#eris would worship the ground she walks one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cinaja · 4 years ago

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Before the Wall part 40

Masterlist

----

Miryam survives the next month, as well as the one after that, and the one after that, which probably means that she is doing something right when it comes to dealing with her problems, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. Especially when she keeps waking up drenched in sweat in the strange bed in her suite in Telique, when the shadows chase after her through the palace halls or she sees Ravenia and Artax lurking in the dark, it is terribly hard to feel like she is making any progress at all.

But after the first month – the month that was supposed to have been her last – she can’t deny that things are improving. Slowly, unsteadily, but it does get better. The hallucinations get fewer and further in between and trying to talk about her feelings no longer feels quite so much like there are shards of glass stuck in her throat. Even Jurian’s absence that she felt like a missing limb in the first weeks becomes more bearable.

Life falls into a rhythm that far from comfortable but about as good as it gets in the middle of a war. Living in Telique means that her life is now centred around politics, but while it can become exhausting at times, it also makes many things easier. It also helps that her assignments as a witch become fewer and further in between, removing that stress factor from her daily life. Miryam suspects either Andromache or Nakia have something to do with that development, even though they both adamantly deny any involvement.

But the biggest change out of all has less to do with Miryam personally and everything with the Alliance because after over five years of war, the Alliance Fae seem to have finally decided to truly commit to the fighting. It’s a miracle – and perhaps the final proof that most Fae are selfish bastards. Millennia of human suffering have barely been able to touch them, but the moment the fighting reaches their doorstep, they manage to put their private struggles aside and start truly working together.

It’s ridiculous, really. Ravenia with her disregard for the rules of war manages to do what over five years of war and all of Miryam’s struggles haven’t been able to achieve and gets the Alliance members to finally put their differences aside. If Miryam wasn’t so relieved that it looks like they might actually win this war for the first time in years, she would be furious.

Sitting at her desk, she finishes up a draft for soldier transitions for the next month, then neatly puts the papers on a stack and looks at the clock. Quarter to six. She’ll be late to her meeting with Drakon, but at least she’s finished with her paperwork for the moment. Miryam gets up, stretching her stiff limbs. She’s been sitting over her work for at least four hours without pause.

Still a little stiff, she walks out of her office. Tasia is sitting at their own desk in a smaller office outside of Miryam’s and they are still bowed over a stack of papers. Tasia is a secretary, formerly employed in Andromache’s staff until the queen transferred them to Miryam, insisting that the leader of the Alliance should have at least some kind of assistance. Miryam was uncomfortable having anyone working directly for her at first, but all the other councilmembers have assistants, so it must be fine. It helps that her and Tasia have formed a friendship over the past months, after Tasia had gotten over their initial hero-worship of Miryam and stopped calling her “my lady” every sentence.

“Anything important?” Miryam asks, nodding at the stack of papers that formed in front of Tasia.

“Not really.” They scrunch up their nose, shaking their head. “But this letter is weird.” They pick it up and hand it to Miryam. “It says on the envelope that it’s only meant for your eyes, so I didn’t open it.”

Miryam takes the letter from them and frowns down at it. The envelope is made of thick paper, clearly expensive. Miryam carefully opens it and takes out the letter.

Lady Miryam,

I know it has been several years since we have seen each other, but I hope you still remember me and the favour you owe me. I’d like to call it in now. Meet me tomorrow at dusk on the spot where we last saw each other.

Until then, Eris.

“Are you well?” Tasia asks.

Miryam realizes that she has been flaring down at the letter, crumbling the paper in her hand. She schools her fingers back into neutrality and forces her fingers to relax.

“Yes,” she says with a smile. “Just a particularly unpleasant acquaintance of mine.” She neatly folds the letter and puts it into her pocket. “I’ve got to go. Why don’t you head home a bit earlier today as well? You can finish up the letters tomorrow.”

Tasia smiles and jumps to their feet. “Thank you.”

Miryam smiles and walks out of her quarters, calling out greetings to some of the guards and servants as she passes. After a few months in the palace, she knows many of the people working here, especially the ones who usually work near her quarters, and Miryam formed loose friendships with some of them.

Drakon is waiting in the gardens, back leaned against the wall. He’s talking to one of the human guards who are posted by the gates, but quickly excuses himself when he sees Miryam and walks over to her.

These meetings have become another part of Miryam’s new life in Telique. They don’t always meet the same day or at the same time because the war has a habit of ruining any schedule they try to come up with, but usually, they manage to get in a few hours every week. Even those few hours are stolen time and usually mean that they both have to cut down on sleeping that day, but Miryam has come to treasure these moments that seem to belong entirely to herself.

“Where are we going today?” Miryam asks.

“It’s a surprise,” Drakon says and holds out a hand to her.

There is no general rule to the things they do together, except for the fact that these hours belong entirely to them. They’ve visited a theatre in Erithia, gone out for dinner in Telique, spent an evening playing cards and visited the tulip fields in one of the southern kingdoms. Especially in the beginning, taking even these few hours for herself when she could be working seemed selfish, but she can’t argue that it helps. It doesn’t make the nightmares go away or ease the pain of what happened, but when she feels like she is drowning in responsibilities, knowing that she can get out – if only for a few hours – at least allows her to breathe.

Today, Drakon winnows them to a dense forest. Mist is hanging high up in the trees and the air is humid. They landed next to a bush with huge, purple flowers the size of Miryam’s head. In front of one of the, a yellow hummingbird the size of Miryam’s finger is hovering. Amazed, she watches it until it is whizzes away.

“Erithia?” Miryam asks.

Drakon nods. “I hope you don’t mind a short walk.”

Miryam doesn’t mind at all. They walk through the forest in silence for a moment, climbing over fallen trees and rocks. The ground rises, first slowly, then the way becomes steeper. Miryam is out of breath far more quickly than usual, which is probably a side effect of now living in a city. She really needs to remember to exercise more. However she will manage to squeeze that into her schedule.

“I know these meetings are meant to be a war-free zone,” Miryam says, “but there’s something I need to tell you about and it can’t wait.”

Drakon frowns. His face immediately turns serious, and Miryam feels bad for bringing the war into their meetings, but she really can’t change it this time.

“Remember what I told you about my visit to Autumn?” She asks. Drakon nods and she continues. “Well, I wasn’t entirely truthful about how it went down. The truth is that Eris Vanserra warned me about the trap and helped me escape.”

“Eris Vanserra? But not the one who – “

“ – was engaged to Mor, yes.” Miryam sighs. “He demanded a favour in return, without specifying what it was. I had no choice but to accept. He wants to meet me tomorrow to call it in.”

Drakon curses. “The Autumn Court is allied to the Loyalists,” he says, “And Eris is…”

“A piece of shit. I know.” Miryam sighs. “But I owe him, so I have to meet him tomorrow.”

“Well, you could always…” Drakon squirms and starts fiddling around with his clothes. “I mean, you could…” He breaks off.

“I can’t just not go.”

“No, I mean…” Drakon sighs through his nose. “I haven’t ever done this, but there are people in my employ – were in my father’s employ, I mean – who could… You know. Make sure he doesn’t show up.”

Miryam stops walking and stares at him. She turns her head over in his head, trying to find how she is misunderstanding them, only to come to the conclusion that he is indeed saying what she thinks he’s saying.

“Are you offering to have Eris assassinated for me?” She asks.

Drakon looks down at his feet. “Well…” He tugs at his hair, making it fall over his face. “I mean, I wouldn’t… But…” He wraps his arms around himself. “He left Mor for dead in that forest,” he says, as if he’s trying to defend himself. “He…”

“He would certainly deserve it,” Miryam interjects gently to save him from his obvious mortification at his own suggestion. She still can’t quite believe that Drakon suggested something like this.

She bites her lower lip. How she’d love to agree, if only for what he did to Mor. She would kill him herself for that if she could. But he saved her life. No matter how selfish his reasons might have been, she owes him. Miryam, like most people on the Continent, values honour, and honour demands that she repays the debt she owes him. She can kill him afterwards, but not before.

“Thank you for the offer,” she says, “But I think I should at least listen to what he has to say first.” If the price he demands is too high, she can still ask Drakon to send one of his assassins.

“Of course.” Now, Drakon seems even more mortified at his own suggestion. “I shouldn’t have… I mean…”

Miryam takes him by the hand. “It was a good idea,” she says, “And it would have been well-deserved. I might come back to it some time.” She grins and squeezes his head. “Much as I appreciate your willingness to have Eris murdered for me, I was just going to ask you to accompany me to the meeting. I can’t winnow, after all.”

“Oh.” She didn’t think it was possible, but Drakon manages to look even more mortified. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” Miryam squeezes his hand and keeps walking. “Then that’s it with the war for today. Now, where were we going?”

“Still a surprise,” Drakon mutters.

Miryam grins and starts questioning about one of the new laws he’s working on. Talking to him about his laws is always a sure way to distract him, and it works again today. She knows that Drakon has gotten over his shock about his own suggestion when he changes the subject from Erithian politics to Miryam.

“How are you?” He asks.

Answering that question has gotten a whole lot trickier since they agreed not to lie to each other. Her usual “fine” no longer works, so she has to either refuse to answer – which she has done more than once already – or actually talk about her feelings.

“Better than last week,” she says, which is true, but doesn’t say much. Last week was terrible. For the first time in weeks, the hallucinations had reappeared and Miryam had to cancel all of her meetings for an entire day because she couldn’t get out of bed. “And I slept four hours at a time last night, so I think that’s a new record.”

“That’s good,” Drakon says. He easily climbs up a steep passage, wings flared for balance, then holds out a hand to Miryam to help her up.

“I ran into Jurian yesterday,” she says when as she’s standing next to him and they continue walking side by side.

When Miryam decided she needed to leave Jurian, she didn’t have any kind of idea for what their relationship would look like afterwards. She had hoped they could remain friends, but she figured the choice was with Jurian, and he didn’t seem interested in ever seeing her again.

But as usual, war interfered with their plans. Three weeks after Miryam left for Telique, two of Jurian’s captains stood in her office, begging her to return. Without Miryam, they lack someone to coordinate the army and deal with the logistics, and things are running into difficulties. She wanted to return right away, but Andromache told her off for being stupid and asked how often she wanted to test her limits until she finally accepted that she had them. (Andromache has the unfortunate habit of getting exactly to the point and making it impossible to argue with her.)

So now, she visits Jurian’s camp once a week to help out with the logistics. Jurian isn’t pleased with the arrangement and usually does his best to stay out of her way, but today, they ran into each other when she was on her way out of the camp.

“How is he?” Drakon asks.

Miryam shrugs. “He still doesn’t want to talk to me, so it’s hard to tell.” She tries and fails not to sound bitter. Jurian barely had half a look for her yesterday. Not that she can really blame him. “But I think it’s getting worse,” she adds.

Drakon nods, looking down at his feet. “I keep thinking we should find some way to help him. And I know we tried, but…” He shrugs.

“I know,” Miryam says softly. Rationally, she knows that neither her nor Drakon could have done anything else to help. Jurian doesn’t talk to Drakon anymore, and Miryam… Well, she simply isn’t strong enough for to help him. But there’s always the feeling that they could have done more.

Drakon sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “You know what, I bet we’re both thinking something like: You couldn’t have done anything, but I should have found a way if only I’d tried right now.”

“How could you have helped Jurian when he wasn’t speaking to you?” Miryam asks, only to realize that she just reaffirmed what Drakon had been saying.

“And you were dying,” Drakon says. “Realistically speaking, my chances were better.”

Miryam opens her mouth to object, to say that she could have managed, then sighs. It’s pretty damn obvious that she couldn’t have. It couldn’t have been more obvious that she had reached her limit.

She shakes her head and lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “This is all fucked,” she mutters.

Drakon simply nods, and she is so, so grateful that he doesn’t offer any empty words of comfort right now. If he had said anything, she would have known he was lying just to make her feel better, and then, she would have had to dismiss the rest he said as well. The next time he has to help her over one of the steep passages, she doesn’t let go of his hand afterwards.

They have been walking for almost an hour when the trees in front of them suddenly part. In front of them, a wide canyon yawns open. Reddish rocks with black lines running through the stone. With a roar like thunder, a waterfall crashes down into the deep, hundreds and hundreds of feet into a river that flows through the bottom of the canyon.

“Beautiful,” she whispers.

Drakon smiles. “We can go sit over there,” he says and points towards a stone that reaches out over the canyon’s edge.

Miryam takes a step backwards. “Uhm.” She eyes the stone. It looks very thin, and under the stone, it’s a very long way down. “Just making sure: You know that I don’t have wings, right?”

Drakon grins. “It’s a very solid stone. I promise.”

Miryam looks from Drakon to the stone and back. “Okay,” she says, giving herself a mental shove.

She isn’t even scared of heights, not after spending so many hours in a bird’s head. Slowly, she walks towards the stone and steps on it. It remains perfectly solid under her feet. She walks until she can see all the way down to the ground of the canyon, then, she sits down. Drakon sits down next to her.

“I used to come here with my sisters when I was younger,” he says. “Well, not often, because they were usually busy with their own duties. But when they had time, we packed camping supplies and flew all the way from Sajeo.” He stares down at the waterfall for a moment longer, then shakes his head and starts looking through his bag.

