#god my head hurts. colds should be abolished

[cupidsncheerios]

do you think he designed the eye of zaun logo pre-drowning and it got REALLY ironic after, or did silco sit himself down to come up with a symbol for the revolution and go “i’ll write your sins in neon lights, bitch” after vander was already long dead

[madametrashbin]

Wishful Dreaming

In which I pretend Part 3 of Inazuma’s story doesn’t exist and everyone is alive before shit goes down. Yes, people who read this, it’s time for best friend headcanons/drabbles/whatever the hell this is with Teppei. Honestly, it’s just no thoughts head empty right now and I might have gone off tangent a lot.

(And by a lot, I mean the majority of this piece, probably... by the way, credits to @streimiv and @myuni-moon for making my brain be hyper focused on Self Aware Cult Genshin... I can’t get it out of my head as of right now.)

Enjoy, even if it’s never going to be beta-read by anyone and I will never go back to edit this even if I find mistakes in this later on... and I also don’t know where my brain went for this, but what’s done is done. 

I’m not even sure if I did his personality correctly, ahaha...  (；^ω^)

(I’m going to project my denial in this, so please know it might be wince inducing and incredibly self-indulgent.)

The sun is bright at this time of day, the gentle breeze flowing through the tranquil lands of Inazuma, leaving those who are experiencing the nice morning in a blissful escape from its current reality. 

...much like a young foreigner who had left their current abode, leaving behind a note for their caretakers to see as they wander around the land of Eternity for some true fresh air and peace of mind away from the group that had more or less made their life a little too suffocating as of late.

It is also incredibly lonely in there, as they come to understand that no one (for the most part) look at them like they were a regular human... like they were them.

So they now wander, taking in the rarity of solitude that does not come as easily as one might think. Inazuma is beautiful, even if they know that the peace they see around these parts are but a veil that shields the horrible reality going on around them.

(They know what was happening outside the city, outside the teapot they were living in since they were brought here. They’ve experienced it happening before, many times in fact. They know what will happen, and they’re determined to change it. They just need to find a certain someone, and then they’re set.)

Meeting Teppei was something you didn’t really expect all that much, considering you knew he should be still a part of the logistic division of the Resistance Army and would be busy in their current base that was all the way to Yashiori Island.

Yet by sheer luck, or by fate, you meet the good fellow on Narukami Island and had managed to make a pretty good friendship with him over the course of coincidental meetings.

You’ve come to learn a few things about the young man, and it was that he was a pretty trusting guy, didn’t even think twice of being friends with you... which was a little worrisome, considering what happened in the actual storyline.

That’s okay though, you’ll make nothing happens to him... he is one of your only true friends in this world, after all.

“Teppei.”

They call to him as the Resistance Samurai turned his head away from the sight of the Tenshukaku to them.

“Is there anything you wish for? I mean, if you could have one wish granted, anything you want, what would it be?”

The young man looked rather confused at them, before they briefly clarified that they were just curious. As much as they enjoy the peacefulness of silence, they wanted to know what he really wanted... wondering if he really wanted a Vision, for the acknowledgement of the Gods.

“What would I wish for...”

The young man was quiet for a while, no doubt mulling it over before smiling when he comes to an answer, his head lifting to look at the glimmering stars.

“I would wish for the war to end... for the Sakoku Decree and Vision Hunt Decree to be abolished so people won’t have to suffer anymore.”

“Really? Not a Vision, or something like that?”

“Well, having a Vision would be nice, but thinking about it... I think it’s better if everyone is happy. A lot of people are suffering, and even if I did get a Vision, it’s still pretty difficult to win the war against the Shogunate.”

They could only hum quietly in understanding after that, not really certain what else to ask him before he gives them the same question. 

What do they wish for?

To go home. They would have said, but they chose not to because they knew there was probably little chance for them to be allowed to go home... Their “acolytes” are rather over-protective and notably possessive towards them, probably rampaging around Inazuma right now in search of them.

Well, they at least know what they’re going to do once they inevitably find them.

