiling kindly when you finally met his eyes but you could feel an undertone in his voice that ran through you like an electric current. Your cheeks were a nice rosy shade of pink. “I think about what you’d taste like often.”

“Oh.” The hot air of his breathing fell against your neck and you gulped. “I think they’re gone.”

“I think so too.” He pushed himself away from the wall, away from you, quickly and took the last few steps without turning back.

After a long deep breath you followed. He was waiting for you with his hands in his pockets. Casually, as if nothing had happened between the two of you only moments before.

“Come with me, there’s something I want to show you.” He said and nodded towards a narrow cobblestone walkway.

You followed closely behind him as he walked. He didn’t say anything and you worried that maybe the mood had changed between you. Everything had been fine and now the air was thick with tension. It had been so quick, just a flick of a switch. It left you replaying the short moment in your head on repeat trying to find what you might have done wrong. You’d even half convinced yourself that this was his entire plan. Get you worried and thinking about the charged moment over and over. Thinking about him on a loop like your brain was some broken record and the only song it played was his. As you neared the end of your walk up the steep path you realized that maybe you’d just completely lost your mind in a very short time, because Jiyong wasn’t that guy. He wouldn’t manipulate you. You were pretty sure.

“Welcome to Hades.” he said as you looked up at him, he waved his arm out across the scenic viewpoint he’d taken you too.

You were almost positive you could see everything. The giant wall and it’s open gate. The rivers that cut through the landscape like the veins in your arms. To one side there was a patch of green that looked like it might be a forest and on the other side was a mountain range. It stretched out farther than you would have ever imagined and it was entirely breathtaking.  

You sighed, “It’s...it’s beautiful.”

“I told you it would be.”

“No. I mean it’s really beautiful. You’re sure this is the right place?” you asked.

“You saw the wall, right? And the gate. The boats filled with the dead, you saw that? The dog with the three heads... that didn’t convince you?” he chuckled, amused.

“Yes I did but, shut up and look. Look at this place!” you swept your arm dramatically in front of you, “This place is alive. “

“You seem very surprised by all of this.” he was smirking as always.

“This place is alive. It is absolutely full of life. We’re standing at the top of a town where people are walking around chatting. Look over at the gates, there are people down there working, keeping this place running smoothly. And it’s not just the atmosphere that’s thriving. There are...fucking trees. Living trees, not husks of what were once trees and are now just dead tree trunks. There are green and yellow things. The sky's the perfect shade of blue. There is color here..I saw pink on the walk up here, pink flowers!”

He nodded in agreement, “I know, I’ve seen.”

“How are you not amazed? This goes against everything. Isn’t the whole point of this place that it’s dead? It’s supposed to be dirt and stones, fire and gloom. It’s supposed to be death. That’s the story right? That’s why Persephone is so miserable half the year. And why we have two of the best seasons, fall and winter, obviously. Because eons ago she was dragged here kicking and screaming, ‘I’m an earth child, blah blah blah, I need flowers and fruit and vitamin d’. There’s not supposed to be any of that here. It’s supposed to be desolate and lifeless. Shouldn’t she be here walking around in some black funeral dress, with a lace veil covering her tear streaked face. Her bony little fingers gently touching dead things and being weepy and whiny about it?” You let out a deep, post rant sigh and felt much better.

Jiyong let out a laugh. It was half genuine amusement and half frustration. His hands were clenched in his pockets. All he wanted was to reach out and hold your face in his palms. All he wanted was to press his lips hard against yours. Instead he dug his nails into his palms and looked at you with the wonder you’d been looking at the underworld with. “Amazing. You amaze me.”

“What?” You asked noticing him stare, you shoved his shoulder.  

“I just wish…” he cleared his throat, “I just wish I could show you all of it.”

“Wait, what?” Your forehead creased, “We don’t get to see everything?”

Looking over the vast landscape he spotted a small blip of a landmark in the distance and pointed towards it. “That’s where we have to go. The Judgement Pavilion, it’s a straight shot from here. Maybe half a days walk. There’s no need to visit Asphodel or Elysium, or anywhere else. Not if all you want is to get to Jiho.”

“Well couldn’t we…” you sighed, torn. Or maybe not so much torn, more just feeling guilty that you weren’t torn at all.

“Yes?”

“Could we detour? Couldn’t you show me all that other stuff too?” You asked. “We have time right? It’s not like he’s really going anywhere? He can’t die again. Can he?”

“It’ll take a couple days to circle around, but if you want…I guess I can…”

“Oh please!” You really begged grabbing his shoulders, “I want to see it all. I have to see everything. Please. What are the chances I’ll ever get this opportunity again? Even when I’m dead I won’t get free rein like this.”

“Okay. Okay!” He laughed, he was bubbling with excitement. He thought this whole time that he’d have to convince you to want to spend more time with him and to see the underworld. Here you stood, needlessly begging him to see it all instead. “I’ll show you everything, except the fields of punishment and mourning of course...and there’s nothing for us in Tartarus.”

“No.” You shook your head, “I want to see everything. If you can get us there, I want to see it. All of it, not just the good parts.”

“Why would you want that?”

“When I die, I don’t know where I’m going so... I want to see it all I want to be prepared.” you shrugged.

“You’re not going to the field of punishment.” Jiyong said making a face.

“You can’t know that.”

He was confident in his response, “I do know that. I know you well enough to know, that’s not where you’d go.”

You looked up at him sweetly, “Take me anyway.”

He looked at you for a long time. He really didn’t want to show you anything that might be too...frightening for you. Something that might make you want to leave as soon as possible. The look on your face told him that even if he said no you would find a way to get wherever you wanted to be. With a groan he nodded, “You have to tell me the second you become uncomfortable or want to leave.”

“I promise!” Your face erupted in a smile. “Where to first?”

WIthout a word, only a small smile he reached his hand out. You slapped your palm against his before giving his hand a quick squeeze. He led the two of you back down the cobblestone path and began your tour of Hades.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Dull One Chapter 50

For some reason I can’t log onto my writing blog so... I’m gonna do it here and stick it to my writing blog Tuesday. It’s not cheating.

Anyway thanks to everyone who read and sorry not sorry for the long chapter. Trust me, it used to be even longer. I’ll... just run away now. All hail the master of cliches. See you next week and remember to take your meds, kids. 

“Am I dead?”

It sure felt like she was dead. Not that Mointz knew what dead felt like – close to dead, sure, she had been there plenty of times. What else would explain the fact her ankle didn't throb and her blasted knees weren't screaming. After all, only death would probably shut those up.

Slowly, Mointz opened her eyes and was surprised to find death wasn't off the table. At first, she just thought she was surrounded by white nothingness that could have been some sort of afterlife. However, something was digging into her back and the floor was hard. Did they have floors in the afterlife? Probably not.

Looking around didn't help. White walls, white floor. No doors. There didn't seem to be a way in or out of the room. That caused her to frown as she sat up. There should have been more resistance from her tired body – that was just weird.

“Yeah... I definitely died.”

“Well, kind of.”

It wasn't the first time in her life Mointz would say her blood ran cold, but this time it was pure ice. She whipped around to face the source. There was someone else in the room, standing not too far away. With everything going on, she hadn't heard them come in.

Or... she hadn't heard herself come in?

That was... definitely her. The girl standing in front of her was 14 at best, maybe a young 15 if she was stretching it. Unlike Mointz, there was no thick scarring around her neck, but that came at the cost of missing an eye. The patch couldn't hide all the scarring from the wound, so whatever it was it must have been bad. But again... that was her.

