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books-of-the-great-leviathan · 2 years ago

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Chapter 39- Sirin

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Dark sky, dark water.

On Alkona she'd memorized the voice of the ocean, how it hissed and thundered when it was angry and whispered when it was calm. She'd known it like a friend- the song of the tides, the dangerous currents twining around its coastlines and through its caves. Its hiss, its pulse, such that could be felt with eyes closed and feet bare against rocky shore, against black sands. The scent of it, cold and clean and sharp, mist rising from its waves soft as a lullaby.

This ice had a voice of its own- the great heave and groan of it, the deep rumbling cracks it made as the ship's prow parted broken-up floes. Its subsonic shift was almost imperceptible against her senses save for the grind of the hull against it when the ship coursed too close. It spread away and away: a vast plane of gray and white riven with seams of black seawater. Spray hissed through the seams with a rhythm like breath. All seemed drowned of color, but where it had split, the exposed ice was blue as gemstones, blue as whaleglass, frozen for a thousand years, never to thaw until the end of the world.

Amazing, Luca would have said. He'd be right, too. It was beautiful in its way.

Sirin glanced at Puppy, curled under the ship's wheel. The shadows left a circle around it, a clear patch of wood where the little god lay, shivering. Its blue-and-gold eyes ever watched her, full of terror and concern.

What do you want? she signed to it.

It blinked, tucking its chin to its paws, not breaking its stare.

Don't look at me like that.

It whined softly.

Sirin tore her gaze from it, focusing once more on the horizon, and on the unbroken concentration her magic took.

She had never gone so far before. Shadows gripped her. Power streamed from her, radiating in pulses. It wreathed the ship, so the vessel seemed remade in that living darkness, ever-shifting and slithering in and around and over itself.

It whispered like waves, like voices too distant to hear.

Sirin herself was a pillar of shadow on its deck, no longer human-shaped but diffuse, like her edges were dissolving into black smoke. The ship was her instrument; she manipulated it with a languid ease, like a lucid dream.

All felt like a dream.

She saw the ice around her, the crags of black rock jutting from the deeps and into the sky, blurred by the constant coursing billow of the blizzard higher above. She saw that sky, storm-dark and howling. She saw deeper, too, her memories breathing through her with each pulse of her power, as if it dredged them up, hoisting them from the pits of her hand over hand, and like that they became alive again.

She saw Luca, in those dreams: his face, the love in his eyes. She felt that love like pain.

It would have been you, she told him, again and again.

It would have been.

It would have been-

But what was belonging? He will always be afraid of you, Sirin, she told herself. They all will. You will never be forgiven. You will always be something to fear.

She was a child, huddling in the cave. Grave-dolls stared down at her from the walls, and in her hands she clutched another. It was unfinished- no wreath of seaweed and sisi blossoms, no chips of shell for eyes.

Who is that for? her grandmother whispered- but it was not her there, it was nothing but the dark, the grave-dolls, the slavers.

Who is that for? It was her own voice, the one she thought in, and dreamed in, the one she remembered having before her throat was opened and her blood spilled.

Is it for you?

It's not your time to end-

Firelight flared, and she heard the screams, the rough shouts in a tongue foreign to her. She cowered back. The grave-doll clattered from her hands.

He was there in the dark. He took her hands and held them. It's all right. Luca's gray eyes glinted, like shell. I can help you, I can save you. His hands were slick with blood. He smoothed them over her braids, smearing them wet and reeking. I love you-

I love you, she whispered.

Come back with me.

You can forget-

No, no-

You will forget.

He smiled at her, full of love and relief.

Don't you think it's time? His hands closed over her throat, and she felt the cold of the knife in them, and opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out but blood. She was choking on it, drowning in it. The surf rushed in; it dashed over her, soaking through her woolen cape and chilling her to the skin. She screamed, but she was just a child, and the nets were too strong for her-

"Don't you think it's time?"

That voice, again. Her voice. She lifted her head and saw her- the Sirin from before, the Sirin she might have been, standing in the darkness.

It's never time, Sirin told her. I'm not strong enough.

"But you can be," she said. "You will be."

It hurts, Sirin said.

"I know."

I loved him. She drew a shaky breath. I loved- it. Who I was, how I felt, when I let go of this and let myself see the world for what it is. All the wonders I was blind to for so long. I don't want them to be afraid. I don't want to be afraid-

Cold hands touched her face, her shorn hair, tracing her scars. She looked into her own eyes and saw her own sorrow, reflected again and again until it seemed like it was more her substance than all else.

How long had she been afraid? More than half her life. Each year she survived was a year longer than she'd had with her homeland. Sometimes her memories of Alkona seemed like a kind dream too, a vision she'd made up in chains to coax her to sleep, to coax her to wake, to keep her on her feet as she walked along the edge of some faraway cliff, ever thinking how easy it would be to throw herself over.

Why did you live, Sirin?

Why did you not end it?

She'd wanted to. So many times, so many days. You could be done, Sirin, this could be over. Was it her stronger, sharper reflection whispering to her? Was it the Leviathan? Was it herself? She didn't know. Maybe there was no difference.

More, and more.

The darkness churned around her. Cold hands gripped her, cold arms folded over her. She sank into them, and to her knees, holding on before she fell into the storm of her shadows and was lost. Dense braided hair pressed to her cheek, the patterns of the intricate plaits as familiar as a lullaby. The other Sirin's hands stroked her hair, rhythmic and calming, like her grandmother had done when she couldn't sleep.

"You're better alone," she murmured. "You always were."

She ran ahead of the other children, their blood in the waves. They'd fallen, they'd called her name, they'd begged her to help them, and she kept running.

I wanted it so badly.

"Wanting isn't needing," she said. "I need you. They need you: all those you couldn't save. All those crying out in the dark, waiting for you."

The screams grew louder, and the smell of smoke became unbearable, burning her throat raw. The other Sirin's hands gripped tighter, clutching fistfuls of her curls. "You abandoned them then. Don't abandon them now."

It wasn't my fault-

Her eyes were full of sorrow. "It was, Sirin. All of it was. The blood, and the fire, and the death of everyone you knew and loved. You didn't save them. You didn't even save yourself. Look at you, Lady Monster. You brought that death upon them as much as the slavers. You've always been a destroyer."

With a fingertip she traced Sirin's scar, her oldest scar, the one that crossed her throat. "Now become the worst of them, and make right what was done."

You were a child, Luca whispered, his eyes soft in the moonslight. But his voice was far away, one of many in the whispers that surrounded her.

The cold hands withdrew, and Sirin saw herself, powerful, vengeful, haloed in shadow as she stood at the peak of a rock crag.

"Find me," she called, and was gone in a swirl of snow.

Impact rammed through her.

Sirin gasped, stumbling free of her dreams as the ship jagged hard to starboard, bow rising with the screech of breaking wood. Her teeth panged together, just short of snapping off her tongue. Lanterns shattered; crates tumbled past, smashing holes in the railing as they careened over the sides. She struck the ship's wheel and grabbed on before she went over with them.

The ship shuddered around them, water sloshing over its side and flooding across the deck. Puppy let out a frightened yelp, fur stood on end, its short claws hooked deep into the deck. Sirin felt the entire vessel list, the deck tilting sharply to port, reared on its keel like an out-of-control elk. Wood groaned beneath her, and she heard it split with an explosive crack.

The hull. She'd hit something.

Earth and sky, Sirin thought with a snarl.

She released the wheel and paced to the bow, vaulting easily onto the bowsprit. It thrust out into nothingness, as if standing to impale the low-hanging clouds, its lines and leading-lantern fused stiff with ice. She peered down into the seam of black water below. Ice floes rocked on the waves, but as they cleared she saw where the warship had been struck. It rode a ridge of dark rock, jagged and scarred, pocked with barnacles. The ridge jutted above the waterline, biting deep into the warship's hull.

Sirin narrowed her eyes.

That wasn't rock. That was shell.

The water vibrated, like a drumhead struck from beneath. Sirin's shadows withdrew from the ship, leaving the wood brittle and bleached, remnants of darkness curling from the ruined vessel like smoke. The shadows surged around her, swirling into form, making her twice, thrice her size. The waves frothed below: something massive turning over underwater. Wood shrieked as the ridge scraped free. Currents swirled as a vast webbed foreclaw raked through the sea, sheathed in scale the same dirty-white-streaked black as the frothing waves.

Teeth flashed in the weak sunlight: rows of them parting inside jaws the size to cleave through masts in a single bite. Sirin glimpsed the ice tortoise's eyelid, folds of crusted flesh, as it rose to just beneath the surface.

It opened, first the lid, then a veined membrane, sliding back from its eye: huge, and milky-white, webbed with pale blue cataracts. It stared up at her, the gray circle of its pupil shrinking as it focused, taking her in.

Sirin clenched her fists, and her shadows blossomed outward, kissing the waves. She sensed a great, slow intelligence in the depths of the tortoise's eye. She sensed a recognition, and with it, a pulse of fear.

How long have you been down there? she thought. How long has it been since you've tasted power like mine?

The eye stared at her for a heartbeat, for two- then slid closed. The water shuddered, glassing as the great tortoise turned over again, diving deeper, away from her power.

Away from her.

They will always be afraid of you, she thought, and lifted her face to the sky. The ship was wrecked, useless. Besides, she was close. She didn't need a ship, not anymore.

Puppy whimpered as she heaved the creature into her arms. It pressed its head into the crook under her jaw. She felt its shiver like it was her own, the faint warmth of its rough tongue as it gave her a lick, as if trying to reassure her, even now.

Sirin's heart felt as raw as her throat.

She gathered herself, and leaped.

Shadow streamed behind her as she dived through the air, wind like knives on her face. She cleared the water with ease and landed, silent, on the ice.

Deep inside, her heartbeat felt like blows, her muscles shaking, but the strain was distant. It didn't matter anymore. Sirin pressed her palm to the ice and felt the answering pulse, stronger than ever. Snow fell in fine veils around her, dusting her lashes, collecting on her hair and shoulders. She took a deep breath, savoring the burn of power that seared down her throat.

I'm coming, Sirin thought.

She straightened, holding Puppy tight, and without a look back at the abandoned ship she began to run, leaving a line of footprints in the snow behind her.

#grave of the great leviathan #tales of the great leviathan #fantasy fiction #original fiction #serial novel #chapter 39 #books of the great leviathan

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mothinked · 2 years ago

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you’ve lost a lot of blood. / ellie.

𝟐𝟎𝟎 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

Her breathing was labored, strained. She honestly felt like she was crawling her way to death's doorstep except she managed to put one foot in front of the other to stumble down toward the beach. "Abby. Abby, Abby..." she muttered under her breath like a ghostly whisper. A woman obsessed. Ellie was near-delusional in her current condition but fueled by the anticipation of finding the person she sought. When she reached what she assumed were the pillars that man mentioned, the stench of decay and ocean salt pierced her senses. Nevertheless, she persisted in her search until... A weak plea of, ‘Help... Help me...’ drew her attention to one of the posts where she saw a thin woman held up by ropes. Like Ellie's, her freckled skin was burnt from being in the sun and for a split second, Ellie didn't recognize her. Thought she was just some unfortunate stranger who had met with a slow, agonizing fate. Then those once stormy-blue eyes—half-mast and barely able to stay open—stared straight down at Ellie. Thud, thud. Thud— Ellie's heart just about stopped. 'It's you.' Her clicker-bitten hand came to rest over the wound in her right side where blood had soaked into fabric. It was barely even white anymore. Those dead eyes flickered at the movement and Ellie winced at the shooting pain. Her stitches were open. She could feel warm blood seep down to dampen the waistband of her jeans.

'... You've lost a lot of blood.'

Wordlessly, Ellie drew the stiletto knife from its place in her back pocket and triggered its mechanism. The feeling was familiar, comforting. She moved toward the post and began cutting away at Abby’s bonds. Then the sound of her body hitting the sand. Green eyes watched the woman pull herself to her feet and they stared at each other for a moment before she began to unfasten Lev from his post. He was dead weight in Abby’s arms when she picked him up. This whole time Ellie hadn’t spoken a single word. ‘The boats are this way.’ Abby tilted her head toward the shore and Ellie lumbered on after her. They went to their own separate boats. Abby had her back to Ellie. The hand dropped away from her side and she finally spoke, her voice quiet. Barely audible over the sound of the waves but it trembled with emotion. She couldn’t do it. Bring herself to attack this woman she no longer recognized as the driving force of her revenge. The source of her anguish and her misery. “The Fireflies... Are they really here?” Tears were trickling down her face when Abby turned around to look at her. She made no effort to hide the fact she was crying, strangled sobs slipping free until her breathing was labored again. If she was going to die in this fucking place then why not offer up her corpse to the people who would’ve cut her head open years before for the cure? Maybe her death didn’t have to be meaningless.

“I’ll go with you,” she stated with finality. It was over; this was Ellie’s swan song.

#coincount #yo i loved writing this hope u enjoy #( the moth and the wolf; ellie & abby )

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lostwithoutyouherewriter · 2 years ago

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Long Day's Journey Into Chan: A Street Fighter Ficlet

Inspired by “Chan: The Movie," artwork by Jason Cardy, from the 2019 Street Fighter Pin-Up Special

The torches burned bright on a distant beach, but all the world was darkness to Akuma. Sinking deep into meditation, the fearsome wielder of the Satsui no Hado rejected the weakness found in this place. Swimming and dancing, romance and pointless games... such things were beneath him. No, the great Akuma was drawn to the coast by greater forces, slumbering under the earth and sea.

As the waves drifted over the shore, a deep breath calmed his mind. Saltwater and blood were mingled together, and Akuma could sense the murderous intent of the ocean. The muscles of his body have relaxed into lotus position, arms held up like pillars upon his knees. He could feel the chaos lurking beneath the sands, fragile tectonic plates waiting to shift.

He permitted himself to smile. A newly formed volcano would shake these cowards to their very core, and then they would know the true nature of the fight.

It was out there, somewhere. The darkness was calling to him. It spoke with the language of thunder, even as the afternoon storm drifted down the coast. It cried out from the trees, where he sensed an unusual joining of pain and pleasure. The spider woman’s sadistic aura intrigued him, but it lacked purity, the will of the spirit over the body. The shores of this distant land had nothing to offer him. Perhaps he should turn his attention to the sea...

Yes. There was no doubt. He had found darkness incarnate, and it was rising from the deep. His spirit was exultant. His body burned for violence. The moment had finally come.

Akuma’s journey had taken him across the entire known world. What a fool he had been. It only made sense that true darkness dwelt at the bottom of the sea. Such power would hold dominion over most of the planet. Its anger would grow as humanity ravaged the waves with plastics and fuels and other unnatural elements. Even his homeland knew the wrath of the sea, the rebuke of the typhoon, the retribution of the tsunami. They knew the true might of the Dark Hado all too well.

And now he would fulfill his life’s purpose. Now he would be joined with the purest form of the Satsui no Hado, this great leviathan emerging from the waves. The green scales of its body oozed with decay. The sharp fangs sought to devour all who stood in its path, but it would not devour the man who was once called Gouki. As the dark one tread upon the black sands, an electric current running down its back, it would look into the eyes of its true servant and speak the words Akuma longed to hear.

“Boa noite, Akuma-san! Why so glum, chum?”

The seeker of Dark Hado shuddered. He could feel the darkness slipping away, the deep trance of his meditation lost as the voice squeaked his name. As he slowly resurfaced into this plane of existence, Akuma turned his red eyes upon this strange creature, a green pool floatie with the aspect of a crazed beast.

The beast floatie shook, orange hair and floppy teeth waving about. Its master laughed maniacally, but he could now see the signs of her presence. Her long fingers held the creature’s belly as electricity traveled along her manicured nails. Her long, shapely legs could be seen below the beastly talons, a sight which nearly drove Akuma’s thoughts to carnal matters. When she finally lowered the pool floatie and revealed herself, however, it was impossible to ignore the shine of her black hair and the joy upon her face.

“You look lonely,” said Laura Matsuda. “What are you up to?”

Akuma flared his nostrils, his voice deep and brusque. “I am seeking the darkness of my soul.”

“Huh. Interesting. Mind if I join you?”

Before Akuma could answer, the Brazilian threw aside her floatie and laid down beside him. Her yellow jersey was now stretched over her chest, the bright color contrasting sharply with the dark sling bikini underneath. She lounged upon the black sands and looked up at the night sky, smiling.

Glancing over at the woman, Akuma snarled, annoyed by such arrogance. Even still, something about this woman intrigued him. He could sense a fighting spirit like no other, an unorthodox style that spoke to his inner demons. She carried a strange aura about her, an aura that glistened like the stars above and the fireflies now scattered along the beach. If he was weak like the other warriors of this place, Akuma might have called her beautiful.

Laura must have caught him staring. She smirked at Akuma. “Enjoying the view, you bad boy?”

Akuma huffed in frustration, turning his eyes back to the sea. She would not catch a true disciple of the Dark Hado blushing like a schoolboy.

Laura laughed. “I’m just kidding with ya, Mr. Darkness. Geez, lighten up, will ya?”

“A true warrior does nothing lightly.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve never fought someone just for the fun of it?” she asked, leaping to her feet. She took up her fighting stance on the beach, legs spread apart, like a dancer ready to perform or a jaguar ready to strike. “Why dontcha join me? Come on, you know you wanna!”

The brutal warrior known as Akuma felt strange. He could no longer feel the powers of darkness. For the briefest moment in time, he instead felt a kinship with all things living. He felt drawn to this woman with black hair, who carried the spirit of a different flame. And yes, as he turned his attention to the pool floatie beside him, he was even moved to levity by the ridiculous grin upon this creature’s face.

Realizing the Dark Hado was beyond his reach tonight, Akuma took up his own stance and faced a friendly adversary, the moon shining bright upon them.

You can continue reading "Summer of the Warrior" ficlets on AO3 throughout July!

#street fighter #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #akuma street fighter #laura matsuda #blanka #blanka chan #meditation #fighters #beach #swimwear #bikini #sling bikini #pool floats #comedy #humor #friendship

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kiyoominous · 4 years ago

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splash! (kuroo tetsurou)

synopsis: in which kuroo tetsurou shows you how annoying he really is. it’s a relief that you’re so ardently in love with him.

pairing: kuroo tetsurou/reader

warnings: none :)

genre: fluff, established relationship

a/n: cross posted to ao3! it’s the beach episode y’all!! yes i came up with this when i returned home from the beach a few days ago.