“What were they like?” Miryam asks as Drakon fishes out a blanket, some bread, cheese and even a small cake from his bag. “Your sisters.”

“Wonderful,” Drakon says simply. He neatly puts down his blanket, then spreads out the food over it. Only then does he continue. “Leja was the oldest, already well over two hundred years old when I was born. She was quiet, solemn, but there was no one better to go to if you had a problem. Daliah was almost a century younger and completely different, loud and wild. She could always make you smile, no matter how serious a situation might be.” He smiles sadly. “They were both brilliant. My father had a hard time picking which of them to make heiress.” He shakes his head. “I loved them.”

Miryam nods. “I’m sorry,” she says.

Drakon cuts off a slice of bread with his dagger, adds some cheese and hands it to Miryam.

“Look,” he says and nods towards the canyon.

Miryam turns and nearly drops her bread in surprise. The moon has climbed higher in the sky, high enough to shine into the canyon, and now casts its light down onto the waterfall and the river. Little drops of water glimmer like diamonds and the water rushing down seems to be made of liquid silver.

“That – “ Miryam begins, but the words catch in her throat. She can only stare at the down into the canyon and hope that somehow, her mind will preserve the image so that she can revisit it whenever she feels the need.

----

Jurian is aware of Miryam’s absence every moment, every day. Lying in bed, talking to his soldiers, looking through his correspondence. He always knows that she isn’t there with him, that if he turns around, she won’t be there. The only times he manages to forget is when he’s fighting, or planning a new way to catch Amarantha. But even that now seems to be connected to Miryam.

She left him. She left and didn’t look back. Didn’t even try to understand him. All this talk of doing what it takes, and the moment he did exactly that, she left him. Because she couldn’t take it. Wasn’t he the one who had to endure Clythia’s touches, who spent every waking moment working to bring Amarantha down. But she was the one who couldn’t take it. And now, his life is going to hell, and Miryam gets out completely fine.

It’s the worst on the days she visits. She doesn’t visit him, of course, she comes to deal with the camp. The first few times, she also tried to talk to him, but he screamed at her to leave him alone, to stay the hell away. And eventually, she did.

He didn’t want her to. Or maybe he did. These days, it is hard to tell. He wants Miryam to come back to him. He never wants to see her again. He loves her, he hates her, all at once. It’s tearing him apart.

Jurian presses his palms against his temple, trying to ease the headache forming there. Last night, he once again chose working on his battle strategies over sleep. The sun is too bright in his eyes and he downs another glass of the expensive wine Clythia brought to their meeting.

“What are you thinking about?” Clythia asks.

Miryam, Jurian thinks, and ways to murder you and your sisters. But unfortunately, Amarantha has proven impossible to get a hold on lately. None of Jurian’s traps seem to work, she always manages to slip through his fingers, and she doesn’t dare to face him in open combat.

“I’m thinking about how beautiful you are,” Jurian says. The words are ridiculously cheesy, but of course, Clythia still blushes and leans forward to kiss him.

Jurian refills his glass.

“Doesn’t it ever bother you that I’m mortal?” He asks between sips. It might not be the smartest question, but his head is beginning to feel light from the alcohol, and Clythia never once catches on to anything he says or does. She’ll likely interpret this as him being worried about her losing interest or something similarly idiotic. “For all your talk of forever, you must know that I will die sooner or later.”

Just this once, he wants her to show a hint of understanding that they are not the same. That they stand on opposite sides of a war, that he is human and will always be and that this romance she came up with and praises to the skies is nothing but the delusion of a bored, rich Fae noble. Clythia, always trailing around after her sister, getting lost between past and future, read too many of her love stories and tried to make one real in the most catastrophic way possible.

If she wasn’t trying to enslave his people, if she wasn’t so completely indifferent to their suffering, Jurian might feel bad for her delusions. But any pity Jurian might once have held for spoiled, arrogant, indifferent Fae has long since burned away.

Clythia brushes the question of with her usual irreverence. “You needn’t worry about that.” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, smiling cheerfully. “I actually meant for this to be a surprise, but I talked to Amarantha about this exact problem.”

“Oh?” Jurian asks. In his experience, anything that involves Amarantha ends badly for him.

“Yes!” She smiles. “She was sceptical at first, but I convinced her to look into the King’s spellbook for me and she says she found a spell that can conserve a person’s soul through time.”

She doesn’t seem to realize how terrible that sounds. Jurian doesn’t want his soul to be conserved, whatever that means. A commander he once knew kept dead reptiles in glasses on his desk, conserved in some kind of liquid, and this is what the word reminds Jurian of. He suppresses a shudder as he realizes that he wouldn’t put it past Clythia to put him in a glass and display him in her rooms. She’d probably find it romantic, too.

“And you think that will work?” He asks, trying not to show his unease.

“I know it will.” Clythia smiles brightly. “You will live forever. I’ve seen it.”

A shiver runs down Jurian’s spine. “Seen?” He asks. “You mean in your visions?”

“Yes!” She takes his hand. “So you see: Everything is going to be fine.”

This time, Jurian foregoes the glass and drinks straight out of the bottle.

----

“I don’t know why we are even here,” Sinna mutters. She is dressed in full battle armour, a sword and three daggers at her side. And she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Miryam sighs. “You don’t need to feel obliged to wait around with me, though. You could leave and pick me up again in an hour or so.”

An hour ago, Drakon sent her a messenger that he is stuck in an emergency meeting with his council back in Erithia after Ravenia’s soldiers attacked a bigger city, and that he won’t be able to get out in time for Miryam’s meeting with Eris. He sent Sinna instead, and Miryam suspects the general would much rather be back in Erithia, chasing after Ravenia’s soldiers. The entire issue is probably on Miryam for not thinking of a back-up plan should Drakon be unable to accompany her.

“Oh, rubbish.” Sinna shakes her hand as if insulted by the very notion. “As if I’d ever leave you alone with someone like Vanserra.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste and shakes her head. “No, I don’t know why you insist to go to this meeting.”

“Because I owe him a debt and am honour-bound to fulfil it,” Miryam says, but the words taste bitter. Every time she thinks of Eris Vanserra, all she can see is the pain on Mor’s face.

“Why do you need to honour a promise when the circumstances that forced you to make it were so unhonourable?” Sinna asks sharply. “Prythian knows nothing of Continental honour, so why are you keeping to it when dealing with one of them?”

Miryam wraps her arms around herself, shivering slightly. They are far north here, and Miryam’s cloak, although lined with fur, does little to keep the cold out. “I like this as little as you do,” she says, “but – “

Eris Vanserra appears before them. Red-haired and with a slight built, he looks like a younger version of his father, perhaps not quite as cruel yet. Sinna’s hand goes to her sword and lingers even ling after she must have recognized him. Eris must notice the gesture, but he doesn’t comment, instead surveying Sinna from head to toe.

“I thought I asked you to keep our arrangement quiet,” he says to Miryam.

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have requested a meeting in the middle of nowhere,” Miryam replies. “I can’t winnow, as you know, and you can hardly expect me to walk all the way from Telique to swim over to Prythian.”

Eris sneers, then whirls around to Sinna. “And you are?”

“General Sinna of Erithia,” Sinna replies curtly. Her face remains neutral, but her eyes are positively simmering. Eris stares back.

“What do you want, Eris?” Miryam asks before either of them can do something stupid.

Eris interrupts his staring contest with Sinna and turns to Miryam. “You owe me a favour,” he says. “I’d like to call it in.”

“Autumn is allied with the Loyalists. I can think of no favour you’d want from me.”

“We’ve been reconsidering our alliances lately.”

Sinna shakes her head, tapping the hilt of her sword. “So now that we are winning this war, you want to switch sides. You’ve done no work and taken no risks. Why would we allow you to receive parts of the spoils?”

“That’s exactly why I need dear Miryam,” Eris says.

Miryam doesn’t particularly appreciate being called dear, and she likes Eris’s request even less. “Your court already betrayed this Alliance and once. I’d be a fool to trust you again.”

“If I assure you that we won’t betray you again, will that ease your mind?” Eris asks, but his tone is mocking.

“It might, if I trusted your word.”

“Ouch.” Eris puts a hand over his heart in mock-hurt, but his face remains twisted in his eternal sneer. “What have I done to deserve such a cold dismissal?”

“I believe you know.”

Eris’s posture changes, his sneer vanishes. “I was forced into this engagement as much as Morrigan was. My father required it – what choice did I have? I would never have touched Morrigan, but when she slept with that bastard friend of hers, it was so clear why she did it. She wanted out of that engagement, wanted it so badly she was willing to risk everything for it. I did exactly what she wanted to when I broke off that engagement. How could I have known that her family would…” He shakes his head. Lowers his eyes, the picture of quiet regret.

Miryam wonders with quiet puzzlement if he truly believed this would work. If he did, it’s almost insulting. Of all the routes he could have gone, he chose to act like he was always secretly good? Miryam almost laughs. She’d sooner have believed that he had a change of heart.

But the fascinating thing about people like Eris is that they somehow seem to believe that all people who value things like kindness must also be naïve. Somehow, it’s a common assumption that anyone who considers himself to be good must also believe in the good in others.

Should Eris believe this of her, believe that he could trick her this easily, he is truly a fool. Miryam has seen the worst Fae have to offer and she never, not once, believed that there is good in every Fae. In her experience, it is smartest to meet any of them with a certain degree of suspicion until they have proven trustworthy, and as far as she is concerned, Eris has proven himself to be very untrustworthy indeed.

And as for his excuses, Miryam doesn’t believe a word. His reputation for cruelty has to come from somewhere and if he did even half of the things rumour says he did, he is a monster, no matter what his reasons might have been. And if he was truly concerned about Mor’s wellbeing, he would have spoken to her to ease her fears as soon as the engagement was announced. Or he would have at least helped her when he found her in the forest.

“Pick another favour,” she says.

“I think I want this one.” Eris’s smile returns. “And our deal doesn’t give you leave to refuse my requests at will.”

The sound of metal on leather makes them both turn to Sinna. She has been watching in silence, but now, she draws her sword halfway out of its sheath.

“No deal if you are dead,” she says softly.

Eris keeps his eyes trained on the sword. For the first time, he looks somewhat worried. “It that your version of honour, Lady Miryam?” He asks.

“It is yours,” Miryam says.

Sinna glances at her, as if waiting for confirmation. For a moment, Miryam is almost tempted to give it. Chances that Eris told anyone of the meeting are slim, as that would require revealing why she owes him a favour, and even if he told anyone, they’d need to prove that Miryam was behind his death.

Still, it would be a risk, not just for her but also for Sinna and, by association, Erithia. Besides, Eris did save her life, even if it was for selfish reasons. She owes him, and murdering him during a peaceful meeting would be wrong. It might make things easier for her, he certainly deserves it, but Miryam values honour a bit too much to be able to do this.

Slowly, she shakes her head at Sinna, who pauses a moment, then slowly lets her sword slide back into its sheath.

“Alright,” Miryam says to Eris. “I’ll make sure the Autumn Court gets allowed into the Alliance. With that, our debt is settled.”

Eris gives her an insufferably smug smile. “Glad we – “

“If you betray the Alliance,” Miryam cuts him off, “you won’t live to enjoy whatever that betrayal buys you.” She releases her grip on her power, just enough for it to be noticeable in the air. “And if you dare to approach Morrigan, to bother her in any way, I’ll make sure you regret it. Understood?”

Eris’s smile has faded during her speech, and now, his face is tight. “Understood,” he says with barely concealed anger, then bows and winnows without waiting for a reply.

Only then does Sinna let go of her sword. Miryam allows her posture to relax and rubs her hands over her face. Damnit. Damn Eris.

“Could you please winnow me to Andromache’s camp?” She asks. “I need to talk to Mor.”

----

Mor has been called back to the Night Court and she hates it. It’s been years now since she visited the Hewn City, and she has almost forgotten how terrible it is. How the stone seems to press in on her, how they seem to press all life and hope out of the people living in it. She hates this place, hates it more than anything else. If only she could bring the entire cursed mountain down, burying this horrible place under tons of stone.

But she can’t. She still has to play by the Night Court’s rules, follow her uncle’s orders. And today, he ordered her to go meet him.

She knocks at the door to the High Lord’s office, waiting for the gruff order to enter before pushing it open.

“My Lord,” she says, inclining her head in greeting.

“Sit,” the High Lord says, pointing to a chair opposite him. “How are you, Morrigan?”

“Well.”

“And Lady Miryam?” He asks.

Every time he asks Mor to meet him, he always asks after Miryam, and every time, he sounds like he very badly hopes to hear that she is fatally ill.

“She’s fine,” Mor says, because that’s the reply she always gives, whether Miryam is actually fine or dying.

Lately, she is lying far less than usual, though. Miryam is getting better. She no longer looks like a shadow, fading more and more with each day, and her smiles seem more genuine now. She should have broken up with Jurian sooner. No matter how much Miryam might deny that Jurian was the reason why she was unwell, it seems clear to Mor that he must have had something to do with it.

The High Lord nods, seeming dissatisfied as he always does. The rest of the conversation also follows a pre-established pattern. He questions Mor about the goings of the Alliance, particularly on the human side, but also with the Fae and Mor answers to the best of her knowledge.

