#filled with so many revelations questions sorrows and fears

[pastelpaperplanes]

I'm curious; why do Blitzwing and his parents look so,,,stricken? Horrified? To see each other exactly? LOVE the expressions tho

Anon is referring to this art post!

Their reunion is supposed to be both relieving and absolutely devastating. Their boy is alive after all these years through both the war and the Decepticon’s exile…Blitz is here and he is right in front of them, but this person is also a stranger to them.

They see that yes this IS their boy. And yes, Blitzwing is STILL Blitzwing, yet nearly not at all.

Wartime has not been kind of their son in the slightest, and to see how his continued survival through so many years of war has ravaged him, pulled him apart into pieces, cut away, and added so much to their boy to the extent that it takes so much more to recognize him as a triple changer—Papillon and Firstwatch are rightly horrified. Someone has hurt their baby.

Whats worse, Blitz readily assumes that he is someone they most likely no longer recognize, both in appearance and as their son. Those are his parents.

But do they know what stands before them? Would they even still see him as their son, and not just some “war-torn abomination “? Would they still love him? Could they even be capable of still loving him after what he was turned into?

But of course they recognize him, of course they love him and no force in the universe could change that. Those are his parents and he is their baby.

[marwritesgood]

Peach | S. Basett

Pairing: Simon x WOC!Reader

Timeframe: Season One AU

Summary: Y/n tries to ignore her aunt’s words, while Simon prays he is not yet out of time.

PART ONE  //  PART TWO

masterlist

A/N: This fic is just over 8K words

I cannot thank you enough for receiving this mini-series with so much love and support! I am so grateful that so many of you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed creating it.

I hope you like this ending <3

Philippa was still standing on the steps outside her home when Simon arrived. 

He raced through gates atop his horse but, when he quickly realised Y/n was nowhere in sight, he came to a halt. A worker appeared beside him as he came down from the saddle, guiding the horse away so that Simon could approach Lady Bennet.

“Lady Bennet-”

“I take it you hesitated to come here?” Philippa questioned bitterly. She had made it quite clear to the Duke that time was of the essence. Yet, he stood, dishevelled and panting because he was late, despite his delayed best efforts.

“Lady Bennet, please help me,” Simon exhaled, taking his hat off swiftly and holding it to his chest. Philippa had begun walking towards her home before she turned around again.

“Grant me one reason as to why I should help you, your grace,” she sneered. “Did you not possess every available opportunity to make amends with my niece ever since her arrival in London?”

“I did,” he cried, desperate to obtain Philippa’s assistance. “I had every opportunity but, like the fool I am, I took each one for granted. I have been far too preoccupied with affairs I do not care for; I have stupidly disregarded that which matters most to me; my relationship with Y/n.”

He grew quiet for a moment, during which the only sound heard in the cortile was that of Simon’s panting, a consequence of his frantic outburst. Philippa’s cold and glaring expression remained unfazed. She could not yet decide whether she trusted him. 

Simon waited until he caught his breath to speak again.

For any other person in the world, he would uphold his reputation of being reserved and brooding. However, Y/n was not any other person in the world to him. She meant a great deal to Simon, and he was willing to disregard his typical persona, stoicism and all if it meant fixing things between them. 

Even if it meant a vocal revelation of how he truly felt.

“I... I love her,” Simon admitted, the crinkle between his brows a confirmation of his sincerity. Philippa’s scowl faded. “I know I am undeserving of your ladyship’s help... just as I am unworthy your niece, but I can no longer deny the true nature of my feelings for her. Nor can I begin to describe the regret I have for not being here sooner so that I could confess this to her.”

As silence filled the courtyard once more, Simon glanced at the floor beneath him, overcome with regret and sorrow. Had he reached the Bennet home quicker, it would have been easy. 

“Well then... you ought to begin thinking,” Philippa stated flatly, inciting confusion upon Simon. She smirked, amused by Simon’s response. He always was slow to catch on. “Your grace, if I am going to help you reach my niece, the very least you can do is think of what you will say to her.”

A wide grin slowly made itself apparent on Simon’s face. Suddenly the sorrow he felt previously was beginning to be replaced with a newfound hope- one he would, this time, indulge in and act hastily upon. He was not going to allow himself to repeat his same mistakes.

“Alright now,” she smiled. “I presume you have a plan in mind?”

Simon thought for a moment. While he feared he would miss Y/n’s departure, Simon, unfortunately, did not consider what he would do. He began panicking, straining his train of thought as he sought for even a scrap of an idea. 

Then Simon remembered how he found himself in this position. He recounted all the times in his past, where he hesitated. Where became so enveloped in all the matters that burdened his mind, he lost sight of what mattered most to him. 

He refused to fall subject to that mentality again.

Therefore, for the first time in his life, Simon turned to his instincts. Not his desire for perfection. Not his pride or his arrogance or his vengeance. What mattered most at that moment was how he could best apologise to Y/n and prove that he loved her dearly.

“Do you know the man whose proposal she is to accept?”

Philippa nodded. She narrowed her eyes at Simon, curious as to what he intended to do. Lady Bennet knew she would inevitably agree, no matter how strange the plan turned out to be, but she was still greatly curious and the slightest bit concerned.

“Can you delay him?” Simon asked. “By the time Y/n’s carriage reaches her home, it will be dusk; thus, I presume she will plan to meet with her suitor in the morning. I need you to delay that from happening.”

“And what will you do?” Philippa questioned. “Would it not be wiser for us both to leave immediately?”

Simon shook his head. He thought of the right way to phrase his answer. If Simon revealed his plan to Lady Bennet, he knew she would support him wholeheartedly. However, he thought it best to keep the better part of it concealed. It would have more effect that way, he believed.

“There are a few places I must visit beforehand,” he explained.

“You are asking me to delay Mr Graham so that you can visit a few places?!”

“I am asking your Ladyship to have trust in me,” Simon pleaded. “Hurting your niece is my biggest regret. I intend to atone for my mistakes, not repeat them.”

Philippa stared intently at the Duke. It was a massive ask of her; to leave her family momentarily and interfere with Mr Graham’s pursuits. However, every instinct she possessed led her to believe that Simon was sincere. The confidence he held gave her hope that his plan would work. She sighed.

“Then you must leave immediately,” Philippa ordered him. “Visit the places that say you must visit and then race hastily to my sister’s home. I will do my best to delay Mr Graham until then.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Simon cheered before doing just as he was told.

He raced towards his horse and climbed atop the saddle. Philippa dashed inside to organise yet another carriage headed to her hometown. Both equally determined to keep their beloved Y/n from accepting Mr Graham’s proposal.

***

The Y/l/n household was, needless to say, very much hectic. Y/n had arrived home the night before, hoping she would, at the very least, be able to have some sleep before the next morning. That proved to be impossible.

The words of her Aunt Philippa haunted Y/n during her journey home. Then, just as she feared, it continued to do so as Y/n tossed and turned in her bed. Once she finally began to settle, her mother barged in with sever different dresses for her to try on. 

“Sit up straight, dear.”

Y/n flinched at the sudden sound of her mother’s orders. She reluctantly obeyed and straightened her back. When Mrs Y/l/n turned back around, Y/n sighed exasperatedly, slumping her shoulders ever so slightly. Her hands curled into tight fists as she tried to keep herself from dozing off yet again. 

“I do not understand,” Mrs Y/l/n agonised as she paced the sitting room. This was an all too familiar situation for Y/n. “Mr Graham is known for being punctual, yet he is running terribly late.”

Y/n could care less that Mr Graham was late. Not while she was living off of less than an hour of slumber. 

“You don’t suppose I could have a scone while we wait, mama,” Y/n mumbled. She was not particularly hungry so much as she was desperate for some energy.

“Do not be silly, Y/n. You mustn’t risk staining your dress,” Mrs Y/l/n replied. Eager to make sure everything went perfectly, she sat beside her daughter and asked the same question she had asked every hour previously. “Now, have you prepared what you will say?”

“Yes, mama, for the fifth time, yes,” Y/n droned. Her exhaustion only intensified her irritability which her mother seemingly lived to test continually. “I don’t understand your concern with how I respond. It matters not how I respond but that I simply remember to say ‘yes’?”

On any other given day, Mrs Y/l/n would have scolded her daughter. However, for reasons unknown to Y/n, she simply sighed and took hold of her hand. 

“Words hold great power, dear,” Y/n’s mother explained simply. She glanced down at her daughter’s hand momentarily before meeting her gaze once more. “They are a valuable indicator of one’s character. How Mr Graham proposes to you will tell you of his attitude towards you and your future marriage. How you respond will do the same to him.”

Y/n nodded, knowing first-hand the amount of truth in her mother’s statement. 

She did not care for her response to him as she did not care for him or their future marriage. Y/n simply wished to move past what had happened with her and Simon. This was beginning to become clear to her.

“I will respond to him properly, mama,” Y/n assured.

Mrs Y/l/n smiled, lifting her hand to cup the side of her daughter’s face. It was slowly dawning on her that in only a matter of time, Y/n would be married. When Mrs Y/l/n sent Y/n her letter, she knew the issue of her daughter being unwed would resolve itself in one way or another. However, Mrs Y/l/n was taken by complete surprise when Y/n came home on her own accord. 

It was far too out of character for her.

She tried her best to look past it. Mrs Y/l/n rushed to get everything in order for Mr Graham’s arrival. However, it was becoming clear to her that she had been too preoccupied with doing so.

As Mrs Y/l/n struggled to find a way to question Y/n about her behaviour, Mr Graham’s carriage arrived outside her home. Y/n looked out her window and jumped to her feet. Before she could race to the door, her mother held her back.

“Before he comes in, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n began. “Are you... Are you sure you are ready for this? Is this truly what you want?”

Y/n scoffed. Her previous concerns about accepting Mr Graham’s proposal suddenly became easy to look past. Y/n’s resentment for her mother began to surface, adding much to her motivations to go through with marrying.

“Mama, please do not pretend to care about what it is I want.” 

Mrs Y/l/n had not expected her to react in such a manner. She was not prepared to have her mothering methods confronted. Y/n’s mother’s primary concern had always been ensuring her daughter marries. It gave Mrs Y/l/n significant discomfort to realise how this resulted in her overlooking what should have mattered more. 

Not to mention how she only came to realise this just as her daughter was about to agree to marry a man she expressed great disinterest in just weeks before.

Y/n rushed out of the room before her mother could say anything further. As she reached the hallway, Y/n watched the doors burst open. Much to her surprise, it was not Mr Graham alone who walked through. Instead, Mr Graham was with her Aunt Philippa, who relentlessly attempted to guide him in the opposite direction.

“Mr Graham, please, I must show you-”

“Lady Bennet, you have shown me enough gardens,” Mr Graham insisted, trying his best to contain his annoyance. “In fact, I am quite certain you have shown me almost every garden in town.”

“All except the best one, sir, which is located just outside the-”

“- Aunt Philippa, enough!” Y/n shouted. 

Mrs Y/l/n reached the hallway just as Y/n called her sister’s name. Mr Graham exhaled tiredly before holding his hands behind his back and regaining his composure. 

Philippa sighed. Her attempts at delaying Mr Graham by badgering him to stop at all 9 gardens on their way to her sister’s home all appeared to be in vain. Simon had yet to arrive, and it was clear they were out of time.

“Philippa?” Mrs Y/l/n said in shock. Her sister had always made an effort to give notice before visiting.

“Hello, sister,” Lady Bennet replied awkwardly, trying her best to force a smile. 

Y/n had been glaring at her aunt. 

She was furious that after she made clear her intention countless times to Philippa, her aunt still chose to meddle. Y/n felt more adamant than ever to go through, even if to simply spite her aunt. It was due time that they learned to refrain from making her decisions for her.

Even if it meant marrying a man she did not particularly care for.

She forced herself to appear alright, mainly in the hopes that it would influence her feelings. That it would obliviate her concerns. It was her last resort at being ok with what she was about to do. 

“Mr Graham,” Y/n called out. The man stood tall, prompting Philippa to grimace. “You may join me in the sitting room.”

She walked ahead of him, guiding Mr Graham to the room. Once he walked in, Y/n turned around and closed the door before returning her attention to him. She fiddled with her hands while he cleared his throat. 

Y/n was fixated by the words of both her mother and her aunt. She kept asking herself the same question Philippa had. Could she be happy? Could she possibly find any enjoyment in marrying a man like Mr Graham? In living an inevitable future with him?

Mr Graham was exhausted from the long journey he was forced to take with Lady Bennet. For the most part, his mind was blank, aside from his impending desire to return home.

“Is there anything you wish to say, Mr Graham?” Y/n asked. Mr Graham was taken aback. “Before I give you my response, that is.”

Y/n was resorting to humouring her mother’s advice. She wanted to see how Mr Graham was going to ask for her hand so that, this time, she could identify his intentions. Y/n wished to put aside the conclusions she reached about Mr Graham; he was arrogant and ignorant. 

She hoped he could prove that he had one if any, good qualities aside from possessing wealth. 

“Uhm-” Mr Graham coughed. “You will remember my father is the primary supplier of livestock commodities in our town.”

“Yes, I do remember-”

“By livestock, I am of course referring to domesticated animals raised in agricultural settings,” he continued, despite Y/n’s best efforts to get a word in. It seemed Mr Graham believed he had reason to take her for someone simple-minded; reasons Y/n did not care for but absolutely resented. “And by commodities, I mean the products-”

“-Yes, I am aware of what words mean, Mr Graham,” Y/n retorted.

“That you are,” he smiled, patronising her even more.

Outside the sitting room, Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n stood with their ears pressed against the door in the corridor. The more they heard Mr Graham speak, the more concerned they became for Y/n. Philippa’s stomach churned as she thought of her poor niece being wed to such a man. She could hardly believe she managed to last the journey there with him and not be at her wit’s end.

“I was recently made aware of the amount your father is offering for your hand,” Mr Graham stated, wincing as he did so. Y/n knew how small her dowry was, and she was annoyed that Mr Graham unnecessarily reminding her. “And you will be pleased to know that I am willing to look past it.”

“How charitable of you, sir,” Y/n muttered. Mr Graham did not catch on to her sarcasm. He was an easily distracted man, Y/n concluded. One need only groom his ego, even sarcastically, for him to be oblivious.

Y/n was reminded again of what her Aunt

“Yes, it is quite charitable of me,” Mr Graham remarked, smiling as he felt pleased with himself. “In fact, that is the very reason I first asked for your hand. Father believed it a grand idea that I marry a woman of your kind. Should attract a different demographic to choosing Graham as their supplier.”

“A woman... of my kind?” 

The Grahams were the primary supplier of livestock. However, the few other families in Y/n town, who were not white, found livestock commodities elsewhere. It was clear Y/n that they viewed her as a pawn in their pursuit of broadening their clientele.

Y/n could already foresee where the conversation was headed, and suddenly her aunt’s questions held all the more weight.

‘Do you truly believe you will be happy?’

It took her only a moment to think it over. There was no denying that Mr Graham possessed all the ignorance and arrogance Y/n suspected he did, so she considered if it was worth bearing. Would a mediocre future with him be worth having to endure his jabs at her identity, her class and her family?

Mr Graham and his father dealt with domesticated animals for a living. It was clear that they viewed Y/n just the same.

Thus, her mind was decided.

“I expected you to be grateful,” Mr Graham commented, confused as to why Y/n was not flattered that of all the two women who made eye contact with him at the town ball. It was she who received a proposal from him. “You do not exactly have an abundance of suitors lined up at your door. Not to mention, I was generous enough not to withdraw my proposal after you asked for... time to consider your answer.”

Out in the corridor, the two sisters exchanged glances. Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n both argued quietly over who was to barge in and reprimand Mr Graham.

“That is quite enough, Mr Graham,” Y/n hissed, beating both her mother and her aunt to it. Her mind was, after all, decided. 

Y/n had struggled for most of her life with control in that she had little of it. If it was not society dictating how she was to live and breathe, it was her mother. This time would be different, Y/n decided. 

This time, she would be taking control and making decisions based solely on her own input.

“Thank you for expressing your feelings, your family history and your intentions with such candour,” Y/n began sweetly. Just as she expected, Mr Graham took nothing but pride in what he believed was sincere gratitude. “And thank you for being so charitable as to offer a lowly woman such as myself a proposal of marriage.”

Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n listened in with concern. They both knew Y/n too well to believe that she send Mr Graham off with civility and decorum. Y/n was the least bit concerned for either.

“You have been so generous with your time,” Y/n continued. “Therefore, I will not keep you waiting any longer... Mr Graham, I will not be accepting your proposal.”

Y/n took great pleasure in rejecting his proposal. Mr Graham grew pale as he quickly realised what her answer was. He stood on the opposite side of the sitting room, yet Y/n was desperate to further away.

“You... You mustn’t be serious,” he exhaled dumbfounded. The man possessed a great ego when he first enters Y/n’s home. Thus she was determined to shrink, if not demolish it. 

“On the contrary, sir,” Y/n smiled, this time genuinely. “I am perfectly serious.”

“S-surely you have not considered the ramifications of denying my proposal,” Mr Graham reasoned. 

Y/n was far too accustomed to being lectured by white men on not considering her actions’ consequences. They, of all people, she believed, were the least bit qualified to talk another on such matters. Not when they are granted every luxury and advantage at birth.

“Miss Y/l/n, you must know, after two seasons of rejected proposals, it is doubtful you will receive another after me,” Mr Graham explained. He was merely adding insult to injury. “And with a dowry as small as yours, I predict your future will be bleak.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Y/n replied, her head held high as she knew Mr Graham was expecting her to be grovelling. “Perhaps I will not receive another proposal after you. Perhaps I will be doomed to live a life of struggle and severe austerity, but make no mistake Mr Graham. I would sooner commit to the life of an impoverished spinster than I would, ever again, entertain the prospect of being your wife.”

Y/n marched towards the door and swung it open, revealing Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n eavesdropping on their conversation. Y/n hoped that would be the case, as an audience’s presence prompted Mr Graham’s mortification to increase tenfold. 

“I must ask you to leave immediately.”

Mr Graham did not wait another moment. He just about sprinted out the door, determined to never step foot in the Y/l/n home again. Y/n stood in the hallway with a smirk and a proud glimmer in her eye. If she felt as a result of taking control, her only regret was not doing so sooner.

Perhaps Y/n would regret her decision later in her life. Maybe she only created more issues for herself than anything else. However, all that would be affairs she would attend to last, in the far off future. For now, she was happy. 

Y/n headed towards her bedroom without saying a word to her mother nor her aunt. She had not done so on purpose. She was simply desperate to change out of her corset and resume resting her fatigued body. Once Y/n was altered, she sat on the edge of her bed. As she let out an audible sigh, Y/n slumped her shoulders and fell back. 

She had never been so grateful for her mattress.

Y/n closed her eyes momentarily. She was very sleep-deprived, yet she was on an incredible high from the adrenaline of rejecting Mr Graham so explicitly. Before she opened her eyes, Y/n felt the mattress sink at her sides. As she opened her eyes, she realised both her mother and aunt were lying beside her.

“I must apologise to you both,” Y/n explained, reach her arms out to hold each of their hands. “I have caused you both a great deal of grief. And it all appears to be in vain now that I have rejected Mr Graham.”

Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n turned to face Y/n, both with the same expression. 

“You may be sorry for many things in life, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n began. “But you mustn’t dare apologise for denying Mr Graham’s hand... you mustn’t ever.”

Y/n smiled. She was unsure what motivated her motivated to have such a change in character. However, she was far too pleased with it to question it. 

“Any thought as to what you will do now, dearest?” Philippa asked. She looked over to her niece with her brows raised, and her sister followed suit. 

It was clear that neither of them could keep Y/n from doing what she wanted. Therefore, it was decided that both Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n would simply stand aside and hold her hand throughout it all. Y/n thought for a moment.

“Perhaps another season?” Y/n answered.

In an ideal world, Y/n would have opted for something different. Perhaps she would have embraced the idea of being a spinster. In perfect world, such a fate would not be so grim. However, that was not the world Y/n lived in.

And so she opted to embrace the best and only option she had.

“Truly, dear?” Mrs Y/l/n exclaimed. While she was overcome with excitement, she wanted to ensure it was her daughter’s genuine desire. 

“Yes, mama,” Y/n insisted, smiling weakly. She hoped in time the prospect would become more appealing to her. “-and it will be much different this time, hopefully for the better, as I am now willing to comply with you and your rules and your overprotective nature. I want it all.”

Mrs Y/l/n did not take offence. Instead, she simply laughed and leaned her head in to kiss Y/n’s temple. She had raised a mighty blunt and greatly opinionated daughter. 

Mrs Y/l/n was most proud of it.

“I must excuse myself,” Y/n’s mother said. She placed her arms behind her and lifted herself off Y/n’s mattress. “Your father will be delighted to hear the news, I am quite sure.”

Y/n laughed at her mother’s excitement. Once Mrs Y/l/n left to recount the morning to her husband, it was just Y/n and her aunt. 

“I hope you won’t mind me asking, dear,” Philippa whispered, inching closer to her niece. She feared the next subject of conversation would strike a chord with Y/n. “Has any of this changed your feelings... towards Simon?”

“No,” Y/n answered shortly, her voice neither louder nor quieter than previously. “He will soon be a married man, so it is most appropriate I refrain from paying him any mind so as to not remind myself of my feelings for him.”

Philippa huffed, torn as to whether or not she should tell her niece. Would doing so disrupt the duke’s plans? Would it not be better for Y/n to hear the truth from Simon himself when he eventually came? Would he ever arrive?

“I, however, must admit- whatever rage and anger I once held against him has since passed,” Y/n sighed. “You were right in what you said before... Although it will not be me who marries Simon, I do hope to marry someone like him.”

Someone like who he was before he became Duke Hastings, Y/n thought.

“You do?” Philippa smiled. She decided not to reveal anything to her niece quite yet. Lady Bennet was confident such a task should be carried out by Simon and him only.

“Hmm,” Y/n nodded. “Someone of good character and of a kind heart. A man who does not resent me when I raise arguments but rather engages in them.”

“It is the least of what you deserve in a husband, my dear,” Philippa replied.

The two of them shuffled to the top of Y/n’s bed, where her pillows laid. Both were exhausted from travelling in from London and enduring what had been a most eventful morning.

They both remained silent to get some sleep in before Mrs Y/l/n would eventually call them down for breakfast. However, just as Philippa began to drift off, his niece disrupted the quiet.

“Aunt Philippa,” she murmured. “I never did ask you what exactly compelled you to come... let alone badger Mr Graham as a means of delaying his arrival.”

Y/n was unsure what she was expected her aunt to reply. Philippa grew nervous as she tried to respond in a manner that would not reveal the real reason she came to her sister’s home.

“I-I,” Philippa stammered quietly. “-I simply could not sit idle... and let you accept Mr Graham’s proposal.”

Y/n hummed before turning to her side. It was a predictable answer, yet it left her with a bitter feeling of disappointment. She slept without  

Philippa sighed in relief before hoping that wherever Simon was, whatever it was he was doing that moment, that it would not hinder him any longer from finally reaching the Y/l/n home.

***

Y/n awoke from her nap to an empty bed and an open room. She was curious about where her aunt had gone, not to mention why her mother did not wake her for breakfast. The sky had darkened significantly since she first fell asleep, though Y/n was sure it was not yet evening.

She climbed out of bed and donned a simple dress. Y/n could hear the faint sound of her parents talking, so she suspected they were with Philippa. Afterwards, Y/n wandered down the steps of her home and headed to the dining room. The conversation grew quiet, prompting her to call out.

“Have you truly begun eating without me?” Y/n laughed as she pushed the doors open. 

As she stepped inside, a man stood from his seat- across the table from Philippa and Mr and Mrs Y/l/n. He turned to face Y/n with his hands held behind his back.

“Simon.”

Y/n was awestruck. All she could say was his name, and after muttering it quietly when he stood, she found herself left speechless. What could motivation could he possibly have to travel there from London. 

“His grace will be joining us for dinner,” Mrs Y/l/n explained, refuting Y/n’s last hopes that it was not yet evening. “It will not be ready for a small while, so perhaps you could walk him to the garden in the meantime.”

“‘Tis the best one in town,” Philippa commented, a reference to the wild goose chase she led Mr Graham on just earlier that day.

Y/n remained quiet, unsure as to what was happening. She expected her mother to be repulsed by the sight of Simon. Y/n had, after all, rejected countless marriage proposals for reasons involving him. However, she was not repulsed. 

She was smiling. Glowing, rather. Even Philippa and Y/n’s father seemed to be beaming despite sitting in silence. Y/n could not decide whether that should comfort her or worry her.

“He requests a private audience with you before dinner is served,” Mrs Y/l/n continued.

“H-He... does?” Y/n stuttered, looking at Simon in confusion. He appeared to be avoiding her gaze, which further provoked her curiosity.

“I do,” Simon replied shortly.

