#but in his death he would pass on the torch of his 'golden heart' to her

[goatpaste]

mmm thinking with my stupid brain about how i'd rewrite mountain tim so hard its making me ill

[thebelugawhalefriend]

The Men Before The Rose - Yan!Royal Harem x Reader

PART ONE

CW: RELIGIOUS THEMES, EXECUTION MENTIONS, Homophobia

Note: This is a sequel to the first story! An expansion into Rose's heritage and how the world works for them. As someone pointed out, it's rather sudden how the homophobia shows itself and comes off as unartful. So! This will mostly dive into the division about same sex couples.

Months passed before you could consider yourself okay again. The isolation from your family and friends was something you slowly had to overcome the pain of. It still stings like an arrow to the heart, but living on was the least you could do for yourself.

In the meantime, you decide to busy yourself with finding the history of the royals. Rose isn't too excited to share in his own history, only providing you one book. Even given the sparse information Rose would provide, his family's long time rule was no mere feat to scoff at. What draws your attention most is his direct father, Aquila. Upon seeing his name on one of the pages, you turn to read the chapter dedicated to his reign.

Before our red haired king had assumed the throne, Aquila Florian sat upon the gilded seat of power. Hair as golden as the rays of sun, eyes a similar shade. No man nor woman could even compare to his mere size- Murals along the castle walls could only paint his figure from the top of his chest if they wished to paint his face!

By his side was his appointed wife that he named Tyto. Her previous first name has been erased from our records, but his command ruled that her name be changed to fit his rigid structure. In fact, much of his rule came from...

The book quickly proved itself to be a rather boring account of events. But, there is perhaps another way to experience the story. You close the leather book in your hands and set it onto the dresser, lifting up and wandering out of the bedroom.

"My Lady, to where shall I accompany you?" You're well aware of the guard outside of the room, and yet he never ceases to surprise you when you step out. "I told you before, you can call me (Y/N)..."

"Not when you've been wed to the king. I've been ordered to call you Lady and nothing more."

"Then... Alright, I don't wish to cause you trouble. Do you think you could guide me to Rose's study?"

The iron clad guard pauses for a moment, "His... His study is more than private, Your Grace. I wouldn't be allowed to lead you there- much less fulfill my duty to your care."

You shake your head a little. It's always been this excuse time and time again, "Is it a sin to want to know more about the man I married? About the family I am part of now?"

"With all due respect, not even Queen Florian has ventured within the study. I cannot let you violate the trust of the king- nay, your husband..."

"He's violated my own trust the day he commanded I stay within these walls and never see anyone I care for again. I'm not just asking as a..." You struggle to utter the mere words, "As a royal, but as a confused human being... Please, I must see the study."

The walk to Rose's study was short, but the tension made it seem like hours. Charles is anything but a hard hearted man. A tender gentleman just above your own height. While he was commanded to keep watch by the threat of death, he couldn't bear to see another moment pass with you longing for more.

"Thank you... Thank you so so-"

"Please make it swift, My Lady. Rose will return in a few hours."

You nod, easily slipping into the unlocked study.

Creeeaaaakkk....

The oakwood door moans as it reveals the room to you. It took your eyes but a moment to adjust to the darkness inside, but there's no mistaking what you're seeing. The eerily large room holds plenty of large murals that paint the elongated walls. Moonlight mixed with dim flames of the torches just barely illuminates the inside from behind you, but God almighty you want to see more.

"I'll need light..."

Closing the door carefully, you snatch yourself a candle from one of the nearby side tables and hold it to a lit torch. After all, no noble could leave their castle barren of a lighting system. It takes you little time to slip right back in and start to walk along the hall of artwork. Strangely enough, this didn't feel like a study. No, this felt like a room dedicated to telling the tale of their rule. You can animate in your head just what each painting told...

Men upon horses trample over others of their own kind. White stallions proudly sported iron clad warriors upon their backs, while at their hooves were unarmored and weaponless men. Swords glowed a beaming sun yellow to declare a holy victory to claim the land they fought for.

A man with white hair stands over a crowd of adoring people and dogs. What's strange is that the dogs stand on hind legs and praise him as if they themselves are human. Horses behind the crowd also cheer for him, but all four hooves stay connected to the ground.

A single long line connects a chain of kings, each one holding a link within a golden chain. Most sport blonde hair and blue eyes, but the last king stands as an outlier. He holds golden eyes and curled red locks. Under them each is a name, but most of the older ones were too faded to read. 'Raven Florian/Lady Mourn - Aquila Florian/Lady Tyto - Rose Florian/Lady Azalea/Lady (Y/N)'.

Even if the third one isn't the last, you take a long pause to look upon the names. Your new marriage has quite literally been set in stone. Painted with your name under the striking red haired man. Yet, you keep going. You must know more about them! What stops you is the hall widening into a rather quaint room. Now this looks a lot more like a study, with a large red chair sat in the midst of bookshelves and a messy desk of papers and a journal. It's the desk you're drawn to first, picking up the most worn out journal upon it.

"Blank?" You look on the cover. The only thing even describing what could be inside were the initials AF written on the leather cover's corner. "What could you be hiding?" You set your candle close and sit down, starting to read the pages inside.

Day of 30th, December, 1201

Today has transpired like any other. My breakfast was rather lean, but I can't complain when dinner is to be grand.

You laugh softly at such an inconspicuous entry. Maybe this would be a silly little journal of thoughts. Most follow such an idea, but some entries catch your attention more than others.

Day of 14th, April, 1202

Joanne of Jonstown has been captured.

Your eyebrows knot in confusion, turning to the page behind it.

Date of 12th, April, 1202

A grand disturbance has taken place at Noble Stewart's wedding. A strange rogue appeared and objected to the union, disgracing the ceremony to declare a disgusting lust for his wife. Any sane man would have wrung her neck on the spot, but the rat got away before he could catch her. It's no matter to him now. I have hired Jasper and his men to bring her to justice. With any luck, he could receive his own spot here by my side...

Date of 15th, April, 1202

Her execution has been dated for three days from now. I suggested we string and quarter her for her sins, but my royal advisor suggested I treat her not as a mere criminal. Rather, we could give her the same treatment as we do for suspected dark arts users. Not only will this serve as a painful death one like her deserves, but will also set the further precedent for what is to come of unlawful relations. If one is to partake in disturbing the union of a man and a woman for their own desires, they are to be burned at the stake. I have no quarrel with what the royal advisor pointed me to, and have let him write the law. It's on her execution day that I shall decree this law and set it into swift motion.

With an uneasy hand, you turn it to one of the final pages.

Date of 18th, April, 1202

The law has been set, and all was well. Not a single soul objected to the law while the spectacle took place. The

"Have you no respect for my personal space?" You immediately shift your eyes from the book to see those familiar golden eyes looking upon you with scorn. Dim candle light in his hand flickering and lighting up the underside of his displeased face. His figure draws closer as you retreat into yourself.

"I-I'm sorry, Rose! I wanted to know more- I-"

"My father's words are about as much history as murderers are innocent!" He practically roars, snatching the journal away and towering over your frame. "I gave you the resource you wanted... I gave you all you could ever want to know. This?" He holds up the book, "These are the ravings of a madman that no person should EVER learn from!"

"Learn from?" You start to rise from your position, a little offended by his assumption, "I wanted to learn ABOUT your family! Is it not my right to know what my children will be born into? What I tie myself to?"

"My father's words and thoughts have died with him. There is no need to continue learning from his example."

Standing up from your position, you place a finger to his chest and start walking him backwards. "You can't hide what your family has done to innocent people! Your father was a horrible-"

"I KNOW!"

His right hand drops the journal, latching onto your shoulder to allow his anger to set deep within. The glow from his candle dims to let the dark features of his anger settle in.

"I know he was a horrible man. He ordered the execution of many people who did not deserve it. If he knew of what I have now... He would surely kill me." Rose sighs, letting you go and setting down his fading candle. "I come from a line of men who claim to know their faith. Who hoped that persecuting the innocent would cure them of their own sins. You want to know what I think?" He looks to the book on the desk with a wicked snarl. "I think they're all burning in hell for the rest of their days. My father, his father, and the ones who came before. The men he hired that still work in the castle? They too will burn for being so stuck in their ways..."

You place a hand under his chin, bringing him to look at you. "It's no use to hide the history of your lineage. You are the result of those men, whether you like it or not." He tries to butt in, but you're quick to pause his interruption. "But what they've done doesn't make you a horrible man. It's what you do now that truly matters, does it not? You wouldn't have executed them. You let my mothers live in peace despite the law your father put into place..."

With a hefty sigh, he cups your face and finally draws out a smile upon his own. "You still violated my trust, dearest. I didn't want you to wander..."

"You assume I'd be content staying in one room for the rest of my years." Your teasing is bold, but his laugh was moreso. "I suppose you're right. Come then, I guess I owe you a proper tour of our home." As you both approach the doorway, you pause for a moment in thought.

"What is to become of Charles?"

"Ah... Him. He can't go unpunished for disobeying my order, my dear."

Your blood runs ice cold, but Rose is quick to try and soothe your tense worry, "Calm yourself! He's not going to be executed- Lord almighty, did you forget my whole point of not being my father? He'll spend some time thinking over his betrayal and punished as severely as the crime calls for. Which... Isn't too cruel."

"Will he continue to serve for us?"

"That remains to be seen. Come! I'll show you to the bottom floor!"

[nilusanimationworld]

Since we're close now to get KFP4 updates soon...hoping next month (or april) I wanna talk/discuss about something(s)

So I was re-watching all the 3 movies & the shorts I actually realized & noticed couple of things 

Since we all know Oogway in the third movie tells Po about how he saw the future of Kung Fu the day they met right? And we see both Po & Tigress in his vision right? 

Followed by Oogway passing the torch (which is the staff in this case) saying Po is his true successor

Firstly let me start of by saying I love Po okay? Besides being Oogway's successor Po is definitely Shifu's golden student by achieving the Dragon Warrior title and all BUT here's the big question. Does Po also deserve to become Shifu's successor? Yes BUT ALSO NO! Po has got enough titles & credits at this point. Besides Po there is also one more character that deserves at least one title & that is none other than TIGRESS!!!

TIGRESS (DESERVES) SHOULD BECOME SHIFU'S TRUE SUCCESSOR!!

Before anyone decides to attack me let me just point out couple of hints given in the movies itself why Tigress should have Shifu's true successor title

Shawls & Clothing pattern.

Remember the whole drama & discussion we all had & still having about Tigress outfit suddenly being changed? I think I might've figured that reason out too. Both Oogway & Shifu have a similar green shawls right? Which for some strange reason I always thought it was the same shawl just passed down to Shifu after Oogway's death. But turns out both have very different pattern design at the back of their shawls

And SURPRISE BEHOLD it actually matches Po & Tigress. Oogway has almost a Yin Yang pattern which is Po who represents Black & White warrior which Oogway himself tells Po that he represents both sides of yin & yang.

As for Shifu & Tigress's case its the floral & vine patterns. What does the floral & vine pattern has connection to do with Tigress? Well if you watch all the movies including the the shorts her vine patterns actually are representing 'growth'

You'll notice carefully you see no patterns on her vest when she was a kid PLUS also on the brown robe which she used to wear as a teen which also closely represents Shifu's way of dressing since Tigress was desperate to become just like Shifu

But once she finally decides to unleash her real true strength after ripping the robe you finally spot a sapling like pattern on her vest indicating & representing she's finally growing & is out of her shell which later one as she grows older you notice her vine patterns also keep growing & finally her golden hanfu also has a little Lilly/Lotus pattern fully bloomed representing Tigress is a fully grown warrior of her own. Plus the whole growth theme fits very well for both Shifu & Tigress since both have come out from their cold shells & are showing more warmer & compassion sides

Po & Tigress are literally the next Oogway & Shifu 

Even their relationships!!

Despite Shifu & Tigress both question Oogway’s & Po’s decisions or plans they still remain extremely loyal & trust their masters. 

Heck! Not to mention BOTH Shifu & Tigress has watched Oogway & Po (sorta) dying into petals!! 

Shifu passing the staff to Tigress

Okay let’s just say GOD FORBID Shifu’s time comes to end there’s 70% chances Tigress could get his staff since Po has already got Oogway’s special yin yang one. Plus it would actually mean a lot for Tigress & something really special to cherish. Not only it would mean Tigress being the next master of the Jade Palace but also a way of Shifu finally able to express his feelings to Tigress as a father since both Shifu & Tigress aren’t too good in expressing in openly about it. 

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DREAMWORKS GIVE US ONE GOOD HEART WARMING FATHER-DAUGHTER MOMENT BETWEEN SHIFU & TIGRESS! PLEASE I BEG YOU!!

Plus if you watch the third movie Shifu actually looks completely shocked not expecting Po to get gand looking staff from Oogway. There could be chances that Shifu may have thought of passing his current staff to Po but after seeing the staff given by Oogway himself to Po Shifu might change his mind to give to Tigress? Or at least I’m hoping!! 

Also Fun fact the original storyline for KFP3 besides Mr. Ping & Li Shan fighting over Po whether he should become a noodle master & run his goose dad’s restaurant or choosing becoming a farmer & returning back to secret panda village with his biological dad. Shifu was also included in the fatherly fight as he wanted Po to be the next master to run the Jade Palace but the idea was completely scraped off! So fingers crossed Tigress is in the line on getting to be master to run the Jade Palace since Po already has enough titles & responsibilities to handle as Dragon Warrior & a Teacher 

And lastly Po & Tigress both have grown as warriors under Shifu’s training & Oogway’s wisdom. They’re both are perfect balance 

In conclusion! There is still hope for Tigress to also play a very important role in the franchise & I am PRAYING EVERYDAY KFP4 does justice to the franchise!! 

Anyways what are your thoughts? Feel free to discuss y’all! I really missed the whole pandom discussions!! :)

[negative-speedforce]

prompt: write a fairy tale AU for one (or more!) of your OCs!

Ooh this will be a great idea for Thalia and Co!

There once was a great, brave knight who helped to lead a Rebellion against a wicked Emperor and his Dark Kingdom. She'd fought his undead lich, who was more a walking suit of armor at this point than the man he'd once been, and survived- unlike most people. Her life proved that the Dark Kingdom wasn't invulnerable, that the Emperor and his minions could be defeated.

She was a symbol, and symbols have to be destroyed.

The Emperor hired a sorcerer, cruel and power-hungry, to cast a spell on the knight. The sorcerer had studied the knight for a long time, finally choosing his curse for her after months of waiting.

The Sleeping Death, they called it. Once the curse had been cast, the victim would fall unconscious in a death-like sleep, never to awaken. That is, unless they were given "True Love's Kiss"- but he'd studied the knight long and hard. She'd never loved anyone like that. He wasn't even sure she was capable of it. Her heart belonged to her people, not an individual.

Changing his form into that of a kindly old woman, the sorcerer hid himself with a group of refugees coming into the Rebel camp. In this inconspicuous body, he gave her a gift as a token of goodwill- a bottle of cursed wine, since he knew that she had a problem with drinking when the nights were dark, cold, and lonely.

That night was especially dark, cold, and lonely, and in the morning, when the camp came back to life, it was confirmed. Thalia Sylvan, Knight of the Old Guard, Hero of the Rebellion, had fallen dead in the night, an empty bottle of wine clutched in her hand. With that, the sorcerer returned to the Dark Kingdom with news of her death.

The Rebels knew it was magic that had killed Thalia. Her body seemed just as beautiful as it had been in life, her skin still a warm brown, eyes never going dark, her flesh never fading. But there was nothing they could do. Her heart had stopped beating. In every definition of 'dead' that mattered, she was long gone.

They built a monument for their hero. They placed her body in a glass coffin on the top of a beautiful golden obelisk, where she could look down on the people she'd given so much of her life and heart to.

Her death united the Rebels with fresh vigor, and under the leadership of Camille Fahzavana, a young heir-in-exile whom Thalia had raised like her own child, the war was won. The Union of Free Peoples overthrew the Dark Kingdom, sending the Emperor and his minions into exile on an island far across the sea, never to return.

But even with this, Camille, now Regent of the Free Peoples, was still unhappy. After years of studying the magics of zes ancestors and becoming a sorceress worthy of zes throne, ze came across a curse- a sleep so deep it appeared as death even to the most talented of healers.

But the curse was unbreakable. "True Love's Kiss", they say, would wake Thalia, but the woman Camille considered a mother had never given her heart to anyone.

Given that Thalia's body had been in the monument for almost twenty years, Camille ordered her body to be taken down, to finally be laid to rest on a pyre, like her ancestors had been. Broken, grieving, and dejected, Camille's choice was made in haste, hoping that seeing the woman ze considered a mother finally laid to rest would bring the closure that had never come before.

