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liahoprey: Polignac arrive⊠Câest ce soir, les Ă©pisodes 5&6 de Marie Antoinette arrivent sur Canal+, vous me verrez jouer Yolande, comtesse de Polignac :) Coming out very soon in the UK and US! @marieantoinette @canalplus Lots of love for all of the cast and crew who made this experience so special for me đand a special shoutout to lovely @jazziblackborow with whom I donât have many photos unfortunately but god knows she was a big part of my experience on the show!!! Last group pics from @johannaberghorn, thank you! (Je tiens Ă remercier aussi @rouje pour la tenue, @modimagine pour mon maquillage et @iamjasonthomas_ pour ma coiffure pour notre belle premiĂšre il y a quelques semainesâ€ïž)
Caroline Piette, Crystal Shepherd-Cross, Emilia SchuÌle, Gaia Weiss, Jack Archer, Liah O'Prey, Louis Cunningham, Margaux Balsan, Nathan Willcocks, Philippe TĆokinÌski and Roxane Duran via liahoprey on Instagram, 11/14/2022.
#caroline piette#crystal shepherd-cross#emilia schĂŒle#gaia weiss#jack archer#liah o'prey#louis cunningham#margaux balsan#nathan willcocks#philippe tĆokinÌski#roxane duran
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three | chapter list
Finding out youâre a princess isnât half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and canât seem to stop flirting with you.Â
bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar
ËËË âĄ ËËË
Julianna is a real princess. As a granddaughter of the Queen, step-daughter of a prince, her title is official. Sheâs been a princess nearly all her life, and itâs a detail you canât miss.Â
Jamesâ hand is hot but amicable against your shoulder blade. He hasnât stepped away from you since Julianna arrived, though what threat she poses has yet to be seen. She doesnât seem particularly volatile. You canât imagine her in all her dewy skin and fine clothing lifting a finger, let alone her fist.Â
âMama says youâre an artist,â she drawls.Â
âNot really.â How her mother knows anything about you is a mystery. âItâs a hobby, is all.âÂ
âAnd you didnât finish university?â
âNo.â You donât owe her anything. You know you donât. But itâs not just her you want to defend yourself to, not when Remus is sitting by the window of the parlour and James is close enough to hear your heartbeat. âI tried to, obviously, but I couldnât, uh, afford to not work.â
âAh.â
You donât expect her to understand it. You know most people don't. Studying and working, the majority can handle both. Youâd been ashamed of yourself for failing, but youâd come to the realisation that it was sink or swim. You could sink âresent yourself for needing more time, more space, more accommodationâ or you could swim. Accept your âshortcomingsâ. Make the most of what you have.Â
Find yourself in a foreign country surrounded by the highly educated and the ridiculously wealthy. People who might never comprehend why youâve struggled, or how.Â
In that moment, you decide to treat this heart-wrenching trip as nothing more than a holiday. James is nice to you. The food is free and apparently plentiful. The groundsâŠÂ
Fuck, the grounds. The scenery. The royals arenât currently living in their most famous residence, Loswell Castle, but are instead mourning the Prince at the more private and more subtle Bellaverden House. Subtle, yet gorgeous. The grass is green and stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions, broken up only by the silhouette of the alps to the east and the shimmering Lake Orlo to the west. The palace itself is nothing like youâd expected, and so far from the capital city of Genovia it is no surprise to find that the royals let their personal tastes bleed into every corner. Itâs tasteful, silent wealth, no crystal chandeliers hanging from the eaves but instead a Rembrandt in the hallway. No solid gold cutlery, but instead Noritake porcelain tea cups and their matching exorbitant saucers.
âLoswell is the gaudier of the two houses,â James had said, evidently pleased by your wide-eyed surprise.
A nice boy whoâs being paid to spend time with you and his funny friends. All you have to do is survive the paparazzi (check!) and your suspicious possible relatives (less so).
Any hour now, the paternity test will come up negative and theyâll be shepherding you home in search of the actual princess, wherever she may be.Â
If she exists at all.Â
âYou havenât eaten anything today,â James says softly, for your ears only. âShould we go down to the kitchens?â
Itâs hard to describe the true and daunting scale of Bellaverden House, but Jamesâ use of âkitchensâ rather than âkitchenâ sums it up nicely.Â
Julianna rolls her shoulders, reaching for a black telephone on the side table. âNo need. Weâll have it brought up. What do you like? They have yards of fresh pasta prepared by now. Doesnât matter, Iâll ask for some of everything.â
âOh, no,â you say, stepping out of James' reach. âI donât want to be an imposition while Iâm here.â
âThat ship has sailed,â she says neatly.Â
Ouch. You look back to James without intending to, an automatic movement. Heâs become your safety net too quickly. His job is to protect you from harm, not your catty maybe-cousinâs mild disdain.Â
âSit,â Julianna says. âJames, you can take up station in the hallway. Go on.â
Her voice possesses all the snobbish airiness youâd expect it to. Sheâs regal, elegant, and rude. Jamesâ hand stretches toward yours, your fingers not quite touching. You think it might be his silent way of saying he wonât be far.
He gives you a reassuring half-smile. âIf you need me,â he says.Â
âTutor,â Julianna adds once James is at the door, âyou can leave us.â
âRemus, please.â You smile at Julianna appealingly, piping up before she can steal your last lifeline. âI need him to tell me what silverware to use. If I have any hope of catching up, Iâll have to start learning about proper etiquette straight away.â
You look to your tutor to make sure heâs on board. Remus gestures for you to sit and crosses the hardwood floors between you, his footsteps soundless. Julianna sniffs, your suggestion agreeable but tiresome for her, and pulls the telephone receiver to her ear.Â
Remus settles into the chair next to yours at the table.Â
âDonât worry. We wonât leave you for wolves,â he says.
Youâre grateful. You nod to the book in his hands. âWhat are you reading?â
He turns the book around. A Comprehensive History of Contemporary Genovia.Â
âIâve never had to educate someone who didnât already know a very specific, very intricate history of our country,â he says in his melding voice, the barest hints of his accent peaking through. He says our country like you already belong as he does, not native but citizen anyhow. âI provide supplementary education for the well-educated, I⊠Iâm like a second chance for rich slackers. Youâre neither, and so Iâm not sure how I can make this easy on you.â
You admire his thinking. Youâve been lucky to find yourself in the care of people who put your comfort first. Remus, James, Sirius, even the ambassadors of the country, and the matron youâd been introduced to upon your arrival here, theyâve all been so conscientious.Â
But it wonât matter.Â
âI know what youâre thinking,â he says.Â
âYou do?â
âYouâve made it clear how much faith you have in the current situation. I believeâŠâ that youâre who we suspect you are, you think he might say, but he parts his legs to bump his knee into yours. âI believe weâre going to be good friends.â
That is⊠âThank you,â you say softly.
The telephone jingles as Julianna slams it down. âSo, whatâs with the bruise?â she asks. âAnd the bad makeup. Mean boyfriend back home?â
Her cavalier attitude chafes. âI was a little too close to the door when someone opened it,â you say.
âAh.â
Again with the Ah. Extra syllables must be at cost.Â
Positivity, you remind yourself. This is a vacation. This inane and insane need to constantly prove yourself to the people around you is going to make you crazy, especially when all of this is temporary. Who cares what princess Julianna thinks of you now when, in a day or two, sheâll remember you as nothing more than the girl who they brought by mistake? And wouldnât it be nice to just⊠not care? Who cares what Julianna thinks?
You stand and walk to the door where James is standing, because calling for him would make you feel like an entitled dick. He turns his head to you obligingly.Â
âWould you come back inside? The painting is giving me the jeebies.â
âThatâs a portrait of your great great grandmother.â
âSheâs scary.â
He claps your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. âIf the test comes out negative, Iâll happily commit royal espionage for you and fix the results.â
âThat is not a joke you should make,â Remus calls mildly.Â
âProbably not. Iâve made it now. Sit down, Princess, the foodâs arriving.â
The food they bring up to you is Genovian specialty cuisine, recipes borrowed from the Italians hundreds of years ago, and how fortunate you are for that. You have no clue where to start, surrounded by rich smells of broth and stewed vegetables, the spritely aroma of white wine and tomatoes so fresh their roasted skins split under the gentle bottom of your spoon.Â
James refuses to eat with you, as heâs on the clock, but Remus sits down at the table as promised to guide you through the fascinatingly intricate etiquette it takes to be a new royal.Â
âThatâs Cioppino,â Remus says, pointing to a dark red stew bragging large pieces of crab, smaller chunks of a white meat youâre unsure of, and the distinct dark brackets of mussel shells. âItâs actually an Italian-American dish. Itâs served with sourdough or French bread, but in our case, where you canât necessarily use your hands, weâll go without.â
âThereâs nobody here I need to impress, right?â you ask quietly.Â
You swear you can hear Julianna twitching.Â
Remus doesnât respond to your comment, though his voice is riddled with amusement when he continues. âItâs more common for the crab to be served in its shell, but I donât suppose they want the royals using crab forks and crackers." He points to a second bowl. âThis, from the looks of it, is a variation of stufato di capra e fagioli, Italian for âstew of goat meat and beansâ. Self explanatory. Itâs very popular here in the winter, itâs,â âhis voice drops to a lower registerâ âSiriusâ favourite. Shoulder meat, onions, carrots, celery, white wine and white beans. I donât suppose I have to tell you what that is.â He nods to a heaping bowl of gnocchi coated in a green, buttery sauce, and its familiar wingman â fettuccine alfredo.Â
âNow thereâs one I know,â you say with a smile.Â
âI think theyâve gone easy on you,â Remus says. âGiven you something they knew would be familiar. The head cooks, Marlene and Marsha, hardly ever serve fettuccine without ragĂč di pollo. Chicken ragĂč. Itâs a sacrament in Marleneâs eyes to separate the two.â
He moves so easily from English to Italian. You wonder if he speaks Genovian. Is there a Genovian language? Youâre too embarrassed to ask, instead piling a mound of unadventurous fettuccine into your bowl.Â
Julianna picks up the telephone again and you let yourself relax as her conversation begins. She pokes at her food and talks in Italian down the line, staring straight at you as she says the word, âprincipessaâ. You donât have to be a linguistics expert to know sheâs talking about you. Eventually, her attention fades. Remus loosens at your side.Â
âThis spoon,â he corrects, before opening his book and sagging into his seat.
You're famished, yet all the rich food makes you nauseous. You toy with your fettuccine and a little of the cioppino. Weirdly, you miss the ordinary smells of your kitchen.
A figure moves behind you, Jamesâ shadow shifting to cover your hands. âUnladylike as it might be,â he says, âyouâll regret it if you donât try the bread, Princess. Freshly baked, soaked in pesto, itâs what us peasant folk fight over at the end of a shift.â
You hold your hand to a beautiful sliced baguette, âThis one?â
âThatâs the one.â
You pull the bread apart and enter a stodgy, olive oily sort of heaven. The only thing better than how it tastes is James' happy sound when you set aside a huge slice in a napkin and usher it behind your back, as inconspicuous as you can possibly be. He has no choice but to take it. A telltale crunch comes quickly and poorly smothered.Â
Julianna excuses herself, and a maid comes to take her plates and dirtied cutlery on a silver cart.
You lean toward Remus with a hand over your mouth. âWhat do you call them? The ladies in uniform?â
âPrincess, you can call them whatever you want to,â James butts in, returning to your side now Julianna is absent. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and sits in one of the chairs facing the door.
âBut whatâs nicest?â
âYouâll learn their names in time,â Remus says easily. âYouâll be fine. Officially, theyâre âattendantsâ. Maids, cleaners. Oh, youâll have a lady in waitingââ
âA what?âÂ
âA personal assistant,â James says.Â
Your face heats up like an instant flush, all hot pinpricks and embarrassment, âNo,â you beg, standing up, âplease, that would be entirely unnecessary, itâs not like Iâm some sort ofââ
âPrincess!â A familiar voice shouts. Sirius has weaselled inside the door and closed it tight, his back pressed against it for a moment like heâs keeping someone out. He wears an exuberant smile and a brilliant dark ensemble with fine pinstripes that mess with your eyes as he approaches. Heâs practically running. âIâve spoken to Delilah whoâs spoken to Beau whoâs spoken to Lily whoâs been in contact with the legal team in charge of your care here in Genovia, and theyâve heard from the medical team who have been fighting tooth and nail to be put in talks with you,â âhe looks at you emphatically now, and thereâs something about his expression, part wide-eyed awe, part sympathy, that freezes you to the spotâ âbecause itâs technically your care, andââ
âSirius, get to the point, please,â James says. Heâs looking at you in a different way. Like heâs waiting for you to fall over.Â
âYour father,â Sirius says, promptly deciding to start again. âThe paternity test is positive. Your DNA is a conclusive match for the Prince, may he rest in peace. Youâre a princess. Youâre the Princess, by blood. You are a Renaldi.â
Thereâs a stretching silence. You wrap your hand around the back of your chair and stare at the velvet upholstery of the seat.Â
âTerrible last name,â he adds sympathetically.Â
You donât want to be the girl who faints. That would be ridiculous, to fall over and crack your head. So, though you hate to ask for anything, you mumble, âJames?â
He wraps a shapely arm behind your shoulders and under your armpit before you lose the feeling in your legs.Â
âI think I need to sit down again,â you say.Â
âReckon you do," he agrees, as he pulls the chair around with his foot and arranges you in it efficiently, the tip of his thumb pushed into the pulse point on your neck. âWeâll get you something cold, Princess. You can breathe.â He gives you a little shake, hand spreading wider as it drags down your collar. The pressure is like the safety release of a suction cup. You take in a huge breath. âBreathe, lovely.â
âIâm fine," you say meekly.Â
âItâs alright,â he says, with his impossible softness. Heâs unafraid to be kind even when there are people watching.Â
âIâm fine. Iââ You canât finish your sentence. Youâd wanted to say youâll be okay. That this is just some melodramatic episode, but it isnât. This is a human reaction to unbelievable news. Because youâre aâ youâre a princess.Â
You cover your face with both hands and curl in toward your thighs. Silence pervades, your ears abuzz with white noise. You arenât sure how long you sit there paralysed, but soon Jamesâ gentle murmuring and shushing cuts through the ringing. âItâs alright,â heâs saying, his hand at your elbow, âI swear, itâs alright. You take as long as you need.â
âMickeyâs at the door,â Sirius says.Â
âGood. Tell him to radio in a level two security detail and stay there for now. Who else knows, Sirius?â
âBy now? Everybody in the castle. Including government officials.â
âAnd youâre sure?â Sure said severely.Â
âOf course I am.â
Youâre trying very hard to keep your pasta down. This canât be happening. It canât be right. Their test is wrong. They swabbed the inside of your mouth wrong, or got it mixed up with some other person test, or the doctors are lying. Not once in your whole life has there ever been any indication that you are more than the nothing youâve always been. All your worst insecurities rip to the surface. Not me. Not me.