Your thoughts on the beach are conflicting. The cool of the ocean feels sublime under the summer sun and the silky sand cradles your feet like velvet. It’s sensory therapy, you think. But despite the beauty of the land meeting the sea, you hate the sweltering heat that your body loves to absorb and you hate the clumps of wet sand that stick to your toes after a waddle in the water.

All you can say is that the beach is most certainly a place.

So why are you here, lying on white sand with the sun beating down on your face? You can blame your boyfriend Kuroo for that one.

“The volleyball guys are having a beach day, wanna come?” he enquired one lazy afternoon. You wanted to say no, tell him your aversion to the sandy shores but who could refuse his puppy dog eyes? Definitely not you, apparently.

You lay on a beach towel underneath an umbrella that Fukunaga brought with him alongside Kenma, who is curled up with a Switch in his hands. You two are practically birds of a feather, two lazy birds who want nothing more than to just exist on the beach for the sake of your friends.

You love the Nekoma boys, you really do. The first years are a sweet bunch, the second years mesh so well despite their differences, and the third years are the pillars that hold everyone together. They are uniquely wonderful but sometimes, their combined forces makes you want to slam your head into a wall. Kuroo, Fukunaga and Yamamoto approach the umbrella with impish grins and you realise that now is one of those times.

“What are you two doing here? You can’t come to the beach just to lie down!” Kuroo squats to meet both of your eye lines. You scrunch your nose up at him and roll your eyes. The wet of the ocean weighs his hair down and you curse him for looking so good with damp beach hair.

“The water feels refreshing today.” Fukunaga adds, crouching next to Kuroo. Kenma simply replies with a “no thanks,” you offer the same sentiment.

“Come on Kenma, you’ve got to be more gutsy!” Yamamoto shouts at the blonde, hands flying to his shoulders. He’s shaking him around like a bottle of pancake mix.

“How does the beach have anything to do with guts?” is Kenma’s sharp retort. You instantly sense that Kenma’s started something he won’t be able to finish. Yamamoto’s grip on Kenma tightens and your instincts are proven right. There’s more shaking, yelling and a weirdly frequent mention of willpower or something like that.

You’re too focused on the second years bickering that you fail to notice the shadow looming over you. Kuroo’s hands are outstretched, as if he’s trying to encourage a baby to approach him. You become the unfortunate baby as he sweeps you from your beach towel in one quick motion.

“Kuroo Tetsurou, put me down!” you holler, repeatedly slapping his chest in a futile attempt to escape his grasp. Emphasis on futile. Kuroo just shakes his head and chuckles, the thump of your hands just feels like someone playing bongos on his chest.

“Not until every centimetre of you has touched the ocean.” he retorts. Seeing as hitting your stupid boyfriend isn’t helping, you try wiggling in his arms instead. To your dismay, this humours him even more. You really want to wipe the smug grin off of his face, no matter how attractive he looks with it on.

Somehow, you’ll give him a taste of his own medicine, you think. you always do.

Kuroo starts running towards the horizon of sapphire blue and all you can do is hold on for dear life. The lapping waves look to be miles away so at least you have time to soak in the view. To your right, the deep cobalt of the sea sparkles in the afternoon light. To your left, the soft tan floor holds up the tents, bags and feet of many. You spot a certain blonde getting pulled by the shirt collar across the sandy expanse.

The smell of salt, sand and heat fills your nose, the familiar concoction of scent pleasing the child in you. You wonder why you’re so indifferent about the beach rather than head over heels for its visual charm.

The memory of sticky sand and heatwaves hits you while your body slams into the biting cold of the sea.

A yelp escapes your throat as you clumsily fall into the arms of the ocean. Kenma’s blood curdling scream soon follows your shriek. Once you pull your head to the surface, your eyes scan to find the offenders. Kuroo’s standing over you, head thrown back in a fit of playful laughter. Yamamoto and Fukunaga are a distance away from you, cackling at Kenma’s misfortune. Poor Kenma.

While wiping the salty blue from your eyes, Fukunaga’s words from earlier flash in your mind.

The water feels refreshing today.

Oh it’s refreshing alright, refreshingly frigid. Yes, you feel a little more rejuvenated but your everything is drenched. You don’t like this part of the beach too, emerging from the water looking like the seaweed planted in its depths. The clothes clinging to your from is not a look.

“Aw, baby. You look like a wet cat.” Kuroo coos, hunching over to meet your eyes once more. He cards a gentle hand through your damp hair.

“Shut up.” you bite back. With your head titled down, you glare up at him. His expression softens for a moment before returning back to his provocative grin.

“I know you still love me.” he cheekily replies.

It’s a shame that he’s right.

As he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead and flashes you another devilish smirk, you figure that you’d let him dunk you underwater over and over just to see his silly little face beaming at you.

Not before you lovingly splash his face with a spray of the waves first.

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sazzafraz · 3 years ago

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ects snippet one

I don’t see this bit changing a lot so its spoiler freeeeeee

He thinks of acid and bile first. His tongue is on the points of his teeth searching for the stale carrot taste. Dead bodies in a lake almost make him hungry. Like soup, Kyuubi says, now, should add some salt. Naruto thinks of their families and draws from Konoha shinobi standard what he should do next. The Uchiha graves are the only ones he’s seen up close. Found and burned away by his Sasuke years ago, not yet warded against yin spirits. Those small piles had been lumped together too close to the houses at first and then reburied in a Konoha approved location when Sasuke became Konoha’s only Private Citizen. Now they’re done by matrilineal lines and decorated with Uzumaki shells and ribbons from Lightning. When Naruto was asked, allowed, to come Sasuke had him press strawberry seedlings into the ground. Sasuke had been messily eating from a different bowl and had pulp smeared across his mouth and jaw. Then, Naruto had wondered if he was allowed to sweep them away with his tongue, if people did that sort of thing in graveyards. Now Naruto knows that the dead do not appreciate love or lust.

People soup. Naruto counts twice and draws a grid on the shallow shore with his foot.

Monkey Leader is inattentive to Naruto’s actions. He sits between them and their merchants keeping his gaze on the horses. Only one of them likes Naruto. A chestnut mare with a band of white around her mouth and eyes that make her seem mean -she’s downplaying exactly how vicious she is, but she likes him, and that's more than he was expecting. Naruto pulls the body into the grid and starts with the teeth. Pulls back molars for the guys in T&I. The skin sloughs off the dead man's face, puddles down into his wet clothes. Naruto burns it off with Kyuubi’s power, excellent as always for getting rid of evidence. Molars should be enough.

He has a sort of frustrated passion about this. See, Naruto knows intellectually that this has to be done, is done regardless, because you can’t have dead bodies in waterways. They bloat and rot and make people sick. The kind of sick that people like Giri come to fix and then leverage into destabilising the entirety of the Elemental Nations. Naruto also knows that a missing tooth is a decent price for the families of these poor dead to get closure. The third, worst thing Naruto knows is that things come to see dead bodies, things like him. Ninja like him. Spirits like him. Sons of Oceans and Mountains and tall white pillars to the underworld, like him. None of them, really, should be looking at these dead bodies.

Six teeth. Naruto eyes a leaf moving out of sequence with the wind. Tanuki, an earth specialist. Tanuki nods and quiet as a mouse the bodies sink into the shore.

Sunagakure welcomes them and their trophies at dawn. They sneak in over the sand tide-line two to a row before even the most thrifty merchant has set their wares. Gaara’s office will not be officially open for another three hours, not even his Twilight Guard will accept a visitor now. So Naruto does what he does, cracks his back and makes a loud exclamation about finding a place to sleep. Monkey Leader sets them on a course through Suna’s cruisy districts and around the intelligence quarter. The Konoha away barracks are part of their recent trade deal. A cushy thing on their end and Naruto knows where his room is. After the Summit, before the War, Naruto quietly moved all the things he previously left in Gaara’s spare bedroom to a Jounin room with an ensuite. This room is at the end of the hall with no windows, nothing in or out. A dead end. Monkey Leader espys him but does not comment.

In the room Naruto turns off the radio left playing on the dresser. His old book lies with its spine cracked, a pair of pants he left to wash last time crumpled on the bed. His single pillow looks lonely. Someone has been in since he was here last, the footprints in the thick carpet aren’t his own. Following this probably-not-a-stranger he sees that his personals have been restocked in the bathroom, laid on the rim of the strange standing bathtub. The grates have been cleaned. Naruto runs a bath and dumps a satchel with Sakura’s clean, neat writing into the water. A small bag sits next to it and he recalls a short conversation at dinner some nights ago. Sasuke and Kakashi had been having one of their weird bonding moments over Naka rocks. Kakashi would run his bandaged fingers over them looking for some indefinable flaw. Sasuke would say that’s not the point and hand him another. He and Sakura watch this for a few minutes, giggling into their beers. Sakura had just shaved her hair down again and the elfin lines of her face were so perfect he’d had trouble not telling her so.

“Naruto,” Sasuke says in his low clear voice, “what are you thinking about?”

“Sakura’s pretty,” he blurts out. Sakura lowers her eyelashes for a moment, laughing.

“Yes.” Sasuke agrees. “But what are you thinking?”

“‘Bout rocks?” Naruto shifts his gaze carefully. He’s bowled over often by how much he loves looking at Sasuke. If he does it too fast the soft pink of his mouth and thin scar that meets his ear makes him drool. “Dunno, that one.” He picks one from the pile and holds it triumphant.

“Idiot,” Sakura says. She too picks a rock. “Momentos? Right?”

Sasuke flushes from his heart upwards, making the pink of his lips plush. Sakura keeps her rock, eventually Kakashi meets his proteges standards and departs with his own. Naruto pockets his but forgets it in the wash. Here it is again in Sunagakure with Sasuke’s hair ribbon around it.

In reality Naruto does not now nor has he ever had momentos. He has moments and memories aplenty. Long, too long sketches of Konoha night in the main thoroughfare in the early morning. The drift and drag of everyone's footsteps lying in the dirt, on the street, leading to the houses they share with people that want them there. Swing sets. Shrine steps. Stoops. All of them empty, at least when he’s there. A city is a lonely place in his experience.

Things are better now. He has Sasuke, when they aren’t fighting. Sakura, when she’s capable of acting without compromise. Kakashi, when he isn’t fighting a cold war alone. His other friends, when time allows. Allowance is better too. Assured at the very least.

Compromise is a word he knows now. A strange little door into the way life actually works.

See, Naruto’s first idea of how things work is formed at 4pm, 2am on weekdays and 7-11am on Saturdays. There’s a little alcove outside one of the curving windows of Konoha’s Library, high above the main hall near one of the old study nooks not even ANBU use. On rainy days the water sloshes off the side. On sunny days the heat only touches the edges. There is enough room for a boy to escape with a little apple and the free water from the front desk. The window is permanently cracked open to let out the musty air. When Konoha’s long hot days and nights were too much for even the most dogged badgering Naruto would skin himself raw heaving his body into it. A radio plays all day in the library, old records and ads for toilet paper. Like everyone else Naruto drowns out the patriot tunes and concentrates on the old radio head that chooses which stories play at the end of the school day. Hashirama and the Seven Headed Snake, Subaru and the Stolen Sword, Himawari Sunrise, Nariko Ascending. He’s heard them all at some point, drifted away to the tales of heroes and Hokages.

Naruto’s met Hashirama now and he’s a whole different deal. Tsunade makes more sense when you know that that was her first idea of a hero.

In The Seven Headed Snake Hashirama does not speak. He does wield a sword of redwood through the thick neck of a serpent so big it blots the sky. His heroism is in his quiet dutiful battle. The way the man telling the story describes his strong back and long hair. That’s your back, he says. That’s Konoha’s back. It sounds so absurd, even to a child training to be a ninja: cut through the sky, mold the earth, call forth life to do your bidding alone. The snake’s carcass, the narrator informs them, is as long as the Naka river, and buried somewhere near the big swell the Uchiha worship. On dark nights its eyes watch the village, warily, for Hashirama’s redwoods stand sentinel. Not even in death can he be escaped.

People don’t let things like Naruto in their houses. This he knows before he can speak. There is something in him people don't want on their doorsteps. Later he knows it's the Kyuubi. After that he knows that it’s the Uzamaki blood. Even later, when he came home from a war that crushed out the light he thought he could carry anywhere, he knew it was simple mortal fear. Something inside Naruto will never die, and anything more mortal than him knows that. Well, except Sasuke.

In the warm bath water he caresses his leg, not letting it go any further. Far from home he misses his love. There’s an edge in Naruto, sharp as his chipped tooth, that’s only soothed by long dark hair and a softening body. Naruto leans up to look at the scents and staples Gaara’s left in his room. Sweet aloe and greens. Salt and fresh made sand. He thinks of Sasuke’s skin and Sasuke’s soft smile and how he cuddles close to warmth. Naruto’s had grim reason to be grateful for how hot he runs, this last winter when Sasuke’s feud with their electricity provider cut their power mid cold-snap he’s had happier, hornier reasons to be joyful.

Sasuke has a vicious glee about domesticity that is deeply adorable. He loves arguing with the cashier about his coupons and going to PTA meetings and making trendy sandwiches. He does it with a soft violence that Naruto absolutely does not relate to but finds charming. Never has a man wanted for mass murder been so invested in a collect-a-coin newspaper competition. He plays music and cooks food. He goes to town halls and puts up with the mean crooked smile in their fruit vendors eyes. Naruto loves him so much when he makes noise. Naruto loves him more when it’s quiet at home. Naruto loves when Sasuke will talk to him about things he cares for: plants, dumplings, people. Here, far away from his love, Naruto loves that he doesn’t have to lie to him.

Naruto drags his hand up to his stomach and uncorks the bath. The soft slush of water is the last noise in the room.

#ects #snippet #welp #trying not to make a room a metaphor for anything

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eirabach · 4 years ago

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Midnight [1/1]

This is extreme stream-of-conciousness naval gazing for day four of @pen-and-ink-week-2020 prompt: nightmare. It is also one of my squares on @badthingshappenbingo [Gordon + Nightmares]! Two birds etc. etc. Thank you to everyone who’s joining in creating and reading and commenting for this week, it’s been brilliant!

Gordon doesn't have nightmares.

She'd asked him about it once, after another rescue that wasn't, but he'd shook his head, tugged at the ends of her ponytail and smiled like she ought to believe him. Said, haven't got the imagination for it and when she'd frowned, her fingertips pink with the blood from his baldric, he'd just tightened his grip on her hand.

"It's a big ocean, Pen, and I'm just one small squid. It's part of the job. You know that."

She does know it, of course she does, her own ledger dark red and sodden through with guilt that weighs far, far heavier than she'll ever let on. Failure is just a part of success and she knows that. Copes.

And perhaps Gordon doesn't have nightmares.

But Penelope does.

She's had them since she was a child, the corridors of the manor a dark, never ending maze filled with sounds she could never explain, the cavernous space under her bed home to an entire family of creatures with long fingers and blind eyes that grasped and clawed at the bed curtains and unsuspecting ankles. There'd been a portrait of her mother hung at the end of the bed, and her cold, painted eyes had followed her every panicked move. The thin Mona Lisa smile mocking her as she'd sobbed and sweated her way through another long, lonely night.

She misses it now. Misses those childhood horrors. Because she knows now that's all they were -- the terrors of a child yet to realise what the world held in store -- and, god. God what she wouldn't do to have them back, now that she knows.

Now she stands at the shore, skirt whipping around her ankles in the unnatural wind. The sky is black, the air hot in her throat and burning her lungs, the sand between her toes scorching her and the sea --

The sea is on fire.

Slick with oil and ink it billows upward like a tornado, sending up pillars of flame and ash that she swallows, that swallow her, the lap lap lap of embers at her feet. Orange and red and -- Yellow. Yellow at the shoreline. Scorched and smouldering and cold, dead eyes that follow her as she pushes into the current. Fights it and burns with it and let's it -- she let it.

She wakes with a jolt. With her heart in her throat and hands that scrabble for dry land. Her body is still sinking under the flaming waves, the cursed water rising until it threatens to spill from her eyes.

They come up empty.

The pillow beside her is cool, the room island dark, and she knows there hasn't been a call out. She knows, because Gordon likes to cling and Penelope likes to let him. And they could buy a bigger bed, but they don't. Instead they wrap themselves up in a single bed, in each other, and laugh under the oversized covers like the teenagers they never had the chance to be.

She knows, because she's been woken enough times by sleepy grousing and sharp elbows and kisses dropped to her hairline.

She knows what a call out feels like.

For a moment, she wonders if she's even awake. If she even slept at all. The air in her chest is hot still, humidity sticking the covers to her legs as she kicks her way free, and it isn't until her feet hit cool tile that she rallies. Steadies. Feels the warm breeze on her cheek from the open window and thinks, oh.

He tells her he doesn't have the imagination for it -- and he's not lying. Not really. Imagination suggests something fake, false, a daydream turned deep water dark, and Gordon doesn't bother with that sort of stuff. Gordon knows reality is worse than the dreams could ever be.

His nightmares are silent, peaceful as the slow sinking of failure in the glare of Four's high beams. They're the faces bloated black and the hair like seaweed and the long slow crawl back from the depths with your own mortality stowed in the hold. They're the sorrys and the dog tags and the minutes between surface and retrieval where he gasps bitter recycled air and practices a smile that doesn't sting.

They're in every breath he takes that his mother doesn't, in every fuel spill, every innocent creature washed up dead in a brother's firey wake. In every part of the job that keeps him from her bed, from her company, that keeps duty and desire warring within him until neither seem right, seem fair, seem doable any more.

They linger at the edges of the nights when he watches her sleep, his eyes burning from water and for the lack of it, when his nerves stretch tight and his legs twitch and --

And she slips from the window, bare toes curling against the rock as she totters down the slope. She can hear it now, the steady splash of water, the rhythm of it, heartbeat steady.

Kick, pull, kick, pull, turn.

The pool is a void, black within blackness, but Gordon throws up stars in his wake and she follows them down to the water. Kneels at the edge and counts them. Counts his strokes. Counts her breaths. Waits.

Waits for the pause and the smile and the secrets they'll swallow until they choke on them, back in the privacy of that too small bed where the water threatens to drown them both.

Because Penelope has nightmares.

But Gordon doesn't.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #pen&inkweek2020 #bad things happen bingo #clare vs writers block #gordon tracy #penelope creighton ward

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geminiwriter1881 · 4 years ago

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Paradise Is Lost

In one breath it was gone

Gold were the days That we laid to waste In this burning sun

Paradise is lost Paradise is lost Paradise is lost.