What the hell?

Younger Mointz – she was going to think of her as Tiny from this point on – didn't seem as surprised by all this. Instead she stated in a bland tone, “You woke up.”

Tiny offered her hand, and Mointz used it to pull herself to her feet. For the first time in nearly  two years, she felt truly steady. That revelation was somewhat spoiled as she turned to look over her shoulder. Even though the floor was as white as the ceiling, where she had presumably been lying looked like a dark crater. No... it was. Had she fallen that hard?

Still... maybe she ought to address the elephant in the room.

“So... you're me?”

Mointz trailed off, hoping both not to be confirmed and to hear it. Tiny shrugged her shoulders as she motioned for her older self to follow her. Though based on the wounds... it wasn't exactly like they were totally the same. Last she checked, she still had all her eyes.

“Kind of. I'll explain in a second. Have a seat because this gets weird.”

There were chairs now – somehow they had entered a new room. This was also white, as were the chairs and the simple table. The only other new feature was the doors. There were two of them, exactly the same in design and rather plain. One looked as though it had never been touched, while the other... well, it had seen better days.

Mointz took her seat and watched as the younger girl settled in. “So... what's with the doors?”

“You're jumping ahead here, give me a second to explain it.”

Tiny's cheeks puffed out briefly, like hers used to do. Briefly, Mointz had to wonder if she was finally meeting the one she had shared her head with. However, the second the thought left her mind she knew it wasn't true. Even though she had never seen Voice, the feeling was off. They were just too... short, maybe?

The younger girl folded her hands on the table and looked over at her guest. “So, how much do you know?”

“Know?”

At her question, Tiny sighed and shook her head. “Guess that's nothing then. Oh well, you're here now and that's more than I could say.”

Mointz could already feel the beginnings of a headache. A thousand questions were running through her head, each more complicated than the last. It was hard to condense them into one, but she would have to do her best. To keep Tiny from talking anymore – and worsening her headache – she held up her hand.

“Slow down and start from the beginning please.”

Much to her relief, Tiny didn't launch into a long explanation. Instead, she pushed her hands together, then slowly pulled them apart to reveal a glowing pink sphere resting in her palms. It pulled Mointz in, and she was soon leaning over it, looking through. Then there was no sphere. She was just there, watching.

It... looked like home? But it wasn't home; the angle of the sun was all wrong, and there was no sign of the large tree in her home village. Instead, it looked like wherever she was happened to be a rather large forest. Though it was filled with unfamiliar trees, she couldn't shake the feeling she had been there before.

There was Corabe, holding – much to Mointz's shock – two of the items she had collected. In her hands rested a glittering orb, while she wore a heavy looking medallion around her neck. When she looked down, there was the sword. Why was it in her hand?

“Well... I guess we better get started.”

It was her voice, but she wasn't saying it. Mointz just got to watch as Corabe bent down to place the orb on the ground. It reflected a rainbow of colors on the dirt and leaves that made up the forest floor, much more colorful now than it had ever been.

“What if it doesn't work?”

Corabe had turned to face her, violet eyes wide with fear. “If we fail...”

Whoever was controlling this dream state took hold of Corabe's hand and squeezed hard. “Well, we die. Then we don't have to worry about it, right? Better to at least give it a try than worrying about it.”

Mointz wished she had that level of focus.

“We do. But keep watching.”

There was Tiny's voice as the image froze. Actually, everything froze. There was a rush of wind and sound. A great tearing noise, scratching to follow, and the whole world went dark. Then it reappeared. Now, however, the forest looked different. It shimmered in panes of multicolored glass – the only substance that remained.

The glass forest.

Corabe was still there, though she looked as though she had when she had been a younger girl – 13 maybe? Her eyes widened with surprise and outright joy as she reached out to take the hand of whoever was standing next to her. Mointz hadn't seen her happy in a long time – whatever she had done worked.

“We did it! It worked!”

Her face faded from joy to shock, though, as Mointz heard herself speak – perhaps with Tiny's voice rather than her own. “Yeah, we got out of the lesson but Falon's going to kill us if he finds out.”

Then the image faded as if the connection was lost; now it was just static images. She saw a mountain with glittering crystals and a great beast that dwelled inside. Then there was a city, set deep into the rock of the mountains where a heart glowed from the ceiling. Finally, there was a great, ancient tomb that reached out, calling to the watcher. Mointz knew all these places, but something about them didn't ring true. The colors had never been that clear, or the small details didn't match up. It was close, but not quite.

That realization pulled her focus away from the orb. She was back in the white room, where Tiny sat and watched her with a blank expression. Mointz rested her head in her palms, head spinning. Details were falling into place, but the picture didn't make sense yet.

“What's going on?”

Tiny was as calm as ever. “Well, you're at the end.”

She elaborated, spreading her small hands out. “We reached the end of the cycle again. I've – we've, sorry, it gets confusing sometimes – been doing this for a long time.”

The pictures locked into place, and Mointz felt her head clear. She could see more now than she had before. It didn't make any sense, but what else could it be?

“I've been time traveling?”

Tiny answered with another frustrating shrug of her shoulders – some guide she was. Maybe she was Voice after all. “Not really. It's more like we've been looping through the same 5 years.”

The young girl stood, stretching. “You know, I kind of forgot why I started it in the first place. I think it was because Corabe's wording was a little vague. The spell she used was “return us to where we began so we can try again. Let us try again to succeed” and well, I guess ancient magic really likes things to be precise. Must have had something to do with these items, else why would they be so important?”

She grew quiet to let Mointz soak everything in. In her heart, she knew it was true. It answered so many questions she hadn't even realized she had been asking – why couldn't she remember before she was 13? Why was she even doing all of this? And more importantly, why was she seeing herself die so many times?

Surprisingly, Tiny nodded. “I guess you figured out that those weird visions we had were all the times I died. Every time that happens, the cycle resets. You know, until we get it right.”

“And I haven't.”

Mointz swallowed hard, still trying to process all of this. “How many times?”

She didn't need to hear the answer to that one; she already knew it just from the scuffs in the floor, the wear on the knob to her left. Countless cycles had started and ended in this space. Trying to count the loops would be impossible, so she gave up trying. It only made her even more unnerved.

So, she asked something else. “Why though? I thought the point of this was to gather Pielste's items and save everything.”

That was the point, right? Or was all of that a lie too?

Tiny's face fell. She looked her age finally, especially as she picked at her fingernails in a way Mointz had given up before turning 14. “I... don't remember. They must have been important once, the first time around... maybe that was the plan and that's what we've been trying to do. But I know one thing, there's no Pielste.”

She looked up, face suddenly ancient. “After all, Pielste is the magpie. What do magpies do?”

Collect items.

The realization hit Mointz square in the face. “So... I'm Pielste? We were?”

Well... that made that statue in the city rather... awkward.

At least Tiny had an answer for that one. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe there was a Pielste and these were her items. But the thing about repeating a cycle over and over is that when you do it so many times, you wear parts away. Things start sticking around. You've seen the writing, right?”

The writing... Mointz could see it in her mind – on the walls of the temple, practically every time she looked around. Always she was drawn to it, trying to figure out the symbols. When she thought back, they came to clarity.

Instructions.

Tiny nodded at the realization. “Yeah. I think we wrote it down so many times it stuck. Then the cycle had to compensate and Pielste got stuck somewhere she shouldn't have been. Or maybe she was always there? It's hard to tell where she ends and I begin.”