When the pallbearers laid Thalia's body on the massive stack of firewood, her beauty still retained as it had been in life, ageless though nearly twenty years had passed, it was Camille who came forward with the torch to light it ablaze. Overcome with emotion, ze pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Immediately, Thalia's eyes flew open, her body hit with a coughing fit. It was in that moment that Camille understood. Thalia had never given her heart to another, that much was true, but she did love deeply- her family, her people, and what she believed in.

With their hero awake and alive, the Free Peoples threw a festival, one that lasted for months on end. For all I know, they are still celebrating to this day.

[kazimakuwabara]

Dalliance - one piece

This sparked a very strange idea for me, So I'll hope you won't mind. To set the scene a little, we're gonna jump in the middle of a story. The crew on a new adventure, separated, and learning some history of the island. I hope you like it

***

"Keep close Usopp, keep close!" Sanji hissed, pausing to wait for Usopp to catch up. When Usopp reached his side, Sanji caught the Sniper's hand clutched to his upper thigh.

"The bandage slip?" Sanji asked, and then aggressively handed Usopp the torch before he could answer, "You say something if it slips! Don't keep quiet! I'm not Chopper, my skills are not as good!"

Sanji then stooped, and plucked up Usopp, draping the injured man over his shoulders in a fireman carry. He let out a low whistle, and their guide, Mogen, circled back for them.

Sanji rushed Usopp over to an alter, dropping the young man on the stone bench seated before a large mosaic mural, and with hurried hands tried to fix the bandages.

"It's okay, we don't have time to stop!" Usopp urged, his voice spiked with fear and tension.

"You'll bleed to death if you just run on it!" Sanji spat in Usopp's face, and then turned back to the bandages, "Hold up that torch so I can see!"

"The Sun and Moon," Mogen's voice spoke from behind the pair.

Usopp and Sanji looked at her, startled by her soft voice.

"What?" Sanji questioned.

Mogen was looking past him, her own Torch raised, "You are on the temple to two gods. The Sun and Moon. Sontse, and his lover, Misyats'. The God Hora stole Misyats' for himself, and tried to make Misyats' their lover. But Misyats'... their heart was for Sontse. They would meet in secret, and dally together while they tried to plan an escape."

"But Hora found out. And of course, this made Hora angry. Hora tried many things to keep Misyats' to himself. He tore the land, and made spikes that towered. He twisted the trees, and made a jungle so thick, one could not hope to pass through it. Hora struck the lands, and poisoned the earth so food would not grow, and animals would die. He told the islanders, that unless Misyats' loved him, all would turn to ash."

"I hate stories when they get to this part," Usopp whispered out of the side of his mouth. "It's build up... but I hate the moment when hope seems lost."

Sanji glanced at Usopp, tying off the bandage that was deeply stained. He removed his jacket, and tore the sleeve off, before tying it around Usopp's leg, "Think it goes well?"

Usopp sighed, "Stories with Gods and sundered love tend to be sad."

"I hate a sad love story..." Sanji muttered, eyes drifting to the stone wall behind them. As he looked at a large ten-foot Mosiac, Mogen continued to speak.

"Misyats' was distraught. He didn't want anyone to die, but to betray his heart was also a curse. A poison that would kill. But in the end, he agreed, and pledged to wed Hora."

The Mosiac, crafted out of millions of tiny colored glass and tiles depicted two masculine figures. One was golden with hair of gold, and eyes of gold. He cupped the face of his dark-skinned Paramoure and kissed their cheek. The dark figure had long black curls, crested with white gems that must have represented stars. He clutched to the golden hand that rest against his heart, keeping it there with thin delicate fingers.

"On the wedding day, Sontse set himself on fire. He burned the woods, the quenched ground, and melted the towers of stone. He was not strong enough to defeat Hora, but he could break everything else, and so he did. And while Hora was distracted, Misyats' stabbed him in the back."

Sanji smiled, chest swelling with pride on instinct.

"There's always a but," Usopp warned sadly, shuddering as his leg flared with pain.

Sanji steadied him, a brow pressed to Usopp's, "Usopp, you're gonna stay with me?"

Usopp grinned, "Don't make it a question!"

"Together they stopped Hora, and shattered him, striking him from his kingdom, and pushing him off the island. But it took all they had. The sun burned out, and the moon cracked. In order to give themselves another chance, in order to make amends to the people hurt, they destroyed their godly forms and restored the island, the shattered sun, and moon. But..."

"There's the but," Sanji whispered, shaking his head as Usopp sighed,

"Us storytellers know."

"But they could not be Gods anymore. They fell on opposite ends of the sea, to live out mortal lives. But Hora came to, changing forms to keep them apart, and cause misery wherever he went. The legend says, Sontse and Misyats' won't ever be together unless they return to this island, restore the cracked temple, and destroy Hora here. A final challenge to their love..." Mogen finished, shaking her hand, starting at the tiled wall before her.

"So the story isn't over then... they haven't restored the temple yet, have they?" Usopp asked, voice a little disappointed.

Mogen looked at him, her eyes bewildered and full of wonderment. She stared for an uncomfortable long time and then looked at Sanji in equal measure. She then looked back at the tiled wall and smiled, "I don't know... but I think I see an ending approaching."

"Gaaaawwwwdd? Oh, God? Are you down there, God? I wasn't done playing..." A voice called from the left, further down the tunnel they had been running through.

Sanji's jaw set, and he scooped Usopp up, cradling the young man protectively in his arms. With a hiss, he whispered to Mogen, "We dallied too long! Get us out of here!"

Mogen nodded rapidly, rushing toward the tiled wall, "Sonste and Misyats' are the Gods that represent lovers. Especially lovers who suffer time apart. So they'll forgive me for showing you into their temple!"

She slammed her hand on a square stone, and then up to a red one. A wall moved and she gestured towards it, "Quick, it's on a timer!"

Adjusting Usopp in his grip, Sanji pat Usopp's back, "Don't you worry Usopp, I won't let that creep lay a hand on you again."

Usopp, his heartbeat slamming inside his chest, curled his arms around Sanji's neck, "I know, I know!"

The trio disappeared, and after three seconds, the hidden door closed back up.

[xsapphirescrollsx]

Outsider pt 1 (6/19)

Outsider Series

Chapter 6 Unbroken Fragments

The City of the Dead was a place of worship for Wakanda. An ancient temple erected to home their ancestors. A longed for heavenly connection that offered those left behind only acceptance instead of ascension. A vast complex of catacombs stretched along the land surrounding a tower dedicated to Kings of the past. It housed their family in hopes that they find peace within a town of their own.

The bodies of Tiakan and Drea now laid here.

Killmonger made it his mission to destroy any resemblance to unity that would seize the compliance he inflicted upon the people. He would have killed Ramonda. He would have slaughtered Shuri. The scholar of war, fire and death worked in his favor and he never hesitated to take it a step further. Though he wanted freedom, his cool calculated demeanor longed for the inevitable bloody battled for independence. Barren eyed vengeance passed for benevolence. The poverty in his soul only exacerbated the waking nightmare that was his existence. Tattered skin that bared marks of death made the best of them cower under his rule.

But not Tiakan, who died protecting Drea.  

King T’Challa allowed their remains to be buried within the halls of the Kings as they served their people at great cost. The irony of resisting an outsider, by once declared outsiders was not lost on Awenha.

She could smell the heavy fragrance of burned heart-shaped herb float up from the bowels of the tower. She sat planted on the ground facing the marker of their graves. Unshed tears collected and then fell down her cheeks. The flame flickered up from shiny new torches and danced in the dark. Through the shadows that twisted she saw a figure approach. In one motion Awenha wiped the tears from her face and welcomed the visitor.

“They will not be forgotten.” King T’Challa’s controlled and unruffled political tone was absent as he spoke. He moved toward her from the darkness of the crypt. She noticed his ceremonial robes fit for a funeral, though he seemed to drop most of his public persona as he casually waved. Awenha lowered and raised her head slightly, her eyes dropping to the ground until finally settling back upon their graves.

T’Challa sat near resting his arms upon the top of his knees. She felt the burden of his gaze and turned to him with watery eyes.

“You were always their focus, Awenha. Parents have a very humorous way of expressing their pride in their children. Some choose to hold on to secrets. Others give their children free reign to discover the world as it is.”

Awenha remained silent. His normally stoic expression cracked into sadness. The mask of duty slipping in front of her a memory surfaced of a boy who hung on his father’s every word. How he must have felt at the discovery, she wondered. To see the fruition of such an unspeakable mistake by the person you cherished.

“I will not order you to continue your father’s work. But I will hope instead, that the tradition can only be accepted if you truly want it.”

In the past she was always thinking of a way out. Five years away from Wakanda, felt like freedom. The ability to casually wander the world was treasured. But the world had bit back. She returned home to Drea, who loved Wakanda, and so now she loved it. Even when the tribe elders glared, or heard the hushed whispers as they passed. It all seemed trivial now. She could take it.

“T’Challa, the agreement between Titanis and the Golden Tribe will remain intact.”

She turned back in reverence at the graves, a small contemplative smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“I wonder how many people have open agreements with Eternals.”

“With one Eternal.” Awenha corrected. “I’m third generation, cousin. I hardly count as an immortal being, T’Challa. See where my father rests? He’s not coming back. ”

A part of her wished it was not true. But she had never heard stories, family histories, or anything really other than the possibilities of power spoken between the three of them. She was cut off from ever knowing the truth of the past, the command that comes with wisdom eluded any semblance of an answer.  

The King shifted his weight and crossed his legs in front of him. “I have you been contacted by N’Juri?”

Awenha shook her head and grim expression crossed her face as she became lost in thought. N’Juri, her beloved grandmother had been silent for more than twenty years. In her mind, she could not rectify a mother’s absence to the fate of her son. She felt the well of anger in her belly spike. They had been alone since N’Juri left. Scattering only vague directions to continue to explore, grow in their power, and resist leadership roles. What power? Awenha scoffed to herself. For nearly her entire life she believed that N’Juri’s wisdom was the embodiment of maternal love. But as she sat at the plots of Earth, the feeling the contempt eroded any admiration she held. The woman never conveyed anything that Awenha would consider of importance. What good is Eternal genes if you still end up dead? She thought as reality ebbed at the illusion.

 “N’Juri is with Titanis now.” She managed to say between pursed lips.

“We are still your family, Awenha.” He spoke proudly as he rubbed her shoulder gently.

And it was the truth; she knew it was true even in the face of these events. The Golden Tribe had always accepted their small family no matter how far removed from the last King they descended. Their alien qualities were scorned by many who were outraged. And because of their presence others who sought refuge in Wakanda were never offered sanctuary. The method was weak. The approach though reasonable to Wakandans only returned full circle and her family paid the price. At least, she thought woefully, her pain was shared this time for many Wakandans had suffered as well.

“So.” He interrupted her thoughts as he spoke and dropped his hand from her shoulder.

Awenha turned to him, hollow eyes watching him intently. T’Challa’s face was turned at the graves of her parents but his dark eyes slide to meet her gaze.

“What are we to do with Sergeant Barnes?” 

“Did Shuri tell you?” Awenha asked patiently.

“She told me what I needed to know. That is another reason why I am here with you now. I am sorry I have not come to you sooner.”

“I have sat with this long enough.” Her words breathed out in relief. “His actions were not his own. I have accepted it. Absolution may not be for everyone but it is enough for me.”

One weight lifted from her spirit while another sat waiting for another day. The sentiment of anger connected with mentioning the soldier had dissipated. She was finally glad that the hysterical sorrow that had lived in her had departed. Though now replaced with grief, she was at least content that her dreams could be free of him, hopefully.  

“Fulfill your promise to Rogers.” She spoke.  “Sergeant Barnes deserves to live life.”

The Merchant Tribe lands of Wakanda were renowned. Pious vast mountains reached for the sky in the distance, a fathomless deep lake pooled in fertile plains lay surrounded by tall forests. Sergeant Barnes awoke within a thatched roof hut made of mud. The faces of young children with yellow and white paint around their eyes poked at his chest. Whispering to each other back and forth and giggling above him Sergeant Barnes opened his eyes. The children jumped in fright and giggles as they ran out of the hut.

He sat up feeling fully recovered from his mat and looked around his room. Nothing much had changed from the previous day; the same group of kids would follow him around when he left for food. Sometimes he would stand by the river and finally for the first time in years simply could think without the torment of not remembering.

His memories flowed to his consciousness as he thought on them. The fact that he could remember his mother’s face brought joy back to his life even in the moments of his the darkest recollections.

Sergeant Barnes’ got to his feet as he felt the dirt of the land underneath him and adjusted the front of his garment. The light of the morning sun in Wakanda was a real beauty. Anywhere he found himself was met with warmth and fresh air. He looked around the four other huts near him. The children gathered around a slender woman in a white jacket. They giggled harder as he approached then with one last look from the children they ran back to their homes.

“Good morning Sergeant Barnes’.” Shuri said with a warm smile.

She had been in his mind, helped him to erase what HYDRA had put in his head. Formality was for the rigid, and he felt anything other than stuck in tradition.

“Bucky.”

Understanding the dropping of regulated names she nodded thoughtfully.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“Good.”A near undetectable smile shifted his expression but hung in shiny eyes as he stared at her. “Thank you.” His tone was softer than before but heavy with appreciation.

Her eyes brightened at his response a big toothless grin appeared and a mellow chuckled escaped her lips.

“Come.” she patted him on the chest playfully as she walked away. “There is much more for you to learn.”

Shuri pushed the release button on the pad she held, the snake motion of the wires attached to Bucky’s stub slid back into the diagnostic portal.

“What’d you think doc?” He asked with a playful light smile across pink lips.

“It’s working perfectly, of course. I just wanted to make sure your nervous system was accepting the interface panel.”

Shuri pushed long thin braids over her shoulder as she sat the pad down and sat astutely in the stool before the station. Bucky watched her movements amazed with her quick stroking of the screen. Her eyes analyzed the report as she pushed and slid to the next screen.

While she preened over the read out that popped up red on the screen Bucky eyes went to the floor. He wondered what the day held of course, but more so if there was a chance of seeing the woman from his dream.

He definitely remembered the curly mass of hair around an oval face and those tender brown eyes. But disappointment stayed with him when he realized the sound of her voice was fading.

“So.” Shuri said suddenly bring Bucky out of his reverie he looked back at her.

Shuri swung around on the stool her arms crossed with a single booted foot pushing her body left to right as she watched him. Bucky’s hair hung long around his face, icy blue eyes considered her as his thumb rubbed the first and third finger.

“What about your memories? Do you remember your life before what this organization did to you?”

Bucky’s eyes fell to the right his brows pinched in thought. He pushed by the thoughts of the woman in his dream to a time before his draft. Steve was standing at his door step rain drenched rat looking fellow with an amused look on his face. He had made ten bucks on a bet that Gordie Stewart couldn’t ride the trunk of a taxi longer than ten minutes. The dumb-ass busted his face on the pavement after two.

A smile formed on his face at the memory before looking back at Shuri.

“I do.”

Shuri returned his smile in kind.

“But I have this memory from the last time I was activated.” Bucky started but hesitated when he considered the young scientist’s age. “I attacked a woman in Berlin. I think I saw her here, when I was sleeping. I think.”

Shuri sat forward listening to the man her brows arching in shock as he continued.

“Is that possible…” Bucky shook his head with weathering grin to his sanity as he reconsidered what he was saying. Maybe it was just a figment or perhaps a shadow of what was left of his innocence.

“You see this woman in your dreams currently?”

Shuri stood with her bright eyes trained on Bucky’s confused expression. With a lost gaze he looked to her once before lowering them his fingers.

“I saw her last night.” A slight scoff escaped his lips. “But the memory or whatever it is, it’s becoming less clear.”

Even now as he pulled up the color of her skin it seemed less alive than the last. Bucky struggled to hold on to the last frame of her smile as even in this very moment the surrounding she stood in disappeared.

“She is real.”

Bucky perked up his eyes his expression brightening with hope. Shuri chuckled as she pulled the stool closer to the bed and sat back down.

“She lives here. But-But-!” She waved her hands as he started to speak. “She needs time and space. Otherwise she would have been one of the first faces you saw when you awoke.”

His face fell as hope drained from him before Shuri’s imploring eyes.

“Focus on your healing Bucky. She is doing the same. In time I think you will see her again, and not just in your dreams.”

He focused on the drop of water on the floor instead of the sensation. The mission was to inflict damage physically and mentally through means determined by programming. In a damaged society women find loss of security to be the most paramount risk. Taking it away would be enough to warn off any other attempts at her subterfuge.

He could smell her hot skin as his blank eyes moved to watch her. The water from her face flung as she shook her head. She cried out when he forced it the sound threatened to halt his advances within so he shut her mouth.

Bucky floated somewhere in between here and then as he looked out his own eyes helpless to stop it. His body felt the rush of gratification, his body wanted the release, and it was his body that wanted it to last longer. A thick film of lust covered and mixed with his waking mind. He didn't want it to end.