âLevel two isnât as bad as it sounds,â James says, still so gentle. Heâs been talking to you again. âAll it means is that Iâm not at full attention, and I need someone else to watch the room. Thatâs all it is.â
âIâm not,â you say.Â
âYouâre okay.â
âIâm not a princess,â you say, peeking at him through your parted fingers.Â
His hand curves around your arm. He pulls it toward him. Encouraging rather than demanding. You let him.Â
âWhatever it is that you are,â he says, meeting your eyes, âIâm here to take care of you. Okay? Try to calm down for me.â He nods, hoping youâll nod back no doubt. You worry at your lip, your teeth scratching delicate skin.Â
âSorry,â you say.Â
âNo oneâs expecting you to feel a certain way right now,â Sirius says.
The urgency in his expression has departed completely. He has an air of regret about him now, an uncomfortable set to his jaw.Â
Itâs not just James in the room witnessing your wobble. You cover your face again and try to become one with the furniture.Â
James stands off of his knees, having seemingly decided that you arenât in any mental peril. He stays hovering behind your chair. You think you mightâve found them all at a loss for what to do.Â
The door opens. You imagine a nightmare, Julianna coming to play nice, but itâs the British ambassador Lily once again. She looks as perfect as she did when you saw her last with an immaculately straightened sheet of hair fluttering behind her, her steps hurried. Despite her speed, she doesnât look unhappy. Sheâs smiling. The Genovian ambassador Emmeline follows behind her.Â
You try to straighten up.Â
âWe have wonderful news,â Lily says.
âYouâre the Princess!â Emmeline squeaks, her tiny stature no bounds for her excitement. âWelcome home!â
She begins clapping. It slows when nobody joins in.Â
âWhat?â she asks cluelessly. âHas something bad happened?â
Thatâs what youâre trying to work out.
â
James can hear you sniffling.
He rests his shoulders against the wall by your bedroom door and sighs. You'd held in tears for hours after the announcement. Sirius' last announcement has toppled you over. You have to meet your grandmother tomorrow to begin preparing for your father's funeral. James thinks you might have reached your breaking point. He can't imagine the grief of losing a father you didn't know you had, and the stress of being pulled out of your life so suddenly, carted across Europe and left under the judgemental eyes of royals and officials with little direction. Now that the paternity test has been found positive and checked by many, many professionals, your confirmed identity should provide a more stable schedule. From Jamesâ perspective, the days ahead will be easy. For you, they are going to be very, very hard.Â
You'll meet the Queen tomorrow at breakfast. The plans for your permanent residency in Genovia will be decided. Your entire life is about to change, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.Â
Well⊠James doesn't really want you to stop it, but it's not entirely true that you can't. You could reject your heritage and go home to your flat, your art, your degree equivalent classes. Maybe you're crying because you're scared you don't have options.Â
James thinks about knocking on the door to talk to you. He meant it when he said he has a duty to all aspects of your health, the mental as well as the physical, but it's difficult to define the line between professionalism and being friendly. He's already crossed it.Â
He sighs and rubs his weary head. He's tired. Today has been the longest day ever. You'd slept for an hour in the car from the airport to Bellaverden Castle, and James had watched you half jealous and half enraptured. He won't mind looking after you no matter how you look, but your being easy on the eyes is a brilliant plus. Well, when ignoring the huge bruise staining your cheek.Â
"Fuck," he says.Â
He hasn't been doing very well. Honestly, his failure to keep you from harm in your flat (even if the harm had been him) and then his screw up with the paparazzi has left him off kilter.
James pulls out his pager. He should swap with one of the night guards, and he trusts them all, having picked them himself, but he wonât feel right walking away while you're crying.Â
He clicks in Remus' code and waits until he hears it back. It's shorthand between them: if Remus wasn't awake or didn't want to see James, he could've ignored James' page and there'd be no hard feelings. But he answered. Tonight, once James has made sure you're okay, he'll crawl into Remus' bed like when they were kids in a cold dormitory and missing home to sleep for a glorious eight hours. He might even tell Remus how stressed he is. He knows his friend will listen.Â
He'd invite Sirius, of course, (and that's assuming he isn't already there) if it werenât well past ten. Sirius is definitely asleep.Â
James hasn't had a proper night's sleep in a week. He feels poorly. He misses his mum. He's hungry. This job is great, he loves what he does; he gets paid to take care of people. It's also too much. It eats at him.Â
"Fuck," he says again.Â
"James?"Â
He flinches hard.Â
There it is, his third mistake. He's very lucky that the chief of royal security is busy making funeral arrangements, because if Mary were here she'd gut him.Â
You've crept up on him in his distraction. How could he not notice your footsteps across the floor, or your door handle's heavy metallic thunk?
"Princess," he says, biting his tongue when you wince. He'll have to call you something else. "I'm sorry, Iâ" James squints at your sore eyes.Â
"It's okay. I just wanted to ask⊠are you alright?"Â
"Am I alright?"Â
âI just heard you and I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. You sounded⊠stressy."Â
"You don't have to worry about me. That's my job." He frowns at the remnants of your tear stains, dampness shining at the corners of your eyes and your lashes sticking together in darkened triangles. "I was just about to come and see you, actually. I know today's been hard, and I know I haven't helped. I'm so sorry, again, for hurting you. And at the airport, I know the scuffle with the photographers didn't help your nerves. I know," he stresses, "this is hard. I swear things will be smoother from now on. You have my word."Â
You rub your elbow wordlessly. He's about to backtrack, perhaps dig himself a bigger hole, but then you give him one of the softest smiles anyone's ever given him in all his years.Â
"It's forgiven. Believe me, James, this is the least of my worries," you say, gesturing to your cheek. It only takes a second for shame to stick its hooks in you, yanking your gaze to the floor. You're wearing an expression he's seen a thousand times on the people closest to him.Â
He flicks you under the chin gently.Â
"Things are gonna get easier. I swear it," he says.
You plaster a smile on. James figures he can push it some more and wipes the smudgy shine of old tears off of your cheeks.Â
"There. Looking good, angel. Why donât you try and get some rest now, yeah?"Â
He keeps getting this odd feeling like you're an old friend and not his charge. It's fleeting and it's making him stupid. This and the sleep deprivation. He swears to himself he'll be better tomorrow.Â
You bid him goodnight. James listens to your night time motions until another guard comes to release him from duty, rushing to his room for a shower and a cereal bar, giving his teeth a half-hearted brush before he sets off for Remus' room halfway across the castle. Remus and the other scarcely employed scholars don't have to sleep in the servant quarters like he and Sirius do. Schmucks.
He finds the door unlatched. Mercifully, James decides to spare them both the safety-related lecture. He tries to be as quiet as he can, a head of sandy brown hair turning his way just two steps into the room.
"James?" Remus asks, his voice thick with fatigue.Â
"Sorry. You can go back to sleep."Â
"I was waiting for you. Drifted off."Â
James scrubs a hand through his damp hair and closes the door. He can find his way in the dark.Â
"Sirius isn't here?"Â
"JamesâŠ"
"What, are we still pretending?"
"James."
"I'm sorry. Forgive me, Moony."Â
"Yeah. Don't lean on my left side. I'll move over."Â
"What's wrong with your left side?"Â
"I don't know. Maybe from carrying the bags. Maybe not."Â
James slides into the warm space Remus has made for him and tries not to feel overprotective. Loving someone who's constantly in pain can be confusing. You don't know how much love you're allowed to give before it starts to be patronising. Remus can take care of himself, but he doesn't need to.Â
"Anything I can do?" James whispers.Â
"Tell me what's bothering you."Â
"Oh, you know⊠Everything. Nothing. I'm so happy we're all together again, I mean, what are the fucking odds? How long has it been since I could come and see you guys after work without making an appointment? ⊠I didn't love the Prince, but I hate that he's dead, and IâŠ"Â
Remus turns his head to James. They're a pillow apart. When James looks at him, he can't remember what Remus looked like when they were young, but he can feel the years of knowing one another stretching out between them. A straining cast of light from under the door catches the edges of Remus' features. James can see the corner of an uneven smile.Â
"Go on," Remus says quietly.Â
"She's nice. She's really nice. I don't want her to get hurt, but I donât know that Iâm up to this, Moony."
"James, you're up for everything. Always have been."Â
"I thought this was a demotion."Â
"Isn't it?"Â
"If it is, it's one I deserve. I deserve another one. Once Mary sees the mess I've madeâŠ"Â
Remus reaches across the sheets to pinch James' bicep. "Nobody is good at their new job. Sirius didn't touch up the princess' bruise when we got off the plane, and while they're paid off for now, someone who needs the better payout is going to publish those photos, and soon. Sirius should've been doing his job, but he was too busy looking after me."Â
"I tried to cover itâ"Â
"I know. You did a good job and I'm not blaming you. My point is that he made a mistake. Does he deserve a demotion?"Â
James wrinkles his nose. Hate you.
"And I should've better prepared her for meeting Princess Julianna. It was my fault that she felt embarrassed. I tried my best to fit in some coaching for breakfast tomorrow but the poor girl doesn't know a butter knife from a paring knife."Â
"That's not true."Â
"No," Remus agrees. "I'm making her seem less educated than she is to prove my own point⊠James, she isn't a princess. She has the blood, and soon she'll get the official title, the land and the money and the education and maybe some of the bad bits, as well. But right now, she's new to being a princess, and she's not very good at it."Â
"I get it."Â
"Yeah, I know."Â
Remus readjusts in bed. James almost misses the pain in his friend's exhale under the sound of crunching fresh sheets.Â
"Are you sure I can't do something for you?"Â
"I wish," Remus says. He isn't depressed. The opposite, he sounds way too spritely for the time. "You could stop hogging the blankets, for starters."Â
James feeds Remus some more blanket and sighs. The mattress is heavenly. The quilts and sheets and pillowcases are soft and thick. By all means, James should've fallen asleep the second his head touched Remusâ pillow.
"You've asked Mickey to look after her tomorrow, right?" Remus asks.Â
James had radio'd Mikkelson after his shower to put the early morning shift and protocols in his jurisdiction temporarily. That means James will hopefully be able to sleep until his body feels like it can hold itself together again. He doesn't like leaving you to face the Queen by yourself but it's not as though she'll hurt you, and Sirius will see you bright and early to help you get dressed. James isn't worried.Â
"I have. How did you know that?"Â
"You're the only one of us who knows how to properly take care of themselves," Remus explains easily. "Good. I'm glad you did. You haven't been sleeping."
"How do you know that?"Â
"I love you. I know everything about you."Â
James smiles at the ceiling. There is nothing quite as valuable to him than his family. He would do more to keep them all safe and healthy than he should admit on the record, so he keeps it tucked inside and out of view. It's terrifying and freeing at once to look at someone you love and know you're going to do something awful one day if it means they'll come out on the other side of it alive.Â
"Not everything," he murmurs.Â
"Everything, James."
"Yeah? How many fingers am I holding up right now."Â
"One."Â
"Which?"Â
"Middle."
"Lucky guess." James laughs at their childish squabbling. "I love you, too. I'm really glad we're in the same place again."
"What did you say? What are the fucking odds?" Remus quotes, so tired now that his words are running together. "I'm not sod enough to do the maths, I think it's gotta be deep in the decimals. Lily's and Mary's involvement definitely helped, but to have someone come along who needs security detail, special education, and a lady in waiting is unfathomable."Â
James laughs and feels his abdomen shaking. "I'm telling Sirius you called him a lady in waiting."Â
"Sorry," Remus says, and James knows his friend is genuinely repentant, though Sirius would've laughed himself if he'd heard the joke. "I'm not trying to put him down. He's worked so hard, heâ He's working so hard. He thinks it's easy work because he's good at it. He doesn't realise it's easy because he worked hard to be good at it."Â
James has to chew it over for a moment to understand what Remus is saying. Once he understands, he vehemently agrees. Sirius is skilled in many areas. He's a media liaison, a sleuth, a sweet talker. He understands the inner workings of Western media â Sirius can deduce the honesty of a smile from a precursory glance. He may not always trust what he's seeing, but he sees it undeniably. And he can dress well.
"He's the best of us," James sighs agreeably, stretching down the length of the bed until his spine pops and his calves burn. "Shit. I need to start working out properly again now we're here."Â
"Tomorrow. We'll figure it all out tomorrow, James. Go to sleep."Â
James is obedient. He falls asleep, and doesnât wake until the sun is warming his cheeks. His hair is still damp at the back and he feels awful in a new way. Better for having slept with someone close by, and catching up on the hours heâs been missing. But his back is stiff.Â
He goes back to his room. His neck aches as he brushes his teeth. He does a workout and stretches his rigid limbs until he feels human again.Â
The black telephone on his nightstand starts to ring.
âHello, sir,â Lily says cheerfully down the line. James can picture her sweet smile. âI couldnât help but notice your absence this morning.â
âHow did it go?â he asks, trying to tug on a new pair of socks one handed.Â
Lily hums. âIt wasnât awful. It wasnât good, but it couldâve been worse. Her majesty liked her. Y/N was quiet, she was awkward, but we all know they prefer quiet to mouthy. The last thing they wanted was another Julianna. I felt kind of bad, really. Like I was handing her over.â
âSheâŠâ James sighs. âShe didnât seem upset, did she, Lils?â
âNo, I actually think she was feeling good. Your boys took good care of her.â
âBrilliant. Oh, and to answer your unasked question, Iâm being slovenly. Iâll be back on duty by noon.â
âSlovenly,â she repeats. âIâve never known you to be any sort of lazy.â She laughs. James is happy that the sound doesnât break his heart anymore. âAlright, James. Iâll see you later.â
He appreciates what sheâs doing, letting him know youâre okay while heâs away. Itâs uncanny how fast the people in charge of your care can band together, and Lily has always been kind.
James gives himself a minute to wipe away yesterday and prepare for today. He closes his eyes and shakes his head ferociously, his hair flying every which way. He sorts through all his worries one by one, letting that anxiety eat at him methodically âheâs a bad bodyguard, heâs a bad friend, he doesnât call his mum enough, heâs chicken shit scared of dying alone, the worksâ and then pushing it away. Today is a new day with new opportunities. He can prove to you and to himself that heâs good at his job, he can make sure his friends are doing alright, he can call his mum tonight before dinner, and dying alone? He isnât dying today. That oneâs on the back burner.Â
He makes his way from his room in the quarter and into the main building, wary that he might come upon a duke or duchess. His radio, clipped as it always is against his left shoulder, chirps with chatter. He bites back a scolding about keeping the line clear and looks out of a Goliath glass window at the grounds below. A marble water fountain spurts proudly at the foot of the stairs, and an elaborate hedgework stands at pruned attention. Itâs a nice day. He wonders if youâll be up for walking.Â
He looks for you in the secondary parlour, the den, the library, the dining room. He swings by your room, and when you arenât there he admits defeat and unclamps his radio, cutting through an inappropriate joke unapologetically.Â
âAfternoon. Location on Princess Y/N?â
He imagines his subordinates scrambling to answer, embarrassed by their unprofessionalism, but itâs likely they just donât know where you are.Â
âIf I donât get an answer in the next five seconds, you can all expect to be running laps tonight. That includes you, Mikkelson, I donât care how much overtimeââ
âSir, this is Daniels. Me and Roma are with the princess in the south wing.â
âWhy?â
âShe wanted a pencil sharpener.â
James grins to himself. The south wing (or, as James might put it, the guest wing), houses the scholars, the ambassadors, and whatever government official the royals are trying to butter up at the time. Heâs feeling positively joyful when he finds you sketching, your face pressed to the window. The Genovian mountainscapes take shape on your page one confident stroke of graphite at a time, a small leather bound sketchbook pressed flat to your knee.