Y/n turned to her mother in confusion. Indeed, she would not send her unmarried daughter off, with an available man, on an unchaperoned walk without explanation nor context.

“I cannot possibly leave you to make dinner alone, mama,” Y/n stated. The thought of walking with Simon, especially after the nature of their last conversation, left her much unsettled.

“Nonsense, I will offer my assistance,” Philippa responded. Y/n narrowed her eyes at her aunt. She had always avoided being in the kitchen with her sister by all means necessary.

“It is decided then,” Mrs Y/l/n cheered, guiding Simon and Y/n towards the door that led to their garden.

“Mama, it looks as though it will begin to rain,” Y/n whispered, hoping to stop her mother but to no avail.

“You will not be far from the house, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n replied, opening the back door and guiding the two outside. “Should that be the case, you need only take a short walk back.”

Before Y/n could think of another way to avoid the walk, her mother rushed inside, slamming the door close behind her. There was no more avoiding, it seemed. Y/n sighed before reluctantly walking towards her mother’s botanical garden. 

He was initially quiet. Simon had rehearsed what he was to say several times before he arrived. However, it was not until he saw Y/n again that all his prepared words vanished from his memory.

Y/n was conflicted. She was overcome with a myriad of emotions, which always seemed to be the case for Simon. While she was still very hurt by his actions and was determined to voice her feelings, Y/n felt it necessary to first break the ice with civility.

“How long will you remain in town?” Y/n asked.

“I have not yet decided,” Simon answered, after a moment of deliberation. He believed it wise to tread lightly in their conversation, though he too was determined to let his feeling become known.

His answer left Y/n’s curiosity to grow. 

“Why not?” She queried. “I suspect Miss Bridgerton will be eagerly awaiting your return to London.”

Simon smirked. He missed her witty remarks terribly, just as he missed her company. Y/n had not intended for her response to land with such snideness. However, it was clear to her that Simon did not resent it.

“You suspect wrong,” he answered gleefully, catching Y/n off guard. Simon took amusement in her confusion but did not hesitate to clarify the situation. “She has already promised her hand to another... His royal highness Prince Friedrich. I was informed of the news this morning.”

“You do not seem upset,” Y/n commented as she studied Simon carefully. 

“That is precisely why I wished to speak with you,” he explained. 

Simon stopped walking, prompting Y/n to do the same. They stood by her mother’s hyacinths, specifically the purple ones. Simon took inhaled deeply as he prepared to explain himself and as he hoped, with all his might, that she might forgive him.

“I lied to you,” he began.

“Yes,” Y/n muttered quickly before Simon could continue. Had he genuinely come all this way just to recount their argument, she wondered. “I remember our conversation vividly.”

“No,” Simon cried. “What I meant to say was that I lied to you... when I told you that I was courting Miss Bridgerton and that I intended to marry her.”

Y/n remained silent, allowing Simon to continue.

“She approached me earlier this season,” he explained. “- with a proposition that I pretend to court her. She needed more suitors, and I sought to improve my public image.”

Y/n recalled the countless articles written about Simon, painting him as a stoic and brooding snob. It made sense that he wanted to change this portrayal, Y/n, though.

“I tried my best to put an end to our pretence earlier... on the day you approached me at Hyde Park, in fact,” Simon said. “However, Miss Bridgerton was adamant that it continues until she could attract the attention of Prince Friedrich. And I had already given her my word not to reveal our ruse to another soul.”

Y/n remained quiet as she took in his revelation. The more Simon spoke, the more Y/n understood why he acted so cold to her. He was always most irritable when he was hiding something.

“Peach,” Simon sighed. He reached out for Y/n’s hand, and, to his surprise, she did not pull away. “For all the pain and sorrow I caused you that night at the gala, I am so sorry.”

She squeezed his hand tightly as a way of comforting him. Y/n knew the way Simon could be so cruel to himself. Considering the impossible position he was placed in, she could only imagine the extent to which this had been burdening him. 

“While I wish I had been spared from getting hurt,” Y/n began. Simon winced but nodded. He, too, wished she had not been caught in the middle. “I do understand why you had to lie to me... and I think it unfitting if I were to continue to hold that against you.”

Simon exhaled in relief.

Y/n smiled, comforted by his reaction. She, too, was relieved. After the gala at the Danbury estate, Y/n deemed Simon a stranger, someone she could no longer recognise. Yet, as they stood opposite each other in her mother’s garden, Y/n felt she knew exactly who the man that stood before her was.

The two continued walking across her mother’s garden. After Simon thanked Y/n several times for being so understanding, she recounted her morning to him. Simon struggled to contain his laughter when Y/n explained the 9 gardens Philippa forced Mr Graham to stop.

“So what will you do now?” Simon asked curiously. 

“I will have to endure another season,” Y/n replied. “I have already promised mama I would comply with her this time around. Hopefully, my luck has not yet run out."

Simon nodded, though he resisted the urge to frown. She appeared to be excited. Hopeful, even. He worried this indicated a change in her affections for him. Nonetheless, he cast his worries aside for a moment. Y/n’s happiness was his primary concern.

Simon thought back to the story Y/n told of her rejecting Mr Graham’s proposal. In particular, he remembered the comment Y/n said he made regarding how dowry.

“If that is the case,” he began. “Then I insist on making a donation... to contribute to your dowry.”

Y/n’s feet came to a halt as she furrowed her brows in both shock and confusion. Instinctively, she began devising a way to reject his offer without offending him. Y/n was never oblivious to the significant difference in her financial standing to Simon’s, but she certainly never wanted to take advantage of it.

“It can remain anonymous,” Simon insisted. He knew his offer was far from appropriate as a woman’s dowry was her family’s responsibility. However, that was precisely what Y/n was to him: family. “If you are concerned about what others might say, I assure you I will personally see to it that the donation remains private.”

“Simon, no-”

“- Please, I insist,” he held firmly. Y/n continued to shake her head profusely, but Simon refused to give in. “It is the least I can do after playing such a significant role in hindering you from marrying these past two seasons.”

Y/n paused, taken aback by the fact he knew that. 

“Simon,” she began. Her tone was neither shocked nor angry. “You mustn’t hold yourself accountable for a decision I made. Yes, you may have been the reason for it, but it was I who ultimately made a choice... And I take full responsibility for the position I am now in as a result.”

Simon nodded sheepishly. 

“Regardless,” he said softly. “I still insist... You mean a great deal to me, Peach. Ensuring you have a befitting dowry is the least of what I owe to you, particularly after all our years of friendship.”

The grey clouds grew darker as the weather turned sour, and the day slowly came to an end. However, that quickly became the least of Y/n concerns. Her lips parted briefly, but she struggled to say anything. 

Simon let out a heavy exhale before reaching his hand into the pocket of his coat. He looked at Y/n and smiled. She still appeared adamant to deny his offer of making a donation to her father.

“Do you remember the story,” he began, “- of the first time we played in the maze at Lady Danbury’s home?”

Y/n chuckled, unsure whether he was serious or if the question were rhetorical. 

“Of course you do,” Simon continued, laughing all the while. “You recount it at every available opportunity.”

His laughter was disrupted by Y/n’s fist, gently colliding with his shoulder. 

“Please allow me to finish, Peach,” he cried as he rubbed his shoulder. Y/n rolled her eyes playfully but allowed him to continue nonetheless. “You recount it at every available opportunity, but you always failed to include the part of the story I favoured most.”

Y/n raised her eyebrows in surprise. 

“After I found you in the maze- crying hysterically, I must add,” Simon quipped. As Y/n raised her hand to repeat her previous action, Simon caught her fist in his hand. Their eyes locked as he did so, and the tension between them grew this. Y/n lowered her hand coughed awkwardly, prompting Simon to continue. “I took you to see Lady Danbury’s fruit orchids.”

Simon’s smile grew remarkably wide. He had purposely refrained from retelling his favourite part of the maze story to Y/n. He was most excited to finally do so.

“You ran straight for one tree in particular,” Simon said. Y/n’s brows snapped together as she tried to remember. “I picked some fruit, and we ate it beneath that tree. However, you were still quite upset, and that was when I assured you I never would have left you behind... Do you remember which tree we sat beneath?”

After giving it a moment of thought, Y/n gasped quietly when she finally remembered. She looked back to Simon and smiled. In a quiet whisper, she answered his question.

“Peach.”

Simon nodded. It was after that day that he refrained from calling Y/n by her name. After they left Danbury’s orchids when he chose to instead call her ‘Peach’ to remind himself of that day on of his promise not to leave her behind. Despite falling short on that promise, Simon was determined to fulfil it.

He took a step towards Y/n and slowly replaced his grin to express both sincerity and fear. Y/n studied him in anticipation of what he was to say next. Simon seemed greatly troubled by something, she thought.

“If you wish to find another suitor next season,” Simon started, unable to hide the sorrow he felt at imagining it. He inhaled sharply and, in doing so, forced himself to remain composed. “I will do everything in my power to help you in your pursuits. Whether that be in the form of financial support or advice. Whatever it is you may need from me, Peach... my answer will always be yes.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, and her mouth curled into a frown. She could see right through Simon’s attempts to his sadness. 

“But if there is any chance,” he question, his tone frantic and desperate. He inched forward slightly and deepened his gaze at Y/n before he continued. “If there is even a fleeting chance that your feelings towards me are... are as they were before, then please tell me now.”

Just as he finished speaking, droplets of rain began to fall. They grew bigger and more rapid as time went on, but neither Simon nor Y/n noticed. Both were far too concerned with the affairs of their affections for one another. 

Y/n held her breath as she looked at Simon. Earlier that day, she decided to enter her third season. She had finally come to terms with knowing that casting aside her feeling for Simon would be her best method of moving forward. Yet as they stood in her mother’s garden, she found herself with no choice but to confront them.

“They are,” she confessed, her voice almost overpowered by the sound of the rainfall, though just loud enough for Simon to hear. “My feelings for you, they... they have not changed.

Her words were music to his ears. Simon reached his arm out and took hold of her hand. He felt his heartbeat rapidly against his chest. Despite the cold and wet weather, Simon felt a warm sensation in his chest.

“I must assure you,” he spoke, glancing down at the sight of her hand in his. “This is not a result of impulse or of the heat of the moment. Rather, this is something I have anticipated doing, I... I have desperately hoped to be able to do for quite some time.”

“Simon,” Y/n quavered. “W-What are you referring to?”

Simon looked up at the sky. He laughed as the heavy rain showered over his face, and then he turned back to Y/n. She did not move from where she stood but, instead, studied Simon closely. Her mouth fell agape when, without a moment’s notice, Simon knelt down.

Y/n gasped. There was a loud slushing sound made as Simon’s knee sunk into the mud. He was unfazed by it, which made Y/n shock only grow. He couldn’t be, she thought. It was not possible. And indeed, if he intended to do as she suspected, he would live to regret it. 

In a swift motion, she too fell her knee. Standing up while Simon knelt before she felt all too overwhelming. Y/n was confident he was not serious, despite him expressing profusely that he was. Simon’s eyes grew wide as he looked down and noticed the mud-splattered across the hem of Y/n’s gown.

“Peach, your dress-”

“Never mind my dress,” Y/n croaked. “Simon, what are you doing?”

“What I should have done two years ago,” he replied instantly. 

Y/n clasped her hand over her mouth. Her hair and her clothes were drenched from the rainfall, as was Simon’s, yet neither seemed to notice. He reached out and took hold of her free hand.

“I know I am the least bit deserving of your hand, as well as of course your forgiveness and your friendship,” Simon began. “However, these past years away from you, and these past two days in particular... They have been pure torment. And I have since realised that I would be a fool not to make an offer of marriage to you and hope that you would be so kind as to accept it, because... Well, because I love you, Peach. Fervently so.”

“What... What about your vow to never marry?” Y/n asked.

Indeed he had not thought this entirely through, she wondered. This was the moment, she believed. The moment he would take back his proposal.

“You said before that I have the luxury to choose while you do not,” Simon answered. Slowly, he let go of Y/n hand and lifted it to her face, holding the side of her cheek tenderly. “Well... I believe it’s due time that my choices begin constituting to my happiness... and that of the only woman I love.” 

Tears welled up in Y/n’s eyes and began to trickle down her face as she wept. She felt it surreal, the fact that Simon was offering his hand to her. And as it appeared, she had run out of reasons to argue against it.

“I know I have caused you much suffering,” Simon sighed, rubbing his thumb gently across Y/n’s cheek, wiping her tears away while doing so. “But I am determined to spend the rest of my life atoning for it by doing everything in my power to ensure your happiness... That is if you will have me?”

Y/n thought of her mother’s advice earlier regarding how one’s words indicate one character and their intentions. She thought of how all her past suitors made proposals from a place of arrogance, how they all made the argument that their financial standing was reason enough for her accept.

That was not what mattered most to Y/n.

Love and happiness; that was what she sought most from marriage. After years of being told that to do so was naïve and pointless, Simon was offering precisely that. 

“Yes,” Y/n answered, laughing beneath her breath as she exhaled. She stood up and planted her feet firmly in the mud before reaching her hand down to help Simon do the same.

“Yes?” Simon repeated in disbelief. 

Y/n chuckled and helped him to stand, after which she reached her hands out and placed them on the sides of his face. Even in the pouring raid and even covered in mud from the waist down, he was still so beautiful, she thought. Simon precisely the same of her

“Yes! I... I will marry you,” Y/n declared, her smile growing wider as she spoke. She could not make that statement repeatedly when she would eventually share the news.

Simon wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He leaned closer to her slowly and kissed her sweetly. Y/n held the sides of his face firmly, pulling him even closer to her, causing him to smile against her lips. Shortly after, Simon slowly pulled away, leaving Y/n gasping for air.

“I am sorry it took me so long to do this, Peach,” he said softly, gazing apologetically at the woman he could finally address as his fiancee.

“It does not matter anymore, Simon,” Y/n replied, pressing her temple against his. 

He grinned before leaning in to kiss her once more. Y/n lowered her hands and left them placed against his coat’s lapels. She wished for the moment to last a lifetime. However, as the rain grew heavier and the sky grew darker, Simon pulled away again.

“Perhaps we should return,” Simon suggested, despite much enjoying being alone with Y/n. She immediately groaned at the thought of going back. “I imagine your mother will be quite cross if we miss dinner.”

“Simon... I have waited a very long time for this moment,” Y/n began. “I will not be rushed by you or my mama.”

Simon laughed before kissing her once again. 

When they finally walked back to the house, Simon continued to glance over at Y/n and at the sight of their hands intertwined. He thought of all the different ways things could have ended between them. 

What would have happened if she had accepted Mr Graham’s proposal or even that of her previous suitors? What would have happened if he did, in fact, marry Miss Bridgerton? What would have happened if he had just proposed to her when she first confessed her feelings to him? 

Simon wondered how many times things could have drastically been made different between them. He thought of how many choices, events and actions dictated whether they would ever be engaged.

And all he could do was smile at his beautiful fiancee and be completely and utterly grateful that this was how their story concluded.

@fuckoffthanos @awesomebooklover17 @shadowfoxey @eternallyvenus​ @smol-grandpa​ @deakesthegreatest 

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Oh! I know, I know! Another question!

Think of your favorite character, or the one you're particularly proud of in the AU....

Has there ever been a moment where a deity felt hopeless? like no matter what they did, their help would serve for naught?

How did they react to this situation? Have they overcome it or do they keep carrying the guilt even after all this time?

Character of your choosing, and write as much as you want~

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Before you get further into the post, I wanted to note that this can be interpreted as either a platonic or romantic reader fic, and I did my absolute best to keep it as gender and ethnicity neutral as possible, but if I missed something that takes away from the experience or makes it jarring in reading, please let me know so I can adjust the verbiage!

Warnings: Character death towards the end (nothing graphic, but think Marvel’s Thanos snap from Avengers End Game)

Oh, and the song lyrics that are sung by the character in this one were custom made by me, so I worked really hard to create them! It's been ages since I had done so, so hopefully I did okay. 😂

Now, without further adieu, let’s get the show on the road!

///////////////

[Oh dear…such a heavy question for a mortal to ask—and unfortunately one that Faun wouldn’t have easily found an answer to even with her good standing amongst the gods. You see, despite being immortal beings with seemingly infinite cosmic power, all have faced trials and tribulations beyond mortal comprehension. It has all been an effort to protect and maintain the balance of the world given to us by the divine generosity of the Heavenly Ones. Even I have faced my fair share of grief and loss…but I digress.

Hm? Ah yes, Faun. I’m afraid that she is once again preoccupied, hence my interference with your question. I only have the young lorekeeper’s best interests at heart—after all, I am the one who set her on the right path. Oh…but now is not the time to dawdle. Ahem…

While many of the deities have suffered from tragedy and heartbreak, I sense one who still bears the scars on his heart even after thousands of years has passed. Come: let us turn back the hands of time so we may find the cause of such despair and sorrow…]

He could feel the beat of the drums.

It thrummed and sang in his heart as Jamil and his troupe performed their routine for the gathered crowd, the Spring Festival in full swing with blossoms filling the trees and flowers decorating the earth with the brilliant and soft hues of the rainbow. Men, women, and children were laughing with glee as they celebrated the first day of spring, cheering whenever Jamil would pull someone from the crowd and encouraging them to dance until their turn was over. Some were skilled and able to keep up with him while others…well, what they lacked in skill, they made up for it with enthusiasm. Everyone was reveling in the celebration, the loose petals dancing in the breeze.

And that’s when he noticed them.

They were young—perhaps no older than eight years old—hiding behind their guardian’s legs. Their eyes followed the dancers with rapt attention, feet shuffling ever so slightly as if to mimic their movements. He could feel the burning desire in their heart—the passion in their soul crying out to dance and sing with the music with all their might! And yet he could sense their fear and uncertainty, the pure anxiety of failure and rejection. It was heartbreaking to see them resist even their guardian’s gentle nudge to coax them into joining the nearby children dancing and playing in the streets.

‘Well now, this won’t do,’ he thought to himself with a sly smirk on his face. ‘Looks like someone needs a little…push…’

With his goal in mind, he sent out a silent command. Round and round he whirled and weaved amongst the dancers, the music matching his pace without missing a beat. His troupe began to guide the crowd into clearing a wider path in the center, and with all eyes on him, he began to sing.

“Come my heart, I can feel your cheer as you laugh and play here in the street. Ho! My heart what is this I see, my dear? A new volunteer! Come along for the ride, my child, join along now as we dance with pride~!”

The child’s eyes grew wide as he stopped with one hand on his chest and the other extended towards them, a warm smile on his face. They accepted the offered gesture, only to freeze the moment he pulled and spun them around to the center. Still, he continued his song, drawing everyone’s attention to him once again.

“Here my heart does beat with the drums. Listen now my children, do you hear this song of light? Come and stay a while, succumb to the steady thrum now join along as we sing and dance all day and night~!”

“Hei-la-lei-la leda-leida-lei-ha-lei, leda-hei-ha-lei-a-la~!” his dancers sang, the crowd joining in on the chorus as they clapped and swayed in time to the music.

Sensing that the child was still clinging to their fear, he knelt before them and offered a reassuring smile. “What is this I see, dear heart of mine? There’s no need to be scared. Here, my heart, come join me on the stage—it’s a rule of thumb!” Motioning for them to look down, he slowed his steps and—with his power nudging them to follow—showed them the moves. “Now watch and learn as we dance and sway with the music shared on this night—join along, take a step in time with the beat of the drum. Soon you’ll see you’ve known the moves all along and can take the lead~!”

The chanting chorus once again filled the air as the child finally began to dance beside him, their movements growing more and more confident with each step. Soon enough they were giggling and laughing, so enthralled by the music that they never noticed when Jamil stepped back. To his pride he watched as they spun and twirled as he had, adding steps of their own routine without even realizing it as their joy and passion radiated from them like the rays of the sun. It wasn’t until the music ended that they turned to look at him and realized they were alone on the stage, the crowd erupting into near deafening applause at their performance. When they finally saw him, he simply gestured to the crowd and motioned for them to bow—and smiling when this earned them another round of cheers and praise from their audience.

Later that night as they were getting their caravan packed up, he was surprised to feel a small tug on his sleeve and looked to see the child standing there. With a glance towards their guardian—who made a ‘go on’ gesture—the child asked, “Do you have to leave so soon?”

He smiled softly and ruffled their hair. “If I stay, I cannot spread joy to the other villages and towns,” he told them. “You performed beautifully today, little song. It was an honor to dance with you.”

They looked bashful at the praise, but he could sense how much the compliment meant to them as they finally asked, “Then…will you come back and dance with me again?”

“Hm. I just may…if you do one thing for me.”

“What?”

Kneeling down so he could look them in the eyes, he said, “Keep dancing. Even if there is no music, no matter who may be watching…I want you to dance for yourself. Dance because you want to—and I will join your dance when next I return.”

Their smile was as bright as the moonlight shining down on them as they asked, “Promise?”

“I promise.”

------------

True to his word Jamil returned to the village year after year, watching as the child grew into a young teenager with a love and passion for life. Each year he watched as they grew more confident in their moves, always eagerly awaiting his return to show him a new routine they created and seeking advice on how to perfect their moves. And year after year their happiness grew. Even now his heart swelled with pride as they readily joined him on stage for the Summer Solstice Festival.

“Ho! My heart, what is this I see before my eyes?” he sang as they spun and twirled around each other. “Long have I danced through the sands of time, yet none can compare to your grace as you rise into the skies. See, my heart? Look how far you’ve come along the line, don’t stop now, love. Follow your heart unto your dreams, and I will be here to light your way in life’s grand design~!”

“Hei-la-lei-la leda-lei-ha-lei, leda-hei-ha-lei-a-lei~!” they sang along with the chorus, their voice strong and clear as the crowd cheered.

/

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Jamil blinked, staring at his disciple for a moment as he processed what they said. “Oh? And where will you go then?” he asked, accepting the pastries offered by a familiar golden-eyed man with green hair and handing one to them.

“…there’s a town very far away from here,” they answered, looking sheepish at this admission. “The last tradesman that came through mentioned that there was a good dance school I can enroll in.”

“Ah, I see. Are my lessons already too dull for you now?”

“N-no, never! I didn’t mean it like that! I just-! I-”

He chuckled and waved them off, saying, “No need to apologize! In fact…I’m proud of you.”

“You…you are?”

“Yes. You’re taking your first steps towards your own journey—your own destiny. Not many are willing to take that chance.”

They were silent for a moment. Then, in a quiet voice, they asked, “What if I fail? What if…I’m not as good as everyone says I am?”

“Do you remember what I told you when we first met?”

“I…” They grew silent, looking embarrassed.

“I wanted you to dance for yourself: to keep dancing even when there is no music, no matter who may or may not be there.” Reaching up to look them in the eyes, he said, “Life will always be filled with chances to fail or succeed. And even if you fail…just get up and try again. Perhaps even trying a different approach will provide a better outcome. So dance…dance because it makes you happy. No matter what happens, I will always be proud of you. Promise me?”

At his words they began to tear up, sniffling and smiling even as he wiped away the tears. “I promise…I swear, you are a blessing from the gods.”

Smiling, he said, “No. Just one of them.”

------------

‘…how could it have come to this…?’

It had been nearly a year since his disciple had completed their schooling, beginning their journey with the same enthusiasm and life as he had hoped they would. All was going well…or rather, it was supposed to. They collapsed mid-practice, barely conscious as they were rushed to the healers. Now he stood beside their cot in his true form, invisible to all mortal eyes as he partially listened to the conversations around him.

“Nerve damage-” one said.

“-loss of mobility-” another commented.

“-the black stains are spreading…”

“Never seen anything like it before…”

Yet he already knew what was wrong. He had known the moment he saw the ink-like stains on their legs…and soon enough one mortal recognized it as well. “Performer’s Decay,” the man uttered, clutching their rose talisman close—one of Riddle’s devout followers. “Divines protect their soul from the Withered…”

Performers Decay…one of seven mortal targeting diseases tied to the Withering Blot Curse. It hadn’t even been a century and already news has spread far and wide—yet it only affected a select few at a time, and those afflicted…not even the deities themselves could prevent or destroy the curse. If he didn’t act soon…

He glanced at the talisman in the man’s hands, immediately getting an idea.

------------

“I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do.”

“But you are the God of Life—all mortal creatures fall under your domain!”

Riddle’s expression was as stern as ever, the two deities staring daggers at one another. “It is true that mortals fall under my protection,” he began, the plants surrounding them beginning to writhe in response to his tone, “but there are limitations to what I am allowed to do per the laws set by the Heavenly One of Hearts to protect the balance.”