Bucky screamed but nothing was heard as he stood above her. Another scared woman he had successfully threatened. Though the method was new the effect worked.

The ringing, the god damned ringing, high pitched and deafeningly resounding shot through his brain. He was in the lock box room again the strike team watched Pierce watch him. Then another place green with trees busted into focus it was Steve laying on the ground covered in bruises. Passed the man lying unconscious the sound of water dripping from his hair hit his arm.

Then he was back, staring at the drop of water on the concrete floor. It wasn’t just water he thought with horror, it was tears.

Bucky shot up from his bed, sweat casting a slick sheen across his naked chest as he heaved in large batches of air. He slumped back down as a wail of sorrow moaned through the hut, tears poured from him as he lay wracked with emotion. The smell and feeling of her skin lingered on his senses, the ache of release stayed with him even as he willed it away. The taught muscles of his back flexed and receded with each eruption of new tears.

He hurt her. The woman from his dream and the woman from the JCT were one in the same. Guilt turned to pain as he tried to catch his breath. His hut made of mud was cool though warm air breezed through the cloth door. He made his attention focus on the smell of the grass and nearby lake. His breathing slowed, tears sporadically traced down his face into a ruffled beard. With a rough hand he wiped at them quickening the drying.

He pressed his eyes shut willing the image of her from the darkness of his mind.

“Please pull me from the dark.” He spoke to the night.

Like a cool refreshing gust of wind over a hot face he could see her standing there. Satiating the empty feeling that shame had carved out. Full lips parted into a smile that took his breath away, long black curly hair moved as if in water, surrounded by a blurry white radiance. She looked like an angel, he thought. Infinite and perfect to him, with shades of colors he never saw before as she watched him in return.

Bucky was starving, but not for food. But for the moment that never happened. He wondered if he was asking for too much. The old dreams of young adulthood, those minor pursuits and wants were lost to him now. He wanted her. The woman, who had touched his broken mind and did not shrink back from the challenge even when she knew his identity. And she was real, not this blurry image he kept dragging back up. 

He tried to recall the images their sharing of history. The fast colors that surged through him focused as she unreservedly opened up herself. An invitation, he thought. A sweet, delicious peek into the person who called to his inner indecisiveness. The fear and hesitation within him moved out of the way for her. And he felt a bit peace with who he was and what he had done.

But in those memories shared he saw the woman without the angelic façade. She was human and her fallibility was matched by her willingness to over come conflict. He got to know her in those fleeting moments, the real woman. He would not stop himself from wondering about her safety, if she was happier now or if she too had dreams that plagued her sleep. He had set his sights on her along time ago. He had decided to let the fear of obsession fall away. And now that he knew she was real. He felt the pull to be closer to her more than ever. She was the person he desperately wanted to be in his life. Someone who understood that the monster was forced on him. That the part of him she touched was good, though twisted. He had to believe he was more than what happened to him, despite how the trauma manifested. And he had to believe that this connection wasn't one sided.

Bucky drank from the memory greedily while urgently needing to feel some of what she had. It made him feel alive and hopeful for now, but it was getting harder to retain the powerful feeling of her. He wanted more than what his mind could offer. 

But he would have to settle for a fading recollection, for now.

[windfighter]

Long trek home

A Digimon Frontier and Minecraft-crossover because I dunno. I just had to x3

In which Kouji's elytra breaks while he's on the way home and he realizes that he's not a fan of ultra hardcore

-------

A snap echoed across the savannah. Kouji was on his way back to base, loaded with sand, when his elytra broke and he plummeted towards the ground.

”Shitshitshitshit.”

He landed feet-first on the ground, health dropping. His legs hurt. Everything hurt. His communicator beeped and he looked at it. 2 hearts. 10 000 blocks away from home. He checked his inventory. Filled with boxes upon boxes of sand. No enderchest. Far from enough food for such a long walk. Not even any health potions because he had only been gathering sand.

Why had they decided to play ultra hardcore for this rebirth?

He let out a deep sigh and started walking. If he didn’t sprint the food should last. Every step hurt, he wasn’t sure he would have wanted to sprint even if he could.

Anyone up for delivering some xp-bottles? he typed into the communicator. No one answered. They were probably busy planning. 10 000 blocks was a little far for a delivery anyway.

Night fell. Kouji would have kept walking if he’d been healthier, but instead he built a small shack out of the shulkerboxes he had brough, put a torch down and waited in the cell for daylight to return. No use risking death like an idiot. But the night felt like it stretched on for an eternity when he didn’t have a bed.

Never leave home without an enderchest, he thought. Usually he’d bring it, but for a quick resource-gathering mission? He hadn’t thought he’d need it. Better to save space for the sand they needed for city they had started building.

Kouji couldn’t do much while waiting for daylight. He put his shulkers down one after the other, checked to see if he had put any food or xp-bottles in them. Nothing. If he found a river then maybe he could kill some squid or salmon to repair his elytra and fly the rest of the way.

Sunlight. Kouji gathered up all the shulkers, started walking. A few stragglers were left after the night and Kouji had to zigzag between skeletons shooting at him from under the safety of the trees. An arrow nicked him and another half heart lost. Shit. Kouji’s sword split the skeleton into fine pieces of bone that he couldn’t fit into his inventory.

Hsssss

Kouji jumped out of the way just in time. The creeper blew up, breaking half the tree in the process. Kouji let out a sigh of relief. That would have been a stupid end to this rebirth if he had just been a little bit slower.

A spare elytra and some health potions would be nice by now, he typed into the chat.

Still no answer. Kouji yawned, then continued walking. The sun was hot over the savannah, but he could see plains maybe 50 blocks away. That’d be cooler. Maybe there would even be some mobs for him to murder so his wings could repair a bit. He didn’t really want to fly until they were completely repaired though.

He ate one of his golden carrots. 21 left. Right, he needed to be smart about fighting as well. He reached the plains. There was a few groups of cow and sheep spread out across it. Curse his filled inventory. He wouldn’t be able to fit any extra food until he had eaten his last carrot. He kept walking across the plains.

Days felt way too short and nights felt way too long. Kouji lost track of time between them. His body ached, food was running low. 5 golden carrots left. He had passed two plains, one huge forest, one birch forest. A huge mountain towered infront of him. The flight had been so much easier than the walk. Should he risk it? Mountains meant powdered snow and he wasn’t a fan of freezing to death. Only for fun, and only when they had more than one life. He decided to walk around it.

-----

He was out of food. 3 000 blocks left. Another desert, one they had already emptied of sand and resourses. Kouji limped across it, every step sent tremours of pain through his body. He hoped Takuya had some health potions prepared when he got home. And a bed. He’d sleep for a year when he got home.

The sun was warm above him. He stopped by a well to cool off a bit, grateful that at least heat wasn’t dangerous. Unless it was lava.

Maybe he should have gone through the nether to get home, but trekking through almost 2000 blocks of hell with only two hearts… Yeah, the overworld had been the right choice. He kept walking. Another savannah, a smaller one this time. He reached the end of it just as the sun set and quickly made a safe spot with his boxes.

Checked his equipment while waiting for the sun to come up again. Most of it was in good shape still, only the elytra and the shovel were in need of repairs. The elytra was looking a little bit better, some of the holes in the fabric had gotten mended, but he didn’t trust it to carry him home. It was only about 1500 blocks left, he could do that. He took the boxes down and continued.

He was in another forest. The ground was filled with flowers of different kinds and he could hear pistons firing nearby.

Civilization. Also he’d have a talk with whoever left the flower farm running. He made a detour to turn it off, climbed the ladder down into the control room. No one was there. He sat down for a while on a chair, leaned against the wall. He was starting to get hungry. Any more fighting and he’d start starving.

He almost wish he had died from the fall.

Kouji stood up again. No use thinking like that. He checked the chests for any food, only found one steak, probably left from when Kouichi and Tomoki made the farm. He ate it, but it did little to help. He climbed the ladder up again, continued walking. Tried really hard to not sprint, but muscle memory was a bitch and it was hard not to. He just wanted to be home, get some rest, drink something to make the aches go away.

Kouji’s stomach cramped. He couldn’t sprint any longer. The flower forest turned into a regular forest. Almost home. Almost…

A groan made him turn around. A zombie appeared from a cave, got a hit in while Kouji reached for his sword. Another heart down, only half a heart left. Somehow Kouji managed to slay the zombie without getting hurt again. His hands shook as he scooped up the flesh left behind, ate it. It tasted vile, but filled his stomach a little. He’d been lucky. Zombie flesh was notoriously famous for leaving you hungrier than before.

The sun was starting to set. He had about 400 blocks left. There should be a building nearby, but between all the trees he couldn’t tell where. He’d ask Izumi or Junpei to work on roads next, incase this happened again.

Is anyone even checking their coms? he typed.

It had been days. How was it possible for the others to be that busy? Sure, Kouji could spend weeks down in the mines, not noticing time passing or the com beeping, but still. He made another little shack to wait for the night to end.

----

Home. Kouji stumbled into the village they had taken over when they first arrived in the world. Villagers looked at him, kept working. Said something in their language that Kouji couldn’t understand. Kouji’s clothes were bloody, ripped, drenched in grime. He’d been walking for so long. Everything hurt. His stomach cramped. Only one hunger left. But he was home.

He took some potatoes from one of the farms, stuffed his face with them. Reached his and Takuya’s house and fell more than walked through the door. A huge bang echoed over the world and Kouji knew where Tomoki and Takuya had been the last days at least. Going for the dragon, as usual.

Kouji opened one of the chests. Their storage had become a mess already, but he found a stack of golden carrots stuffed in the bottom of a barrel. Ate until he couldn’t eat any more. There weren’t any potions. The brewing stand was empty. Kouji sat down on the bed, leaned against the wall. Waited. The sun was setting.

Takuya appeared next to the bed. Kouji would have jumped if he’d had energy.

”Congrats”, he mumbled.

He was so tired. Takuya jumped. Turned around and looked at Kouji. The grin on his face disappeared.

”...I’ll go get some blaze rods”, he said.

Kouji nodded, laid down on the bed.

”Thank you.”

He’d empty his inventory in the morning. Sort their storage. Maybe yell at Takuya for making it a mess to begin with, but Kouji wasn’t much better at keeping it sorted.

”Next rebirth, we make a world with regen”, he added.

Because he did not want to go through this again. Takuya laughed, neither agreed nor disagreed, and left the house. Kouji heard Takuya’s steps disappear towards the portal and closed his eyes. It was fine, for now. He was safe. Takuya would make him some potions and he’d be back to full health again soon. Everything would be fine.

[your-good-pal-chevy]

Swordtember : 25 : Prism

Lionel and Kalliste stood with their backs to each other. Trapped within the Imperial ruins, they did not know from which direction their foe would strike.

"You know," Lionel said, "At the very least, things could be worse."

Kalliste let out a weak chuckle. "I'm not sure how."

"At least there's light down here," Lionel said, "And I know, I know, that makes this the part where all the torches and candles and such are snuffed out."

Lionel gestured with his sword, thrusting it toward a nearby candelabra. "Now!" He paused there a moment, watching the candles burn, before returning to his previous stance. "Alright, I guess we're not in that kind of tale."

Kalliste chuckled again, in spite of herself. "Now is hardly the time for jokes."

"I know, I know," Lionel said, "But you know me, can hardly keep my trap shut at the best of times."

A cold breeze swept through that ancient ruin, chilling them both to the bone. A whisper followed it, as if carried on its winds, some rasping voice muttering in an unknown tongue.

"Be ready," Kalliste whispered. She turned to face the doorway that breeze came from, her falx held in a high guard. Lionel raised his shield, putting himself between Kalliste and the darkness beyond.

A long, thin arm reached out from the shadows. Wrapped in linen and covered in golden bangles, it terminated in a clawlike hand that slowly went through the motions of several arcane gestures.

Lionel and Kalliste watched the hand for a moment, fear gripping their hearts, unsure of how to approach. Then, Lionel sensed something, and he immediately threw up his shield.

The mummified hand suddenly splayed, a beam of putrid light emanating from its palm. Its magic lanced across the room, the lights flickering as it passed by.

Lionel took the brunt of the beam on his shield, the wood blackening and warping under its assault. He was pushed back by the force of it, but Kalliste was able to step out of the way. Kalliste rushed forward, swinging her falx at the hand.

The hand retreated into the shadows. Before Kalliste could press the advantage, however, the being it was attached to emerged. It bulled into Kalliste, knocking her over as it charged into the room.

It was massive. Nearly a head taller than Lionel, a huge and lanky form wrapped in linen bandages. Its head, appearing shrunken on its huge body, was browned with the passage of untold centuries. Its eyes burned a pale green, twin stars trailing through the dim light. It floated a hair's breadth of the ground, its clawed feet trailing on the stones below it.

It pointed at Lionel, uttering some unknown challenge in its ancient tongue.

"Yeah, I don't speak that," Lionel said, huddling behind his shield. He twirled the Sword of Stars in his hand, anticipating the worst.

And the being stopped. It stared at the sword, its dry lips pulling back to reveal a mouth full of fangs. It slowly started to shake, hands balling into fists, its rictis falling open to let out a rasping attempt at a roar.

It thrust both hands forward, shooting out another pair of beams at Lionel. He brought his shield up, but the force of the beams threatened to splinter his wooden shield. His legs buckled, and he fell to one knee, pressing on the shield with both hands in an attempt to keep it between himself and that awful light.

Kalliste swung her falx at the monster and it bit deep, but the blade stuck fast and the beast seemed none the worse for it.

Lionel's shield continued to warp, rattling under the assault. The wood began to peel apart, its metal rim and rivets coming loose.

The shield shattered apart and, in that instant, Lionel was certain death would take him.

His hands went up, and had he not been clutching the Sword of Stars in his sword hand, he certainly would have died.

The beams struck the Sword of Stars. It hummed angrily, the beams meeting its edge and splitting apart. Like light passing through a prism, the beams split apart and bored holes into the masonry around the room.

Kalliste cursed loudly, bracing against the monster with one foot to pull her sword loose.

Lionel struggled to his feet, keeping the Sword of Stars between himself and the beams. He pushed forward, the immense pressure splitting apart on the edge of his crystalline blade.

The monster rasped again, no doubt cursing in its own language.

Kalliste brought her falx into its side again, hacking at the same spot she had struck before. The monster wobbled in the air, its power seemingly shaken.

The twin beams from its hands ebbed away, and it careened to the ground.

Lionel did not waste time. He charged the fiend, swinging his sword with both hands.

The monster screamed, an unholy noise echoing through the ruins. Its flesh burned where the Sword of Stars cut it, and it recoiled from the assault.

One of its hands fell to the ground. It shriveled and blackened under the might of the Durands' blade.

The monster thrashed, floating up and smashing into the ceiling, desperate to get away from that holy blade. Kalliste's falx was wrenched from her grip, still stuck in its mummified body. The monster clawed at the stump of its forearm, ripping it from its elbow and tossing it aside as those holy flames consumed it.

"I can hurt it," Lionel muttered, brandishing his sword. "Kalliste! I can hurt it!"

"I see that," she said, pointing at her weapon lodged in its side. "Bastard took my falx!"

"Boost me!" Lionel didn't wait for her to respond, he simply ran toward her, trusting her to understand.

Kalliste blinked in surprise, for a moment unsure, but then she took a wide stance with her hands held low. Lionel jumped forward, pushing off of her hands as she pulled up, and he bounced upward with her help.

Lionel swung his sword again, aiming for the monster's chest, but it anticipated the blow. The monster scrabbled away, pressing itself hard against the ceiling of the room. Lionel's sword missed by a hair, catching the flat of Kalliste's blade and ripping it loose.

The monster, unwilling to continue fighting now that it had been wounded, fled through the another doorway. It disappeared into the shadows beyond.

[quartzhearted]

listening to what lambert tells him about crests troubles morion deeply. incredibly deeply.

in theory, just as lambert notes, crests sound like an endless fount of benefits. in particular, morion likes the sound of exclusive weapons... what would those even look like? and how are they made? is there one? are there multiple? do they only respond to a certain crest? the weapons enthusiast in him almost wins out. dragons, the questions he could ask!

but the longer lambert goes on and the more he divulges, the deeper the frown that sets on morion's face. he's always been of the belief that one must build their own worth, station be damned. when his brother passed and left the mantle of king to him, morion had to become someone who was worthy of the crown. passing the torch by birth order was one thing, but passage due to a mark? inheriting everything when one has done nothing to inherit it?

and then there is the issue of family. morion can't help but wonder what a crest-driven family dynamic would be like---clearly the things were more valuable than gold, and the body they were attached to likely just as much as a result. it's no big surprise; noblefolk always did enjoy splendor and status above all else.

but what of a first-born crestless if the second child bore one? what of the "failures" before the first one to win heirdom? were these children, just as alive and breathing as their brother, seen only as refuse? were they loved even a fraction of the same?

what of his own children in an alternate world? a crestless alcryst who sees no benefit to his existence, a crestless diamant who sees all his work chalked up to failure? morion would never treat his sons any different regardless of what they were born with or without, but what of the society that believes in those things?