— GoldTop ft. Sam Tinnesz – Paradise Is Lost —

A/N: I highly recommend listening to ^^this^^ song as you read. It heightens the atmosphere.

. . Sunlight flashes white atop cut-glass sapphire water that stands pattern-shifting under the restless fingertips of the wind. Sand froths golden beneath churning hooves of a crimson stallion screaming in triumph: 'never-die'.

Light explodes white in the hearts of houses turned to rubble from the stones flung out of the hands of unseen malevolent gods in the heavens. The high whine of wind shaped by propeller force echoes overhead, and it chants: 'all-shall-die'.

They stand beside one another, heads tilted back.

The flames lick hungrily toward the late-evening sky, as if with their searing fingertips they can clutch at the fabric of the firmament and catch it, also, alight. In the west, the weary sun takes pity and sends the silver bellies of the clouds to molten-gold and heated-iron glow.

The furious blaze glints on silver crowns; the mail of Narnian warriors as they cross back and forth before it, beating out advancing sparks that leap Dagori's Ford to rake at browning reeds. The jewels gleam scarlet on the halters of steaming chargers that stand heaving vapor into the ether; a cheap mime of southern drakes, their breath less devastating.

The half-built tower burns.

The tower combined of Calormene stone and Telmarine timber.

Housed of Daradans and Telmarine knights.

Screaming assaults the evening wind. Shadows draped in carmine garlands plunge from the walls of Tel-Ilil into the deep Great River lapping at its smoldering foundation.

Metal whines softly on fine metal as Edmund sheaths his sword.

"It’s good," Lucy murmurs, wiping blood from her dagger onto her soot-streaked crimson skirts.

"It is," he answers graciously, dark eyes on another glowing specter as it streaks from the tower like a Star earthbound. The hiss of steam – fire's reluctant death – whispers from the river's middle before drowning in the lap-lap-lap of the relentless current.

Narnia grows. Narnia lives. Narnia is free.

Forever.

It is good.

Pine shingles over Calormene heads is not a house of peace, but threat of war. Lucy smiles as the tower heaves and shudders and slides down the bank into the River, as if it never was. Not that it ever Was.

The scream will reverberate within his heart long after the source is dead and buried. The image of a boy-not-man with a shadow of another life lived long before his own welling dark and threatening in savage sky-clear eyes.

The shriek of ancient metal against golden hilt – that sword of kings he held in his hands but had not will to wield – and he saw Narnia in ermine and gold, streets paved in soft rose petals, chargers shod in silver, rulers bold and fearless and blessed by a god to reign. Honored by many, cursed by few. Haloed by the sun, guided by the stars, protected by the moon.

The blood of a thousand ancestors fallen under the edge of Narnian swords cried out in his veins, and he wanted to cower. But it was not his body that fell in front of the High King of Old.

Peter stepped away from Miraz.

To look to him.

And Caspian did not think he could be ready.

Gryphons wheel aloft.

Stallions scream below.

Smoke drifts along the battlefield, the gauze curtain between death and life—parted to accept the noble and valiant victims of war. Death knows no side, and chooses no victor.

Peter lifts his hand, and points the length of Rhindon toward the left.

Susan bows her head, eyes closing, and tears her malachite veil from her hair. It cracks in her grasp, longing to be set free to tangle in the wind's embrace.

Bowstrings tense; silver-white feathers kiss sun-brown cheeks and fray into unruly rugged whiskers.

Below them, Edmund throws his charger's head to the side, cavorting on the plains of war like a boy-prince plays with tin soldiers on a field of green felt. He laughs, and his general rears and shouts a war-cry, directing with his spear as he leaps toward the army's left flank.

A gryphon screeches. Edmund turns and lifts his shrewd gaze to the cliff’s face. His night-dark stallion rears beneath him, beating the air with iron-spiked hooves. Edmund raises his hand, and a ray of sun strikes against the silver crown in his raven hair, blinding in its piercing path of light. For a moment, Edmund is frozen; the portrait of glorious war. Then the stallion comes back to ground. Edmund drops his arm.

The veil whips out of Susan's clutch, billowing away behind her.

Arrows whisper farewell to archer lovers, falling broken under hooves, buried within hearts.

The Telmarines retreat, leaving their dying like rotting spoils of warfare in their wake. Lucy brings all race and creed beneath the shadow of her white tents. Healers know no flag, and the living will not join the dead without a second fight.

The flames lick upward along the collapsed timbers, the toppled brick like grinning jagged teeth against wolf's-eye yellow fire. It washes their pale faces in light.

Air raid sirens wail on high. Somewhere nearby a child screams— 'I am lost!'

Wind barrels down the broken street, funneling toward them to rough the edges of their hair and lift their ties like torn pennant banners in its wake. A lorry burdened with bags of sand roars by them, the rush of it cool in the presence of the bomb's seething aftermath. The street is cracked like china fine; rubble – dust and glass and ash – crunch under-heel; hell's gravel footpath.

A rumble, the ground quakes beneath their bodies. Light explodes over ridgepoles and roofs.

Bombs whine and aircraft growl a mile distant.

Edmund stares as gods fling flint-stones to make mortal-burning fires.

Edmund will not forget.

Gryphons can be German war-gods, too.

Sunlight flashes against ocean-spray. Wind beats wave, and hooves beat sand in staccato rhythm. Laughter lashes out and echoes down the beach, thrown against cliff-front and boulder-face.

Susan drives her golden-gleaming palfrey hock-deep into sapphire sea. She lowers her reins, looking back over her shoulder as her ribbons of raven hair catch on the wind, braids unwinding, then sinking down—weighted by the water, lying over the back of the gold mare with suggestion of a selkie's tattered hide. Susan beams, leaning back in her saddle, bare feet tickled by the surface of the ocean-top.

Peter's pale charger – the color of specters, mist, and death-shrouds – paws at the foam, kicking mermaid tears against his belly. The High King utters the war cry of Narnia, and nudges his stallion into motion. The white coarser snorts, rises up in a half-moon leap with Peter clinging to his arching mane— they plunge forward over waves shore-bound into deeper water. Peter presses his palm in circles against his beloved Capaill Uisce's coat, the silver ring on his finger outweighing saltwater's siren song.

Lucy's crimson and saffron skirts stream out behind her, pressing tight against her thighs. Her fingers wrapped close in flying ebon mane and silken rope—the only rein. Her heels sink low as she rises off her saddle. The mare is of Calor, her coat is called blood—her legs are so fine they look as if they will break with each step. But the delicate face and broad back conceal a loyal heart of molten fire; a devil temper of Tash's own make. Lucy's sun-kissed brown locks stream out behind her, a brass banner on the wind, and they race on.

Edmund rides bareback, without bridle, and hackamore-free. He presses down against billowing black waves of rippling mane that tangle with his own. Lather flies against his bare calves, and he whispers to his warhorse in the language of its ancestors—Telmarine. They stretch thin against the beach, a streak of black on gold-white sand. Shod hooves cleave half-circle furrows in their wake.

It is a golden age.

The sun will not set on their reign.

"What happened here?"

The question is not that at all, but a demand for answers. They are surrounded by dust and death and decay. Motes float bloated and sluggish on thick atmosphere. Sunlight shafts through broken ceiling. This is not the empire they left. This is not the Narnia they know.

Rusted swords, shattered shields, cleaved-in armor. Shadows loom velvet-thick over heaping piles of metal and bone and rotten wood.

Peter kicks a layer of mortar dust and chalky silt. It clouds into the room.

From his place among the shadows and marks of death, Edmund stares out into the circle of daylight beating down on his brother's golden head. Peter mourns, but mourning is for afterward of victory. They are not victors yet—he does not know what they are.

But we will find out, he vows in savage silence.

The sobs echo through the dim-lit cavern.

Susan steps off the main tunnel after a moment of gazing ahead to test none else have ears that hear. She lays her bow along the shelf for offerings and tokens. Her quiver follows. No arrow knocks fletching against another. She is silent.

The weeping continues without pause.

Susan steps down a shallow flight of stairs, each one wider than the last. Her aubergine hem kisses the dust, leaving a low-lying cloud in her wake that quickly fades.

She presses a hand to an earth-hewn pillar, gouging her nails until dirt-grains run down her chainmail sleeve. She stares into the darkness. Torches light at sparing intervals in the underground chamber stretching to infinity. A catacomb for the dead—a tomb for Narnia that bears no bodies, only the soul of a world struggling to gather breath.

Peter stumbles away from a pillar of his own to fall heavy on his knees. One hand presses dirty and stained to the ground, the other against his face. His tears fall unashamedly, and dampen the ground.

There is a legend the half-dwarven professor told her—how the High King's tears cause barren earth to bud and grow bounty to feed his starving subjects. But not a single stalk of green rises up in front of her brother; a boy that was a man who is so small in this massive place. He shudders as his lungs take in a gasp of air between one sob and another. His hand pressed to the ground trembles, his arm collapses, and he is bent over himself.

Like a woman hearing news she is become a widow.

Like a father learns he outlives his child.

Like a king mourns for his people.

"Oh, Peter," Susan breathes, though he cannot hear her. Gently, she draws near.

His head lifts as she comes to him, kneeling down. Her skirts rustle, an echo into graveside silence.

"Sue?" He says her name in a panting whisper, almost a breath. His lashes are black and sticking to one another. His eyes are clear, and full of horror.

"Oh, Peter," she says again, a soothing murmur that soothes nothing. In it he hears perhaps only accusation, and thinks her justified for such feeling.

"I can still hear them," he says, hoarse. He reaches for his neck, for his collar, clutching at his tunic with trembling hands. The earthen air quivers, and for a moment the world is rent. Time dissipates, vapor before heat; she sees dimly through a mirror.

Another king—the same king. Older. She is a woman, they are covered in blood and ash. The sky is death-black. The battle was won, the victory Pyrrhic.

Peter wept.

Everything is strange, but this remains the same.

Peter weeps.

"Hush then, hush then; shhh, Peter, hush now," she mantras gently, compassionately. Her hand goes to his hair and she strokes it back; it is shorter than her fingers remember it should be in moments like this, and smells of salt-grass and earth.

He leans into her, forehead against her shoulder, mouth open as he chokes another sob back but it spills forth because his heart has not yet ceased to mourn for what died and passed away. His breath is hot on her dress, and makes her skin fever-warm under the cloth.

Peter draws back, reaching for her, clinging to her sleeve, wrapping his fingers around her upper arms.

"Is there blood on my hands? Am I to blame? I don't understand—What have I done? I can still hear them, Sue! I can still hear them. . ." He breaks again, crumbling beneath the weight of twelve hundred years of majesty and skill that are no longer a match for a world gone mad with rage and ache.

Peter exhales, and his breath stirs the dust of the dirt floor. He coughs. Gags, moans, and closes raw eyes that have all but exhausted their tears.

Susan looks down at him, a consoling hand gentle on his back, running in useless circles meant to soothe.

The High King, brought level to a little child.

Oh how empires fall.

The sun shines through the stained glass at their backs, spilling around the marble edges of the four thrones. Peter does not look to his siblings as, haloed in golden light and crowned with a burning diadem of the sun, he rises.

As if they all understand – for they all understand the unspoken word – they stand from their thrones as one body in echo of the High King, while trumpets sound distant down the marble hall.

The diamonds and sapphires in Susan's midnight hair catch pinpricks of light, and set like stars. Her azure skirts with silver thread, and stardust grey under-slips swirl around her ankles as her hair falls to her feet. The prophets of Calormen called her a goddess of Narnia, and she thanked them graciously—but laughs behind Cair Paravel's locked doors at such blasphemy against the Great Lion.

Lucy's summer-green gown overextends its hem, sewn too long; to cover bare feet southern foreigners consider unseemly. She curls sun-browned fingers over the gold hilt of her dagger. Twin brass braids slide along bare shoulders, and when she smiles, spring begins anew in the hearts of all Narnians.

Edmund, the judge and wise man (prophets of Calormen have come to him to seek his understanding and departed newly taught) stands arrayed in black and silver with raven curls dragging to his chest, swept clear of his solemn brow and grave dark eyes with intricate centaur braids. His robe sloughs lazily down his arms, half worn, half falling free. Threatening action if it is demanded—even in the land of peace and plenty.

The Pashdaan from Calormen walks up the hall from the grand foyer beyond, but the splendor of his train fades pale compared to the wealth of happy Narnia.

"Most Elevated and Noble Majesties of this esteemed northern kingdom. I come from the Tisroc – may he live forever – to offer unto you such gifts and work and terms of peace so that you seek out no reparation for such destruction and war as the rash young Prince as placed before your path. Instead, to hope that you may deal mercifully. The Tisroc – may he live forever – has offered my own life in place of Prince Rabadash if you do not think such treasures as I bring sufficient. Do with your slave as you will have be done." He prostrates himself before the throne, a fearful subject from another land.

Lucy does not look at Peter as she moves forward, her gown rippling out behind her; gossamer silk flowing in currents of her own motion. Her bare feet are silent on the cool, rosy-white marble tiles.

A hand touches his face.

Shimri lifts his head and peers upward into the face of King Edmund. Beside him stands Queen Lucy. Her hand remains on his body, moved to his shoulder. Toward him, Edmund offers a pale hand ornamented with a lone silver ring. The serpent eats its tail, so evil will consume itself. The king who is a judge who is a wise man that could have been the brightest of prophets smiles down at him, and Shimri wonders if this is what it feels like to be blessed.

"You are no slave of Narnia, my dear lord," Lucy admonishes with brilliant kindness. "You need not grovel before us, as we require no such degradation; we do not hold you in offense for any wrong done by another."

"Come, take this hand of peace, and be met with friendship all our days, Pashdaan," Edmund coaxes, his voice the depth of a forest river, melodic as one also.

"We want for nothing from Calormen but that we be free," the High King declares, and the world seems to stand still as he speaks in golden tones, eternal summer rich in his voice. He smiles broadly when Shimri looks up at him, and the corners of Peter's eyes crinkle with mirth.

"I. . . have entered paradise."

Edmund smiles; it tilts crookedly. "An earthly one, perhaps—as best a mortal man can make. There is better still to come beyond the hallowed Shore in the Eastern Lands."

Shimri reaches out, ringed fingers trembling. He lays his dark hand inside Edmund's pale grasp, and stands.

A hearty cheer breaks through the great throne hall of Cair Paravel. Susan descends the dais of marble and stands beside the Pashdaan.

"Now, we shall feast as friends and equals. Tell us, what is your name?" She takes his arm as Narnians frolic about them, and soft blush petals float down from an invisible place above.

"Shimri, my lady. I am born Shimri, son of Paraan."

"I am Susan, Shimri. Welcome to Narnia—you are welcome forever, until the stars forget all our titles, and we are written into myth."

It is a forest. It is a jungle. It is desolate. The woods are so still and dark. There is no music calling softly to the ear, no fountains that bubble merry in their basins, no pale towers gleaming in this early light. There are only ruins, and apple trees grown feral from their gentle ancestors.

There is no perfume of spring-budded flowers in Susan's private garden. Jasmine does not cling any longer to the lattice around his balcony, tossing dappled sunlight over his dark head as he stirs at break of day. There are only marble castle bones, rising jagged from undergrowth of ancient rose briars.

There is only pain.

In the quiet morning rush of air coming sharp and brisk off the Eastern Ocean from the cove of the mermaids, Edmund Pevensie leans against what was once a marble pillar, and weeps.

Paradise is lost.

A/N:

I originally published this on Fanfiction.Net, but decided to brave up and post it here too; because why not?

This AU (sort of?) one-shot is wholly inspired by “Paradise Is Lost” by GoldTop featuring the vocals of singer Sam Tinnesz. For those wondering why I call it a “sort-of AU”, it’s because since I began writing Narnia fic in 2013, I head-canon a lot of little details and aspects to Narnia that are not written by C.S. Lewis, but, I like to believe, he wouldn’t be averse to. I combine elements of both the novel series, and their film adaptation counterparts. If you’ve got questions, don’t hesitate to shoot me a message. I’m friendly.

Dagori's Ford = inspired by my headcanon that there would be landmarks named after Digory Kirke and Polly Plummer since they're important to Narnian history and lore.

Pashdaan = of similar status to an ambassador or lower-ranking European nobleman. I love Turkish/Ottoman/Middle Eastern culture and history, and I know C. S. Lewis modeled his Calormene after them, so I'm going to continue in that vein with my headcanons. Pashdaan is a play on the Turkish "Pasha".

Tel-Ilil = a watchtower built on the edge of the Great River (in Narnia, but near the Telmarine border, so technically an invasion of Narnia). Edmund and Lucy plot a covert attack and destroy it.

@nothinggold13 Thought this might be something you’d like.

#Narnia #narnia fanfiction #peter pevensie #edmund pevensie #susan pevensie #lucy pevensie #paradise is lost #narnia fic #golden age fic #prince caspian #miraz #aslan #fanfiction #AU #oneshot

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somewhere-timespace · 3 years ago

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A Name and The Lost Memory

—It is said that an invisible red string connects two hearts that are meant for each other regardless of time and space. When the time is ripe, it gets entangled into a frenzy ball of mess and most often than not; blood, tears and sweat are needed to untie the turbulent knot of Fate. But everything will definitely be alright. Because love is something that traverses across dimensions. It trespasses beyond the boundary of space and it ticks by in a timeless manner.

Chapter 1

Nearing the end of the passage, a blinding light flashed its greeting. Each step forward was a conscious self-reminder to keep my gait strong and steady. If I faltered now, my serene facade would definitely crumble. A faint voice was calling out my name. Once. Twice. Thrice. The fourth snapped my trance.

"Sakura!"

I jerked backwards, the illusory mask of false smile almost slipped off my face. The corners of my lips twitching, I responded to the voice as if nothing had happened. "Yeah?"

Lines appeared between Kero-chan's brows. "Your face is looking like a wet weekend. What happ—" He shook his head, and just like that, the worry that had clouded over his face disappeared into thin air. He grabbed my hand and took off with it, heading straight for the light. "Come on!"

"Ow! Ow! Kero-chan, slow down! It's too bright!"

Six years of living in a cave, squinting didn't seem to help ease my dizziness. I shut my eyes and trusted Kero-chan for not bumping into cave pillars. And finally, after stumbling in the darkness for a few times, here I was; standing still on a familiar shore—waves crashing against my legs as a swelling tide of memory washed me up.