“Balance? There is no balance to this madness!” Jamil retorted. “We can’t just sit idle while our followers suffer from the blot’s curse! Surely there is something that can be done: medicine? Salves? Poultices?? You posses an entire valley of plants and herbs from the age of the ancient gods! Surely there is something we can use to—”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?!” Riddle bellowed, thorny roots erupting from the earth and threatening to skewer him…before stopping just shy of his neck. Eyes wide—as though startled by his own power—Riddle forced himself to breathe, the flora soon returning to the earth once more. Then, in a softer voice, he said, “You are not the only one who has lost a follower to the curse, Jamil. I have already lost five to the Bleeding Rose curse in the past year alone…”

Something fell from his face—a tear?

“I…I tried everything I could possibly think of,” Riddle continued, closing his eyes as more tears silently fell to the earth. Small flowers bloomed in place, only to wither with the grass around his feet. “Every single herb…every potion recipe I could make…even my own blood and tears…none of it mattered.” Turning away, he slowly walked over to one of his precious rose bushes and gingerly touched the wilting petals of a pale white rose—black stains marring the flower and growing from the stem yet somehow not spreading to the others around it. “…do you recognize this particular rose, Jamil?”

He said nothing.

“This rose belongs to them,” Riddle continued softly. “Each rose in my garden represents a mortal’s soul—regardless of the color of its petals, the condition of the rose signifies the health and status of the mortal connected to it. When a mortal dies, so too does the rose…” Turning to face Jamil once more, he—almost speaking in a whisper—said, “You’ve seen what happens to those afflicted by the curse…what becomes of them—or rather, what is left of them.”

“…so that’s it then,” he uttered, a hollow smile of defeat on his face. “You were my last hope…”

“This…goes far beyond my ability to heal. Without the Ancient God of Medicine and Alchemy’s grimoire, we cannot even begin to fathom where to start looking for a solution. Even the smallest scrap of knowledge that the Ignihyde Pantheon is able to find from the Old Gods would be invaluable.” After a moment of silence, he said, “There is…one way to ensure they do not become a phantom.”

Jamil looked up in hope and confusion…before cold dread filled his veins. “No…no, no, no, no. Anything but that!”

“It is the only way, Jamil.” Riddle’s words were firm yet gentle as he approached, eyes soft with understanding as he placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I know what you’re feeling…but you know as well as I…as all of us do…that once the curse has claimed their body, their soul will be consumed—never to be reborn in a new body. To end their suffering…it is the kindest thing we can do for them. If you wish…I could-”

“No…I’ll do it…” Taking a deep breath, he heaved a heavy sigh and uttered, “I promised I would guide them through life. I can’t abandon them now.” He gave a soft chuckle, though it was hard to hide the crack in his voice as he whispered, “It’s all my fault.”

“…we are all to blame…and this is our punishment…”

------------

Darkness had fallen by the time he arrived back in the tiny room, the light of the full moon chasing away the shadows around the sole occupant like a silent guardian. They looked so fragile, their body already showing signs of deterioration as the blot stained more than half of their body. As soon as he stepped closer, they stirred and weakly turned to face him, mumbling a sleepy, “Hi…”

“Hey,” he said softly, giving a small smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” they said, trying to return the smile before a painful sounding cough wracked their body. He hurried over to rub their back, murmuring soft reassurances until the fit had passed. On seeing the splattering of inky ichor in their hand, his heart sank. Before he could say anything, however, they said, “I’m sorry…”

“What for?”

They closed their eyes and turned away, and—amidst the pain—he could feel their shame and guilt. “For breaking my promise to you,” they said. “I heard what the healers have been saying. They said I’m suffering from the curse because…because I failed to appease the gods.” He could see the tears forming in their eyes as—in the quietest voice he’d ever heard from them—they asked, “Have…have the gods forsaken me?”

“Absolutely not!” he said firmly, turning their head back towards him. “You did everything so well, my song. It was never your fault. You…” He sighed, pressing his forehead against theirs. “You’re just…suffering from the mistakes of a time long before your birth. It has nothing to do with what you did or didn’t do…”

It took all his willpower not to break down crying the moment they began to sob in his embrace, gently rocking them in his arms and allowing them to cry into his tunic. Sobs died down to sniffles and whimpers, allowing him to pull back and wipe the tears away from their eyes before he began to sing.

“Hush, my song, no need to speak—for I see the pain in your eyes. Sweet little melody, oh how my heart breaks in two…fate has been cruel to one so dear to me, oh how I realize, though I wish it were untrue…” Standing, he held his hand out to them—just as he did all those years ago—and gently wrapped their hand in his. “Come my love, take my hand one last time—I grant you one final wish, my heart: a chance to dance and sing the night away. Let me carry your soul unto the next life, where soon we shall part, come what may…”

Carefully picking them up from the bed, he held them close and tilted his head for them to look up. In an instant the room fell away, dissolving into an abyss of twinkling stars and a silvery river shimmering nearby. He watched as their eyes widened, gazing at their surroundings with the same awe and wonder he had grown to adore over the years. “What is this place?” they asked.

“A place between the realm of life and death,” he answered, releasing them just enough so that they could stand and seeing their amazement at the fact that they were floating above the ground. “Here, the rules of the mortal realm are meaningless…for a short time. Should you wish to float in a river of stardust, then so it shall be. Should you wish to dance amongst the stars…then-” his mortal guise faded away, their eyes growing wide when realization hit them as he once more held out his hand, “-I shall grant your wish.”

Not knowing what to say—or perhaps not having the energy to question him further—his disciple accepted the gesture and held tight as he began to dance. Compared to their usual enthusiastic twists and jumps, he chose a slow waltz to support their fragile body. Slowly but surely, he could feel them ease into his embrace, sensing their contentment dulling some of the pain.

Spinning, sweeping, and even dipping…he did it all, though for how long he couldn’t tell. Minutes? Hours? Days? None of it mattered to him at this point, his only goal to provide them with as much happiness as possible…until he sensed it.

He’d run out of time.

“Jamil…I…I don’t feel so good,” they murmured, their grip growing lax as they leaned on him. Their labored breathing made his heart ache, and he could see the blot’s stain creeping up their neck. “I’m…so tired…”

“Shh…you’re okay,” he whispered. “The pain will go away soon enough…and then you can begin your journey anew.” Pressing a tender kiss to their forehead, he activated the spell Riddle taught him—and in an instant their body began to fade away in a shower of flower petals, carried away by the celestial winds. All that remained was a softly glowing ball of light, small enough to cup in one hand.

Their soul. It was so weak from the strain of the curse, yet the weightless soul felt like a brick in his palms as he cradled it like a precious jewel.

“…hush now, it’s time to move on now, sleep, my love,” he sang softly, the soul brightening at his voice as he sensed a faint tingle of emotion from it—relief…comfort…peace. “Rest, my song, dream of your new life of splendor. You needn’t fear dear heart, for I will light your way from above, now and forevermore…forevermore……”

All was silent for a moment…until movement from behind caught his attention and his visitor spoke. “Greetings, Jamil,” they said in a young, mechanical sounding voice. Turning to face them, he recognized the small android deity hovering a few feet away, other colorful souls floating around his mechanical frame like fireflies. Even with his lower face obscured by the mask, Jamil could see Ortho’s eyes watching him closely. “Riddle sent for me,” he explained. “I have been tasked to escort and monitor the mortal’s soul to ensure rapid recovery is achieved for a successful rebirth. Please release the soul into my custody.”

Ortho held out his hands, but Jamil hesitated. Glancing at the other souls surrounding them, he asked, “Will they…remember any of this?”

“…no,” came the response. “The process of reincarnation is designed to provide a clean slate for the mortal, to ensure their ability to take new paths in life unburdened by their past life’s memories. Some may slip through the coding process, but the risks are minimal to their psyche by 4.5923 percent.”

“I…I see…” Heavenly Ones, why…why did it have to be them?

Warm metal touched his shoulder, and he looked through blurry eyes to see Ortho’s gaze filled with sympathy. “It is natural for mortals to grieve the loss of another, regardless of how long it takes,” he said gently. “You are allowed to grieve as well, Jamil…and I promise to ensure that they have the best possible start in their next life cycle. You are more than welcome to visit them in Limbo until they are ready to move on. Please…do not worry for their sake.”

Realizing that he couldn’t hold on any longer, he looked at the soul and—gently pressing his forehead to their core—whispered, “No matter what happens or what path you take…I will always be proud of you, my song…”

As the soul left his hands he felt cold, tears flowing freely now as he watched Ortho disappear from view…and collapsing to his knees when he couldn’t see them anymore. In the back of his mind he could faintly make out the sound of distant screams, only to realize they came from him.

The drums had fallen silent.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

[Well…there you have it.

Despite our standing in the world and how mortals view us, some mortals can—and have found—their way into our hearts in some shape or form. For some, this helps them connect more to their duties, to see what their purpose in maintaining the balance is within this world. Others…perhaps it is because of this that some choose to distance themselves: to protect their hearts from such pain and sorrow.

…eh? Now, now, no need to fret, dear mortals, for this is not the end of young Jamil’s story! While true he still carries the grief of this loss, so too does he carry hope. For decades he has kept his promise to watch over his disciple through each rebirth, supporting them even when their path in life no longer followed their predecessor’s choices or they became the disciple of another deity. Such dedication—it makes my heart soar knowing how far he has come!

Alas, I fear our time has come to an end and I must leave you all once again. Do not fear though: I shall return when I am needed, for I am so kind…until then.]

[snackleggg]

City of splintering hopes: Chapter 1 "Frosty conversations"

~~~

Ao3

~~~

Frostbite quickly seemed to realise what he had said and stopped talking, immediately dropping his usually happy attitude. Danny was still processing what he had said.

"Hey Frosty?" Danny asked during one of his semi-regular visits to the Far Frozen.

"Yes Great One?" Frostbite replied as he finished up checking that Danny had fully recovered from a terrible case of the ghost flu he had caught a few days ago.

"You and the other Yetis seem to know alot about my hybrid physiology when I don't even know that. How come?" Danny asked. It was an innocent enough question. Jazz had pointed it out just before he left for his visit and he hadn't been able to shake it from his mind since.

"Well, of course!" Frostbite said with a boisterous laugh "You think you are the only Halfa to have ever allied with our tribe? We have always been friends to your kind Great One!" Frostbite said back with a carefree kind of happiness before he realized what he had just accidentally spilled.

Now they stood there in heavy silence as Danny processed the meaning behind Frostbite's words.

"Other Halfas!?" Danny all but screeched as he nearly fell from where he was sitting with the realisation of what Frostbite said.

Frostbite looked uncomfortable to say the least. He seemed to look around at anything but Danny as he replied "Y-Yes of course! You didn't think you and those two others were the only ones of your kind." Suddenly Frostbite looked Danny in the eye with concern "Did you Great One?"

Danny couldn't reply.

By the heavy look Frostbite was giving him it seemed like there was something deeper to this subject than he was realising. Danny just shook his head.

"Mmm no, the only other Halfas I've ever met were Dani and Vlad" Danny said matter-of-factly. By the look Frostbite was giving him it was obvious he was missing something, some unspoken fact that hung in the air just out of his reach.

Frostbite suddenly broke from his gaze as he huffed while looking to the side "That Plasmius should be ashamed of himself to even dare call himself a Halfa. He may be there biologically but none of his actions reflect on your people" Frostbite said with a tone of bitterness, a tone that was slightly sharper than the bitterness he usually talked with when talking about Vlad.

"Yeah, totally agree, 100% but back to the topic at hand I have a people!?" Danny's brain was trying to understand this new revelation. In a way it answered alot of questions that he had never really thought about. How were the ghosts able to tell he wasn't a full ghost. Why had Pointdexter known to call him a Halfa as if it was a common term. Why ghosts just didn't seem all that surprised about the existence of some weird hybrid. Of course Vlad could've had a part in that but Vlad was always too busy in his cheese castle plotting revenge to really interact with many ghosts outside of hiring them to do his dirty work.

But it also brought up a while slew of new questions. Where had these other Halfas come from? Definitely couldn't be another lab accident caused by his parents. Why wasn't there any information about the existence of ghost human hybrids on earth if there were enough Halfas around to be considered a people, a kind, not just an anomaly that repeated a few times but by the sounds of it some sort of society? And most importantly, where were they!? Danny had never ran into anyone like himself apart from Vlad and Dani.

He looked at Frostbite, trying to pick which question was the most important to ask first. It seemed Frostbite was blissfully unaware of his internal struggle as he just went on.

"Well yes Great One. The Halfas were a strong and prosperous people.... I suppose there isn't really a way for you to know that but I am surprised this is the first you are hearing about this" Frostbite said awkwardly.

Danny probably looked like a fish with how much he was opening and closing his mouth without a word coming out. Finally he managed to say something past his shock.

" 'were'?" Danny asked, his hopes at meeting someone like him suddenly beginning to die.

Frostbite just nodded, avoiding looking at him again as a sorrowful look came upon his face "Yes, Pariah Dark" Frostbite said the name like it was something foul and Danny was inclined to agree "wiped them all out when he sensed they would be a threat to his throne"

Danny almost snorted at that.

Pariah Dark sounded like a character in a tragedy or a myth in that context. In trying to stop Halfas from dethroning him he was indirectly responsible for a Halfa dethroning him. Okay maybe not responsible, Danny would've done it whether the race of people had still been around or not but still the irony was there. So was the karma.

Then he focused on the more depressing part of what Frostbite had said.

"Oh" so there really wasn't anyone else. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up.

"But!" Frostbite said, a little bit of a cheer coming back to him "the ruins of their old city still stands! Maybe, if you are interested in knowing more, you could visit them? Of course everyone here in the Far Frozen would be more than happy to recount stories of other Halfas to you Great One but our knowledge is limited. Even with our friendship with them, they were always a secretive bunch" Frostbite explained.

Danny didn't really know what to think of the offer. It wouldn't be the same as actually talking to another Halfa but it would still be something, right?

"I'll... think about it" Danny said.

He had gone through too many revelations in too short a time span and he really just wanted to crawl into bed and take a nice long nap, which he could do since it was the weekend.

"Of course Great One. It is entirely up to you what you do" Frostbite said with a smile.

The rest of the visit seemed to fly by but the conversation he had with Frostbite was stuck at the back of his head. He kept on wondering about the other Halfas.

Were they nice? What kind of society did they have? Had they ever been to Earth or did they live exclusively in the Ghost Zone? Why were they as secretive as Frostbite said? Even to their own allies? Why had Pariah felt so threatened by them? Were they really that powerful? What will I find if I go to these ruins?

Even after he left to go back home the thoughts of a people just like him, a people long gone, lingered in his mind.

He was distracted.

He knew Frostbite and the other Yetis had noticed it even if they didn't comment on it but Jazz was alot more proactive about these sort of things. She noticed the far away look Danny had as they were eating dinner and afterwards pulled him off to the side as their parents went back down to work in the lab.

"What's up?" She asked.

"Nothing" Danny mumbled. He didn't know if Jazz would understand his dilemma. Sure he was born human but thinking about the possibility of other Halfas, even if he hadn't been born one, it made his core clench with a need to learn more, to find them

"It's obviously not nothing, you've been distracted ever since you came back from visiting the Far Frozen. What happened?" Jazz asked.

Danny couldn't meet her gaze. He didn't know how to fraze it, to tell her about all the spiraling thoughts in his head, the confusing feelings in his core.

"Danny" Jazz said seriously.

Finally Danny caved and told her about the conversation he had with Frostbite about other Halfas. He told her about his feelings and thoughts on the matter. It was like the dam that had been filling for the last few hours had broken and suddenly Danny was exasperated as he finished recounting everything.

"Other Halfas...." Jazz said thoughtfully.

Danny nodded. For some reason he felt guilty, he felt like he was betraying his family by trying to explore this part of himself.

Jazz, thank the ancients for the observation skills she definitely didn't get from their parents, noticed Danny's dip in mood and quickly went to comfort him.

"Hey, you shouldn't feel bad about this. It makes sense you'd want to find and learn about people who might've gone through similar struggles" Jazz said as she put her hand on Danny's shoulder, a grounding gesture which he was silently thankful for.

"But I feel bad about how if I do learn about this then I'll be keeping more secrets from mom and dad. I already feel terrible lying to them about The accident" Danny shrunk into himself. It's not that he wanted to keep lying to his parents but the perpetual fear of them not accepting him hung over his head heavily and he feared now that if he tried to explore and learn about these people who were like him it would only give his parents more reason to distance him from the family if they found out.

"Danny, look at me" Jazz urged and Danny barely managed to meet her gaze. It was determined and honest, an immovable rock he needed in the swirling river that was his thoughts.

"You don't have to go there if you don't want to but you shouldn't jump to the conclusion that it will only make everything worse. Think about it but don't forget that just as many good things could come from this as bad things" Jazz said and Danny nodded along. That made sense.

"Yeah. I guess the concept just kinda overwhelmed me" Danny said and suddenly he felt emotionally drained all over again.

"Go on, get some rest. Sleep on it but there really isn't a time limit" Jazz encouraged and she was right but Danny felt like if he did want to go then it might be better to do it sooner rather than later.

He crashed onto his bed not really knowing what to think. A few hours ago he was excited by the prospect but now he dreaded what he might find at those ruins, what secrets the Halfas kept hidden away even from those closest to them.

Danny almost laughed at the parallels as he thought about his own secretive situation with his parents. He was in no place to preemptively judge.

Finally he went to sleep.