âSettling in?â he asks.Â
You raise your head but not your eyes. âYou could say that.â
âHow was meeting Her Majesty?â
You frown.Â
âThat bad?â he asks.Â
âNo, I mean. You know. Sheâs a queen. It was terrifying.â
Despite your unhappy mouth, you look as relaxed as you have since the moment he met you, dressed in a casual Genovian dress with subtle but remarkable stitching a shade darker than the dress itself and a squared neckline. Your calves are out and glossy in the daylight. Theyâre rather distracting.Â
âYou look good,â James says carefully.Â
âIâll miss the fancy lotions,â you say. Your pencil scratches away.Â
Jamesâ hands falter where theyâre clasped behind his back. âWhat?â
You meet his eyes properly. He hadnât realised youâd been avoiding his gaze until you werenât, your face ringed with guilt, an explanation slow to come.Â
âIâm not staying. I canât be a princess, James.â You shake your head mildly. âIâm going home.â
ËËË âĄ ËËË
thanks so much for reading! oh no, you want to go home!! rest assured, james and co arenât letting you go too easily. i hope you enjoyed, reblogs are always appreciated, a thousand kisses for all of you either way <3<3
#james potter fic#james potter#marauders era#marauders#james potter x reader#james potter x y/n#james potter x you#james potter fluff#james potter blurb#james potter drabble#james potter imagine#james potter fanfic#james potter fanfiction#the marauders
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The Lady of Shalott is a painting of 1888 by the English painter John William Waterhouse. It is a representation of the ending of Alfred, Lord Tennyson's 1832 poem of the same name.
The Lady of Shalott (1832) By Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Part I
On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; The yellow-leaved waterlily The green-sheathed daffodilly Tremble in the water chilly Round about Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens shiver. The sunbeam showers break and quiver In the stream that runneth ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.
Underneath the bearded barley, The reaper, reaping late and early, Hears her ever chanting cheerly, Like an angel, singing clearly, O'er the stream of Camelot. Piling the sheaves in furrows airy, Beneath the moon, the reaper weary Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy, Lady of Shalott.'
The little isle is all inrail'd With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd With roses: by the marge unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken sail'd, Skimming down to Camelot. A pearl garland winds her head: She leaneth on a velvet bed, Full royally apparelled, The Lady of Shalott.
Part II
No time hath she to sport and play: A charmed web she weaves alway. A curse is on her, if she stay Her weaving, either night or day, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be; Therefore she weaveth steadily, Therefore no other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.
She lives with little joy or fear. Over the water, running near, The sheepbell tinkles in her ear. Before her hangs a mirror clear, Reflecting tower'd Camelot. And as the mazy web she whirls, She sees the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot: And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, came from Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers lately wed; 'I am half sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
Part III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flam'd upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down from Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down from Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over green Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down from Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:' Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom She made three paces thro' the room She saw the water-flower bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; 'The curse is come upon me,' cried The Lady of Shalott.
Part IV
In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Outside the isle a shallow boat Beneath a willow lay afloat, Below the carven stern she wrote, The Lady of Shalott.
A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight, All raimented in snowy white That loosely flew (her zone in sight Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright) Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot, Though the squally east-wind keenly Blew, with folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly Lady of Shalott.
With a steady stony glanceâ Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance, Mute, with a glassy countenanceâ She look'd down to Camelot. It was the closing of the day: She loos'd the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.
As when to sailors while they roam, By creeks and outfalls far from home, Rising and dropping with the foam, From dying swans wild warblings come, Blown shoreward; so to Camelot Still as the boathead wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her chanting her deathsong, The Lady of Shalott.
A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy, She chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her eyes were darken'd wholly, And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot: For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony, By garden wall and gallery, A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Deadcold, between the houses high, Dead into tower'd Camelot. Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the planked wharfage came: Below the stern they read her name, The Lady of Shalott.
They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest, Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest. There lay a parchment on her breast, That puzzled more than all the rest, The wellfed wits at Camelot. 'The web was woven curiously, The charm is broken utterly, Draw near and fear not,âthis is I, The Lady of Shalott.'
#literature#poetry#art#the lady of shalott#alfred tennyson#john william waterhouse#writeblr#oil on canvas
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Ignorance
Part Two to All i Wanted Was You, Phillip Price x Reader.
Time for Dear Reader to get on the warpath, avenge herself and her team against Phillips betrayal in Part One. Readers thoughts are in Orange
A mega thank you to everyone has been so kind about my writings!
TW, blood, violence, a character death (or two) pining, angst, gaslighting, slight kiss coercion. HEA! Its a long one, apologies!
....................................................................................................................
You took a deep breath before you step into the debrief room, where you know Soap and Ghost were waiting to talk to you. Gaz had excused himself, not ready to deal with the situation at hand.
Your ex husbands betrayal cut the team deeply, and you knew this was your chance to fix everything, if they would let you.
"Hey guys." you say tentatively, you met the steely gaze of Ghost, and the cool gaze of Soap, and kept your chin up.
"I understand-" you begin.
"Let us be crystal fucking clear. You may be innocent, but you will never understand." Ghost cuts you off. His deep voice seemingly fills the room, yet you refuse to bend under the intimidation.
"You are only here because John trusts you enough to do the right thing. I am not so easily convinced." He adds. He stands up, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
"In fact, i think he might like you a little more than he lets on."
You look at Soap, who looks just as confused as you by the revelation.
'Surely not? Your Captain has never been anything other than professional with you, and you were a married woman, and there's a line you were sure he wouldn't cross, would he?'
You shake your head and go to the desk, crossing your legs at the ankle and using the wood for support.
"Hate me after the mission is over. Right now, the best case is we get Ale back, and the intel Graves has been holding for Shepherd." You shrug off, and put the file on the table.
"Aye, Bonnie. Pull this off and i'm sure we will all be friends again." You hear Soap say, and you are grateful for his attitude bridging the gap between you all.
After looking through the files, and making plans for the mission ahead, you leave the room to find Price, Ghosts words echoing in your brain.
You admittedly had a crush on the Captain before you met Phillip. It went nowhere, as you met the Shadow Commander shortly after. It was a whirlwind relationship, married within months, and it had consumed you, and him, you had thought.
'What if it was all a ruse? How much of it all was real to him?'
You found Price outside, the cherry red light of his cigar a pinpoint to where he was standing out in the courtyard.
"Mission briefed?" He asks, straight to the point. At your affirmation he sighs.
"This is a real fucked up situation." You admit, wrapping your arms around yourself and bracing your body against the cold.
"Permission to ask something personal, Sir?" you ask.
You hear Price tut as he shrugs his coat off and wraps it around your shoulders, you relax slightly as his cigar and signature scent envelope you.
'Ever the gentleman.'
"Go on." came the reply.
Your eyes met his nonchalant gaze, and your heart started beating a little faster.
"Ghost is under the impression you have feelings for me, Sir." you pause. "Any truth in that?"
A heavy silence clouds the area between you both, after a few minutes, you hear him clear his throat.
"I did, but It doesn't matter now, Sergeant. You still married someone else. We ship out in a few hours. Go get ready, and for the love of God, make sure your feelings for your ex husband are buried. Last thing we need is feelings getting in the way."
A few hours later, you were on the helicopter with the 141, Gaz and Soap talking between themselves was the only thing you could hear over the rotors. Price was deep in files, and Ghost was cleaning his knives. The weight of the mission sat heavy on you, but you needed the intel, and the mission always came first.
You nod, and head to the armoury to grab what you needed. Your mind clouded with this new revelation.
'What if I chose the wrong man at the wrong time.. could myself and John had something?'
You had noticed a few heated glances your way from your Captain, but you shrugged them off, he was right, you needed to get your head into the game.
"Two minutes until drop." Came the voice of your pilot. You stand up to move to the door, regrouping with your team, holding out a fist, you address the group.
"Let's get Ale, the Intel and get this mission done. You guys are the best for the job, and I'm sorry for my shit taste in men." You chuckle, bumping everyone's closed fists as the tension is broken between you all.
Landing into the location wasn't hard, but you knew the next part was more difficult. You had been advised that Graves was back collecting Intel in Mexico, and that he held Alejandro at a local jail. So you needed to split into two teams and retrieve your friend, and get the Intel from Graves.
You nod at Ghost and Price, who's accompanying you on the Intel retrieval, as you double-check your packs and head along the perimeter. The cool night air did nothing to calm the inner anger that was building up. Everything you thought you ever knew about your husband was a lie.
Stopping short, you manage to find a hole in the fence that was big enough for you to get through, and make bigger for your two larger teammates. Scaling along the closest building, you could hear a familiar American accent.
"I have the Intel you need, my wife isn't a concern anymore." You hear Graves tell someone one the phone.
He has the gall to laugh, and you feel your hands tighten around the grip of your pistol.
"Nah, she thinks she's divorcin' me but she will see, it's all part of a bigger plan. Mexico, the missiles.. all paints the 141 in a damning light, she will be back."
You make eye contact with the team and nod. Yoir job is to get Graves away from the room, while Price and Ghost take down targets and retrieve the laptop and files. You hear a few grunts as a few targets are immobilised, leaving the doorway clear.
You open the door and Graves turns around, his cocky grin taking up his face, heavy shadows under his eyes, and his usually neat hair has finger waves through it. A signal that this is a man on the edge.
"Well hey darlin'." He drawls, opening up his arms and walking towards you.
"Gonna reconsider leavin' me?"
You scoff, and raise your arm, holding your pistol in line with his forehead.
"Never." You whisper, your finger over the trigger, a slight pause in your actions.
Graves takes the moment you pause to attack, bending your wrist so you drop the pistol, the metal clattering to the floor. He sidesteps you, planting your body down to ground, and holding you under his boot.
"I didn't want it to end this way, sweetheart. Don't you see? This has all been for you? I wanted you to see what the 141 you cherish actually gets up too. I wanted you to join me.."
You roll away from him, scrambling for your knife, slicing his forearm as he reaches for you again. He pulls away, giving you a chance to stand.
"You betrayed me." You shout, anger coursing through you.
"I thought you loved me." You choke. Memories of your relationship flashing before your eyes.
Graves just smiles as he twirls your knife between his hands.
"Oh darlin' I don't believe you understand me. I do love you. I want the world for you, and by my side, you can have it."
He pulls you into his arms, wrapping his arms around your waist as you try and fight him off, but it's no good, his weight pushes you back to the floor, his hands move to your wrists as he straddles you, his face dangerously close to yours, his lips hovering over yours.
"You were always such a fiesty little thing. I wonder if this is what your captain thought about when he was alone at night. Your body under his, your lips close to his.. ripe for the taking."
You see a dangerous glint in his eye. While dominant, Phillip had never forced you into doing anything you didn't want to do, but this was different. You look into his eyes and see madness in them, and you take a deep breath. You'll have to play his game to be free.
"Why would I think about the captain. When I have you?" You say quietly, ignoring the bile that rises in your throat.
Graves pauses at that, his face searching yours for a lie.
You press your lips against his, and your mind floods with memories, your wedding night, your honeymoon, two passionate bodies under the stars. The intense kisses, the feel of each others skin.. its almost enough to make you forgive him. Almost.
Graves softens into the kiss, his right arm letting go of your wrist, as he cradles your head with his calloused hand.
"Be with me, and we can watch the world burn." He says softly, cupping your cheek with a tenderness you miss so much.
You mentally shake away the cloudiness, and use your forehead to force your head into his, breaking his nose, blood streaming down both your faces as he rips himself away from you.
"I should have known you would do this!" He restrains you, making you unable to move.
"I would have given you everything. EVERYTHING!" He shouts as he grapples with your body armor, picking you up by the chest and slamming you repeatedly against the concrete floor.
Your vision blurs as you feel his hands move to your throat, squeezing the breath out of you.
'This is it. I've failed.'
Using the last of your energy, you scramble for your thigh pocket for your emergency blade and manage to stab it into Graves thigh, allowing his grip to loosen, taking advantage of the power shift, you roll onto your side, gasping as you reclaim your breath.
Bloodied, and struggling to breathe, you get yourself onto your knees, and using all your strength, you spear his side with your knife, over and over, his screams filling the room.
Graves makes one last ditch to overpower you, wrenching the knife away, your eyes meeting for the last time, as you strike it home into his chest. A sharp pain pierces your chest as his lifeless body falling over you and pinning you to the floor.
You vaguely hear the door slam open, and footsteps race over to you both, but your exhausted mind can't keep your eyes open long enough to see if it's a friend or foe.
"It's okay, love. It's over." You hear John over the sound of blood rushing through your ears.
You feel the weight of the body on top of you get removed, as your eyes flutter open. You see John kneeling over you.
"I made it back to you." You hear him say, but the black spots in your vision, and your damaged throat made it difficult to reply.
"John, we need a medivac." You hear Ghost say, his deep voice thick with emotion.
"This isn't the way to convince me, Sergeant." He adds.
You feel hands on your chest, as your limbs grow weary.
"I got him." You croak out.
"Yeah, yeah you did love." Came John's reply.
"But he got you too."
You use your strength to look down, in the fight you hadn't noticed Graves had picked up your knife, and it was now protruding from your ribs.
Your glossy eyes meet John's, and you knew that this was it.
"I'm sorry, John." You manage to get out. "Ghost, I got us into this mess."
John takes off his gloves and smooths your hair out of your face.
"Now you listen here. We will get you out of here, we will get you patched up, and we will consider this mission successful, we clear?" He says, his voice thick with tears.
"I can't lose you."
You feel as if your body weighs a tonne, and all you want to do is close your eyes and rest, but deep down. You know this is the last time you'll see each other.
"John.. i-" you whisper.
You groan as you try and sit up, you can feel your body growing weaker due to the amount of blood you were losing.
"Kiss me, before I go." You say softly.
John's eyebrows raise, as he takes in what you've asked of him. Leaning forward, he presses his lips gently to yours, eliminating the kiss you had to give Graves. You could taste his cigar, and the peppermints he always chewed on missions and you let out a contented sigh before your eyes close for good.
Your body grew cold and your eyes lost focus as he held you close for the first, and last time.
'I wish I could have lived another life. If I got to be with you again.'
A/N THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO EXPLORE!?!?! I am so sorry it waffled on a bit though? Let me know what you guys think đđđ
@going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @xoxunhinged @misshugs @kneelingshadowsalome
#call of duty#call of duty mw2#fanfiction#call of duty modern warfare 2#phillip graves#phillip graves x reader#john price x reader
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Call Of Duty Modern Warframe II - Howling and Hollow
Chapter 1: Interrogation
So much for the meeting with Shadow Company, Sigma felt weird there are only men here. Although she didn't mind and wants the mission to get done.