Everyday, just before twilight, we—Tomoyo-chan, Kero-chan and I—used to come to Tomoeda Beach and play tag. Kero-chan was a nasty cheater who would do anything to win, and Tomoyo-chan was a scary "it" when dead serious. And when the sun had finally reunited with the vast open sea, the three of us would sit side by side, watching the world's most idyllic scene unfold as Tomoyo-chan hummed to the tune of Tomoeda folk songs.

Six years had passed, and Tomoeda Beach didn't age one bit. The warmth of the green sand kissing my bare feet. The shimmering open sea reflecting every shade of gold and pink from the sky above. The distant caws of blue-winged seagulls. The floating fist-sized bubbles blown by native crabs. Everything I saw today felt just like yesterday. I spread my arms; one hand caressing the gentle sea breeze, the other hugging the burning red sky.

"Some people were really born under a lucky star, huh?" Kero-chan perched on my shoulder as if it was the most natural thing to do and watched the sun sinking below the horizon. "Had you come out half a day earlier, even standing straight here would be a fat chance thanks to the raging storm."

Now that he mentioned it, I had just realised how I took my luck for granted. It was an odd yet remarkable coincidence that the storm first struck the secluded Tomoeda Islands far in the east and the open seas bordering it six years ago, on the exact day I began my apprenticeship as the Priestess of Tsukimine Shrine. Amongst the 40,000 people residing in Tomoeda Island, I was perhaps the only one who had never had the chance to witness the highest rainfall in history. In that sense, I was probably unlucky.

"But again, what do you expect from someone with a lucky streak?" Wagging his tail, a tone of mischief tinged in his voice. "Ain't everyone got the chance to meet someone as awesome as me. And to think that I chose you as my Master—can't imagine anyone's luckier than you!"

Lying on his side as if he was loafing away on an invisible sofa, his little paw resting on his hip, Kero-chan drifted in the air. "On top of that, the glorious and handsome Guardian Beast of the Seal, Keroberos, is your for-the-first-time-in-six-years-sunset-watching partner. I say you're blessed!"

Listening to Kero-chan, I couldn't help but turn away and hold my breath, trying to hide my ballooned-out cheeks slowly bursting into a bellow of laughter.

Kero-chan was a cheeky spirit. He often talked with an air of narcissism, and sometimes could come across as bossy and demanding. He might seem to be the ignorant and insensitive type at first, but he was actually very caring and considerate of other people's feelings. And he really knew how to cheer people up. I really was lucky to have him by my side.

"Thank you, Kero-chan." I wiped my eyes, still giggling. "But, how did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That, you know, I wasn't really in my best state? I did my best to look just fine. And, the onibi didn't notice at all!"

Kero-chan squeezed my cheeks with a feat of strength I didn't know such little paws could display. My whining didn't seem to affect him.

"Who do you think you're talking to? I've been with you since you still wet your bed, after all."

"HEY! That's not true!" I protested, my voice muffled as Kero-chan pinched harder.

"I don't do lies!"

"Liar!"

"I," Kero paused. He busted his chest and gazed upwards. And he continued with the most over-dramatic faked baritone voice, "the great Keroberos, swear upon the wings of Holy Dragons that even though I'm the type to lie through my teeth, this, I shall not lie."

I rubbed my stinging cheeks and let out a sigh. "You're not religious at all, Kero-chan, so that's a null."

"Whatever are you talking about!? I always pray before opening up my bento box!"

I clapped my hands, disguising my sarcasm as mimicking Kero's prayers. "O, Holy Dragons, please bestow upon us today Tomoyo's homemade sweets and let them be as delicious as, or even better, a hundred times more delicious than the usual. Amen. Wow. Actually saying your prayers word by word has made me notice. I've known this for a fact, but, you really have no shame at all, do you, Kero-chan?"

"Excuse me?! Rude! It's a genuine, harmless request made from the bottom of my pure, taintless heart, mind you! Speaking of Tomoyo, she should know that you still wet your bed at seven years old. Truth will out when we ask—Ow, ow, ow!" Tired of making pointless arguments, I pulled his cheeks; half-revenge, half-annoyed.

"Speaking of Tomoyo-chan, where is she?"

"Tomoyo? Easy, easy!" Kero flapped his paw, as if to say it was obvious Tomoyo-chan wouldn't come. "Tomoyo and the other guild folks are busier than bees in a tar bucket prepping for tonight's party. They've been at it since I woke up."

Did I miss something? Why did they have to spend all day long just to prepare for a party? Didn't the guild do karaoke, pub quiz, arm wrestling tournament, or play poker every single day? They'd do it without any preparation all these years and the nightly parties went just fine, right? There must be a special cause to celebrate. And then it finally dawned on me. "Oh! For the finally good weather?"

"Well.. That, too." Kero-chan raised an eyebrow, his poker face judging. "But it's mainly for your birthday."

Time suddenly froze. My eyes kept blinking amidst silence, empty gaze cast into golden and scarlet hues dancing in the sky. Kero-chan's last word drummed in my head and an imaginary abacus popped up above the horizon. I never excelled in arithmetic, but I did keep a record of how many days have passed inside the cave. Throwing in some simple addition and subtraction, I arrived at an answer. Today was Year 212, April 1st. And that meant... Kero-chan was right.

"Hoeeeee!"

A sigh followed by another escaped Kero-chan's mouth. Knowing him, Kero-chan would definitely classify his own confidence as beyond average—in fact, I thought it was a little bit over the top. But he'd always whined how hard making decisions was; like how he regretted chowing down the last slice of apple pie first instead of the cheesecake one. Or how he should've chosen cheesecake first and then clean his palate with a light-tasting apple pie. Flailing about on a scenic beach, lips juggling with unintelligible words, the back of my mind questioned if Kero-chan had ever doubted me as his master. He most probably had, and I was almost certain that he was doubting me now. And I hated to admit that it was a justified doubt.

"Let's go back to the guild now!" I finally managed to say it without biting my tongue. "We need to help them. Hurry, Kero-chan!"

"Hey, hey, hold your horses!" If only Kero-chan was ten times the size he was, he'd probably succeed in stopping me from bolting across the beach. But he could only do so much to cling onto my arm, frustration reflected in his tone. "You really don't know how to have fun, do you?! No birthday girl preps her own surprise party, except antisocial cave girls!"

A second war between us almost broke out when my feet halted all of a sudden—as if they caught themselves stepping into the jaw of an unforeseen bloody-red snare trap. Such a strange feeling; it was like my body had already sensed something wrong up ahead even before my mind had the time to register, and willed itself to stop. Like Fate had finally caught up and refused to let go.

Some ten metres away, an enormous arch stood tall; its surface contoured with hundreds of years of erosion. Sandwiched between two pillars adorned with mold as green as the sand, pink barnacles and shimmering minerals, sunlight flickered on an unrecognisable mound of yellow slime.

And if that wasn't creepy enough, I swore I saw it twitching. But in a way no wind could invoke that rigid of a movement. Nope, nope, nope. I needed to calm down. It must've been my stupid brain playing tricks again. But Kero-chan confirmed it otherwise. "Hey, Sakura… Did I just see some heap of… What do you call them—sea grass? Got electrocuted? Somehow?" It was unclear whether Kero-chan wanted an answer or he just wanted to talk for the sake of talking.

Still rooted to the same spot, I answered anyways—with a voice so low and hoarse only the heavens could make sense. "Kelp, Kero-chan. You mean kelp."

"Okay, kelp. It's my first time meeting a kelp ghos—" Kero-chan stuffed his mouth with his paws right before it was too late.

Actually, it was too late. I knew he meant to say ghost. I hated spooky things, like how that strand of the coiled kelp slump to the ground like a snake carcass. I was ready to scream my head off, but what was unveiled sparked a hurricane so nasty inside my stomach, I couldn't help but gag. A face with the most ghastly pallor swollen with all sorts of cuts and lesions, like a bloodstained white canvas splattered with the most intense hue of indigo, loomed out of the shade.

It was like what I'd seen last night—that cursed nightmare—had come true. I didn't know if hunching and covering my mouth would help to prevent tainting the pristine green sand, but I did anyway. It didn't seem to be the most effective treatment, though. If it wasn't for Kero-chan interrupting, I was sure I would've puked already. "Let's go take a closer look, Sakura."

I moaned for the sixth time that evening, each time gulping my own erupting acid reflux. "I'm sorry, Kero-chan. But I'd rather we call someone from the guild to help with the person's burial."

"What nonsense are you talking about!? Poor chap's dying, yeah, but you don't bury someone who's not a goner yet!"

Of course. Unconscious as he might be, the jerking they saw just now could only mean that he could still move-a little. And in little things does life offer a beacon of hope, they said.

Mentally slapping myself could come later. I darted towards the arch, each step praying that his soul, albeit dim and slumbering, would still give his best to keep his flame alive.

I arrived beside the mysterious figure cladded with belongings of the sea and kneeled to rid of whatever came from deep water. It was a boy, possibly of my age or perhaps a year or two older; locks of his chestnut hair coarse and scruffy from the salt that lingered and his limbs ice cold. Up close, his bare skin exposed too much raw flesh. Every inch of his body told a macabre tale of unparalleled brutality.

Terror paced my heartbeat five times faster. I swallowed my lunch for the seventh time and whispered to myself. "What could've possibly caused this?"

A moment after palpating the boy's neck, lines around Kero's forehead grew thicker. I didn't even need to ask - he had already transformed into his beast form. Now, Kero-chan was ready to wield more powerful magic.

Looking sturdy with his chest puffed out, Kero-chan shielded us all from the chilly dusk breeze with his wings. The red gem on his forehead went ablaze. A gust of hot air blew within the stretch of his wings and it suddenly felt like they'd skipped spring straight to summer. It didn't take long to parch the boy's olive-coloured cloak. The heat even seeped into his black turtleneck, down to his skin, which had finally regained its tan complexion. Fresh blood streamed down his open wounds, a signal that Kero-chan had gone perhaps a tad bit too much.

When the temperature around them had gone back to normal, the boy coughed; streamlets of water followed. I perked up, hoping that he'd recover his consciousness. But when no response was made to my tenth call; add to that the fact that he was still motionless except for his extremely weak breathing, the surrounding air suddenly felt thin.

"Way too early to feel blue, Sakura. The chap's still in a bad shape. I only warmed him up, so that's a given." Kero-chan said, his tone unwavering. He stooped down, beckoning to heave the boy onto his bare back. "Let's rush home and have Tomoyo deal with him."

And this time again, the world lost gravity. Everything went white.

Warmth crept into my body with every heartbeat, and suddenly breathing didn't seem like a rigorous task anymore. The tingling soreness that was once there had gone. I was floating in a country full of clouds — it was serene and rejuvenating, just like a mother's embrace.

Then came a whisper. Without even putting in any effort to focus, I heard them crystal clear. Whoever it was, I sensed a great deal of doom and gloom in their voice. Damn it, what was that for? Can't I just enjoy one nice day in this paradise without anyone being a bother?

I groaned and opened my eyes. An unfamiliar fuzzy yellow ball rose to sight; its tiny eyes sombre and glassy as if it was bereaving. I would've appreciated the sentiment if it hadn't been so ridiculously close, that I thought it was going to smooch me or something. Suddenly, it spoke with a pronounced accent that I had never heard before, "Hey, you alright?"

I lay there petrified as horror dawned over me when realisation hit — a fiend wearing human-like facial expression was hovering over me and it freaking talked.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, grabbed whatever was within my reach and launched a series of attacks on the fiend. It was unsurprisingly nimble, thanks to its wings. The small fiend managed to dodge a few times, but at last, the pillow in my hands catapulted it into a wooden door. At the same time, someone banged the door open from outside and it had a deadly second blast-off.

"What happened?!" A girl sprinted from behind the door.

What was she? An ally or an enemy? Was she acquainted with that nasty-looking fiend? If she was, she had to be an enemy. And I had to eliminate her before she did me.

I scowled at her, warning her not to take yet another step. She froze, fortunately. I didn't really want to resort to hitting women too. The bed creaked as I climbed out as slowly as I could, my eyes still locked on the unwelcomed girl, unblinking. I scanned the entire room, hoping to spot something sharp; something that could be used as a threat—a weapon of some sort. I saw her move out of the corner of my eyes, and jumped backwards on instinct. What my instinct failed to calculate was the damn bed frame that was just behind me. My head slammed against the wall as I plunged to the floor.

The back of my head smarting, I shook off the pain, reminding myself that now wasn't the time to stay relaxed. I raised my head only to see the girl squatting next to me, the creases on her forehead shaded with dismay.

"I'm sorry to frighten you. Are you okay? There's no need to be afraid, I won't hurt you." She inched her hand up, trying to reach for my cheek. I grabbed her wrist in an instant. Who did she think she was? She had absolutely zero respect for my personal space and she'd be crazy if she thought I'd let her see an opening.

Her hand protesting, she squeaked in discomfort.

"Sakura?"

Just when I thought it would be over once I dealt with this girl, another obstacle had surfaced. This time, it was a young man who looked older than the girl. He was tall and muscular, exactly the type of people I'd rather not mess with.

"Oi!" He snatched my hand away from the girl's and glared at me. "The hell are you doing to my sister?!"

So what if there was nothing in this room I could use as a weapon? I stood up carrying my pride with me, and glared back at him. If there was no weapon, then I just had to use my body. Fists up on chest-level, I moved my right leg backwards, heel off the floor and bent my knees slightly, preparing myself to fight.

"Now that's a fighting stance I've never seen before." A miasma of the most ominous purple hue leached out of his black and navy cloak, its acrid fumes raged in the air. The navy stone on his ring glowed as it turned into a black sword, its wide blade intricately engraved in gold. He pointed his sword to me and said, "I'm curious about where you're from, but I guess I'll just ask at your grave."

A sharp cold and a piercing burn stung my insides as everything went darker. This bastard! What the heck did he do to me? Even merely thinking about the answer to his question made my head spin out of control, like it was about to explode. I clicked my tongue, hoping that it would somehow help alleviate the excruciating pain crawling under my skull.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, shall we put a stop here?" A voice soothing yet stern cut through the ringing in my ears, along with that, a single clap cleared the haze in the room.

A second girl stood in the doorway. Despite her docile and refined appearance, this one was able to negate that bastard's nasty magic, proving her to be a high-skilled sorcerer. I'd be doomed to hell if she was also with that fiend.

She sauntered into the room and kneeled next to the unmoving fiend, "Oh my, poor Kero-chan. What happened, I wonder?"

At this point, I knew I'd never leave this place unscathed. But I couldn't die here. Not today. And I'd absolutely kill myself if the only other option was to die in the hands of these demons. I had to live on. There was no choice but to fight. Perhaps I'd lose a limb or two, but who cared? There were still so many things I had to do, like…—

A sudden sharp pain pulsated through my head. I squeezed my temples as hard as I possibly could as my knees crashed to the floor. The two girls rushed to me, their voices distorted into an almost unintelligible whir before everything sounded uncomfortably louder.

"Brother!" The girl yelled at the curse-wielder bastard, humming and fiddling with the ring on his forefinger. "What did you do to him?!"

He yawned and answered with a monotone voice, "nothing?"

"Undo the curse! Now!"

"What curse? I did nothing. There's no merit whatsoever in placing one on an already dying guy anyways."

The girl was about to stomp on his foot when a knock on the door ajar interrupted. What bad timing. "Touya, bullying someone who's just regained his consciousness isn't very nice."

The smug bastard snorted, "Even you wouldn't believe me now, Yuki?"

"That's not what I mean." The newcomer adjusted his glasses and sighed. "I trust you as a responsible hex mage."

"Wait… Does that mean Brother really didn't curse him?"

"That's right, Sakura-chan. The boy's just probably not feeling that well. I can only imagine how confused and overwhelmed he must feel now in this unknown place to him. Well, I'll talk to him, see if he'd calm down."

"Sorry, Brother…" The girl said sheepishly as she averted her gaze from the bastard's glare; impish, smug reflection danced in his eyes. Her cheeks flushed in red, embarrassment fuelled her to stutter, "b-b-but still, your attitude was really mean!"

"Whatever." Tucking both hands in his trousers, he walked out of the room. "Let's go, Sakura."

"I'm staying."

"WHAT—" The immature bastard would've gone thrashing about the room if he hadn't been hauled out of the room by the long-haired girl carrying the comatose yellow fiend on her palm.

"TOMOYO! You LITTLE—How dare you do that to-"

As his irksome tantrum became muffled the further away he was, I let out a sigh. My head was still pounding but now at least, the bothersome ones had vanished.

"Now, now. I know you must be really confused, waking up in an unknown place. But, first, are you feeling okay?"

I could only blame my own carelessness, but how did I not notice him approaching this way? But, more importantly, what was it with this guy? Something in him emanated warm and pacifying vibes, urging me to believe that his smile, as refreshing and sincere as it looked, didn't have an ulterior motive.

"Yes." A trail of hesitation in my voice followed after a long pause. I was disoriented. Unsure if I should've been honest, about my chance of survival, their motive — everything.

"That's a relief!" The girl exclaimed merrily. "Earlier today, Kero-chan and I found you passed out on the nearby beach."

"Ahh - Kero-chan, he's my guardian spirit. He's about this size." She distanced her palms one head apart and continued, "he's yellow and he can fly. He promised me to look after you, but seeing that he's not around, he's probably off to steal some food. I'll scold him later!"

Not at the slightest did I feel the need to address the misunderstanding, I pondered hard over her word. What did she say again? Guardian spirit? What the heck did that mean? Was that another way of saying a fiend?

"By the way, my name is Kinomoto Sakura. And this person is Tsukishiro Yukito-san." She pointed at the pale-skinned man next to her. "The long-black-haired girl who dragged my silly brother was Tomoyo-chan—Daidouji Tomoyo-chan! She's the best healer in this guild and she was the one who treated your injuries."

Obviously, I wouldn't be able to engrave so many new names onto my memory, but there was no point asking for a repeat as I had no interest in remembering or knowing them all anyways.

"So," she asked without a trace of knowing how disinterested I was. "What should we call you?"

Stunned by the unexpected, personal nature of her question, I diverted my eyes from hers—a pointless attempt at avoiding a question already asked. I answered in hesitation, with a voice softer than the wind's whisper. "...Li Syaoran."

"That sounds like a foreign name. Where are you from?" Tsukishiro casually asked. I knew there was nothing vexed about his question, yet cold sweat trickled down my nape to my spine like a persistent jolt of ice.

He continued, "right now, we're in Tomoeda Island, or Tomoeda Guild, to be specific. It's a remote island, so you might've not heard of it before, but it's located far to the east of The Capitol."