Ok, this was all starting to hurt Mointz's head way too much. She held up her hand once more and pushed away from the table. Tiny watched her, one eye focused as she walked to the other side of the small room and rested her head on the wall. Her back was to the doors, but she knew they were there.

It made sense, but it didn't too. The pieces fit, but the picture they produced made her head spin even more. She wanted to know it all, but would one lifetime be enough? Did time even flow the same way?

“Don't think too hard about the pocket, or you'll go nuts.”

Good to know. Mointz grimaced as she pushed away from the wall and returned to her seat. “So, why the items? If they don't do anything, why keep going for them?”

Tiny started picking at her fingernails again, averting her good eye. “I think... they were something we needed in the first cycle. But the repetition made me forget. Besides, their meaning changed - now they hold the cycles up. If it stops, maybe you'll remember. Maybe not... not like I've ever gone ahead.”

Mointz didn't need to ask about that one. She looked over at the unused door, at the cobwebs and the dust that surrounded it. The door next to it looked ready to cave in from all the use – it even had footprints worn into the ground in front of it. If that didn't make her nervous, nothing did.

“So... are you the first try?”

Surprisingly, Tiny chuckled. “Nah. I died during the first rebellion. Maybe I'm the third or fourth? Who knows, really. Usually I die at one point or another, so you're pretty lucky to choose.”

She looked over at Mointz, suddenly serious. The atmosphere in the room change, and now it pressed down on them. Things were coming to a head, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

“I have to ask you what you asked me once. What are you going to do? Go back or... well, forward.”

Mointz felt a thousand pound weight drop into her stomach so fast it gave her hiccups. Fear, anxiety, and an unknown emotion she couldn't even put a name to clawed at her insides. She had a choice to make now, but how the hell could she make it?

She took a breath to steady herself. “I'm guessing from what you showed me and the fact this all sounds crazy that if I go back, I'm not going to remember any of this.”

“Nope. Wording issue again there. Not like we'd know what would happen.” There was the sad laughing, then the fingernail picking. “You wake up and we're 13 again. You get two normal years and then... all this starts up again. Friends die, world goes to hell, and it's back to where you started.”

Going back... seeing the friends she had lost and how things used to be. It was incredibly tempting. More than that, the thought of going into the unused door was downright terrifying. Though, was it her fear, or the anxieties of the thousands who came before her? Was she feeling their fears now? In the end, wasn't it still her fear?

“Don't feel bad if you want to go back.” Tiny was looking up at the ceiling with her one good eye. “Maybe next time we'll get everything right. Besides, think about it. Every time you did something, that set off a chain.”

Mointz swore she heard her own voice, her exact one, speak next. Maybe it was the ghost of the beginning? “There's thousands of cycles created from it, each of them bumping around and messing things up even more. Whatever we messed up the first time, it came along too.  I think it got stronger every time. I couldn't fix it then, and I don't know if we could fix it now as we are. Maybe that's why I wanted to go back in the first place.”

She could see it. By going back, there was the hope of starting fresh and doing things right in the next cycle. Maybe she could avoid everything – the knife, the pain, her inability to see or walk very well. Her throat ached as if to remind her of the long nights unable to speak, staring up at a ceiling full of dark nightmares that plagued her faded sight. All of that... she could get rid of it.

“Though I will admit, you had one heck of a weird hint to this.”

Tiny was suddenly in front of her. She went to touch Mointz's neck, but the girl moved back before she could. A sad smile crossed her younger self's face, but she didn't try to touch it again. At least she had learned some form of boundary before dying.

“You really should have died from that. Maybe you did for a few seconds before they brought you back. Whatever happened it was serious enough to start up a new cycle – but then you lived, and then things got bumped around. You sort of... nudged things a bit to the left I guess.”

Well, leave it to her to knock a whole cycle out of arrangement by living. Mointz knew there was a god who didn't like her, but apparently that might have been her too. If ever there was an argument she might have low self esteem and a touch of masochism, that was probably it.  

“And the time?”

Tiny shrugged. “We don't tend to make it this far. It's thin here. Do something out of order, and it messes the whole cycle up. You should've probably just dropped dead from the shock, but something kept you going. Guess we were lucky this time, huh?”

Yeah... if you want to call that lucky.

Still. She had a question to answer, and there wasn't much time to do it. Mointz sat back and closed her eyes in an attempt to quiet her racing thoughts. A thousand possibilities zoomed through her mind faster than she could grasp at them. Maybe they weren't hers – maybe she really was tapped in. Or maybe she was just paranoid about that now that she knew it was there.

Still...

One thought remained, despite everything. The question she so rarely asked herself, but thought regardless. In a time like this, what would Voice do?

Maybe Tiny knew.

“... Hey, what did Voice say to you the last time you two spoke?”

When Mointz opened her eyes, she was surprised to see Tiny back in her seat, looking rather confused. It made her look her age once again – maybe that was the scariest part of it. After all, she hadn't been that age for a very long time, and she was the first to admit she was more than a little awkward at 14. But... all kids are, she supposed.

“Huh?”

Mointz blinked in surprise. “You know, Voice. The... presence. I started hearing them when I put the bracelet on.”

She held it up for emphasis, but it wasn't there. Instead, she just saw scarred, slightly moist skin that said she had been wearing it for far too long. Tiny wasn't wearing one either. Maybe it was the price of admission.

Said small self cocked her head to the side. “Did you hit your head or something? I don't think we ever had mental problems like this... maybe it's a fluke...”

Tiny started muttering under her breath, leaving Mointz to access this piece of information. Apparently, surviving wasn't her only lucky break. The thought made her stomach drop worse than anything else. Maybe Voice was just special to this cycle, some sort of glitch in the system. If they weren't part of the cycle, then the next version of her – there was a scary thought – would be all alone.

But... as bad as that was, so was going into an unknown future in a body that almost broke down every other week. If she went on, it would be as she was. All her scars, every little ache would come with her. They'd be permanent. Maybe... maybe in the next cycle...

But she stopped herself. That kind of thinking was what got her in this mess. And in her bones, Mointz knew herself. She could feel just how tired she was, how much she wanted to just take a damn nap and wake up where things made sense. In a way, that helped her to make up her mind as she stood, pushing away from the table.

“I'm good to go.”

Tiny stopped her muttering. “Took you long enough. Well, let's get going. This is pretty unstable and doesn't hold too long before it resets the c-”

The young girl's voice failed as Mointz walked right past the well used door, footsteps echoing on the hard floor. She stopped instead in front of the dusty frame, brushed off the cobwebs. There was the handle, covered in an eon's worth of dust.

Tiny was at her side, sounding frantic. “What are you doing?!”

“What, you said I had to get out of here.” Mointz nodded to the door. “I'm getting out of here.”

Her younger self shook her head wildly. “Are you crazy? It could stop time or freeze the universe or... or... I don't know, but it can't be good to condense that many dead worlds. You might step out there and just die on the spot!”

Yep, sounds like she'd be dead for good if she did that. However, Mointz had to admit that sounded pretty good compared to repeating puberty for the next eon or so. Still, she realized that deep down, she knew that fear. Tiny was scared because she was.  So maybe that was why she turned around and placed her hand on the girl's shoulder – her shoulder.

Man, this was getting confusing.

“Hey. It's going to be ok.”

Tiny wiped tears from her one good eye. “You don't know that.”

“And neither do you. We're both flying blind.” She winced. “Uh, sorry.”

It got the young girl laughing, which soothed some of the anxiety Mointz hadn't realized had brought up. Had she really ever sounded that young? It felt like a lifetime ago that she could have been that same person.

Well... really she was in a way.