Weirdly enough, one guy stared at her with confused look, yet shocked, looked like he knew her from somewhere... but he decided to play cool.
Two SAS operators and Los Vaqueros, Alejandro and Rudy did some damage looking for Hassan while Sigma had to help with air support. She was lucky to know Spanish.
After Hassan's capture, Soap's and Sigma's blue eyes met, caught right into sight... He can already tell he never saw a female pilot before. And she couldn't stand Graves talking nonsense, and some of the Shadow mercs are really fond of her... When she met Ghost, her blood ran cold seeing him in skull mask, strong, huge man would beat the shit out of anyone.
From affar before the flight with the Shadows while she met Graves, one of the Shadows said from afar: "Who is this girl? Sheâs cute and pretty."Â
...
Pretended she didn't heard anything.
âŠ
The sky is dark, it's night. The stars can't be seen, a calm peace, only crickets chirping in the field. A faith of howl calling by coyotes in the darkness, then it went silent.
Multiple truck's doors closed as the men jumped out. Soap dragged Hassan out of the vehicle and walks to the field.
"On your knees." Soap shoved Hassan on the ground, removing the black cloth bag off his head.
Graves is working on a signal in front of the green crate while crouching down.
"Ya'll got a clear picture?" Graves asked.
General, adjusting his seat to get comfortable. "Crystal."
"All set." Laswell replied, exhaling the smoke from her lips while smoking a cigarette.
"Alright, we are live, folks." Graves stands up, Hassan watches him approach.
"Do you speak Arabic?" He asks.
âNo.â Graves replied, shaking his head.
âFarsi?â
âNo.â He replied again, standing in front of him.
Sigma watches them as she stands beside Simon, remaining silent. If Hassan is going to ask her something, he better watch his tongue.
Hassan looks at Sigma, he smirks a little bit. âA woman in war... Whoâs holding a weapon.â He starts, âIâm surprised youâre fighting for your country and battles without blood in your hands.â
âWomen or men, doesnât matter. If a man can be one, so do women. So English, you retard.â She replied with harsh voice down her throat.
Hassan nods his head a little bit, turning his attention to Graves. âOf course, then Iâll speak your bastardized medieval English because you are all uneducated street dogs.â
âAhh, see⊠Weâre getting off to a bad start here, Hassan.â Graves gets annoyed quickly, looking on the ground, tapping his foot.
âYou are talking to a Quds Force Officer.â Hassan states proudly. All Sigma could just watch and shake her head.
âYouâre the commander of a foreign terror organization,â Graves notes, not willing to put any stupid formalities.
âI can say the same thing to you.â
âWhatâs your target, âMajorâ?â Graves asks, his voice turning into a sarcastic one.
âWhat was your target when they sent missiles to my land?â
Graves shrugs a bit. âOh, wild guess⊠To nails your ass.â
âSo insolent and foul-mouthed. You will learn to respect me when your nation sees fire.â
âYou will respect an anchor who will sink you in the bottom of the ocean.â Sigma glares at Hassan, crossing her arms. Hassan ignores her, Graves steps closer to him with anger and impatience in his eyes.
âYou are in bed with the cartel, Hassan. If you dissapeared, no one would know where to look for a fuckinâ stain.â Graves said as he shakes his head.
âI have no doubt youâll take pleasure in torturing me.â Hassan replied with a smirk.
Oh, Sigma would definitely torture him, if Graves would let her. Soap starts to speak out-
âWhoâd you get American missiles from?â
âI donât care who theyâre from, I wanna know where theyâre going.â Shepherd interrupted the conversation.
Coyotes howled in the endless darkness of the shadows, making the others to turn attention. Graves looks around, letting out a low whistle, his hand clutching his tactical vest.
âTake a look around Hassan. Now, you can either become part of the food chain,â Graves lowers himself in front of Hassan. âOr you can start talking.â
âIâm a hostage here,â Hassan states. âThis is illegal.â
âYouâre a prisoner of war.â Alejandro replied, tilting his head while his hand is squeezing Hassanâs shoulder.
âIran is not at war with Mexico. Iâve broken no lawns. These men, one useless slut, and their commanders are the law breakers.â Hassan looks at Sigma and Ghost who are they stand beside the vehicle.
Her eye twitches after she heard he called her slut, slowly, her hand is curled into fist.
âYou and your beloved General Ghorbrani broke every-â
âDo not speak his name!â Hassan shouted at Soap, cutting him off. Heâs forcibly held by Alejandro.
âYou executed him, and you will pay for your crimes! Only God can help you now!â He rolls his tongue at Graves angrily.
âI want this bastard in permanent custody or looking up at the goddamn grass!â Shepherd snarled his strict demand through the broadcast.
âGeneral,â Laswell quickly intervened, âKilling Hassan is an act of war, keeping him here is illegal. Right now, he is too hot to hold.â
Shepherd sighs, adjusting his seat. âTell me youâre getting something actionable, Laswell.â
âWorking on it, stand by.â
Graves grabs the laptop and places it on the vehicleâs hood. âActual, let me finish this.â he loses patience for a second.
âThere is nothing Iâd like more,â Shepherd agreed with the Commander, âBut Laswell's right. Without proof we need to turn him loose. See where he leads us.â
Sigmaâs eyes widens after hearing this. Releasing him?! Nonsense! She wouldâve asked the questions about the missiles, not Graves. So much for General saying this, making the wrong decisions.
âWhat?! You can do that!â She joins Graves beside him.
âSheâs right! Heâs right there, you canât be serious!â Soap joins along, looking at the screen.
âIâm afraid I am, you both.â
âOh, bullshit!â Sigma hits the vehicleâs hood and starts to pace out, hands on her hips.
Ghost is holding Hassanâs phone with his right hand, looking at it while standing in place. âDid we get anything from his phone?â
âAffirmative, we got a hit.â Laswell concluded, but not much information required.
âGood. Now, take him back and let him go.â Shepherd confirms.Hassan is watching them, with a smile on his face. Alejandro shoved a black bag back on Hassanâs head, hiding his smile.
âUp, asshole. Come on.â Alejandro grunt in Spanish, raising Hassan back on his feet, dragging him to the vehicle. Ghost shoves Hassanâs phone in his pocket, walking past him.
Soap looks at the laptop and closes it, letting it a grunted sigh. Sigma walks to Graves, clearly not proud.
âThat was completely stupid.â
âCall stupid to General who made the choice, but not me.â
âHeâll cause more damage with those missiles, we may be not find who the target is! And weâre just taking him like that?!â
âSigmaâŠâ Graves sighs. âWe need to know. I wanted to finish that guy, you wanted to right? Kickass name. Weâll find the missiles and itâs going to be over.â
âUnbelievableâŠâ Sigma shakes her head and walks to the vehicle, avoiding the argument with him. Soap watched it from afar and follows her, gun in his hand.
So much coming to Mexico with Air Support and work with the Shadows, SAS operators and Los Vaqueros. Sheâs not done yet. She never had blood on her hands in battlefield. Her blood boils by Generalâs choice, sheâs careful with people who can trust the most.
And been in Air Force for 4 years, finally fighting on the ground with heavy loads on her shoulders...
...
Yippeeee, I might draw some cutscenes whanever I can!
#call of duty#cod oc#call of duty oc#cod#oc#halia sigma connors#original character#cod mwii#fic#cod fic#alejandro vargas#cod alejandro#cod hassan#hassan#cod graves#phillip graves#commander graves#cod shadow company#kate laswell#general shepherd#rudy parra#soap john mactavish#johnny mactavish#johnny soap mactavish#cod soap#mutant writes#cod mw22#cod reboot#sigma's story#cod mw2022
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Just Like Their Dog
The Just Like Their Dog, 10 Gen Legacy is based on 10 different dog breeds. Each generation has to have that type of dog in their household at all times. Complete the challenges, take care of your dog, and max out friendship with them. And most importantly, have fun!
Use Hashtag: #JustLikeTheirDogChallenge
Gen 1 Golden Retriever Complete Super Parent Aspiration Complete Fish Collection Max Fishing Skill Max Parenting Skill Must Have A Pool On Lot Must Host A Pool Party Every Week Traits: Family-Oriented, Loves Outdoors, Slob
Gen 2 Border Collie Complete Freelance Botanist Aspiration Complete Frog Collection Max Gardening Skill Max Herbalism Max Cross-Stitching Must Can Must Own A Farm Must Live Off-The-Grid Must Have Simple Living Traits: Loves outdoors, Animal Enthusiasts, Active
Gen 3 Husky Complete Musical Genius Aspiration Max Entertainer Career, Musician Branch Max Singing Max Guitar Max Piano Max Violin Max Dancing Date A Coworker Leave Them at the Altar Have A Random Hookup At A Bar/Nightclub And Find Out Your Pregnant Move In You Parents To Help Raise The Baby Traits: Music Lover, Family-Oriented, Party Animal
Gen 4 German Shorthaired Pointer Complete Bodybuilder Aspiration Complete Feather Collection Max Athlete Career Max Fitness Skill Max Comedy Skill Must Have An At-Home Gym Marry Someone You Met At Bar Have A House Party Every Week Traits: Active, Loyal, Goofball
Gen 5 German Shepherd Complete Friend Of The World Aspiration Complete Fossil Collection Max Cop Career Max Charisma Max Comedy Max Fitness Be Engaged To Someone Be Left At The Altar Marry A Co-Worker Traits: Active, Outgoing, Bro
Gen 6 Corgi Complete Romantic Explorer Aspiration Complete Axolotl Collection Max Romance Consultant Career Max Painting Max Knitting Max Romancing Must Host A Dinner Party Every Week Must Marry An Elder Right After High School Elder Must Live In A Mansion Marry For True Love After Your First Spouse Dies Of Natural Causes Traits: Lazy, Lovebug, Outgoing
Gen7 Chihuahua Complete Serial Romantic Aspiration Complete Crystal Collection Complete Metal Collection Max Charisma Max Debate Max Wellness Max Gemology Marry High School-Sweetheart Must Have Married Three Times, Each Spouse Must Die Before Remarrying Have At Least One Child In Each Marriage Have Little To No Relationship With Your Children Traits: Noncommittal, Hot-Headed, Overachiever
Gen 8 Pitbull Complete Chief of Mischief Aspiration Complete My Sims Trophies Collection Max Mischief Skill Max Video Gaming Max Programming Skill Max Criminal Career, Oracle Branch Marry Your Neighbor Who Is A Secret Agent Once You Reach The Top Of The Career, Quit and Become A Full Time Parent Traits: Socially Awkward, Geek, Loyal
Gen 9 Schnauzer Complete Master Chief Aspiration Reach Level 8 Of Chief Career Before Quitting And Opening Your Own Restaurant Marry Your First Love They Pass Away, Never Marry Again Max Cooking Max Gourmet Cooking Max Mixology Max Baking Have A Dinner Party Every Week Have Restaurant Reach 5 Stars When Spouse Passes, Change Romantic Trait To Gloomy Traits: Foodie, Romantic/Gloomy, Glutton
Gen 10 Poodles Complete Master Actor Aspiration Complete Postcard Collection Complete Poster Collection Complete Snow Globe Collection Max Acting Career Max Acting Skill Max Charisma Skill Must Have A Sauna On Lot Must Have A BFF That Moves In With Them Have One Enemy In The Acting World Traits: Self-absorbed, High Maintenance, Perfectionist
I hope you enjoy the challenge! If you want to play them in a different order, feel free to do it! I just set them up this way to make it flow easier in a story telling way, but have fun!
#sims#sim4#sims 4 legacy#sims 4#sims 4 gameplay#sims legacy challenge#Just Like Their Dog Challenge#sims dogs#sims lets play#doggo#i'm a dog person#dog person
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The Lion and Leman regarded each other cooly across the ancient oak table. There was no measure of hostility in their eyes, but they seemed to radiate silent animosity. Any mortal observer would have quailed at their demigodly presence, despite no word being spoken.
Finally, it was the Wolf King who broke the silence.
"You are sus, Lion," he said, and his voice carried all the mournful gravity of creaking ice on the Fenrisian sea. He did not speak with anger, but a hatred crystallized to ice.
Lion, for his part, was not roused. He crossed armored arms across his great chest, and made reply. "Tell me how you come to this, Leman. I take any words you speak without reason as nothing. Why do you vote to eject me, then?"
Leman planted one hand on the table- it strained and creaked under his mass -and pushed himself up. He paced the room in mighty strides as he spoke. "You claim you were doing tasks in Ultramar, but what alibi is that?"
"Guilliman is my witness. Sanguinius would be, were he here. Or Curze, if you would believe him," Lion replied, his lip turning up in wry remembrance.
"I do not ask about your witnesses, Lion, I am questioning your motives. Any impostor could have smuggled himself among the crewmates. A sleeper cell, to activate if the main sabotage did not carry through. A time-bomb buried in the largest sector of completed tasks yet!" Leman rapped the table for emphasis. His cool was melting as passion broiled beneath.
Lion set his jaw but remained seated. "You invent mad schemes and pin them on me, Leman. Give me concrete proof and I will debate with you, but until then I will waste no effort to parry these bladeless blows."
"Very well," Leman replied promptly. "Then tell me, why did those tasks in Ultramar take so long? They had no call to. Unless, among that stalwart host which was doing- what, exactly? -there was an impostor. A millstone grinding the work to a haltâŠa highly-placed commander sabotaging the tasks?"
Lion leaned forward in his seat, his face intent, his brow furrowed with thought. "Yet, the tasks were completed, were they not? And we arrived at Terra to aid here as well. We broke the sabotage, Leman. The Impostormaster would have overcome you if we had not."
"Hah!" barked Leman, scornful. "Precisely. You waited to see if your fellow Impostors would triumph, and only when it became clear we outvoted them did you throw your lot in."
"But were I an impostor," Lion carried on earnestly, "why do you stand before me, brother? I could have killed Guilliman while we were doing tasks in Ultramar. Were I an impostor, I could have allied with Curze, slain both Guilliman and Sanguinius. A double blow, and none to witness it."
"Precisely, brother. And that would square the blame on you, because not a one of us would believe that Curze could have killed either of them. So you played the crewmate and allowed them to complete their tasks there, hoping to shepherd them to destruction at Terra. A fifth column, tagging along in their midst. Precisely like the Drop Site Body Report!"
Lion arose tectonically, and drew Fealty from her sheath. His eyes burned with resolve. "I have heard enough of this, Leman. Draw your vote, then. Eject me. Go on."
Leman loosed Mjalnar, bringing her to bear with a flourish. "As you say, brother. I vote to eject."
Once more my inbox is graced by art given written form. Incredible. Stunning. Flawless. Thank you.