"dragons," is all he can really muster after all of that thinking. "that sounds like misery."

to the ambiance of lambert's rapid-beating heart, morion wishes he had more to say. he's witnessing the ravaging of a crest right here---the way it steals control, the way it destroys the body in the aftermath. how many times has lambert gone through this before? and how many times will he have to go through it again? is there any way to prevent it? unconsciously, he squeezes lambert's arm again; if anything, there must be a way to at least mitigate the pain. surely.

when lambert loops back around to morion's condition, morion sighs. were his expressions that obvious? "well, y'know, it's..." morion trails off, trying and failing to find words. he's just now realizing how isolating it's been, living the life he has with nobody to talk about it with. ever since learning that he's a dead man walking, he's questioned what his purpose even is in being here. he sighs again, bone-deep and exhausted, and moves his hand down to the cuff of his left sleeve.

"...it's hard, lambert," morion says with uncharacteristic quiet. the button is undone and the sleeve is rolled up, revealing a sickly patch of skin that wraps around his forearm. there are marks where bandages have chafed the healthy skin around it, implying that he has attempted concealment measures. "it's hard knowin' the kind of stuff i know now. it's even harder not knowin' other things. i see the way people look at me---all i do is make 'em cry. that, or they become furious, thinkin' i'm an impostor or some kind'a zombie."

his golden eyes dim, staring at the corpseskin patch. "hell, i ain't even s'posed to be alive. all i'm doin' is settin' everyone up---my niece, my people, my kids---to deal with my death a second time. is that all i can be anymore?" he turns his head to the side, laughing dryly to try and cover up the emotions he blinks back. "just some guy that... dies all the time?"

*scooby doo laugh* reeheeheeheeheehee

TOA ETHEREAL BALL -- THREAD 1

[ezilo]

TUC week, Day 5!

Okay, missed a few days, but here I am. The prompt today was Code/Claw, but I mostly focused on the last book in general.

So here's an AU where Gregor actually dies in battle. You have been warned!

By the time her cell door opens, Luxa is a little less angry at Gregor. Aurora pointed out many a time in the last days that Luxa may have done the same in other circumstances, and Luxa just wants to see Gregor again, even though she may not. Will not.

It is Mareth who opens the door, and after one look at his face, she falls to her knees. She barely has enough strength to raise her arms and reach for Aurora, who wraps her in her golden wings. Her bat chokes out “Ares?” and Mareth shakes his head. Luxa weeps, like she had a year before in Vikus’s arms, losing her best friend. She sobs, shameless, for this boy and this love and a lifetime she will never have. She cries for his sacrifice, his bravery, his delicate smile. The clip-clop of Mareth’s footsteps comes closer, but she shakes her head. This is a time for no one but her and Aurora. They stay entangled for a while longer, until Luxa remembers who she is, a queen, a leader, and gets up. Her grief is dragging her down, as it has for years, but still she takes a few steps toward Mareth, toward the stairs, the light, the rest of her life.

“Wait.” Mareth says, grabbing her wrist. “It is not just Gregor.” Her heart hammers, and she leans against the wall, closes her eyes. “Tell me.”

“Solovet.” Her first sword lesson. Holding her hand at her parents’ funeral. Bright, blinding force passed down to her. She breathes in. “Who else?” “Vikus had a heart failure. He is in the hospital, between life and death.” Luxa buries her face in Aurora’s fur, smells the warm scent of her bond, and hopes it will be enough to bring her back together. “We have reason to believe Ripred is gone as well.” The sharp pain in her, she had not expected. Ripred could not die, could he? Luxa had thought she would build back the Underland hand in paw with him. No, she had not expected this.

“And the Bane?” Mareth gives a tired smile. “Gregor and Ares killed him.” Luxa smiles, too, and climbs out.

*

In the days to come, Luxa is whisked from meeting to meeting, held upright by Aurora and Howard and Mareth. She finds the time to read Gregor’s last letter to her, sitting in the museum one night, and whispers “I love you too”, indulges in the pain for a moment, as during the rest of the day, she has no place for it. She carves out a half-hour here or there to sit with Hazard and the orphaned nibbler pups and wash them, and look at Boots play with them. She doesn’t know, yet. And who is there to tell her? Lizzie is in shatters, Grace is at the Fount, the rest of the family in the Overland somewhere. No, this task is also Luxa’s. But she does not have the time, or the heart, to tell her.

Sometimes, she has dinner with Vikus, leaning on the bed, feeding him bits of mashed food. He holds her hand, and she relaxes a fraction, lets go of the tension in her shoulders. She even falls asleep once, wakes up snuggled up to her Grandpapa like she did as a little girl. It is dark, the hospital has turned off almost all torches. She buries herself further under the blankets and falls back asleep.

In the morning, she gets the first reliable numbers of the victims. She crumples the paper in her hand. A third of her city is gone, most of the nibblers left with no home. She had asked her advisors to find out the numbers of the gnawer victims as well, which had surprised them. She stares at the number at the bottom of the list, and wonders if that is enough paid. Gregor’s bright brown eyes appear in her mind and she thinks nothing will ever be enough.

*

Luxa is crossed-legged in the code room, staring at a map of the human territory, wracking her brain for a solution to the water supply problem, when they enter.

“Luxa?” Lizzie’s small voice echoes in the room. Her parents stand behind her, arms on her shoulders, Grace leaning heavily on her husband. Boots is standing next to them, her little face flooded with tears, her lower lip wobbling. Luxa opens her arms, and the girl stomps all over the map as she rushes to her, messing up her plans. “Gregor is dead, yes?” Her little voice asks in Luxa’s ear. She opens another arm for Lizzie to fall into, and has to say “Yes, Boots.” And then, because it’s what he would have wanted, she adds “You said his name, sweetie. Good job.” Lizzie is sobbing in earnest now, finally looking her own age. And then, something amazing happens. Grace and Jonathan join them, fall to their knees, and suddenly Luxa is the one wrapped in someone’s arms, Luxa is allowed to cry into someone’s chest. She squeezes the girls closer, and leans into Grace. “It will be okay, sweetie. I promise.” And Luxa enjoys  a mother’s hand passing through her hair, and dreams about those words ringing true, one day.

“I keep him here?” Boots asks, pointing at her chest.

“Yes, Boots. I keep him here too.” Luxa folds her fist on her heartbeat. “We all do.” Jonathan adds. Boots still looks scared and confused. Luxa feels a pang of melancholy at how little Boots will remember of Gregor. She thinks about how he had always put her first, pushed her onto Ares as he inhaled poisonous fumes, asked Ares to break his vow and save her first, cried in desperation as he searched for her in the Swag. Gregor sacrificing his food for Boots, reaching for her, turning into a rager just to protect her. A million other moments none of them knew about because they had only happened between them, a brother and a sister. Luxa did not grow up with siblings. But she’d learned everything about it from him, and it had given her the courage to take Hazard in.

They stay, hugging close, a little while longer. And then Luxa has to get up, has to compose herself, and head into a council meeting. Just as she crosses the threshold of the door, Grace catches up with her, wheezing slightly from the effort. She reaches for the crown on Luxa’s head, and rearranges it neatly. “There.”. Luxa’s eyes almost fill up with tears again – it has been so long since a mother’s touch. Instead, she asks, “Will you have dinner with me? All of you?” and Grace smiles.

*

And so the family practically moves into her quarters. Sometimes, when she’s passing through between meetings and obituaries, she sees Jonathan explaining things to Hazard: the functioning of an exoskeleton, the hierarchy visible in anthills, the mating rituals of worms. Hazard hangs on to his every word, Boots dutifully by his side, playing with Temp. She still plays, still sings, still eats and smiles. But sometimes she catches herself turning around and looking for her brother, and then she will burst into hot angry tears. Lizzie mostly sits at Luxa’s old desk and writes, using the tree of transmission, the code of claw, or her own invented ones. She writes out all the prophecies neatly, and asks Luxa for stories about her brother completing them. Luxa tells her all she knows, all she can bear to tell, and then sends for Mareth, Dulcet, Howard or Temp. Some of the anecdotes even make Lizzie smile, however briefly.

Every night, Grace comes pounding at the Council door and says she has come to retrieve Luxa for dinner. No one in the Council dares object, because she is the Mother of Light, and because, frankly, Grace is a little bit scary. Luxa appreciates the protection, more than she thought she would.

She asks them, one night, what they want to do with Gregor’s body, once Lizzie and Boots are asleep, curled up with Hazard in his room. Grace and Jonathan both still, look at each other. It is an entirely different kind of love than Vikus and Solovet had, than even her parents had. Unburdened by royal blood and diverging ideals, there is a sense of friendship to them, of being a team through it all, that Luxa so admires. And a little part of her thinks that perhaps, she and Gregor might have had that, given time. Of course, it is foolish; if Gregor had lived, he would have returned home. But still, her heart is treacherous enough to imagine.

“We would like to take him home, and bury him with our family.” Luxa nods. “Then we shall do that.” But they share a look, and Luxa braces herself. “Luxa… no one has made any plans to take us home. There has been no talk of it. We are starting to get worried.”

Of course, there has been talk of it. Almost every day in the Council, Luxa is battling the same arguments: the usefulness of Boots to rally the Crawlers; Lizzie’s sharp, young mind against codes to come. These extraordinary children, given away to the Underland, Gregor laying down his life for them. Every day, Luxa  has been fighting them off, but there is little she can say, despite a weak it would not be right. “This is not what Gregor died for” she whispers to Vikus over and over, and he agrees. If it comes to it, Luxa will fly them out herself, if she can find a way out of the palace. Surely she could enlist Temp’s help. She so wishes Ripred were here.

“I will get you home. Do not worry. But perhaps after the surrender, if that is alright? The warrior’s family should be here.” Grace looks uncomfortable. “And I shall like to have you by my side. It will be a little like…” She cannot say the words. But Grace covers her hand with her dark one and nods. “Okay, Luxa. We’ll be there.” And it is so like Gregor, the shortening of syllables, the intonation of okay, that Luxa really does feel like a part of him is here with her.

*

The day of the surrender, Luxa carefully fills the deep pockets of her dress. She takes the two photographs of her and Gregor, a drawing Hazard made of her and Hamnet together, the blue fish stone, and Vikus’s ring in her right pocket. In her left, she rests Solovet’s ring, a stone from her father’s coronation crown, and the crown the nibblers had used as their signal to her. The Council tells her to fly out with Aurora, but she walks through the city. She fills her eyes and her heart with her destructed home, promises justice to all who ask.

In the arena, everyone turns to her. She wishes Vikus were here. She wishes a lot of people were here.

But she holds her head high, sidestepping the holes on the ground. Her eyes sweep over the bleachers: Gregor’s family is huddled with the Crawlers, though Lapblood is near them, her tail wrapped protectively around Lizzie; Hazard sits with them, and he gives an encouraging smile, as Aurora lands; Howard, York and Susannah, practically the last of her mother’s side of the family, are also there, looking at her expectantly; and Nerissa, tired and frail, does not look at her, and Luxa wonders what that means.

A part of her wants to run. Wants to say no, I am only twelve, hop on Aurora and run away to Ares’s cave, pretend that Gregor will round the corner in a minute and they can finally have their picnic. Instead, she calls upon the gnawer’s representative, expecting it to be Baereleg, who does open his mouth, but -

Of course, nothing in Luxa’s life has ever quite gone to plan.

She has no time to be happy that he is alive. As she watches Lizzie jump onto him, laughing for the first time in weeks, Luxa squares her shoulders, shares a look with York. The game has changed, with the Peacemaker appearing (she almost snorts – there is no doubt in her mind that this wound is self-inflicted). Luxa is weakened, and so she does what she has been taught to do: attack.

“Good. Then you should have no problem peacefully leading your fellow gnawers to the Uncharted lands.” She says icily.

“Yes, I do have a problem with that, Your Highness. And I am willing to bet I am not the only one. What have you done with my little warrior, huh? What does he think of this?”

Luxa grows cold. Even for Ripred, that is a low blow. To taunt her, to make her say what has been prophesied for so long. What she has known since the first time she laid eyes on Gregor: he would be taken from her.

“What do you think, Ripred? Gregor’s light has faded.” She watches the smallest glimmer of hope faint from Ripred, watches a flicker of genuine sadness be replaced quickly. Right there, in the moment Ripred has waited for his entire life, the moment he has worked and bled and killed for, he crouches next to Lizzie and abandons all negotiations in order to care for her. Luxa is stunned, staring at the huge rat, oozing blood, wrapping his paws around the girl. She can guess where this is going, if she stands her ground and he stands his: such moments will not happen again. Such genuine friendships between human and rat, Killer and Gnawer, will not come around again. She thinks about Gregor crying over Tick, Hazard being the first of his kind to learn another language. She thinks about Boots feeding the stingers, earning the title of Princess because of her kindness, not her blood. She thinks about Gregor sparing the Bane, and is sure, in that moment, that even if he had known the future, that foolish, idealistic, wonderful boy would not have killed it. Suddenly, she is very, very tired.

The gnawer is back to negotiation mode, rambling about justice and guarantees, cutters at the border and treaties, but Luxa interrupts him.

“Ripred.” Her voice is not queenly, or controlled. It is hoarse, and human, and grief-stricken. It is genuine.

He turns to her, snarls, “I will give you a war if it is one you want, your Highness.”.

Luxa thinks about One of us has to live, and steps toward the gnawer with a raised hand.

“This is what I offer. A bond between all humans and gnawers. A vow, to defend one another. To fight side by side, to learn about and from each other. To teach our pups differently. No treaties, no promises – but bonds.” Luxa smiles at the stunned crowd, and then turns back to Ripred. “Do you dare take it?”

Ripred’s smile is genuinely proud. He presses his claw against her palm, and so Luxa gains a new bond.

Aurora, Hazard, and Howard launch themselves at her, showering her in congratulations and expressions of pride. “Grandmama is rolling around in her grave.” She tells Howard. He laughs. “But Gregor would be so proud.” A shadow of sadness falls over Luxa, but she smiles. “You know what, I think you’re right.”

*

Lizzie’s solution is ingenious, and the compromise is sure to be a success, but Luxa is anxiously watching the Council members, their carnivorous smiles at Lizzie. Oh, how useful she and her little mind would be. She wraps an arm around the girl, and shares a look with Ripred.

They feast, and Luxa points out the shrimp in cream sauce to the rat. But he shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think I can bear it quite yet.” She frowns. Hazard takes a spoonful of it, and says “Oh, this is what Gregor brough to the jungle for you, is it not?” And Ripred nods. “Yes. Yes it is.” But he does not elaborate. Instead, he launches into a conversation with Hazard about echolocation lessons, and Luxa makes herself a sandwich.

They get them out that very night, secretly. Lizzie clings to the rat until the very last minute, and Temp weeps as Boots says “See you soon!”. Aurora flies them all out, even though they’re heavy on her back, but it was the only way. She orders them to lay on their bellies, hidden from guards, and places trusted soldiers at the gates.

She hugs Boots close, and Lizzie too. “Thank you.” The girl says. “For what?” Lizzie smiles, looking beyond her age. “You made him happy. A lot.” And then she’s stepping out, into the mysterious Overland. Luxa pokes her head out, just to see Gregor’s world for a second. The moon curves elegantly in the sky. Jonathan kisses her cheek, Grace hugs her close. “Sweetie, you will make such a wonderful queen.” Luxa buries her face in the woman’s shoulder.

She’s crying by the time they land back at the docks. Ripred, Mareth, Temp, Lapblood and Hazard are still there. She catches the last bit of dialogue, Lapblood saying “Shame, I would have been proud to bond with the warrior.” and smiles. Hazard takes her hand, asks her if she is alright. “I will be.” And she brings him close to her side.

“Now, we have work to do.”

Ripred narrows his eyes. “We do?”

“Oh, have I not told you? You are all part of my new Council. I am getting rid of Solovet’s lieutenants.” There’s silence, and then Lapblood is whooping loudly, Ripred and Mareth already deep in negotiation.

“Me, in the Council, me?” Temp asks, bewildered. Luxa crouches next to the creature that had welcomed Gregor here, that had taught her so much, and smiles.

“You, in the Council, you.”

[sunny-sings-sooth]

Daphne

Words: 4.5k

TW: Sexual assault, abuse

Here's my retelling of the myth of Apollo and Daphne! Highly experimental, as I usually write in first person and not so poetically. Hope you enjoy, and if anything doesn't make sense lemme know and I will add some context here. (Also FYI some of the dialogues are pulled directly from Homer's narration)

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Phoebus Apollonas had been alive too long.