Dreaming of a lullaby he never heard and a city of people he would never meet.

~~~

First | Previous | Next

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I'll be tagging all content do to with this story with the tag City of splintering hopes so if guys want to you can follow the story easier. You can also use that tag for any questions or content you guys make of the story!

Hope you all like this first chapter!

[traeumenvonbuechern]

June Wrap-Up

1. Can't Take That Away (Steven Salvatore)

Carey Parker dreams of being a diva, and bringing the house down with song. But despite their talent, emotional scars from an incident with a homophobic classmate and their grandmother's spiraling dementia make it harder and harder for Carey to find their voice. Then Carey meets Cris, a singer/guitarist who makes Carey feel seen for the first time in their life. With the rush of a promising new romantic relationship, Carey finds the confidence to audition for the role of Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West, in the school musical, setting off a chain reaction of prejudice by Carey's tormentor and others in the school. It's up to Carey, Cris, and their friends to defend their rights--and they refuse to be silenced.

2. Sanditon (Jane Austen)

Written in the last months of Austen's life, Sanditon features a glorious cast of hypochondriacs and speculators in a newly established seaside resort, and shows the author contemplating a changing society with scepticism and amusement. It tells the story of Charlotte Heywood, who is transported by a chance accident from her rural hometown to Sanditon, where she is exposed to the intrigues and dalliances of a small town determined to reinvent itself - and encounters the intriguingly handsome Sidney Parker.

3. The Witch King (H.E. Edgmon)

Wyatt would give anything to forget where he came from—but a kingdom demands its king. In Asalin, fae rule and witches like Wyatt Croft…don’t. Wyatt’s betrothal to his best friend, fae prince Emyr North, was supposed to change that. But when Wyatt lost control of his magic one devastating night, he fled to the human world. Now a coldly distant Emyr has hunted him down. Despite transgender Wyatt’s newfound identity and troubling past, Emyr has no intention of dissolving their engagement. In fact, he claims they must marry now or risk losing the throne. Jaded, Wyatt strikes a deal with the enemy, hoping to escape Asalin forever. But as he gets to know Emyr, Wyatt realizes the boy he once loved may still exist. And as the witches face worsening conditions, he must decide once and for all what’s more important—his people or his freedom.

4. One Last Stop (Casey McQuiston)

For cynical twenty-three-year-old August, moving to New York City is supposed to prove her right: that things like magic and cinematic love stories don’t exist, and the only smart way to go through life is alone. She can’t imagine how waiting tables at a 24-hour pancake diner and moving in with too many weird roommates could possibly change that. And there’s certainly no chance of her subway commute being anything more than a daily trudge through boredom and electrical failures. But then, there’s this gorgeous girl on the train. Jane. Dazzling, charming, mysterious, impossible Jane. Jane with her rough edges and swoopy hair and soft smile, showing up in a leather jacket to save August’s day when she needed it most. August’s subway crush becomes the best part of her day, but pretty soon, she discovers there’s one big problem: Jane doesn’t just look like an old school punk rocker. She’s literally displaced in time from the 1970s, and August is going to have to use everything she tried to leave in her own past to help her. Maybe it’s time to start believing in some things, after all.

5. Between Perfect and Real (Ray Stoeve)

Dean Foster knows he’s a trans guy. He’s watched enough YouTube videos and done enough questioning to be sure. But everyone at his high school thinks he’s a lesbian—including his girlfriend Zoe, and his theater director, who just cast him as a “nontraditional” Romeo. He wonders if maybe it would be easier to wait until college to come out. But as he plays Romeo every day in rehearsals, Dean realizes he wants everyone to see him as he really is now––not just on the stage, but everywhere in his life. Dean knows what he needs to do. Can playing a role help Dean be his true self?

6. The Cruel Prince (Holly Black)

Jude was seven when her parents were murdered and she and her two sisters were stolen away to live in the treacherous High Court of Faerie. Ten years later, Jude wants nothing more than to belong there, despite her mortality. But many of the fey despise humans. Especially Prince Cardan, the youngest and wickedest son of the High King. To win a place at the Court, she must defy him–and face the consequences. As Jude becomes more deeply embroiled in palace intrigues and deceptions, she discovers her own capacity for trickery and bloodshed. But as betrayal threatens to drown the Courts of Faerie in violence, Jude will need to risk her life in a dangerous alliance to save her sisters, and Faerie itself.

7. Boy Queen (George Lester)

Robin Cooper’s life is falling apart. While his friends prepare to head off to university, Robin is looking at a pile of rejection letters from drama schools up and down the country, and facing a future without the people he loves the most. Everything seems like it’s ending, and Robin is scrabbling to find his feet. Unsure about what to do next and whether he has the talent to follow his dreams, he and his best friends go and drown their sorrows at a local drag show, where Robin realises there might be a different, more sequinned path for him . . . With a mother who won't stop talking, a boyfriend who won't acknowledge him and a best friend who is dying to cover him in glitter make up, there's only one thing for Robin to do: bring it to the runway.

8. Felix Ever After (Kacen Callender)

Felix Love has never been in love—and, yes, he’s painfully aware of the irony. He desperately wants to know what it’s like and why it seems so easy for everyone but him to find someone. What’s worse is that, even though he is proud of his identity, Felix also secretly fears that he’s one marginalization too many—Black, queer, and transgender—to ever get his own happily-ever-after. When an anonymous student begins sending him transphobic messages—after publicly posting Felix’s deadname alongside images of him before he transitioned—Felix comes up with a plan for revenge. What he didn’t count on: his catfish scenario landing him in a quasi–love triangle.... But as he navigates his complicated feelings, Felix begins a journey of questioning and self-discovery that helps redefine his most important relationship: how he feels about himself.

9. Wuthering Heights (Emily Brontë)

Lockwood, the new tenant of Thrushcross Grange on the bleak Yorkshire moors, is forced to seek shelter one night at Wuthering Heights, the home of his landlord. There he discovers the history of the tempestuous events that took place years before: of the intense passion between the foundling Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw, and her betrayal of him. As Heathcliff's bitterness and vengeance is visited upon the next generation, their innocent heirs must struggle to escape the legacy of the past.

10. Ace of Spades (Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé)

Welcome to Niveus Private Academy, where money paves the hallways, and the students are never less than perfect. Until now. Because anonymous texter, Aces, is bringing two students' dark secrets to light. Talented musician Devon buries himself in rehearsals, but he can't escape the spotlight when his private photos go public. Head girl Chiamaka isn't afraid to get what she wants, but soon everyone will know the price she has paid for power. Someone is out to get them both. Someone who holds all the aces. And they're planning much more than a high-school game...

11. The Queer Principles of Kit Webb (Cat Sebastian)

Kit Webb has left his stand-and-deliver days behind him. But dreary days at his coffee shop have begun to make him pine for the heady rush of thievery. When a handsome yet arrogant aristocrat storms into his shop, Kit quickly realizes he may be unable to deny whatever this highborn man desires. In order to save himself and a beloved friend, Percy, Lord Holland must go against every gentlemanly behavior he holds dear to gain what he needs most: a book that once belonged to his mother, a book his father never lets out of his sight and could be Percy’s savior. More comfortable in silk-filled ballrooms than coffee shops frequented by criminals, his attempts to hire the roughly hewn highwayman, formerly known as Gladhand Jack, proves equal parts frustrating and electrifying. Kit refuses to participate in the robbery but agrees to teach Percy how to do the deed. Percy knows he has little choice but to submit and as the lessons in thievery begin, he discovers thievery isn’t the only crime he’s desperate to commit with Kit. But when their careful plan goes dangerously wrong and shocking revelations threaten to tear them apart, can these stolen hearts withstand the impediments in their path?

12. Weekend Girl (Alex Powell)

Ashley Kingston is a genderfluid university student with a major crush on attractive and charming Nolan. He seems just too perfect to be true. What happens when Ash meets Nolan while dressed as both a man, and a woman? And even more confusing, what happens when Nolan seems enamoured of both versions of Ash? A twisty-turny romance filled with fun and shenanigans.

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Out of the Grave - Chapter 3: The Aftermath (Chapter 1 here, Chapter 2 here)

It took 10 minutes and lots of questioning and cajoling to get Jenny to calm down enough to listen to anything Abbie said. She maintained an air of defensiveness, shoulders squared, muscles rigid, face a drawn mask of doubt. Even now, sitting across the table from Abbie while he sat between them at the head of the table, he saw the tension in her, unsure and unwilling to believe, even as her defenses began to crumble. "Tell me again," she demanded. Abbie sighed patiently in resolution and explained everything in detail: how she'd emerged from the lake, the knowledge she suddenly had that felt like a light coming on in her brain, missing three and half days and the significance of that, the questioning Ichabod had done. He noted she conveniently forgot to tell Miss Jenny of their...ardor, for which he was most grateful. Somehow he knew she'd be excited and tease them incessantly, if not this night then starting with their next encounter. As it stood now, he felt like the flayed end of a raw nerve and didn't think he could handle much more of anything, let alone good-natured ribbing of something so momentous and incredible. Once he noted that Miss Jenny had calmed—indeed, even showed relief and elation—he silently excused himself, pussyfooting to the kitchen to make some tea and heat up some of the lemon loaf that Abbie favored. At the sight of it, his stomach grumbled, and he realized he couldn't remember the last meal he'd had. With the hum of the Mills sisters' voices as background accompaniment, he set about making himself a PB&J. His eyes burned like fire with every blink, but he couldn't possibly head to bed right now, not even sure sleep would find him, no matter how desperately he needed it, for fear Abbie would disappear while he slumbered. She had to be here to stay, didn't she? He couldn't consider otherwise. Besides, she'd returned with a deeper understanding of their mission. They were destined to this life, called to something greater. He nearly chortled out loud at the absurdity of his own thoughts—he sounded nigh like one of those blasted Hallmark movies Abbie indulged in during certain times of the month. Destiny, fate, meant to be... Perhaps he was delusional. But the Bible foretold of them as an unbroken pair, and Abbie had confirmed their entwined fates upon her return. And her return had certainly entwined them more than they'd ever been before. A flush rushed through him at the memory of kissing her, touching her, of her in his lap, closer than he'd ever thought possible. She'd floated in like a dream and started to fulfill his in brilliant Technicolor.

The kettle began whistling, and he shook off his wayward musings for a moment to remove the pot from the burner. He poured for the sisters, and while the tea steeped he ate his sandwich, nearly inhaling it to quell the growling monster in his belly. He heard sniffling from the other room, the sound drawing him back to the tunnels after Pandora's wretched box had exploded, blowing his last hope of finding Abbie to Hades. The dreams—or had they been visions? He'd have to ask the Lieutenant if she remembered coming to him telepathically, spiritually, or by some other supernatural medium—haunted his waking hours, and if he'd slept the past few days he knew he'd find them there too. Her seemingly contented goodbye, acceptance of him moving on without her, the way that, even in that netherworld, they danced so smoothly around the way they truly felt. He hoped...Heavens, how he'd hoped she'd felt the depth of passion for him that she inspired in him. At times he could barely refrain from spelling it out, touching her simply to feel the softness of her skin, holding her close because she was there.

Now he knew a touch of her fervor and he longed to burn in it, wholly consumed and happily so. Let it consume him the way his grief had, a pleasant and pleasurable replacement that'd taken her dying to bring about. What a fool he'd acted, skirting the issue this past year. After everything that'd happened to him, all the things he'd lost, he should've known better. Tears pricked his eyes. The places she'd gone to for him, for them, for the world...Purgatory, the catacombs, death. He had so much to make up for. Lost time, chances, moments, and words. He'd only begun to speak the avalanche of emotions held in his heart. The timer beeped loudly, signaling the tea had finished steeping, and he moved before he fell asleep on his feet right there in the kitchen. Extracting the tea strainers, he set the mugs and cake slices on a serving tray and put the sandwich fixings away. Every move felt like swimming through molasses, but he forged ahead, delivering the tray to the dining room. The Mills sisters stood in a tearful embrace, neither facing his direction, and he quietly slid the tray onto the table and made a silent escape. Hell's bells, but he needed rest. He didn't know how long the sisters would spend reuniting and discussing what's transpired the past few days, and he didn't want to interrupt, so he slipped down the hallway and into the bathroom. He took a quick, hot shower, scrubbing the strain of desperate wallowing from himself and washing his floppy hair into some semblance of normal. Drying off, he slipped on his robe and brushed his teeth, freshening his body the way he'd started to clean his spirit by speaking what he'd so long cherished in his heart. He took a long look in the mirror, barely recognizing the gaunt face staring back at him. Dark circles framed his tired eyes, his cheeks seemed to have sunk into his face, and his beard looked slightly untamed. He fixed the latter with haste, knowing the rest would improve with sleep and proper hydration and nutrition, which he'd sorely lacked as of late. He shuffled to his room and stopped short. A whirlwind had blown through it: clothes and books lay scattered and strewn about, the desk chair lay on its side, and the covers of his bed had been thrown off. Confusion briefly set in until a quick flash of a memory surfaced. In a grief-blind rage, he'd swept his arm across the bookshelves, sending his favorite tomes flying. Grabbing at the clothes hanging in his open closet seemed the next destructive step, and he'd made quick work of it. Throwing the bedspread, shoving at the chair, kicking at the items already littering the floor gave him minute catharsis. Then he'd crashed down, both emotionally and physically, sliding onto the floor in a devastated mess. Ichabod took a deep breath and, after exchanging the robe for a dark grey t-shirt and black yoga pants (he'd never trade in his now-antiquated attire, but he found the current leisure styles most comforting while at home), began tidying the room, switching the overhead light for the bedside lamp. The room took slightly longer to clean up than it had to deconstruct it, but he set about it quickly, ashamed of his childish outburst but feeling it necessary all the same. He'd believed the prophecies: the Bible, the tablet, the enemies' words that they were the Two Witnesses. He hadn't understood how he could've set his whole modern life, indeed, his heart, on that belief, only to have it crumble in the space of a heartbeat with the loss of his partner. His Lieutenant. (He hadn't the right to think of her as such, but it hadn't prevented him from doing so.) He righted the desk chair and picked up some of the remaining scattered books, still marveling that she'd walked back into their home, whole, healed, and heralding promises of their future together. The Two of them promised to Witness until the end. He had to be dreaming. Something quietly sounded behind him, and he turned to see the subject of his thoughts and affections leaning against the door frame, watching him. She'd changed into a pair of pink and black plaid pajama pants and a matching light pink shirt. It, coupled with the low lighting of his room, cast her face in a bewitchingly warm glow. He watched her eyes scan the room, some of the books still lying strewn about, then flash back to him. Sorrow etched her face. "It's been a hard few days," he murmured unnecessarily as an explanation before turning from her to stack the books in his hands onto the desk. He set them down, one hand resting on the top cover as he took a moment to gather himself. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to ravish her. He wanted to simply stare at her until he'd had his fill of all her beauty. He needed to speak of the days without her, to purge the ache that only she—living, breathing—could ease. She moved into his peripheral and, slightly startled, he turned to her. She held out the last of the books that'd littered his floor, and he took them from her, his eyes never leaving her face, her gaze intently holding his. Even after his earlier revelation, there were still so many things to say...where could he start? He cleared his throat, his brain finally catching on to the fact that he hadn't heard the other Mills sister in the past several minutes. "Miss Jenny?" he nearly croaked, his voice quiet. "She went home. Said she needed rest and a little bit of time," she explained softly. "And that she'll stop by tomorrow."

He nodded in understanding, feeling the same oppressive, cloying need for space to process her return in conjunction with the desire to never let her out of his sight. It all felt so overwhelming. Suddenly he moved away from her gaze, her proximity, and rounded the bed, sitting on its edge before he collapsed under the dueling weights of grief and elation. He didn't want to send her away and couldn't ask her to remain here, but strewth, he was wrung dry. He could hardly keep his eyes open, his head up. Gratitude filled him as Abbie remained where he'd left her for several moments, giving him time, space. Neither felt as good as she had in his arms, but he needed them just as badly. "In either of my lives, I've never felt as scarred as I have following your disappearance into that box." The words, spoken softly on a broken whisper, surprised even him since he hadn't planned on speaking them—hadn’t even known his brain was forming them—and the gravity of his admission sat heavy in the room. His entire 18th century existence, the loss of his parents, his best friend, his wife and son, his homeland. He'd felt those things as surely now as he ever did. But Abbie...losing her had felt different. Weightier. Like a millstone around his neck drowning him even as he still breathed. Mayhap because of their bond as witnesses. Or because she'd somehow become the glue that'd held his two worlds together, the only person who'd believed him, helped him, trusted him. Made him feel real. He stared straight ahead, the closet before him yawning open like the space between them. Perhaps he'd said too much. His heart beat wildly waiting for her response. It didn't take long. He heard her bare feet padding in his direction, and she appeared before him, petite, radiant, and stunning. He couldn't meet her eyes, afraid of what he'd see in them, but her hands sluiced through the hair at his temples, the heels of her hands resting on them as she leaned closer. He felt her lips press sweetly against his forehead, and his eyes dropped closed at the sensation. On sensory overload, he felt barely able to function, yet somehow his hands found her hips, resting lightly on the flare of them as if he'd done this a thousand times before. He felt the bones beneath her toned skin, the slimness of her figure, and his heart nearly exploded with the feelings he had for her. But Abbie chose that moment to retreat, though just enough to see him, her hands still deliciously tangled in his hair as her fingers absently massaged his scalp. He was going to crawl out of his skin if she didn't stop torturing him. Her touch both invigorated and drugged him, powerful in its simplicity, soothing in its method. She moved her hands down to his cheeks, and her thumbs arched along his eyebrows. He fluttered his tired eyes open to stare at her, finding her watching him with a sympathetic, loving gaze. Her thumbs brushed against his cheekbones, her touch sending warmth coursing through his body. The realization that she felt comfortable enough to freely caress him made him shiver all over. "You should rest now," she soothed. "We can talk more in the morning." He could imagine how wretched he looked right now, how she must see him. Gaunt and pale, red-rimmed eyes and dark hues beneath them. A sight bedraggled enough to make her eyes sore. Bringing his hand up to grip her wrist, he turned his head slightly to the right, kissing her palm reverently. She ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair again as he did so. God's wounds, he'd better not be dreaming all of this up. He wasn't sure how much more heartache he could survive. He didn't want to let her go, but his bed called to him like a siren. Reluctantly releasing her, he stood up and turned down the bedspread and sheets, then plopped listlessly down again. He eased down onto his side as Abbie stood by smiling sweetly at him. She watched him so attentively he thought she might just stay until he'd fallen asleep. Which wouldn't take all that long, to be sure. But then she softly bid him a goodnight as she turned to leave. "Please," he breathed in desperation, again speaking without forethought. "Stay with me." A few seconds later, he realized his words sounded like a paltry invitation. "I don't mean anything untowards," he rushed to assure her. "Just...please don't go. Don't leave." He swallowed hard, waiting for her response. Surely she wouldn't think him a scoundrel for requesting such a thing after she'd just returned from the beyond. Would she? Through his bleary eyes he saw her lips upturn in a small smile. She tucked one leg beneath her and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm not going anywhere," she promised him. Ichabod's heart pounded wildly in his chest as he scooted to the other side of the bed. Abbie slid into bed—the sight left him again wondering if he might be hallucinating—reaching up to turn off the bedside lamp. The room plunged into darkness, but he felt her every movement: fluffing the pillow, pulling the blankets up, settling comfortably into the mattress. He, conversely, didn't move, could barely breathe. And when he did, the scent of Abbie's shampoo filled his senses. She lay so close he could he could reach out and touch her, wrap his arm around her, hold her close to him, to feel her breathing. To prove to himself she was real and living and here and...dear heavens, he didn't dare do such a thing. It was enough she'd agreed to stay with him this night. He'd thought he'd fall to sleep the moment his head hit the pillow, but he hadn't anticipated sleeping next to Abbie. Was he too close? Had he given her enough space? Should he move to the edge of his side of the bed? Was she comfortable? Maybe he'd compromised the covers, not leaving enough for her to stay warm with. "You're thinking too much, Crane," she murmured. Something about her tone, that reprimanding but teasing duo she had, made him huff a relieved sigh, and most of his tension evaporated. A moment later, she reached her hand back and grabbed his, pulling it over her side and draping his arm around her waist. Instinctively he moved forward as she settled back against him, and he noted how easily they fell into this most intimate of reposes. She felt real enough, had matched him in fervor and passion. She'd returned with all the grace and grit and poise of the woman who'd fearlessly and faithfully fought by his side since the moment he'd met her. And now he held her in his arms. His Lieutenant... He needn't have wondered if he'd ever get to sleep with Abbie in his bed; before he could even marvel at how wonderful she felt tucked against him, he'd fallen asleep.

[twilightprince101]

Skatey Skitterlock needs to be hated.

That’s the one comforting thing to her really, the idea that because of her constant fighting people will hate her. All the scuffles, destruction and insults she spew towards the corrupt; It gives her actions a justification, giving herself an enemy to fight against and giving her a purpose to live. While she may also be driven by a desire to protect the weak, at her core hatred fueled her.

When she was a child her parents were truly rotten. They tried to sculpt her into someone she was not, into not a child but an accessory to them. Upon realizing that she acted out and became her own person, a person they hated. It felt ecstatic, fighting back against someone who gave her so much grief.

Not long after she met another who shared her plight: a neighbor, also having parents who tried to sculpt him into their own image. Bullies as well did the same, and yet despite blatant abuse nobody stood up for him. Her hatred of their idleness drove her to protect her neighbor—protect Gramble. The hatred of his parents and the bullies, even the town itself, fueled her. Drove her to push on.

She encouraged her neighbor, her friend, to do the same. Fighting back against those who had wronged them, fighting the evil in their childhood world. His joy and comfort within her presence encouraged her further, therein his own presence brought a life to her life. He gave her someone to be vulnerable with, to play with, to not fight with. With him she was discovering how to not just survive, but live. Though she was driven to fight out of hatred, she was fueled to live by Gramble.

With their drive to live on together nothing scared her. Not the bullies, not their parents, not the world. At least, she thought so.

When the day came and both got in trouble, Skatey considered taking the blame. She had enough of a reputation that they would believe she forced him to take part in the act. It would have been so, so easy. And yet, she did nothing. forcing him to bear part of the blame instead of taking it herself. She resented herself and what she had done, though that did not hurt her.

What hurt her was the fact that he did not hate her. Despite the scrutiny, the whispers, the disgust from his home, he did not hate her. They were kids, he knew their homes were rough and that she was scared. It was okay to be scared, he never stopped being so. So he didn’t hate her.

And that terrified her.

It filled a pit within her stomach full of guilt and grief for what she did to her friend. It tore her up inside out and she hated every second. She loved Gramble, protecting him gave her a purpose and made her be happy to be alive. And yet when he needed that help to prevent his life from becoming worse she did nothing. And that guilt and pain and terror was too much for her to bear.

So like a coward, she ran, unable to take responsibility for her friend’s sorrow and desperate to be hated with such an intensity once again.

She found it once again in the city. She never bothered to learn the name, growing up in such a dingey and small town all cities looked the same to her. They all towered high with metal and bricks, the powerful sneering at those below from their towers that brushed the clouds. This one was rotten as well, filled with corruption everywhere she looked and in the very air she breathed.

All of it, ripe with hatred.

She rebelled against everything. Her landlord, her boss, greedy CEO’s—anything she could fight who tried to use innocents for their own greed. She hated and became hated herself, People saw her and joined in her efforts, rebelling and reveling in the hatred of the corrupt as they smashed that which they held dear just like they destroyed her own.

She was drenched in the hatred of so many, but also with the camaraderie of her fellow rebels. They all said that they were on the side of justice, fighting for what was right and giving the corrupt their dues. It did put her at ease, to know that her actions also helped those around her, make her smile. They vowed together to not just try and survive, but live.

And while it helped, within Skatey lied their true reason: that hunger for hatred, that justification for her living, that drive to move forward out of spite. They reveled in that hatred, for it is the single constant in their chaotic and destructive lives. Even with the gratification of making a world a better place, that unending drive for hatred far outweighed her, for it was her only constant. Besides, it could never match the drive to live Gramble had given her.

And yet once again, that which the rebel craved most became her undoing. She reveled in her hatred and being hated, until it consumed her completely. She saw an ally crippled, torn down by that she loathed and her drive burned within her. She let that hatred overpower her, consume her.

Until that which she loathed could no longer be recognized.

She felt no remorse for deforming that which she loathed. It had done cruelty onto her friends, unto the world itself and she felt no pity from her actions. But the fear and horror from her comrades, that is what fueled her remorse. They stared at her with terror-filled eyes which flickered down to her bat and battered fists. They peeked around the corners of streets when in her presence, always expecting a car to turn by and throw them into the same cell as her.

She was not hated or forgiven by her friends, she was feared, which hurt far more than any weapon could ever do.

She fled once again, under the guise of protecting her allies from scrutiny but deep down she knew the truth behind her cowardice. The pit of guilt and shame that swelled within her, threatening to consume her whole and drowning out the hatred that fueled her. That which once drove her to live was turned coarsely inwards, threatening her life.

Without that hatred of others pushing her on, without that purpose for living, she was hollow. Every moment she thought to try and live her self-loathing pulled her backwards, reminding her of all the harm she did for attempting to do so. She could no longer live, but survive, until even that was not enough for her.

If she was not fighting, not hated, what else was left of her? The feeling of loathing was the only thing she’s ever truly known, and now it was all aimed inwards, she could no longer fight. If she could not fight, what else was left in life to give her a purpose?

Her mind could only think of one thing: the one person who refused to hate her, no matter what she may do.

She did not have to search for him long, a drive back home was all she needed. He had never left, until recently. Only a few questions put her on the same path he travelled down, the same boat to the same island. Skatey did not know why he went there or what awaited her, but she had already resolved herself.

She needed Gramble. Whether he hated her, forgave her or even forgot her, she needed him. She would make up for everything she has done, protect him from anything that may hurt him. Hatred towards the greedy and corrupt could no longer fuel her, as for every drop turned outwards gallons more flooded inwards. She needed to help him, make up to him, atone for everything she has done to feel anything to move forward. For if she could not, there would be nothing left.

And she feared what she would do then.

[emilyoftheshadows]

Are we going to ignore the inhaling of narcotic drugs going on in the corner?

 Enjoy some more angsty rowaelon vibes! This drabble is more intense than my other two pieces and probably the most angst I have ever written.

TW: depression, drug/alcohol abuse, death, gun violence

~~~~~

Aelin looked good tonight. No, correction, she looked fucking hot. The dress hugged her thin figure, the hot pink color sure to make her stand out in any crowd. With her loosely curled hair running down her back and a disguise of makeup to cover the darkening circles under her eyes, Aelin was ready to face the crowds.

  The most rambunctious groups came out Friday night. The clubs become filled with young drinkers like Aelin, ready to let loose after a long week. Not that it mattered what day of the week it was anymore. Aelin could barely keep track as it was. Between last night's drunken adventures and the shroom endeavors the night before, time blurred together. 

 Her apathy for her life was at an all time high, and Aelin couldn't find it in herself to give two fucks about her safety. No, she was out for a good time, even if the cost was a high price. She wanted more good times, more distractions, more haziness, more everything. Want was too weak of a word...Aelin needed these distractions in her life. Because if she took the time to re-evaluate her life circumstances, she would crumble beyond repair. 

 So instead of feeling the emptiness of reality, Aelin decided to live in the fullness of fantasy. With her intentions in mind, she turned to Dorian with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He smiled back with drunken enthusiasm, already 4 shots in due to his notorious pre-gaming. Yes, even events he attended involving the consumption of more alcohol still required this ritual. Ever since Aelin had dived into her partying streak, Dorian had been stuck to her side. While they were not dating by any means, he was a good fuck buddy and a great party companion. With the same wild side as herself, they had a partnership that benefited them both. 

 Tonight, they walked into The Vaults, instantly greeted by the smell of sweat and liquor. The club was grimy at best with an even grosser owner, but they sold pints by the dollar and had a tendency to skip id checks. For this exact reason, Vaults was filled to the brim with patrons creating a chaotic image. Arms pumped up in tandem with the bass, bodies bumped into one another as people found the rhythm of the music; partners danced on each other, lost to the world around them. Aelin saw it all and became fascinated by the scene in front of her. She craved the anonymity that came with jumping into a random crowd. Aelin reveled in the thought of losing herself tonight, just  like she had every night since he was ripped from her life.

 Dorian released Aelin of her trance, pulling her to the expansive bar on the side of the room. Waving down the attention of the bartender, Dorian yelled over the sounds of the club.

 "Ace, what are you feeling tonight? Shots, beer, cosmos, you fucking name it. Everything's on me tonight!" Oh yeah, it was an added benefit that Dorian had money to burn. His father did something or other, Aelin couldn't remember. It wasn't pertinent to her, therefore she couldn't care less. But because of his fathers funds, and Dorian’s unlimited access to said funds, Aelin didn't have to pay for a thing when they went out. 

 "Surprise me!" With that said, Dorian turned towards the bartender ordering god knows what. Aelin took this time to check her phone, noting the date. June 9 2021, 365 days after she had lost her greatest love. The reason she needed to drown her sorrows with booze and bodies. Because the day Sam had died had been the last time Aelin truly knew who she was anymore.

 With a margarita set in her hand, Aelin tucked her phone back into her pocket determined to take back control of her thoughts, and continued to lead Dorian into the depths of the club.  As much as she hated to admit it, Aelin frequented Vaults on a weekly basis. The club attracted a crowd she usually didn’t interact with in her day to day life, creating a safe space where Aelin could go as wild as she wanted. The seating area they now stood in contained multiple clusters of partygoers, some more distracted than others. It was then that Dorian took a certain interest in one group over the others. 

With a hefty laugh, Dorian commented, “Are we going to ignore the inhaling of narcotic drugs going on in the corner?” 

 Aelin couldn’t help but join in his laughter, because as she turned her head to the left, she saw a girl arranging lines of white powder on the table in the middle of a much larger group. 

 “You know what, you are absolutely right Dorian! How could we ever miss an opportunity for a nice high?” Aelin could barely hear her own words over the noise, but noticed the glimmer of mischief reflected in Dorian’s eyes as well. She took that as a sign, moving closer to the group until she was in the center of the cluster with Dorian stuck at her side. With a raised eyebrow, Aelin gestured with her eyes to the powder and back up to the girl organizing the substance. Her hair was white as snow, piercings dotted along her ears and face.  She glanced up at Aelin, the girl's pupils already blown out and bloodshot. With a lazy smile she handed Aelin a card to line up her own serving. 

 Three lines later, Aelin was feeling more awake than ever. Her heart felt like it was skipping a beat, her nerves were on edge and her emotions were heightened. She looked over, glad to see Dorian was enjoying his time with the white-haired girl. But Aelin was done lounging around. No, she needed to move with the crowd in the center of the club. With her eyes locked on the floor, Aelin stumbled her way into the group of dancers, easily moving to the beats of the music. As she spun in circles, whipping her head around,  a flash of silver hair caught her eye. Many eccentric characters liked clubbing at Vaults, so it wasn’t unusual to see colorful hair, odd piercings, or questionable life choices. But, Aelin had a feeling that this character would be worth the search once found.  She finished her rotation and gained her bearings. Her eyes focused after a few moments, immediately setting out to find the topple of silver hair she had only seen moments ago. With a cursory glance, Aelin couldn’t find her target and quickly resigned in her search. There were many more people and many more ways to distract herself tonight.

 Aelin started to move her hips to the lull of the music once more, raising her arms up, reaching for her lost lover in the sky. She felt the haziness of the drugs and alcohol overcome her senses, finally enjoying the night's events. Men and women surrounded her, Aelin’s own sweat mixing with others around. Arms became entangled, hips grinded against a partner, and lips kissed in sync with the swaying of movement. 

 As Aelin became a part of it all, she imagined Sam was dancing with her…... as a boyish face appeared right in front of her, his usual outfit sculpting his body just right : a button down shirt with rolled up sleeves and a pair of nice jeans matched with one of  his many shoe choices. His arms wrapped around her waist, Aelin’s right resting on his shoulder, her left hand entwined in his tousled brown. She looked into his beautiful eyes, finding the light she loved to see shining back at her. Aelin felt her mood lighten, finding comfort in the arms of her love that she had missed for such a long time. God, she had missed this feeling, this unexplainable comfort she felt in his presence. Sam twirled Aelin around herself, his arms coming to wrap around her middle, his hands- grabbed her hips from behind. 