“Very good,” he says when she is done. “Once the war is over, I might give you a position in court. A few years and you might be emissary to the entire Continent.”

Mor sucks in a sharp breath. The Night Court, like most Prythian courts, has a significant lack of people who are well-versed in Continental politics, so Mor’s knowledge and position are actually somewhat valuable to them. Still, she never would have thought that her uncle would allow her to hold any kind of position at court. And if he makes her emissary…

She nearly squeals. No more Court of Nightmares, never again. Being made emissary would give her leave to spend most of the time on the Continent. She’d have to do what the High Lord wants her to, but at the same time, she would be free. And she’d have reason to keep visiting Andromache without anyone suspecting. It’s perfect.

“Thank you,” she says. “I would be honoured.”

The High Lord smiles at her. “Good. I had worried you had taken a fancy to becoming a soldier.” Mor freezes and he waves her off. “You didn’t truly think I hadn’t noticed that my favourite niece was now fighting in battle?”

Just like that, any elation Mor felt a moment ago vanishes. She breathes in through the nose and watches her uncle. Was the offer a trap? Did he want to get her hopes up only to crush them and punish her for her disobedience? But he wouldn’t do that, would he? Maybe to Rhys, but he always liked Mor better, treated her with less cruelty. And he can’t just fire her as emissary, not without crossing Miryam in the process.

“I’ll admit, I was sceptical at first, but my sources tell me that you’re doing well,” he says.

Mor is only relieved for a moment. Then, the realization that he must have spies trailing her hits her like a brick. Her and Andromache have been careful, but were they careful enough? If her uncle finds out… He won’t have any reason to keep her secret, maybe he’ll even punish her himself.

“I’ve just been wondering,” he continues, “if you ever noticed anything extraordinary while fighting.”

What kind of question is that? But unless this is some kind of twisted game, it means that he neither plans to punish her nor knows about Andromache.

“No?” She says, making the answer sound more like a question.

The High Lord nods, seeming neither disappointed nor surprised. “Tell me, Morrigan, what do you know about your powers?”

This conversation is getting weirder with each comment he makes. Mor shrugs. “Once every thousand-or-so years, a member of my family gets born with the power of Truth.” Truth with a capital T, for whatever reason. “The child in question is always called Morrigan, so I’m actually the fourteenth Morrigan in my family. Apart from fancy naming traditions, the powers themselves are rather boring, though.”

Her uncle nods at her to go on. Mor is beginning to find this rather ridiculous, but she complies.

“I can sense if people are lying,” she says, “And I can read people, meaning I use my power to see their true selves, their very essence, if you will.” And yours isn’t particularly pretty. “Really, it’s just a lot of excitement about a power that is, when it comes down to it, not all that useful.”

Mor has quite the chunk of power for her Basic Abilities on top of it, so it’s not like she can complain about not being powerful enough. But when it comes to Higher Arts, she really drew the short stick. Considering what witches, shadowsingers or daemati can do, Truth always seemed like a rather lame option to her.

Her uncle nods. “I’ve been looking through old records lately,” he says, “and I came across a text about one of the earlier Morrigans – the sixth, if I’m not mistaken. Apparently, she was able to do more than what you describe. Much more. It was said that she could see the truth about anything in this world, that she could make the proudest Fae beg for mercy in the blink of an eye, and destroy entire armies.” He perches his head on his clasped hands and watches Mor out of dark eyes. “You wouldn’t be able to do anything like this, would you?”

“No,” Mor says, but a shiver of excitement runs through her. “Unfortunately not.”

It’s not that she particularly wants to destroy armies, or know the truth about anything. But that kind of power seems like the ultimate protection, ultimate freedom. Keir, Eris, all these horrible people slithering around in this festering court – none of them would ever be able to touch her again. They wouldn’t dare. She would be just as untouchable as Miryam is, and isn’t that all she ever wanted?

“Could I borrow the text?” She asks, suddenly feeling bold. Her uncle isn’t angry at her, or trying to get her in trouble. He just sees her as a possible new weapon. “I’d like to look into this.

Her uncle smiles. “Of course,” he says, sounding very satisfied with himself.

It’s already past sunset when Mor returns to Andromache’s camp. All she wants right now is a hot meal, and then maybe some quiet time with Andromache. But when she pushes open the entrance to Andromache’s tent, she finds the queen sitting inside together with Miryam.

Mor pushes away her momentary disappointment – she’d really hoped to get some time alone with Andromache today – and smiles at both of them. Then, her eyes travel to the table where a tray with buns has been laid out.

“Ah, thank the Cauldron,” Mor says, “Food.”

Miryam smiles and passes her the tray. Mor takes one bun, considers and grabs a second as well.

“I skipped lunch,” she says between bites, plopping down on a pillow next to Andromache. “And you two? Discussing Alliance matters again?”

“Actually, I was waiting for you,” Miryam says. Her tone is far too serious for Mor’s liking. “How was your meeting with your uncle?”

Mor shrugs. She doesn’t feel like repeating what he said to her. It’s not that she necessarily wants to keep it secret, she just doesn’t feel like sharing it just yet. “I didn’t run into my father, so I guess it went well.” She smiles tiredly. “Why were you waiting for me? Did something happen?”

With Miryam, it’s usually something serious. Somehow, she seems to attract serious problems more than anyone else Mor knows. Things have been going better lately, but who knows what trouble Miryam has gotten into now.

“Not really. But there’s a new political development, and I thought I’d tell you before you find out some other way.” Miryam sighs. “The Autumn Court will be joining the Alliance,” she says, sounding not at all pleased about it.

Mor nearly drops her bun. She stares at Miryam, then slowly begins to shake her head. Isn’t it bad enough that Keir is a member of this Alliance? Must Eris also join now? Carefully, she puts her bun down on her leg, fingers trembling slightly.

“Can’t we stop them?” Andromache asks. She reaches for Mor’s hand and squeezes it. “They sold you out to the Loyalists once before, surely that would make it easy for you to refuse their plea to join.”

Hope flutters in Mor’s chest, but Miryam shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Andromache presses.

“Because Eris helped me escape when his father sold me out to the Loyalists,” Miryam says, voice flat. “And he demanded a favour in return.” She presses her lips together. “I’m lucky it’s only this he’s asking.”

Mor stares at her, blinking. She never questioned how exactly Miryam, who can’t even winnow, managed to get out of Autumn that day. It seemed enough that she was alive and well, but this…

“You promised Eris a favour,” she says flatly. “That monster could ask anything of you.”

“I know,” Miryam says, lifting her hands as if in surrender. “And I’m sorry – “

“I’m not angry,” Mor cuts her off. She can’t believe Miryam would think that. Why would she be angry? “I’m…” She shakes her head. “You’re one of my closest friends, and you apparently owe everything to the bastard who… Out of all the things I’m feeling about this, anger is not one of them.” At least anger at Miryam.

“I made sure Eris will stay away from you,” Miryam says. “But I realize this is still uncomfortable for you. So it’s up to you. I won’t go through with this if you don’t want me to. I could make sure Eris is… in no state to call in his favour, or bother either of us ever again, if this is what you want.”

Mor almost says yes right there. The words are at the tip of her tongue, but somehow, her mouth won’t form them. She wants Eris dead, she truly does. Eris and Keir both. But…

“Wouldn’t killing him go against your honour?” She asks.

As someone from Prythian, she doesn’t entirely understand why Continental Fae and humans are so obsessed with their honour, but she does know that it’s important to them. Especially important for anyone with a position in politics.

“No one would find out, so there would hardly be any repercussion,” Miryam says. “But yes. Killing Eris to avoid having to fulfil a favour owed would be considered dishonourable.”

Mor nods. “Then don’t kill him.”

Andromache frowns. “Are you sure?” She asks.

Mor nods, but she can’t help but wonder if she truly refused the offer for Miryam’s sake, or if that was just a convenient excuse to hide that somehow, she isn’t capable of killing Eris, nor of letting someone else do it for her. It isn’t out of any sort of moral objection, or out of fear of punishment. She just can’t.

They are always there, constants in her nightmares waking and sleeping, whether they still live or not. Mor is afraid of them, but killing them won’t remove that fear, it will simply cut its tether. As long as Eris and Keir are alive, Mor’s fears have a fix point, and she doesn’t know what will happen if she removes that. But she knows that before she can kill Eris and Keir, she first needs to get rid of that fear.

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks

#please just pretend I can write romance everyone #it's just very hard to write a friends-to-lovers development #when the friendship is already THIS close #it's very hard to top 'willing to die for each other'#before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

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oveliagirlhaditright · 3 years ago

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This Is Your Life - NeShiki

A NeShiki AU for Week 2, Day 2. Neo Spoilers. Oneshot.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33449641

Shiki and Neku had been together for three years now… Three blissful years, even amidst all the heartache and pain of them having to live in the UG these days, but blissful they were.

Shiki could still remember well, the time that Neku had wanted to celebrate Christmas with her in the UG (their first Christmas together) and had wanted to buy a tree, of course. And he had… But he’d ended up buying a fake palm tree to decorate with instead of a pine tree, in fearing that if someone happened to see him in the UG… they might somehow link Christmas to the Christian God, and then that with the Composer, and then maybe jump to the right conclusion that Neku knew who the Composer was, and bring even more danger down on them all that way.

So, Neku had bought a fake palm tree. And, truly, it had been silly. Shiki had been sure to tease Neku for it, too. And later, even he’d realized he overreacted (even though they probably wouldn’t take back the chance to try and protect Josh, even if they could… as he had been pretty good to them since enlisting them here)… but even with the silliness, it was probably Shiki’s happiest memory. She’d put a Malibu Barbie on top as the “angel”, and Neku had replied that that seemed fitting of a fashionista like her… and it had all been ridiculous, and so much fun.

And it was for that kind of happiness, that Shiki was mostly glad that she had ended up in the UG with Neku again. She hadn’t killed herself after Coco had murdered him—even though a part of her had been tempted to, to Partner with him in the Game again if he had needed her—and hadn’t gone back to the old Shiki, but rather had gone to work getting Gatto Nero up off the ground with Eri.

But then… Shiki had died in another accident. Not a car accident this time, but a piano falling on her head, of all things, while she was walking down the street. Thankfully, she hadn’t felt that, and the next thing she’d known, she’d been in the UG with Neku and Joshua…

Shiki had then thrown her arms around Neku then and sobbed uncontrollably. And while Neku often tried to act calm, cool and collected, she thought that he had behaved as emotionally as she had when they’d been reunited.

Joshua had explained then, that he was just going to give her the penalty of not being able to play the Game again, since she and Neku were Partners (at the time, Shiki had wanted to slap Josh—thinking that he was trying to rip away her chance of trying to come back to life again—but now she understood he had just given her the solid of not having to play the Game again), and for that reason, they would be his unofficial Reapers working with him to figure out what had happened in Shinjuku.

Neku had apparently been working with Josh on that as soon as he’d died… though Shiki could tell he wanted to come back home, eventually, and so did she.

So, she told herself that when they stopped whatever was going to happen to Shibuya—Josh had to be mums the word about some things, it seemed—she would try and see if he would let them go back to the RG.

Shiki wanted to believe that Joshua would let them… seeing as how he hadn’t forced them to become actual Reapers, or anything—which he more than had the power to do so—and instead pretty much let them be Players, but without a Game to play.

Shiki did still work on Gatto Nero with Eri. Very rarely, Joshua would tune her into the RG, so they could work on a few designs—she would go and see her bestie in the dead of night—and the next day, they would be back to having to e-mail it again… It was hard, but Shiki would take it.

So, this was the life that Shiki and Neku (and Josh, to an extent) had had for three years. A lot of the time, they would live with Joshua at the Shibuya River—because it was faster to be able to work with him on things that way—but other times, they needed their private time and stayed in an abandoned house together. Relators said that it was haunted, which was why people didn’t go there, but Neku—who had learned how to scan Souls during some of their time in Shinjuku—told Shiki that that wasn’t true in the slightest: to which she had had to giggle, that people could be so superstitious.

This was the life that Shiki and Neku had built for themselves… And maybe it was a little reckless to split up from Josh, when they had so many people gunning for them. But she and Neku deserved some happiness, right?

They both had seemed to think so… but now Shiki was very much wondering about that, when in this new Game… Neku had been caught—after he’d been unable to help himself from aiding Players in need—when he’d been going back from the Shibuya River to their home.

And Shiki hadn’t heard from him since he had headed for the Room of Reckoning this morning.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. And Shiki did find herself going outside, to hear players and Reapers alike talk about how they were going to catch Neku.

“Oh, Neku,” Shiki thought, as a tear escaped from her eyes now, “I should have made more of the trips to Josh myself. I’m less recognizable than you are, since my Entry Fee was my appearance and most people don’t know what I look like now. Nor am I a ‘legendary player’. Your leaving now had foolish written all over it, and I should have seen it and gone in your stead!”

The fact that Neku hadn’t even had time to text her since he’d become the UG’s most wanted didn’t bode well to Shiki, either.