He was young by god standards, barely over a millenia old, and still one of the youngest Olympians. And yet he had grown exhausted. He’d been suffering the curse of life long enough to see the boy he used to be -- Phoebus -- die. The demise of the boy began when, in attempt to protect his sister Artemis, he had committed his first murder and thereby lost her forever. The boy decayed further when he’d held the corpses of his sons in his arms. And he’d finally killed the boy with his own hands when he turned his grief-fueled wrath on mortals. Phoebus, the bright, the innocent, the golden prince of Olympus, was dead. All that remained was Apollonas, the destroyer, the terror, the monstrous god of plague.

Except he no longer wished to be Apollonas. Apollonas was addicted to alcohol, drowning himself in it so that he wouldn’t have to face the memories that had murdered Phoebus. Apollonas had struck his younger brother Hermes, the only friend he had left, in drunken rage. Apollonas was despicable and deserved death. He could never be Phoebus again; that he knew and had accepted. But perhaps he could rid himself of Apollonas and become just Apollo. That did not mean erasing Apollonas; he had too many crimes to pay for, and running away would be a dishonor to all those who had suffered at his hands. He would repent for everything he had done as Apollonas, and thereby recreate himself as Apollo.

The first thing he needed to do was to break alcohol’s hold on him, which meant distancing himself from Dionysus. He didn’t want to abandon his youngest brother, but the temptation to drink was too strong in his presence. He hoped Dionysus would understand, and that he would one day be strong enough to bridge the gap of his creation.

He had been clean for three whole days. It didn’t seem like much -- blink of an eye in the lengthy lives of gods -- but that alone had taken him all his willpower. In the absence of the gallons of drink he had been consuming daily, not only was he plagued by memories and sheer self-hatred, he suddenly became highly attuned to the gossip that trailed him. Every moment on Olympus, hundreds of eyes were trained on him, and the whispers never escaped his sharp ears. It wasn’t that he was not used to being the center of attention, but rather the harsh truth of their statements. Phoebus Apollonas is a murderer. He flayed Marsyas alive for daring to challenge him. He curses anyone who questions his authority. He has killed thousands with his plague arrows. He is a monster. He knew these were all true and that he deserved to be pierced by such words, but the anxiousness caused by his withdrawal made them unbearable, and he had to escape to the woods. Here he found solace. Here he could work to slowly put himself together again until he was strong enough to face those who he wronged.

If he hadn’t been so lost in thought, then perhaps he would’ve heard the flap of wings before Eros was standing before him. He nearly dropped the silver bow that he’d been restringing and looked up to meet the other god’s gaze. Eros was the only man Apollonas considered a possible competitor in terms of beauty; his fair skin was smooth as a pearl, his wings the color of one, his features the aspiration of every artist’s portrait. And yet there was something unnerving about the other god. Perhaps it was his hair that, while comparable to a young maiden’s blush, was also the same shade as blood. Perhaps it was the deep red hue of his eyes, made of crushed hearts and rubies. And perhaps it wasn’t his appearance at all, but the mystique that surrounded him; he was the fourth being to come into existence and was old as time itself, and that was one of the only two things Apollonas knew about him.

“Phoebus Apollona,” Eros stated in greeting, and Apollonas hated how wrong it sounded, though he couldn’t tell if it was the names themselves or simply the one who spoke them.

“What do you want?” He couldn’t hide his irritation. The other thing he knew about Eros was that he was the god of love, and love had only ever caused Apollonas pain. He had no reason to like the god nor felt the need to veil his displeasure. All he wanted was the solitude necessary to rework himself.

“I was simply admiring your bow, oh He Who Shoots From Afar.” There was no missing the mockery in Eros’s voice, and his eyes gleamed as he gazed at the weapon. “Why, your skill is almost comparable to my own! Perhaps with some effort, you can become the greatest archer in the land.”

“Are you implying that you are the greatest archer?” Eros nodded, and one glance at the winged god’s slim arms and the modest bow slung across his back sent Apollonas into a fit of laughter. It was many moments before he could calm himself enough to speak. “What have you to do with the arms of men, you feeble thing?”

“I am merely suggesting I may be god of archery as you are god of plague.” Apollonas’s head snapped up at the idea, and his hands curled into fists as he stood, towering over the shorter god. If Eros was a painter’s fantasy, then Apollonas was a sculptor’s. His toned body was the epitome of perfection, the ideal balance between strength and beauty. He was well aware of this fact, and though he rarely preferred to use his appearance for intimidation purposes, Eros’s insult necessitated such action.

“Do not lay claim to my honors,” he hissed, his sky blue eyes glinting with divine power. Archery was the one constant he could always rely on. With his bow and arrows, he could protect and punish, wound and save. It was the one part of him that stayed no matter if he was Phoebus or Apollonas or whoever, and he’d be damned if he allowed this worthless winged wretch to even suggest taking that from him.

“Let us put it to test, then,” Eros declared, unfazed by the archer’s anger. What would the ancient deity have to fear from the youth? He was well aware of his capability, and little did Apollonas know he was falling into another trap, his emotions and naivety deceiving him once more. He was but a pawn in Eros’s game. “What say you to a battle of skill?”

Apollonas did not grace the other with an answer, lifting his weapon and drawing an arrow from his golden quiver in response. The toned muscles of his back flexed as he pulled back the string and released, and the arrow had barely gone forth an inch before he sent forward another, and then yet another. His arms were but a blur as arrow after arrow went flying, striking the most minuscule of targets: the pupil of a fly’s eye, the thread of a spider’s web, the stem of a single olive. Apollonas did not stop until his quiver lay empty, and he took in the perfect shots before him that seemed almost artistic by his hand. No matter how low he may have descended in these past years, there was no denying the masterpiece he created from the most basic of weapons. This was his domain. He couldn’t keep his lips from curling in conceit as he turned to Eros.

“That gear becomes my shoulders best,” he declared, setting his bow back beside his quiver to draw emphasis to the weapons that had adorned him for centuries. “I wound my enemies; I wound wild beasts. My countless arrows slew the bloated Python, whose vast coils across so many acres spread their blight. You and your loves!” Apollonas couldn’t hold back his scoff at the mention of Eros’s inferior work. “You have your torch to light them. Let that content you. Never claim my fame!”

“Your bow, Phoebus Apollona, may vanquish all, but mine shall vanquish you. As every creature yields to power divine, shall your glory yield to mine.” At Eros’s threat, an enraged response was making its way up Apollonas’s throat, but before it could spill off his tongue, the love god drew his own golden-tipped arrow. In the blink of an eye, he shot it forth right into the other god’s heart before taking flight.

Apollonas stumbled back, a gasp more of shock than pain escaping him as he clasped his hands over his chest, fingers fumbling for the arrow. However, it had already dissolved into him, its magic making its home in his body. He felt something ooze into his heart and bloodstream, shoot up his spine, ensnare his mind. He turned his attention inward, trying to identify the invader, but he could not locate it, nor could he compare it to anything he had ever felt before. What had Eros done? He lifted his head, searching for the god, but instead his gaze fell upon another figure altogether.

There, a few feet away, stood the sweet river nymph Daphne. He knew her -- he knew the names of many of the nymphs that resided in these woods -- but beyond a passing glance and a murmured greeting, she had never caught his attention. But now… he couldn’t seem to look away, his lips parting in awe as he stared at her, dumbfounded. Had she always been so breathtaking? How could he have missed such a beauty? Her dark locks flowed down like a waterfall of ink. What it would be to hold that silky hair between his fingers, to braid it and adorn it with flowers and beads! Her eyes were a startling shade of not blue, not green, but something between the two, and he could spend hours drowning in their depths. Her figure had the slightest curve to it, the outline of a river, and he imagined that her body had been crafted to fit against his perfectly. He saw her, loved her, wanted her.

“Daphne.” Apollonas whispered her name, marvelling at the nectar-like flavor that coated his tongue. If just her name was so sweet, then how must her lips taste? Looking was not enough. The urge to find out was unbearable, the earlier argument stolen from his mind entirely as he found himself tossing aside his bow and quiver. What did archery matter when he could master the bow of her lips instead? He would claim it, make it and the rest of her his and his alone. He took a step forth, a giddy smile alighting his features.

“St-stay back,” the nymph stammered, icy fear coiling in the depths of her stomach. She could read his intentions clearly on his face, from the crazed look in his eyes to the wolfish grin he wore to the way his hands reached towards her. Daphne knew all too well what this man planned to do with her, and that should she fall into his grasp, she would not be able to stop him from having his way. So when he took another step forward, she turned and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Apollonas gaped only a moment before rushing after her, an arrow released from its bow.

“Daphne, please wait! I am no foe! You don’t need to fear me!” he cried out after her. Daphne did not answer him, her thoughts only on escaping. Thorns and brambles tore at the bare skin of her calves, yet she refused to slow down. “You run as if I am a wolf and you a lamb, but that is not so! It is love that spurs me! Don’t fly so fast, lest you fall and wound yourself!”

“Leave me be, you horrid man!” she shrieked, not stopping even as her dress got caught on the surrounding plants and began to tear, revealing her to him little by little. Apollonas’s brows furrowed in worry at the sight of bloodied cuts on her legs. From within him a voice called out: What are you doing, Apollona? Why are you tormenting this poor girl? Leave her be! You will not have your way with her! But before the voice could say more, he caught a glimpse of the bare skin of her thigh, and everything left his mind. His conscience was once more bound and gagged by Eros’s power, forced to watch it all in horror. Speaking of the god of love, he also watched, flying unnoticed above them, yet he felt only amusement from the sight. The sheer terror that had contorted Daphne’s face and drawn panicked tears from her eyes made him smirk, and Apollonas’s frantic yelling drew out peals of laughter. They had both bent to his will so easily, and he was eager to see how this played out.

“You run because you do not know. I am no peasant, no shepherd!” Apollonas called out to her again. She was only afraid because he didn’t know who he was. He knew the moment she realized his true identity, she would stop and turn to him with a blessed smile. “I am the son of Zeus, prince of Olympus, lord of Delphi. By me things future, past and present are revealed. I shape the harmony of songs and strings. You will be happy as my bride, dear Daphne! I will see that your every wish is granted and that no desire goes unfulfilled. Please stay!”

“No! My only desire is to escape you!” Yet this would not be granted, as her body was beginning to fail her. Try as she might, she could not outrun Apollonas; he was strong from years of training and battle, and though she was swift and sure-footed, she had used up all her limited mortal strength. Her legs trembled with every step, her lungs two pits of fire in her chest. And so her traitorous body came to a stop as she gasped for breath, and Apollonas finally had her. He held her hip tightly, freezing her in place. Had he been in his senses and had control over his own body, he’d never have done this, and his conscience screamed within him. But he was deaf to it, the lust coursing through him silencing all else. His eyes soaked in her bare skin when he would’ve shielded them, his hands pulled her closer when he would’ve let her go, and he was ready to claim her when he would’ve done anything but this crime.

“My love.” His warm breath brushed against her ear as he leaned down, pressing his lips against the pale column of her neck. Daphne gasped and tried to pull herself away, but his grip was too strong, utterly unbreakable. How could she escape a god? She was helpless and frail, trapped and alone. There was no one to aid her, no one to stop Apollonas from running his hands down her body and forcing himself against her. And then he was turning her around, wishing to taste her lips, and a final plea escaped her.

“Help me, Peneus!” she screamed for her father. She knew her father could do nothing against an Olympian, but perhaps he could do something to her, and she would accept any escape from this fate. “Open the earth to enclose me, or change my form, which has brought me into this danger! Let me be free of this man from this moment forward!”

Daphne’s prayer was answered, and she was changing.

A stiffness had taken over her body, the swiftness that had protected her for so long sacrificed to escape Apollonas. Her arms lifted of their own accord, her fingers elongating up and her feet rooting into the ground. The dark waterfall split into a hundred streams that lightened to a soft green. Her curved figure fell away as her body thinned into a single arc, her legs fusing and her hands reaching higher and higher. Bark was creeping up from her extremities, down what were now branches and up what had transformed into a trunk. It conquered her shoulders, her chest, her neck. A soft sigh, her last breath, escaped her just as her lips were encased.

Apollonas’s lips met rough bark that cut at his soft skin. With a small gasp, his eyes flew open and he looked straight into Daphne’s piercing eyes. The waves in them had finally calmed, as the storm that had tormented them could no longer ripple its waters. He stared into those beautiful orbs, breathing her name, and watched as they shut forever.

Apollonas couldn’t tear his gaze away, his mind still unable to process the transformation that had unfolded before him. His hand trembled as he raised it, placing flat against the trunk of the tree. A steady pulse graced his fingertips -- a heartbeat. Daphne’s heartbeat. She was this tree, this sorrowful laurel tree, lost from him forever. His legs gave out beneath him as he wept, wrapping his arms around her and leaning his head against her bark. And yet the lust hadn’t left him, and he was kissing the wood over and over, whispering her name and an endless string of apologies as the skin of his lips tore and blood dripped down his chin.

“Oh, Daphne. My Daphne,” he cried, yearning what could’ve been. He thought the image of her smiling sweetly at him, kissing his cheek and calling him ‘husband’, was a vision, a prophecy promising that he could be the source of her happiness until the end of time. But he was wrong. It had been a fantasy, a dream that had slipped out of his grasp. And now she was gone. His sobs doubled in intensity as grief wracked him, and he didn’t notice Eros approaching until he spoke.

“Isn’t this a beautiful sight?” the god of love asked, his lips twisting into a smirk. “Phoebus Apollonas, broken and filthy inside and out. A slave to his desires. Do you accept defeat, oh lustful one?”

Apollonas turned to the other god, and the grief in him sharpened to rage. His beautiful Daphne, the love of his life, had been stolen from him, snatched right out of his hands, and the cause of it all was simply standing there, taking amusement in his loss. He reached for his bow only to find it missing, and so he lunged forth and tackled Eros to the ground, wrapping his hands around the smaller man’s thin neck.

“You monster,” Apollonas growled, his sky blue eyes glowing with divine power. This horrid creature had taken his Daphne from him and deserved nothing less than death. Apollonas would deliver him to the gates of Tartarus himself if necessary. The man must pay for his crimes. He increased the pressure, causing the other god to choke under his iron grip. “You did this!”

“Oh no, Apollona. I merely gave you a nudge. The rest was all you,” Eros gasped out, managing to laugh even as his windpipe threatened to collapse altogether. The sun god’s brows furrowed at the statement, and Eros subtly waved his hand, calming the effects of his magic. “And who knows what you’ll do next if I keep nudging you forth? You’ll be giving your father quite the competition, won’t you?”

The spell finally broke, and Apollonas’s grip slackened as the lust drained out of him and the truth became clear. He had chased Daphne. He had chased Daphne with the intention to force himself on her. He had tried to kiss her and claim her as his own with no care for her terror. He pushed her so far that she thought it better to lose her humanity than to be his. Oh Fates, what had he done? You are the most wicked person to live, Phoebus Apollona. You are no better than your father. You did this to that poor girl. You ruined her.

“N-no,” he whispered, backing away from Eros and clamping his hands over his ears, but it was in vain. The voice came not from outside but from within, where his conscience was finally free to reclaim its owner. And so Apollonas relived the incident that had just taken place. He saw himself chase after her just as Python had chased him and his family, heard his plans to ruin her just as he believed Orion had intended with Artemis, felt himself force himself upon her just as Zeus did to his mother Leto. Never in his life had something been so achingly clear to him as this truth: while he had spent his whole life painting others as wicked, he had been the most terrible monster all along. Apollonas doubled over, spilling his insides onto the earth as though he could purge the maliciousness from his body. But alas, he could not; he was born the destroyer, and he had truly lived up to his name. He could not tell if his scream remained in his soul or ripped out of him. He didn’t know if it was tears or fire spilling from his eyes. All he knew was the terrible truth that he has been blind to all his life.

“You are weak, boy. But I can make you strong,” Eros declared, towering over the hysterical god. He wondered how Olympus would react to seeing their golden heir broken on the ground, sobbing like a spoiled child. He could only imagine they’d be just as entertained as he. Still, the time for games was over. Making sure to avoid the pool of vomit, he crouched down and placed a thin finger under Apollonas’s chin, forcing the young god to meet his gaze. “Here is my offer to you: vow to me on the river Styx that you will follow my every command, and I will save you from further humiliation and heartbreak.”

“What, so I can spend my life blind and deaf, a mindless slave to a heartless man?” A dry, humorless laugh slipped out of Apollonas’s lips. He had seen and tasted truth, and he would not give that up to become Eros’s puppet. He scowled and spat at the love god’s feet, glaring into those blood-red eyes. “That is what I think of your offer.”

“I expected the god of intellect to be wiser than this, but I now see the difference between you and Athena.” Eros sneered, wrinkling his nose at the sorry display. “Do not be hasty, godling, and ponder my words carefully. I am offering you invulnerability. I will harden your heart to stone so that none may hurt you. Without your greatest weakness, you will be unstoppable. You will never have to feel such pain again.”