 Aelin came to her senses, shoved back into reality. Rough hands pulled her back into a tall, muscular frame. The mysterious man behind her had a pungent odor, wafts of his smell acting like a tether to her more sober self. Aelin turned to catch a glimpse of the man, only to see Arobynn Hamel himself. The man was almost twice her age, not to mention the owner of The Vaults, and a notorious man whore with a keen liking for younger girls.

  Aelin immediately became uncomfortable. There was too much going on. Between the lights of the club, the music’s heavy bass, and the unwanted sensation of the man behind her, she was ready to get out. She maneuvered herself out of his grasp, turning around and making a drinking motion with her hand. Instead of accepting her departure, Arobynn grabbed her by the waist and crashed their bodies together. Now encircled in his arms, Aelin truly had no escape. Her mind was on overdrive, her body kicking into flight or fight mode. Arobynn’s hands wandered down to her ass and up the length of her body. 

 He continued to grope her assets with unnecessary fervor, never loosening his grip on her body. Aelin tried shoving the man away, only to be greeted by an ugly smile and a beady pair of grey eyes. Fear kept Aelin in her place, the man staring back at her only more encouraged by her lack of willingness. As they danced, Aelin frantically looked around for help. Anyone who could help her get out of this situation now. Her vision was blurred with tears, her eyes barely able to distinguish anything around her. Then, like magic, Dorian finally appeared and yanked  Aelin out of her partner's arms. 

 "You motherfucker what the hell are you doing??" Dorian was enraged at Arobynn's actions, his bloodshot eyes bulging out of his head as he yelled each word. 

 "Well, before you so rudely stole my partner, we were having a really good time dancing with one another." Arobynn's eyes wandered to her at that comment, his misguided intentions clear as day.

 "A good time?? Huh? A good time when the girl you're dancing with is crying because she can't stand your very existence? Yeah that sounds fucking wonderful to me!" Maybe it was the powder they had both inhaled earlier, but Dorian was more aggressive than usual. Without missing a beat, he swung at Arobynn and clocked him dead smack in the face. 

 Arobynn was caught by surprise, losing his balance as he teetered backwards from the hit. Blood dripped from his nose profusely, a bruise forming beneath his eye. Arobynn looked back at the man who had caused this pain, and snarled in anger. 

 As he ran to Dorian, tackling him to the ground, all Aelin could do was stand there frozen in time. She heard screaming, maybe her own, as the men fought on the floor. There was so much noise around her, the sound of fists connecting with bone, the music still blaring in her ears. There was so much blood --- so much blood around her, on her, on him. Aelin sat on the floor, her phone beside her as the paramedic updated her on the ambulances location. But she couldn't listen, no, she was too busy watching the man she loved disappear right before her eyes. Sam's body was pale, the gaping gunshot wound in his abdomen leaking too much blood too fast. Aelin cradled his head as he struggled to breath, soothing him with little sayings and comforting noises. Her tears fell on his face as she kissed him, not able to let him go. He needed to be okay, he needed to respond to her sayings, he needed to tell her he loved her, he needed to survive. But as Aelin looked into those brown eyes, there was no light left within them anymore. Aelin couldn't help the sobs that escaped her. Her body wracked violently as --- she was shoved by the fighting men. 

 Arobynn and Dorian were battered and bruised, the men equal in build and skill. They were breathing hard, looking at one another with hate etched in their features. Then all of a sudden, Arobynn lunged at Dorian unexpectedly, leading him to swerve right into Aelin as she --- fell to the floor. Her head hit the blue sofa they had bought only a week ago, their apartment a new venture they had bought together. They had spent hours setting up their new home, hours of that work now destroyed as their apartment was wrecked beyond repair. Sam was in front of her in an instant, his body taking the impact of the shot meant for her. Blood splattered on her body, and Sam's fell to the ground with a thud. Aelin looked up from her position in the ground to see a hooded figure dash out their front door, backpack open and filled with their precious items. Aelin didn't even care about her missing jewelry, only worried about her love splayed out on the floor , blood pooling around his frame. She heard screaming, screaming coming from --- a beautiful red haired woman approaching the duo. She pulled Arobynn's arm, dragging him away from the other bloodied man on the floor. 

 Dorian was in bad shape, his face swollen with cuts and scratches dotted all along his arms and legs. All Aelin wanted to do was go to Dorian's side and help him, but as she looked at his splayed body she lost all her intentions. All she could see was her love on that floor. All she could see was Sam's blood draining from his body.

 Aelin felt lightheaded, the events of the night, combined with the various substances in her body exhausting her beyond belief. She walked away from Dorian to go find a place to sit, slowly losing reality once again. As she fainted, Aelin saw a tall tanned man rushing towards her. His sharp features contrasted the soft concern on his face and in those emerald green eyes. Aelin hit the floor with a soft thud, watching the man attached to that luscious silver hair run to her rescue. 

[likeshootingstarsinthenightsky]

Alive (Echo x Reader)

A/N: Me, back again with another Star Wars story? You bet! There is both angst and a lil fluff!

Tagging: @kaminobiwan @simping-for-fives

 “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

You hated those words. You hated the way people looked at you with pity. You hated that everyone now looked at you with a hint of sorrow in their eyes when they talked with you.

You hated how Fives couldn’t look you in the eyes. Or how any of the 501st couldn’t talk to you without feeling like they were interacting with a ticking time bomb.

Were you sad? Yes. Were you angry? Yes. But it was your duty to keep going, to keep living.

The doors to your quarters hiss shut. Immediately, you’re surrounded by darkness. Without turning on the lights, you make your way to your bed. Every part of you is willing that sleep comes quickly. But before sleep can overtake you, sadness overwhelms you. Sadness creeps into your chest, making it feel like a weight is crushing you, making it harder to breathe. Sadness makes its way to your throat, closing it off. Letting out a choked sob, the tears final flow. Your body starts shaking from the force of the sobs. Once the sadness overwhelms you, you lose all sense of time.

A blaring noise wakes you up. Turning off the alarm, you make your way into the refresher. Staring at your reflection, you can see the puffiness in your eyes, and just how tired you are.

Making yourself presentable for the day, you leave your quarters. Making your way towards the mess, you hear the distinct voices of some of your favorite people. From the familiar blue lines on their armor, you knew it was Rex, Kix, and Fives. Walking slightly faster so you could walk a few paces behind them, you catch wind of their conversation.

Kix was filling the two in about some of the things that had happened when they had went out to 79’s. From the story he was telling them, you gathered it was a fun night.

“Speaking of fun,” Kix says, “where were you last night Fives?” Rex shakes his head at Kix. Fives stiffens for a second before responding.

“I fell asleep.” He says, and Rex gives Kix a look to drop the subject. Rex is also the first one to spot you behind them. He calls you over, and the four of you make your way towards the mess hall. The conversation then moves into what everyone thinks will be served in the mess today.

While the three of them continue talking, you see Hardcase and Jesse making their way towards your table. And soon, the sounds of their voices fill the mess hall. You didn’t realize that you had drown out the sound of the men until Jesse started to say something.

“Hey,” Jesse draws the attention of his vode, “remember that time Ech-“ At the start of the name, he stops, his eyes are wide, and he looks afraid for a moment. All eyes are focus on you. Feeling their stares on you, you compose yourself before you address the men.

“Go on,” you say, keeping your voice as neutral as possible, “don’t let me stop you from telling your story.” You see Jesse nod his head, but he clears his throat and decides to just change the subject completely.

--

“I don’t believe you.” Your voice wavers, and Rex can see the way your fists clench, to keep yourself from breaking. From working with you since the start of the war, he’s been able to tell when you’re not fine- even if you say that you are.

“(Y/N),” it’s Anakin that speaks, “if Rex says it’s possible, isn’t that enough of a reason to think he’s alive?”

“Alive?” You spat out, “how can you tell me that there’s a possibility that he’s alive?” Eyes full of fury look at the men in front of you.

“I tried,” huffing, “I tried to see if there could have been a possibility that he was alive for so long! But I never found anything. So why now? Why do you have to try and tell me he could be alive when I’ve just started believing that he’s gone?”

Both men remain silent at your confession. Rex moves closer to you and places a hand on your arm.

“Vod’ika,” he waits until you acknowledge him, “if he’s out there, we have to find him.” Nodding at his words, you wish them luck. Anakin asks you if you wanted to come, and you tell him that as much as you would like to, you have your own duties to attend to.

The truth is you don’t want to go. If he really was gone, then your life would continue the way it has been. You didn’t want to think of the possibility of Echo being alive, because you wouldn’t know how to handle the emotions that it would awaken.

As you were looking over your holopad, a knock on your door broke your concentration. Muttering for the person to come in, you see that it’s Rex. The expression on his face doesn’t answer your silent question- is Echo alive?

Rex moves to sit next to you and places his helmet next to your forgotten holopad.

“He’s alive,” those words cause your heart to beat twice as fast, and you look at Rex stunned, “but he’s not coming back.”

At those words, your heart feels like someone had plunged it into ice water. “What?” Questioning the words that Rex has said, “you just said he’s alive? What do you mean he’s not coming back?”

Rex understands your confusion, and he tells you about the mission. He hesitates before he tells you that he’s not coming back to the 501st, and that he was joining Clone Force 99.

‘Clone Force 99,’ you say, thinking to yourself.  Something in your brain clicks, you’ve seen their statistics, and they’re a very impressive group of clones.

Nodding your head, you let his words sink in, barely registering Rex’s comforting shoulder squeeze before he picks up his helmet and leaves your quarters.

Sinking further into your chair, you’re floored by the emotions that pass through you- relief, shock, happiness. “He’s alive,” your words fill the space around you. It’s the only thing that is running through your brain.

Echo is alive.

Sighing, you feel like someone has pulled you away from the fog that has been surrounding you for so long. He’s alive.

But he didn’t want to come back. To his vode. Sure, he’s still with other vode, but it’s different, they aren’t the 501st. But what strikes you the most is that he didn’t come back to you.

He didn’t come back for you.

The thought makes its way through your bones and flows through your blood. Did he not love you? Did he forget about you?

No.

You were not going to let the negative thoughts take up residence in your mind or in your heart. You are not going to let the emptiness consume you again. You have spent too long living in the fog of sadness, in the depths of depression because the man you love was dead.

He’s alive, and although he might not be with you, the knowledge of him living is enough to make sure you survive this war. It has to be enough.

--

Over. The war was finally over. You could finally rest. Life would go back to normal again? But you don’t remember what normal is anymore, for normal had been fighting in a war. From all around you, you could hear the cheers from the men around you. A hand touches your shoulder and you look to see Anakin next to you. Smiling softly, you could see just how much the war has changed him. That, and being a father to twins would change a person as well.

Around you, you could see troopers hugging their vode. You saw Rex talking with Cody, and Obi Wan talking with Ashoka. Moving your head in the direction of his former master and former padawan, you silently give him the permission he needs to join them.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ll join you in a minute Anakin.” He smiles, and you smile back, although the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, it’s still a genuine smile. A movement from the corner of your eye wipes the smile away.

Echo.

For the first time in years your eyes are seeing the man you love once more. As if he could feel your gaze on him, he turns to see you. His face mirrors you. Lips parted in shock and wide eyed. He looks different, but still the same. Once his brown eyes lock on yours, you have no idea whether to run away from him or run towards him.

Like magnets drawn to each other, the two of you are walking closer and closer to each other. Time has stopped, and there is no one in the world but the two of you. The moment he is in arms reach of you he stops.

“You’re here.” The words flow out breathlessly, and you can feel your heartbeat racing. Your hands move on their own to grasp the sides of Echo’s face. His hand instinctively moves to you pull you closer to him by the waist.

“I’m here,” he whispers into your lips before his lips finally collide with yours. Your lips move in sync, both of you trying to convey how much you love each other, how you longed for each other, and just how much you have missed each other.

Pulling away, Echo whimpers, and although your feel like you need to bring air back into your lungs, you give him one more soft kiss on his lips, before you finally catch your breath. He does the same, and you can feel his hot breath on your face.

The world slowly comes back into focus and you can hear his brothers cheering. You can hear Fives and Jesse yelling something, something that sounds slightly inappropriate, but it causes Echo to laugh. His laugh is something that you sometimes hear in your thoughts, when you focus on the happy memories, but they don’t do his actual laugh justice.

Smiling, he presses his forehead to yours, reveling in the feeling of being with you again. It’s not long before his brothers come over and hug their vod.

Stepping through the threshold of your apartment, you feel a pull on your arm, looking back at Echo, you see the hesitation in his eyes mixed with panic and fear. Squeezing his hand, his eyes focus back to yours which look back at him with so much warmth and patience, that he allows you to pull him softly through the door of your apartment.

Gently you guide him past your living room and through the hallway leading to the bedroom. Releasing his hand, you move to close the door. Turning around to face Echo, you see him looking around your room, taking in the sight of a place he spent many nights here when the two of you would have a break from fighting in a war.

“It looks the same.” Muttering more to himself than to you. Chuckling softly, you place a hand on his chest, your eyes focusing on the red skull on his armor.

“Let’s get ready for bed.” Echo stiffens at your words. Looking up at his face, slightly paler than it was a moment ago, his human hand clenched in a fist at his side.

“Echo?” Moving a step back, you give him a little bit of space, “Take to me, please.”

“I, I-“ a staggered breath, “I-“ Gently, you help Echo move to sit on the bed as he tries to process his words.

“It’s okay,” Echo’s eyes look straight into yours, “if you want, we can decide who sleeps on the couch?”

“No.” His words are strong, and determination makes its way across his face. But softens at his next words, “I want to be closer to you.”

After a beat, you leave your spot on the bed, Echo whines softly, and you reassure him that you are going to change in the refresher, giving Echo a moment to himself. Placing a soft kiss to your forehead, you can tell he’s grateful for the small moment of privacy.

Exiting the refresher, you notice that Echo hasn’t moved from where he was sitting on the bed. Moving to kneel in front of him, you realize that he’s so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed you- at all. His eyes were glazed over staring straight, but not actually looking at anything.

Slowly, you placed a hand on his knee. The contact drew him out of whatever Echo was thinking about. In his eyes was a quick flash of fear before they softened at the sight of you in front of him. Rising from your spot on the floor, your hands move to glide over his shoulders. Your hands remembering where the hooks on his armor are. Instantly his hand comes to rest on top of yours.

Looking into his eyes, you softly ask, “can I remove your armor?” His eyes search your face to find any traces of bad intent against him- there isn’t any. All he can see in your face is how much you love him, how much you care for him. Trusting on the emotions displayed on your face, he lets go of the pain, the fear, and nods his head.

“Walk me through it, please?” You ask him, and he does. You follow his instructions with slow and steady hands. Your eyes taking in the sight of him- the familiar scars and new ones. Your heart clenches at the thought of what he had to go through.

You feel his hand brush against your cheek wiping away the tears that had fallen. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Echo pulls you closer to him, his lips never leaving the top of your head. You try to pull yourself from his embrace because he should be the one being comforted, not you. But he does not let you go, instead he just holds you as close to him as he can.

“When Rex found me,” Echo stopping to take a deep breath, “he told me y’know, about you.” Feeling your back stiffen, he runs soothing circles into your back. “I never meant to hurt you like that. Believe me.”

“I just,” he sighs, “a part of me was scared.” His hand weaves into your hair. “I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore now that I’m,” his voice trails off, but you both know the word he fails to say.

Not the same.

With your head against Echo’s chest, you could hear the steady beating of his heart, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and the warmth from his body. Your words are mumbled against his chest.

“What did you say?”

“I said,” moving so your face was visible, “I don’t care.”

“I don’t care?” He repeats, brows furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t care about how you look. What I care about is you. Your heart, your kindness, the love you have for your brothers. I love how smart you are, and how loyal you are to those that you care about.”

Echo takes in a sharp breath. You pause, looking into the eyes of a man that has been broken, a man who has been slowly repairing what was broken.

“I love you.” You say, licking your lips, “and I will always love you.”

His lips crash onto yours, and your teeth clash from the force behind his kiss. Your arms hold his face towards yours. Once the need for air outweighs the need to keep kissing Echo, you move closer to the pillows at the head of the bed.

“Let’s go to bed.” Echo moves to join you, and soon he’s nestled into your arms.

“I love you,” is all that he says before he falls asleep.

[the-iron-orchid]

BOOK III: The EMPRESS

Chapter 1: The Countess (~1700 words)

Warnings: discussion of death, murder, execution

Back to table of contents

The Countess sweeps into the dining room, the watered silk of her dress trailing along the immaculate marble floor behind her. Ornaments of gold glint at her throat and wrists, in her hair and on her fingers. I adjust my shawl around my shoulders, for all the good it will do. 

Two servants pull out her chair, and she takes her seat across from me, a faint smile on her fashionably plum-colored lips. “I see you’ve taken notice of our painting. Do you like it?”

“Ah… not really?” I say, before I can stop myself. It has an eerie aura, on top of its subject matter being so strange. It feels like it wants something. I don’t like it at all, actually.

The Countess laughs, a musical sound. She confides that she does not much care for it, either, though it was her late husband’s favorite. I feel that I have passed some sort of small test, cleared some obstacle I never even saw coming.

As she speaks, a servant places a chilled bowl of minted cucumber-yogurt soup before me, refreshing in the height of summer. I wait for the Countess to pick up her spoon first - both out of politeness, and out of a mortal fear of picking up the wrong spoon. The sheer number of utensils at the place settings is intimidating all by itself.

The Countess claims that the sentimental value of the painting is the only reason it is still here; many find it to be rather off-putting and of questionable taste. No one wishes to be stared at so while they eat, do they? The intensely scarlet gaze of the goat-headed man is almost hypnotic, and for a moment it holds my attention. 

Beautiful, beautiful red. The only paint pigment that can provide this color is highly toxic.

“Oh, very beautiful,” the Countess agrees, startling me - I hadn’t realized I had spoken aloud. I’m not sure why I did. She informs me that the central figure is supposed to represent the late Count himself, symbolically providing for his subjects. I am not so sure. The more I view it, the more it feels like the painting has a gloating quality, an almost palpable sense of menace… but perhaps it is only my own anxiety.

I detect a hint of strain to her voice when the Countess speaks of her late husband, Count Lucio. Whether it is grief, or something else, I do not know.

Count Lucio died not long before my memory begins, and so I have no memory of him myself - only hearsay from others. The Countess says that the people of Vesuvia nearly worshipped him, eating up everything he offered them. Again, I am not so sure. He is remembered fondly in certain quarters… mostly for the entertainment he once provided. He is probably remembered much less fondly in the parts of the city that suffer from poverty, neglect, and disrepair.

The moment I set my spoon beside my empty bowl, both are whisked away, replaced with a plate of tiny pastries with savory fillings. There is, apparently, a certain fork that is used for them.

The Countess says that her late husband’s birthday was particularly celebrated, for it was when he threw the yearly Masquerade.

A flash of my earlier vision returns to me with knifelike suddenness. Did you enjoy the Masquerade…? But I force it aside to keep my attention on the Countess. It will not do to appear distracted.

“Did you ever attend the Masquerade?” she asks me, a sheer echo of my own thoughts. I shake my head silently; of course, I do not remember, but I can’t simply say that.

I know of the Masquerade, the legendary three-day-long city-wide revel where the delights of the Palace were open to every citizen… but there has not been one held since the Count’s death, of course.

“Oh, it was quite the event - a revel for all of Vesuvia to share in, from the youngest child to the oldest grandmother. But now, of course, it is marked with tragedy and sorrow. How terrible for the guests, for their host to be so brutally murdered at the last Masquerade.”

Somehow, I manage to swallow my bite without choking. The servants all lower their eyes from the Countess, busying themselves with clearing dishes and refreshing drinks.

“Burned alive in his very bed, what could be more shocking? What could he possibly have done to merit such a violent end?” The Countess sighs, and sips delicately from her glass of wine. “And ever since, guests to the Palace have been few, our halls empty for three years of mourning.” Her gaze firms, fixing me like an insect to a board. “No more. Now that you are here… we will have closure.”

Now that I am here? She says this is if I am some boon to her, and I begin to fear that whatever reputation she thinks I have, it is grossly overstated.

“Countess…” I begin carefully,  “I am just a shopkeep with some magical talents. Begging your pardon… I’m not quite sure what I have to do with any of this.”

The Countess smiles, just a little. “Oh, a great deal. Because you see, I intend to hold the Masquerade once again. Preparations are already underway.”

A ripple of shock goes through the room - this seems to be as much news to her servants as it is to me. 

“We will carry on the festivities in Lucio’s honor, more fanatical - pardon me, fantastical - than ever before. However… before we can do so, there is a single loose end in need of tying off.” Her face hardens. “Lucio’s killer remains at large, roaming free while Vesuvia mourns.”

Does Vesuvia truly mourn the loss of Count Lucio? Does the Countess?

“And that loose end is…?” I’m starting to have my suspicions.

“Doctor Julian Devorak, my husband’s former personal physician.”

Even half-expected, the words turn my guts cold. The posters only said that he was wanted for murder… not whom he was convicted of murdering.

I am silent for a moment as I mull this over. A shock to the guests, an injustice to Vesuvia, this callous killing of a man who was just sharing his prosperity with his people… but it all rings strangely hollow. I can’t help but wonder what kind of welcome the impoverished would find, arriving at the Palace gates for an event supposedly open to all?

The painting once again catches my eye. No-one among the citizenry really knows what happened to Count Lucio. Rumors abound, but no-one has the entire truth. It is generally accepted that he went to bed, and by midnight, he was burned to death. But as for the how and the why of it…well. There are as many stories as there are tellers. 

When I look back at the Countess, I find her sharp gaze studying me in turn. “And how is Devorak known to be the killer?” I ask.

“He confessed at the scene, where he was first caught. All that remains is to carry out his sentence.”

“Which is?”

“Death, of course. By hanging.”

A terrific crash of metal and porcelain follows this proclamation. Portia, her face pale with a cold horror, has dropped the dessert platter, dishes clattering to the tiles of the floor. Perhaps the talk of such morbid things has upset her; she seems a kind sort.

The Countess asks after her, and Portia hastily apologizes, giving a deep bow. She is instantly forgiven for this momentary clumsiness. (Truly, Portia must be highly favored indeed.)

The Countess turns back to me as more servants fly to the scene to help clear the mess. “This is where I need your help, Jñāna. Since his escape three years ago, the doctor has proven… very elusive.” A small line of vexation appears between her elegant brows, smoothing itself out when she speaks again. “But you… your reputation precedes you. Some say that you have surpassed even your master.”

Have I? Do people say that? If so… it is the first I have heard of it. I certainly have been giving more readings of late, and very often the voices of the Arcana will come through to me, even through a normal deck. With Asra’s own deck, the things they tell me can be so detailed that I must hold back, lest I frighten the customer.

“As I told you,” she continues, “I myself glimpse the future in my dreams, desired or not. And I have seen that you are the one to find Doctor Devorak.”

She cannot know that I have encountered Devorak twice already. I look down as another servant deftly slips a bowl of saffron kheer studded with golden raisins and pistachios before me. “And if he is found…?”

“When he is found,” she says firmly, “we will bring him before the people of Vesuvia, so that they may witness his long-overdue punishment. His execution for his terrible crime will be the event that marks the start of the Masquerade.”

I find that my appetite has disappeared; even as I am pushing my bowl of kheer away, the Countess drains her wineglass and rises to her feet, calling for Portia.

“...Portia,” she repeats, and Portia, who seems to be having some trouble this evening, appears at her side.

“Yes, Milady!” she says, smartly, but her face is still pale under its freckles.

“Show our guest to hir quarters. The journey has been long, and I am sure that there is much for hir to think over this fine evening.”

“Right away, Milady.” Portia bows, then takes my arm, helping me to rise. I, too, make a bow of sorts, and the Countess smiles.

“Good night, Jñāna.”

Portia escorts me out of the dining room, closing the mahogany doors behind us.

She is uncharacteristically quiet, and I wonder if she feels, as I do, that kicking off a Masquerade with a public hanging is rather barbaric. It seems unworthy of a ruler whose behavior is otherwise civil, and even forgiving. But then, Vesuvia does sport a Coliseum - now unused, but once packed with citizens greedy for bloodshed as their entertainment. An execution would no doubt find an eager audience.

Each in our own thoughts, we walk together through the wings of the Palace.

[amazedforjjk]

Escape 5- Ot7

The gif is not mine!

Characters: Lion!Namjoon, Jaguar!Jin, Black panther!Yoongi, Cheetah!Hoseok, Snow Leopard!Jimin, Tiger!Taehyung, cougar!Jungkook, Serval!Reader

Summary: In a world where Hybrid protection laws are gradually strengthening, many organisations are still advocating for the complete extermination of your species. What happens when you find yourself and 7 other predatory hybrids in a truck en route to a hybrid slaughter facility?