"Our guild may be small, but all of us here are still proud explorers, so, rest assured, we'd be more than happy to escort you back to your hometown!" She explained in a way that made me tired just looking at how lively and passionate she was.

The idea of me being drifted in the ocean and getting rescued by this girl and her fiend still hadn't clicked in my head and now I was already drowning in a torrent of alien terms. A train of questions rumbled through my head: Tomoeda Island? Tomoeda Guild? The Capitol? Explorers? I just had zero clue to whatever they meant. Amongst the many nonsense words spouted, however, there was one particular word that made my stomach churned with many emotions—all of them unfathomable, intense, yet indistinguishable.

Hometown.

Tsukishiro's face creased with concern as I grimaced. "Are you still feeling unwell?"

"No…" Not even considering to think twice, I spewed a blatant lie without a hint of remorse, "I'm fine."

As my quivering lips betrayed my own words, the two bystanders' eyes exchanged words in silence, seeking validation from each other of how messed up I was.

"Do you have any idea how you ended up at the beach?" Tsukishiro hoped to defuse the awkward silence by shifting the topic.

An illusionary arrow pierced through the back of my head followed by flickering flashes of memory. A heavy rain. A howling wind. Thunders and lightings. Ice-cold saltwater. Roaring waves. And then… Darkness.

"There was this ferocious thunderstorm, and I was drowning in the ocean… That's all I can remember."

"Storm? So you're saying you got washed up from Tomoeda Sea? But... In that storm?" His voice freighted with disbelief, Tsukishiro frowned perplexedly. "What about the things that happened before that? Did you, perhaps, decide to sail the Far East Ocean on your own, and what for? Do you keep in contact with your family throughout your journey?"

"That's right… Your family must be really worried if they knew what had happened to you…" The girl said in a poignant voice. "If you're still not feeling a hundred percent, we can escort you back to your hometown later. For now, do you want to write a letter to your family? I'll help you write and deliver it if you want!"

Family—I knew what they were, and I was sure I had one. But, what was this dreadful feeling, like an omen of inevitable chaos? The harder I tried to envision their faces and string their names together, the deeper this pit of nothingness pulled me into. My trembling fist clenched tight to my chest, I could feel my heart hammered against my hand faster, faster, and faster for every second passed, as if it had gone insane trying to break free from my rib cage. I was upset, furious and disappointed at myself. How could I fail at something as simple as remembering the things I should've known?

"I…" My voice faltered into harrowing, disjointed croaks of anguish. "I don't know. I can't remember what happened prior to that storm. I can't remember where I'm from. I can't even remember my own family."

"Hoe?" She looked lost. "But, Li-kun, you know your name."

My heart stopped.

She was right. I knew my name. I was sure that I was indeed Li Syaoran. Then, how come did I lose everything else besides my own name?

A/N:

I took Papakolea Beach in Hawaii as an inspiration for Tomoeda Beach. Go Google it, folks! Its green sand looks absolutely stunning. Here's to hoping I can pay it a visit someday.

Also, you've probably noticed that I included suffixes such as "-chan" and "-san" in Sakura's voice. I'm sorry if it sounds jarring, but since I've decided to write in two first-person POVs, I thought it'd be better to keep Sakura's original speech style. This way, it's easier to distinguish who's narrating what. I know there are simpler ways to approach this matter, like maybe typing "Sakura's POV" above a certain paragraph, but I thought I'd try challenging myself writing this way. And so far, I've had fun :)

Writing in Syaoran's POV was hard at times because if I wanted to stay in his character, I had to avoid using "Sakura" or even "Kinomoto" when referring to Sakura. *sigh* Syaoran, why are you like this. Also, apologies for a**hole-ish Syaoran in this chapter—I'm trying to paint his character as close as he was in the beginning of CCS series and trust me, I hate mean Syaoran as much as you do :( But he'll grow, so rest assured!

#cardcaptor sakura #cardcaptor sakura fanfic #syaosaku fic #syaosaku fanfic #ccs fic #ccs fanfic #syaosaku

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twinkling-writings · 4 years ago

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The Mind Of A Waterman (Part.2) ; JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure - Bloody Stream (A fanfiction)

[We cut back to the previous episode of Bloody Stream, ‘The Mind Of a Waterman Part 1.’. Caesar has managed to outsmart the pillarman who had left a gash on his shoulder. After Caesar remembered what Joseph told him before the fight, he had luck on his side. “Think like the enemy, get into their mind, and find their weakness.”]

This is the line that would haunt Caesar Zeppeli for the rest of his life.

Osbourne let out a loud howl of pain, he couldn’t understand how Caesar got a clean shot on his leg. Osbourne tries to get up off the ground, using the foot he had left… or so he had thought. In horror, the pillarman would come to find that his functioning foot had been cut clean off. Osbourne could no longer stand, he knew he was done for. Despite this, he still tries to get up. In such a horrible condition, he still believes he can try. Nothing is impossible. That’s what his mother had told him centuries ago. That’s the only reason, this pillarman is alive now. “It seems that… luck was on my side… I’ve disabled him… I’ve finally won…” the Italian would mutter under his breath. Grabbing his injured arm Caesar would take a deep breath, looking at Osbourne. Caesar would grunt and turn away, gazing in the direction of where he had come from. “I shall let JoJo know of my victory…“ Caesar begins to step away, getting barely any distance before he had heard a familiar voice. “Cae…sar…” Caesar would gasp softly out of shock, whipping his head around towards the source of the noise. There, he would see Osbourne, managing to prop himself up, only by a tad though. The burning sensation of Caesars’ Hamon ‘bubble cutter’ flowing up his leg, killing him slowly. Caesar would clench his fists, getting back into a fighting position despite being injured. “Stay down, you’ve lost. I won’t hesitate to attack you again!” Osbourne continues to make an attempt, managing to get up off the ground. Trying his hardest to use his water-controlling powers to form his feet. But he had the short end of the stick, there’s not enough strength left in him to form anything. His attempt is worthless as he falls back down to the sand on the beach with a grunt. Caesar would make himself blindly believe that this was a trick, his lips snarling up in anger. “I said stay down!” the blonde readies his bubbles, in case if an attack were to happen. “Caesar…” Caesar prepares himself to shoot the bubbles at Osbourne.

“Caesar don’t…” Caesar prepares himself to shoot the bubbles at Osbourne. “Don’t attack.” Osbourne managed to dig his knees into the sand below him, looking down at the soft yet warm beach. To him, there was a comfort in the sight of the ocean shore. That thought was cut short as he hears Caesar shout. “You’re just saying that to trick me! I’ll do it!” he’d show the bubbles to the pillarman, who didn’t even look up at them. He knew that they were there, so what was the point in looking?

“You win…”

The Italian would grumble in shock, but wouldn’t say a word. “I got up to tell you… that you’ve won…”

Caesar is shocked in silence for a moment, looking down at Osbourne with confusion written all over his face. “But… Why? You have the chance to land another attack if you find some way to break the barrier I’ve created-” Caesars quickly interrupted. “Even if I did… I know that in my heart I would still lose to you…” Dead silence falls upon the two, nothing but the crashing of ocean waves fell upon their ears. Until Osbourne looks up at the man before him. “Long ago… When Kars and Esidisi attacked the pillarmen, killing them all… I was the only one who had survived. I still remember it so vividly… Kars was staring down at me, as my stump bled. I couldn’t get up…” We cut to a flashback of the aftermath of the elimination of all the pillarmen. Osbourne looking younger as he coughed up blood from a previous punch to the chest. “You’ve lost, Osbourne.” Osbourne would look behind his brother, to where water that had sat in the sun all day had been. The water was practically beaming with Hamon. Osbourne monologues over the memory as he continued to tell Caesar the story. “The water behind him was filled with Hamon. At that moment, if he attempted to finish me off, I could kill him. I would die as well but… knowing that I ended him… Knowing that he was dead… It would have satisfied me, and I would not care if I had died… However… “ We cut back to the memory itself, Osbourne had the strength to stand up, leaning against a wall of stone. “Come on… Do it… Finish me off already… I’ll die fighting, just like mother did…” Kars would take a step back, letting out a huff of air as his stance became calm. Osbourne looks at his brother, obviously confused. The only word that broke their silence would shock Osbourne. “No.”

“Wh…What…? What do you mean ‘no’!?”

“I will not kill you. The bravery, honor, and pride stand against me, even while being as injured as you are… It is unignorable. Therefore, I will not kill you.”

Now we go back to the present, Osbourne choking his tears back as he trembled in the sand. “It took me years to figure out why he didn’t slaughter me then and there. But now I know why.”

Caesar bites his lip, almost in guilt. But urged Osbourne to go on with a simple nod. Staying silent, followed by a moment of silence.

“Heh… It seems like we’re both fools… Caesar, the reason he didn’t kill me… was because he respected me. And so, as gratitude for this… I didn’t end him. He left our home in ruins.” Osbourne lets a tear slip down his face, looking into the man’s eyes.

“So I ran. And ran, And ran. Eventually, I faced the ocean. I willingly walked into it, and spent the next years of my life there, training and harnessing my powers. Eventually, I met up with Kars, Wamuu, and Esidisi. We waited in the pillars for what seemed like eons. Until now…”

Caesar’s eyes filled with confusion, his eyebrow-raising as he waited for an answer from the being in front of him. “What I’m trying to say is, I only back down once I know I cannot beat my enemy, as hard as I may try. Caesar… You fought brilliantly. The reason why I'm saying you win is that I know I can't beat you.”

“…But… Why? Why would you say you have lost to me, but not to Kars?”

“If I fought Kars today… I am confident that I will win, no matter what. However… Caesar. Your power… Your fighting spirit… it would take 3 Kars to match it, maybe even more…” Osbourne winces softly in pain. Gripping onto his chest, specifically his heart. “The Hamon from the cutter… It’s reached my chest now, telling my story must have distracted me from the pain…”

The water from the barrier has finally broken, flooding the sand around him and Caesar. The pillarmen uses the last of his strength to have the water lift him up. Caesars Hamon finally starting to disintegrate his body. Turning to dust now.

“Tell JoJo I love him… and I love you too… You showed me how to feel love… Thank you… farewell…”

Osbourne’s body is completely turned to ash, the tower of water crashing down into the ocean and if it were nothing. His ashes spreading across the water. Caesar is in absolute disbelief. Tears starting to stream down his face as he walked away from the scene. Not before picking up one of the necklaces, the Pillar had adorned. Even if Osbourne was a pillarman he had never personally knew, he treated the pillarman with honor and respect.

There are no more words to say as the ashes of the once alive Osbourne are lost in the ocean. Even in death. Even if only Caesar was there to see it, what Osbourne said was Eternal.

“Osbourne… I will forever hold you in my memory…” He turns to face back to the ocean, then to the necklace in his grasp. “And in my heart…”

Rest in peace, Osbourne.

#Fanfics #Osbourne #Osbourne the Pillarman #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #JoJo insert #JoJosona #JoJo Fanfic

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scarletaire · 4 years ago

Text

homeland (Chapter 3)

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart to each and every one of you reading thus far! Your support of this little fic of mine means the world ❤️

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Genre/s: Contains Fluff, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Smut

Rating: E

Tags: Post-QON, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Protective!Cardan, Bewildered!Jude, Jude and Cardan discuss the Undersea, but they get a little Distracted

Description:

Cardan’s eyes flash open.

“Why?” he repeats, and Jude feels the power shift between them. “Don’t you remember, wife?” he croons. “It was the Undersea who stole you away from me.”

And Jude has only enough time to think, danger, before he lunges at her.

or:

Cardan and Jude work on removing their armor. Taking off this particularly stubborn piece happens in varying states of undress.

Links: Masterlist | AO3

Fand is waiting for them outside the royal suite. The knight bows at the sight of the king and queen.

Jude nods her head in acknowledgement, even though she’s not entirely paying attention. The heavy weight in her stomach has only worsened now that they are outside the dreamy confines of their bedroom.

In truth, she’s not exactly sure what she’s guilty about. Cardan doesn’t know what Balekin made her do in the Undersea. What she let him do. What she had to do. But she would have done it again, if it meant that she would be exactly where she is right now.

Cardan stands tall with a hand at her back now, awaiting her cue.

“Report,” she says to Fand, because routine is something she doesn’t have to think much about.

“Your Majesties.” The knight salutes. “There have been sightings of falcons flying close over Elfhame. Not an unusual number, to be sure, but…”

“Falcons.” Cardan wrinkles his brow beside her. “Not the ones you punished, for participating in Madoc’s coup?”

Jude remembers. For those who do not wish to atone, become falcons in earnest.

“Too far to tell, sire. I reported it in case there was cause for suspicion.”

“You did well, Sir Fand,” says Jude. Then she sighs. “That should be checked, at the very least. I can assemble a team and leave within the hour.”

Cardan pouts immediately. “And throw me to the mercies of the Living Council?”

“There are no mercies as far as you’re concerned.”

“Well,” he says, something secret in his eyes, “I suppose you would know better than most.”

She resists the strong urge to kick him. Fand’s face goes carefully blank.

“Why don’t you just move the meeting, then?” Jude says, a little hurriedly. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Cardan shakes his head dolefully. “With great regret, I already told Randalin’s little messenger to scurry along and tell them we’re convening within the quarter hour.” Petulance creeps into his voice. “Even though the last thing I want to do is listen to them squabble over Insear.”

At that, Fand frowns.

“What is it, Sir Fand?”

“My queen.” She seems to stand even straighter. “That’s where the falcons were sighted. Flying low above Insear.”

Jude pauses. That’s close. She catches Cardan’s eye, sees her concern mirrored in his.

“How many?” she asks.

“Last count was two, Your Majesty.”

“A pair.” Her mind is churning. It’s almost a blessing, to be thinking about this. She knows this: tactics and strategy and risk management. She knows too little of handling guilt and conscience and the feeling that she has left something important undone. “One could be an accident, two could be intentional. Cardan –”

“Yes, I understand. I will handle the Living Council.” His expression has sobered. Cardan makes a graceful king when he wants to. He gives her a gentle tap at the small of her back. “Go.”

But something roots her to the spot a little while longer. Maybe it’s because her back now feels cold without the weight of his palm on it. “I’ll be back in time for the revel,” she assures him.

“You’d better. It shall be a great creative achievement.”

Jude almost scoffs. The idea of a revel as a summit for a land treaty is certainly creative, she’ll give him that. “The greatest of your life?” she teases. She realizes she doesn’t want to leave him. Not just yet.

“Of course not. Becoming me was the greatest creative achievement of my life.”

She does scoff this time. “One of these days, my eyeballs are going to roll right out of their sockets because of you.”

He smiles, then, a gentle and precious thing. The sight of it burrows into her heart. He places a hand on the curve of her cheek. “I’ll be waiting for you. Be careful.”

Her breath trips a little in her throat. Fand stands stiffly before them, her eyes trained on the nearest pillar. Affording them some sort of privacy, in her own knightly way. Jude tells herself to get it together. “Aren’t I always?”

“No, Jude.” The way he shakes his head is almost mournful. “You’re really not.”

She frowns, but before she can say anything, he’s reaching into his pocket.

“Here, take these with you.” He produces a pair of honeycakes stolen from their food tray, wrapped in an elaborately embroidered handkerchief. She hadn’t even noticed him take them. Spots of glaze have already stained the intricate whorls of thread. “I was planning to share this with you during the meeting, but alas. My plans are foiled. Again.”

And there, that look. He has only just dressed her, but his eyes are promising the exact opposite. How is it that he’s able to go from wishing for her safety, to throwing her dirty looks beneath his stupidly long eyelashes?

He’s making it incredibly difficult to leave now.

“I need to go,” Jude says gruffly, if only to convince herself to get moving. If she sounds a little more irate than usual, it’s his damn fault anyway. Besides, the faster she clears up this falcon business, the faster they can wrap up the revel and the Insear headache, and the faster they can –

He’s full on smirking now, as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking.

Jude snatches the honeycakes out of his hands with more force than necessary.

“Goodbye,” he says, amusement clear in his tone. She huffs at him, already turning. “And Jude?”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

Jude pauses. It could have been the sincerity in his voice. It could have been the fact that she hates that there’s something she hasn’t told him. It could be the fact that she just doesn’t want to leave him right now. She turns right back around, just in time to catch the soft smile lighting up his eyes.

It strikes her clean through the chest.

She had once promised that she would be better than all of the fae. Right now, though, she is no better than them. She is no less a cheap manipulator of secrets and deceit and pretense.

He’s got one up over her. He was brave enough to tell her about his nightmares. She’s still scared to tell him about his own brother.

How strange her life has become, that being honest with her husband is how she wins the game.

Except it’s not a game. Not really. There’s nothing she wants to play with when she looks at the open affection plain on his face.

She makes a new vow in her head. Later, she thinks, as she pulls him down by his ridiculous cravat to press a kiss to the middle of his cheek. I will tell you everything later.

“Bye,” she whispers, her nose tracing his jaw as she settles back down to her heels.

The wonder she leaves on his face carries her all the way to Insear.

___________________

The island has grown.

In truth, Jude has only seen Insear once since returning from her exile, and it was as she had first seen it that day Cardan had faced off against Orlagh and raised it from the sea. Small, because it had been used to imprison Nicasia. And grey, because the lava and the ash that it had been named after had blanketed the soil like granite snow.

Now, the Isle of Ash is large enough to hold more than just a disgraced princess. At almost the size of Insmoor, it can fit two sprawling palaces and have room left over. It’s not entirely grey anymore, either. When their little boat makes landfall, Jude notices that the lava and the ash have crystallized on its shores like sparkling sand.

Diamonds, she thinks. They look like tiny diamonds.

The whole island is covered in it. It dusts the tall, white birch trees and low, sprawling underbrush that have rooted themselves as far as the eye can see. It sparkles from the petals of the flowers that dot the moonlit landscape: there is a range of blue irises, turquoise roses, and an elegant bloom of cool, black petals that Jude has never seen before.

Cardan did this. Cardan made all of this.

She is no stranger to his power, not now. But seeing the island he made, with nothing but the wave of a hand, makes the full breadth of his power suddenly unthinkable.

“I think I get it now,” she says, voice hushed a little by awe. “Why the Living Council and the High Courts are in such a frenzy over Insear.”

The Bomb whistles in appreciation beside her. They stand on the sparkling sand while Fand secures the boat behind them. “This is old magic. The land probably hasn’t felt anything like it since the three original islands of Elfhame were created.”

Jude shakes her head. “How is this possible? The island is still growing.”