And Shiki was freely crying now—and near a panic attack, as she clutched at her arms—but she told herself to hold it together. It wouldn’t do to start fretting while standing over here at her and Neku’s dining room table…

Their dining room table that Neku had once gotten so sick at, almost acting liking he had Malaria, as he how tripped down the stairs and into it, while Shiki had looked up from her knitting, horrified—even after being in the UG, he had gotten this sick, when she wouldn’t have thought that that was possible—and she’d had to lay him down on the table to get him to drink medicine as fast as she could then, as his fever had been great… and he had finally grown to like the stuff, and the flavor of it that she liked, too… And then, thankfully, he’d been alright.

If Shiki started losing it so that she couldn’t help now, she would never again get to heal Neku, or share more of her favorite flavors with him.

So, she had to do something!

Shiki no longer had Mr. Mew on her… she had given him to Tsugumi for her to use as a psych—as she’d had an even harder time finding a psych she could use than Shiki had—when it had seemed that she might be able to save Shinjuku in those early days… but she hadn’t gotten him back since Tsugumi had been lost.

But still… Shiki thought she could probably use some other psychs now, like telekinesis, if she had to.

She thought about calling Joshua for aid here… but Shiki feared that his hands were tied with the Higher Plane on this one. And if he was going to help Neku, he was probably already doing it or would have done so by now.

So, Shiki couldn’t waste time on that.

Instead… she prepared to run all over Shibuya to find Neku, if need be, but instead ended up going to the Scramble (so close to her and Neku’s home), which was pretty much right where she and Neku had met: since Hachiko Statue was right there.

Somehow, Shiki had known Neku would be there… and her instincts had been absolutely right about that.

Neku looked exhausted, worn down, and beaten, as he knelt on one of the Scramble Crossing’s many crosswalks now… All of the Players and Reapers fighting him must have really taken a toll on him, Shiki thought despairing and empathizing with Neku immediately.

And Tsugumi was about to erase Neku!

Shiki didn’t even think about what to do then!

She thought she saw a blond boy worrying with a certain pin, but she couldn’t process that now. Instead, she dove in the way of Neku and Tsugumi (holding him tightly as he shook, after she’d just saved him).

And after she got her bearings, Shiki very swiftly snatched her Mr. Mew from Tsugumi’s grip, synced up with Neku—and how she adored, that even now… that he was able to do that with her; if that didn’t show what they were to each other, she didn’t know what would—and did a level three fusion with him once more.

And once everyone was distracted by the laser show Mr. Mew was putting on with his eyes, Shiki grabbed Neku’s hand and ran.

Somehow, some way… she discovered she had a new psych like Neku did, as they sped away—that must have been activated the times Joshua tuned her back and forth—because Shiki could mess with their frequencies!

And for now, she got them both to the RG: Neku holding her and kissing her body all over in thanks and worship, as she did so.

She could breathe again.

And Shiki knew that their perfect life together would continue on… thank God or the Composer, she thought, grinning ear to ear and kissing him back.

Author’s Note: So, this is based on how after Tsugumi erases Beat or whatever… if you look closely, there’s a pair of white shoes that walk towards him afterwards.

And tbh… I was mostly certain that Hoodie was going to be Beat, and he was, but just for fun, I let myself imagine it was Neku or could have been him on this day. And I thought those shoes could have been Shiki coming to save him (because I thought they looked like the shoes she wore at the end of TWEWY, but now I think I’m just crazy). I also thought it might have been Rhyme coming to try and rescue Beat, but I doubt that, too. It was probably just Tsugumi walking or something.

But this whole story is based on that first fun AU idea. And that’s also why it ends right when Shiki saves Neku/when we see those shoes walking towards him or whatever.

Hope you all enjoyed!

And the medicine thing, is based on how… I think Neku didn’t like certain medicines in TWEWY? Or maybe none of them? Shiki liked one of them, though (I think). So, that’s what that whole thing is based on. I wanted it to be food, but I couldn’t find a canon food that Shiki liked that Neku disliked, that he could have changed his mind about for her, so this it was.

And it's NeShiki Day! I actually didn't think I would write this for NeShiki Day (I had something else done). And I just wanted to write tonight, and I didn't know where it would lead me. But, hey. It's NeShiki right on NeShiki Day. I think it's only right I share it for that day!:)

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dantesinfcrno · 4 years ago

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trigger warnings !! suicide, suicidal thoughts, drug use / overdose, body horror, death, blood, violence, self harm, abusive relationships. most importantly, bad writing!

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈 ：𝐇𝐘𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐀 .

frigidity, heartlessness ╱ the absence of love ╱ virgin mary, corrupted .

winter child with shards on its mouth –– the snow quivers before khione, goddess whose lips do not tremble. cataclysm upon birth, no life to be seen as monster opens its eyes. before words could be uttered, before a name could be given to beast, untamed, it knew of fate. worthless creature, undeserving of shedding a tear. void big enough to fill any mansion, all touch lost –– who would cradle an interrupted demon, a fallen angel? who would wipe the anguish that never created roots inside tiny body, broken?

( … )

one vivid memory: it sitting down in the floor a living room ( no house is ever the same: all empty in a pantheon of different ways ). it is invisible, as Father dreams of his own tales, as Mother unravels the world. no one holds it up. –––– galatea? –––– it calls for Her, voice too firm for a child, first words incisive ╱ poignant knife. She stares into its eyes, peering at the chaos She created –– and turns Her back.

( … )

verses wrote themselves against its skin, fairies would whisper secrets into its heart. before it could walk, small deity devoured books –– in search of a love he did not know of, this powerful feeling it could never obtain. the titans who gave birth to lucifer ╱ lilith, anew, could spare it no sweet nothings. the tutors brought in could not hold down treacherous creature, could not embrace it, could not understand it. oh, the gentle kiss that would break the curse. oh, the sweet princess that would awake humanity inside tainted guts. the choirs sang of redemption, absolution –– but they also snarled at child born with a target on its back, holy water falling at its feet. you were never meant to receive tenderness ; you shall not know what love entails. it all echoed inside this fortitude: melancholy the only tune beast ever knew ╱ maddening: to never be touched ; to never be loved without worship, without loathing.

( … )

poignant claws would drag themselves over a violin, and he interrogated the stars. who else, who else. can famine become savior? can ferocious teeth learn to taste another’s core without devouring it whole? i can try, i can try. boy, blizzard –– locking itself in the garden of eden, mortality discovered as fingers bleed, as thorns find home in the anatomy of god, interrupted. –––– you can be anything you desire, vessel. –––– serpent hisses, crawling up its core. –––– i choose to live. i choose to love all monsters, made out of darkness & concrete alike. –––– dante replies, half-smothered, half-breathing, apple tasting sanguine on his lips. ophidian smiles, knowing this end will be self-made. –––– you can’t be helped, child, you can’t be helped.

–––––– 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 . ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈 ：𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐀 .

resentment, anger ╱ agape ╱ your presence soothes me .

to seize the adoration one was never deserving of: a sin, an addiction. bringer of nightmares, a king crowned with madness –– and all he wants is all he can never have, prince amongst commoners, crawling through cobbled streets in search of scraps. there is relief in the tender stares he receives from older women, insisting him to turn back and find home. i don’t have one, i never had one. bones of a boy, muscles of a boy, but he –– savage, feral, bleeding life into a world that despises him.

( … )

this is what he knows of love: he must give it, even when it hurts –– somebody must be willing to rip their own flash, gift it away, and remain lacking forever. with hate, he learns this: puncture your flesh in order to feed the mouths that bite your legs ; turn your head to receive double the punishment, as it might turn you palatable ( they all want to break you, and if you shatter prettily enough, you might find gilded dregs to store inside your ribs ) ; swallow what no one wants to hear & drown in it.

( … )

being made entirely of open wounds, there is no deity capable of dragging him back to the fiery pits that gifted him life ╱ gifted him curse. lucky vessel, so close to a heart of his own. he rips one off a deer ( unfortunate as all that cross his path ) ; does not recall his face as he becomes other. the horror of inevitability is the only beauty he knows of, as he undresses, carrying only skin & blood. summer child ╱ crooked teeth, crooked smile. eris lies underneath ophelia: sweet, poisoned honey. there is an empty space, and there is laughter by its side. lord shiva, this is all i have, this is all i am. is there any other way to love, but to turn into madness? dante’s shrines are always filled with silence –– but he still brings limbs, lungs, livers as offerings to friends, lovers, foes.

( … )

light quivers through the cracks –– through the smile always perched on his lips, meaningless. he embraces the world: atlas, knee-deep in dirt, bound to shackles rooted in tartarus. he bears the weight with joyous laughter, bullet-wound on his throat. unconditional love to all but himself. –––– this is how my salvation will come. –––– he mumbles, wine-drunk, licking aphrodite’s mouth. oracle, foolish in his hopefulness. –––– i will love, love, love, until the point of murder. i will love the unlovable ; and i won’t ask for anything in return. –––– as he kisses madness into a stranger’s lips, as his body becomes a one night miracle for those who need it most. –––– i can give, and give, and give, and you won’t hear my voice begging for anything else. –––– as he lays in a bed that is not his own, as he wraps his tongue against quickened pulse, as he becomes one with a galaxy that had long disowned him. dante holds the unknown in his arms, and promises to adore it ( sweet, inescapable destiny ╱ ouroboros: we therefore commit this body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, beast to beast ).

–––––– 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐛. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 . ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ：𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄 .

withering hope, abandonment ╱ philautia ╱ unfading love .

there is a limit to what forsaken hands can do. dante has picked stars, reached burning celestial bodies, cut his palms while tending to flowers with more thorns than petals. maybe i will encounter the lacking piece ; maybe there is half a soul to be found. a possibility is all that drives him forward, as skies turn grey and greyer. death is served, and young piece of sunshine ╱ corrupted shard of blood moon refuses to take it. i will keep on living –– i refuse to pass, i will not become more ghost than i already am. he moves around life, life runs right through him –– a sword lodged below his collarbone, forcing him to cough up blood. he is not a memory anyone can have. dante thinks about his absence in a world that already feels much like nothing: everchanging figure with a thousand names, an opaque face, a hidden mouth.

( … )

merciless crow weighs heavily on his shoulder –– that, a haunting dante can’t run away from. he pledged the remnants of his tortured soul ; promised to bloom flowers inside of his guts ; swore he would not howl when the thorns slayed him. –––– how do i love without feeling it flow in my body, how do i love without receiving it in my bloodstream? –––– fallen next to thanatos, locked away in a luxurious bathroom, he wonders and wonders. foolish messenger, victim of hubris ╱ icarus, aware the sun would burn his wings, but taking the leap of faith & crashing, drowning in saltwater. –––– who am i to challenge the gods? –––– he murmured, anguish sorrow rising and falling in the rhythm of his chest. dante remembers rain falling endlessly –– but, most of all, he remembers silence. –––– oh, dear. i am alone, aren’t i? –––– he questions a ghost, tears rupturing his flesh. what he tried to hide meets sunlight in its last breaths. miserable boy, crestfallen human –– he discovers himself once he uncovers death. soothsayer full of shame, guts filled with medicine, wrists torn by ache. what prophecy could he utter with such a defiled existence? no one will come for him, is his last rational thought. no one will remember him. dante: nothing, no one, infinitesimal. –––– all i have tried to give is all i do not have. –––– the veil falls from his face and the earth quiets.

( … )

he wakes up, bittersweet taste lingering in his body. my bones have finally shattered, he muses, not entirely awake, i have nothing else to give. his tutor does not spend the night by the side of his hospital bed ( white, everything pearlescent, pristine, sickening ), and dante doesn’t expect his parents to come –– and they don’t. ordinary, meaningless existence. he should have passed to another realm, but he had vowed to keep on living. –––– fate is anything but forgiving. –––– is what he mumbles to a kind nurse: the one individual worried for him, but only because it is her job. he holds her by the wrist one day, mouth opening and then closing. can you stay with me? can you let me go? –––– thank you. –––– and there are no other words he is able of uttering throughout his stay. alone, is all he’ll ever be, no pink hues to enlighten his days. he notices his age in a file, wrong by two years, but does not say anything about it. who cares? who cares but you? do you at all?

( … )

his scars do not turn into bird wings. what should i fear, if not death, if not desolation? the torment of being devoured –– no, that is what he loves the most. in one of many nights ( lustful, adoring, fickle ), basile fast asleep by his side, dante’s fingertips caress exposed skin –– brutal tenderness, a blade he could never inflict upon himself. –––– i think i can only ever love whatever part of me when i find it mirrored in you, mon cher. –––– he confesses, obsidian irises shining. to hold on, to make room for fragile things, to fracture in the same crevices, even with leaden bones. –––– dragons and butterflies are one in the same, aren’t they? –––– dante whispers, cherry lips dragging across basile’s ears as emerald cradles carnelian closer, closer.

–––––– 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 . ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐕 ：𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 .

unfortunate attachment ╱ philia ╱ i have lost all .

grief supposedly works like this: denial ; anger ; bargain ; depression ; acceptance. dante has never fell into the latter –– there was not a day he felt his mother’s absence as an axiom. galatea died in his arms, no last breath redemption gifted to her only heir, but her number remains his emergency contact. perhaps–– this is the closest he will get to love: half-ghost, half-illusion ; one he can confess all his sins to ; one that will not reprimand him no more ; one hollow image ╱ sacrilegious saint he can pour his most selfish desires onto. once her body is laid five feet underground, dante kneels. –––– i would have done you a favour, mother, had i died before you.