“Don't... forget about me, ok?”

Her younger self sniffed back tears. “And thank you... for being brave enough to go through.”

Mointz smiled and let go. “Well, thanks for never giving up then. I think it's time we put this to bed, though. I could use a nap.”

And she walked up to the door, grasping the handle. Briefly, she looked back. However, there was nothing to look at anymore. There was just where she was, her hand on the knob. No chance to go back now.

“Well... here goes.”

And with a light push, she opened the door. One foot, then the other, went through. Then everything dissolved into warm pink light as she let herself go once again. To where she would go... who knows?

That was kind of the fun part.

[avani008]

Four Seasons Meme: Devasena

For @ratnananda, @cassandor, & multiple (?) anon:

(Behind the cut because it is LONG)

Spring

the circumstances of his/her birth | favorite (or least favorite) family member | first word | happiest birthday | genderswap au

Jayasena wrinkles his nose. “That’s what all the fuss was about?” he must ask, youth making him candid.

“Hush,” says Mother; “You musn’t say such things about your baby sister”; and Jayasena knows that it’s important to look after her, that she must be worth something for Mother to go to all the trouble of having her, but at the moment, it all seems rather pointless.

“She took her time being born,” he observes instead, because Mother had been locked up in her chambers with her ladies with almost a day and a half--the longest he had ever gone without so much as a glance of her; if he’s honest with himself, it leaves him not a little annoyed to have lost so much of her attention.

Mother shakes her head fondly. “She wanted to be born in spring,” she explains. “Just after dawn on the first day of Chaitra. My little Devasena.”

That at least gives Jayasena hope that his sister is sharp as well as stubborn, to pick the nicest month of all to explore her new world; and, ignoring Mother’s grin, he leans closer to look at her with new interest.

*

Once a year, Devasena and her brother must travel south to visit their great-uncle, much to her loud protests. Aditya Varma lives on a sprawling estate far from the palace; and his insistence on seeing his remaining family is matched only by his stubborn refusal to leave his house. “He’s old, Devasena,” Jayasena reminds her, “we must make allowances”; but Devasena can’t see that any allowances can excuse the long hours of boredom while Aditya Varma rails at them of his hatred for anyone under the age of sixty, the smell of horses, the kingdom of Mahishmati, insolent children, loud noises, Mahishmati’s odious royal family, all foods that weren’t rice and bland sauce, cloudy weather, and--of course--Mahishmati.

“If I live,” she begs her brother when they leave, “to be so embittered, promise me you’ll kill me yourself.”

Jayasena’s mouth twitches, the one sure sign that he shares her exasperation. “If you’ll do the same for me.”

*

“Mine,” says Devasena: the first word on her lips, and her favorite. She is so proud of what she has learned, however, that she does not always use it correctly. “Mine,” she proclaims when pointing at the fine white throne that will be her brother’s someday; “Mine,” she announces when taken to see the calves in their pen.

“What shall we do with you?” sighs her nurse, while her mother laughs, and Devasena--Devasena takes one look across the courtyard at the gleaming bows displayed in the armory.

“Mine,” she says, with certainty, and neither woman can deny her.

*

She can remember only the faintest of memories from her fourth birthday. The smell of her mother’s hair; her father laughing. They had gone for a picnic, she thinks, or perhaps her mind had added that later. Either way, she recalls sitting in the warmth of daylight, until a sunshower had sent them scurrying to the shelter of the trees. Father had swooped Devasena up onto his shoulders, and Jayasena tickled her dangling feet, and Mother dried her wet hair, still winded from their flight.

She can remember only the faintest of memories from her fourth birthday: that is all she needs to know she will never be so happy again.

*

Dhananjayan comes home to find the palace in chaos--a pity, since he so wanted to make a favorable impression on his new friends. Therefore his tone is somewhat clipped when he asks his brother what in the world has happened to send them scurrying about so.

Jayasena is grim. “More than you know, brother; the Pindari have declared vengeance against us, and our army doubts they can hold them off again, with their numbers so reduced-”

That is all right; that is what Dhanajayan was put on this earth for. “Leave it to me,” he assures Jayasena, and beckons Baahu-with-no-other-name and his uncle forward. “And while I’m at it, let me introduce you to who I met when I was away--”

Summer

fantasy | love language of choice | a pet or other animal companion| the decoration of their bedroom| fusion au

“You’re not a witch,” Devasena asks, uneasily, and Sumitra looks aghast.

“Certainly not,” she says. “I only--maneuver matters about somehwat; and truly what difference is there between brewing a poultice and a potion?”

Devasena swallows. “For one thing, it’s--I mean, the priests say magic is wicked.”

Sumitra pauses, and approaches her. “Devasena,” she says gently, hands on her sister-in-law’s shoulders; “do I seem wicked to you?”

No, never, not Sumitra; Devasena shakes her head, and Sumitra smiles. “Then come here and let me teach you what I know.”

*

Devasena has learned to judge a man by his actions. Touches can be manufactured, and words are eternally meaningless; gifts are nothing more than bribes to purchase servitude. The problem is finding someone who satisfies her standards. Even those who present a facade of genuine selflessness and strength are proven otherwise before too long--and she trains herself to treat all suitors with suspicion.

(Sometimes, she wonders if she would have seen even her Baahubali with disfavor if he hadn’t thought to come before her in disguise.)

*

“Crown Princess,” says the cowherd; “there is no one else.”

For a terrible instant, Devasena’s mind goes blank with panic; the next, she struggles back to some semblance of calm. This is nothing she has not been taught before, but--it’s only--well, she’s never done so alone before. But fear changes nothing; she guides the laboring cow to the ground and grits her teeth.

The calf, when he is born, is a fine specimen; when she’s asked what he shall be called, Devasena smiles and suggests, “Madhvaiyya.”

*

Devasena sniffs at decadence. Her rooms are to be kept simple, she tells anyone who will listen: only the simplest of surroundings, open windows, and a curtain to keep away errant insects during their slumber. Try as she might, though, a princess cannot escape prosperity entirely; her sheets are still silk, and the cool marble floor warmed with braziers. Devasena tells herself that if she had any choice in the matter, she would refuse it as soon as possible.

(Years later, in her cage, Devasena laughs and laughs at her younger self.)

*

Her parents had been soulmates. Devasena knows that even though she barely recalls them. She can bring to mind the sound of her mother’s voice and the laugh lines carved in her father’s face, and not much else besides. Her brother, however, remembers well enough for both of them, and he is generous with his memories.

“It was not,” he tells her on nights when she can’t sleep, “that they were always of one mind—in fact they disagreed quite often! But the world burned bright around them when they were together, and the palace shone with their happiness. All Kuntala prospered from it.”

Devasena hugs her knees and tries not to squeal with satisfaction. Such behavior is undignified for a Crown Princess, in particular the sort of Crown Princess who would have to foster such an impressive reputation that her soulmate should be drawn to her as soon as possible. And that achieved, they could get on with the important business of bringing as much joy to Kuntala as her parents had in their day.

It is perhaps not the most well-thought of plans.

Fall

the one person/cause/ideal they would sacrifice everything for| storms| nightmare | the lie(s) he/she has told | hero/villain reversal au

It isn’t that she’s selfish, quite the contrary: Devasena would sacrifice herself and her happiness in a heartbeat if she thought it would make any difference.

“Baahubali” would make for a pretty answer, but it is not quite true. She might be carried away by romance as any other woman; but it is not enough to make her forget who and what she is.

Kuntala would win her praise, but even that cannot be accurate--Devasena

No, instead it’s liberty she holds dearest to her heart.