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[ffxivwrite2024] prompt 8: free day
Prompt 8: free day
When she was concentrating, Airraim got a particular furrow in her brow. Dâzinhla found it desperately endearing. She also found it endearing that Airraim would scowl if attention was drawn to it, a scowl which only deepened the furrow.Â
Right now, she stayed silent, merely watching her beloved over the rim of her glasses. Dâzinhla had been working on more transcriptions, work that was very pleasant to do with Airraim also present in the room. Airraimâs own work was at her botany workbench, where she was examining the growth of the plants she tended. It was while she was doing this that Dâzinhla had taken note of that furrow of concentration, and paused her own work to admire her.
Airraim hadnât noticed her regard, putting all her focus into the seedling she was examining. She tilted her head, delicately brushed the newly formed leaves aside, then frowned in consideration, and all the while Dâzinhla watched, her heart swelling with warmth for the person who had stolen it.
Whatever it was that had so captured Airraimâs attention seemed to have instilled a low-level frustration in her, because she set the seedling back down and sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. âZinhla, next time we go to the market, Iâll-â She broke off as she looked at her, and found her already watching. A wry smile twisted her lips. âHow long have you been staring?â
Dâzinhla couldnât help but grin. âLong enough.â She pushed her chair back from her desk, crossing over to slide her arm across Airraimâs shoulders. âI adore you.â
Airraim chuckled, her tail swishing as she leaned into the half-embrace. âYou make this quite obvious, my heart. Not that Iâll ever tire of hearing it.â She lifted her hand to where Dâzinhlaâs rested on her shoulder, brushing her fingertips over her knuckles.
âMm.â She leaned down to rest her head against Airraimâs, inhaling her scent, mixed as it was with the loam of potting soil, the green of her plants, and the soft floral fragrance that clung to her. She could easily get distracted by this. âBut you were saying?â
âI was saying, the next time we go to the market, I think Iâll need to try something different for these new seedlings.â Airraim gestured with her free hand at the dozen or so, in small cups of soil. âI think they need soil that drains better. Or containers that do. Theyâre showing signs of retaining too much water.â
âI see. Easily accomplished, Iâll make sure we spend time there.â The climate of Ishgard made gardens a very difficult matter, but the proliferation of greenhouses and conservatories proved that its people were still quite willing to try. Clever things could be done with arrangements of crystals, for instance. Airraim had no few contacts among Ishgardâs green thumbs, and was starting to gain a name for herself, mostly for the exotic plants from far-off places that she provided to them in exchange for their support and advice with her own plants. It was a nice arrangement, and one that made Dâzinhla delighted, for it meant that Airraim had her own connections at a remove from herself. Certainly the reason she went to those far-off places was because of Dâzinhla, but the work with the plants was all Airraim, and her botanical colleagues here in the city were her connections first and foremost. It gave her joy and relief to see Airraim at work within those connections.
âThank you,â Airraim murmured, looking up at her with a soft smile. âI do apologize for distracting you from your own work.â
âOh,â and she waved her own free hand dismissively at her desk. âNothing terribly interesting. Just transcribing a few more copies of that Pelupelu alpaca-herd song. Itâs astonishingly similar in structure to a La Noscean shepherd song, so I have some inquiries of my own to make. But nothing I regret setting aside for some moments of admiration.â
âCareful, or one might think youâre utterly besotted.â Behind the teasing words there was a softness, the softness that told her that Airraim still quietly marveled that she was the focus of Dâzinhlaâs affections. She could recognize it, because she had the mirror of it herself.Â
So she smiled. âOf course I am. How could I not be?â And she pressed a kiss to Airraimâs cheek, rewarded with the soft flush of her skin.
Airraim was silent for a few more moments, then sighed softly, the hint of a purr in her exhalation. âMy heart,â she murmured, and Dâzinhla knew that this time, at least, she had won, with Airraim having no further comeback but her favorite term of endearment.
With her heart full to bursting, she said, âI love you too.â
#ffxivwrite2024#wol: d'zinhla rhee#timeline: post-7.0 due to Dawntrail people-mention#this was just an excuse to write some fluff but really that's just ideal isn't it
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A Cage Of Gold
(Part 2 of The New Goddess - Previous: Small Minded)
Clouds break in slow motion upon the walls of the crystal palace. The grand structure floats high in the sky, far above a kingdom bathed in the rays of the morning sun.
The view is stunning from up here. Itâs like eating breakfast on the skyâs shoreline. Almost hard to imagine that not so long ago I was one of those tiny specks struggling for survival down below, in the streets of a city that looks very different from this vantage.
I canât say I miss that life.
Standing up, I leave the table behind me. A backward glance reveals the dishes have already been removed, as has the table I was just using and the window Iâd been gazing out of. No servants here, at least in the traditional sense; the palace itself serves. Iâm still getting used to that.
I resume my daily exploration, ambling where my whims direct me. The steady tap of my boots echoes through a hallway that takes me to another wing of the palace, varying slightly in style from the one with my quarters. Has it been here the whole time? Last I came by this way, the same path led to a garden, and the time before that, a library. No idea whether these rooms still exist when Iâm not visiting them or whether the palace simply chooses to guide me to wherever it wants me.
Once upon a time, Iâd have gone out of my way to spite anyone that tried to lead me to do anything I hadnât already decided I wanted, but I guess things change when you find religion. My Goddess is my shepherd, and I happily walk the path She lays before me.
Today Her path takes me to an ornate pair of doors. With a gentle push, they glide effortlessly open in a wordless invitation for me to continue.
A gorgeous foyer greets me, lavishly appointed with soft rugs, ornate tapestries, gold trimmed furnishings. Itâs an entryway fit for the royal quarters of some big-deal monarch, much like the lodging provided for my use. Excitement gets the better of me, and I feel an uncontrollable grin split my face as I break into a jog. Could the other guest here beâŠ?
From the antechamber to the private dining area through several more opulent roomsâIâm sure palaces have fancy names Iâll never know for each of themâI check for an occupant, finding nobody until I barge into the bedchamber and find myself staring at the sorceress who killed me.
Now, Iâd like to credit my faith in Her for helping me stamp down the spike of fear that suddenly grips me, but to be honest with myself, itâs the gold shackles binding her arms, the collar of bone, and the chains anchoring her to the wall that are doing most of the heavy lifting there.
âVelle.â
The raven-haired woman responds to her name with a wild-eyed stare, managing to look like a wretched and bedraggled mess even while wearing an immaculately tailored dress of luscious crimson, trimmed with lace. Black-painted lips open and close wordlessly, shock momentarily robbing her of speech.
âYou escaped?â The words come at last. âNo, of course you did. You were the picklock, were you not? The criminal. You were the one who helped them escape every trap I set. You probably broke free of a hundred prison cells to avoid justice whenever it came for you.â
The sorceress Velle leaps to her feet, and to my surprise the chains extend from the wall to allow her this much freedom. âSet me free,â she hisses in desperation. âLet me join you on your escape, and I will grant you anything you desire. Riches? Power? An army at your command!â Her eyes dart around the room. Her voice cracks. âAnything your heart imagines. Just hurry, before she returns!â
âWow.â This is too much to process right now. âI mean, wow.â There, that should clarify my position on the topic. Wait, hold on, I might be able to do a bit better: âWhat are you on about?â
I recognize the expression that crosses her face. Iâve seen it on a lot of people Iâve met, usually accompanied by the question, âare you stupid?â Velle, at least, refrains from saying that aloud, choosing instead to gesture with shackled arms in a way that makes her chain rattle at me rather pointedly.
âYeah, I didnât have anything like that,â I reply. âNo point in chaining someone up who doesnât want to escape. I mean, have you looked at this place?â I gesture at the opulence surrounding us. âWho would try to escape paradise?â
âA cage of gold is still a cage when those inside cannot choose to leave it.â
âOh no!â I gasp in mock horror. âI canât leave behind all these free meals and silk sheets and actually having a bit of privacy for once! I canât return to the thrilling life of a cutpurse, running from guards and sleeping outside! How Iâll miss wearing the same mud-soaked clothes for months at a timeââ
âShut up.â
âCome on, Iâm not done. Iâm still lamenting that Iâll never again experience the sublime joy of starving on the road, deciding to try eating berries I found, not expecting the stomach cramps followed by explosiveââ
âI donât want to hear it!â
âAre you sure? I can go into detail. I remember so much so vividly. Actually hold on, Iâve got one more memory for you: There was this time an evil sorceress fired shards of glowy stuff that ripped through my most important organs and killed me for no good reason.â
âI think you mean shââ
âThat one really hurt, you know. I died about it.â
Velle scoffs. âObviously you did not die.â
I erupt in a fit of laughter. For some reason this strikes me as hilarious, the best joke Iâve ever heard, even. âObviously!â If youâve never died, it must seem reasonable to assume someone could be mistaken about it! But no, she has no idea, and she has absolutely no idea how much she has no idea! I wheeze hysterically, and I wonder if itâs possible to die from laughing too much, whether I might give her another demonstration right here and now!
âI did. I did.â The laughter subsides enough to speak. âI promise, when your soul leaves your body, itâs hard to pretend youâre just taking a nap. When you feel the embrace of a Goddess, when She cradles the core of your whole existence and brings you back, safe and whole, itâs quite different from bandages and reparation magic!â
âPrincess Natalia resurrected you? Truly?â
âA bit more than just a princess now, isnât She?â Come on, I can squash down my giggling while praising Her, right? âBut yes, the Goddess resurrected me. She loves me, and I am blessed.â
âLove.â The sorceress in chains sneers. âAt last. Now comes to light the real reason for your freedom. I bet the two of you were fucking,â she emphasizes the crudeness of the word, âwhile poor Sir Wolfgang dutifully followed behind, pining for a lady who was already spreading her legs for some rancid street rat who no doubt could barely even concentrate on her royal cunt, too busy salivating over her familyâs wealth.â
Nope, no stifling this one. I double over in another fit of laughter. Was she really trying to upset me by talking about my Goddess and my friend like that?
âPlease,â I gasp, âgo on.â
With a scowl, Velle remains silent.
âItâs a good start! I think you could really lean hard into the cuckoldry thing. Oh, maybe the Goddess (in Her mortal aspect as the Princess) was betrothed to the Knight before Her ascension. Maybe She really loved him too, in that romantic way, but was determined to wait until the wedding to consummate their love. He understood, and he admired such acts of purity even though his carnal desires cried out for release. Now enter the dashing Rogue, a scoundrel whose peculiar services were needed to get them out of a trap laid by their fiendish enemy (thatâs you, naturally)âŠâ
Velle groans. I continue. âThe trio escapes! Now, the Rogue plans to rob the two of them before leaving, but the Princess finds Herself strangely captivated by this stranger, whose charm and wit possess a certain irresistible allure. She begs meâthe Rogue I meanâto join them on their journey to save the land from certain destruction. Our Rogue claims to be moved by such arguments, but in truth recognizes an opportunity in the blushing glances She sneaks.
âNow the Princess is determined to remain pure for Her betrothed, but oh! How the dashing Rogueâs shirt leaves such a tantalizing swath of unclothed chest open and visible! And the Knight sees how She steals such scandalous glances when the Rogue leans forward in a bow, how hard She blushes at a sly wink, how She laughs at some honestly kind of half-assed puns.â
âHow much longer is this going to go on?â
âNot a fan of slow burns? I wasnât planning to have any bodice ripping for a while yet, but I think if you stick around for a few more chapters we can really get to the juicy part where the Knight finds himself torn between his jealousy and the slow, creeping realization that heâs also falling for the Rogue. Thereâs a really good moment when the Princess tells the Rogue âyouâd look so beautiful with painted lips,â and the Knight stumbles into the scene. Heâs taken aback by the gentleness with which the Princess decorates the Rogueâs features, his face scarlet and, for a moment, unable to hide his desire. As he looks at the two of them, the princess in Her underclothes and the Rogue in rouge, itâs unclear what exactly he yearns for, but not even he can deny how he yearns.â
âAre you sent here to torture me then, is that it? I am a gift to you, that you may do with your murderer as you wish?â
I sigh and drop the bit. âNo, Iâm sure youâre here because She loves you too.â
âA funny sort of love,â Velle says, tugging her chain for emphasis.
âI have faith that if you embraced Her as your Goddess as I have, you would be freed.â I offer a genuine smile. âSure, itâs especially easy for me to love She Who Saved Me, but if you can learn to love Her as I do, youâll see that youâre already home. And like me youâd never need to fear death again.â
The other guest spits, hitting me directly in the eye. âWell look at you, getting a wink from the dashing Rogue yourself,â I say with a chuckle, wiping sorcerous saliva from my eyelid. Impressive aim, really. On an impulse, I lick my hand clean, maintaining eye contact as I do so. âIf you want some bodice ripping of your own, just say so. But maybe letâs keep this a slow burn of our own, okay?â With a charming grin and a wave of my hand, I turn and walk away.
Maybe Velleâs right, though. Maybe she is a gift of sorts. What could be greater than helping guide a lost soul such as her to the warm embrace of the Goddess? Iâll visit her again the next chance I get.
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Alice in College pt 1
An IkeRev Central characters AU! Written for my IkeRev 1K Celebration, a boarding school AU was the poll winner. Approx. 2700 words. 1/6
On Being the New Kid and Other Horrors
Alice looked up at the soaring towers of Cradle College, her neck tilted back uncomfortably. They were impossibly tall, and looked needle thin. Pennants fluttered atop them, their colors too distant to determine against the steely gray of the sky. The clouds above were heavy with the threat of a coming storm. âFigures,â she sighed.Â
There was nothing for it but to go in. She knocked once at the large, wooden entry. A smaller door set into the giant gate swung open. âThere you are.â The voice that came from the shadowed threshold was warm and gentle. A moment later, Alice had a face to go with the voice as a young, bespectacled man stepped out. âIâm Blanc Lapin. And you must be our new Alice.â
âYes, Mr. Lapin.â Alice felt flustered under his rose-gold gaze. He was beautiful in an almost fragile way, with his pale hair and complexion, thin frame, and elegant hands. She found it hard not to stare, and when she did, iIt felt as if he saw right into her heart. His playful smile and wise eyes said they knew every thought she had as she climbed the steps to meet him.Â
âPlease, call me Blanc.â He took her hands in his and gently squeezed them. âWelcome to Cradle.âÂ
Alice let herself be led inside.Â
The courtyard was old, overgrown with thick, verdant vines. Ivy and roses over crumbling statues, arches, and stone walls. She didnât have time to really look at any of it as Blanc set a fast pace. He opened the door for her and shepherded her into the entry hall. Alice had just enough time to gawp at the floating crystal chandelier above them before she was herded into another room.Â
âHere we are.â Blanc came to a sudden stop, and Alice nearly collided with him. âYouâve arrived just in time for afternoon tea.â He smiled at her wistfully. âGo ahead and grab a tray. Youâll find the food here is quite good. I recommend the carrot cake.â
âThe . . . carrot cake?â Alice blinked at him.Â
âYes. Though the strawberry and caramel creme are also very good.âÂ
âStop flirting with the new kid. Nobody wants to see that.â A childâs high-pitched voice interrupted before Alice could say anything else.Â
She turned to see a small boy with a ridiculous top hat marching toward them. His green jacket and matching bowtie were pressed and formal and far fancier than the simple blue dress and white pinafore Alice wore. The boy looked much too young for college, she thought.