Genre: Angst, fluff

Warning: Mentions of sexual abuse, sexual assault, mentions of violence, mention of death. Also, tragic backstories™️ 

A.N: Here is chapter 5! There are some serious issues talked about in this chapter, but they are important. I don’t know when I’ll be able to write the next chapters, I’ll try to keep you updated. I hope you’ll like it!

Word count: 4.2K (the biggest yet hehe)

<Previous//Next>

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It is not yet morning when you wake up in cold sweat. As soon as you fell asleep you were engulfed in a nightmare, one where you were unable to escape the torture of your captor. You pant as the image of his knife covering your body of deep bloody lines is still fresh in your mind. You take deep breaths, trying to calm your heart pounding in your chest. Next to you, Jin and Jimin are still peacefully slumbering, and you find yourself relaxing at the sound of the blond hybrid’s steady breathing.

Unable to go back to sleep just yet, you carefully rise to your feet, disentangling your tail from Jimin’s in the process. You smile to yourself when the grey bushy article wraps itself around Taehyung’s instead, the tiger hybrid currently sprawled onto the youngest hybrid. You only take a few steps from the sleeping men to find Yoongi seated on the ground, facing the direction of the abandoned farm. The tilt of his ears in your direction is the only indication that he has noticed your presence, and you take it as an invitation to sit next to him.

“Nightmare?”, he says simply, though his eyes convey the worry he feels. You hum in response, hands rubbing your eyes. You turn your head to meet his eyes.

“What about you?”

“I think someone should keep watch..”, he responds, and you can tell by the way he looks away from you that it’s not the complete truth. You stare quizzically at him, making him understand that you don’t fully believe his explanation. He sighs and a dry chuckle escapes his lips.

“Fine, I couldn’t sleep because I was scared”. Your eyebrows furrow at the unexpected revelation but you let him continue. “What if they come after us again? We didn’t kill most of them, of course, we just left them there. What’s going to happen when they wake up?”

If you were honest, you hardly believe that the men left would be in any shape to chase after you, given the pools of blood on the floor of the room, if they were ever to wake up. But at the worry in his tone, you take his hand in yours, squeezing ever so slightly. If he is surprised at the sudden contact, he doesn’t let it show and simply squeezes your hand in return.

“I’m scared too”, you say simply, looking in the distance. The moon is full and brightly illuminates the miles of fields surrounding you. You make a point not to look at the barn, the sight of it still too painful right now, especially in light of your recent nightmare. “I want to reach the center fast”

Even staying in the city too long is going to be painful, you think, and it’s as if the black panther hybrid next to you can smell your apprehension, because he glances at you, eyes filled with questions.

“Why were you taken?”, you ask suddenly before he can voice his concern, and confusion is plastered on his face.

“I- I escaped from my owner” he says, his tail swishing behind him fervently. Anxiety is radiating from him and you suddenly feel regretful for asking so thoughtlessly, and you are about to stop him when he resumes talking. “She would … She would rent me, for other humans..” he trails off and you are left confused, not quite able to grasp the meaning of his words.

“For other humans to use me” he says after a beat, and you feel your stomach drop. His eyes are dropped to the floor and he gently removes his hand from yours to wrap it around his knees. He rests his chin on his knees and he can’t seem to look at you, ears drooping and eyes sad, making him look so small. You are left speechless, emotions swirling inside you, hatred for the humans taking advantage of him, sorrow for what he had to endure, and you just take him in your arms. This time, he is taken aback by the affection and doesn’t move a finger. You think he is going to pull away from your grasp but he leans into it, burying his face in the crook of your neck, releasing his knees to wrap his arms around you instead.

You don’t know how long you stay there, enjoying each other’s comforting hold before he lets go after squeezing you one last time.

“Thank you”, he utters simply, and you smile at him, cheeks flushed.

“What about you?” he starts, and you tilt your head in confusion. He chuckles lightly at the confusion written on your face. “Why were you taken?”

Your smile falters as you remember why you brung up the subject.

“I was taken in the city we are traveling to”, you state abruptly, making his eyes widen. “My parents were used by humans to breed serval hybrids and sell them. They didn’t know each other, only met the nights when my mother was in heat. One day, they managed to escape together. She was pregnant with me and my siblings.” At their mention, you grimace, eyes falling to the ground. Yoongi must be aware of their fate because he simply grabs your hand, rubbing your knuckles without a word.

“We lived on the streets of the city we are headed to, begging for food and sometimes stealing. My mother was hit by a car when she was trying to run away from humans who were harassing her. My dad disappeared not long after that and we never heard from him again. And then fuckface over there,” you point your chin in the direction of the barn, “well he simply had to pick us up after that”, you finish, a snarl on your lips as you talk about the man.

“That’s why I want to reach the center as soon as possible” you conclude. “This town does not hold good memories for me”, you add with a small smile.

“Then we won’t stay long”, Yoongi replies, lifting his free hand and presenting his pinkie. “Promise”, he adds with a cute grin, and you chuckle as you intertwine your pinkie with his. He then props his arm on your shoulder, prompting you closer to lay your head on his shoulder. You comply without a word, a warm feeling filling your chest.

--------------------------------------------------

The both of you stay like this wordlessly until the sun starts to rise, and it’s with the rays of the sun caressing your face that you turn to wake the other hybrids up. The sooner you reach the city the better, you answer a grumpy Jungkook when he asks you why so early, his ruffled black hair falling in front of his eyes. You don’t exactly know how long you’ll have to walk today given that your course has been disrupted, so you decide to study the map along with Yoongi, the others far too drowsy to be of any help.

Namjoon is the first to settle alongside you, gold eyes heavy in sleepiness, and he glances absently at the map while munching down on some leftover apple slices. One by one, the other men take place around the map, all more or less ready to listen to the rest of the journey left to accomplish.

“It looks like we’ll only have two hours of walking to do today tops, we’re not as far as we feared”, he announces, looking at Jin who nods at him while trying to tame his chestnut hair.

“Good”, replies Hoseok, yawning as he stretches his limbs. Once the announcement is finished, the meeting is dismissed and you start to pack your bag when Jimin makes his way toward you, backpack in hand. He eyes your side warily before talking.

“Are you feeling better? If it starts to hurt I’ll carry you”, he says, his light sincere eyes catching yours. You smile at him gratefully.

“Thank you Jimin”, you answer before the two of you meet the rest of the boys waiting in a circle.

This time, the walk to the city goes without a hitch. The eight of you follow the road from inside the fields, eager not to repeat the mistakes of the past. As you start to encounter more houses and pedestrians you move to walk on the sidewalk. The houses slowly get closer together and then start shifting in buildings. You walk by shops and restaurants, the smell of food waking the hunger inside you, the food Granny had provided not nearly enough for two days.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach the center of the city, and you find yourself now surrounded by tall buildings of steel and glass. The town is cold and grey in its center, swarmed with working people walking fast and holding steaming hot coffees.

 Had you never lived in this overcrowded city, you would find yourself in over your head, completely taken aback by the surge of smells, noises and flashes of light ambushing your senses. It seems that some of the hybrids accompanying you are having difficulties handling the situation, and you step up, taking Jimin and Hoseok’s hands in yours and leading the rest of the group towards a map of downtown.

You take a while trying to figure out exactly where the bus station is located, and another to actually find the place, but you manage to lead the eight of you there safely. The place is crowded, buzzing with people waiting around for their busses. Between the acrid smell of cigarettes and the loud noise of people talking on the phone, you still succeed to spot the ticket booth. 

You sigh in relief, and the tension in your shoulders start to lift off and you let go of the hands of the two hybrids. The snow panther whines at the loss of contact and you turn to look at him, confused. Jimin looks terrified, wide eyes scanning the crowd, ears pressed flat against his skull. He is breathing fast, and you can tell by the frantic swaying of his tail that he is not used to such places. You worriedly look at Hoseok and beckon him to take care of the shaking boy.

“The booth is here”, you shout at Jin, hoping he can hear over the noise of the crowd. He nods in response and the both of you walk towards it, leaving the other men to wait in the corner of the station. You can feel stares falling on you, and anxiety starts to rise within you. To be fair, your group of hybrids doesn't exactly blend in with the well-suited crowd, your clothes disheveled and your hair messed up. You can feel some people around you warily eyeing your ears and tail. Even if the city is more progressive in terms of hybrid acceptation, the region isn’t known for its love towards genetically engineered individuals.

The woman at the counter seems too interested in her magazine at first to notice Jin and you waiting patiently before her. You glance at each other, not quite sure what to do. It’s only after her manager clears his throat behind her that she scurries to help you. She comes to a halt when her eyes fall on Jin.

“We need eight tickets to the capital, please,” Jin asks, a polite smile tugging at his lips. No response.

The woman is still eyeing the hybrid next to you, mouth slightly ajar, and you have to conceal a chuckle at the sight before you.

“Eight tickets to the capital as soon as possible… Please?” Jin reiterates, bewildered. The woman only responds with an idiotic smile. He casts a glance your way, unsure and you only smirk at his distress. She finally notices your presence and her smile is long gone. She scowls at you and types on her computer grumpily. Beside you, Jin is all the more perplexed by the sudden change of behaviour, making you chuckle again, feeling very amused by the situation.

“40 dollars” she announces with a deadpan look and Jin hands her the money. She prints the tickets and hands them to Jin, then casts you the darkest glare you’ve ever seen. You chuckle once more and wave her goodbye sweetly, rejoicing on the furious look you earn in return.

You then make your way back to the others, Jin trailing after you after having uttered a hesitant thank you to the cashier. He reads the tickets and then glances at the suspended clock in the middle of the room.

“The bus should leave in 35 minutes”, he announces, and he looks around the crowded room. No seat available in sight. “Maybe the bus is already boarding? We should go check”, he adds looking back at you. You hum in agreement, taking the time to scour the station. Hunger is gnawing at your stomach and you don’t think you’ll bear the bur ride on an empty stomach. You light up when you finally spot a snack machine. You grab Jin by the sleeve before he can walk away.

“I’m going to grab snacks for everybody, can you give me some money?”, you ask the jaguar. He looks at the snack machine and you can see his ears twitch in excitement at the prospect of food. He hands you the pouch in which is stashed the rest of the money and you make your way towards the machine, leaving the boys to go check on the bus.

The machine is filled with goodies and you feel your mouth water at the choices. You start to buy some chips and sugary snacks when you suddenly feel someone tugging on your tail. You immediately bring it back around you and you turn nervously. You can already tell the man who grabbed your tail is bad news by the smirk on his lips. He seems older, maybe mid-fifties and he is not wearing a suit like the other passengers around you, but rather a dirty grey raincoat. He looks you up and down and licks his lips and you can’t repress the grimace of disgust plastered on your face.

“Please leave me alone”, you tentatively say, hoping the man will stop at once, but that only seems to spur him on and he starts coming closer to you. You didn’t buy nearly enough food for all of you but this will have to do, you think as you hastily squat down to retrieve the snacks from the machine and stash them in your bag. You stand up quickly, eager to go back to your boys but he presses into you from behind and your whole body is shoved into the machine. You feel color drain from your face as something hard pokes at you. You suddenly feel nauseated, this is disgusting. You want to scream but it’s as if your voice has disappeared. You grit your teeth, hoping the people around will have noticed to help you, but no one moves. In fact, it’s as if no one wants to look at you. You try to push the man to get out of his reach but to no avail, and panic settles into your bones.

The pressure behind you is removed abruptly, and you turn around to find Namjoon staring down at the man who was assaulting you held onto the floor. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so angry, the veins of his neck prominent and his jaw is clenched as he maintains the man on the ground with his foot. If looks could kill, the man would have died ten times already, the gold eyes of the lion hybrid shining fiercely. His fists are clenched, his knuckles almost turning white. You finally shake the shock from your mind and look around you. The humans are staring, scared, at the predatory hybrid. You can tell that some are calling the police so you grab Namjoon’s arm, shifting his attention on you.

“Let him go, Namjoon”, you plead, panic in your eyes. “This is not the time to bring the police’s attention on us”, you add through gritted teeth, looking at the woman protecting her child. You want to scream, shout that she better protect her daughter from the man on the ground rather than from Namjoon, that she should be thankful that men like him still exist. But you can’t, you have to get him out of here, or the one in danger is going to be him, as unfair as it seems.

“But-” he starts, looking back at the man in anger.

“Namjoon, please!”

The lion hybrid looks at you one last time, then around him. He must feel the weight of the accusatory gazes on him because his ears fall. He lifts his leg and the man scurries away, like a worm under Namjoon’s harsh glare. You hastily buy the rest of the snacks you had planned to take and quickly lead the lion out by the hand. Before you can reach the other boys waiting by the bus, Namjoon stops dead in his tracks and you turn to him.

“That’s not fair”, he says, his intense gold eyes trained on you.

“No, it’s really not”, you reply sadly.

“I should have beaten him up for doing that to you”, he adds, and you look at the ground.

“It would only have ended badly for you”, you say, a resigned look on your face.

“No, I fought… Before.” You glance up to meet his gaze, confused before you grasp the meaning of his words and your eyes widen in realisation. He was in a hybrid fighting ring.

“The injuries on the first night- it’s because of that?”, you ask, stepping closer to him.

“That night, I lost my first fight”, he begins and you hold your breath, sorrow filling you. “They left me for dead on the streets. When I woke up, I tried to find shelter but then I got picked up anyway. I was too weak to fight back” he adds, turning his head from you, pausing. “But I could’ve beaten that man’s ass” he finishes, his gold eyes finally finding yours.

“I’m sorry Namjoon” is all you can say, and you wrap your arms around him. You pause to gather your thoughts before continuing. “I know you would’ve won, and easily, but they would have called the police on you. They would have you put down. And that would be worse than that man walking away unscathed”

He sighs before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing his forehead to yours. He pulls back after a beat and wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. You didn’t notice that you were crying, and you blush, embarrassed at your display of emotions.

“We should go”, he says after a little while and the both of you make your way towards the boys gathered next to the bus. They are waiting by the open door, the bus almost ready to leave. At the sight of your reddened cheeks, they exchange worried looks but you don’t leave them the time to ask questions before you hand each of them a snack.

“Come on, let's get our seats”, Namjoon says, placing his hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the doors.

Jimin and Jungkook are the first to board the bus, taking their seats at the back of the vehicule. Taehyung and Yoongi sit on the aisle opposite to them, Yoongi against the window, leaning his head, already in position to sleep. You settle next to Hoseok in front of them, leaving Namjoon to sit next to the eldest at your left.

When you sit, Hoseok is seemingly very excited about the departure, smiling broadly at you. His smile is contagious and you return his smile in earnest. He can barely contain his trepidation, his tail swishing from side to side at your feet and his ears flicking at every sound. You chuckle at his adorableness, making him blush, before getting your snacks and starting to munch on the chips. You notice the cheetah hybrid next to you eyeing your food so you hand him the bag. He smiles warmly in thanks and you happily share the salty treat.

Maybe five minutes after you boarded, the bus closes its doors and starts moving. You hear a quick screeching noise and the driver starts talking, his voice barely covering the sound of engines even with a microphone.

“Ladies and gents, welcome aboard this bus in direction to-”

“Y/n, do you have something else to eat?”, the tiger behind you asks, face close to your headrest. You nod and go through into your bag, handing Taehyung a bag of sweets. He squeals in delight when you give him the snack, pecking your cheek quickly before sitting back, sharing the snack with the blond haired boy across him.

“We should arrive in two hours and twenty-five minutes, please do not walk in the aisle when the bus is-”

You turn back to Hoseok, who is staring out the window, giddy, hands clutching the ledge. You take a moment to examine him before breaking the silence. From his coal colored hair falling delicately on his forehead to his caramel skin complimenting his warm eyes, he looks completely breathtaking. Your eyes trace his sharp features, following the angle of his jaw before falling on his pink lips turned up in a awestruck smile. You can feel the blush creeping on your cheeks as you continue to ogle the man next to you, and you take a deep breath to calm your beating heart before talking.

“You seem excited to take the bus, Hoseok”, you state simply and he beams at you.

“We are the closest we’ve ever been to have a home!” he replies, thrill clear in his voice. His gold eyes are gleaming, and you find yourself lost in them, smiling softly in return. “And this is the first time I take the bus! It’s so big!” he adds animatedly, eyes scouring the insides of the vehicule.

Outside the window, the city landscape slowly shifts to miles of fields, stretching to the horizon, and you can feel sleep starting to overcome you. Much like the already sleeping panther seated in the row behind you, you didn’t sleep much the night before, and the lack of rest is starting to take its toll on you. The voice of the cheetah hybrid next to you lulls you into sleep and a yawn escapes your lips.

Hoseok abruptly stops talking and his smile falls, eyes resembling those of a kicked puppy. Confused by the sudden change of behaviour, you open your mouth to ask him what’s wrong but he beats you to it.

“I’m sorry, I talk too much. You are tired of me, I should shut up”, he says dejectedly, his ears falling flat against his hair. Where is this coming from, you internally inquire, eyes wide in remorse that you pained him.

“What do you mean Hoseok, I love when you talk to me”, you add instantly, taking his hand in yours. His gaze meets yours, his ears slowly rising from where they were pressed against his head.

“Really?” he asks tentatively, hope swimming in his eyes.

“Of course I do! Why wouldn’t I?”

“No one ever adopted me in the shelter because I talk too much and I am too excited. Shelters often kicked me out after a while. They would say that I am un-adoptable, that I’m a pain to look after”, he explains with a small smile. At each of his sentences you feel more and more angry and sorry for him, grasping his hand more tightly in yours. “Eventually I stopped going at shelters altogether, but then I got caught”

“They don’t deserve you Hoseok”, you declare, and at your words a small smile appears on his face. “Your very presence is soothing, you inspire me hope. Thank you for being you Hoseok”, you add, earnest. “I am feeling tired because I couldn’t sleep last night because of a nightmare, but your voice appeases me”

This time, he looks at a total loss of words, not accustomed to be praised. His eyes fill with emotion and he looks at your hand. He intertwines your fingers together, and looks at you again, gold eyes filled with tears.

“Please don’t leave me”, he utters so softly you have to strain your ears to hear it, his deep voice cracking under the weight of his heartache. You feel tears prickle at the corners of your eyes but you keep them from falling. Instead, you lean your head on his shoulder and gently close your eyes.

“I won’t”, you murmur simply and you feel his muscles relax. He lays his head on top of yours, and he begins to speak again, softly this time, and you slowly slip out of consciousness, lulled to sleep by his sweet voice.

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Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! Tell me what you thought of this chapter!

💜

<Previous//Next>

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): First Migration, the Year of Sorrow, the Splitting of the Moon

Hazrat Umar- the Fortieth Muslim

(6th Year of the Prophethood, month of Dhulhijjah / 616)

The joining of Hazrat Hamzah, an incomparable hero, to the ranks of Muslims and the immigration of a group of Muslims to Abyssinia caused the polytheists of Quraysh to become lost in deep thought. A great worry and fear started to consume their lives.

They all had the same decision set in their minds: to solve the matter regarding Abu Talib’s orphan, Muhammad, once and for all.

The Quraysh organized their talks on this matter at Daru’n Nadwa. After their fiery and intense discussions, Abu Jahl’s proposal was accepted: “to annihilate Muhammad’s body.”

Who could dare to attempt such a fearsome murder? A possible vendetta administered by the Sons of Hashim was also a point of matter to be considered.

Some were even making bold promises. For example, Abu Jahl promised, “Whoever kills Muhammad will receive 100 red and black camels, this much gold, this much silver, etc from me.”

Nobody could find the courage to commit this appalling deed. However, there was someone from among them who did; he was tall, had an imposing build, and never bowed before anyone, He came forward and said, “I will do it.”

At one moment, all eyes turned towards this fearless man, who had come forth. They saw that he was Umar, the Son of Hattab. The Qurayshis were confident that Umar was more than capable; thus, they all said, “Yes, only you can do this. Let us see what you can do!” in unison.

Umar was fixed in his decision: he was going to go straight to Darul Arqam, find our Holy Prophet (PBUH), and execute his decision.

After Umar looked around in a furious manner with his eyes that had become bloodshot red, he went directly towards the Kaaba and circumambulated it. Afterwards, he walked towards Darul Arqam with deep feelings of animosity and aggression.

It was very obvious that he was on a mission to fulfill some goal. On his way, he encountered Hazrat Nuaym bin Abdullah, a relative who had become Muslim but concealed his faith. Hazrati Nuaym could not help asking questions when he noticed the apparent change seen in Hazrat Umar’s attitude: “Where are you going, O Umar?”

Hazrat Umar replied without showing any need to conceal his purpose, “I’m going to eliminate Muhammad, the one who has instilled disunity among the Quraysh!”

Hazrat Nuaym went cold all over upon hearing this dreadful decision and looked for ways to dissuade him from this idea. “By God, you are embarking on a very difficult affair. Muhammad’s companions never leave his side for the slightest moment. It is very difficult to find a way. Let us say that you were able to find a way and killed him. Do you think that the Sons of Abd al-Manaf would allow you to roam freely on the face of the Earth?”

Umar looked at his addressee sternly and asked “Or are you on his side as well?”

However, he received an unexpected answer: “O Umar, forget about me; return to your family and community. Your brother-in-law and uncle’s son, Said bin Zayd and his wife, your sister, Fatima, have submitted to Muhammad’s religion. Go and deal with them first!”

Hazrat Umar was bewildered and worried. He did not want to believe what he had heard. In fact, it looked as if he did not even find the need to investigate. However, he could not overcome the doubts that filled him; he changed his mind halfway down the road and went straight towards his sister’s home.

In the meantime, the altruistic Companion, Habbab bin Arat, was reciting the chapter Taha, which had just been revealed, to Hazrat Said and Hazrat Fatima.

Hazrart Umar heard this sounds when he neared his sister’s home. He furiously knocked on the door once or twice. When no one opened the door, he pushed against the door with his shoulder and rushed into the house with rage.

Hazrat Fatima had understood that the one furiously knocking on her door was her brother Umar; thus, she put away the pages of the Quran while Hazrat Habbab hid in a corner.

Hazrat Umar asked in a tone filled with much displeasure, “What was it that you were reading?”

When his brother-in-law replied with nervousness and worry, “It was nothing, we were just talking among ourselves”, Hazrat Umar’s anger and rage increased thoroughly. He held his brother-in-law, who innocently stood there, by his neck and said, “So that means what I have heard is true; you also converted to Muhammad’s religion, didn’t you?” as he hurled him to the ground. Hazrat Fatima attempted to save her husband. She also found herself on the ground after receiving a harsh punch. Hazrat Fatima understood that there was no point in concealing her faith any longer. She rose to her foot and shouted, “Do whatever you can, Umar! My husband and I are now Muslims. We have testified to Allah and His Messenger (PBUH).” She followed by reciting the Kalima  ash-Shahada, the affirmation of faith, and the room instantly rang with the magnificence of this oath.

It was an exemplary and heartbreaking sight. How could someone cruelly hit his sister and leave her drenched in blood for saying, “My Lord is Allah”? What hardened heart would not soften and what conscience would not come to reason in the sight of a person who continues shouting her cause despite being in a welter of blood?

Umar was suddenly taken aback. He felt as if his heart was fluctuating. He could not stand on his feet any longer; thus, he sat down. After thinking deeply for some time, he said, “Bring me what you were reading so that I can see what Muhammad says.”

At first, Hazrat Fatima was hesitant. She was afraid that her brother would attempt to defame the pages of the Holy Quran. However, Umar ceased her worries by saying, “Do not be afraid.”

Yet, she could only give the pages of the Quran to those who were purified and because Umar was still an adherent of polytheism, he was not considered to be spiritually clean.

Therefore, Hazrat Fatima said, “My Brother, you are not considered to be clean because you are an adherent of a faith that associates partners to Allah. Only those who are clean can touch it. Rise and wash yourself.”

Hazrat Umar rose and bathed himself by performing a full ablution (ghsul) over his body. Upon this, Hazrat Fatima took the pages of the Quran with the utmost respect and handed them to him.

Hazrat Umar was a scribe; therefore, he knew how to read and write (not many people during his time had these skills.) He began reading the page he held in his hands from the beginning to its end:

“Ta Ha. We have not sent down the Qur'ân unto you (O Muhammad SAW) to cause you distress, But only as a Reminder to those who fear (Allâh). A revelation from Him Who created the earth and the heavens on high.” 

Hazrat Umar both read and reflected upon these verses. He was baffled in the face of the timeless and literary eloquence of the Holy Quran. It was as if he was not the same Umar, who had firmly grasped the handle of his sword, intending to kill our Holy Prophet (PBUH). The insensitivity in his heart and the anger seen on his face had both disappeared. His eyes that had been bloodshot were now gleaming with light. His inner being was smiling along with his face. When he read the verse, ” "Verily I am Allah: there is no god but I: so serve thou Me, (only) and establish regular prayer for celebrating My praise” of the chapter, he shouted: “This is such a beautiful, honorable, and sublime remark! No remark can be sweeter and more beautiful than this!”