( … )

dante’s dismay is always reminiscent of a forest, petrichor, and a bonfire put out during the night. galatea by his side, barely addressing his existence. miles deep into the woods, birds were singing once he heard mother, titaness, whimper. dante reached for her, cradled her, hugged her –– for the first time, for the first time, for the last time. intact arrows were lodged on her throat, on her chest. what could he do? –––– stay with me, please. –––– dante begged and begged, but galatea’s eyes were no more. trembling hand holding cold fingers, desperate cries as he forced himself to walk, to search for an exit he knew no longer existed. his feet were cursed with blisters once he found a small village, his cheeks marred by dried tears, his arms covered in matriarchal blood. catatonic emptiness –– and each new fracture of his soul was a new explosion, sharp, dangerous, lost. he remained by her side, acute desperation as the reality crashed upon him, a rogue wave. –––– come back to me. –––– as he curled his body next to hers. always freezing, you were always this cold anyway. –––– come back. you have to come back. –––– as he clung to her limbs, as his eyes sunk in sorrow. does this pain have a name?

( … )

poppy’s empty room and the vacant space left by galatea were one in the same. dante lingered around her bed, head throbbing –– grief never leaves, it only evolves into smothering shadow. dante places a small bouquet atop her pillows, mumbles a prayer in a faint voice. –––– i never had much. –––– he whispers, and hopes poppy can hear him, feel him. –––– but i had you. and i will find you, baby girl. i promise i will. –––– there are no smiles to brighten up his complexion, no light shining through his ribs. this night, like many others, is spent entirely on research. who can i reach next? what can i sell of my soul to have you back?

–––––– 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 . ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕 ：𝐂𝐘𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍 .

departure, resignation ╱ pragma ╱ all good things come to an end .

spring child, full of heartache. oh, how he wishes he could give it back: so many lives lost as he aimed for a pulse of his own, and dante now chases numbness. bodies become a blur, just in time for him to turn into a ghost. cheap whiskey and smoke mix themselves in his tongue, there are pills dissolving in his mouth, there is a stranger pressing him up against a wall. why is it not enough? why must i crave what i can never have? oh, to grow yourself a heart only for a friend to pull it out, for a friend to crush it beneath their feet. foolish boy. you should’ve been grateful for the void i gifted you, is the echo growing inside his brain, his mother’s voice a tortured ghost. to believe one could truly love him –– the most reckless of all behaviours, the pain that could extinguish him into dust. what is heavier than this emptiness? what is more consuming than this void? –––– she … she told me she was going to find someone else to go home with. –––– hollis’ words can’t be erased from his mind, and dante finally crumbles beneath their weight.

( … )

his eyes are swelled up once he reaches london. perhaps, there is a limit –– even for a demon, even for a grotesque creature. perhaps, as he crawls atop galatea’s grave, he meets his end. knife wound, love wound: it bleeds all the same. his body is freezing, even when the night is still –– there is an image replaying in an infinite cycle behind his eyelids, frozen tears clinging to reddened cheeks. –––– was saying ❝ i love you ❞ my undoing? –––– he murmurs into the night, the claws of a demon resting upon his shoulders, smothering and lukewarm, and shivers caress his spine ( tiny spiders, nails across a chalkboard, vermins crawling through a corpse ). –––– he asked me to find him, and i did. –––– there is no humour in his laughter. such unforgivable stupidity, and he can only punish himself for it. unsheathed talons lacerate his scalp: apathy as a life-threatening poison, as he sinks rotten nails inside of his flesh and hopes to come up with a crown, reborn. there is no rage as perished daisies become his halo, as dead mother becomes dead son, on his knees, forehead to the ground. cold rain soaks up his bones: a preferable fate to succumbing to loneliness –– suffering, but religious ( i am only holy when broken, i can only adore as a morgue does with a corpse ). can rose taste him in basile, he wonders? is he too fleeting to be felt, even by a tourmaline angel? –– the one that loves him, loved him, somehow. melinoe whispers in his ear ( mother of madness, but he trusts her –– who else does he have? ) : that was a lie. what does one gain from worshipping you? –– hell, fervent kisses, languid hands, consuming touch, everything, too much, nothing at all.

( … )

jester, conquering his way through pleasing his majesty’s body, filling his bed. oh, to be aware of one’s low worth –– never good enough, even when it came down to being used. tiring illusionist, shuffling the same cards, over and over and over… could he blame anyone for forsaking him? ares, begging to be forgotten. no more pain, no more. the heavens are deaf, however, and it continues: plague in his bones ; hunger in his chest ; torture in his skull. if he stays down for long enough, perhaps no one will bother to look for him. pitiful dead boy turns blind man, hearing his last heartbeat, moonlight on his tongue, constellations on his lips. what is there to be said at his tombstone? unknown, unloved, unmissed. this, the only way he’d ever be able to go. you may have broken my heart, but only i hold the power of shattering my own soul. water springs from his eyes: weeping angel, at home in a cemetery. –––– not even your ghost is capable of loving me, mother. and still, you’re all i have. –––– he whispers, restless, plunging prayers down the earth. love me, you should’ve loved me, love me, please.

–––––– 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞: 𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 . ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈 ：𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 .

you will be my death ╱ eros ╱ poisonous calamity .

eros finds him –– no mercy, no mercy. mercutio picks him up from the ground, dirty and paralyzed, says nothing. dante wakes up in his bed, undressed, filthy, sore. –––– you always come back, don’t you? –––– the emerald’s voice reverberates in his head, each syllable another nail on his coffin. phobos & deimos are also children of aphrodite, is what he learns with mercutio –– standing tall, smile of a hunter, canines of a wolf. –––– i am really everything you have, huh? –––– his laughter is haunting, and the desai becomes child, forgotten –– once more, once more.

–––– i never had you. –––– dante mumbles, looking out the window. the abyss stares back, offers no answers, vanishes. –––– never had anyone at all.

( … )

when the morning comes, mercutio presses dante against a wall –– hand around his neck, vicious. dante does not blink as breaths become shallow, as lights seem to fade. –––– i’m not scared of you, fool. –––– melancholy in defiance, tone dripping in dark blue. –––– kill me. I’m all yours. –––– and he smiles only after his feet touch the ground, a slap across his cheek. bitter glory. thanatos is always lingering in his spine, never daring to break him. untouchable, even by death. sobriety in nothingness, in madness: mercutio looks inside his soul, and realizes he is messing with a demon with nothing to lose. –––– you have stepped over my guts and claimed the beast inside of me as yours. you have more reasons to fear me than anyone else, and you better start acting like it. –––– dante bows, and leaves. always an actor leaving a stage –– trickster, villain or tragedy? he doesn’t know anymore.

–––––– 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚) 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐛) 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫, 𝐜) 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 ? ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐈 ：𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋 .

my regrets follow you to the grave ╱ memento mori ╱ remembered beyond the tomb .

dante comes back at midnight, after four long days. there are finger marks against his trachea, there are new quicksilver lines against his body, there is new darkness pressed underneath his eyes. quiet –– inside his heart, white noise. inside his mind, an ocean in which he’s drowning. for poppy, he muses, for poppy: he must move onward for her, if not for anyone else. he can barely hear his own heart, beating, struggling. just until i find her, and then...

#𝑿𝑰𝑰 : REFLECTIONS .#𝑽 : DEVELOPMENT .#body horror tw #suicide tw #blood tw #violence tw #abusive relationship tw #?#drug use tw #overdose tw #self harm tw #suicidal thoughts tw #i couldnt fit in ludus and storge in this #but #yeh

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wordcubed-writes · 5 years ago

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My BNHA villain OCs: Inko’s sidekick

Apparently by “tomorrow” I meant a week later, and by two OCs I meant "four, but each gets a separate post because jeeeezus this’d be too long otherwise”.

Inko has her own journey in Libra, going from homeless single mom to respected villain. Due to how the timeline works out, I needed to create some OCs for her to interact with, since none of the other canon characters’ histories line up with AU!Inko’s in the way I needed them to.

Also, the point of Inko’s character is that she can’t survive on her own. She’s a villain, yes, she breaks the law, and as she grows into her role she even knowingly hurts people. But she’s unusual among villains in that she doesn’t pretend to be strong by herself—her real strength is in the many connections she makes. Inko becomes the surrogate mom to a generation of young villains. A key part of her story is found family.

Hence her organization’s name: the Underground Family.

Today’s character: Kangen Kutsurogi

You can tell this one's important because she has a proper name!

Kangen's role: Inko needed a companion, someone she can interact with through her journey. I wanted them to be younger than her, so Inko is still definitely The Adult in the relationship, but old enough to babysit Izuku, old enough to spend money without raising too many questions, old enough to have political opinions, and old enough to know how to bullshit their way through some things.

(Fun fact: this role was originally going to be Dabi's, but he’s just too young at this point—11 at most—to credibly do some of the things I’d need his character to do. Don’t worry, he still joins Inko's family, just at a later date.)

I also wanted someone to provide an alternative kind of character development. Inko is already a mother, already carrying responsibility, already intensely compromised, and her character growth is about things more grounded than destiny and bigger than personal vengeance. Kangen, however, wants more shonen-esque things: she wants to solve mysteries, she wants to make herself into something.

And boy howdy, does Kangen have a mystery to solve. Because her Quirk isn't hers. And, possibly, neither is her name. This is BNHA, you can probably guess how she has a Quirk that isn’t hers...

Kangen wants to solve the mystery of herself, Inko wants to take care of the people she cares about. All For One can either be the antagonist in Kangen's personal story or he can be the monster who generously tolerates the small fry swimming around him. He cannot be both. Kangen's story is that she must learn to temper her wants and grow around her own scars—like Inko already is.

If Kangen pursues the things she thinks she wants, she'll destroy the things she actually values. (Sometimes, you have to let go of your personal dream narrative to realize the one you've actually been living this whole time.)

Kangen's Quirk: Nonthreatening.

Kangen's Quirk prevents anyone from seeing her as a threat. No matter how hostile or violent Kangen acts towards someone, she can never provoke them. They will never panic, get angry, or get stressed about her. Confrontations become friendly chats and deadly fights become laid-back play-fights.

Nonthreatening allows Kangen to challenge people who are normally very dangerous and walk away without few-to-no repercussions. She’s also used it to steal stuff right in front of the owner's eyes. (At most, they'll sigh exasperatedly and get around to filing an insurance claim. Chasing her or calling the police would mean they’re worried or angry, and that’s not possible with her.) Or brazenly assault people in broad daylight and walk away without anyone trying to stop her. (It is not a stealth Quirk; people can see and remember her normally, they just can't be fucked to pursue/confront her while she's present.)

The exact mechanics of Kangen's Quirk are the mystery, though. Is it an always-on field affecting everyone around her? Can it be suppressed with concentration? Or is it the reverse, and takes work to keep activated? Is she the sole focus, or can she prevent anyone from provoking anybody? Does it work on robots? Can a recording of her have the same effect?

The little answers are ever-changing. The big answer is that her Quirk is very, very old: one of the first-generation Quirks from 200 years ago. Its original user was taken by the government, and used in “Project Kangen”, a series of experiments in "pacifying" large crowds, or potentially even entire populations. Her Quirk is (sometimes) strong because it's actually many Quirks—one of the first amalgamate Quirks forged by All For One—but it's unstable because, well, he was pretty young himself back then, and not nearly as skilled with his own Quirk as he is now.

And Kangen Kutsurogi’s name? Given to whoever the Quirk subject of Project Kangen is.

Kangen's name: It's literally the Japanese phrase "kangen", which according to at least one Japanese dictionary means "leniency and severity", making her name ~meaningful~ by Horikoshi standards. Kutsurogi means something like "comfort" or "relaxing".

Her villain name is Peacemaker, and yes she is going to carry a Colt Peacemaker revolver, because irony.

Kangen's backstory: The desirability of certain Quirks means human trafficking is a big problem in this AU, and Kangen got shuffled all over the place as villain groups tried to use her Quirk for various purposes (anything from petty crime in broad daylight to negotiation to infiltration).

Eventually, All For One decides that the Project Kangen Quirk is his creation and therefore belongs in Japan, kidnapping her. Then, not having much use for her (AFO has far more potent telepathy Quirks under his command) he put her where he dumps all the Quirks he collects but doesn’t use.

That is, he gave her to the actual designated antagonist of my villain!Inko fic: a cult leader villain who worships All For One (and doesn’t realize he’s merely caretaker to All For One's human collection of salvaged Quirks). Kangen’s job there was mostly to suppress the more violent Quirk-users and help raise the younger kids.

In addition to highlighting the uglier side of Quirk society, Kangen also parallels Eri: used by villains for her Quirk, but escapes and runs into a genuinely good person (Inko). It sets up the conflict between AFO's cult and Inko's family in Libra, and (SPOILER) later, in Let the Heavens Fall, the conflict between Overhaul and Inko (who let me tell you is SUPER PISSED that this upstart new villain's first major step is "torturing a child for her Quirk").

#Villain!Inko AU #AFO!Izuku AU #BNHA #fanfiction #OCs

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phthalology · 6 years ago

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Destiny 2: when the cold day comes

Jenev Furnon has both hands on that thorny gun, eyespots sprouting green from its tangles, when she decides whether or not to shoot the Drifter. Will the way this started make any difference to the way it ends? Guardian/Drifter, 3k, rated T

Jenev Furnon has both hands on that thorny gun, eyespots sprouting green from its tangles, when she decides whether or not to shoot the Drifter.