Apollonas paused for a moment, considering Eros’s claim. To never feel this soul-tearing agony again? To be free of the organ that rebelled against his mind at every moment? Now that he contemplated it, the offer was quite tempting. Without his heart, he would only have to rely on his body and mind, both of which were immaculate. He would indeed be unstoppable, finally the golden heir of Olympus he was expected to be. And yet… his gaze moved to the laurel tree, and a single leaf drifted down before him. Apollonas caught it in the palm of his hand, carefully tracing its pale green veins. If he were to remove his heart, to lose his ability to feel, would that not be a dishonor to Daphne? After all he had put her through, did she not deserve to be mourned and remembered? And what about all the others, every mortal that had suffered at his hand? He would be spitting on their graves by choosing to run away from the pain that, in the face of what torment they had lived through, was nothing. And so Apollonas rose to his feet, stretching to full height and then kneeling down so that his face was merely inches from the love god’s. “Rot. In. Tartarus.”

“You really should have chosen the easy path,” Eros muttered, the smirk sliding off his face as he grit his teeth. Apollonas wanted to regret? Then he’d give him reason to regret. His hands flew to Apollonas’s temples, freezing the younger god in place. Eros’s eyes glowed, twin pits of lava, and his voice boomed as he invoked his ancient power. “I curse you, Phoebus Apollona. May love be your enemy and your heart a traitor. May you be powerless to control the whims of your desire, and may you be the cause of pain to those you love, over and over until the end of time itself.”

Apollonas fell to the ground once more, struggling as the curse rooted itself deep in his soul, at the very essence of his being. By the time his throat had grown too raw for him to continue screaming, Eros had already flown away, leaving behind nothing but punishment. He found himself crawling back to the laurel tree, to Daphne, leaning his forehead against her trunk as he wept. He wept for her, for those before her, and for those after her.

“I’m sorry, Daphne,” he whispered, holding on so tightly the bark dug into his skin and realizing how powerless he really was. “I’d change you back if I could, sweet nymph, but I cannot. Instead, I swear by the river Styx, I won’t let you be forgotten. I bless you so that your leaves are never shed and instead will be woven in wreaths that will become a symbol of honor, the very thing I tried to steal from you. Let mankind see me to be the monster I am if that means your memory will live on. And even if your name no longer forms on the lips of men, they will live on eternally upon my own. This I vow to you.”

With this, he lay one last touch upon the tree before turning away, trudging his leaden feet back to Olympus. He heard the whispers as he arrived in the city, but he paid them no mind and made way to his house. Barely moments after he entered, his fingers scurried over the wall until they found the loose brick that he yanked out and tossed aside. His hands trembled in a moment of hesitation before reaching in. He grasped the bottle of his poison, his secret, his solace. Apollonas lifted it to his lips, tears running down his face, and drank his worries away.

[peachy-rambles]

Robin Hood + A/B/O AU pt. 2 (part 1 here):

Philza.

It was Philza.

Phil, the disowned Omega of the noble House Elytrian. The same Phil who all those years ago had seen Prince Dream bullying a defenseless child and stepped in when no one else had ever bothered or dared to.

Phil, who Techno considered his first (maybe only) friend and had never forgotten about, had carried a torch for him all these years.

Phil was the outlaw, the one who had been terrorizing and robbing the upper class and nobleman. He was the "Angel of Death", as they had begun to call him, receiving the nickname after killing the last few generals sent to capture him.

Phil was the Angel of Death, and regardless of his own personal feelings, it was Techno's job to capture him and present him to Dream, so that Phil could be properly punished for his crimes.

Which was exactly the reason why Techno was now attempting to sneak back into his own estate with Phil's unconscious body in his arms, using the hidden (and mostly unknown) back entrance.

He made it past the outer walls that fortified the small estate without being seen just fine, the few servants hired to work there all inside for the day due to the pouring rain. Unfortunately, this also meant that bringing Phil into the manor wasn't an option, not without getting caught anyway. But Techno needed to find a warm, dry place where he could set Phil down and quick.

The only place that came to his mind were the stables. Techno knew they should be empty at that time of day and there were plenty of vacant stalls where he could place Phil and hide him. Not only that, but if anyone did enter the stable, Phil's Omega scent would be easily concealed underneath the smell of the horses.

Right. The stables it was.

Techno quickly made his way to the large building, pushing the heavy door open and walking inside the dimly lit building. He began to relax now that he inside and out of the rain-

-only to internally curse when he saw that the stables weren't as empty like he'd assumed they would be.

Apparently, a certain apprentice of his had decided that day to spend time in the stables.

"Sir!" Ranboo exclaimed with a smile on his face, walking out of one of the occupied stalls, closing it behind him. "You were gone for a long time, so I decided to check in on Carl-"

Ranboo stopped mid-sentence and froze where he stood, his eyes widening as they landed on the body in Techno's arms.

Techno cringed, knowing his cover had been blown.

"Is that them? The-the Angel of Death? You...you finally caught them?" Ranboo stuttered out, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, Techno considered lying before he quickly remembered that he was horrible at lying. Even if Techno was somewhat decent at it, Ranboo was fully aware that Techno's sole task at the moment was the capture the Angel of Death and knew just about everything that Techno knew about them. He would no doubt recognize the clothes Phil was wearing to be the same signature ones the Angel of Death was always seen wearing.

So, lying to Ranboo was out.

Which meant...Techno would have to tell the truth.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"Yes and no," was all Techno said and walked past Ranboo, heading further into the building. He entered an empty stall towards the back, giving it a quick once over before deeming it acceptable. He crouched down, and with great care, set Phil down onto the soft pile of clean hay that lay inside the stall.

Techno glanced briefly behind him, unsurprised to see that Ranboo had followed him and was standing there in the doorway of the stall, fidgeting nervously and his scent (so light, that it was easy to mistake him for a Beta) beginning to sour with anxiety.

"Sir?" the young Alpha asked, his voice quiet and unsure.

"Ranboo, I need you to go into the manor and gather up the medical supplies in my room - bandages, potions, take all of it. Grab two extra sets of my clothes as well," Techno ordered, and lowered his voice, adding on, "Make sure you aren't seen by anyone."

Ranboo was quiet for a moment before he seemed to properly comprehend Techno's words, his eyes lighting up in understanding and he nodded, "Yes, sir!"

He walked off and out of view, the sound of the stable doors opening and closing echoing throughout the building as Ranboo left.

With Ranboo gone for the moment, Techno turned back around and focused his attention back on Phil.

Phil was a bit damp from being out in the rain, but fortunately wasn't soaked like Techno since he'd done his best to cover Phil with his cloak until they'd reached the stables. Despite that, his face was pale (probably both from blood loss and the cold) and he was beginning to shiver, so it would be best to get him into a dry set of clothes soon.

The arrow embedded in Phil's shoulder was still an issue as well, but at least it wasn't bleeding anymore and it most likely wasn't infected, so it could be easily dealt with (Techno had treated his fair share of arrow wounds back in the days of serving in the King's army).

Techno sat there, lost in his thoughts as he gazed down on Phil's unconscious form, listening to the sound of the rain still pouring outside and hitting the roof of the stables.

A few minutes passed before Techno heard the sound of the stable doors opening, Ranboo appearing a few minutes later with a old leather medical bag in his hands, several items of clothing tucked underneath it.

"Did anyone see you?" Techno asked and was relieved when Ranboo shook his head.

"Ok, good. Now come here, I'm going to need your help."

It took a bit, but together, Techno and Ranboo managed to dislodge the arrow from Phil's shoulder and clean the wound before bandaging it up in haste.

Once that was dealt with, Techno stripped Phil out his damp clothes (kicking Ranboo out for this part) and placed him in some of the dry clothing Ranboo had brought. Techno took his own soaked outfit off as well and changed into the rest of the dry clothes, before he crouched down next to Phil to check over him once more.

Even now, Phil remained unconscious and it almost appeared as though he were simply sleeping. He looked strangely vulnerable laying there, not helped at all by the fact that the clothes he was wearing (Techno's) were massive on him, making him appear smaller than he was.

Like this, Phil was such a far cry from the infamous Angel of Death, it was no wonder that no one had found out his true identity until now.

But really, if Techno was being honest with himself, he wasn't surprised.

Of course Phil was the Angel of Death. Who else would have the inside knowledge he did, who else would be clever or capable enough to successfully steal from the rich, who else would be this kind-hearted and give what he stole to the poor, even risking his own life time after time to do so?

Philza, that's who.

Techno didn't even realize that his body had decided to act on his own, so lost in his own thoughts, until his hand reached out to brush some of Phil's long golden locks back from his face. He was about to pull back, when Phil (still unconscious) turned his head and leaned into Techno's touch, a small whine escaping from him.

Techno reacted on instinct, a low pleased rumble rising in his chest as he cupped Phil's face in his hand. He couldn't help but smile when Phil nuzzled into his palm and let out a soft purr before seemingly falling back into blissful sleep.

No, no one would ever suspect that Phil was the Angel of Death.

And Techno would make sure no one would ever find out.

Techno allowed himself to sit there and hold Phil for a few more minutes before he regretfully pulled his hand away. He stood up and walked out of the stall, where Ranboo was waiting for him just outside, concern etched onto his face.

"Go on, ask," Techno said with a sigh, having known this was inevitable as soon as Ranboo had seen Techno carrying Phil into the stables.

"That's the Angel of Death, right?" Ranboo asked, glancing briefly behind Techno where Phil was.

"Yes," Techno answered.

"You're not going to turn him in, are you?"

"I think you already know the answer to that," Techno stated and narrowed his eyes at the younger Alpha. "I suppose the question is now whether you'll turn him in or not."

"I won't!" Ranboo exclaimed, startling both himself and Techno. Ranboo cleared his throat and continued in a much softer voice, "I mean, I'm not going to tell anyone. If you're not going to turn him in, you probably have a good reason and I trust you."

"I'm not sure if my reasons are good per say, but I do have reasons," Techno muttered and sighed, leaning back against the stall door.

"He's an Omega, right?" Ranboo asked. There was no judgement or surprise in his voice, merely simple curiosity.

"Yes, he is. Philza of House Elytrian. They're renowned for producing Omegas, and Phil was one of them. He was engaged to an Alpha from another noble family, but he was disowned a while back for instead bonding with an Alpha beneath his social class," Techno explained with a shrug.

Understanding seemed to dawn on Ranboo's face, "You sound like you know him. Were...were you two-"

"I knew him once, a long time ago, but it doesn't matter now," Techno said, interrupting whatever train of thought Ranboo was about to go on, "Ranboo, I appreciate all you've done to help me so far, but I'm afraid there's one more thing I must ask of you."

Ranboo hesitated for a moment before he nodded, "Whatever it is, sir, I'll try my best!"

---

It was just another day at Church Prime and Jack was doing his nightly rounds, when he heard a knock at the front door. Which wasn't terribly unusual and he thought nothing of it as he went to go open them.

There standing on the front steps was an unusually tall Beta, holding a limp body in their arms.

"I-I just found him and he seems injured and I didn't know where else to go-" the Beta began to explain, panic in their voice.

"Calm down! Come inside and lemme see them," Jack interrupted to Beta and led them inside to one of the back rooms where they kept the spare beds.

The Beta set down the body onto one of the beds and Jack leaned down, beginning to inspect the unconscious figure.

It didn't take him long to realize he recognized them - it was Philza, the Angel of Mercy!

Jack turned around to speak to the Beta and hopefully get more information out of them, but they were already walking away.

"Oi!" Jack yelled and the Beta flinched before bolting, running out the door.

Jack ran after them but by the time he reached the front doors, the Beta was long gone and nowhere to be seen.

---

Techno watched from a distance, safely hidden behind a dense thicket nearby, as Ranboo brought Phil into Church Prime.

A few minutes later, Ranboo ran out of the building and made his way to where Techno was, joining his mentor in his hiding spot.

They both saw as the friar that had greeted Ranboo walked out, glancing around, but when he didn't see Ranboo, headed back inside and closed the front doors.

"What now, sir?" Ranboo asked after a few moments had passed.

"Now, we go back home and pretend this never happened," Techno answered simply and began to walk off in the direction back towards the manor, Ranboo quick to follow him.

Of course, that wasn't completely true. Techno knew that he couldn't just pretend none of this had happened or ignore the Angel of Death's true identity.

Already, he was planning his next move and knew exactly what he needed to do next.

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

🕯Anon said: hi sweetheart 🕊 can you write about armin having a quiet night with the reader? something like wearing comfy pajamas, fairy lights, cute little candles, incense, soft songs and maybe some reading? and they just cuddling? 🥺 i think about that whenever i go to sleep and do all of the above, but i'm just by myself lmao anyways, thank you so much 🌸 (btw i'm the anon who asked you about the armin x painter!reader 🥺 hello 🥺 i just love how you write can we be friends please) 🕯

Quiet night with Armin

{ Armin x Reader | tw:none | sleep help, comfort, fluff | modern }

{ "Twilight, Valley of the Genesee" 1865 by Samuel Colman 1832 - 1920 }

Shimmering golden hues weaved across pastel blue walls in the form of strings, crossing the bookshelf before making a turn at the plants corner, illuminating the room with a soft warm glow.

Your head rested against the satin pillow, just right above Armin's shoulder, close enough that you can see the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. The ends of his hair ghosting over your cheek whenever he leaned to tell a particular clever line of the book he's been reading to you.

You can't exactly remember the name of it, but you can clearly recall his excited smile this morning when showing it to you.

"It's one of my favourites" he said, "the last time i got to reread it was in high-school, has it really been that long?" And that's all you can remember from the conversation before it got sidetracked by him asking if you had lunch yet.

There's definitely something to be said about rereading a book over and over again, a sense of familiarity, an attachment to the characters, plot and world setting. It's almost magic how quickly your comfort book, show or movie can turn a horrible day into a nice one, making it the silver lining.

Looking at the way Armin would pause for a second after some lines, or chuckle at random scenes, like it's an inside joke between him and his mind, you can tell he's definitely recalling some good memories.

Just like how he's adding to his list of comfort memories by sharing this experience with you, he wants you to be a part of this silly book he once picked up as a child and continued to revisit every few years.

You glance at the remaining pages, just as he flips another one to start anew. You've already finished a third of the book, only a quarter remaining.

It's not that you're getting impatient, but it's more that the soft blanket draped over you, the warmth of Armin's body pressed next to yours and the sound of his voice, are all luring you into a hazy cloudy state where your eyelids feel too heavy and turning your head to check the clock seems too exhausting.

How long has it been? since you curled up against him right after you went to put your empty hot chocolate mugs in the sink.

You don't have the heart to tell him that your brain stopped registering the words he's saying and instead listens to the tone of his soft-spoken voice and reacts accordingly. Stealing another glance at the remaining pages, you notice a few missing, okay good, just a few more. You can hold on right?

Right?

Forcing your eyes open, you suppress a yawn threatening to rise before curling even closer to his shoulder, face against his neck, hand over his chest.

Instead of focusing on his calming heartbeat, you try to focus your attention on different things, like the smell of snowdrops flowers filling the room from the scented incense sitting on the nightstand. 

Snowdrops, the milky bell-like flowers who befriended the cold harsh snow herself.

An ancient German tale that Armin told you, on one early spring morning. When the universe was just in bloom, as the earth shaped its form and the plants dressed themselves, when the god in the heavens above just created snow, she was told to go seek her colours from the flowers below.

She came with her request, but the flowers turned their heads, refusing to acknowledge her for she is the reason for the harsh weather, deeming their life spans short, overzealous and jealous, protecting their colours from the merciless lady snow. 

She was left all alone, friendliness, colourless with no love or sympathy from a soul.

Except for one, came knocking on her door, head bowed down and humbly offered to share. Snowdrops were the flowers that warmed the snow's heart, and so white was the colour in which snow was known.

Snow made a vow, to always protect her one and only friend, even from her own self. Under her watchful gaze, snowdrops were gifted with warmth that let them be the first flowers to bloom when winter bid her goodbyes as spring was arriving soon.

You've never seen snowdrops the same since, their delicate and shy nature standing out between all the proud flowers, you even suggested planting some to Armin.

"...but sweetheart" you remember him saying with a frown, " snowdrops are poisonous."

…

Yeah, and so getting their scented incense was the second best option available.

You hear the sound of another page being turned, fewer left to go, just hold on a bit longer.

Wondering the room with your eyes, your gaze fell on the straw sunhat hanging from the on the back of a chair. It's Armin's favourite, he'd always wear it when the sun was particularly bright that day.

you remember him saying it was a gift from his grandpa when he was a child.

His grandpa...didn't you visit his farm a few months ago?

...yeah you did, you can recall clearly, how you were:

Squinting your eyes to avoid the bright sun, you wiped the sweat collecting on your forehead before leaning your head back against the wooden wall. The occasional passing cool breeze distracting you from the dryness in your throat, even after moving to sit in the shade your skin still felt too hot.

The grassy fields in front stretched wide before ending in white pained fences, where the crops patches for vegetables started.