This expression was proof that his heart had attained both guidance and luminance.

Hazrat Habbab, who had heard Hazrat Umar’s words, came out from his hiding spot and said, “Glad tidings, O Umar. I hope the prayer that Allah’s Apostle (PBUH) made on your behalf will come true. Last night he prayed, “My Lord, strengthen Islam through either Abu’l-Hakam bin Hisham (Abu Jahl) or Umar bin Hattab.”

Umar bin Hattab and Abu’l-Hakem Amr bin Hisham (Abu Jahl): One of them (Abu Jahl) had proposed for the Master of the Universe (PBUH) to be murdered since that would have been the only way through which the Islamic cause could be hindered, whereas the other, Hazrat Umar, had accepted this proposal and rose to carry out this decision.

The negative perceptions that Hazrat Umar had previously held about Islam and our Holy Prophet (PBUH) had now completely shifted. He wanted to go to our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) presence and feel the warm embrace of his light as soon as possible. He asked, “Where is Allah’s Apostle?”

When he learned that our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was at Darul-Arqam, the outskirts of Mount Safa, he immediately set off on his way with Hazrat Habbab.

A watchman informed our Holy Prophet (PBUH) that Hazrat Umar had come with a sword on his waist. An air of worry and nervousness beset upon everyone with the exception of Hazrat Hamza. This great Islamic hero grasped his sword and said, “Let him come. What is there to be scared of? If he has come with good intentions, then we will welcome him with benevolence. If he has come with bad intentions, then we will dispose of him with his own sword.”

Smiles appeared on the Master of the Universe’s (PBUH) face as he watched the scene before him. He had received news that Umar’s heart had been embraced by the light of guidance. Without getting worried or nervous at all, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) said, “There is nothing to be worried about, let him come. If Allah desires beneficence for him, then He will deliver him in the right direction.”

The door opened upon this command. Umar, who was waiting in front of that door, entered with his imposing appearance and weapon. There was not a trace of anger that could be seen on his face; instead, his face radiated with a glisten of love. His eyes were searching for the light of both truth and reality. At one moment, he came eye-to-eye with our Holy Prophet (PBUH). It was as if he was going to pass out in the face of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) grandeur. He forgot about everything. Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) light-filled glances had deeply grasped Hazrat Umar under their influence.

After they looked at one another for some time, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) disrupted Hazrat Umar’s air of nervousness, silence, and worry by asking, “Why did you come, O Hattab’s Son, Umar?” Afterwards, he extended his hand and held his sword by its handle and prayed, “O My Lord, this is Hattab’s Son, Umar. My Lord, strengthen the religion of Islam with Umar, Son of Hattab (Umar bin Hattab).

Hazrat Umar’s soul had given rein to the Sun of Guidance. He answered our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) question by saying, “I have come to testify to Allah and His Apostle and what he has brought.” Afterwards, he recited the Kalima  ash-Shahada, the oath of faith, and became a Muslim. 

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and his companions were immensely happy. In unison, they all recited the Takbir loudly: Allahu Akbar… Allahu Akbar! (Allah is Great, Allah is Great!)

These sounds of Takbir that were heard on the streets of Mecca rang in the horizon and from there, rose to the skies as waves filled with light.

Hazrat Umar had become a Muslim, in fact, he became the 40th Muslim. From thereon, his bravery, courage, and strength were no longer in the way of disbelief. He was going to exercise these qualities for the sake of Islam. Umar, who had run forth to kill our Holy Prophet (PBUH) upon the decision of the polytheists, was now like a fan circulating around him. Now that Hazrat Umar had a perpetual power, which resulted from having faith, added to his valor, he would challenge and intimidate the polytheists from thereon. By receiving light and illumination through our Holy Prophet (PBUH), he would be known by the title, “Umar, the Just” in the world history.

Entering Masjid-al-Haram in Ranks

Hazrat Umar, whose real source of courage resided in his faith, could no longer stay put in his place. He asked our Holy Prophet (PBUH), “O Allah’s Apostle, whether we die or live, are we not in the true religion? When our Holy Prophet (PBUH) replied, “Yes, I swear by Allah in whose hand is my soul that you are”, Umar said, “In that case, why do we continue to conceal out faith? I swear by Allah Who has sent you with the religion of truth that I will bravely go to every assembly of polytheism and announce Islam without fear and hesitation.”

Upon this, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) set towards the Kaaba from Daru’l-Arqam, with Hazrat Umar on his right, Hazrat Hamza on his left, and the other companions (sahaba) following them from behind.  They entered the Masjid al-Haram with dignified steps.

The polytheists, who were expecting our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) head, were surprised when they saw this sight. They were looking at Hazrat Umar and Hazrat Hamza with scared and nervous glances. They were able to gather their courage and ask, “O Umar, what is behind you? What did you come with?”

Hazrat Umar replied, “I came with La ilaha illalah Muhammadur Rasullulah. Nobody should move from his place or else I will cut his neck.”

The polytheists became silent. It was as if their tongues were tied.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) circumambulated the Kaaba and prayed freely. The Muslims were also able to pray openly.

Hazrat Umar said,

“It was then that Allah’s Apostle (PBUH) gave me the name, “Faruq” for separating truth and falsehood.” 

Hazrat Hamza’s conversion to Islam followed by Hazrat Umar’s ensured Islam’s development, enabled Muslims to worship freely, and saved Muslims from the constraints imposed by the polytheists. In this regard, Hazrat Umar’s joining of ranks with the Muslims held an important place in Islamic history.  One of the companions, Hazrat Abdullah bin Masud made note of this importance, “When Umar became a Muslim, it was a conquest for Islam, an honor as well as a glory for the Muslims, His migration to Makkah was a victory, and his Caliphate was a mercy. Until Umar became a Muslim, we could not openly pray in the Kaaba’s courtyard.”

[atxlxs]

Beyond The Veil: Chapter 6

A glance at the time told Eras that Muska was still stuck in the meeting. Unsurprisingly, but also disappointing. She had hoped the meeting would go faster so Muska would get home an hour ago. She really wanted to get food started so she could relax, the nerves of Musa going to a highschool had eaten at her all day.

Great, she was starting to sound like an actual mother.

*sigh*

Pulling out her phone, Eras opened the phone app and pressed call on Muska’s contact. Conveniently titled ‘parasite’. It rang for a total of 3 times before it clicked, suddenly two voices flooded through the phone. One, that was Muska, the other was definitely Nedzu. So the witch put her on speaker phone. Nedzu was probably trying to get her to answer more questions then they agreed to answer.

The chirpy “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your meal but if I may inquire, is your guardian real or not? I know you're older than most of us but as you said you are a minor for your kind. We would like to get you in a safe environment for the time you spend learning here and research revealed nothing but a name, Viridis Eras if I remember correctly.” was surprisingly soft and sounded genuinely sincere.

Maybe, Eras wouldn’t have to worry constantly about her friend.

“I am very much a real person, Nedzu.” She said simply, her voice coming across smooth and melodic. The other side of the line went dead quiet. It almost made her chuckle but she refrained. Intimidation was hard to maintain through giggles.

“Hey Eras, what's up?” Muska asked, a hint of relief in her voice. Ah, Nedzu definitely was trying to pry more details out of her.

“The person that actually needs to eat physical food is not in my house to eat it. Since school ended 2 hours ago and my parasite wasn’t here yet despite me stating it was a pasta night, I got worried.” Eras responded, ignoring the soft “actually need to eat?” from the background of the call.

She wasn’t lying. After school had ‘released’ she had been checking the clock every 10 minutes. Anxiety over what could be happening kept her from focusing so she had sat down on the couch and glared at the fireplace for the entire 2 hours.

So what if she was overly worried, and for nothing it seemed? She has had bad experiences and experience is always the best teacher.

“Awe, was my sugar mommy worried about me?” Muska said, her tone teasing and Eras could pick up the faint sounds of choking from the other side of the line. Of course she would throw that term around in front of others.

“You wish, gremlin child.”

“Old woman.”

“Bitch witch”

“What kind of pasta?”

“Spaghetti, homemade, and with a homemade roasted garlic seasoned meat sauce. As well as a salad but Who knows if you’ll have the appetite for it. It’ll be there though.” Eras had gotten up at this point and was shuffling around the kitchen. “Will you need a ride home?”

“Nah, Nedzu is practically vibrating in his place at the thought of another veil member, which he has correctly hypothesized you are, and would most definitely stalk the gate for you.” Muska returned, amusement bleeding into her tone as Eras caught snorts from around the room she was in.

Suddenly, a cough snapped her attention back to the conversation as said rat cleared his throat.

“As amusing as this is, Before you leave would I be able to ascertain who or what you are? Considering the age of the witch present, for her to address you as ‘old woman’ I assume you must be someone who has lived far longer.” Nedzu stated, interest coating his words.

Before she could respond someone in the back of the room, a gruff voice that was deep as fuck holy shit, spoke up with a warning present in his voice.

“Nedzu, I don’t believe interrogating them will get you any of your answers.” the voice said, agitation and resignation in his tone. He was probably well versed in Nedzu.

“Thanks Aizawa-sensei.” Muska said, a little choppy on the sensei but that was expected honestly. Well, nice to know the name of the voice. However, Eras wanted to make the rat suffer a bit. He spent a few hours interrogating so she might as well dangle an interesting opportunity in his face and not allow him to reach for it.

“Yes thank you Aizawa-san, I don't mind telling you what race I am , Nedzu. I am also much older than the teen witch in front of you at the moment. Yet, alas,” she said with faux disappointment and sorrow, “I seem to be needed somewhere else. The pot that hasn’t even begun to boil yet is very threatening to me so I simply must end the call here. See you at home bestie.”

With a response of “You got it bestie.” the line clicked and went dead. Snickering to herself as she finally started the stove.

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Aizawa Shouta has had several revelations as the day passed. First of all, the broken bone boy was very determined to keep his place in the heroics class. He’s going to be a problem child, he has a sixth sense for them at this point. Secondly, one of his students is an enigma. She looks to be a bit older than 16, maybe 17, yet is over 2 and a half fucking centuries old. When he had first come across the term ‘beyond the veil’ he knew there were probably things that far surpassed humans in different areas but that old? That counts as a teen?

With a heavy sigh, Shouta sat through one of the wildest faculty meetings he had the displeasure of being forced to attend. That was saying something considering his employer was Nedzu. Granted, he wouldn’t have skipped this one anyways when knowing answers to the veil would be given. Understandably, not all of the answers, but now they had a firm idea about what actually lived beyond it. Also understandably, the new information was perplexing. Shouta wouldn’t touch any more information with a ten foot pole until whatever he was just given was processed.

As Viridis left the room, thankfully less chaotic than when she had entered, Shouta let out a sigh of relief. He rubbed his hands down his face and contemplated what he just heard. Finally, they had an overall summary of the types of races present in the veil and a somewhat structured hierarchy that would have to be explained further at some point in case they stumbled into the veil now but that could wait.

Shouta shivered as he remembered how oppressing the air had gotten in the room during Viridis’s talk about the forgotten. He had met hardened villains that had less presence and conviction then she did during her rant. They would need to hear about the taboos as well, he really didn’t want to be branded thank you very much.

Luckily, the goblin of a teen did actually have a guardian that existed. (No ‘Zashi, his jaw was firmly in place and had not dropped when the person spoke, even if it did that was warranted because he's sure he saw even nemuri marvel at how smooth it was, and no he did not snicker when they obviously baited Nedzu.) They wouldn’t have to worry about finding a place for them to stay safely while attending their school. This brought up some new considerations though. Groaning he slammed his head onto the table dramatically, the other teachers swiveling their heads to snap their gaze to him.

“Nedzu, she’s probably already done with the general education curriculum. If we don’t find a way to occupy her, we’ll have to deal with whatever chaos she makes to entertain herself while bored in class.”

All the teachers nodded in agreement. Fear flashing through their eyes at the idea. The flashy pro’s were unusually subdued after that showing. Whether from the presence of something completely unknown to them that was downright terrifying, or just the way Viridis acted and spoke to Nedzu, Shouta wasn’t sure.

Honestly though? Rat-man was his new favorite nickname to call the chimera in his head, it was stuck and was hilarious.

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The morning of the second day of Muska's highschool life, Eras felt off, like something bad was going to happen kind of off.

When she had ‘woken’ from her vegetative state that morning everything just felt wrong. Then as she got up to start the day things just kept happening. None of them were good.

First, she found out that Tibbles had knocked over her higher end coffee grounds. (Accidentally of course, Tibbles may see them as servants but he was smarter than most and knew better than to ruin something a vampire enjoys. Eras could hold a grudge and it isn’t pretty) Next, she was informed that she had 4 business meetings, back to back, since there was a supply disruption and her pseudo-bosses that she pays to handle shit like this were out of their depth and had never experienced this before. Great.

Rushing, Eras made the coffees out of the cheaper brand and it hurt her soul to do it, coffee was sacred, and ran back to the observatory where her closet was to get dressed.

Grabbing out one of her many business related outfits, she threw on the first one she saw and paced over to her full length mirror to adjust it. A forest-pine green silk button down, the top three buttons were left open and a mesh underbust corset tied it together and tucked it into black dress pants. She tugged on black platform heels that came to a stop above her ankles. A charcoal black coat that stopped at ankle length hung off her shoulders. Since fall was starting to approach, the days have gotten cooler so it was there just in case.

Not that she actually felt the cold, she was technically undead, but the aesthetic was important.

A few extra accessories to tie it together, a silver chain necklace and several statement rings that were scattered on both hands along with earring sets, and after fixing her middle part she was done. Black circle sunglasses were grabbed absentmindedly through habit as she left the room. The sun was bright and Eras’s eyes were made for the night.

When she walked back into the kitchen to grab her thermos filled with a caramel macchiato she heard a wolf whistle from the dining table. Spinning around, she noticed Muska staring at her with surprise.

That was warranted, Eras dressed like a gym obsessed hobo most of the time.

“Holy shit, Lookin hot as fuck, Damn bestie. where are you heading to?” Muska said as she idly sipped her coffee while the phone she was scrolling through laid on the table, opened up to some kind of story based on the paragraphs of text she was seeing.

“Thanks, I have 4 business meetings that are emergencies because apparently a food supplier that I relied on had to recall everything, so I have to go down and explain what to do and listen to suggestions all day. I should be done by the time your school gets out so I’ll swing by and pick you up if time favors me.” Eras rambled a bit towards the end while fidgeting with her cup.

She was never able to gracefully accept a compliment outside of a text message, no matter how many years Muska’s been with her and hyping her up. Grabbing her keys, this time to her car and not the motorcycle (no matter how much she loves that bike she doesn’t want her hair ruined before she gets to the meeting, she's about to rip into some people.) She turned to Muska.

“Want a ride there?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

A total of 3 minutes passed as Muska’s sleep-addled brain caught up and she nodded, downing the rest of her coffee like a shot and slipping into her room to change into the uniform.

That was also a new weird thing, Eras was definitely not used to seeing Muska in anything but various black outfits with the occasional color. She missed seeing the edgy outfits and platform heels that were always an unneeded height since Muska was fucking taller than her. (she could change that but she was comfortable with 163cm)

Once Muska came back out, a quick pet to Tibbles given on the way which gave them a meow (Muska immediately glared at the cat. Sadly, Eras was at a loss as to what the cat was saying. Again.) and they both walked out of the door. Despite living on a mountain, they had a stone path that led to a fairly sleek building that blended in with the surrounding trees and mountain terrain. Once inside, parked along the furthest wall and facing the exit were three vehicles. The motorcycle that Eras had driven Muska with on the exam day, a military grade jeep that was blacked out and decked out, and finally, a 1970 volvo. It was a pastel mustard color and belonged to Muska.

Swinging open the door to the Jeep, Eras climbed in and started the car. Opening the garage door with the touch of a button and left the moment Muska was strapped in.

The ride to UA was easy and calm, except for the blaring of Muska’s playlist that Eras didn’t dare tell her to turn down because it was one of her favorite songs and she was loudly singing along. Pulling up a block away from the highschool, Nedzu precaution, Eras waved Muska out of her car and yelled another “KICK ASS WITCH BITCH!” before cackling as she drove away from a very aggressive middle finger from her friend.

Time to go deal with meetings that could have been a conference call.

“I AM-” A loud voice sounded from the hallway, startling Muska from her glare down with PomPom, “COMING THROUGH THE DOORWAY LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!”

That is, not how normal people enter a room what the fuck?

The newest blond in the class stood at around 200 fucking centimeters tall and wore spandex like a second skin. In american colors. Muska had never paid attention to the #1 Pro hero before but the more she looks at this walking american flag the more she’s grateful for not paying attention. Then something caught her attention.

The man had the same leaking weird energy as the twink from the faculty room.

How the hell did the solid brick wall of meat turn into the skeleton of a man she had seen literally yesterday????? Not only that but the leaking energy seemed to travel through the classroom, as if closer to the source of what's gathering it. As she followed the line of energy she noticed it stopped in front of her, going right into greenie….

What did she just stumble upon?

This feels like national secret type shit.

She tuned back in to hear the hero describe the battle trails they would be facing. 2 on 2 battles with full quirk use and indoors with a fucking bomb to locate. Paper mache but still, this was kinda advanced. She did, however, perk up when he mentioned costumes.

That, she was extra excited about.

Despite not really coming to UA for the hero aspect but more of the quirk training aspect, Muska still felt pretty excited about the costume. Also, she would legally be allowed to beat people up as a hero as long as they were classified as criminals or villains. That sounds like a good stress reliever within reason. She wasn’t going to just maul them. That’d be an abuse of power.

After being dismissed to change, Muska ran up to snatch her costume and bolted to the locker room. She had some say in the weapons but Eras had actually taken the time to design the costumes basics in order to cover everything that might be flung after her. It was also a way to help placate her. For some reason Eras had been extra fidgety ever since she started going to school. There were some things she didn’t know about Eras’s past, but she definitely knew that there was some kind of trauma there, and whatever caused it happened in a school setting.

Opening the case, the first thing Muska noticed were the knee high steel reinforced combat boots that had armor built into it to act as knee braces as well. Next to them was a pair of mirror sunglasses that were purple, placed on top of a letter.

[You’re probably wondering about the glasses. I sent them into a support company for a little upgrade to help you out on the field. They're not necessary so if you want to skip wearing them that's fine but at least check out the surprise I’ve added ok?

Kick ass witch bitch

-E.V ]

Placing the sunglasses on her face Muska almost jerked them off in surprise as a cat mascot character appeared on the right side and waved before jumping across the glasses and they powered up, showing an HUD layout. Something said ‘put on suit to connect’ but that was ignored in favor of the other abilities. The right side had facial recognition software and a tracker for things that are marked in view. There was also a marker that she could activate to aim weapons, like a video game. The left had the ‘connect to suit’ warning at the top but underneath that was a mini map of the surrounding area using a fucking satellite. How the fuck?

Taking them off for now, Muska went and picked up her suit to throw on. There were Two layers. First was a black body suit with colored accents that glowed when wanted, right now they were purple but they could change colors. It was Kevlar and another special type of alloy to make it shock resistant, fireproof, frost proof, and immune to knives and bullets. Next, was a cropped hoodie and shorts which stopped at the upper thigh. The cropped hoodie was purple and the hood part of it looked like a witch hat, the long point fashioned after the stereotypical black witch hat.

There was a tactical belt that wrapped around her waist and connected to two belts that wrapped around her thighs below the shorts. The belts that went vertically on the side of her thighs held pockets of medical supplies and smoke bombs. The previous on the left and latter on the right. The belts that were wrapped around her thighs carried the pockets that held her brass knuckles. The belt around her waist held the whip so it dangled while coiled up off her right hip. Slipping on the boots and lacing them up surprisingly quick, the full outfit was on.

Putting on the glasses once more Muska discovered why it said to put on the full suit. At the top left of the sunglasses was a full body scan that continuously displayed her vitals. It was green for now but if she retained injuries it would slowly move between green to yellow to red. Red being critically or fatally injured.

Holy SHIT Eras! This is some Tony Stark shit?!?

Tags:

@baguettehead

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

16th March >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on John 5:1-16 for Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent: ‘Do you want to be well again?’.

Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

Gospel (Except USA)

John 5:1-3,5-16

The healing at the pool of Bethesda

There was a Jewish festival, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now at the Sheep Pool in Jerusalem there is a building, called Bethzatha in Hebrew, consisting of five porticos; and under these were crowds of sick people – blind, lame, paralysed – waiting for the water to move. One man there had an illness which had lasted thirty-eight years, and when Jesus saw him lying there and knew he had been in this condition for a long time, he said, ‘Do you want to be well again?’ ‘Sir,’ replied the sick man ‘I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is disturbed; and while I am still on the way, someone else gets there before me.’ Jesus said, ‘Get up, pick up your sleeping-mat and walk.’ The man was cured at once, and he picked up his mat and walked away.

   Now that day happened to be the sabbath, so the Jews said to the man who had been cured, ‘It is the sabbath; you are not allowed to carry your sleeping-mat.’ He replied, ‘But the man who cured me told me, “Pick up your mat and walk.”’ They asked, ‘Who is the man who said to you, “Pick up your mat and walk”?’ The man had no idea who it was, since Jesus had disappeared into the crowd that filled the place. After a while Jesus met him in the Temple and said, ‘Now you are well again, be sure not to sin any more, or something worse may happen to you.’ The man went back and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had cured him. It was because he did things like this on the sabbath that the Jews began to persecute Jesus.

Gospel (USA)

John 5:1-16

Immediately the man became well.

There was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now there is in Jerusalem at the Sheep Gate a pool called in Hebrew Bethesda, with five porticoes. In these lay a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been ill for a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be well?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me.” Jesus said to him, “Rise, take up your mat, and walk.” Immediately the man became well, took up his mat, and walked.

   Now that day was a sabbath. So the Jews said to the man who was cured, “It is the sabbath, and it is not lawful for you to carry your mat.” He answered them, “The man who made me well told me, ‘Take up your mat and walk.’“ They asked him, “Who is the man who told you, ‘Take it up and walk’?” The man who was healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had slipped away, since there was a crowd there. After this Jesus found him in the temple area and said to him, “Look, you are well; do not sin any more, so that nothing worse may happen to you.” The man went and told the Jews that Jesus was the one who had made him well. Therefore, the Jews began to persecute Jesus because he did this on a sabbath.

Reflections (12)

(i) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

The paralyzed man in the gospel reading seems to have been very alone in his illness. He lay beside a pool in Jerusalem that was believed to have healing properties, if one entered the water after it was disturbed. However, this paralyzed man says to Jesus, ‘I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is disturbed’. There was never anyone around when he needed to be carried. There was another paralyzed man in the gospels who was nowhere near as isolated in his illness as this man. He had four friends who carried him to Jesus, even to the point of creating a hole in the roof above Jesus to lower the paralytic down, because the crowds around Jesus were too great. Illness can be very isolating, especially in these Covid times. To be ill without friends is especially isolating. However, Jesus entered this man’s isolation, without being invited. He saw him, knew his situation, went over to him and addressed him directly. Having first asked him, ‘Do you want to be well again?’ Jesus healed this desperate man of his paralysis, without the need to lower him into the water. Jesus befriended him in a manner no one else had. We are being reminded that when we feel isolated, because of illness or some other reason, the Lord is always by our side, working to raise us up from whatever we are struggling with. Jesus’ question to him, ‘Do you want to be well again?’ may seem strange to our ears. Yet, perhaps Jesus needed to know if he still had the hope of being cured after being ill for so long. The Lord will always respond to our hopes.

And/Or

(ii) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

The question Jesus asks the paralyzed man in this morning’s gospel reading can seem strange to our ears, ‘Do you want to be well again?’ Surely, the answer to that question is obvious. Why wouldn’t a man who had been paralyzed for many years want to be well again? However, this may have been Jesus’ way of entering into a genuine dialogue with this stricken man. Rather than just heal him without reference to him, as it were, Jesus engaged him in a personal way. He didn’t presume to know what the man wanted, even though it might have seemed obvious. Jesus allowed him to articulate his own desire. Jesus’ question led the man to reveal something about himself; he told Jesus something of his own story. It appears as if he was very isolated in his illness, with no friends who would lower him into the water at the appropriate time. The man revealed something of what had been going on in his life, in response to Jesus’ question. There was a truly human exchange between Jesus and this man, before Jesus told him to pick up his sleeping mat and walk. Jesus didn’t serve people in a detached, remote way. He engaged with them in a respectful way, in a manner that took them seriously as human beings and that invited them to share something of their story. In so doing, he shows us how we are to relate to one another. He also reveals how he wants to relate to each one of us. He invites us too to open our hearts to him, to tell him our story. The telling of our story to the Lord creates a space for him to work powerfully in and through our lives.