“All of Elfhame thrives on the king’s lifeblood,” says the Bomb. “The island he raised himself most of all.”

“I knew Cardan had magic, but not like this.”

“He’s never been more powerful, and as a consequence, his blood more potent. He’s young, for one thing. And he’s happy.”

Jude’s head almost snaps off. “What?”

The Bomb throws a pointed look her way. “Not many of the old rulers were. Didn’t you notice?”

All Jude can remember is how distant and untouchable Eldred had been on the throne. What did it matter if the ruler was happy, as long as he was king? “But Eldred was –”

“Resigned. He had long accepted his life as king, but he derived no true joy during his rule. It’s different with Cardan. There is contentment, but there is more than that. Hope. Light.” The Bomb bends down, lets her fingers sink into the glistening sand of Cardan’s own making. “You can feel it in the soil.”

Jude thinks of how Cardan looked earlier tonight. The untouchable bending to her touch.

“And it’s not just Cardan, you know,” continues the Bomb. With the white of her hair, she looks like she belongs here. “It’s also different with you.”

“Because I’m human.”

“No. Because you’re happy, too.” She flashes Jude an impish smile. “Even though you’d be the last to admit it.”

Jude frowns. She doesn’t know what to make of that. “But I had no hand in raising Insear.”

“As queen, the land feeds off of you in turn.” The Bomb tilts her head back, and breathes in deeply. When she exhales, there is peace in her eyes. “The king and queen are happy, and it shows.”

Jude’s mind scrambles for an answer, but in truth, she is thrown. She has never really included happiness in her long-term plans for herself before, and now that it is a possibility – more than a possibility – she finds that it’s the slightest bit mythical. Something that’s as beautiful and as impossible as the fae.

And yet, here she is, the human Queen of Faerie.

She’s saved from replying by Fand coming up behind them. “The boat is secure, Your Majesty. And there’s no sign of the falcons.”

“Good. It’s possible that their presence was just a coincidence,” Jude says, “but let’s check further inland to be sure.”

The island seems to grow richer in foliage the deeper they go. There are flowers everywhere now, seas of deep blue and turquoise blooms, dotted with the occasional black. She leans down to pick one glittering obsidian flower, and brings it to her nose. It smells sweet. Black pollen dusts her fingertips and stands out against the metal of her chestplate. The shimmering ash crunches a little underfoot, and Jude’s golden cape swishes against it as she walks.

Even the air is different here. It feels lighter and cleaner, as if there is nothing that could possibly weigh it down.

A bird shrieks in the distance.

The three of them freeze.

Jude draws Nightfell. Fand and The Bomb close ranks on either side of her.

“Up ahead,” she says.

“It was close,” says The Bomb, “and low to the ground.” She wrinkles her brow. “That’s odd.”

They find the falcons not long after that. Find, because one of them is laying on the ground, chest rising and falling in shallow breath, and the other is in a nearby birch and makes a half-hearted attempt to fly over their heads only to land, visibly weakened, beside his comrade. They rest, defeated, against the glistening landscape borne of the new king’s power.

Both are marked by a blood-red crest on their chests. Redcap red.

“Traitors,” murmurs Fand.

“What’s wrong with them?” Jude asks. But the answer comes as quickly as she speaks.

You will not have your own true form back until such time as you hurt no living thing for the space of a full year and a day.

Jude sheathes her sword.

But how will we eat if we can hurt nothing?

She takes a step forward. One falcon emits a small cry, meant to intimidate, or perhaps to implore.

“My queen,” warns Fand.

“Peace,” says Jude, to her knight, and to her punished.

She kneels when she reaches them, her golden cape pooling against the ground.

“I do not rescind my judgement over you, who sought to overthrow the crown and wreak chaos upon the kingdom,” she tells them. And it is true. She regrets nothing of the way she had handled justice that day. “But,” she continues, “I once promised that kindness would sustain you, and today it is kindness I shall give.”

She reaches into her pocket and draws out the honeycakes that Cardan gave her. She holds it out to the once disgraced soldiers, and they – starved to the brink of death – fall upon it like a benediction.

The High Queen of Elfhame feeds those that had once sought to unseat her, and Fand and The Bomb bear witness in solemnity. When they are finished, she speaks again.

“Fly on,” she says. “When we meet again, meet me as yourselves.”

_____________

The minute Jude sets foot back in the palace, she knows that something is wrong.

Her body feels the slightest bit off-kilter, like she’s taking a step in the wrong direction. She can’t pinpoint what it is exactly. The Bomb makes her leave to return to the Court of Shadows, and Fand falls back into step behind her.

She wants to see Cardan.

The meeting with the Living Council was moved to a dusty antechamber on the opposite side of the brugh where the usual Council Chambers are. Jude suspects it was pure spite on Cardan’s behalf that led to this unnecessary change in meeting venue. She recalls with a vague satisfaction the clear distress on the messenger’s face earlier.

She can just imagine Randalin’s reaction, and it’s almost enough to make her smirk. If she were in the proper mood for smirking right now. A pounding is starting behind her eyes.

Jude catches the tail end of the dreaded Council meeting as she rounds the final corner.

Over the past few weeks, the Courts of Elfhame have been in a much aggrieved clamor over ownership and land rights to Insear. Each individual court seemed to present reason upon reason as to why they have a right to a piece of the island. Jude had understood why, in the vaguest sense, having not yet witnessed the current state of the land in question. It was technically free for the taking, having freshly risen out of nowhere, and was thus primed for the next inevitable round of political ladder climbing.

Now that she’s seen it, though, she can admit that there’s a part of her that would hate to see it go to the greedy hands of a faceless court. That would like, on no small terms, to have Insear all for herself.

It’s the nature of magic, she supposes. To create something so beautiful that no one can have.

As it stands, the island has served as a recurring headache for the king and queen, with two courts coming dangerously close to an armistice more than once. The revel that Cardan is hosting tonight is supposed to serve as neutral ground for interested parties to present their petitions, and for the monarchs to come to an amicable decision.

It seems like Randalin and the Living Council have a better solution.

“And to whom shall the money go, oh Minister of Keys?” It’s Cardan’s voice, and from his tone alone, it sounds as though the meeting is going as well as anticipated. Which is not at all.

“Sire?”

There’s a guard at the door that jolts into attention the second he sees her. His mouth opens to announce her, but she holds a finger to her lips. She wants to listen first. With a nod at Fand, Jude steps into the shadows.

“You suggested that the Isle of Ash be bestowed upon the court that can offer the greatest tithe,” Cardan says to Randalin. He’s seated at the helm of the long table, and the Council is arranged before him, with the Minister of Keys seated the closest to him on his left. “So let me ask you again. To whom shall the money go?”

From her vantage point, hidden by the door, Jude see’s Randalin’s horned face blanch. “Well, it will of course go to crown and kingdom, my liege.”

“To crown and kingdom?” Cardan rests his chin in his hand, pulling the words through his mouth as if he is playing with them. “But I didn’t ask for it.”

“What the Councilor means to say, sire,” Nihuar, the Seelie Minister, says quickly, her small green lips curved into a placating smile, “is that the funds will benefit all endeavors in the name of Elfhame –”

“So you mean to say,” Cardan drawls, “that the money will go to you.”

The Living Council erupts into a cacophony of sputters and indignant justification. It’s in the middle of rolling his eyes at the table in front of him that Cardan notices Jude hiding in the shadows by the door.

He sees her. Even though she does her best to hide herself, he always sees her.

He’s leaning sideways on his chair at the head of the table, so much so that half of his body is practically spilling over into her empty seat at his right. It’s such a familiar sight that a pang goes through Jude’s chest. She’s missed him.

Cardan stands. The Council falls silent in confusion. The drumming in Jude’s head begins to pound in time with her heart.

He keeps his eyes on her as he walks. All the way down the long table. All the way across the room. Until he is standing right in front of her and the Council is scrambling to their feet because the Queen of Elfhame is here.

Cardan holds out his hand. Jude is powerless to deny him.

She’s pinned to the floor by his expression. She’s only truly been gone for the better part of an hour, but maybe it’s possible that he’s missed her, too. He must see something in her face, because when he speaks, he addresses it to the Council frozen behind him, his eyes never once leaving her.

“This meeting is adjourned.”

“Your Majesties.” Randalin’s voice is strained. “The solution to the Insear claim has yet to be finalized.”

“I find myself tired of the lot of you,” Cardan says, something of his old impetuousness in his tone, “and my wife has just returned. Leave us.”

It’s Nihuar who tries next, once more in vain. “My king, if you would only review the –”

“Desist.” The ember of a threat sparks in his voice. “Now.”

Jude hears the sound of chairs scraping back and feet shuffling out of the door. The Council members most likely bow as they pass, but she isn’t looking at them. When the room is empty, she hears Fand murmur “Your Majesties,” from behind, and then the door is groaning shut. They’re alone.

Cardan sighs, and she can see the tension leaving his shoulders. He pulls her in closer by their joined hands, and when she’s near enough, his tail winds itself once around her hips. He rests his forehead against hers, stooped just enough to reach.

“So?” he says. His entire demeanor has shifted. Gentled. Jude feels the slightest bit dizzy from the sudden change. Or maybe she’s just dizzy. “What of the falcons at Insear?”

Jude swallows. She tells him everything: how Insear has changed, how they discovered the fallen falcons, how she fed them from a kindness that was more human than faerie. All the while, he listens with his forehead against hers and his hands at her waist.

When it is over, Cardan takes her face in his hands. “Look at you,” he breathes. “You are queen of us all.”

And Jude –

– blooms under his gaze. Under the sincerity of the adoration she finds there. Like the flowers she saw in Insear, black, shimmering petals unfurling under the tender moonlight. Like a drop of inky poison, spreading and spreading without control.

She sways a little.

There’s something she needs to tell him. There’s something he needs to know.

He might hate me, she thinks. He might truly hate me for it.

“Cardan,” she whispers.

“Yes.” His eyes have dropped from her eyes to somewhere lower.

The next time she sways, she sways a little bit into him, unable to stop the tilt of her body. His fingers tighten into the shining gold cape at her back, holding her against his chest.

“Cardan,” she says again. Their lips are so close, she almost brushes his name against his mouth. She is finding it hard to see anything but his face.

She thinks about how the last time she held off on telling him something important, he turned into a giant snake and she had to cut his head off.

He leans in.

The words tear themselves free from her throat.

“I kissed him,” she says.

Cardan stills. “What?” The confusion is clear in his voice.

“I had to,” she babbles, and this is how she’s sure something’s not entirely right with her. “He couldn’t know I was resistant to glamour. It was the only thing I had left. The only thing.”

“Jude.” There’s worry now, and a little bit of alarm. She could be wrong. The edges of her vision are going blurry. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Balekin,” she whispers, because his name is almost forbidden, because she has little of her strength left. She's near enough to see the shock widening his eyes. Shock, and something else. Something sharp. Something that can cut her.

“I kissed him,” she confesses, “and then I killed him.”

Jude’s world goes black.

____________

End Note:

This chapter is the final puzzle piece needed for the, ahem, tension relief to begin. The next chapter is the one I've been looking forward to writing the most, so that's something to look out for!

In the meantime, I have updates, inspo pics/moodboards, and an open inbox on my tumblr!

Thank you again for reading, and I would love to know what you thought of this chapter ❤️

(P.S. There’s also a The Magicians reference in there if you’re familiar with it 👀)

#jude x cardan #jurdan fic #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the folk of the air #tfota #jurdan #jurdanfanfic #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #tcp fic #tcp #twk #tqon #tqon spoilers #cardan #fic: homeland #zita writes

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space-------kid · 4 years ago

Text

rain, rain, come again.

Anime/Manga: Kimetsu no Yaiba Pairing: Tomioka Giyuu/fem!Reader Author’s notes: I had something already, but then I got inspired by a song and ended up with this one. This one-shot is written for @kimetsu-no-tomioka‘s follower milestone event. Congrats, Mizu, and more followers to come!!! 😄💕💕💕 A/N 2: Yes, this fic ended THAT way ehehehehehe 😝😂✌🏻

Summary:

Four times Giyuu met you in the rain, and one time in the sun.

“do you know you’re unlike any other?”

- thunder/boys like girls

----

You were just another face in the crowd when he first saw you.

There was nothing worth remembering in the encounter. You were just someone who went on with your life while the rain poured in a steady stream in the busy village you seemed to live in. And it was never normal for a Demon Slayer – much less a Hashira – to stay in a single place for too long. His journey led him to where demonic activity was afoot, and Giyuu was quick to forget this encounter with you once his mission was completed.

Giyuu didn’t believe in chance encounters, and even if he felt somewhat entranced when you smiled politely at him when your gazes met, he was convinced that he would never see you again.

----

The second time he saw you, he was injured and had to stop at a nearby Wisteria House to recuperate.

He learned that you and your family were traveling merchants, moving from one place to another where business was to be conducted. Your small caravan had been attacked by an equally small group of demons, and in exchange of saving your lives you helped the three Demon Slayers who saved your family in helping them take their injured to the Wisteria House.

The Water Hashira had been minding his own business when your family and the Demon Slayers came. He moved out of the way to let the injured pass, the exhausted Kanoe leaning against your shoulder as you helped her walk. Your arm brushed Giyuu’s, and you were quick to apologize to him with the same polite smile he remembered you gave him when he first saw you.

This was not a chance encounter, Giyuu reminded himself. Japan was wide, after all. But the rain pouring outside seemed to question his explanation as lightning flashed and thunder crackled in the grey heavens.

----

Of course it was raining again when the two of you crossed paths for the third time.

Giyuu was tracking a demon who preyed on female travellers, and you just happened to be conducting business on your own in the seaside village his mission had lead him into.

You were sprawled on the wet sand, cradling your bleeding arm where the demon had cut you. Blood was pouring almost steadily from your wound, and the demon moved sluggishly towards you in a drunken fashion.

Giyuu was quick to decapitate the fiend without having to use any form of his Breath Style. He had seen the effects of a marechi the demon had been under, and the Water Hashira was quick to deduce that your blood seemed to hold the same potency Shinazugawa Sanemi’s had against demonkind.

You were losing consciousness when he approached you. Giyuu had to apply the first aid treatment he reluctantly learned from a certain Pillar with a proclivity for poison and the healing arts. He had to take a closer look to make sure that it was you he’d rescued, and Giyuu began to question these encounters between the two of you with the rain as your witness.

It was becoming too suspicious to be called a coincidence, and Giyuu was starting to feel inclined to believe that the two of you might be connected by the rain in more ways than one. The rain had never failed to bring you to him and him to you. He didn’t believe in the concept of soulmates or anything of the sort, but even he had to admit that there might be something between the two of you for Fate to devise encounters of the pluvial kind.

“A-Are you…” you muttered feebly, forcing to keep your eyes open as Giyuu put pressure in your wound before bandaging it. “Are you alright? You… You m-must’ve fought that demon, haven’t you?”

“Worry about yourself,” Giyuu replied. Maybe he was being rude by not answering your question, but your well-being was his top priority and not his own. He sensed your exhaustion and decided to carry you in his arms. After all, he was sure that you had given the demon trouble for making it chase after you before it had you cornered on the shore.

He draped his haori over you despite already being drenched by the rain. Giyuu held you close as he ran to the nearest shelter he could find. An old couple who believed in the existence of demons and the Demon Slayer Corps received him, promising to look after you until you recovered in exchange for him killing the monster that terrorized the village’s tourists. They attempted to coax him to stay the night, but Giyuu declined. Demons would not rest and so he would not, too, he told them.

“Can I at least know the name of the man who saved my life?” you asked him.

Giyuu simply stared at you before pulling a small pouch from his pocket. It was surprisingly dry and smelled of wisteria, you noted when he handed you the object.

“You’re marechi, so I advise you to be more careful from now on,” he told you instead. “Demons hate wisteria, so make sure you carry some in your person at all times.”

If he noticed your flushed face at your question being ignored for the second time, Giyuu made no mention of it. As much as possible he had to avoid staring at your face. You were undeniably beautiful, and Giyuu had to constantly remind himself to ignore whatever hold you were starting to possess on him. Having feelings for someone while being employed in the deadliest occupation a person could have was out of the picture, not when either of you could die at any given moment, what with the existence of demons and all.

To his dismay, though, it seemed that you didn’t share his unspoken thoughts.

“Oh! Well, um, thank you,” you tell him. You grabbed his hand before he could withdraw and gave him a quick bow in greeting. “I’m [full name], and thank you for saving my life!”

Giyuu left immediately after your brief introduction, but he made sure not to forget your name and the way your smile stood out under the lamplight and the flash of lightning.

----

It was a week before Oyakata-sama’s prediction of the final battle, and it was also the fourth time Giyuu’s path crossed with yours.

He was patrolling his district despite the complete lack of demonic activity. Hunger led him to one of the restaurants he frequented, and he bumped against someone holding an umbrella in his haste.

Giyuu quickly caught the umbrella, blue eyes widening in recognition when he saw who he had bumped against.

“Mister Demon Slayer! It’s you again!”

Your voice melded perfectly with the gentle pitter patter of raindrops, catching Giyuu off guard as he held the umbrella for you. He was never inclined to believe that you would continue to remember him since it had almost been a year since he saw you last. Somewhere in the lonely recesses of his mind, Giyuu was convinced that he was not worth remembering and yet here you were, smiling kindly and gratefully up at him.

He must’ve spoken something along the lines out loud for you had let out a rather indignant gasp and gazed earnestly at him red-faced.

“Of course I remember you!” you told him, firm resolution in your voice. “It would be totally ungrateful of me to forget the man who saved my life!”

The loudness of your voice was starting to attract attention and so, on impulse and something out of character even for him, Giyuu took your hand and led you inside the restaurant. It was not until the two of you were seated that Giyuu began to process what he just did, his normally stoic expression softening with embarrassment at his seemingly rude behaviour.

“I’m sorry,” you both said, looking anywhere but each other in embarrassment. Giyuu was quietly thankful when you took the initiative to restart the conversation, your cheeks turning pink as you met his deceptively calm gaze.

“I want to thank you again for saving my life almost a year ago, Mister Demon Slayer,” you began as you took something from your haversack. Holding the object out, Giyuu is met with the same purple pouch of wisteria flowers he had given you to help ward off demons. The pouch had seen better days but appeared to be well taken care of. Of course Giyuu had expected that you’d replace it when the flowers dried out. He had not counted on you keeping the pouch and mending it when it needed to be repaired.