She focuses on the reticule on his chest instead of the black-clad people approaching through the trees. Leaves swirl around her and fall to the spongey ground, the first warning bells of autumn coming to the emerald coast. The trap has snapped shut. The gambit, the opening play in a quiet war, has given way to Shadows at the edge of her vision. Guardians startled mid-match have already been transmatted out, leaving her and these black-cloaked, masked cultists, and the Drifter himself.

(Her Drifter?)

Jenev is a Hunter, so her questions all imply action.

1. Which one should she aim at first?

2. Are the Shadows of Yor coming to help or hurt her? After all, she holds Malfeasance. She clawed toward that old title—but was it for the same reason?—it was for a different cause—

3. Is she as complicit as they are?

4. Will the way this started make any difference to the way it ends?

Weeks earlier.

It starts on a hot, humid night in the Tower, wind blowing like a murderer’s breath. Someone else’s fireteam is going after Cayde’s killers, insists a nervous beat in the back of Jenev’s head. She taps her fingers against her knife, blue-silver Awoken hands against blue-silver metal. The Fallen from the prison and that rogue prince killed him, people say. Out there in the Reef, rocks spin in long, crazy orbits and Tower law is a rumor and a suggestion. The Tower there is as optional as gravity. That’s Jenev’s world (not Reefborn but Reef-tugged, Hunter-born, fond of wild space and the unknown) and she can’t go there now. With other Guardians on the trail, she thinks as her stomach curdles, she would just get in the way.

Another new horizon has opened up in her world. Visions of jade coins won’t leave her: that carefully edged stone, the luck of the draw, the Drifter’s dragging shuffle. She has been throwing herself into Gambit, win or loss, seeing motes in her sleep and wondering whether the rumors of Shadows were true. So she goes to him, ducks under the grated door (half-closed like he doesn’t want visitors, like he’s hiding something), and they talk about coin tricks.

Half the time he looks away, even turns half-around like he doesn’t know she’s there. But he keeps talking, and eventually they’re both leaning against the glowing machine near his workbench, so that when he turns it’s toward her. Fluorescent light casts neon glow, turns shadows into pitch. She toys with her braids, digging blue fingers into black strands. And his scarred face is very close, and his hands are very quick, and she wonders what horrors she can manage to forget on a night so hot the air seems hateful.

They talk about sleight of hand and the weather and the frustrations of being a Hunter grieving for her Vanguard, and then when he balances a jade coin across his knuckles she snatches it from him and takes his hand. Meets his eyes while she turns his hand over, places the coin in his palm and strips the padded gauntlet off, folding the coin inside clammy cloth. His hand is scarred too, ugly bar-punch ripples of tissue across his knuckles. For someone with a Ghost, marks mean vanity. Jenev’s stomach aches.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“Who do you want me to be, ma’am?”

Coy. Fool. Perfect. She’s happy to mix the interrogation with the purr in his voice, so before she speaks again she pins his hand to the curve of her hip. The glove crumples onto the floor. “It’s no secret you work with dark things. How do I know I can trust you?”

“Work with ‘em? I bind ‘em. Doesn’t matter what you work with if you’ve got a knife to it’s soft parts.”

“Funny. I was about to say the same thing.” She draws her own blade. The blue-etched sheen glints in his eyes as she presses the flat to his cheek, against the three too-clean scars. “Let’s say I’m not a Guardian tonight. If I’m just a Light thing, looking to bind you…?”

She shifts the knife to his lips. He grins, wicked, then licks the flat of the blade.

It’s easy to sheath the knife while he moves back against the neon, drawing her against him with his bare hand. On the plaza, a heavy rain begins. No one will see us, Jenev thinks. No one will turn that corner, duck under that door. When she kisses him he tastes sour, his beard scratching against her cheeks. Her world becomes heat, static, warm rain on her face. And then she remembers who he is, who she is, the suspicion with which she flavored her attraction. Maybe it should have been more than suspicion.

She pulls back, slams her hands onto the machine to either side of his head with breaking force. They’re both breathing loud, winded as the invader after the fourth kill. The Drifter licks his lips and hums, ambitious and satisfied all at once.

She stays close enough to feel his lips against hers as she speaks. “Let’s get you in that arena. See how you are against the Taken.”

The Drifter smiles, slow. “How many times have I seen you die? It ain’t pretty for anybody, but what are bodies for Guardians? Ghost’ll raise you right up.” His gaze sharpens. “But you.... There’s even grace when you fall. When you become little bitty embers, I just wanna scoop ‘em right up.”

The Drifter’s problem, Jenev thinks, is that he talks too much. But there is such promise in his words. She speaks of a thinly-held belief to get her bearings. “You’re a fool if you think primevals will prepare us for that prince.”

He interrupts her. “You want training, go talk to Shaxx. That ain’t my job, sister. You want blood … I think I do my part all right.”

She talks over him right back. “I said, let’s see you in embers for once.”

She kisses him again, feels the jolt as the back of his head hits the plastic. Jenev raises a hand to his throat, sharpened silver nails like knives. They both like to fight, so she gives him just the suggestion of blades against paper-thin skin, and then puts her other arm around his shoulders and sighs against his neck because it wasn’t all fight. He supports her while she clings. The grief for Cayde has retreated, or devolved into a smaller creature.

“That’s enough of an answer for me,” she says.

“All right.” He shrugs like he doesn’t care, but meets her eyes with a concerned softness.

“Hunters make bets.” She moves backward, hand still outstretched. “Ten wins, and we can try this again. See if you can kiss better with practice.”

“Your wins?” He looks at her calmly and stretches his arms above him, showing off. “What exactly is the losing part of this bet, darlin’?”

“Doesn’t seem to be one, honey.”

“’Til next time.”

The grief has faded. She slips the coin she stole from him out of her pocket, and makes sure he can see it between her fingers before she turns the corner.

After the ten wins, he calls her.

“I’m opening up a new Gambit arena in that Dreaming City. Want to scope it out? I’ll give you a behind the scenes look.” His drawl turns slavering, sometimes.

She says yes.

Her Ghost, Iris, asks questions all the way to the Dreaming City. She’s practical and warlike, and both she and Jenev are comforted by one another’s speech even if they often tune it out. Iris memorized the major armories’ catalogues. Her Ghost is a Warlock, Jenev jokes sometimes.

And then the Drifter ushers her through a silver door into the Cathedral of Scars. The beauty of the crystals and plants makes her want to touch every surface, see it all from every angle.

“How did they let you into this place?” she asks.

“What, because I’m not Awoken?”

“No. Because you’re …” You. Even as an Awoken, she doesn’t feel a connection to this impossible place. Nevertheless, its majesty replaces more personal worship easily. How was it preserved for so long? What invisible cosmic dust is coating all of those jeweled pathways, all of those geodes glistening with water? Her distant cousins keep secrets. And here’s the Drifter, exhaling greed, owning a patch of the place. She resists gesturing at him, especially because she would be too tempted to touch him if she tried. “Not exactly the Vanguard’s favorite.”

“I know the Ascendant Plane, sister. This world touches it like clothes on skin. Doesn’t matter what the Vanguard thinks if they don’t know. Me and Petra worked some things out.”

They walk toward the sunlight, across shining floors.

He thinks himself so separate from the Tower, Jenev considers, but Ikora surely knows more about him than she lets on. After all, she controls the Hidden, the long arms of the Tower. Eris Morn, one of the Hidden now, had even been in a place not so different from the Drifter’s situation years ago. People hadn’t trusted Eris either, but through secrets and service she had become a part of the Tower. If Jenev asked what the Drifter thought he was getting away with unbeknownst to the trio, she wouldn’t get a true answer.

Duo.

The correction thunders through her.

The Drifter gestures her forward. Before they walk into the courtyard (beautiful, fragile) she gets his attention, back of her fist to his shoulder like a fireteam friend. He pushes her back, flat of his palm, and laughs. It’s the thrill of a new place, a strange place. The steps far ahead of them, beyond the plaza that will be the backfield float impossibly out beyond a foggy cliffside. Hunter wanderlust and the memory of kisses in the Tower drives her forward. She wants to talk to the Drifter forever and she wants to make him wait before she speaks.

“Lots of ways to mess a place like this up,” she says. Explosions in the crystals. Gilding ripped off the walls. Gold melted in sun-fire. Guardians were going to chew throughthis place. Good. She thrills to know she’ll see it. Let the Reefborn know they aren’t untouchable.

On the edge of a cliff stands a blue-purple platform, like a sequoia trunk sliced low and transformed into crystal. The surface is smooth but not slippery. The Drifter lays out a picnic: spring rolls and bread thick with grains, one cup and a bottle of a blue-black drink she doesn’t recognize, busy with bubbles.

“Soon they’ll be killing on every inch of this place,” he says.

The wind blows gentle, spiked with the acid scent of the endless drop. Trees wave, sending leaves spilling down. “Good. Get them ready for the ugly stuff.”

“There’s beauty in that too, sister. Death always brings out the vitality of things.”

Speaking of that. “Let’s talk about my ten wins, if you so much want death.” Pride bubbles in her chest, along with impatience. “I challenged you too.”

In answer he shifts closer to her, one leg stretched beside hers on the violet stone and one arm propped up on his other knee. His fingers brush her thigh so lightly she can barely feel them, just a prelude. The kiss isn’t sour, isn’t clean or furious as their first had been: it’s messy and whole-hearted and tastes like mint and ozone. She sits up against him, pressing her fingers deep into his hair and under the bandana where it scrunches against the back of his neck. He’s sweat-salty and lost, and when the kiss ends he pulls away from her bright-eyed and with a laugh that heaves up from him like a drumbeat.

When the Shadows do come, the wind is high and loud. Jenev stands in the emerald coast, listening to it roar grim and impersonally hateful as apocalypse. The Shadows of Yor are a hooting band like she imagines Prince Uldren’s Fallen allies to be, but the shapes under dark cloak are all Guardians. They attack mid-match, as the Drifter planned they would. She was in Gambit herself, which of course was also part of the plan, since she has the gun.

Figures flicker between the trees.

The Drifter himself marches across the grass, without a war helmet, pistol in hand. “Let’s go, sister. If we take ‘em out, we end this!”

In surprise and fear, she points Malfeasance at him.It startles him, an honest expression she isn’t used to seeing.

Light, she wants to help him. She wants to fight by his side, to wear his mark, to leave her marks on him. But what if her first instincts were right, the ones that said she couldn’t trust him? What if he’s smarter than he appears to be, and can hurt the Vanguard? If she took him out for just a moment, stopped the game with the very gun she earned from her devotion to it, she would be changing the tide of the Shadows on a whim. What power! But it would be a whim, chaos sewn. She’s used to acting on impulse.

She looks back and forth between the Drifter and the people lining up, careful as a high noon standoff, at the tree line.

She knows the Vanguard wouldn’t want her consorting with shadows, but Cayde was always irreverent and the other two are shattered with grief. Loyalty to the Tower has always come second for Jenev: second to her instincts, second to her wants. She knows now that she can please both sides: the Vanguard of the Light will want the Shadows of Yor dead, and the Drifter will want to draw attention to his game. After Cayde died, the whole world feels more gray.

Neither the Vanguard nor Cayde nor the Drifter nor Jenev herself would benefit from her staying her hand against Dredgen Yor’s followers. She has no love for the Shadows. She teeters on the edge of a cliff, and there’s no harm for a Guardian for following that impulse to jump.

She carefully takes one hand off Malfeasance to flash the jade coin at him, the one she stole. Please understand this message. I’m gambling right now. I’m performing sleight of hand. The Shadows are frozen in confusion. She sees him take his first breath since she raised the gun.

Then she steps onto the backfield and fights. The Shadows swarm, person-shapes becoming monstrous. Malfeasance screams in her hands. Maybe the gun is the only part of her that feels for the Shadows. Hive magic! It exalts. Twins-in-Darkness! She rejects whatever grief she imagines for it.

She sees almost immediately how the Drifter plans to shake the Shadows. He has unleashed some of the Darkness he keeps, trapping the Shadows in a zone where their Ghosts struggle to raise them. She feels it too, but she isn’t the one trying to gain ground. Interesting to have the upper hand, to be the one creating the mess instead of cleaning it up. Especially if the Shadows never reveal their leader. To them, it’s an exploratory cut. To the Drifter, it’s a slaughter.

She pumps the trigger. A Shadow drops, his chest a broken blur. Others rush forward, and she takes the opportunity to burn up and throw knives into three of them before they can recover. She sidesteps and returns fire. They’re good, but she has Malfeasance, and the Shadows can’t break into the space between her and the Drifter’s backs.

She sees him spin his pistol like a trick shooter behind the nearest Shadow. Crack of a shot, loud and almost echoing, and that one goes down.

Then it’s over, almost too easily. This wasn’t the real thing, she thinks immediately. They were testing us, too. Two remaining Shadows fade into the forest.

She holsters her gun, hardly seeing the landscape in front of her any more. Will the Shadows come back? What did they learn?

The Drifter moves closer to her, looks down at her with absent calm.

“They’ll be back with more,” she says.