*

Her parents argued once.

Only when they thought she and Jayasena were safely asleep, of course; they had no way of knowing that Devasena had tiptoed to their chambers. Even now the memory reminds her of nothing so much as summer storms, the sharpness of her mother’s voice, the rumble of her father’s. She does not know what caused the disagreement, or how even long it lasted; only that it ended, as all storms must. When she wakes, they are there, together, smiling at her, and she remembers them standing closer beside each other than ever.

It’s from them she learns not to fear quarrels and debates in love.

*

She sees Kuntala in shambles, its river running bright with blood.

She smells smoke in the distance, and the stench of burning flesh-- a satisfaction that terrifies her worms its way into her heart.

She hears the clank of chains and the jeers of a strange crowd.

She feels her fingers clutching for something--someone--beloved and finding nothing.

“Only a nightmare, my darling,” soothes her nurse, and Devasena, reassured, slips back into sleep.

*

As a rule, Devasena lies badly. Her morals are as straightforward as the direction of the arrows she shoots: she has no patience for prevarication. Besides, when she expects nothing less than perfect honesty from everyone around her, do they not deserve the same in return?

Still, she thinks she can make an exception just this once, when Jayasena peers at her, worried, the day after the disastrous seemantham; “You do not wish for me to stay longer with you? You believe all will be well?”

Devasena forces a smile. “Yes,” she replies, “I am sure it will.”

*

Kuntala has not the manpower nor the machinery nor the money to stand up to Mahishmati, but Devasena knows all too well that a pretty face can work wonders where the strength of thousands cannot. It is not difficult: a few languishing looks, pretended ignorance as to the appearance of the future King of a neighboring country, and Devasena has the betrothal she wants. And this, too, a few sharp words, and Sivagami Devi lashes out, forever branded as unreasonable in her son’s regard. A few more delicate suggestions, a few more inadvertent misunderstandings, and her husband will have no choice but to take the throne for himself, free of the Queen Mother’s influence, or die a declared traitor.

Baahubali will be the future of Mahishmati, Devasena knows, but he is hers; and through him, the rest of the Empire will rest in her hands, as well. 

Winter

haunting | tarot | then and now | gods and mortals | reincarnation au/historical era swap

Devasena goes mad on the third night she spends in the cage. She is never certain why. It could be because of the glare of the sun on her face during the day, or because of the lash of cold rain against her sunburned shoulders at night. It could be because of the crusted blood on her feet, left both by labor and the touch of the Queen Mother’s hand. She finds she does not care, can’t bring herself to care, because thunder rumbles and lightning slashes the sky, and her dead husband is sitting before her on the opposite side of her cell.

For an instant her heart leaps. There had been a secret plan by Kattappa to save his protege, she hypothesizes wildly, or it had all been a lie to break her spirit on Bhallaladeva’s part — but the eyes of Amarendra Baahubali are sad when they find hers in a way they never were in life, and she knows. Devasena has never been able to hide from the truth; that has always been her blessing and her curse. And today, apparently, it has driven her mad.

That doesn’t stop her from giving into instinct and stumbling forward into his arms. The best thing about being mad is that his skin feels warm against hers, almost as though he were still living flesh instead of a spirit who loves her too much to leave her. The shock of it, the familiarity, sends fresh tears down her cheek, hot and bitter, and after a moment, she recovers enough to recognize the sounds coming from her mouth as, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you-

*

She sees a representation of Strength one day: a strange one, a woman standing with a lion tamed at her feet. It is not the Great Goddess, who rides the fierce beast with pride; this woman eyes the creature with unease.

“She holds the bindings firm nonetheless,” says the merchant who sells the image, as though she can read Devasena’s thoughts. “You might learn much from her, Crown Princess.”

That seems unlikely, but Devasena purchases the picture anyway. When, much later, she eyes Bhallaladeva’s rooms and armor, and the beasts emblazoned there, she realizes at last the warning that image contained.

*

Then Devasena walked this hall with her wrists heavy with chains, and her heart ablaze with anger and shame; now she walks no less slowly, although she’s unimpaired. Years of captivity have left her with a limp, and she’s all too aware she slows down her son’s procession to the throne. Shivu looks as though he would stare down anyone who protests, however, even were it her, and so she keeps her silence.

Then Devasena walked this way, a humiliated princess who was learning what it was to hate. Now, as Queen Mother, she dares hope she might have the freedom to learn to love again.

*

They think of her husband as a god these days. The stories grow in number: Baahubali had the strength of ten men—no, a thousand! Baahubali was blessed with precognition; Baahubali could no more dream of doing wrong than the sun could rise in the West. Devasena knows all too well how her Baahubali would have hated it, but she will not take this from the people of Mahishmati; they have already lost so much.

They think of her husband as a god, and someday soon, only Devasena will remember that all he wanted was to be mortal like them.

*

Best of all Devasena loves lazy mornings. She wakes early, as is her habit; but there is something glorious about letting her eyelids drift shut as she listens to her husband’s soft snores. Outside the window, the city comes to life; but not one of the thousands of lives out there depends on her as they once did.

The children are asleep, the morning only just begun, and Baahubali is in her bed. Devasena is content.

[basket-of-epiphanies]

Scarletvision Oneshot

Hey yeah so I got bored and wrote this. It’s Scarletvision. Basically, Vision visits Wanda in jail. Enjoy.

Vision cannot recall a time where he was ever so undecided, so uncertain about a choice. His hands skim over the edge of his sleeve, worrying it between nail-less fingers. It’s the only sign of his anxiety, although nobody is around to pick it up. He shifts slightly in his helicopter seat as the vehicle soars above the seemingly endless sea.  Water sloshes and crashes beneath him and the cloudless sky. A pod of dolphins glide gracefully through the ocean, cutting through the rolling blue with ease. There is no sign anywhere that a dark prison lurks beneath surface.

“Arriving at the jail in 5 minutes, sir,” FRIDAY’s cool voice floats through his thoughts. Vision nods slightly as autopilot tilts the ‘copter slightly to the left and steers him closer to the underwater penitentiary. Closer to his enemies. Closer to Wanda.

Vision hesitates, even as he watches his destination rise out of the water, leaving gallons to dump out the sides and wash across the surface of the landing-pad.  He mentally questions his decision, definitely not for the first time.

She won’t want to see you.

But what if she does? What if she’s wondering why you haven’t come to visit yet? What if she misses you?

What if she loves you?

Vision is obviously not one to act or speculate irrationally, but he can’t help but feel as though his last thought is one of a fool. Granted, he has trained and worked closely with the Scarlet Witch in the past, but how well did he really know Wanda Maximoff? She is friendly enough with him, even bordering on romantic at times, but Vision doubts she has ever thought of the two as a couple. He recalls to his mind the time where he had once floated through her wall in the last moments of the evening, alarming her as she sat on her bed. Vision had swiftly apologized after Wanda explained for what must’ve been the hundredth time that normal people didn’t usually phase through solid objects. She smiled and gestured for him to sit down, and together, they had watched the sun disappear from the sky and saw the city of New York light up around them. The shine of the Big Apple reflected in Wanda’s eyes as she stared out the window, gently resting her head on the android’s shoulder. That night was the first time Vision recalls feeling a warm, stirring emotion in his chest; love.

But everything had changed when the Sokovia Accords arose, and team had divided themselves. Everything had changed after the fight at the airport in Germany, the last time Vision had held Wanda. Then she was dragged away and he hadn’t seen her since.