“You never gave me your name, but I know it will never stop me from remembering your face and voice,” you continued, smiling the same bright smile that haunted Giyuu whenever rain fell and lightning struck. “Please do not think that you’re forgettable.” And, with your cheeks flushed red – from affection or embarrassment, Giyuu could not place – you added, “You’re not.”

Giyuu was left feeling stumped and unable to reply. He couldn’t find the proper words to grasp, and anything that came to mind fell short of your sincere words. Instead he found himself staring at you, watching how the red on your face deepened into a blush that could definitely hold a candle against Kanroji’s. Staring was rude, he remembered Kocho telling him once, but he couldn’t help himself. The fact that you possessed a beauty that had undeniably charmed him was finally taking root in his heart and mind, more so when he was now given the opportunity to witness it in -- albeit rainy -- broad daylight.

“You, too,” he muttered, looking away bashfully and missing the hopeful look on your face, “are unforgettable.”

Instead of the awkward silence he expected to experience, the Water Hashira felt nothing but peace and contentment as the two of you remained seated in the little bubble of a world you created inside the restaurant.

“[Full name],” he called you, marvelling in the way your [colour] eyes widened in surprise at him having remembered not only your face but also your name. Giyuu stood from his seat, approached you in two quick strides, and bowed at you in formal greeting. “I am Tomioka Giyuu of the Demon Slayer Corps.”

He straightened just in time to see you standing up and bowing, too, your hands folded in front of you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Tomioka-san!”

Hearing you speak his name sent pleasant shivers down Giyuu’s spine. For the first time in a long while, he felt as if everything was right in the world, seeing you smile and having you know his name.

Contrary to his peer’s beliefs, Giyuu knew what love meant. He had seen it in the way Tsutako nee-san glowed with happiness in the presence of her fiancé. He had witnessed it whenever Iguro’s gaze softened in Kanroji’s presence. He had seen it in the unwavering devotion Amane-san had for Oyakata-sama. In the face of such actions of one person towards another, Giyuu knew that no amount of words could define nor describe such powerful emotion.

Love was a beautiful thing to be felt, to be given and taken, and for reasons he wished he could fathom Giyuu felt that you were someone who deserved to be given this. Looking back to your previous encounters with him and the amount of time he spent without your presence, he wished that love was something he could easily and freely give to you.

He knew what he felt for you. It was the kind of love that comes unexpectedly, the kind that settles in his soul with the knowledge that it was you, it had to be you and no one else. There was not a drop of obsession marring his heart’s desire – Giyuu was just struck by the realization that, despite the scarcity and rarity of your encounters, you were someone he could easily give his heart to.

No ifs, no buts.

Just you.

He knew what was stopping him so he stayed his hand, however. This world was rife with peril caused by demonkind, and love was a thing that could be cruelly ripped from his grasp – a thing that could be killed mercilessly in more ways than one.

And so against the heaviness of finally learning to feel for someone so strongly, Giyuu stayed his hand and bid you farewell at the end of the day, holding your blessings and wishes for his safety close to his heart.

----

For the first time in a long while, Giyuu knew what warmth felt like.

He wished to feel it for as long as he was allowed. But Muzan’s continued existence was a genuine threat to you and the rest of mankind. Giyuu was not ashamed of hoping, praying, at this very moment that he would be given a chance to survive in this all-out war against the progenitor of demons.

He dodged and attacked as ferociously as Shinazugawa, Giyuu knowing full well just how much his fellow Hashira had lost tonight – how much his fellow Demon Slayers have. The root of everyone’s misery stood in the middle of the battleground, looking down on them as if they were nothing but pests to be crushed.

Muzan’s existence had taught him what hatred felt like. Giyuu would see to this monster’s demise no matter the cost.

He would give anything to end this, to keep you and everyone else safe.

Down to one arm and bleeding on the ground, Giyuu held on to your smiles and your open and sincere nature.

Giyuu would give anything to end Muzan just so he could meet you again in a world without demons. Your chance encounters had taught him what the warmth of love felt like, and he owed you too much for doing so.

Please, he prayed to any higher being who might listen as one of Muzan’s attack knocked him back. God… anyone… please.

Giyuu heard the rain and your voice in his head. He forced himself back on his feet and sprinted towards Himejima to act as a support to the latter’s offensives.

Let us live.

----

Four months.

The world was now free from the death and suffering caused by Muzan and his ilk. If he was to be honest with himself, Giyuu never thought that he would survive in the battle against his wishes. With the short-lived agony of witnessing the boy he considered a younger brother turned into a demon, the former Water Hashira despairingly thought that Tanjiro would be another pawn of Muzan’s to rebuild the chain of misery and death and that all of their sacrifices would be in vain.

Giyuu would not be ashamed to admit that he’d shed tears of gratitude and happiness when the gods finally chose to smile in their favour in the end.

The Demon Slayer Corps might be disbanded, but he – alongside the only surviving Hashira, Shinazugawa (it never ceased to amaze Giyuu that they could finally be proper friends) – found himself visiting the young Oyakata-sama and his sisters. They were forever indebted to the Ubuyashiki family, and would never sever their bonds with them just because their sacred mission had finally come to an end.

He went home to Urokodaki-sensei after everything, opting to spend the rest of his days with his former teacher and father-figure and knowing that Sabito and the rest of the children would approve and be thankful of. Giyuu might not see Urokodaki-sensei’s face but he was sure that the old man was just as happy that the two of them could start their lives anew.

Four months have come and gone, and not once had Giyuu stopped thinking about you.

He knew what he had to do now that he was unburdened with his previous goals. He could pack his things and go on a journey in search for you. After all, you had promised him that you won’t forget him.

Not forgetting and falling in love were two different things, however. Giyuu didn’t even know – wasn’t even sure – if you would have someone so scarred, someone so broken who was just beginning to learn how to live a normal life again. The absence of his right hand never failed to bring doubt to his mind.

Giyuu looked at the horizon, blue gaze taking in the sight of rain clouds so far away. Would you two meet again when the rain came? Or would he be standing alone in the sun, unable to see you anymore?

He wished for it to rain. The rain always brought you to him. Maybe if it did, he would see you standing behind him for the fifth time. And maybe then he would ask you to stay, would ask for your permission to let him court you and show that you had come to mean something so profoundly beautiful to him.

Giyuu closed his eyes and basked in the warmth of the sun. Thunder rumbled too faintly from a distance, and he started to count.

One.

Maybe, by some form of miracle…

Two.

You would find him…

Three.

Just as he had found you.

“Tomioka-san?”

#tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyuu x reader #giyuu x reader #kny giyuu x reader #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kny

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ericsonclan · 4 years ago

Text

Wash Free the Blood

Summary: The Ericson pirates stop at a port town where everything goes wrong

Word Count: 6739

Read on AO3:

Prisha felt the cool wind blow across her face as the smell of the sea danced around her nose. Taking a moment, Prisha brushed back the few wisps that had curled round her face before placing her hand on the side of the ship. In a single fluid motion Prisha jumped over the side and landed on the dock with ease. A short breath escaped her lips as her eyes wandered round the island where they had decided to stop. The waters were a beautiful ombre, turquoise changing to deep blue the further the water level went. The water ebbed and flowed with small waves that crashed across the white sands. Palm trees decorated the island, gifting it with shade and some coconuts. It seemed to be a rather small community with a small share of houses at the base before a long walkway led to a sort of white mansion. Prisha paused for a moment. Something about this place felt oddly familiar but she couldn’t quite figure out why. It felt as though the answer was on the tip of her tongue when she heard footsteps stroll down the walkway. She glanced back and a warm, loving smile appeared on her face as she saw it was Violet. The blonde pirate looked up at Prisha and returned the smile before casual intertwining her fingers with hers. The two gazed at each other for a moment before Prisha captured Violet’s lips in a quick, soft kiss. When they pulled apart their eyes locked once more, filled with love.

“Oh boy!” Louis hopped down onto the deck, ending the short moment the two had shared. “This island looks amazing! Right, Clem?” He looked over at his wife with a warm, bright smile before offering her a hand as she made her way to the deck. Clementine accepted the help before replying.

“Yeah, it really is amazing,” She looked out at the town before the wild laughs of Willy, AJ and Mitch appeared behind her. The trio shot passed her and scampered towards the shore, each of them excited to see a new place. Soon all the other pirates exited Ol’ Kickass.

“It sure is lovely,” Sophie gave a soft smile that faltered for a moment as her eyes wandered down to the braces on her arms. Her mind returned to that dreaded day, the day Minnie had died. They had fought so hard for that moment and for what? It filled Sophie’s heart with deep guilt and sorrow.The redheaded pirate was pulled from her swirling thoughts when she felt something warm embrace her hand. Glancing down, she noticed that it was Tenn’s hand. Her younger brother gave a gentle smile up to his sister who tried her best to give it back in kind. Marlon glanced back at the pair for a moment, wondering if he should say anything but before he could Rosie had drawn his attention once more. His eyes grew large before he gave a whistle, commanding Rosie to get back on the ship and stand guard. The pitbull looked saddened by it for a moment but quickly licked Marlon’s hand and ran back onto Ol’ Kickass.

“What's the name of this place again?” Brody asked as she walked alongside Mitch who had calmed down a bit.

“I believe it's name was Ellister.” Aasim called out from the back of the pack. His hand swayed gently with Ruby’s as they walked forward.

“I can’t wait to check this place out!” Willy exclaimed, giving a toothy grin to AJ who was now walking alongside Louis and Clementine. The shaggy haired teen was so lost in his excitement that he failed to notice when he ran into Prisha and Violet, causing their hands to slip away from each other. “Shit, sorry!” Willy gave an apologetic smile to the couple before the back of his shirt was nabbed by Brody and he was pulled back.

“You’re gonna walk with us, Willy,” Brody gave the teen a scolding look before looking back at Prisha. The auburn pirate’s gentle smile faltered for a moment when she saw that Prisha was deep in thought. “Prish?”

“Hmm?” Prisha shook herself out of her thoughts. “My deepest apologies,” Prisha thought to speak more on the growing sense that she knew of this place. But she brushed past it and continued to chat with the crew happily as they began to make their way into the town.

Soon the conversation became heated as different crew members talked about whether or not any of them could cook as great as Omar. Many had taken the side of not being able. Omar seemed to have been blessed by the gods of the seas and winds when it came to cooking so to even think to obtain that level seemed unrealistic. That, however, didn’t stop a few from speaking up that they probably could, mainly Mitch.

“I bet I could cook us some good grub,” Mitch gave a cocky smile before looking over at his love. She didn’t seem to agree. “What?”

“I highly doubt-” Brody’s sentence was cut off though when a voice appeared in front of them.

“Stop right there!” A man dressed in fine deep blue clothes called out, a rapier by his side along with a sidearm. Soon more and more men appeared with him. The Ericson pirates stopped in their tracks, unsure whether they had already been recognized even though they highly doubted that was the case. Aasim had checked to make sure they had been nowhere near this area before. After all the pain they had gone through they simply wanted a break. But then why did the man leading this group look so angry?

Before any of the crew could hope to put together the pieces, the man grabbed Prisha by the collar and dragged her forward. He then gave a harsh hit to Prisha’s gut causing a thread of saliva to escape her lips. The pirates began to move forward but the man didn’t stop. Instead he threw Prisha to the ground and placed his knee on her back while holding back her good arm, twisting it sharply. Prisha let out a sharp, short hiss of pain.

“I never thought I’d live to see that day,”

“The fuck do you think you’re doing!” Violet dashed forward but was immediately picked up by another one of the men. He wrapped his arms through hers and held her up. The blonde pirate’s legs kicked around wildly in the air and she struggled to break free. The other pirates moved forward, ready to help but froze when the other men drew their muskets and aimed them at the crew. Louis held out his arm and stood before Clementine and AJ while Mitch and Brody both moved Willy behind them. Everyone’s guards were up as they tried to protect even one member of their family.

Violet kicked frantically, her pale green eyes glaring at the man that still held Prisha to the ground. “You get your fucking hands off her!” Violet spat, venom in her voice as she saw the man press her wife’s face against the dirt.

“I wouldn’t be so rude,” The man shot back with a sneer. “I’m simply doing my duty as a privateer. You see, I know of this pirate. This filth of the sea. You ran with the Deliverance,” The name made Prisha’s eyes grow large and fill with an array of different emotions; none were positive. “How I’d love to kill you right here and now for what you’ve done,” The privateer’s hand trembled with rage, hovering over his flintlock pistol. Violet struggled once more but was quickly silenced with a harsh hit across the face. The sight made Prisha’s heart tighten.

“Please! There’s no need to hurt her! It’s me who you have an issue with!”

The privateer looked surprised by the fear and worry in Prisha’ eyes as she looked towards her wife. The side of the blonde pirate’s face was still red from the force of the blow. The privateer looked between the two of them and soon his anger returned stronger than before. He turned to the Ericson pirates all of whom looked like they wanted to tear apart the group of privateers. “Drop your weapons! All of them!” he instructed before unholstering his pistol and aiming it at Violet. “Now!”

“Listen to him,” Louis took out his sword and tossed it in front of him. One by one the pile of weapons grew higher as the crew threw in any they had. They weren't going to risk Violet’s life.

“Good. Bind their hands. The duke would love nothing more than to see this one,” He spat towards Prisha. “And if her company is anywhere near as bad, we’ll be doing the seas a favor.” The crew all tried to resist, threatening the privateers as they moved to harm those they loved, but within seconds they were all getting their hands tied. Prisha felt her heartbeat pound in her ears as she watched her family slowly be guided towards the mansion in the distance. In that moment the realization struck her. That's why this place had felt vaguely familiar. It must’ve been one of the places the Deliverance had pillaged years ago. The brutality of those years, the sheer amount of bloodshed and bodies that she had left in her wake, it was all catching up with her and now it would bring Violet and the others in harm’s way.

The crew walked in silence, all of them terrified of what was to come. Some showed it clearly on their faces while others held anger as their main emotion, glaring at the men who pushed them forward. As they neared the building the details became more clear. The white mansion stood on a small elevation overlooking boulders covered in greenery, trees of all sorts growing beside the stone staircases that led up to a small balcony and the front doors. Large windows intricately designed stood proudly by the entrance where pillars shot up from the ground, holding and building into the roof. As they were guided towards the doors Prisha took note of how well the wood of the mansion had held up. This building must have been fairly old and yet it looked nearly brand new.

The privateers pushed the crew into the building which was covered in hardwood flooring. Chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, complementing the multiple tables, desk and shelves that covered the room, each one polished and handcrafted with different types of wood. Large windows brought forth the strong, warm light that showed off the delicate and beautifully sculptured statues that were on display as well as maps and other papers that lay scattered here and there. Whoever was living here was sitting in the lap of luxury, leading a privileged life in their small hideaway from the outside world.

The crew was guided forward towards a room guarded by twin doors made from mahogany. With a mighty push of the doors it was revealed to be a cartography room and a rather large one at that. There hovering over a map with a quill tucked between his middle and ring finger was the duke. In his other hand was a glass of wine, the contents of which swirled around lazily while the man stared at the map intensely. His brown eyes wandered up and noticed the captain of the privateers before he caught sight of the others. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what brought him here today when his eyes fell upon Prisha.

“You,” He placed down his glass and walked in front of his table. “I remember you. Your crew, The Deliverance, butchered the people all around these islands. The blood ran deep in the waters as you heartless bastards pillaged our towns and sliced down our people like it was nothing.” The duke walked forward, his eyes dancing with unyielding hate. With a swift flick of his hand he struck Prisha, causing her to nearly fall over. The different members of the crew lunged forward, each of them wanting to reach out and keep her safe.

“You bastard!” Violet tried to move forward.

“Leave Prisha alone!” Willy snapped at the man but was quickly quieted once his arm was twisted behind him.

“Stop! Please!” Brody begged but her pleas fell on deaf ears. All of the members of the crew started shouting until the duke spoke up again.

“Be silent or I’ll have you join her!” His eyes looked back at Prisha. “I should have you executed for your crimes! Your body held up on display for all to see that justice will be served against those who have wronged us!” Those words made Prisha’s eyes shoot up and lock with the duke's while her friends and wife desperately tried to break free. All of them were terrified by the threat. Before anyone could speak though, a hidden door was opened from behind a bookcase, revealing a tall, short haired man. He was dressed in the finest threads a person could afford. He had a golden jacket detailed with blue flowers that complemented the rest of his shirt and white pants nicely. A vest of the same pattern and colors lay beneath the jacket while the white ruffles of his undershirt spilled out from beneath his vest.

“Father?” The man walked forward and stood beside the duke. “What’s going on?”

“The privateers seem to have caught some pirates including one that ran with The Deliverance.”

The name made the young man flinch; his expression showed how deeply his mind was plagued by those words. “Did they run with The Deliverance too?” The young man’s eyes wandered over to the Ericson pirates.

“No!” Prisha’s voice cracked with desperation. “I was the sole pirate who sailed under that flag!”

The duke glanced over at Prisha, studying her face for a moment. It seemed as though he didn’t fully buy what she was saying. His son’s face, however, held a different look. One with more sympathy to Prisha’s words. His brown eyes scanned hers and noticed something within their depths.

“James,” The duke’s voice snapped the young man’s attention back towards his father. “You don’t need to bother yourself with this. If you needed me for something, you may ask once I am done handing down the sentence.”

James gave a short nod, his gaze turning to the ground for a second then back towards the crew. “What sentence is that?”

“Execution for every last one of them starting with The Deliverance scum,” The duke’s eyes locked onto Prisha, holding nothing but hatred and murderous intent.

“Even the children?” James glanced over at the youngest three of the Ericson pirates.

“Yes, they are too far gone to be spared. After growing up in that lifestyle there is no way to undo it. They all must perish.”

That got a reaction out of the Ericson pirates, all of them shouting once again. Some had nothing but pure anger in their words while others pleaded and begged, all of them trying to get the duke to spare the others’ lives.

The duke felt his blood boil as he gave the signal. In unison the privateers lifted up their muskets towards the pirates once more. “If any of so much as say another word, I will kill your captain right here and now!” He motioned with his hand and the end of a musket pressed against the back of Louis’ skull, ready to end his life in a second should the order be given.

“Father!” James took a step forward. “There is no need for such a show of force. They are all clearly terrified and we already have them captive. Their weapons are no longer with them.”

His son’s words made the duke’s expression soften for a moment. “Fine,” The duke tsked. “Throw them in the cells! Their executions will take place at dawn. Search their ship for anything useful to sell and gather their weapons.”

The privateers nodded and began to drag the Ericson pirates away. The crew all struggled fruitlessly to break free when James spoke up once more in his soft voice.