 And/Or

(iii) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

In the gospels people who are in great need often approach Jesus for help and he responds to them. In this morning’s gospel reading, we find a man in great need, suffering with a paralysis for thirty eight years, which was the best part of a life-time in that culture. He does not approach Jesus for help, but, rather, Jesus takes the initiative towards him. Jesus sees him and, having seen him, engages him in conversation. We often approach the Lord in our need, but this morning’s gospel reading reminds us that the Lord also approaches us, without waiting for us to approach him. The Lord doesn’t only engage with us in response to our engaging with him. He often takes some initiative towards us without our doing anything to make it happen. In the words of the book of Revelation, he stands at the door and knocks. When we pray, especially the prayer of petition, we are knocking on his door. This morning’s gospel reading suggests that he also comes to knock on our door without waiting for us to knock on his. This calls for a different kind of prayer to the prayer of petition. It is the prayer of listening, the prayer of attentiveness to the Lord, the prayer of waiting on the Lord’s coming, the prayer of noticing his seeing of us.

 And/Or

(iv) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

Jesus appears to ask a strange question of the paralyzed man in today’s gospel reading, ‘Do you want to be well again?’ Given that he has had his illness for thirty eight years and that he has come to the pool of Bethzatha many times to be healed, the answer to Jesus’ question would seem to be very obvious. Of course, he wants to be healed. Yet, Jesus’ question was not superfluous. It gave the man the opportunity to tell his story and to express his need directly to the Lord. It obliged him to reflect on what it was he really wanted. Jesus did not heal this man without first engaging him and drawing out from him the desires of his heart. The Lord relates in a similar way to all of us. He looks to us to express our wants, our desires, especially our deepest desires, what it is we most want. He seeks to have a personal relationship with us. He waits for us to open our hearts to him, to tell him our story, to share with him our strongest hopes and longings, and also our fears and anxieties and sorrows. If we open our hearts to him, then we will experience his life-giving presence and, in the image of the first reading, our lives will bear fruit that will never fail, the good fruit of the Holy Spirit.

And/Or

 (v) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

The question that Jesus asked the paralyzed man in the gospel reading may seem strange to our ears, ‘Do you want to be well again?’ After all, the man had been lying there by the pool of Bethzatha for thirty-eight years, waiting for someone to lower him into the pool when the water was disturbed, because it was believed that was when the healing powers of the water were activated. Surely it was obvious that he wanted to be well again. Yet, Jesus is often presented in the gospels as asking people what they want. In the following chapter of John’s gospel he asks the twelve disciples, ‘Do you want to go away too?’ In the other gospels he twice asks people, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ Jesus called on people to reflect on what they truly wanted in their heart of hearts, and he then interacted with those deep desires within people. Yes, Jesus came that we might have life and have it to the full. That is what he wants for all of us. However, he needs us to really want that life for ourselves and also to want to take the path that leads to that life, which is the path of faithfully following him, faithfully walking in his way, even when that means the cross.

 And/Or

(vi) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

In the gospel reading, the man who had been healed by Jesus after thirty eight years of illness went on to report Jesus to the Jewish authorities who were very suspicious of what Jesus was doing and saying. The man who received new life from Jesus puts Jesus’ own life at risk by informing on him to his enemies. He received the gift of life but used that gift against the very person who had given him the gift. Although Jesus gave generously of himself to others, he did not always receive an appropriate response from those who benefited from his giving. We can have the same experience ourselves in our own lives. We might put ourselves out for others and receive little in return. My father had a saying that he often quoted, ‘eaten bread is soon forgotten’. Yet, Jesus’ whole life teaches us to give without expecting a return. We do the good thing, the right thing, in every situation, because it is the good and right thing to do, not because of what it will bring us. Jesus also assures us that it is in giving of ourselves in love to others that we receive, even if it is not evident at the time.

 And/Or

(vii) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

In the gospel of John, Jesus is often portrayed as asking questions of people, probing questions, which inquire after where people stand, what it is they really want. We have an example of one of those probing questions of Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading. Jesus asks a paralyzed man, ‘Do you want to be well again?’ We might be inclined to ask, ‘Why would Jesus need to ask such a question? Surely it is obvious the man wants to be well again?’ Yet, the Jesus of John’s gospel takes seriously what it is that people want - human desire. In the following chapter of John’s gospel, some of Jesus’ disciples turned their backs on following him, and Jesus turned to the 12 and said, ‘Do you also want to go away?’ The gospel of John invites us to ask of ourselves, ‘What do we really want? What is our deepest desire?’ In John’s gospel, Jesus declares very clearly what he wants, ‘My food is to do the will of him who sent me’. His deepest hunger is satisfied by doing God’s will, what God wants. That is our calling too, to want what God wants, to bring our deepest desires into harmony with God’s deepest desires for us.

 And/Or

(viii) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

The theme of water links today’s two readings. The prophet Ezekiel had a vision of the Temple in Jerusalem with water flowing eastwards from under the temple towards the wilderness. Everywhere the water flows it brings life and health. For the fourth evangelist, Jesus is the new temple. ‘Destroy this temple’, he says, ‘and in three days I will raise it up’. As the new temple, he is the source of rivers of living water. He promised to give this living water to the Samaritan woman to quench her deepest thirst. This same promise is made to all of us. We can understand the living water that Jesus speaks about as the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of God’s love. This living water of the Spirit becomes a spring in us welling up to eternal life, as he says to the Samaritan woman. Jesus came that we may have life and have it to the full. In today’s gospel reading, it is not the Pool of Bethzatha that gives life to the crippled man but Jesus himself. We are all in need of the life that Jesus alone can give us; we are all like that man sitting by the pool. He asks all of us the question he asked that man, ‘Did you want to be well?’, ‘Do you want the life that I alone can give you?’ We can only give one answer to that question. We ask for a fresh outpouring of the Spirit into our lives, as the first fruit of eternal life.

 And/Or

(ix) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

It may seem strange to our ears that Jesus should say to the paralyzed man in today’s gospel reading, ‘Do you want to be well again?’ Who would not want to walk again having had a paralysis that lasted for thirty eight years? Yet, in asking that question, Jesus was asking the man to take some responsibility for his own healing. Jesus would not heal him without some desire on his part to be healed. The gospel reading suggests that Jesus takes our desires seriously and works with them and through them. In relating to us he does not bypass our freedom. We have to co-operate with his initiative towards us. The first words of Jesus in John’s gospel are addressed to the disciples of John the Baptist and they take the form of a question, ‘What do you want?’ It is a question the Lord asks of us all. It is a question that takes seriously the deepest desires of our hearts. The question invites us to articulate our most basic longings to the Lord. If we do so we will find that he will respond to them generously.

 And/Or

(x) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

Many people benefit from Jesus’ healing ministry across the four gospels. Most of them respond appropriately to the gift they have received. They give praise to God; they announce to others what God has done for them; some even become followers of Jesus. The man who was healed in today’s gospel reading seems to respond somewhat inappropriately. Jesus took the initiative to heal him. The question Jesus asked him, ‘Do you want to be well again?’ may seem strange to our ears. Yet, in asking this question Jesus was giving him the opportunity to be involved in his own healing. Jesus healed the man on the Sabbath day which put him at odds with the religious leaders of the time. They wanted the man who had been healed to tell them who it was that healed him on the Sabbath. The man didn’t know who had healed him until Jesus took another initiative towards him and revealed his identity to the man. The healed man they sought out the religious leaders to tell them it was Jesus who healed him. In a sense, he appears to betray Jesus to his enemies. As a result, the religious leaders began to persecute Jesus. The good Jesus did for this man did not serve Jesus well. Sometimes the good we do does not always serve us well either. When we give of ourselves to others, we don’t always receive something good in return. Jesus would make this discovery more than once. Yet, he continued doing good, giving of himself, until his last breath. He teaches us to do the same. We serve, we give, not in order to get back something, but simply because it is the right thing to do, what God wants of us.

 And/Or

(xi) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

The Dead Sea in the Judean wilderness is a very strange sea. It’s salt content is so great that nothing can live in it. This Dead Sea is referred to in today’s first reading from the prophet Ezekiel, although not by name. The water that pours out of the Temple in Jerusalem is described as flowing ‘east down to the Arabah and the sea’, down to the Judean wilderness and the Dead Sea. The impact of this water from the Temple on the Dead Sea is very striking, ‘it makes its waters wholesome… all living creatures teeming in it will live’. In a very imaginative way, Ezekiel is declaring that God’s presence in the Temple is life-giving for all. God is a God of the living. In John’s gospel, from which our gospel reading is taken, Jesus is portrayed as the new Temple of God, where God is uniquely present in a life-giving way. In the gospel reading, we find Jesus giving a new lease of life to a paralysed man whose paralysis had lasted for thirty-eight years. The real mission of Jesus in John’s gospel is to bring people to a share in God’s own life, the life from above, eternal life. If that is to happen, people need to believe in him. Jesus declares more than once in John’s gospel that those who believe in him already share in the life of heaven, the life of God. To believe is to allow Jesus to draw us to himself. It is not clear whether the man Jesus healed in today’s gospel came to believe in him. After his healing, he appears to betray Jesus to the Jewish authorities who then proceed to plan Jesus’ death. Yet, even from the cross, especially from the cross, Jesus continues to draw us to himself so that we may believe in him and, thereby, come to share in God’s own life.

 And/Or

(xii) Tuesday, Fourth Week of Lent

Jesus’ question to the paralyzed man in today’s gospel reading may strike us as strange, ‘Do you want to be well again?’ Surely, it goes without saying that he wanted to be well again. However, his illness had lasted thirty eight years, and, perhaps, the long years of fruitless waiting may have extinguished his hope of ever been healed, and with it, the desire to be healed. The question was probing whether the man was paralyzed in spirit as well as in body. The man’s answer to Jesus’ question suggests a certain lack of hope of ever being healed, ‘I have no one to put me into the poor when the water is disturbed…’ Yet, his answer revealed some desire to be healed, and in response to that faint desire the Lord cures the man with a word, ‘Get up… and walk’. The Lord is always seeking to engage with our desire. The opening words of Jesus in the gospel of John from which we are reading this week takes the form of a question addressed to the disciples of John the Baptist, ‘What are you looking for?’ In other word, ‘What is your desire?’ The Lord’s coming among us, his presence to us, is assured, but his coming will only be life-giving for us if it meets with our desire for his coming. Elsewhere in the gospels, Jesus says, ‘Seek and you will find’. If we keep entering into our deep-seated desire for the Lord and the life he brings, then the Lord’s presence will be truly life-giving for us.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[yankyo]

commissioned by @witchyrem-ains

       His eyes were wide, the lights dancing on his wonderstruck face, the demon practically hanging off the boat as he watched the lanterns float through the pitch black sky while the fire danced off of the water, making everything look soft and warm. With a soft cough, you called his attention over to you, pulling the lantern you had made for him from behind your back, a sight which made him grin even wider, his eyes glittering with excited joy. Swiftly, he settled by your side, lighting the flame with his finger before the two of you raised the lantern up, watching it float up into the air, adding it’s shine to the glittering lights floating around you. For the first time since you had met him, Beetlejuice was silent, just admiring the view, but you couldn’t tear your eyes from him.

       “They’re... they’re like stars.” He whispered, so reverent and soft, as if afraid he would shatter the moment. Oh fuck. He was beautiful. He always had been, despite how much you hadn’t wanted to admit it. His boisterious personality, his clear, expressive green eyes, his almost constant smile, fuck, he was supposed to be annoying. An unwanted pit stop in your trek across the kingdom on your way to bigger and better things. You weren’t supposed to be staring at him, spellbound as he leaned out of the boat to help guide a lantern back up into the sky. You weren’t supposed to place your hand in his, a soft, warm smile on your face. And when his eyes met yours, still shining with happiness, with gratitude, you weren’t supposed to be wanting  to lean in and kiss him.

       When you had met Beetlejuice in that tower just a few days ago, he had been an irritant, a leech that latched himself onto you and kept you away from the biggest score of your life. You were supposed to be halfway through the next kingdom, not still kicking around the one that had your wanted poster posted on nearly every flat surface! But even as you were dragged along, you couldn’t help but be amused by Beetlejuice, how could you when he bounced around like a puppy let off his leash for the first time? You were supposed to be this great thief, this heartbreaker, the scourge of the kingdom, but here you were, wrapped so tightly around his little finger that all you could think about was how to keep this smile on his face. All you could think was that after so many years of running, of loneliness and betrayal, you had finally found yourself here with him. And if he was here, then that had to be where you were meant to be 

    ------

       This had to be it, right? The proof that you felt for him as deeply as he did for you? He had never seen that expression on your face before, that warm, tender smile, your usual smirk far from your face. As your hand touched his, he could swear he felt a jolt of electricity shoot through his body in response, his long still heart thrumming in his chest. She was wrong. You weren’t just here for the job anymore, of this he was certain. No matter how much mother tried to break him down, to drag him back into that dark tower filled with nothing but empty fear and meaningless suspicion, he was here. He was blinking in the starlight, the fog Mother had spent so many years making finally cleared. Here was where he was supposed to be here with you. Nervously, he cleared his throat, lacing his fingers with yours as he struggled to find words.

       “H-hey babes, you know, I should tell ya how to unbind us. I shoulda told ya before, I... I was just scared, ya know?” It felt like forever ago when you had stumbled into his tower and he had tricked you into summoning him. Into binding your souls together so he could come out here with you. It had been wrong, he knew that now, and he needed to rectify that wrong if he truly loved you, but as he took in a deep breath, preparing to tell you how to unsummon him, to unbind yourself from his soul, you held up a hand pressing your fingers to his lips.

       “I’m starting to.” You cupped his cheek, your eyes on his lips as you leaned in closer. Holy shit. Is this really happening? He held his breath, terrified that if he made so much as a single twitch, he’d be ripped from this blissful dream and wake up in that tower again, trapped and alone. But instead your lips pressed softly against his own and his worries flew away.

------

       What was the point in taking him back to that decrypt tower? Of separating the bond that kept him here with you? From what little he was willing to tell you about Mother Juno, it was better that he came with you anyways, away from this rotten kingdom and out into the world with you. You could already see him at the bow of a ship, eager for adventure and shining in the sun. You could actually give him that, someone who had done nothing more than steal and take your entire life, you could give someone else an entirely new life away from the pain and sorrow both of you had once known. No, you didn’t want to even hear how to unsummon him, not yet anyways, that was a conversation best suited for later, when you both were away from this kingdom and carving out your new lives together. In that moment, all you wanted was to revel in the happiness, to enjoy this warmth in your chest, and most importantly, to share it all with him.

       You had wanted to kiss him all night, but still when you leaned in, it was a shock to even you, but as your lips touched his, the entire world just fell away. You found yourself shifting closer, a soft sigh passing your lips as you deepened the kiss, your pulse racing as Beetlejuice clung to you, rough hands gentle as he pulled you closer. How much time had passed? Did it even matter? What would happen later? Did you really care to know? How could anything else matter when you were here kissing him so deeply? When his fang brushed your lower lip and he let out this soft growl that made you tremble against him. 

       Who knew how much time passed before you finally pulled back, botof your staring at one another, as if expecting the other to be angry, but all you saw on his face was the awe and joy that you were certain was on yours. 

       “Wow.” Both of your whispered in unison before you both snickered at the other. 

       “Didn’t think you could be such a romantic.” He teased, though his hair was a soft pink color that matched the flush to your cheeks. “Well, damn babes, you certainly swept me off my feet.” He snorted, though even as he joked, he fidgeted nervously in his seat. 

       “Beej?” Your heart was in your throat. “Do you have to go back to that tower?”The question was out before you could even attempt to stop yourself. “You could just stay with me, you know? We could leave this place, go explore the world together!” He was silent now, his fidgeting replaced by a nervous tremor. “Beej? I... I don’t want to force you and if you really want, I’ll take you back and we can do whatever we need to to unbind our souls or whatever, but I think you’d be happier coming with me. No, I know you’d be happier out of that stupid tower.”

       “You... you actually want me?” He asked, his voice tiny and hopeful. “You won’t just toss me aside if I get too annoying right?” You took his hand in yours again, squeezing tightly. 

       “Never.” You could say that with certainty, “Hell, you're already annoying enough, I doubt you could get any worse and I still love you the way you are.” ...fuck. The was probably not the best moment to drop that particular little bomb on him, but it took him a moment to react, his eyes slowly growing wider as his hair grew a darker pink. With one sharp tug, he pulled you tight against his body, his arms wrapping around you as if he were afraid you would disappear if he let go. 

       “Say it again. Please.” You didn’t ask what he meant. You knew what he wanted. 

       “I love you, Beetlejuice.” He gave a sharp laugh, the sound more like a sob. 

       “I love you, Babes.” He replied, his voice so full of wonder, as if he never believed this could ever happen. You pulled back, cupping his cheeks before you kssed him again, a quick, soft, reassuring kiss. Everything would be alright, so long as you and him were together. 

       “Come on, Beej, let’s row back to shore.”

[mskinkykitty]

My Little Mortal Prologue 2

Because Every Fairy Tail, has to Start with a Tragedy pt 1  

A/N: This is the prologue to my “My Little Mortal” series. It’s something I’ve worked very hard on, and one of the story’s I’m most proud of. In this part of chapter, there are no pairings. It’s pretty much, just plot, and setting up the next part of the story. It’s a Little Mermaid AU, featuring our favorite Asgardian Gods! It’s more of a Dark Fairy Tale, & less traditional. So if you’re thinking Disney’s, The Little Mermaid, you will probably be pretty disappointed.

I hope you enjoy!

Words: 1555

Warnings: violence, cheating, magic, dark magic abuse, lying, sexual assault (mention), emotional hurt, multiple character deaths

The prince spent decades under the tutelage of the sorcerer. Learning all the dark magic he could. Sinking every ocean vessel the surface dwellers launched. Once it was learned that he was the cause of all the sunken ships, he became known as the Dark Prince.

He reveled in it.

He took great pride leaving no one alive. Reveling in the anguish he knew their families would feel at their loss, but it still wasn't enough. After centuries of tormenting those above the waves, it still wasn't enough. As long as they still drew breath, it would never be enough.

Odin and Thor tried everything they could to stop the onslaught, but they always failed. The dark prince had grown to powerful. He became ruthless and consumed with revenge. With the knowledge that it was the dark sorcerer who was fueling his son's vengeance, he knew the prince would never stop. So, the king set a trap. He went to the Kingdom above the Sea, garnered a peace treaty in exchange for their help. The surface king agreed, only asking the Dark Prince be imprisoned, to never be allowed to attack another ship. Odin quickly agreed.

The land king gave Odin an empty ship. He dared not give him a crew, for fear they would loose their lives. Odin agreed. Too many lives had already been lost.

Odin used his magic to guide the ship to where he knew Loki and the sorcerer would happen upon it and released it from his magic. Odin, Thor and the entire army followed the ship from a safe distance, so as to not be seen. As the current got stronger, they held back, knowing Loki was brewing a storm to sink the ship.

The group stayed back, watching and waiting for Loki and the Sorcerer to reveal themselves before they would dare strike. Odin watched as the ship was rocked back and forth, thankful there was no one on it, battered by wave after wave. Just before the ship broke apart, Loki and the sorcerer revealed themselves. Silently, Odin ordered the army to surround the duo, while he and Thor created a distraction.

“LOKI!” Odin boomed, drawing the Dark Prince's attention, who smiled maliciously in return.

“Hello, father. Come to finally join me in ending the lives of every surface dweller?”

“Loki, it's time for this to stop. They have done nothing wrong.” But before Odin could continue, Loki yelled back.

“Nothing wrong? NOTHING WRONG?! THEY,” he said pointing to the sinking wreckage, “WERE RESPONSIBLE FOR MOTHER'S DEATH! A DEATH YOU DID NOTHING ABOUT!”

“Are you so blinded by rage and grief that you can't see the truth, brother?” Thor asked.

“I saw the truth the night they brought Mother's body back!”

“NO! You didn't! You saw what you wanted to see!” Odin yelled, tired of Loki's stubbornness.

“NO! You saw what you wanted to see! Am I the only one who saw the truth?”

With a heavy sigh, Odin hung his head. He realized his son was too far gone, consumed by grief and filled with the lies fed to him by the sorcerer over the centuries. The thought of what he had to to would break him and he was glad his wife wasn't alive to see it.

“My son, are you too consumed with vengeance, too blinded by grief, to even see the truth?”

“If anything, father, grief has opened my eyes!”

“My son, it saddens me beyond reason what you force me to do next. NOW!” Odin yelled.

Before Loki and the Sorcerer could react, they were bound by magic and surrounded by the royal army.

“Do you think this will hold me?” Loki laughed.

“Only long enough.” Odin said with a sad smile, before he focused his gaze on the sorcerer, pure loathing replacing the sorrow.

“Sorcerer, for your crime of kidnapping and murdering the queen, you are sentenced to death.” Odin growled.

“What?” Loki looked at the sorcerer, bound beside him, shock and disbelief written across his features.

“My only regret, is that I couldn't find another way to break the spell you cast on her!” He looked at Odin, sadness and defeat evident in his tone.

“So you do not deny it?” Thor asked.

“Loki, it was the only way to save her! I wasn't strong enough to break Odin's spell. But you, my son, you're strong enough! There is no magic you can't break, my boy! Your mother and I are truly proud of you.”

“What?”

“Of course, Odin never would have told you. You were the result of the truest love your mother and I shared. She begged me to kill her, begged me to release her from the spell she was under, so I did.” Loki could finally see the insanity, the madness in the sorcerer's eyes.

“LIES!” Loki screamed, but he knew. Deep down, he always knew.

“ENOUGH!” Odin yelled, before ordering Thor and his army to take the sorcerer away and carry out his sentence. He gave a nod to the sorcerers binding Loki and they released him, following the army. He then turned his gaze back to his youngest son. Moving closer, he began to speak.

“Loki, my son,” Odin said, reaching out a hand and placing it on his son's cheek, seeing the pure anguish and confusion in his son's eyes, he truly regretted what he was about to do.

“Please know, that what I do now, brings me no joy, and it's the last gift I can ever give to you.” Odin said, placing his forehead against his son's.

Feeling the pulse of magic sent out by Odin, Loki focused on his father, not quite understanding what was going on. However, he knew what the pulse was. It was his father separating the sea realm from the realm of the land dwellers.

“I pray you don't wait long.” He whispered, before placing a loving kiss on his son's forehead and moving back. Staring at Odin, Loki knew this was not who he had called father, who sent him and Thor on silly adventures when they were children, who would chase them around the palace, while pretending to be the kraken. No, this was King Odin, ruler of everything beneath the waves. There would be no scolding by his father this time. This time, it would be a punishment ordered by the king himself.

“Loki, for all the destruction and countless deaths you have caused the mortals, it is clear that your heart and soul are filled with nothing but dark and malicious sentiment. There is no room in you for love and light, so, to relieve you of these burdens,” realizing what it was, his father was about to do, in a blind panic, he tried to plead with his father.

“Father, please! Don't do this! I didn't know! My grief and rage took over, consumed me! The sorcerer fed me lies! I wasn't able to see the truth! Please, father! Anything but this!”  Odin closed his eyes, and for a brief moment, Loki thought he had reconsidered, but upon seeing the look in Odin's eyes, once the reopened, he knew nothing he could say would change the king's mind.

“You will spend the rest of your life with an empty, hollow feeling inside. Always cold. Always wanting. Always searching. Never able to experience true joy or happiness, until those souls you have wronged forgive you and allow you to be whole once more. With the last of my life force, Loki, my son, I split your heart and soul in two.”

Loki watched in horror as Odin placed his hand on Loki's chest. Beneath Odin's hand, Loki began to feel a sharp pain and saw a faint glow under Odin's palm. As the glow got brighter, turning into a piercing white light, Loki felt as if he was being ripped apart, he was sure his screams could be heard throughout the stars. The pain felt like it lasted lifetimes, but he knew it was only a moment before it stopped.

Gasping for air and floating limply in the gentle current, he had no idea how long it was before he was finally able to open his eyes. When he did open his eyes and look around, everything had a dull tone to it, no longer was he able to see vibrant colors, and he felt hollow, almost empty inside. He felt like a part of him was missing, but he couldn't remember why or what.

“Loki?” He looked up, seeing his brother, Thor, swimming towards him.

“Thor? What happened?” Loki asked, wincing at the pain in his head, as he tried to right himself.

“Are you all right?” Thor asked, placing a gentle hand on his brother's back, avoiding his question.

“Where's father?” Loki asked, vaguely remembering seeing his father in front of him and something happening between them.

“He's moved on, brother. He now swims with mother.” Thor said, giving Loki a sad smile.

“Come on, let's get you home, we can discuss things more when you're feeling better.” Loki just nodded in agreement before blacking out.