Vision doesn’t know what to expect as he exits the borrowed helicopter. The guards let him pass, but he can feel their glares boring into his back after he walks by. He keeps his head high but inwardly flinches; he is not accustomed to the chilly demeanors and the standoffish attitudes. Before, people had welcomed him and greeted him as a hero, as a savior even. Before, he had glowed and beamed from their praise and gratitude. Before, he had rescued humans and cities and more. Before, people actually liked him.

Now, he isn’t so sure. The bomb that killed the Wakandans had frightened and angered the world, setting civilians against heroes; hence, the Accords. Vision wishes the team wouldn’t have disagreed over the terms and turned against each other. Then again, didn’t everyone?

Several security officials escort him down a corridor, leading to what can only be the cells. Again, anxiety plagues him at the uncertainty of Wanda’s reaction. What if, what if, what if…

When the door shifts open to reveal the cells, the inhabitants all glance up. Vision suspects visitors of any kind is a rarity; it was so arduous for an agreement to be reached for Vision to visit, and even then he is given a limited amount of time. His gaze drags along each of the humans, all giving him sullen looks, until it rests on Wanda. His chest tightens at the sight.

She is huddled in the corner of her cell, body tense and unmoving. An electric collar adorns her neck, met with a straitjacket that covers her top. She sits completely still, as though terrified that if she so much as breathes too deep, she will be electrocuted. Vision feels an unfamiliar emotion shoot through him; a combination of anger, grief, and regret. He gently floats over to the bars that guard the glass wall between Wanda and the red being. A flick of her eyes is the only acknowledge Wanda gives him. Behind him, Vision feels the weight of Team Cap’s gazes, not unlike the frosty eyes of the prison guards. Here, he is surrounded by enemies. Except, he hopes, for the woman sitting in front of him.

The silence around them seems to fragile, too dangerous even, to break, and so Vision opens his mind to Wanda, a mute invitation. For a long moment, there is nothing but cold rejection. Vision almost turns away, almost decides this was a mistake, before Wanda accepts.

You came, Wanda states. Her mental voice is bland and blank, but Vision can feel emotions churning underneath the surface, rolling off and gathering in clouds around her.

Yes, Vision replies. He searches for something to say. Deep down, he knows what he needs to say: I’m sorry, I love you, please forgive me. But he remains silent.

I didn’t think you would. Wanda watches him, studies him with her soft brown eyes to capture his reaction. Vision knows the look well. She’s watched him like this before, testing the waters, the limits, the boundaries they silently had set. Both acutely aware of one another and yet blindly ignoring their yearnings. Now, however, she is trying to simply figure him out. Vision senses it, curiosity surfacing like a bubble in her mind. It is the only emotion she is letting him sense.

I should’ve come earlier, Vision admits. I did try. The facility seems to strongly dislike me.

Not your fault. They hate all of us, Wanda transmits. It’s useless, all of it. The light talk, the pointless conversation. They both know there are words to be said, thoughts to be expressed. Both are waiting for the other to start, to admit first.

Vision feels he needs to rectify this.

I’m sorry. He’s said it before, but feels desperate to apologize again. He identifies anger inside Wanda, and although he’s not sure if it is directed at him, he’s sure he deserves it. For keeping her locked up. For hurting her. For ignoring her. I’m sorry.

Wanda remains quiet for a stretched moment, her only reaction being a dropping of her gaze. One of her fingers twitch as she stares at her hands, and Vision realizes that tears have pooled in her eyes.

Shame sweeps across him, and anger as well, anger at himself. For hurting her. For dragging himself away from his first and only love by his own ignorance and blindness. For refusing to acknowledge that maybe Tony Stark was wrong, that the Accords were not the right path.

I wish I could believe you is what Wanda says when she finally responds. Vision knows that this isn’t unexpected, but he can’t hold back the twinge of disappointment in his gut. He reaches out, almost touching a space of glass between the bars, but holds himself back. Maybe the sense is contagious, but Vision feels as though one wrong move could trigger the pressing of a button, sending pain shooting through Wanda, and he doesn’t want to hurt her any more than he already has.

I don’t want to talk to you, Wanda transmits eventually in a cold tone. This time, Vision doesn’t hide his flinch. It hurt, as much as he would not like Wanda to know that she got to him. He knows he deserves it; he probably deserves worse. He probably deserves her to scream and cry and yell at him. He would’ve preferred  that to this cold disappointment, in fact.

There’s nothing left to say. Vision ends their connection and the world surrounding him rushes back. The other prisoners, watching them. The guards, eyeing the time. The soft cadence of waves washing against the prison walls. It’s time for Vision to go.

The last thing he sees before turning and exiting is tears making their tracks down Wanda’s face.

[delicatelythoughtfulpatrol]

I Gave Up My Mexican Last Name for a White Name

By Angela Rodriguez Prilliman 

I had minutes to make my decision. Not because the clerk was breathing down my neck, but because I really don’t like to hold people up. Having worked in the service industry throughout high school and college, I know how annoying it is when people come up to the counter but haven’t made their decision yet.

However, I wasn’t simply deciding between a blue or a green sweater. I was choosing either a Mexican last name or a white last name.

I had gotten so swept up in my wedding-planning process that I completely forgot that I would have to ultimately make the decision to remain a Rodriguez or become a Prilliman. I’m pretty traditional when it comes down to it, and I had always known I would take my husband’s last name when I eventually got married. But as I was filling out the marriage-license paperwork, reality sunk in.

If I went through with this name change, I would no longer have a Hispanic label attached to me.

As I stared at the blank space under “New Last Name,” I recalled all the times my Mexican name and heritage had influenced events or situations in my life, and I began weighing the pros and cons. I wish I could say it went differently, but there seemed to be more cons than pros that came with my Hispanic last name due to the racism my family and I have experienced for most of our lives.

I grew up in a small, predominantly white, rural town in central Texas that was known for rodeo, high school football and farms that smell like mounds of cow patties. When I was little, my dad worked on one of these farms. Originally from Monterrey, Mexico, he came to the United States chasing the American dream like many others. After getting married, my mom and dad moved to Stephenville specifically for a farming job opportunity. Given that I was only four or five at the time, I never thought twice about my dad working on a farm because it was all I ever knew.

I wish I could say it went differently, but there seemed to be more cons than pros that came with my Hispanic last name due to the racism my family and I have experienced for most of our lives.

But as I got older, I begin to notice commonalities: brown people worked on the farms, not white people. White people were the teachers, doctors and business owners, the people who lived in nice houses, not the kind with cracked linoleum floors peeling up like moldy cheese.

I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why white people had more access to things than Mexicans. I knew they had more money and seemed smart and important, but how did they get to be that way?

It was sometime in the fifth or sixth grade that I started looking for ways to mask my Mexican-ness. I mimicked the clothing choices of the preppy white girls, attempted to play sports and tried out to be a cheerleader, got competitive with academics and tried to maneuver social circles to prove to everyone I wasn’t like those “other Mexicans.” It worked to some extent; I was told multiple times throughout junior high and high school, “Oh, you’re not really Mexican; you’re white,” which I wore like a badge of honor. Because Mexicans got pregnant in high school; Mexicans did drugs and dropped out; Mexicans didn’t go to college; and I was not one of them.

But it didn’t matter what I was or what I wasn’t, because my last name wasn’t something I could hide on an application or a résumé. Years of striving to be different from a stereotype didn’t matter. The minute someone read or heard the name “Rodriguez,” they made assumptions — that I’m not educated, that I’m poor, that I’m promiscuous, that I’m unable to write well and that I’m someone who can’t be trusted.