âOliver, did you come to introduce yourself?â Blanc smiled at him with the same gentle expression heâd show Alice.Â
âNo.â Oliver crossed his arms.Â
Alice wasnât sure how to react, but Blanc was giving her an encouraging look so she took a breath and held out her hand. âHi, Oliver. Iâm Alice. Itâs, um, nice to meet you?â She hadnât meant it to sound like a question but his frown and lowered brows made her uncertain it was nice.
âWonderful.â Blanc put his gloved hands together. âIâm afraid I have somewhere else to be, but it looks like youâre getting along just fine.â He gave Alice one last smile and then left.Â
She stood there awkwardly, glancing between Blancâ retreating form and Oliverâs bored expression.Â
âUgh. Come on.â Oliver rolled his eyes and turned on his heel.Â
Alice reluctantly followed after. âSo. You must be pretty smart to be in college already, hm? What are you studying?â
âDonât patronize me. Iâm not some stupid kid.âÂ
âOh. Ok. I - I didnât mean to?â She took a breath. Clearly the kid was touchy about his age. She didnât try to make any more small talk as he led her to the snack table. There were pastries, savory and sweet, and a large samovar full of hot tea.Â
âMetaphysics.â
Alice was just reaching for a plate when Oliver spoke, and nearly dropped it in surprise.Â
He reached out, grabbing her hand to stabilize the plate. âGreat. Youâre clumsy too.â Oliver sighed. âAnyway, get what you want and then find somewhere to sit.â He let go of her and turned to go.Â
âThanks?â
âJust try not to drop anything.â He took a step and then paused. âYou can sit by us, if you want. Not that I care.â And with that, he left her alone.
Alice frowned after him for a moment. âNo thanks,â she murmured. She didnât think she could handle any more kid-sass. Not today anyway. She filled her plate, grabbed a mug of tea, and found an empty table.Â
The cafeteria looked like it was meant to house a lot more students than it currently did. Large, round wooden tables dotted the room, with six chairs at each. Only a few were occupied. No one looked over at her arrival, which was fine. It wasnât her first time being âthe new kidâ and it would take time to get to know people.Â
She picked up a strawberry pastry and took a bite. It was quite good. As good as anything the sweets shop she worked at in London might make. Alice finally started to relax as she sat there, sipping tea and people watching. Despite the magical nature of Cradle, the students here really werenât that different than -
âYou look so beautiful when youâre enjoying yourself.â
The voice caught Alice offguard and she spilt her tea on her skirt as she made a slight jump and turned towards it. Her eyes were met by a pair of wide, grey-blue eyes and a bright, friendly smile.Â
âSorry, did I startle you princess?â He didnât look sorry at all as he gave her a mischievous wink. âHere, let me help you with that. Itâs my fault, afterall.â And then he knelt, leaning into her lap to dab at the spot of tea on her pinafore.
Alice felt completely tongue-tied, her face going instantly hot from the sudden, unexpected familiarity. She took a moment to find her voice again, though it was a little squeakier than she liked. âWho - who are you? What are you doing?â
He laughed warmly and tilted his head to look up at her. âAh, there I go, jumping right in without even introducing myself. Iâm Dalim, and itâs really a pleasure to meet you, Alice.â
She blinked at him uncertainly. He at least looked like he meant it, even if he was entirely too close for someone she just met. His hand was still resting on her leg beside the stain. âN-nice to meet you too. But. Could you . . .â
âOh! Yeah, sorry about that. I suppose I just got a little carried away. I feel bad I just met you and already made a mess.â He drew his hand back slowly, the warmth of his palm stroking her through her skirt.Â
Alice wasnât sure how to respond. People were just not this forward where she was from.Â
âYouâre really freaking her out, Dalim. You should give it a rest. Donât you have enough girlfriends already?â Another interruption, welcome this time.Â
She turned her head to see a pink-haired youth a step behind her chair. His shaggy bangs almost covered his oddly colored eyes, one scarlet and the other a tawny gold. He had on a hoodie with cat ears, and fitted t-shirt that said âFree Hugsâ in a bubbly yellow print.Â
He saw her looking at him and broke into a smile. âHi Alice. Iâm Loki. And Iâm rescuing you from this guy, ok?â
âOk?â Alice echoed him, which was apparently the wrong response because as soon as she spoke, Loki grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him toward the door.Â
âW-where are we- hey, what-â She tried to get her question out but before she managed, they were surrounded by a bright light and then she was standing someplace else entirely. The dining hall was gone, replaced by a small balcony on one of the school towers.Â
The wind here was cold and the rain felt like tiny needles on her exposed skin. She clutched the balcony railing, trying not to panic as the expanse of the school grounds spread out below her.Â
âThis is one of my favorite places to escape to.â Lokiâs lips brushed her ear as he spoke, and she felt his arms slide around her. âHere, you can lean against me if youâre cold.â
Alice gave him a withering look. She was tired of being teased and manhandled. âThis is not a rescue. This is a kidnapping! I was perfectly fine. Enjoying pastries and some cute flirty guy. And now Iâm freezing to death on a balcony while you try to - to -â She stopped her tirade as she saw his expression shift from glee to hurt.Â
âSorry,â he muttered, his lips forming a perfect little pout.Â
She took a breath and got control of herself. âLook. Loki. Itâs fine. Iâm just really cold out here. And I wasnât expecting this. Plus, I donât know that I like being hugged when Iâve barely met someone.â
He considered for a moment and then nodded. âAlright. Iâll wait until we know each other better before I hug you again. Now come on. Letâs get out of the rain.â
Alice half feared he would magic them someplace else, but instead he turned around and opened a hidden door on the roof that led onto an upper floor of the school library. The walls here were lined with books from floor to ceiling. Magic crystal lamps hovered in the air over long tables, low-slung couches, and private reading booths.Â
After a moment, she located the ladder that led up to this level and clambered down. Her hands were so cold she had trouble holding on. Loki, on the other hand, looked none the worse for wear, other than being a little wet.Â
âThis way,â he gestured for her to follow him through the maze of shelves and reading spots. Alice wasnât sure she ought to trust him, but it was that or wander off on her own with no idea which direction to go.Â
Loki stopped at one of the private reading nooks, a big grin on his face. âAlice. Look,â he whispered.
She leaned forward to see what was in the nook and her eyes landed on a strange-looking man. He had dark hair and wore some sort of small, metal mask. His visible eye was closed in sleep, head resting on a huge, open tome. âLoki. Heâs sleeping. Letâs leave him be.â
âNah.â Loki gave her a wink and then pulled a feather from thin air. He reached forward to tickle the sleeping manâs nose.Â
Alice grabbed at the feather, but missed as he pulled it out of reach. She swiped at it again as he wiggled it toward the peaceful face of the sleeper. As Loki yanked it away again, she lost her balance and tumbled straight onto the man.Â
He didnât yell or jerk awake. His eye opened quickly though, and slid to the side, taking in the woman now draped on top of him. In a strained, quiet voice he spoke. âCould you. Please. Get off of me?â
âSorry. I - I fell. And. Um.â She pulled back and stood straight, flushed to the roots of her hair with embarrassment. âI didnât mean to. You see. Loki - he -â she pointed to him and found the spot empty. In fact, the little pink-haired trouble maker was nowhere in sight.
âHe got away.â The man sat up and ran a hand over his hair, trying to pat it into shape. He was failing spectacularly, as clumps stood straight up on the side that had been pressed to the book. âItâs fine.â He sighed. âHe does this sort of thing.â He gave up on his hair and held out a hand. âIâm Harr.â
âItâs nice to meet you, Harr. Iâm Alice.â She shook his hand. âSorry I woke you like that.â She couldnât help but notice he was blushing and wouldnât meet her gaze.Â
âNot your fault.â He took a breath. âWhy are you soaking wet?â At her long-suffering sigh, he smiled. âAh. Loki. Right. Well. Do you know where your room is? You should probably change out of those wet things.â
Alice shook her head. âI assume Blanc - Mr. Lapin - was going to show me, but, I think Iâve lost him completely.â
Harr stood. He was, she realized, very tall. Was he a teacher? A senior? She couldnât say. âLet me show you.â He rummaged in his bag and took out a plain black notebook. He handed it to her. âThis has a map of the school and another of the grounds. And you can take notes in it.â
âOh, umm. Thank you. You really donât need to -â
âI donât need it. And you do.â He smiled and it was the first time he really looked directly at her. It was such a nice smile that she felt almost stunned by itâs sudden appearance. Then it was gone and he was walking away, his long legs taking him further from her with every step. âCome on,â he said over his shoulder.Â
She clutched her new notebook in hand and hurried after him, happy for a guide, even one as shy and mysterious as Harr. In fact, she was watching him so intently that she didnât see the student about to step into her path until the moment they collided.Â
âYou idiot! Watch where youâre going!â The dark figure sheâd run into nearly spat the words as they stood up and straightened their clothes. Black hooded shirt, dark pants. Purple scarf. A strand of pale hair, and a pair of furious amber eyes. He bent down to pick up his books.
âI am so sorry! It was my fault entirely.â She set her notebook down to help him collect his things. It was a pretty big stack of books, notebooks, and loose paper. Tight, scrawling cursive covered nearly every page in tiny, chaotic lines of text.Â
âIt was absolutely your fault.â He paused to get a good look at her. âYouâre the new Alice.â He said the words with even more venom, surprising her into dropping what sheâd picked up.Â
âYeah. Sorry about that too, I guess,â she snapped.Â
He bent and picked up the rest of his things, snagging her notebook as well. âYou should be.â
âRight. Hey - thatâs mine though!â
He glanced down as she snagged the black notebook from his hand.Â
âAlice?â Harr had stopped a few meters ahead and turned back to check on her. His eyes widened. âAmon?â
The rude guy - Amon - frowned fiercely before hurrying away. He didnât say anything as he left, but he did spare her one final glare before turning into another doorway.
âWho was that,â she asked Harr as she hurried to catch up to him again.
âAmon Jabberwok.â Harr paused before he went on. âYou should be careful around him.â
âWhy?â Alice tried for more information, but Harr clammed up and said little else as he practically jogged down the hall and down some stairs.Â
Alice was doubly glad she had a guide when she realized how ridiculously tangled the halls and stairways of the school were. Even with a map, she knew it would have taken her awhile to find her room.Â
âYour bags should be inside already.â Harr finally spoke up again. âWhen youâre cleaned up, you should speak to Dean and Blanc about your class schedule.â He gave her a nod and then turned to go.
âWait!â
He stopped. âDid you need something else?â
âNo. Just. Thanks. For the help and the - the notebook.â
Harr nodded. âYouâll need it. And . . . if you . . . have questions, Iâll be around.â
âI appreciate that. Iâll see you then.â And with that, she was alone. Alice opened her door and stepped into the quiet room. Herâs, until the end of the school year. It was pretty nice. Light blue curtains framed a window with a view on the courtyard, and her bed had a nice heavy quilt to chase away the winter chill. There was a small fireplace too, though the flames that danced inside were no normal fire. They threw a light purple glow over the room as they flickered between shades of white and violet.Â
Peace. And warm, dry clothes. Alice took a breath, realizing that college here was going to be nothing like London. Nothing at all.
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a little town in the desert that you have to be lost to find
{praise the rain - joy harjo / @coyote-west / the saint of lost causes - justin townes earle / @dappermouth / pissing contest (or an interrogation on behalf of a lover who is no longer mine) - @silasdenvermelvin / unknown / their eyes were watching god - zora neale hurston / old black train - the blasting company / once in a while you get shown the light - crystal dipietro / last stand - adam joseph}
[ID: a 10 image litstack
image 1: black text on a white background. "praise crazy. praise sad. / praise the path on which we're led. / praise the roads on earth and water. / praise the eater and the eaten. / praise beginnings; praise the end. / praise the song and praise the singer."
image 2: a red, maroon, and light tan drawing on a tan background. it shows desert mountains with some scraggly plants, a cactus, a snake, and a big red sun. red text says "the west has made a deal with the sun"
image 3: black text on white background. "you know the folks that's most afraid of the wolf / if you really stop and think / throughout time, between a wolf and a shepherd / who do you think has killed more sheep?"
image 4: a digital painting of a black wolf in a dim, snowy landscape. text underneath it reads "you feel you've been here, once before, in a memory that was not quite yours"
image 5: black text on a white background. "have you shot a gun? is your / blood authentic? is your blood / authentic? is your blood authentic? / can you prove it to me?"
image 6: a traditional colored print of a skeleton wearing a black cowboy hat and a red bandana. we see their bust floating over a scene of a graveyard with crosses, cactus, a bull skull, and two human skulls wearing hats. theres a mound of dirt with a shovel in it and a large rising sun. the text reads "live fast / die last"
image 7: black text on white background. "half gods are worshiped with wine and flowers. real gods require blood"
image 8: black text on a burnt orange background. "come on now, young strangers / weren't you someone's son? / how'd you find this depot / cause it aint where you belong"
image 9: a realistic traditional painting of desert shrubs and mountains with a cloudy sky. the painting is done in steel blues and bright orange
image 10: black text on white background. "i'll bet you thought this'd last, cowboy / but nothin ever does - / it's just this wasteland / and it's just god / and it's just us." end ID]
#lost township#litstack#love my fucked up little game#cant wait to get more into arc 2#this post reminded me why i cant do a lot of IDs#my head is hot and im dizzy#TBI said fuck you
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roxaneduran: What a gang but I have to say we deeply missed @jamespurefoyactor @oscarlesage @yolifuller @jazziblackborow #marthekeller @jonasbachan @jonasbloquet @gerardwatkins @paulbandey @martijnlakemeier @thomasaldente @parispaulnyc @zeldarittner @maximilienseweryn Meet us all tonight in the new eps of @marieantoinette on @canalplus Once again, couldn't be happier than in @miumiu organised beautiful by @isabrulier A million thanks for the fun shoot @johannaberghorn
Caroline Piette, Crystal Shepherd-Cross, Emilia SchuÌle, Gaia Weiss, Jack Archer, Liah O'Prey, Louis Cunningham, Margaux Balsan, Nathan Willcocks, Philippe TĆokinÌski and Roxane Duran via roxaneduran on Instagram, 11/14/2022.
#caroline piette#crystal shepherd-cross#emilia schuÌle#gaia weiss#jack archer#liah o'prey#louis cunningham#margaux balsan#nathan willcocks#philippe tĆokinÌski#roxane duran
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On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
      To many-tower'd Camelot;
The yellow-leaved waterlily
The green-sheathed daffodilly
Tremble in the water chilly
      Round about Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens shiver.
The sunbeam showers break and quiver
In the stream that runneth ever
By the island in the river
      Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
      The Lady of Shalott.
Underneath the bearded barley,
The reaper, reaping late and early,
Hears her ever chanting cheerly,
Like an angel, singing clearly,
      O'er the stream of Camelot.
Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,
Beneath the moon, the reaper weary
Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy,
      Lady of Shalott.'
The little isle is all inrail'd
With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd
With roses: by the marge unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken sail'd,
      Skimming down to Camelot.
A pearl garland winds her head:
She leaneth on a velvet bed,
Full royally apparelled,
      The Lady of Shalott.
Part II
No time hath she to sport and play:
A charmed web she weaves alway.
A curse is on her, if she stay
Her weaving, either night or day,
      To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be;
Therefore she weaveth steadily,
Therefore no other care hath she,
      The Lady of Shalott.
She lives with little joy or fear.
Over the water, running near,
The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.
Before her hangs a mirror clear,
      Reflecting tower'd Camelot.
And as the mazy web she whirls,
She sees the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
      Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
      Goes by to tower'd Camelot:
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
      The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
      And music, came from Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead
Came two young lovers lately wed;
'I am half sick of shadows,' said
      The Lady of Shalott.
Part III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flam'd upon the brazen greaves
      Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
      Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
      As he rode down from Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
      Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
      As he rode down from Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
      Moves over green Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
      As he rode down from Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'
      Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom
She made three paces thro' the room
She saw the water-flower bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
      She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
'The curse is come upon me,' cried
      The Lady of Shalott.
Part IV
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
      Over tower'd Camelot;
Outside the isle a shallow boat
Beneath a willow lay afloat,
Below the carven stern she wrote,
 The Lady of Shalott.
A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,
All raimented in snowy white
That loosely flew (her zone in sight
Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright)
      Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot,
Though the squally east-wind keenly
Blew, with folded arms serenely
By the water stood the queenly
      Lady of Shalott.
With a steady stony glanceâ
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Beholding all his own mischance,
Mute, with a glassy countenanceâ
      She look'd down to Camelot.
It was the closing of the day:
She loos'd the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
      The Lady of Shalott.
As when to sailors while they roam,
By creeks and outfalls far from home,
Rising and dropping with the foam,
From dying swans wild warblings come,
      Blown shoreward; so to Camelot
Still as the boathead wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her chanting her deathsong,
      The Lady of Shalott.
A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,
She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her eyes were darken'd wholly,
And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly,
      Turn'd to tower'd Camelot:
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
      The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden wall and gallery,
A pale, pale corpse she floated by,
Deadcold, between the houses high,
      Dead into tower'd Camelot.
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
To the planked wharfage came:
Below the stern they read her name,
 The Lady of Shalott.
They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,
Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.
There lay a parchment on her breast,
That puzzled more than all the rest,
      The wellfed wits at Camelot.
'The web was woven curiously,
The charm is broken utterly,
Draw near and fear not,âthis is I,
      The Lady of Shalott.'
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CONTRAST
Chapter 3: Consequences
By the time he had been brought home, Jori had steeled himself. The elegant stonework of the shadow kingâs temple, grey, black and violet motifs of writhing dragons, animal skulls and geometric patterns that were framed by vaulted arches and columns of teal and veined orange was a stunning sight to most, but for Jori it had little appeal anymore; especially now as it rang with snarled orders. Steward constructs hustled about in organized mayhem as they strove to complete one task or the other. He was greeted pleasantly by a few, but he did not pause to do more than thank them as his rickety governess shepherded him towards the throne room.
Members of his father's inner circle sneered down their noses at him when he passed, and he returned their judgment with a rude gesture. Even if he had no interest in the throne, he could still imagine a pleasant outcome where every one of them found themselves unemployed.
He rounded the corner, and there he saw him: his father clad in robes of black and violet, seated upon a dark wooden throne carved with the same motifs that decorated his keep, and at its apex, two wooden dragons held a circular icon with an inverted triangle in its center, with smaller circles adjacent to each of its faces; the icon of the shadow tribe.
Jori curled his lip in disgust at the sight. The king did not look up at him, however, choosing instead to focus upon the black plank straddled between the arms of the throne. It was draped with a red cloth. A trio of violet candles glowed in one corner beside a jar of deep violet ink, and in the other sat a crystal decanter of dark red wine and a nearly empty glass beside it. His father scribbled some notes, then picked up a handful of ivory pieces inscribed with a variety of symbols.
Haxion put his quill down and gestured elegantly for the governess, and everyone else for that matter, to leave. Once they were alone, the king clasped his hands together and shook them, their contents clicking together eerily before he dropped them onto the table. Jori stood there in awkward silence as his father took up the quill again, muttering to himself as he tapped each bone with the feathered end of the quill, reckoning each symbol in turn before he returned to his notes.
Jori shifted his weight, the silence deafening as Haxion once more picked up the ivory and cast them again, repeating this process until his son could barely stand from the soreness and exhaustion. Just as he made to slip away, however, Haxionâs voice cut through the air and made the prince flinch.
âNine times, and twice by nine times again, have I cast the bones for you tonight, and every time they speak ill of your future.â
Finally they locked eyes. It was evident where the vivid green of Joriâs eyes had come from, for those same eyes glared back at him. The red in his pelt, however, had clearly come from his mother as his father was coated in a noble inky black that caught the light in odd ways, leading to traces of gold on the brightest surfaces.
Haxion laid the plank upon his side table, then rose and strode over to Jori, a swagger in his step that made the youth bristle.Â
âI still donât understand why you put so much store in those.â Jori said, trying not to look intimidated as Haxion stood before him.
âOne day perhaps you may understand the depths of the heathen powers that govern our bloodline, if you manage to survive that long. Clearly there are numerous other things that you also do not understand. Civility, for one.â
Jori stood his ground, despite the shaking in his knees. He was so tired.Â
âWell?â That familiar voice, smooth and dangerous, prompted him, its owner's arms crossed. âCare to explain yourself?â
Jori held his eyes stubbornly. At this age his father was still slightly taller than him, but that was of little consequence to his attitude.
âEven if I did, you would still brush it off.â
The scowl he got in return made him shudder, but he had grown accustomed to hiding it. Jori's body hurt, and he did not have the patience for this. Not tonight, and likely not ever. He turned away.
Haxion growled at his back. âStay yourself, boy. You have not been dismissed.â
Jori did not even try to hide the fact that the fur all down his spine was on end. Reluctantly he turned back.
âIf it is your intention to sit the throne in a time of war, you are certainly succeeding.â Haxion growled. âNaydra is furious.â
âGood.â
The wrath in his fatherâs snarl, however, made Jori bite his tongue, painfully.
âI donât care for her or her ilk any more than you do, but we cannot let our personal sentiments endanger the lives and livelihoods of those who look to us for leadership. I would have thought you would be aware of that by now.â He scanned his son up and down. âNo, you are aware. You just donât care.â
Jori sighed, unable to decide if he was angry or hurt by the scrutiny.Â
âYouâre right, I donât care. She and her high and mighty kin have gone out of their way for too long to discredit us just because we deal in magic she doesnât understand.â
Haxionâs expression softened a moment, then slipped from frustration to firmness.
âThat said, boy, the tribes need not understand each other to show respect for each otherâs territory and property. What you did tonight⊠I cannot begin to comprehend what was going through your head." Haxion angrily poked his own forehead with two fingers as he said it. âYou speak out against Naydraâs mistrust of us but then in the same night give her justification for that mistrust. The way of the shadows is subtle. Calculated. And there was nothing subtle or calculated about what you did tonight. And to make it worse, you dragged Rauru into your trouble. Donât you think he has struggled enough since the loss of his family?â
Jori finally wavered, and let his gaze fall.Â
âThe floor is not going to solve your problems.â
Jori sighed and made eye contact again.Â
âI want to have faith in you, Jori, have faith that you are simply young and wild and will grow into a refined leader by the time my burdens become yours.â Haxion sighed and circled the youth, as if to help himself gather his thoughts. âBut yet every time I give you a bit of freedom you do something that's just.. Just⊠So stupid that I cannot fathom where in your upbringing that Iâve gone so wrong.â The king lifted his arms in frustration and let them fall to his sides again. He sighed, and Jori remained silent as he sought solace from the floor again.
Haxion shook his head, looking at his son with helplessness. He put a hand on his shoulder, then stepped away and returned to the throne. He pulled a large workbook with cracked leather on its covers from the side table. From it he produced a document scrawled in elegant, sharp curves with a vivid sapphire blue ink. âNaydra has demanded compensation for the damage to the construct; enough for repairs and to pay her soldiers for leave while their training grounds are refreshed. Additionally, she has asked for part of that sum from Rauru and his family, which you and I both know will crush them.â
Jori pinned his ears back. Since the death of their parents on the surface, Mineru had been forced to raise her brother. He knew just how much of a struggle it had been for them. He opened his mouth to speak, but stumbled over the words.
âIs there⊠There has to be something we can do to stop that.â
Haxion studied the prince, and nodded. âNow you are thinking like a leader. What do you propose we do?â
Jori ran his bruised hand through his long dark hair, which shimmered in the same gold reflections as his sireâs coat. â...Is it possible to cover their portion of it? Somehow?â
Haxion, then, actually smiled and nodded approvingly. âI came to the same conclusion.âÂ
He produced another letter, this one in his own violet ink, that looked to be half finished.
âI have already sent the payment to Naydra. Still, I would not expect her favor anytime soon.â
Not that Jori wanted it, but he nodded. âBut?â
âAgain, youâre finally thinking like a leader should. As you can imagine the cost of this disaster has cut deeply into the pay for everyone else. Health cannot be generated from nothing else it would be worthless. But you know that.â
Jori braced himself, none too fond of the change in Haxionâs tone to one of mocking.Â
His father continued, âNor is it fair to demand of our miners on the surface to increase their output to compensate for the loss. The work is difficult enough. So, I am sending them some help.â
Joriâs blood ran cold.
âSo, two days hence you will be taken down to the surface and put to work in the mines. Perhaps some hard, honest labor will work some sense into that sharp and stubborn mind of yours. At least, I can hope. You will work until you have provided an equal share of output to this loss, and then you will work further until you have provided an equal share of the profit you have cost your tribe. It may take months, or it may take years, depending on how hard you are willing to work.â
Every ache in his body was amplified by each word. The mines⊠There were so many tragedies that had happened there. The Depths were said to rot away a personâs sanity until nothing but cruelty and hatred remained. But, that was where the zonaite was, and without zonaite the entire zonai nation would fall.
âIâŠâ Jori began, then went silent. As much as the proposition horrified him, there was no way he could justify avoiding it. Not if Rauru and his diminishing tribe were to suffer for his own mistakes.
âAlright.â he said through gritted teeth. Haxion nodded.
âThere is one more thing. I have a question.â
And what could that possibly be? â...Yes?â
â...You are gifted in the power of our people. Why didnât you use it in the fight?â
Jori tilted his head in confusion, but for the life of him he could not find an answer.Â
âI donât know. I guess I just⊠Didnât think about it.â
Haxion frowned. âPerhaps that is because you have been slacking in your studies. You are Skyborn. A zonai. Magic should be your first solution to any life threatening situation.â
Jori scowled. âIs that what you would tell someone who doesnât have magic?â
âNo. But you do. And as such you should never forget it. Your life could, and likely will, depend on it. Perhaps in the Depths, surrounded by the darkness, you will learn to better attune yourself to it.â
Jori took his leave then, head down as he processed his fate. Haxion watched him, a pang of guilt in his breast. Maybe he had been too harsh.
âJori.â
The prince ignored him, slinking away down the hall.
âJori.â he said more firmly. His son ignored him still, almost out of sight now.
âMajora!â
Jori finally stopped, his fur on end. Then, slowly, he turned. âYou know, I just realized something.â
Haxion glared at him in silence, any guilt he had been feeling long gone. âAnd that is?â
â...The only time I ever hate that name,â Jori continued. â...is when it's on your tongue.â
The king narrowed his eyes. âMajoraââ
âAnd one day,â the prince cut him off. âI hope you regret that fact.â
***************
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The folklore of the Berry region: Les Martes et la Pierre Ă la femme
Loosely translated from A. Laisnel de La Salleâs Croyances et lĂ©gendes du coeur de la France (Beliefs and legends of the center of France), 1875
Article: Les Martes
In the town of Saint-BenoĂźt-du-Saul, at the feet of the hill where the castle of Montgarnaud can be found, there is a deep ravine filled with rocks of fantastical and twisted shapes, and through which the wild stream of the Portefeuille flows. It is said that in this place there is an entire population of fairies - and that their voices with strange accents can be heard during thunderstorm nights, mixing themselves with the roar of the streams. They are said to live in âlâAire aux Martesâ, a crystal palace hidden beyond the waterfall that starts the stream.Â
Despite a seemingly divine nature, the Martes have all the needs of a regular human being. During droughs, when the water of the stream is very low, we see at the bottom of the water, cooking ustensils made out of rocks: most notably the cauldrons and the pans of the Martes can be seen. It is also said that at Sassenage, near Grenoble, you can find a rock formation which is the oven in which these fairies bake their cakes.Â
The Martes of Montgarnaud are said to be very excentric, both in clothes and behavior. According to the locals, they appear as tall and skinny women, with a tanned skin and a disheveled appearance. Their long hair, black and straight, fall in one go all the way down to their heels, and their breasts, nearly as long as their hair, usually end at the level of their knees. These horrible creatures often appear to a laborer who works in a plain or to the sheperds who brings his flock to the hill nearby - they stand at the top of mounts, on dolmenâs tables, or at the crest of a peulvan. They call the men they see in impudent and shameless ways, and if said men do not answer their call, they throw back their breasts over their shoulders, and start running after them - forcing the laborer to abandon his plough, and the shepherd to abandon his sheep.Â
The Martes are said to co-exist with a species of giants known as âMartesâ or âMarsesâ. Tradition does not tell what kind of relationship unites the female Martes and the male Martes. But the male Martes are said to be abnormaly strong - according to legends, all the dolmens, menhirs and cromlechs of the region were created by the âgamesâ of those giants.Â
Article: La Pierre Ă la Femme
In the Cher region, it is not a giant, but a giantess that was said to have created a menhir (or peulvan) of red granit. It is found near the town of Saint-Georges-sur-Moulon, and it is named âla Pierre Ă la Femmeâ, âthe Stone of the Womanâ. The legend says : An unknown woman appeared one day, out of the depths of the old forest of Haute-Brune. She was an inhumanly beautiful lady, of a colossal height. She was holding in her apron an enormous stone. She ahd crossed the top of the hill and was walking down its slope, when her apron broke - the stone fell, and it fell right where you can see it today.Â
According to another version of the tale, the mysterious female traveller was rather carrying two rocks of an equal size. One slipped out of her hands, and it broke - these are the stone fragments seen to the right of the path leading to the Salle-le-Roi, at Montpensier. The other, she placed on the oppose side of the hill, where it is today. A third version claims that, when the stone was placed by the mysterious woman, it was roughly the size of a nut, but that it grew and grew with time until it reached the size it is today. Every night, at dusk, the beautiful stranger can be seen roaming around the stone.