The sudden gentle waves of cool air against your skin made you glance to the side, where Armin was fanning you with his hat, while holding a tray with two ice filled lemonades in his other hand.

"Are you sure you don't want to go inside?" He said, sitting next to you before handing you the cold drink, "you've already done a lot, I'll do take care of the rest."

You've been helping Armin with the farm work since sunrise, feeding the animals together and watering the crops, saying you're exhausted from the scorching hot sun was an underestimation.

And yet, somehow Armin seems unaffected. Not a sign of being bothered as he sat there next to you with his rolled up sleeves and cuffed pants, the slight flushing to his face was the only thing he got from the sun.

"Yeah, I need to lay down a bit." You remember saying, after emptying your drink in one go.

"If that's the case then-" setting the tray aside, Armin patted his lap while looking at you, "Come here."

Too tired to protest, you layed your head on his thigh, feeling your back stretching and the cool air from his fanning was already making you feel better.

"You know, there's a story my grandpa used to tell me about the sun."

An Australian folklore, about a time when the earth was merged in absolute Darkness, when even the stars refused to light up the sky.

Eternal darkness was the fate of humanity, as people were spent their lives carrying torches to light up their way.

Gnowee was an alone mother in a forsaken world, left to fend for her little son. Each day while he slept safely, she'd venture into the the fields in search for plants or seeds. Knowing very well that's it's a matter of life and death if she couldn't come back with something edible.

Each day she'd come with whatever she could find, feeding it to her son even if it meant sleeping on an empty stomach.

But with food scarce and the abyss looming at every corner, things were harder each day.

One day after rocking her child to sleep, she quietly left with her torch to dig for yams she saw on her way last time. Retracting her footsteps, it was a long journey but she knew it'd be worth it.

And so she walked and walked till she reached the place, began digging the ground but dirt and mud was all that she could find. But she couldn't just go back to her son empty handed, and so she wandered far.

She wandered so far in fact that she reached the end, not the end of her journey but the end of the earth itself.

Somehow, in someway she managed to pass from under it, her will for her son to live another day far greater that anything, and so she emerged from the other side.

The void.

Where nothingness lived.

Looking at the vast empty space, she didn't know where she was, the line between the ground and walls was so blurred that she thought she's floating.

Panic and dread filled her mind as she raised her torch higher and higher, attempting to clear a path for her to see. For she had to go back to her son, all alone sleeping by himself.

Climbing the sky was her only solution, as she wondered the world, unknowingly lighting up a path with her as she went.

"And so the Sun Goddess wonders the sky above, in search for her son." Armin told you that day, before offering you his own lemonade to drink because he was still worried about you.

...

You can't recall how that day ended, you think you might have fell asleep on his lap right after.

The fairylights on the wall reminded you of the clear stars sky you've seen while on the farm, his grandfather was a really sweet guy too.

With your mind still coulded in drowsiness, your hearing was also delayed apparently, since you just noticed the book in Armin's hold was closed with him staring at you with a smile instead.

Moving so he could set the book on the nightstand, Armin turned towards you before pulling you closer to him, making sure the covers don't slip off of you. He cupped your face, stroking your cheek with love in his eyes.

"I'm sorry baby, did I take too long?" He said, glancing at the clock behind you answered his question. 

You shook your head, murmuring a slurred "it's alright." 

Posture visibly relaxing, he gave your cheek a small kiss before resting too on the pillow next to you, a yawn escaping him.

With half closed eyes, you saw him cuddling close to your chest, features softening as he bid you goodnight. Your hand moved to stroke his hair just like he always liked, lacing your fingers through the soft strands you closed your eyes too. 

Warmth took over you, the feeling of his soft breath near your neck, the comfortable weight of his arms around you, the slow ticking of the clock, it all rocked you to sleep as you happily gave in.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Charlie’s 5✩ Inspiration: Daytime Spiritualities [昼日疑魂] Date Translation (END 4: Listen)

“Oh, you dare hit me? It’s not like I kissed you or anything, so why are you retaliating?”

*Light and Night Master-list | Charlie’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *5✩ Inspirations have 5 Endings!! *Charlie’s tag will be #For Night, For Paradox

✥ Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

How should I reply to him…?

⊹ Of course I'm scared ⊹

MC: Of course I’m scared. Don’t we all watch horror films for the fear it induces in us?

Charlie: Really? Then, I’ll have to relish in the supposed terror myself today.

MC: Don’t worry. I guarantee that this movie I’ve picked will definitely give you a good scare.

We quietened down as we gradually immersed ourselves in the horror movie that was showing.

The horrid-looking jailer chases vehemently after the unarmed prisoner. After being chased with no hope in sight, the jailer eventually catches up to the prisoner.

Blood gushes out, looking as if it was going to overflow out of the screen.

MC: Yikes!

I quickly covered my eyes, but I couldn’t help the curiosity that arose from wanting to know what went on after…

MC: Charlie? What's going on in the movie?

Although I couldn’t see Charlie, I could picture the look of amusement that must be on his face right now.

Charlie: You don’t even dare to watch it, yet you still want to hear about it? You sure?

MC: Of course I am!

A chuckle sounds by my ears, his voice seemingly moving in closer than ever before.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Charlie: Alright then. I'll tell you what's going on.

Charlie: The prisoner didn't die.

Charlie: He wakes up in a daze and surveys his surroundings, only to find the underground passageway deserted.

Charlie: He follows the passage, proceeding forwards.

Charlie: There is a faint light up ahead. He quickly approaches the only light source in this underground passageway, step-by-step. The rough walls are illuminated only by a lone torch.

Charlie: He is missing a patch of skin at the back of his neck.

Charlie: If he takes more notice of it, he should smell the scent of grease.

Charlie: How do I know it’s grease?

Charlie: The incision is smooth and precise, leaving just the right amount of blood staining the area. The edges of the wound are slightly carbonized.

Charlie: These are obvious traces of electrocautery made by an electrosurgical knife.

Charlie: When the skin comes into contact with an electrosurgical knife, the subcutaneous fat beneath it will be vaporised from the heat.

Charlie: Therefore, theoretically speaking, the smell of grease should be fairly obvious when the wound is in such proximity.

Charlie: Looks like there are still many secrets hidden within this maze.

Charlie: The jailer had dropped his badge on the ground right below the torch.

Charlie: The prisoner kicks the badge in anger, only to immediately tremble in fear in the next second.

Charlie: He picks up the badge and brings it to his lips, giving it a soft pained kiss.

Charlie: Like this.

Charlie: Sexual harassment?

Charlie: All I did was kiss the back of my hand.

Charlie: Don’t tell me… you’re embarrassed by that?

Charlie: You’re reacting like this just from hearing it? What will happen to you in the future?

Charlie: Oh, you dare hit me?

Charlie: It’s not like I kissed you or anything, so why are you retaliating?

Charlie: Okay, stop moving. Do you still want to continue?

Charlie: Continue what?

Charlie: The movie, of course. What did you wish to continue? Come on, tell me. Maybe I might even feel up for it.

Charlie: If it’s nothing, then how about you put your hand down? There’s nothing scary on screen now.

Charlie: No? How are you going to watch it if you don’t?

Charlie: You have your ways?

Charlie: You really do have your own stubborn streak right there. That is something that makes you increasingly similar to me.

Charlie: Looks like I’ve found another similarity between us both today.

Charlie: Ah, no. I guess that makes two.

Charlie: And, the other… is that I now agree with you that I do find the fear that horror movies induce in you to be quite interesting.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

The movie ends before we know it after the dazed silence that lapsed.

The projector stopped screening once the movie came to a close. The screen blanked out along with my guilt, panic, and fear.

And I’d completely missed the ending of the movie.

MC: Charlie? Do you remember how the prisoner who was sentenced to death got away?

I thought that Charlie would respond immediately in that prideful tone of his, giving me a clear and concise answer. Hell, I was even prepared to withstand another round of his narcissism if that ever came to pass.

Yet, he sounded a little unsteady and unsure, almost as if he too, was thinking of an appropriate answer.

Charlie: ...How did the prisoner getaway? Simple. He defeated the jailer who imprisoned him. All horror movies end the same way.

MC: He defeated… the jailer?

MC: The jailer here is a figment of his imagination; it doesn’t exist.

MC: The prisoner’s trapped in his own dream.

To prove what I’d said, I quickly pulled up the homepage of the movie where the summary and all the reviews were written. I pointed it out to him.

MC: Look, it’s even written in the movie’s summary…

I raised my head to clarify with him, but Charlie chose to completely ignore me, turning his attention to the plush pillow on the sofa. His eyes were very shifty.

Suspicious. VERY suspicious…

MC: Charlie, you… you didn’t take this movie seriously at all, did you?

Charlie closed his eyes in a slight grimace, his eyebrows knitting…

That reaction…. I KNEW IT.

However, he quickly bounces back from that moment of frustration. His expression suddenly turned serious and exaggeratedly grim.

Charlie: (Y/n), life is but a fleeting one.

The hell is this man talking about!?

I didn’t quite know why, but the serious tone he was taking with me sounded vaguely threatening. I could only nod in accordance.

Charlie: I see that you agree as well.

Charlie: If one wishes to have a glorious life as glamorous as the sun in this fleeting period, then some trivialities will have to be forgone.

Charlie: Alas, that movie earlier was an unfortunate one to have been forgone by this perfect life of mine.

MC: ……

MC: I see. I never knew that there was such a poetic way of saying “I don’t remember”.

Charlie: Who says I don't remember?

Charlie: I remember as clear as the day how my Fiancée got so terrified that she burrowed right into my arms.

I helplessly sighed. Looks like it'll be a long time and a good long way before I'll ever manage to understand how that brain of his works.

MC: Then, does the matter of rating and evaluating this projector still exist in your precious time of existence, Dr. Zha?

Charlie: The projector? Average.

Charlie: It's hard for me to be evaluating a projector below $200,000.

Charlie: But, I can consider using it as a console for couples.

He raised an eyebrow, smiling.

MC: And just where are your thoughts running off to?

Charlie: I'm just giving my honest, unbiased opinion.

Charlie: I hope you can convey this precious review of mine to the brand makers. Consider it my good deed for the day.

MC: Alright, Mr. Charitable.

MC: Now, are you quite done with your charitable acts? I'm going to pack the projector up and send it back.

Charlie: Why?

MC: Because… I feel like I don't really need a home theatre.

Charlie stilled my hand with his own, moving to block the projector off from me.

Charlie: Wait. I’ll take it if you can’t find a use for it.

Charlie: Send it to my house next weekend.

MC: You sure about that?

Charlie: Of course, I naturally have the right to accept any common personal property that my Fiancée chooses to give up.

Charlie: Come to my house next week, and don't stand me up.

With that being said, he confidently walked out of the apartment.

The golden sports car parked by the road gave a tremendous roar as it sped up. It soon faded away, replaced by the ever-present bustle of the people on the streets  

Watching the silhouette of the car gradually disappear, the events of what had gone on within my apartment resurfaced to the forefront of my mind… Charlie was far more bizarre than any horror film I'd ever watched.

However, it’s as if his appearance was slowly lowering my impenetrable guard over my small piece of land.

Now, as for what will appear in the future… Will it be volcanos? Or channels? Who knows; we’ll just have to wait and see.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 + 3 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 4 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 5 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Paradox⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: Prologue

[mistaeq]

Saturday, 26th December

Romeo!Don Giovanna x Juliet!Reader: The Masque

TW // mafia is mentioned, please don't take it lightly. Mista x Trish is implied, but I've aged her up.

Today I offer you this, which I'm proud of, and it doesn't happen often. So I hope you all enjoy this.

A darker point of view on Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Naples, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life

Whose misadventured piteous overthrows

Do with their death bury their ancient strife.

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

Is now the two hours' traffic of my fic;

The which if you with patient eyes attend,

What here shall miss, my toil shall strive to mend.

"I will be honest to thee, if thou do not mind me saying so, Don Giovanna. But I am still struggling to understand why thou wanted to show up to the event." the golden haired signore slightly chuckled, after his councilor's words, who was now helping him with fixing the bow which perfectly fit his elegant braid. He never gave up on styling his hair the same way, and now that he was showing up to an event out of pure spite, he was not going to change that.

"It is not that I wanted it, my dear Guido." the Don said, fixing his cream colored jacket's sleeves, an amused grin animating his relaxed features. "They don't expect me to show up at all, all they did was inviting me, thinking I would have chosen to not to go. And make fun of thy lord's attitude. It would be rude of mine, to not to let them know how good I am doing, despite their several attempts to push me down."

"Indeed, signore. Thy reasonment sounds just right." the young councilor Guido Mista agreed with the Don, crouching to give a better look at the lord's image in the mirror and nodding in satisfaction when he made sure the bow was symmetrical as he wanted. "In addition to this, I am pleased to inform thee about my choice of asking Lord Diavolo's daughter's hand in marriage, as soon as she will turn eighteen. Lady Trish." Giorno's grin, if possibly, widened. His councilor marrying his worst enemy's daughter? Sounded just perfect, since she was gonna move in their mansion. By her own choice. She hated her father, and had agreed to the marriage. Great to hear.

"Thou spoke music to my ears, Guido. And I thank thee for thou fixed my bow properly." the golden haired Don stood up, and started walking towards the door, eyeing at his councilor's outfit. "Get ready, we are going." Believe me, he was about to touch the door handle, when a rough voice, who always allowed itself to speak too much, interrupted his actions.

"What about thy heart, signore? No love story nor marriage for thee?" The gunslinger dared to say, perfectly knowing his Don thought he had to keep on being focused on his own affairs, rather than have love related ones. He just liked to drop the question every now and then, but started being genuinely worried. Guido know how romantic Don Giovanna could get, and the thought of him getting old without getting married, weirded him out. At first, he used to think Giorno needed time to get used to his role as a boss in the neapolitan mafia - the biggest reason of his strife against Diavolo -, but now, years had passed, and it was getting worse.

"Tender is the way love might make this man change. Thy lord is not ready to face such a thing. Unless it is really worth a try." Don Giovanna's hand lingered around the doorknob, caressing it in an attempt to examinate a thin layer of dust. "Do me the favor to tell Ghirga that cleaning up every little thing, even the most insignificant one, is definitely not optional." the blonde said, finally tightening his grip on the door handle and exiting the room. Left in the whistling silence of the place, the councilor proceeded to get ready for the event himself. He knew his signore didn't like to make someone wait.

As soon as he came in the hall, everyone turned around him and his councilor, Guido Mista, who soon blended into the crowd, for his betrothed Trish Una gripped on his arm and pulled him somewhere else. "Bothering thy councilor is not my intention, Don Giovanna. I am asking for thy permission, to take him for a while." What else could the blonde man even answer, if not agreeing with it happening. Without any doubt, he was left alone so fast, he had now nobody to cover him, as his golden hair didn't blend at all into the crowd.

A pleasant smell of cooked food and wooden furniture penetrated the Don's nose, as he gripped a glass of wine from the servant who was walking around with a tray holding some. The man shook the crystal glass a little, before he smelled the alcoholic liquid, and took a sip from it. Then, he quietly snorted. "And this would be wine. I consider myself lucky, being these people's foe. This truly doth be terrible."

Giorno mentally commented almost everything in the hall, judging the furniture... "Outdated.", the people... "Seeing them stare at me pleases me. If they are willing to criticize my appearance and attitude, I will be even more pleased.", and the service as well. "These servants are just what Lord Diavolo likes. Being so useless, it pains me." he took the last sip from his crystal glass of wine. "Let me see how much will it take for some servant to notice."

No wonder, the signore was really full of himself, and he was right, for all the people's voices murmuring when he passed by, were coming from pure envy. Diavolo staring at him, from the top of a huge flight of stairs. Don Giovanna had not noticed him, for he didn't consider necessary the action of looking above his own head. Giorno knew he was the one to be already at the top. If so, it were others who had too look up to him. He had learnt he had to stand up to ferocious beasts too, and he managed, in his life, to dominate the worst out of all the beasts. Humanity.

Plus, he was extremely focused on what was happening in front of himself, for he could see, in the middle of the hall, several couples dancing. No need to specify, that was the place where Lady Trish had brought the councilor Mista. Don Giovanna couldn't help but slightly smirk. That man had always been so loyal to him, and he was genuinely proud of him for he had found a wife and helped his affairs at the same time. He watched at the curly, dark haired councilor moving his betrother around with grace, until they accidentally bumped into another couple who was dancing beside them. The Don was now elegantly chuckling, he was amused, he was...

...Love-struck. The couple who Mista and Una had bumped into, consisted in a young lord and a beautiful creature who probably came from heavens above. The angel apologized to the pink haired Lady with a laughter, and bowed to Guido in apology. The angel... were you. Diavolo's niece/nephew had made the impenetrable heart of Don Giovanna fall in love. Could he talk about love? He wanted to. All in a matter of two seconds, the golden haired man imagined you dressed up for a luxurious wedding. What he did not know, was that there would have also been Diavolo in the crowd, watching his archenemy marry you. He had no idea you were related to him. As the same servant he had taken a glass from before passed by, Giorno gripped her arm, and pulled her closer.