There was a prominent family in my hometown known for being avid supporters of the community, who donated their time and money to school fundraisers and the like. They were seen as really nice people — until my sister started dating their son. One day my sister came home sobbing because this boy had broken up with her. His parents made it clear that it wasn’t acceptable to be seriously dating a Mexican girl. I was stunned. His parents had been so kind to us; I had thought they respected my family as equals. The son and my sister continued to see each other in secret for a little while, but the damage was done. Since then, whenever I introduced myself to the parents and grandparents of any white guy I dated, I couldn’t help but wonder, 

“Are they genuinely happy to meet me, or were they expecting someone else and are now praying that this doesn’t last?”

The minute someone read or heard the name “Rodriguez,” they made assumptions — that I’m not educated, that I’m poor, that I’m promiscuous, that I’m unable to write well and that I’m someone who can’t be trusted.

As much as politicians want to get that Hispanic vote, they’ve been the worst offenders when it comes to racism. I was the youth chair for a local mayoral race back in Texas. As part of that job, I organized an event in which other prominent politicians would be in attendance. One of these asshats at the event immediately assumed that I was the help and told me that it wasn’t my job to be talking to people; it was my job to bus tables and bring out more food. Speechless, I silently picked up the closest messy plate and walked away. I was so shocked and humiliated that I didn’t know what else to do. Because I didn’t want to let my candidate down, I swallowed the tears, put on my campaigning smile and continued with the event.

My generation isn’t much better, unfortunately. In a college class of mine, the topic of immigration came up. Not realizing there was a Mexican in his midst — because we couldn’t possibly go to universities alongside one — 

a classmate made a comment that Mexicans don’t deserve to be in this country and that they abuse the welfare system, eat up taxpayer money and don’t contribute anything to society as a whole. 

So apparently, my family and I should just get shipped back to Mexico because we are worthless to the United States.

 I wish I hadn’t, but I fired back at this guy, knowing that everyone in the room was probably thinking, “Oh, man, another aggressive Latina over here. Don’t get on this girl’s bad side!” I can’t even stand up for myself or people I care about without being looked at like the emotional Hispanic (my equivalent of the angry black woman).

With so many examples like these, it was really hard to come up with more than one good reason to keep my Hispanic name, outside of affirmative action. I’m fairly certain I earned most of the college scholarships my community offered because I was the ultimate trifecta: in the top 5 percent of my class, relatively lower income and Hispanic. But college is over. How would my Hispanic name help me today or in the future?

And if you needed any more evidence that people read cultural biases into names, a recent video came out about a Mexican who saw drastic results in responses to his job application once he changed his name to a traditionally white one. What’s funny is that I’d told my little brother to do the same exact thing years ago, because you can’t sound any more Mexican than Jose Rodriguez.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PR7SG2C7IVU&feature=emb_title

So when it comes down to it, I’ve experienced too many instances of discrimination, both subtle and overt, to justify keeping my last name.

Another thing weighing on me was my desire to continue to work in tech. And even with all the big tech companies releasing diversity reports and vowing to be different, employers tend to hire people who are like themselves. With so few Hispanic people in tech and in the corporate world in general, I wasn’t going to hold my breath anymore and hope for attitudes about race and ethnicity to change.

So when push came to shove, I changed my last name to Prilliman.

I saw the opportunity to appear “more white” and finally receive some of the advantages that come along with that change.

And I immediately was disappointed with myself.

My mental identity crisis went something like this: Your name is so bland now. How will people know that you have this fiery passion about you? What about all the other Latina women trying to make it in the world? You’ll never be an inspiring example to them! You have a massive, crazy family, and your name doesn’t match this anymore. You’ve become unrelatable to your people! Selena is rolling in her grave right now!

Nothing too noticeable has changed since I made the switch, though. I feel more comfortable in some social situations because people don’t judge me by my name before they meet me in person. 

But I still worry that I’m tricking people, and feel guilty that I’m doing something wrong by cloaking myself in a white name.

Luckily, changing back to Rodriguez is still a legal option should the conflict over my overt cultural identity push me in the opposite direction. But I’m not sure if I ever will go back to my Mexican last name.

In the meantime, if I want to add a little Rodriguez to my signature whenever I feel like it, I still can. And I do. Because I know that even with all the baggage that comes along with my Mexican name, it sometimes comes with great opportunities. Opportunities to change people’s minds.

  https://thebolditalic.com/i-gave-up-my-mexican-last-name-for-a-white-name-the-bold-italic-san-francisco-9a4cca7d3b8b

[fyodorscenarios]

This scenario is based off of a really great movie that I recently watched. I decided to use the universe it’s set in as an AU. The film is called The Lobster. You can of course read this without having watched it, but I really do recommend the film if you have time for it. Plus the film does a way better job of introducing the viewer to its world than I do.

I also tried to emulate the film when it comes to the style this is written in. So if it seems unconventional that’s probably why. It was certainly fun to write for that reason.

This is just a self indulgent thing in the long run. I didn’t write this for a request, but I hope you enjoy it regardless.

-

First, they shower you so your skin is soft. That way, they can peel it all off.

And, what happens after that?

I don't know. But the procedure would surely depend on the animal.

-

You woke up to your new alarm.

"Bzzt, bzzt. Room 304, day three. 42 days remaining. Breakfast is served." it said.

You got up and walked to your closet, putting on the clothes they had assigned you. There was no choice to be made, the clothing was identical after all.

It was still strange seeing the dinning room. You weren't used to seeing everyone wear the same bland outfit each morning. The men in blue shirts and black suits, and the women in the same cream floral dress.

You almost felt sick as you were forced to sit in your now usual seat. The woman beside you was terribly vain, and loved to talk all breakfast. Luckily, she showed no interest in you, but it was still a wonder that you were able to deal with her.

She ended up blathering on, as per usual, about how she would certainly find someone. However, she always complained that no one was worthy of her.

Sometimes, you thought her words might drive you to suicide before your time was even up.

-

Later that same day, when you had walked to the dock to stare at the ocean, the alarm rang. Luckily you weren’t far from the hotel, so you ran.

Upon finally entering your room, you were quick to gather your ammunition and dark coat, before meeting all the others at the bus up front. There were some that were quite late, despite all of you knowing what was at risk.

On the bus, you wondered if you could be cruel enough. You’d never shot a human being, and you still weren’t sure if doing that here really meant that they would be dying. Their old self would die, but would they die with it?

You weren’t desperate now, but eventually you might be. Therefore, every day truly counted.

Upon arriving at the forest, most sprinted into the trees as fast as they could. You however, decided that using stealth was the best option. With your gun in hand, you quietly made your way through the brush, careful not to even snap a twig.

After a few minutes of walking, you spotted a flash out of the corner of your eye. You quickly followed in its direction.

When you arrived, about a metre’s distance from you was another hotel guest, and a loner. The man from the hotel had grabbed the loner woman roughly by the hair. He must have just caught up with her.

Her hair was very long. You wondered why she hadn’t been smart enough to cut it.

The man gripped her hair tightly. The woman whimpered and a thud echoed through the trees. He had slammed her head against the nearest tree, and he let her body crumple to the ground before he shot her.

You watched on, rooted to the spot, as the drugs took effect and her eyes fluttered shut.

The man looked over her, his face had remained neutral throughout the act, and was still like this now.

You almost dropped your gun when he looked up and met with your eyes. There was an eerie smile etched on his face. His strange purple eyes seemed like that of a predator.