“Wait! Don’t take them away yet!”

The privateers stopped in their tracks and glanced up at the duke’s son.

“James, what is the meaning of this?” The duke’s face held a level of annoyance to it.

“I think they may be able to help me,” James noticed the look of utter confusion on his father’s face. “You asked me to travel to the edge of the Hastbron Peninsula to be a diplomat for the feuding sides. However with how vicious and relentless The Deliverance has been lately to our neighboring allies and with their captain still at large the privateers must stay here.”

Prisha could feel bile forming in the back of her throat at the mention of the Deliverance’s captain. Her eyes flickered with hatred and fear for a split second but soon returned to an unreadable state. James stared at her for a moment then continued. “If I left Ellister with the privateers this place would be defenseless, but if I had another mode of transportation and guides then I could start the journey and move towards strengthening our bonds and allies from across the sea.”

“And you think these worthless scum would really take you? They’d slit your throat the instant you left!" The duke spat with anger.

“I disagree,” James shook his head. “If we strike a deal with them, I think they will help.”

“And what deal are you proposing?” The duke crossed his arms and looked towards his son.

“They take me across the sea and make the five day journey with me and then return me home. In exchange we will guarantee their lives and not execute them.”

The Ericson pirates’ eyes grew large and they each shared looks, disbelief and hope dancing within them. The duke remained silent for a minute, his eyes darting left and right as he studied the ground thoughtfully. His mind weighed out the options for a few minutes before he spoke.

“Fine, but Ricardo will journey with you.” The duke motioned towards the captain of the privateers then gestured for Louis to be brought forward. “You will take my son towards the Hastbron Peninsula, unharmed and alive. If you so much as harm my son or the captain of my privateers, I will hunt you and your crew down to the ends of the earth and give you the most brutal end imaginable. You’ll be begging for death before I grant it,” His eyes locked with Louis’. With a frantic nod he had agreed to the terms. “Good,” The duke strolled back then turned to face the pirates. “Twenty days. If you do not return by then, I will send out my men. As insurance that you won’t go back on your word, the youngest of your crew will stay here with me.” The duke gestured towards AJ who was brought forward. The duke looked at the crew, happy that he seemed to have made the right call. Based on the look in Louis’ eyes he assumed this to be his son. “Twenty days, or I will kill you all, starting with this one.”

“No!” Clementine lunged forward but was pulled back by the privateers. “I’ll stay behind. Just give AJ back!”

The duke shook his head. “I’ve made my decision. Take my offer or I’ll schedule the executions.”

Clementine bit down on her lip, her anger boiling deep within her as tears threatened to slip from her eyes.

“We’ve agreed.” Aasim spoke up. “But we can’t very well do our part of the deal with bound hands.”

“My privateers will cut you free once you are back at your ship. James, go prepare for the voyage.”

James gave a quick nod and was gone. With nothing more to say, the duke motioned for the pirates to be taken away. The crew was pushed back through the doors and roughly guided to the docks. When they arrived back at Ol’ Kickass Rosie’s ears immediately peaked up before folding down against her head. Baring her teeth, the pitbull began to growl at the group of men that still held the crew captive.

“Tell your mutt to back off,” Ricardo snapped. Marlon gave a short nod and with a sharp whistle Rosie reluctantly withdrew.

“Sorry,” James’ soft voice appeared from behind them as he ran down the path. The tailcoats of his jacket gently fluttered in the wind as he skidded to a halt. Ricardo motioned for the binds to be cut. Once again the guns were lifted on the Ericson pirates as they were instructed to gather their weapons. Their eyes focused on the privateer’s muskets as they cautiously picked up their weapons. Tenn moved forward to gather AJ’s weapons, a sad look overtaking his eyes as he stared at the shivs in his hands. He was pulled away from it in a moment, however, when Sophie placed her hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring smile. Once the weapons were gathered Ricardo demanded that they set sail at once.

“You heard the man!” Louis shouted and stood by the wheel, his hands firmly gripping it. “We set sail for the Hastbron Peninsula!” The crew immediately went to work, dashing around the ship to get it ready for the journey. None of them wanted to waste a second when AJ’s life stood in the balance. James wandered around left and right, offering his help but none of the pirates took it. They didn’t want a bright-eyed, bushy tailed rich boy to slow them down. It wasn’t until Aasim called out for assistance in finding the location that James finally had a role to play.

“It’s right there,” James pointed at a small circle of islands. “Usually when my father took voyages there we would speak of him taking this route. The winds were particularly good there.”

Aasim looked at the map, studying it carefully. “Alright, thank you,” He moved past James and ran up to the wheel to discuss the course with Louis. The captain’s face was plagued with dread and worry but he forced a smile towards his friend.

“Louis!” Marlon’s voice called up from the deck. “We’re ready!”

Louis gave a firm nod and began to steer the ship. His eyes focused on guiding it before they wandered over towards Clementine. Her face was hidden behind the rigging as she walked over towards the center mast. Even though her expression was hidden, Louis could feel the pain and worry radiating off of her. Grabbing onto the rope and twisting it around her arm, Clementine kicked the lever and shot herself into the air, landing directly by the crow’s nest. She needed some time alone. Louis glanced around at his crew. None of them were doing well. Hell, he was a nervous wreck himself. Regardless, they needed to push onward.

So they continued to sail, all of them working in tense silence. The hours flew by as the winds filled the sails and guided Ol’ Kickass towards its destination. Soon nightfall was upon them and they all sat around eating the stew Omar had prepared. No one spoke at first. Everyone was on edge, their walls high as they worried for their loved ones. Ricardo sat across from Prisha and beside James, his eyes never leaving her. Violet grimaced as she finished her bowl. Once she was done she scooted closer to Prisha, her eyes glaring at the captain of the privateers from time to time. Rosie sat beside Marlon, growling softly at James.

The young man cleared his throat and placed down the bowl. “The stew was delicious,” James glanced over at Omar before he looked away, his gaze focused on the ground. Rosie’s continuous growling made him glance up though. “What's the dog’s name?”

“Rosie.” Marlon rested his hand on top of the pitbull’s head who looked up at him with soft eyes. He smiled down at Rosie then glanced over at James who seemed intrigued by the dog. “Do you want to pet her?”

James’ eyes grew large at the suggestion. “Oh, I’m not sure she likes me,”

“Nah. All you have to do is meet her at her level and let her get your scent. I can show you if you want.” Marlon offered.

“Absolutely not!” Ricardo shook his head. “No harm is to come to the duke’s son.”

“Rosie’s a sweetheart, I swear. “Marlon held up a hand and placed the other over his heart.

“It’s alright,” James moved forward then squatted down,

“Now just hold out your hand,” James followed Marlon’s instructions and ever so cautiously held out his hand. Rosie sniffed it intently for a few seconds before licking the young man’s hand. James gave a soft chuckle and patted the top of Rosie’s head.

“I’m calling it a night,” Clementine rose from her spot and began to walk towards the captain’s quarters.

“I’ll come too,” Louis jogged forward and walked beside his love, she didn’t bother to look up, her eyes cast down and too focused on her worry to notice anything else. Louis’ face fell, his hand moving away from Clementine’s as the pair walked forward. One by one the rest of the pirates left, heading off to their hammocks to call it a night. Ricardo’s eyes followed Prisha and Violet as they disappeared below decks before he loudly announced that he would be turning in for the night as well.

“I’ll take the first watch!” Willy offered, scampering off to start the climb to the crow nest but first he quickly ran over and gave Brody a quick hug. “Night, Brody! Night, Mitch!”

“Goodnight, WIlly,” Brody gave a gentle smile over to the teen before he began the climb.

“I’ll be back in two hours for my shift!” Mitch called out before he walked hand in hand below decks with his love.

“I’m heading to bed too,” Ruby gave a gentle kiss to Aasim who clasped her hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

“I’ll join you soon,” Aasim watched Ruby walk away for a minute then glanced out towards the open sea. Sophie stood on the helm of the ship, her blue eyes focused on the seas while Rosie lay by her feet. Marlon had promised to look after Tenn while Sophie took first shift at the helm.

James scanned the ship for a moment then glanced back at Aasim. “Can I ask you a question?” Aasim looked over at James. “Sure,”

“I know that one of you ran with The Deliverance,”

“Prisha,”

“I was wondering which flag you sail under.” James asked, his arms wrapped around his knees.

“We’re the Ericson pirates.” Aasim replied simply.

“I’ve never heard of you,” James’ nose scrunched in concentration for a minute as his mind tried to decide the truth of Aasim’s answer.

“I wouldn’t suspect you to. We’ve never set sail in your waters until now,” Aasim’s eyes fell for a moment. “We’re not exactly on the same level as the pirates that roam these waters.”

“How so?” “We don’t kill. At least our code directs only to take life when it is absolutely necessary.” Aasim’s words made James’ eyes grow large. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Pirates that didn’t kill on a whim. It was unheard of, at least to him. “You’re surprised.” Aasim noted.

“Sorry, I...” James took a breath when Aasim spoke up once more.

“It's unusual.” Aasim’s fingers traced the deck. “So, why is it so important for you to reach Hastbron Peninsula?”

“I need to get a treaty signed. Two of the islands have been feuding for years now but the only way we can all survive The Deliverance’s attacks is by putting aside our differences and uniting. We have to go the peaceful route and learn to work together or we’re no better than pi-” James caught himself on that word and looked down guilty. “I want to keep Ellister safe.”

Aasim nodded. A silence passed between the pair. Silently the pirate rose from his spot. “I need to check one more thing before turning in. I’d advise you to call it a night.”

“Alright,” James gave a nod and watched for a moment as Aasim disappeared into the cartography room. The duke’s son looked up at the starry sky for a moment then got up and went below decks to sleep.

The next three days were tense. None of the pirates were able to concentrate; none could with AJ stuck back on Ellister as a hostage. It had become clear after the first night that Clementine was struggling. Her eyes were red and her face dry from tears. Louis tried his best to comfort her and be by her side but there was only so much he could do.

Ricardo continued to watch Prisha like a hawk, not trusting her for a minute, which put Violet more on edge. The blonde pirate never left her wife’s side unless it was absolutely necessary. Nothing felt certain over these last few days. The only positives were the few times some of the crew tried to lift the other’s spirits and the short talks here and there with the duke’s son. James was by no means a bad person - after all he had been the one to give the crew a chance to live - but that didn’t separate him from what his father had done. Still, small moments here and there revealed the young man to be a kind soul if not a bit naive and sheltered, one who truly did seem to want the best outcome in this scenario.

Everything was heading towards this being a safe and fast journey. The winds had favored them and the seas had not caused nary a harsh wave nearby. They were only a day’s travel away when Willy spotted something.

“Yo! Louis! I see something out in the water!” The teen’s voice made Louis stroll forward, accepting a spyglass offered to him by Prisha. The captain held it up to his eye and looked out. The sight sent his heart sinking and made a shiver run up his spine. There waving in the wind was a black flag with a skull and crossbones. Pirates. The last thing the crew needed to deal with. He was about to make the call to run but due to the knots at which the enemy ship was traveling they wouldn’t get away in time. They’d have to fight.

“It’s an enemy ship! Everyone man your station and prepare to fight!” Louis’ instructions made all the pirates run to get ready. Most of them worked to prepare the cannons while the rest made sure their weapons were in place. Louis looked around, his heart racing when he noticed that neither the captain of the privateers nor the duke’s son had retreated below decks. “James. You need to-”

The sound of the enemy’s canon cut Louis off as the shot barely missed the ship and caused a loud splash. HIs eyes shot over and grew large in disbelief. The enemy’s ship was already beside theirs. How was it so fast?

There standing on the side of the ship and holding onto one of the ropes was a man with long black hair and hard, cold brown eyes. He wore a blue pirate coat covered in an intricate design. A red sash was tied around his hip and a brown sash filled with knives lay across his chest. The collar of his white undershirt blew in the wind along with the red feather that stood tucked away in his black pirate hat. A smug, cocky smile covered his face as his ship halted to a stop. “I believe you have something of mine,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Louis strolled forward, his hand resting on top of the hilt of his sword. “Leave now and we can both go about our days.”

The enemy captain stared at Louis for a second before he shook his head. “Sorry, but he’s coming with me.” The man pointed his blade towards James who looked shocked by that statement.

“You can’t have him,” Louis’ words made a frown appear on the captain’s face.

“I didn’t ask for your permission!” the man spat angrily.

“What should we do, Jesse?” A man with black hair and a rapier asked the captain.

“The usual. Men, kill who you have to! We don’t leave until he’s on our ship!” With those words, grappling hooks flew through the air, hooking onto the side of Ol’ Kickass and securing the two ships in place.

Jesse swung across and landed with a hard thunk. Ricardo gave a war cry and charged forward, his sword swinging down towards the enemy pirate. But it never reached its target. Jesse sidestepped it with ease and with one move rammed his cutlass deep into the privateer’s gut. Ricardo let out a shaky gasp as he was lifted into the air and tossed to the side, his body landing in the water and staining it red. The Ericson pirates watched in horror at how easily Jesse had taken down the privateer but they had no time to focus on that.

Soon their ship was swarming with enemy pirates who attacked viciously, forcing them away from their cannons. Violet’s eyes flew around the ship, desperately trying to use her limited sight in the midst of the chaos. She saw that Prisha was in a heated duel with two pirates. Brody dashed over to help while Marlon sicced Rosie on the nearest pirate that was about to attack Louis. Her pale green eyes continued to scan the area when she noticed Jesse slowly walking towards her. She was in his way, blocking his path to James.

With a deep breath she dashed forward and swung out her ironclad knuckles towards the pirate. The captain dodged it with ease but Violet was relentless, attacking again and again, searching for an opening even though he gave none. Jesse stared at her with curiosity. He had noticed the burn marks that plagued her eyes, one of which was completely milky. She was blind and as such should be an easy opponent. He sidestpeed her attack and rushed for her blind spot, slashing out his sword with a quick flick of his wrist. But to his surprise it was blocked by the blonde pirate’s dagger. Jesse backstepped, impressed by the block for a blind pirate. It wouldn’t deter him though; he would simply have to find a weakness and attack it.

He continued to dodge her attacks, throwing some jabs here and there to see how well she could adjust. After a few minutes he had a pretty confident idea of her abilities. With that in mind he feinted an attack to the left, causing Violet to put her defense on that side before he jabbed her side harshly with the hilt of his sword. Violet gasped out a shaky breath and Jesse used the opportunity to grab her collar to pull her closer before digging his foot into her gut and sending her flying towards the main mast. Grabbing one of his knives he tossed it towards his defeated opponent, figuring if the harsh hit didn’t do her in the knife would.

“Shit! Violet!” Sophie called out and dashed forward. Her right arm wrapped around Violet while her left blocked the incoming knife. Before the redheaded pirate had a chance to breathe a sigh of relief though her back collided with the main mast, absorbing most of the damage Violet would’ve sustained. With a cough Sophie crumbled, her grip loosening around Violet as her head fell forward.

“Sophie!” Violet turned to her friend before she grasped her side, hissing in pain. “Damn it,”

Jesse continued on but only made a few steps before a loud voice rang out. “Hey, asshole!” Mitch swung his dagger viciously towards Jesse who blocked it deftly. Mitch skidded across the deck but closed the distance between them in a minute. Again and again he jabbed and sliced with his dagger. His footwork and speed were his strength as he nicked Jesse’s arm ever so slightly. Jesse tsked, his eyes hardening as he worked to defeat Mitch. He studied him carefully, easily finding his weak point, and after a harsh blow to Mitch’s hand forced him to drop his knife the pirate captain threw him overboard.

“Mitch!” Brody called out and tried to go towards him but was blocked by more opponents. Jesse continued forward, fights breaking out and swords clashing all around him when all of the sudden he froze in place. The hairs on his arms stood straight up as he looked towards Clementine. This pirate, she was different. He could feel the aura of bloodlust radiating off her. With one look he could tell she had killed many; her aura was practically swimming in blood. Her golden eyes locked with his and hardened.

Jesse took a recentering breath and then rushed into the fight. His sword clashed with Clementine’s. Metal screeched against metal before both were pushed back. Clementine was the first to strike, sending out a flurry of well-timed and deadly attacks. Jesse carefully blocked them, his eyes studying her movements as he tried to learn her strengths and weaknesses. Both of them received cuts as the fight continued. Clementine tried to land a hard blow to Jesse’s side but he blocked it only to get punched in the face. He spit out blood with anger. His attacks grew harsher as he chipped away at her defenses until he had pushed her towards the side of the ship. Clementine swung out her sword but Jesse quickly disarmed her, causing it to fall to the deck with a faint clatter. His hand found her throat as he pushed her further and further back.

Clementine struggled, her mouth trying to reach his hand to bite it, but Jesse wouldn't give her the chance. Kicking up Clementine’s cutlass, the pirate captain caught it and jammed it into her shoulder, sliding through her flesh and embedding it into the side of the ship. Clementine let out a shaky gasp as the pain coursed through her body. Jesse took a step back, regaining his breath as he reached for a knife to finish the job.

A cry from his right, however, drew away his attention as a short redhead dashed forward. Ruby lunged, her sword raised, but Jesse simply dodged it before kicking her in the face and sending her flying back. Ruby hit the deck hard before rolling to a stop.

“You bastard!” Clementine hissed with venom as she struggled to pull the sword free. Jesse was about to unsheathe the knife when he felt another strong aura of bloodlust from behind him. It sent a shiver down his spine. Risking a look he saw Prisha sprinting to help her friend. He didn’t have time for this. Running forward he pushed a young pirate with short hair out of the way and stood before James. The duke’s son struggled to unsheathe his rapier but Jesse simply took it and tossed it into the sea.

“You’re coming with me,” Jesse gave a smug look and without waiting a second longer grabbed James and tossed him over his shoulder. Dodging battles on the Ericson deck, he ran toward the other ship. Jesse grabbed onto a rope and swung over to the other side, his men soon following suit. Within seconds the ropes were cut and the two ships were drifting apart. Jesse placed a foot on the side of his ship and looked on at the ship he had left. Many of the pirates lay wounded and dazed; the captain of the ship watched on as their ships parted, a look of terror in his eyes.

“You should've given him up right away. No one stops me from getting what I want. Until next time when we meet at Davy Jones’ Locker!” Jesse lifted his hand and gave the signal. Cannon shots rang out as the cannonballs collided and crashed against the ship. After a few seconds Jesse gave another signal to stop firing and with one final look turned around, ready to get the second part of his plan underway.

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