“What did you think would happen, sister? We took down what, ten of ‘em? That’ll give the old man a message. They’re recruiting fast these days.”

Malfeasanse seethes at her back. Am I a recruit? “This gun brought them out already. And they didn’t wait around to hand me pamphlets. Guess I don’t fit their criteria even if I do have it. Which means we can bait more.”

“Game’s gonna accelerate now,” he says.

“Come here,” Jenev says.

He’s looking into the middle distance, back toward where the Shadows arrived. She grabs his arm, pulls hard enough that he stumbles.

“I’ve earned this,” she says, and kisses him on the mouth. She can feel his sly smile, can see it as clearly as if she was beside them instead, watching human-pink lips on Awoken-silver. There’s a smile, too, in the way he holds her around her shoulders. She curls her hands into fists at the small of his back, tenses for a moment before she gives in to herself and presses further against him.

“There’s still one more step,” he says against her cheek.

“The man with the Golden Gun.” She pulls far enough away that she can look into his eyes. Immediately they grab for new holds on one another, her hands on his jacket, his at her waist. “I don’t know what’s going to come of that. I’ve heard how you growl. Keep secrets if you want; I’ll watch my own back.”

Some of his talks with other Guardians in the Tower brought out a defensive anger in him. It’ll shake the walls if the time is ever right.

He laughs. “We sure understand each other. Together until it ain’t convenient any more, right, lady?”

“Until the Ascendant Plane collapses or one of us gets distracted.” A pirate’s life ...

So what, if someone else avenged Cayde? The sidelines are where Jenev lives, and she’s good at it.

“Glad to have you along,” says the Drifter. “Until the next cold day comes.”

The freedom of a dark forest, an unspoken promise to crash like a wave over her grief. She would not need him when her wandering was over, she thinks. She would not need him forever. Neither of them wants him to become an addiction, and so, Jenev, also, would comfortably drift.

#Destiny #writings #The Drifter #Drifter/OC #Jenev Furnon #with thanks to exordiumnoctis

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jendarknight-blog · 6 years ago

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SO YEAH BOY HOWDY I’M GOING TO TALK ABOUT AN AU THING.

If you’re not interested, feel free to skip this post. There’s a lot of rambling in it. Warning: TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF. Also, Domestic!Baku.

Weirdly when I took notes on this idea, I ended up in Baku’s headspace while I was writing it, so uh. Yeah. When I get to some of the bullet points it’ll almost look like in-fic headspace prose.

For those who don’t know, Kare Kano (”His and her Circumstances” or “His and Hers” for short) is a romantic comedy / drama anime and manga from the 90′s that centers around two students: Yukino Miyazawa and Souichirou Arima. Both are model students, but both have hidden depths: Yukino likes attention and being number one, while Souichirou tries to be perfect in order to please the parents who took him in and raised him. After Souichirou takes the number one spot on their first day of high school and steals Yukino’s rightful debut, it begins a tense one-sided rivalry in order to become Top Dog, which ends up leading into a strange, sweet, and fulfilling romance as they not only understand themselves, but each other. Initially, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go Todobaku or Bakudeku with this, because both could easily work, but I went with Bakudeku because Todobaku would be far too close to how canon ACTUALLY ends up.

And I wanted to include the “Childhood friends” and shared history angle. In Kare Kano canon, the big secret is that Yukino is a lazy egomaniac while she acts like the perfect angel at school, but since Baku is...well, there isn’t a lazy bone in his body, domesticity comes to the rescue every time. And I’m weak to Domestic Baku, sue me. And in original Kare Kano canon, Souichirou blackmails Yukino into doing his work when he finds out her secret, but...yeah, Deku’s far too nice to blackmail him, but not nice enough to not screw with him. Note: This is told in bullet points. -Specifically, Baku desperately wants to be number one. Quirks aren’t a Thing, and for most of his life, he was the best at everything. People were intimidated by him and worshipped the ground he walked on, and you know? It felt pretty damn good. He was a winner, and winning was his fucking life. He competed against everyone in everything; he made sure his skin was perfect, his body was flawless, his grades were flawless, and everything else he could think of, and he worked his ass off to be as good as he was. That said, he wasn’t untouchable. He liked to look like the sun that everyone wanted to reach, but he was actually...not as hard as people thought. Turns out, he’s close to his two very young siblings: Eri and Kouta. They were adopted as babies (from a very close friend of the family who had passed away, and they took them in as requested in their will), but due to his family circumstances, he ended up more of a surrogate parent than a brother. Kouta worships the ground Baku walks on and wants to be just like him, and Eri has Baku wrapped around her little finger. He always is the one who makes the family meals, does the shopping, takes care of spring cleaning, and even does Eri’s hair every morning, since his parents are often out of the house due to work (on trips and otherwise) and needed someone to watch the little ones. -He’d known Deku since he was a kid, but only through school; their mothers knew each other, but after they started school, their parents didn’t bring them over on playdates, especially after their relationship soured. Deku sucked at everything, and that was just sort of the way things were. Even if he kept trailing around behind him all through elementary school, they went to different middle schools so he thought he was finally free of the nerd. -Then, High School happened. They both were not only admitted into one of the top High Schools in the country, UA, but Baku did not get the top marks. Deku did. Not only that, but started school popular and getting all kinds of praise and adoration (which he had the nerve to be fucking shy about, the stupid fuck). Baku kind of liked the lack of attention, but he hated that fucking Deku won against him, and had the sway of the classroom just on the tip of his finger, even if he didn’t realize it. Oh, and Deku had to fucking realize it. He had to be looking down on him and pitying him all the goddamn time, why else would he give him those fucking looks every time Baku turned around?! God, he pissed him off. -Eijirou and Denki are his next door neighbors (Eijirou lives on one side, and Denki lives on the other), and alongside Mina, they’re pretty much his only friends, and had been since Junior High. Unfortunately for him, they went to one of the nearby public schools rather than UA, so they couldn’t exactly stick with him or share his pain. Eijirou especially has heard his angry rants about Deku, and tries to be the voice of reason. It goes about as well as one would think it does. -So, he might have...studied. A little. Okay, no, he studied a LOT. Baku became a man possessed, trying his best to knock Deku off his high horse (”Bro, aren’t you the one on the high horse here?!”). He studied harder, worked out harder, and overall kept pushing to beat fucking Deku (and his friend, stupid half-and-half, fuck him too). He does, in fact, get the top score on the midterm. But instead of being crushed or defeated or just...something, Deku smiles his dumb-ass smile and just says: “Wow, Kacchan, you really are amazing. I won’t lose next time!” -It attacked his brain, and stuck with him. He didn’t know what the hell to think about it. Deku’d fought to get to the top, so he clearly was trying to kick him down a peg, so why wasn’t he at least a little mad about it? And why did he have to look at him with those huge eyes, and why were his cheeks so pink? Well, he would get his answer. One morning, Deku left a note on Katsuki’s desk, and told him to meet him by the big tree after school. And, ready to give that asshole a piece of his mind (maybe he wanted to fight -- he didn’t want to soil his reputation, but the thought of giving Deku a good...well, deck, like when they were little and scuffled on the playground, was a nice one), he went to meet him. Turns out, uh, that’s not what happened.

“Look, Kacchan, I..I know we’re not on the best of terms. I know you probably don’t even like me--”

“Can we hurry this up? I’ve got--”

“Let me finish.”

“Tch.”

“I know you probably don’t like me, and you know what? I probably shouldn’t like you. You’ve been nothing but a jerk to not only me, but everyone else around you. But you always told me that I was useless, and maybe in this case, you’re right. I am useless. I don’t know how to like--Ugh, this isn’t coming out right.”

“...”

“Kacchan, no--Katsuki. I love you! I’ve always been in love with you, and I don’t think I’m ever going to stop being in love with you. I...just. I don’t know. I think I needed to get that off my chest, before it drove me crazy. A-anyway, I don’t expect anything, don’t worry. I’ll...I’ll just be going now. U-um. See you around.”

-Katsuki is too stunned to respond, and he can’t explain why his stupid fucking heart feels like it was just put in a goddamn blender. So stupid Deku is not leaving his head. And he starts to notice things. The smiles. The brushes of shoulders whenever he walks past him; they feel deliberate, staged. Like he would run into the room at just the right time just to get an excuse to touch him. Had he been acting like a lovesick dumbass this whole time instead of just...whatever he was trying to be? Was that why he praised him? Also, what was Deku doing, confessing to him like he was a fucking girl? What, did he think he was some sort of secret maiden who wanted to swoon at the sight of his nerdy ass? As if. (That said, Deku was starting to work out; but the dude still watched Tokusatsu shows and could even do the poses on command like a kid! He even had a Kamen Rider pin on the lapel of his uniform jacket -- how did he even dress himself in the morning without being embarrassed?) Fucking Deku with his fucking muscles and his weird looks and stupid confession and ugh why was this so fucking complicated? Fuck it. Deku was an idiot, always would be an idiot, and nothing he was going to do would change that! He was going to win, and Deku was clearly doing this so that he could find a chink in Katsuki’s armor--well joke’s on him. Motherfucker is completely covered in armor. He’s 100 percent armor and no squishy bits deep inside.

-He refused to tell his friends any of this, though Kirishima did get it out of him when Denki and Mina weren’t around. He really hoped this was going to be the last real conversation he ever had with Midoriya fucking Izuku.

-Of course it was never that simple. One night, after taking the kids home from kindergarten, he’d dressed down in his house clothes and his usual apron to get dinner started. He’d been expecting a package, so he didn’t even think twice about the doorbell ringing, or rushing to get it with the apron still on and All Might house slippers still clinging to his feet. Lo and behold, it’s not the mailman, but Deku, still in his school uniform, staring at Katsuki like he’d grown a second head.

“Take a picture, fucker. It’ll last longer.”

“Kacchan--is that an apron? And All Might sli--”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slam the door in your face, Deku.”

“I-I um. Have your uh. Notebook? You left it at school.”

“Okay, good, you gave me my fucking notebook, now go the fuck away--”

-Too bad Eri decided to peek out the door and see him. She was usually so shy, but she had no problems talking to Deku, of all people, and even tried to get him to eat with them. Thankfully, Deku caught the hint from Katsuki’s glare and hightailed it before he had to yell at him in front of a six-year-old.

-...That didn’t stop him from coming around a lot more often. One day, it was because he left his pencils on his desk. Another, it was because he was asked by a member of the cooking club to send him a message (like he couldn’t just text him). He ends up staying for dinner one day after Eri ends up letting him in while Baku was in the bathroom (he can’t even be mad; she was doing exactly what she was supposed to do if his friends came over -- except those two weren’t friends, but how was he supposed to explain that when he was one of the first people she was actually enthusiastic to see? She didn’t even greet Mina or Denki with that kind of enthusiasm!). This leads to more dinner dates, until Deku just ends up coming over for dinner every day, and it only pisses Baku off more and more that he’s getting comfortably familiar, even though all he ever does is (at least in his mind) condescend him.

-Eventually, at school, when they’re both there late due to required club activities, they have an argument. Deku runs away in rage, Baku chases him, they leap out the school window onto the track, and they have a small punch-up as they address their grievances -- well, specifically, Katsuki’s. He isn’t condescending to him, never was, and never wanted something so stupid as attention. He worked so hard so that Katsuki would acknowledge him, and he came over all the time so he could have an excuse to talk to him, and maybe, at least, be his friend. They end this encounter as friends -- as Baku’s only friend in UA.-Then over time, Baku realizes that he’s falling for this idiot nerd, but doesn’t know if he still feels the same way. After a series of ridiculous mishaps and attempts to TRY to confess, he is about to give up when he notices Deku’s hand dangling on the train, so he reaches for it. Quietly, Deku squeezes his hand, and the two ride together in silence, their fingers not untangling until they get to Baku’s front door.

UGH I’M SORRY THIS WAS LONG BUT IT WAS SO CUTE IN MY HEAD I HAD TO DO SOMETHING IDK IF I EVEN WANT TO DO ANYTHING WITH IT BUT I JUST HSDFLKHSD:FLKHS:DLKFJS:LDKFJSDF

#HELP ME I LOVE AU STUFF #Bakudeku #Katsudeku #Bakudeku is my kryptonite

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ladamedemartel · 6 years ago

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“I am Cronus’ eldest daughter, and am honourable not on this ground only, but also because I am your wife, and you are king of the gods.”

-The Illiad, Homer

Names

Hera

Queen of the Gods

Queen of Heaven

Goddess of Women, Childbirth, Family, and Marriage

Aurora de Martel (modern persona)

Family

Cronus (father) king of the titans

Rhea (mother) mother of the gods

Poseidon (brother/sister) god(dess) of the seas

Hades (brother) king of the underworld

Demeter (sister) goddess of the harvest

Hestia (sister) goddess of hearth and home

Zeus (brother and husband) king of the gods

Chiron (half brother) centaur

Angelos (daughter by Zeus) an underworld goddess

Ares (son by Zeus) god of war

Eileithyia (daughter by Zeus) goddess of child birth

Enyo (daughter by Zeus) a war goddess

Eris (daughter by Zeus) goddess of discord

Hebe (daughter by Zeus) goddess of youth

Hephaestus (son by Zeus) god of fire and the forge

Typhon (son by “virgin” birth) serpent monster

Modern Persona

At least when when Zeus had hung her from the sky in golden chains Hera hadd been able to tortment him with her wails. He had never known a moments peace until he freed her. This punishment was worse by far. She was cast down to the mortal world like everyone else. All when she could have helped him fo uncover the culprit of who thwarted him. He should have known that if anyone could find the culprit, it would be her; hadn’t she found each of the foolish whelps that he chased after? Well, see if she would help him now.