You wanted to say something, but you soon realized that you couldn’t even try. You peered back at him as if in a daze.

The grin, only momentary, was gone as he left you. Feeling drained, you leaned against another tree. You hoped for the end of the hunt to come soon.

-

Half an hour later, each guest was lined up. On the ground in front of you lay the fallen loners. You wondered what the punishment for them would even be. What would they make the loners into?

The staff member went through each person, calling out their room number and what they had accomplished.

The man from before, was room 206.

“Room 206,” said the staff member, “5 loners. 120 days remaining, now 125.”

So he was like that. This should not have surprised you.

“Room 304,” you flinched as the staff member called on you, “42 days remaining.”

-

Bzzt, bzzt. Room 304, day seven. 38 days remaining. Breakfast is served.

-

You find him at the shooting range. Seemingly, he’s predictable.

You had mulled it over, and glanced at him when you could. Sometimes, you even caught him looking back at you. Today was the day.

You watched him from your chair. He was certainly skilled, perhaps from being at the hotel for so long.

When he was finished, he placed the gun back on it’s rack and sat beside you. He glanced down at you, and you looked back.

“Did you need something?” he asked.

“I want to get to know you.” you said.

He hummed. “Simply translated to: you’d like to see if we’re a match. Are you desperate? Or do you figure that I’ve likely grown tired of this place?”

You flush. “I just want to get to know you. If we end up being a match, then that’s great for both of us, isn’t it? I’m not desperate yet.”

“This system they use, you know it won’t make you happy, right? Compatibility cannot be determined by one matching trait alone.”

“Do you think that I like that I’m being put through this? Nobody does. I loathe this way of life.”

“Then why are you still looking for some kind of trait to latch on to?”

You stood up suddenly. “Maybe it’s because I for one actually want to get out of here!?”

He stared up at you, still blank faced. You almost screamed because of it, but instead swiftly turned away and left the area. You dug your nails into one of your palms as you trudged back to the hotel in silence.

-

Bzzt, bzzt. Room 304, day twenty. 25 days remaining. Breakfast is served.

-

The woman from breakfast was running out of time. Everyone knew it.

“Why do you never respond to me? I’m always talking to you. You won’t even nod!” the woman spat at you that morning. You swore she got saliva on your toast.

This is just too good, you thought.

“You haven’t gotten the hint, have you?” you began, “I’d rather not talk with you. You only ever talk about yourself.”

“Well I’m so sorry for attempting to be your friend! Considering you don’t have any here. If you don’t come out of that shell of your’s you’ll end up a hermit crab!” she spat again.

You turned to her, an oddly sweet smile plastered on your face. “I’m sorry too, because you definitely won’t make it here. Nobody would ever want to match with such a vain woman like you.”

Her palm collided with your cheek in a second. You turned back to her as the sting of it spread across your face, and smiled once more. “It appears you couldn’t form a proper argument against that.” you said.

You realized soon after that your side of the dinning room had been watching the whole thing. The man from before was staring at you with an amused grin on his face, it vanished a second after you looked to him.

-

You found him once more at the shooting range. He was on the same chair as before, as if he hadn’t moved since your last meeting.

“Hello,” you said.

“Hello,” he replied. “I liked what you said this morning.”

“So you did.” you sat beside him, in the chair from before. “I still see you staring at me. So excuse me if this is too blunt, but do you like me?”

“Perhaps. Or maybe, I’ve been leading you on. Then you would waste your time on me, and not spend enough time finding someone who will actually match with you. Then, with little time left, you would become desperate, run away, and join the loners. Finally, I would find you in the forest, and shoot you like all the others.” he turned to you, staring cooly. “Have you considered the possibility?”

“No. I don’t get that kind of feeling from you.”

“I’m surprised. Most people judge me as untrustworthy, and they aren’t wrong half the time.”

“You’re just lonely, like the rest of us, right? Nobody wants to be lonely, but you can live like that. For some time, loneliness is okay. I would’ve found someone at my own pace if it wasn’t a crime.” You sighed, slightly nervous now. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances, but even so, will you consider leaving with me?”

“Talk with me more, and I’ll consider it.” he said.

You smiled slightly, and it was then that you noticed a specific trait of his. He was bitting one of his fingers, you couldn’t tell if it was from nervousness or not. When he registered your staring, he stopped.

“Do you think loneliness really does kill, like we’ve been told all our lives? Or it is just a combination of circumstances?” you asked suddenly.

He cracked a slight smile. “Interesting question. If someone’s loneliness causes them to commit suicide, perhaps it would kill. However, I think that might be the only situation where it would.”

You nod. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Have you considered what animal you would be, if you had to become one?” he asked you.

“No,” you said, “I don’t want to think about it. Even though my days are running out, and they told me I have to. I want to be disobedient. Even in the smallest way if that’s all I can manage. You?”

“I’d become a rat.”

“Really?” you asked incredulously.

“I wouldn’t want to live very long if I wasn’t a human. I’d miss a lot about living like this,” he explained. “Rats are also very intelligent, and exhibit affection like humans do. Most people see them as pests however, like those who stray from society. I feel like I can relate to them somehow.”

You stared at him, somewhat amazed. “You’ve put a lot of thought into it then. It seems like something no one would choose, but I think you’ve convinced me. If this doesn’t work out, I want you to keep me as your pet when I become a rat.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll leave with you.”

“You didn’t just decide that now, did you?”

“No, I decided much earlier, before you even came here today.” he cracked a small smile.

“We can tell them in a few days. I’ll start biting my fingers like you do around the cameras for a while. I’m sure they’ll let us through.” you smiled back. 

-

It had worked, and the two of you were later placed in a double room. You in particular, were relieved.

One day during this time, as you were reading in the room’s armchair, he tapped you on the shoulder.

“You’re doing it by yourself,” he said.

“Doing what?” you asked. You quickly noticed what he was referring to however. His habit you had attempted to imitate had now become something you did unconsciously as well.

Dropping your index finger from your mouth, you smiled into the pages of your book. Despite all you tried to do to deny it, there was something undoubtably good about having something in common with another person. It wasn’t all based on lies, you concluded.  

-

About two weeks later, the two of you had moved on to your last trial. Two weeks on a yacht, then marriage, then freedom. Or at least the freedom the city provided.

You were looking over the balcony of the yacht, the wind moving lightly through your hair. He was sitting on a chair on the deck with you, staring out at the water.

“Do you regret coming with me?” you asked him.

“I don’t,” he said simply.

“Are you sure?” you asked again, “We could always drown ourselves here, if you like.”

There was a moment of silence. Perhaps more of an almost silence, as the small waves below still continued to splash across the bottom of the boat.

You decided once and for all that he wasn’t someone who was likely to kill himself, and then made to ask him something different. “Do you think that the people who fail still remember their human lives?”

“I had a good friend once,” he began, “he was called here first because he was older than me. He didn’t have any family or any other friends, so when he failed he was my responsibility. He had become a beautiful songbird, and I tried my best to treat him well. He was a type of songbird, but he never sang. He had no reason to, I suppose, or maybe he just didn’t feel like it. He stopped eating after a few weeks, and died shortly after. I felt like I could still see him in that bird, though I could have been imagining it.”

You hummed. “Perhaps it would be better not to remember. However, your memories are a large part of who you are. Without those, you aren’t really you anymore, are you?”

“You might be right, but I don’t think we could ever know something like that for certain.” He replied.

“If you die, I’ll follow right behind you.” you said.

He laughed slightly. “I hope not. But if you do, I’ll introduce you to my friend after we’ve left here.”