"What angel is that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?" he frantically asked, his tone was serious and imposing, as if he was ready to squeeze the information out of the poor servant. But she knew nothing about you, it was not like she was a family servant. She was just there to serve for the event. "I know not, sir", the poor waitress said, holding the tray on her chest and trying to go back into the kitchen. "I apologize. Uh. More wine?" The girl also asked, as Don Giovanna remembered he had ran out of wine. But he shook his head and left the empty glass in the servant's hand, moving towards you to have a better look, not noticing he was right under the flight of stairs where Diavolo and a follower of his were standing. Then, he started to talk to himself, contemplating you.

"O, they doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems they hangs upon the cheek of night." he moved his hands together, in a similar motion as one of a prayer. "Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear. Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, as yonder angel o'er their fellows shows." Don Giovanna's fingers intertwined with each other as he spoke. "The measure done, I'll watch their place of stand, and, touching theirs, make blessed my rude hand." with his intense gaze, Giorno's left hand moved to slide on the side of his body, as the right hand touched his chest. "Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."

He made the mistake to melt right under the sight of Diavolo, who smirked in seeing him so vulnerable for such a thing. Nobody was there to tell him that falling in love with you would have been his end. The pink haired lord was not irritated, for even if Giorno had tried to humiliate him, the golden haired boss was humiliating himself now, over a fleeting love. The man on the stairs wouldn't even have needed to do anything. Not that he wanted it in the first place. He would have behaved, to show his superiority off.

But Diavolo's loyal servant, lord Cioccolata, had other ideas. "This, by his voice, should be Giovanna. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave come hither, cover'd with an antic face, to fleer and scorn at our solemnity?" the green haired man bent over the banister to take a better look to the supercilious Giorno, who, again, had no clue of what was right above him. "Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, to strike him dead, I hold it not a sin." Cioccolata murmured, but felt his arm get gripped from his boss.

"Why, how now, kinsman. Wherefore storm you so?" the servant's jaw dropped.

"Signore, this is literally Don Giovanna, our foe, a villain that is hither come in spite, to scorn at our solemnity this night." as the same servant who Giorno had talked to approached Diavolo and offered him a glass of wine, the pink haired boss smelled it and took a little sip from it. Then, grinned. He was not in the mood for violence. For now. So he had to keep Cioccolata back from every kind of bad decision. It wasn't easy, to keep such a man from murder. Out of pure honesty.

"Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, Cioccolata. He bears him like a portly gentleman, and, to say truth, Naples brags of him to be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth." Diavolo explained. It would not have been good if something happened to that man in his mansion. He was part of Naples' pride. "I would not for the wealth of all the town, here in my house do him disparagement: therefore be patient, take no note of him. It is my will, the which if thou respect, show a fair presence and put off these frowns, and ill-beseeming semblance for a feast." was he asking his most violent servant to have... patience over his archenemy? Yes, he was, and Cioccolata was speechless.

"It fits, when such a villain is a guest. I'll not endure him." the angered man replied, trying once again to get his signore to reasonate and realize they could get rid of him so easily if they wished so. The councilor Mista was even too distracted by Diavolo's daughter to keep an eye on his boss. It could have been so simple, for Cioccolata, to...

"Am I the master here, or you? You'll not endure him? God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! You'll be the man!" the pink haired man slightly raised his voice - not enough for Giorno to hear - and made himself clear, so that if the green haired made any possible mess during his feast, he would have had to take his own responsibility.

"I will withdraw, then." the servant gave up on his ideas, but rudely. His one almost felt like a poisonous gaze. "But this intrusion shall now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall." he said, indirectly threatening an oblivious Giorno. Talking about him, during their conversation between the two men on the stairs, he turned unnoticed until Cioccolata left. When Diavolo looked down on him again, the golden haired boss was now in the middle of a crowded mess of people who was dancing, people who was eating and conversing. He was with you. Finally.

Giorno Giovanna approached you in a way you couldn't help but notice. He looked like the sun, a golden being, it caught your heart as well. Neverending seconds of staring at each other followed, until... "If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this." he gently took your hand in his. It felt warm. "My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." as the man said so, he leaned in to leave a soft kiss on the back of your hand. His sweet scent overwhelming you as he moved. How gentle.

"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this." you withdrew your hand and slightly chuckled, reassuring him it was fine. Someway, the two of you found yourself moving away from the crowd. In a more intimate spot. Diavolo couldn't even find you. "For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch..." your sweet voice was soothing the man more than you would realize. "...and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

Giorno bit his lip in anticipation, and gently exhaled. "Have not saints lips... and holy palmers too?" he asked, leaning down right towards your soft mouth, before you moved aside and, chuckling like an angel playing in a field, avoided the gentleman's kiss, jokingly scolding his mind with a mischievous smile.

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer." You provoked him. Where had Giorno Giovanna's temperance gone? He had swore to his councilor, just before leaving his house, that he wouldn't have let love blind his senses. And there he was. Plus, you did not know each other. You did not know who you were. You did not know you should have not been there together. Due to this, he gladly accepted your game, and chuckled back. God, he was so ethereal and he did not even realize it.

"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do." he begged, looking almost afraid of touching you, or your waist, or your own hand. How can someone fall so deep in love after having just met someone? Does love at first sight even exist? "They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." Don Giovanna's tone sounded impatient.

But you had accepted to play his game, and now you would have played it until the very end. You smirked, staring at the blonde man's trembling lips. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake." you said, implying the fact that you wouldn't have made the first step. It made sense, though. It was him, who had compared you to a saint first. Little did you know, you were playing with fire, for that man you felt love at first sight for, was your uncle's archenemy.

Giorno grinned, and hid you more against the wall, as your hands automatically wrapped around his figure. Though you didn't move in for a kiss. Until... "Then move not... while my prayer's effect I take.", said the man, grazing with his lips against yours, and finally pressing. You felt all your senses relieve and relax, as your hands grasped on the fabric of the Don's jacket. You didn't like your uncle's crimes. You wouldn't have liked Giorno's ones too. But you had no clue. And he had no clue you were Diavolo's niece/nephew. And you were in love.

His sugary sweet lips clicked against yours a last, neverending time, when he pulled back and thought staring right in your eyes was a good idea. "Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged." Don Giovanna whispered, breathing hard against your giggling mouth. He hadn't stopped playing, you noticed with a pleasant feeling.

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took...?" you slyly asked him, clearly wanting the kiss to continue, clearly wanting more, having no idea of how wrong it was. Having no idea of how dangerous is was. Though his eyes widened, and got even closer, so close to giving you what you wanted for the second time. You felt yourself growing so enamored.

"Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!" he paused for a second, before he bit his own lower lip. "Give me my sin again." Giorno whispered, grabbing your waist with his hand and kissing you, almost desperately, but romantically, against the wall. He had been so focused on anything else, that he had forgotten the true flavor of love, and living it all again after he had swore he wouldn't have done it, was way too intense. Way too beautiful. Better than the art he'd been collecting the latest years.

When he pulled back, you instictively smiled and raised an eyebrow, silently chuckling a little. "You kiss by the book..." you told him, caressing his neck gently and carefully. If it were for him and you, that beautiful moment could go on for hours, days, even an eternity. But beautiful things never last. The two of you almost had a heart attack, when the arm of a blonde, long haired man grabbed your right wrist, ripping your dream in half.

"Madam/sir, your uncle craves a word with you." he almost managed to get you away from Giorno, when the Don grabbed your left wrist, and pulled you towards him, not letting the man, Tiziano to be precise, bring you away.

"What's their uncle?"

At that question, the almond eyed man smirked, as if he was ready to drop a heavy bomb on the snooty Don. "Marry, bachelor, their uncle is the lord of the house, and a good man, wise and virtuous. I nursed his niece/nephew, that you talk'd withal." as if Tiziano had read into Don Giovanna's mind, he added something else, just for the sake of making it even heavier. "I tell you, he that can lay hold of them, shall have the chinks."

Then the blonde haired Don followed the two of you around the hall, until he saw you get pulled upstairs by Tiziano, and connected his brains to what he saw. Diavolo, waiting for you upstairs, and Tiziano holding your arm so that you wouldn't have been able to run away. Four painful words formed on Giorno's whispering lips. "Are they an enemy...?" he asked to himself, looking at you up there, until Trish didn't appear as well behind you.

Trish wasn't happy to be there, she loved Guido Mista, but apparently Diavolo had called all his family back. And your presence there, only confirmed his fear. You were about to step back towards him and say something, but Tiziano caught your shoulder just in time, and pulled you close enough to whisper you the words you would have never wanted to hear. "His name is Giorno." he added more details. "Giorno Giovanna. The only appearance you should match to your great enemy."

You stood there. Empty. You and your forbidden lover had understood what was going on. And both your hearts clenched. And both your hearts suffered. How could love be so beautiful yet so evil, to make a man live and die on the same evening. How...

We all know how this story ends, we know about the pain, we know about the sorrow. But what if this time it made sense. One of the lovers is dirty with criminal blood, running through his veins, and you accept him, in the good and in the bad. Is this right...?

Or is death the punishment, for the sin that in reality your lips hadn't purged at all?

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Olympics.”

Didn’t sleep well last night, so decided to write something relatively short for all of you this morning. Hope you like it :) 

“Welcome one and welcome all to the 528th quadrennial summer Olympics! This has to be the most exciting day we have seen in the history of competitive sports.”

“That's exactly right because this is only the second time in human history that the Olympics will be held off earth, and the first time that they are being held interstellar.”

“Four years ago some summer Olympics were held on Mars, but with the restriction to gravity, and some issues regarding respiration. However, after an agreement with the galactic assembly. The Rundi delegation has graciously offered to host the 4020 summer Olympics.”

“And host they have. This stadium was built in under four years with consultations from human architects and with the original classic style of greek and roman architecture in mind. The rundi really do know how to make a beautiful building when they want.”

“This is honestly what the universe really needed after these last hard few years, with the burg war, and the Gromm outbreak, and the Tesraki earthquake, a lot of people were just ready and waiting for some good news. Not to mention that after all of the issues with the LFIL and poor PR for humans across the galaxy, we all really needed a break.” 

“And what better PR than to share one of the greatest cultural achievements of human history. Historically the Olympics have been a time where countries set aside their differences and come together to show off their best athletes in competitions of human skill, fortitude, and perseverance. Now, for those non-human watchers, the Olympics was originally established in Ancient Greece. The word Olympics derives from the word Olympus which was the historical home of the Greek gods. Anyone who competes in the games is called an Olympian giving the implication that their feats of strength and power are almost godlike.”

“Not to mention they originally required the participants to compete in the nude.”

“Ha! Yes let us not forget that. Luckily, or unluckily for us, things have been a bit more modernized since then, and men and women from around the universe will begin their competitions today. Today Will be the first Olympics in history with representatives from interstellar colonies all across the Milky Way galaxy.”

“Beginning in the next four years, Olympic officials hope to open the games up to non-human species for competition.”

“Yes, officials say that it would be an opportunity for humanity to reach out a hand of peace and offer this great tradition of peace to the rest of the galaxy in hopes of fostering cooperation and understanding between all who live in the universe.”

“That will be a great day indeed, and look here comes the olympic torch carried by none other that commander Adam Vir of the UNSC, Earth’s golden boy.”

“The Olympic torch had an intense journey this year lit in Olympic greece and carried all across Earth to where it was secured to be transported on the UNSC harbinger. Now it took some work as UNSC regulations do not allow open flames aboard a interstellar transport, but with some work from some fine engineers and a bit of finagling, the torch was secured lit but burning low in a specialized sealed, and climate controlled compartment during the duration of the flight. Oh, and here he goes, handing of the torch. This will be the first time in human history that a non-human has carried the torch and lit the cauldron. They debated long and hard about who would light it this year, and as a symbol of good will towards the rest of the galaxy, and to usher in a new age of the Olympic Games, the torch has been passed to the chairwoman of the galactic assembly.”

“You know it really warms my heart to see humans sharing such a rich part of their culture and history with the rest of the galaxy. It really is a symbol of everything we stand for at our core.”

“And there she goes. IT’S LIT IT’S LIT!” “A truly amazing day for humanity and the world and the galaxy and the universe.” 

***

The galaxy had never seen anything like it. Humans from all around the galaxy had come together and were determined to astound the watching crowds with feats of acrobatics, and athletics so intense it would be unbelievable to anyone who watched human and nonhuman alike.

IN those days ahead the galaxy watched with it’s jaw wide as one man broke the world now universe record for fastest human sprint at 29 miles per hour. Facts and figures put up on screens above the heads of the crowd gave facts about the human body to put into perspective just how powerful these athletes were as olympic sprinters put their muscles under pressure equivalent to 1,000 pounds of force in a single sprinting step. 

They watched in awe and confusion as a tiny Olympic gymnast no older than sixteen cleared more that twice her body height in a double air rotation defying the laws of physics and gravity as she hung suspended in the air for what seemed like an impossible amount of time.

Eyes were wide and jaws had to be picked up off the floor as a young human from earth cleared the pole vaulting record, launching himself into the sky at 20 feet 3.⅕ inches.

Feats of balance and strength never before seen in the galaxy were demonstrated as those same young adults demonstrated flips, cartwheels and feats of acrobatics on beams barely wider than the width of their feet. Gasps rose from the assembled alien crowd as a dismount brought one young woman off the beam at at least three full rotations before landing.

There was no way that she could have known where she was going to hit.

But the announcers had been right, these humans had an almost godlike control of their bodies and some strange ability to know where they were in space at the optimal moment rotating on a single bar or between two flipping themselves around and around in ways that would have made others feel dizzy only to land smiling a moment later their hands raised into the air in triumph.

And then came the marathon, the event that aliens had heard about but never thought possible, preformed for the first time on a fiery death planet by a one legged, one eyed space captain in his boxer shorts in a little over four hours. The feat itself seemed unbelievable as a story, but when a young woman from a distant space colony preformed the marathon in a record breaking 2:22:53. Less than two and a half hours  required her to be running at speeds of almost ten miles per hour for two full hours.

The stadium could not believe their ears when they had heard what she had done. Alien race officials watch her run trough cameras to make sure that the feat was really true.. But it was true, it was all true. They could not believe their eyes.

Even in the water humans could not be matched pushing bodies that were not meant for swimming to speeds that could compete with one or two species running.

They put their bodies under strain so powerful it should have torn muscle and snapped bone, but when they came up smiling and grinning and waving to the crowd it was all the stadium could do to contain their excitement.

And when that wasn’t enough humans started adding obstacles to their events. 

What was better than a hundred-meter sprint, a hundred-meter sprint with obstacles you had to jump over. At an average of 12.5 seconds participants were reaching speeds of almost seventeen miles per hour, as fast as car speeds within city limits. If any of the humans had crashed they would surely hurt themselves horribly in the process.

And the crowd absolutely loved it.

Nothing was better than watching the humans lift heavy objects, throw pointy sticks, or even leap to great vertical heights sometimes throwing their legs higher than their own heads, which seemed impossible for aliens who had spent most of their time with average humans if they had spent time with humans at all.

Regular humans couldn’t do that.

So what insane kind of humans were these.

How did a human known to release the weighted metal disk when they were spinning around so fast, and what made them decide to throw the weight of their entire body into a kinetic linkage of angular momentum that would send the metal disk nearly two hundred feet in the opposing direction. 

It was the most viewed Olympics in the history of the event. Aliens watched to see the humans preform, and the humans watched to see the alien's reaction to the other humans preforming.

The rundi home world grossed trillions of dollars which expanded the universe’s economy to soaring heights.

Tesraki capitalized on the idea holding even more events for humans to compete in even after the Olympics were over. From then on alien planets would beg humans to come hold their games and competitions on their planet, didn't matter what it was, soccer, football, baseball, you could be sure the rest of the galaxy was interested in seeing it.

The entire universe was giddy with the feats of strength and ability which had been demonstrated in those intervening days.

Humans, who only fell prey to praise once every four years suddenly found themselves famous on distant moons completely by accident with alien companies begging them to endorse products they had never even heard of.

It was such a violent economic upturn, no one knew how to handle it.

There were those, of course, who realized something very different about humanity on those days. They had met your average human, the lazy kind that likes to sit in comfy nests, watch TV and imbibe on excessive amounts of glucose. They had even met the average human who threw in some daily workout routine so at least they could control their love handles.

Your average human scared them with what they could do without even thinking.

But what did this mean?

IT meant that it was very important to allow humans to nerf themselves because if anyone ever convinced humanity as a hole what they could be if ninety percent of the population were at peak human performance….

Well

It was simply better to keep the humans well-fed and sleepy.

Maybe then the universe would stand a chance