Hera may have been condemned to walk the earth, but she would ensure that she was worshipped. It started small. First, Hera created a blog called “Ambrosia” that was somewhere between an advice column and a wellness blog. She built that empire piece by piece until finally she was offered a show. Rather than the sort of lifestyle show that was expected of her, Hera opted to return to one of her other passions. Just because she no longer hunted Zeus’ lovers like a bloodhound didn’t mean that she was going to allow cheating to go unpunished. The show “To Catch a Cheat” was born out of Hera’s need to punish. Whether the men were surrogates for Zeus or surrogates for whoever had freed the Titans varied depending on her mood, but one thing was clear: she was starting to enjoy this.

Connections

Hera prefers to keep an eye on her children and pops in to visit each other them when she can. She tries to get them all to come home for Thanksgiving or other holiday’s when she can.

IDK what else hmu

#gv. gods and monsters without home #;;verse bio

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agent-7-at-your-service · 8 years ago

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Future Plot: Project Titanomachy - Chapter 13

(( Camille belongs to @inklingleesquidly

Celeste and Willow belong to @alpinesquid

Chaodis belongs to me

those not mentioned belong to @myzzy @agenttwo @twelvetailedkitsune @son-of-joy @a-demo-of-a-hero and others

Lyrics from “I won’t say I’m in Love” belong to Disney))

Camille opens the doors of the Parthenon, letting terrified people into the temple. Outside, wild horses with lower bodies of a fish were being cowed into the place, trampling towards the temple. Accompanying the herd was a 15-foot blind cyclops with something in his eye; a deformed minotaur with a gaping jaw and multiple horns was chasing Celeste and Willow, trying to destroy them with a war-hammer.

Camille checked to see if there were clouds over the Parthenon and then points her spear at the minotaur, sending a lightning bolt striking it's horm. The minotaur collapses and left stunned for a while.

Athens was in peril. Out there, the people were being attacked by who know's what.

"Celeste, what are you and Willow doing here?!" Camille approached the two inklings.

"We were going to warn you, but Manly Minotaur there attacked us and showed us his Cronenberg impression." Celeste was panting from running.

Willow was also panting but looked terrified like the people at the celebration.

"But why are you in Greece?" Camille asked.

"I was showing Willow around Hephaestus's Forge and Mount Olympus," Celeste answered.

"And I want to help." Willow showed a baton-sized bronze staff with a snake entwined to it. "I can't fight, but Hephaestus told me the god that wielded this was useful in battle." She was hesitant to try out her Olympian form.

"Come on, Willow," Celeste encouraged, "show them." She smiled.

Willow smiled back and twirled the staff, transforming into her her Olympian form. She now wore a heliotrope dress with a sleeve for the right arm only and a Periwinkle shawl for the left arm and waist. Her sandals are leather and colored in Tyrian Purple. Her nursing cap and necklace are silver with Amethyst, and her ribbon is literally two flowerheads of a thistle. Her blush was actually a pale pinkish tone of lavender.

And we had a new member in the Champions of Olympians to help save the city.

"What can you do, Willow?" Camille asked.

"I can heal any wound...and probably bring the dead back to life... that's pretty much it," Willow answered.

"Then you probably need some protection." Celeste was now in her Olympian form with walls of clay floating around her. She places a shoulder on her. "Camille, you just go and fight the cyclops and the minotaur there."

"What about the horses with fish-tails occupying the temple and scaring the people?" Camille was pointing to the temple.

"Just leave it to Chaodis." Celeste realizes that Chaodis isn't with Camille. "Wait, where is your date anyway?" She then got off-topic, smiling. "And how was it?"

"...Seriously?" Camille was not impressed.

A boulder is then thrown at the temple, making the entrance collapse and terrifying the fish-tailed horses some more. The horrid minotaur that Camille stunned gets back on his feet and picks up his war-hammer. He snorts and was ready to charge at the Olympians in front of him.

Celeste detects him and holds Willow's hand. "He's all yours, Camille!" She then takes Willow to help tend to the wounded.

Camille rolls her eyes and faces the minotaur.

"Alright, I'm far from home, I got a boyfriend now, this celebration honoring Athena is ruined, what else?" Camille tightens her grip on her spear.

The minotaur roars from his gaping jaw, and his arms started splitting, giving him two extra arms. He raises his war hammer up and slams it on the ground. Camille switches the blue shield, Aegis, with her Gorgon-faced round shield.

Camille began the fight with a thrust of her spear which she found can shoot ink like an octobrush. The stab was directly aimed at the chest, and when she pulled it back, the blood the leaks out was a dark purple substance while a hagfish come out.

"Okay, now that's just plain gross!" Camille steps back and then sent lightning down to strike the Minotaur's horns, making the stuns turn to electrocutions.

The Minotaur convulsed from the shock, open wounds appeared, spewing out more of the dark purple substance. It then collapses, leaving no pool of blood. Camille stepped closer and twirled her spear.

"Too quick and easy, what else do you guys got to throw at me!?" Camille was pumped up for more.

The Cyclops grabs her and gazes into her eyes; it appears it wasn't blind as a parasitic hagfish was carrying a new eye for him to use. He laughs.

"Athena leaves her city in the hand of you? A little girl?" The Cyclops laughs. "I will take this city, and my father, Poseidon, would be proud! No longer will I live in Crete a shepherd, and forever will I see again." He continues laughing throwing her off the Acropolis.

In the middle of the fall, something grabs Camille's hands and catches her. She looked below and she was floating over the city of Athens, at least she thinks she's floating; her arms were up and she was more of hanging than floating.

"What the...?" Camille looked up, seeing who it was.

Chaodis was holding Camille's hand while flying with black feathered wings of a crow. His hands were actually dark-violet and dragon-like, feeling cold to the touch. Her wore a black ashy tunic adorned in tarnished silver that made up his tiara, hair clip, earrings, and belt. His hair was formed into a ponytail that's over his left shoulder. His sandals were also tarnished silver with two gray feathers of a raven; the rivets were lead and the leather was from a black bull.

He still had the cock-eyed yellow eyes and the innocent smile.

"You should be careful, Princess," Chaodis cautioned with a flirt.

"Chaodis... you're a--" Camille asked.

"An Olympian like you? Yes." Chaodis carries her back to the Acropolis, landing on temple grounds.

"But how did you become one?" Camille stepped away from him, disturbed by the ominous appearance.

Chaodis smiled. He showed off a magic trick and showed a golden apple.

"A golden apple...." Camille stared at it with suspicion, remembering that Athena mentioned Eris using a similar apple.

"While you ran off to handle the situation, I found something shiny in the well we passed by." Chaodis breaks the golden apple into 16 slices and juggles them. "And now that it's in my possession, that make me a Champion of Eris, Goddess of Chaos, Discord, and Strife."

"We'll talk with Hephaestus about this later." Camille turns to face the Cyclops who is taking a pillar off. "We got eye to poke out." She then noticed the terrified fish-tailed horses still occupying the Parthenon. "You think you can get those horses--?"

"Hippocampus," Chaodis interrupted, "You can tell by the fish tails."

".....You think you can get these Hippocampus to calm down and join our side?" Camille continued.

"With pleasure." Chaodis puts together Eris's Golden Apple and it takes the shape of a carrot. "Just go ahead and fight Polyphemus."

"That's his name?" Camille asked with a raised eyebrow.

"What other Cyclop would live in Crete as a blind shepherd and be a son of Poseidon?" Chaodis soon walks away to lure the hippocampus out of the Parthenon to help make room for the people running about in terror.

Celeste and Willow were still going around, tending to the wounded and dying.

Polyphemus was going use the pillar he's carrying to destroy a part of the Parthenon. Camille throws her spear at his left arm, making him drop the pillar. Once she retrieved her spear with a movement of her hand, Polyphemus turns to face her.

"Throwing you off the Acropolis is no enough?" Polyphemus steps closer and gets on one knee. The hagfish from his eye socket was carrying his new eye. "And you are also a Champion of Zeus? Why serve a killer of heroes?"

"Who cares?! I'm here to fry you!" Camille shouted.

"With that tiny spear? Hah!" Polyphemus got his face closer to her. "All you can do is just squirt ink like a squid." He laughs again.

Camille puts her spear away and performs a capoeira move on Polyphemus's eye. She started from the ground with one hand for support, she then delivered a kick to the hagfish carrying his eye and it falls out of the socket. Polyphemus roared in pain and began to search of his eye.

Camille saw the eye roll off the Acropolis. Her owl wing sprouted from her back and she flies over Polyphemus to strike down and slam his head against the ground. When he tries to get up, Camille raises her spear up for lightning to strike it.

After that first strike, Polyphemus raise his hand up.

"W-wait..." Polyphemus begged.

And like Atlas, she began stabbing his head several times and bringing lightning down on Polyphemus's head. Afterward, the Cyclops is dead.

The lightning strike ended up killing another colossus, but it wasn't a titan. Somehow, I think these lightning powers from Zeus were the only thing along that can save everyone..... just saying.

Camille pulls her spear out of Polyphemus's head and noticed dark purple ink oozing out from the large corpse. She carried Athena' spear over her shoulder. Chaodis has managed to calm the hippocampus down and keep them in the gardens.

Celeste and Willow meet with Camille again with concerned looks on their faces. Willow was somewhat exhausted running around, saving lives, and getting people to safety. Celeste also looked exhausted, but also overwhelmed by the situation in the rest of Athens.

"Camille, everyone's safe," Celeste reports, "And it appears that the people that followed the cyclops weren't infected. They were just following him to this city."

"One of the soldiers in Athens said they're from Corinth," Willow added.

"Well, of course... The City the worships Poseidon," Chaodis responds. He was standing next to Camille, and he walks over to Celeste and Willow. "They must have followed Polyphemus, thinking he can lead them to take Athens in the name of Poseidon. He used to have his eyes on this city until Athena introduced olive trees to the city."

"Chaodis? You're an Olympian?" Celeste is surprised.

"Champion of Eris." Chaodis innocently replied.

Camille rolls her eyes and gets off Polyphemus's dead body. She twirls Athena's spear and changed back to her lovely green dress. The spear is shortened again to fit her white cobweb purse.

Celeste and Willow changed back to their normal forms, both of them were wearing their casual clothes.

Chaodis takes a bite of the golden apple and changes back to the clothes he's wearing for his date.

Willow and Celeste decided to stay in Athens to tend the wounded. They promised they would catch up with me and Chaodis. As for Chaodis and I, we went straight back to Mount Olympus after the date.

In Hephaestus's Forge, he was totally confused about how Chaodis got his hands on the gold apple.

Hephaestus's Forge, Mount Olympus, Greece 1:30 AM

"How can this be?" Hephaestus was pacing back and forth, molding a tempered hunk of steel with leather gloves. "Why would Eris's Apple be at the Parthenon?"

"I just found it down a well out of nowhere," Chaodis explained, he looked serious.

"It's trouble isn't it?" Camille asked, thinking about what Athena said in her dreams.

"It is..... He may be one of you children now, but keep a look out of what he'll do." Hephaestus yawns. "Whatever happened in Athens this night was nothing new. They and Corinth have been at conflict all the time, and it should die down later in the month."

"Well, I can keep an eye on Chaodis, and make sure he doesn't make some moves any the other Olympians -- especially me." Camille folds her arms.

"That's what she said," Chaodis teased.

This made some of the cyclopes in the forge chuckle, but it made Camille blush in embarrassment. She then grumbled and narrowed her eyes.

Maybe having my new boyfriend in the Olympians wasn't a good idea. But it's too late to tell him to stay out of this.

Chaodis offered to escort me back home, but I told him that I can escort myself home. Still, he insisted since he had a motorbike. When I got home, I apologized to my parents about coming home late. At least Chaodis was there, offering to take the blame.

Camille's Bedroom, Squidly Residence - Shee-Booyah - 2:00 PM

Camille was finally home, lying in bed and still in her dress. She doesn't even feel agitated or bothered that she isn't in her race suit or in her pajamas. She went on her first date and it might be the last time she'll do that.

Anteros can be heard whispering a song to her:

"You keep on denying Who you are and how you're feeling Baby, we're not buying Hon, we saw ya hit the ceiling Face it like a grown-up When ya gonna own up That ya got, got, got it bad."

Camille got up and saw the love god near her bed. She has had it with Eros's twin brother now, so she tried to ignore him, yet Anteros continued:

"Girl, don't be proud It's O.K. you're in love."

Finally, Camille gets up, gives Antero's a smirk. She quietly sang back:

"Oh, At least out loud--"

Camille makes Aegis appear in her hand and she knocks him out with one hit from her blue blunt shield. She puts away Aegis and lies back in bed with a smile.

Camille finished her singing: "-- won't say I'm in love."

And from now on, Anteros will think twice when pestering me about my love life.

#Future #Plot #Project Titanomachy

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