It was believed that the Stone of the Woman was blocking the entryway of a tunnel, in which an enormous amount of riches could be found. But the underground treasure could only be accessed once a year. On the Palm Sunday, when, returning from the procession, the clergymen and the people stop in front of the churchâs door (which had been closed previously), the stone starts shaking. And when the priest knocks on the door with his cross, singing âAttollite portasâ, the stone rises up, and falls on its side, freeing the access to the vault below. Anyone can enter through the gateway and take as much gold and precious stones as they can... But they have to be fast, because as soon as the three last kocks are given on the door, the rock returns to its original place, and stays there, unmovable, until next year. It is said that many were buried alive in such a way, punished for their excessive greed...Â
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when the god of spring met the god of the underworld
Written for @respectfulshipweek2023
Day 6. Tragedy | Happily Ever After
Title: when the god of spring met the god of the underworld
Ship: Respectfulshipping | Ryoken/Spectre
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains
Rating: T
Word Count: 2,849
Tags: Alternate Universe - Hades & Persephone, Kidnapping, Forced Relationships
   Spectre, the God of the Underworld, had always adored flowers.
   Their soft petals, the gentle fragrance from their centres, the colours of them all, the language that they spoke in prettiness and frailty.
   It was all so beautiful and all so for naught. A flower plucked was a flower killed. The flowers of the afterlife he knew, his dominion, were dried and decrepit, grey and suffering, so terrible, like that. Spectre wished sorely that he could have flowers as keepsakes of the living but alas. He could only keep that which was dead, had already passed on.
   His home, the Underworld, was grim. Dark. Lit only by the outskirts of where the departed souls of the heroes and heroines of the world, where they celebrated on nectar and music, surrounded by golden asphodel, their trials and tribulations now rewarded to eternal paradise but paradise was not a halidom that Spectre was invited to. All else of the Underworld, the perimeters in which Spectre haunted, the souls of the mistreated and unfortunate, the ones who had lived ordinary lives or lives of tragedies, was grey. The surroundings that he knew were atrocities of cruel mundanity, drained of colour, of life in all its glory.
   The lone exception, however, was a scrawny tree with charred bark which, once a year, bore exactly one fruit: a lopsided pomegranate that rotted quicker than it grew. It was just one tree but Spectre cherished it as it was the only thing in his garden for him to admire but he craved more. He wanted to love more.
   So, with this knowledge, in one of the God of the Underworldâs fleeting trips to the human world, to that of Earth, where it was green and blue, lush with water and fertile grounds, it made all sense that he would fall in love with the spring God of Flowers when they met. Just in brief.Â
   The human world was so bright, so full of sunshine, and the celestial nature of spring God of Flowers, made even more effervescent in these conditions. The balmy breeze, the pale azure of the sky, the fluffy white clouds. Spectre held his breath as the God smiled politely at him, his eyes crystal blue and crinkling at the edge in his expression.
   That was all there was to their meeting. A greeting, a hello, and that was all. Hardly a name exchanged. Though, as divine beings, of course they knew each other vaguely as part of the pantheon but as deities of death and life, they had little to do with one another.
   But Spectre endeavoured to change that.Â
   His heart - his soul, the very ichor of his being - pounded. Throbbed. He was enamoured, he was in love. Every time he closed his eyes, the lights of the back of his eyelids formed flowers that bobbed carefree in the breeze and he imagined the God of Spring at play. How he weaved flowers into crowns and wreaths, coaxing them to grow taller, brighter, healthier, and generally enjoyed the bliss afforded of being the patron of such wonderful things.
   Spectre wanted the hand of Ryoken, the God of Spring, in marriage. That was, he decided, his endeavour.Â
   After his trip, the march of war in elsewhere had called and so, Spectre had to shepherd the dead who had died before their time to the Underworld, he returned home but did not retire. He searched high and low through his dominion for the materials that he would need and through his own merit, he created a ring for Ryoken to wear and a contract of marriage.
   Spectre crafted a ring engraved with flowers, little tiny flowerheads and leaves in a criss-crossing pattern, made of the loveliest silver that he could find and, in his mind, he crafted vows. Vows that would be forever and always, all eternity, no escape. It would be just them and it would be wonderful.
   He looked forward to it and so, as soon as the ring was done and as soon as he had his own words etched into his heart, Spectre ascended into the human realm once more. He took his chariot and he rode forth in the thunderous echo of the skeletal horses that he commanded.
   The earth opened up from his below and Spectreâs eyes feasted on the blue skies that were revealed through that crack. Hellfire licked at his heels and he grinned. He beamed. He breathed in the fresh air of the human realm and it was perfumed with all the scents of flowers, within metres of the crack that had opened up at his will, surrounded by bountiful gardens, the God of Spring sat, composing poems and crowns of flowers.
   âYou are coming with me, beloved.â Spectre growled with a grand sweep of his arm.
   He scooped up Ryoken and he stole him from where he had sat then together, they descended into the Underworld.
   Ryoken shrieked and screamed, thrashed against Spectreâs arm but he remained firm. Hopeful. He chose to believe those screams were screams of joy. Delight. He grinned, mad, he had all expectations of something wonderful. Of light finally existing, in purity and love, in his domain and he wasnât entirely wrong.
   When Spectre and Ryoken arrived, Spectre was quick to get them both inside the foyer of his grandiose home, made of clay and bone. It was there that he proposed. He forced the ring onto Ryokenâs finger and when Ryoken couldnât remove it, his expression turned harrowed. Spectreâs heart, of course, fluttered because he thought this would be the beginning of something so completely and utterly beautiful. His marital life, especially. It was there he was entirely wrong in his hopes and expectations.
   In the depths of the Underworld, where it was dark and gloomy, Ryokenâs celestial nature kept it alight. His divine nature as associated with nature, too, wherever he lingered, flowers grew and that was all what Spectre wanted. To have someone who brought light and beauty to his realm but the marital bliss itself⊠Well, that left a lot to be desired.
   Ryoken complained, he whinged and he whined. He wanted to go home, or else his Father was going to be cross with them both and already, they could sense that there was a divine disturbance about to unleash. Famines, natural disasters. Ryokenâs Father was a very powerful progenitor God of the World, its food and its harvests, the weather and its temperatures.Â
    But Spectre did his best to placate Ryoken, of course. Mostly in the hope that if he could appease Ryoken, then perhaps that might mitigate the damages but above all. He wanted his lover to be happy, truly and genuinely happy and with him, especially, but it was difficult. Very difficult.Â
   All he could think of typically turned out for naught as Ryoken refused his gifts, his banquets and his feasts, his company more often than not and when he couldnât evade Spectre, he made sure to be as disagreeable as possible. Slowly, Spectre quietened. He had what he wanted in material but not in actuality.
   But still.
   Ryokenâs presence was a boon to the Underworld. Spectre had never been happier. There was finally life in this scourge of death of misery. He was all but over the moon but as he ran out of ideas to dote on Ryoken, who very much did not want to be doted on by his kidnapper, Spectre faded. He gave Ryoken space. He wanted so badly to hold on tight but perhaps the adage was true.
   If you love something, let it free.
   Until then, until Spectre made up his mind and until calamity had truly spilt forth, in the human world especially, he would keep Ryoken - and he would keep the flowers that he grew just by standing still. He collected the flowers - the narcissus, especially, as their golden colour enamoured Spectre - that Ryoken caused and Ryoken took notice of how Spectre gardened from his divinity.
   That⊠confused him.
   Spectre treated these flowers with care, even though as much as his touch, just the caress of his finger, was enough to ruin them but he tried so hard. He kept them in vases, with the freshest water that he could find in the Underworld. He talked to them, as though they could talk back.
   Spectre was aware that Ryoken was watching him. No doubt thinking him strange but he didnât mind. Especially when watching turned to asking him a question.
   âWhy do you like flowers so much?â Ryoken asked and with a touch of his own, he revitalised a flower in a vase that had long since passed away - not doubt because of Spectreâs brown thumb but it wasnât his fault. He was the God of the Underworld, who would choose that?
   âBecause I think theyâre beautiful.â Spectre replied, his tone of voice simple. A shrug followed.
   It wasnât the answer that Ryoken appeared to want. Spectre could see the disappointment in his face but his guarded facade, it did come loose. He didnât hold himself, his arms folded in front of them.
   âWell, Iâll make sure theyâre healthy for you then.â Ryoken murmured.
   âThank you, I would appreciate it.â Spectre replied and his lips twitched. âBut, um, thereâs more to it. I have a memory from before I was a godâŠâ
   Ryokenâs attention was piqued. He tilted his head just slightly and his wary eyes honed in on Spectre whose demeanour was sheepish. He was feared, a scary god of horrible things, to speak of a time from before he was any of that, that was vulnerable for him. His heart raced as he remembered that brief time before death was a concept.
   âI remember there being a field of flowers and there was someone there. We were just children but we had fun playing. I think that was the last time I felt joy before I⊠died.â Spectre confessed.
   Ryokenâs eyes went wide, âAnd those flowers⊠were they blue?â
   âYes, they were. How did you know?â Spectre asked, something of a laugh to his voice.
   Before there was death, there was life. It made sense to Ryoken but he didnât elaborate for Spectre but Spectre didnât mind as after this conversation, they seemed to have an understanding. Their married life improved, somewhat.
   Ryoken didnât mind being in the same room as Spectre, he didnât mind being given clothes in the colours of the Underworldâs emblems and insignias, their heralds, too. He still wouldnât eat though, of course, and no longer did he tug at his ring, either, in an attempt to remove it.
   It⊠It was pleasant.
   They both liked it well enough. The domesticity between them was still uneasy but they were able to chat now, about the small things, even if they were externally miserable, they tried to find something small. Something happy to share between themselves. It wasnât love, for Ryoken at least, but it was amiable and much closer to what Spectre had envisioned when he had crafted his ring for Ryoken and hatched the plot to take him.
   However, it seemed, this period which was like a calm at sea, was not to last as Ryokenâs Father - Kiyoshi, God of the World - had found where his son had been taken.
   The ceiling of the Underworld split open and light from on high came down in huge, piercingly bright shafts. Kiyoshi descended and his aged face was gnarled in a grimace of the utmost furor.Â
   Spectre and Ryoken both came outside, by the pomegranate tree which had not yet been touched by Ryokenâs divinity, and they quaked at the sight of the King of All Gods in his ferocity. Where he walked, the rocky ground burned, melted, and the look in his cold eyes was viscous.
   âWhat is the meaning of this, Spectre?â Kiyoshi growled. âYou dare steal my son from under my nose? Kill him?â
   âI have done no such thing.â Spectre replied but it was obvious to both Kiyoshi and Ryoken that he was terrified to have upset Kiyoshi. âI love him, so I married him, and now, he lives with me, his husband, per the tradition that is marriage.â
   âYou stole him, you did not marry him.â Kiyoshi growled.
   Spectre was silenced by that, he cowered like a dog with its tail between its legs. That was true. He didnât want to think it was true, but it was. Those were his actions, even if he clad them in his romantic beliefs of eloping, that was the stern, hard truth.
   âI have not eaten this worldâs food, Father.â Ryoken said. His voice was steady. Firm. His words took Kiyoshi by surprise, he had been expecting the worst. âAt least not until now.â
   Ryoken snatched the lone pomegranate that grew on the frail branches of Spectreâs beloved tree. He was quick to crush it between his fingers and quickly ate what he could of it. Spectre yelped, begged Ryoken to reconsider. His Father was right. He did not belong to him, nor this world. He should go, he should be released but Ryoken was determined.
   His Father snatched him, however, tried to stop him from eating the pomegranateâs seeds, choking them out of his mouth by crushing his throat. Spectre, not wanting to be helpless, tried to remove Kiyoshiâs hand from his sonâs throat but his grip was like iron.
   Even so. Ryoken smirked. Six seeds. That was more than what he needed.
   âWhat have you done?â Kiyoshi snarled as he let go.
   âWhy?â Spectre asked, his hands shook, there were tears in his eyes.
   âBecause I think this place is beautiful.â Ryoken said.Â
   Spectreâs heart thudded in his chest. What⊠What did Ryoken mean by that? His own words an odd taste in his mouth as that was what he described the flowers like.
   âYes, it is true Spectre took me from you, he forced me to marry him but I want to stay, Iâve decided because he is - was - my first love.â Ryoken said and he took Spectreâs hand. âHe was that human child I played with in the days of yore, before the worlds as we knew it formed, before the humans stole fire and before anyone could die. He thinks flowers are beautiful even now and Iâm glad.â
   Spectre smiled, he smiled like a madman, giddy with disbelief but that memory he had revealed to Ryoken, it became more clear in his mind. That child, he looked just like, no, exactly like Ryoken. He had white and lilac hair, crystal blue eyes, and a celestial presence. Spectre had been made a god, when he was the first human to die, but Ryoken had been born on and so, that flower field, it had been special as it was Ryokenâs godly cradle.Â
   Kiyoshi glared, âHow many pomegranate seeds did you eat?â he asked, his voice low, irate, but willing to negotiate. Even if diplomacy had little in the ways of gods and young love.
   âSix.â Ryoken said, confidently.
   âThen this is my decree, Spectre,â Kiyoshi growled, âfor six months of the year, Ryoken may remain in this Hell. For the other six, he returns to me. Understand?â
   âUnderstood, thank you, sir.â Spectre said, excited, and he bowed his head to Kiyoshi.
   âBut I am taking Ryoken now.â Kiyoshi said and he grabbed Ryoken by his shoulder.
   Ryoken let go of Spectreâs hand and let himself be pulled back. Spectre felt his heart throb. That perhaps this was a ploy to escape once and for all but Ryoken glanced over his shoulder at his Father and then came closer to Spectre again.
   âWait for me, Iâll be back, I promise, beloved.â Ryoken murmured and he stole a kiss from Spectre.
   The very first one either had shared in their married life at all. Spectreâs soul all but soared at the gentle brush of their lips. Ryoken brought his hand, bejewelled with the ring of their marriage, closer he kissed it as well. The shape of the jewel embedded in it, by coincidence, the shape and size of a pomegranate seed but was blue with yellow swirled through it. For the first time, Ryoken thought it looked beautiful.
   âI will. I promise.â Spectre replied, starstruck. He placed his hand over Ryokenâs in brief, his fingers trailing over the ring and his heart fluttered.Â
   Ryoken returned himself to his Fatherâs side. He farewelled Spectre but gave him one last present. He touched the pomegranate tree and Spectreâs breath was taken away as the tree turned a much healthier colour than it was before. Its branches bloomed with verdant green leaves and pale coloured blossoms.Â
   Kiyoshi, unimpressed, continued to strong-arm his son back into the realm in which he belonged but Spectre nodded, hopeful. He would wait. Six months to a god, surely that would be a blink of an eye but until then. He had such beautiful flowers to tide him over, all thanks to Ryoken. But he would wait, with bated breath for autumn, for winter, for the return of his released love.
#respectfulshipweek2023#respectfulshipping week 2023#respectfulshipping#ryoken kogami#kogami ryoken#spectre (vrains)#yugioh vrains#vrains#yugioh#writing tag#when the god of spring met the god of the underworld
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