“Isn’t it time you should head back to your camp, Teppei?”

“Huh? Oh, right! It’s getting late! Then, if I have time, I’ll see you again!”

And he’s off in a rush, disappearing when he turned around the rocky walls and out of their sight. At the same time as he left, the bushes behind them rustle, and a frantic Zhongli appears with Venti following behind... both relaxed significantly once they saw them in perfect condition.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you, Your Grace. It’s dangerous for you to go outside on your own like that.”

“Please don’t worry us like that again.”

They immediately take to their sides, quickly ushering them to head back to the Teapot before they stopped them in their tracks. 

“Your Grace?”

“I need to do something. Will the both of you accompany me for this?”

...and by the following morning, an official announcement is made to all of Inazuma with the abolishment of both the Sakoku Decree and Vision Hunt Decree. 

Teppei is rushing over to them with a beaming smile on his face when they meet again that noon, the young man happily shares the good news with them while they simply smiled and nodded along with what he said even if they knew the reason behind it.

They don’t tell him anything, nor mention that it was thanks to him that it ended... well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Extra, because why not:

It becomes a frequent part of your days now that the War in Inazuma was over. Hanging out with Teppei as often as you could, granted you’d have a few people trailing in the shadows at all times, watching over you so you don’t pull the same stunt again.

You have to spend a bit of time giving warning glares behind you whenever Teppei mentions the cold chills that makes his bones shiver despite the relatively warm weather. 

When the two of you get roped up into a bit of trouble (whether by lingering Fatui grunts, stray Ronins or local Treasure Hoarders seeking to rob you), Teppei would always jump in between you and them, saying he’ll protect you as he holds his spear (that he brings with him out of habit).

...you thinks it’s endearing with how he’s trying to be brave, as you can see his hands shake just a tad bit due to the numbers.

But as much as you want to let him have his moment, you prefer that your friend doesn’t get himself hurt and therefore skillfully lead him away from the danger while the rest (your cult) dealt with them.

When you feel like the divine treatment is starting to get too overwhelming, and you’re feeling a little too lonely, you always make your way to Teppei who is there to provide comfort even if you never really talked about what’s troubling you.

Your friendship with Teppei is strong, even if you rarely talk about yourself to him and how he’s told you practically everything about himself.

There’s just something about that trust that bring you a lot of comfort... it gave a different feeling compared to Zhongli or Fischl’s kind of trust... it was warmer, and felt more like home.

You’re also very adamant in keeping him away from the whole cult business, not wanting him to think of you like how the others did... you don’t want to lose that friendship that practically kept you sane in this world.

The amount of times you have to keep reminding your cult to leave him be is absurd, and as much as they protest about him, the fact you’re upset at them for that is enough to get them to stop.

...for a while, at least. They go at it again for a while when Teppei does something they don’t like until you actually snapped at them. They stopped bothering him after that.

If Teppei does eventually find out about the cult, which will most likely happen because of Kokomi, you would be genuinely terrified in the beginning of it until he gives you proper reassurance that it doesn’t change anything.

Now he’s allowed to see you in the Teapot, often visiting with curious snacks he finds and occasionally sleeping over when you are feeling particularly lonely.

Overall, a very pleasant friendship to have. Being one of the few you can really be open with and not be concerned about how you’re viewed as.

Wholesome boy will always have your back whenever you need him... even if he is a little intimidated by the Raiden Shogun and the other intimidating acolytes that are a part of your cult.

[mikrowrites]

andromeda

(vignettes cut from cottages of constellations; can be read as a one-shot)

c!wilbur x reader

summary: a series of memories from y/n’s perspective; the war, the death, the stars, the secret, and the meeting.

warnings: fluff, angst, violence, war themes, bad mental health situations, death, language, manipulation

a/n: this is basically a bunch of scrapped ideas from cottages of constellations that i shoved together bc i already had them written and have been hitting a writer’s block with pt 3. the only part of this you should regard as “canon” is the syndicate vignette, that will be in pt 3. enjoy!!

Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets.

That was not something unknown by any, not a surprise to some. The two seemed to have words unspoken, existing between the glance of an eye or a brush of a hand, a nod of a head and a ever so soft sigh. Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets to themselves and themselves only.

The cottage was one. A secret kept along a peaceful riverbank, until the price of TNT seemed higher than that forgotten paradise. There were some other secrets too. Some inconsequential, some almost burdening.

Y/n and Wilbur kept a secret they chose to not share with anyone. A secret that would be for the best if left unsaid.

But the price of freedom would prove higher and more demanding. The price for a tall brunette man to whisper the words into an enemy’s ear, for the enemy to relay it to someone who was once deemed an old friend.

The moment Schlatt spoke the secret out loud to Y/n with threatening intent, everything came crashing to the ground.

It was a secret Schlatt would die with.

—

The War…

Y/n arrived as the sun rose at dawn.

Wilbur was there to meet her, his uniform jacket unbuttoned messily and his cravat askew. As she approached him closer he smiled softly, but the smile was tired, aching, the light in his eyes dimmed by the bags beneath them.

What was the saying, “winning is easy, governing is harder”?

Y/n feared both feats were insurmountably difficult.

“Hello, love.” Wilbur sighed, striding the distance of Y/n’s approach and pulling her into his arms, holding her like a lifeline.

“Hey Wil, it’s okay, I’m here.” Y/n reassured.

He pulled away with a less tight smile, wrapping his fingers around her own, pulling her towards the majestic walls.

“Y/n L/n, welcome to L’manburg.”

And L’manburg was small, and undeveloped, and nothing quite impressive really. But it was her lover’s nation, and to Y/n it looked like a spectacle of heaven. “It’s wonderful.”

Wilbur led her into the camaravan, where battle plans and declarations had been hung and placed about, with an occasional empty bottle or a misplaced piece of weaponry.

Y/n had fought in wars before, in another life, far from this server. She had played the part of diplomat, of ally, of enemy. It was all a language familiar to her like breathing, and she suspected Wilbur was well aware, why else would he write begging her to join the front lines?

She hummed in thought, running her hands over a tabletop. “When’s the next battle, then?”

“Tomorrow.” Wilbur replied simply.

Y/n nodded. “Okay. Where do we start?”

Wilbur smiled once more.

—

The Death…

Y/n struggled against Quackity’s hold, screaming her throat raw. “YOU KILLED HIM!”

Smoke from the firework barrage still lingered on the execution box, Schlatt turning from his podium to Y/n. He smirked. “Y/n, my dear, he was a traitor. You know what happens to traitors.”

Y/n spat at his feet, the man laughing. “That’s cute. Remember Y/n, I hold all the cards in my hands. You don’t want to step out of line, remember? Who knows what secrets could get spilled.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Y/n glared, her eyes like fire as the two stood off against each other on the podium under Manberg’s watching eyes. “Because I am going to fucking kill you before you even think about it.”

Schlatt laughed loudly again, facing the crowd. “Do you hear that, folks? Miss Y/n is going to kill me!” He lowered his voice, leaning so he was face to face with her. “That’s treason, my friends.”

Y/n hardened her eyes, as Quackity let her arms go. She stepped forwards, her hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. Everything was quiet, not the crowd’s jabs or cries were heard by her, not even Niki’s protests to spare her best friend.

Schlatt smiled, unsheathing his own sword as Y/n stood her ground, preparing to produce her own in hopes of taking down the tyrannical man once and for all.

“These were not the ideals of L’manberg.” Y/n shouted so the audience could hear her. “And Manberg should be no different. And I’m getting really fucking tired of you hurting everyone and everything I love. So yeah, I’m a traitor, because I value people over a country.”

“People you’d be willing to lose a life for?” Schlatt jeered.

“Time and time again, yes.” She verified.

Schlatt shook his head in amusement. “Y/n, the patron saint of L’manberg. You’ll fall as easily as any man.”

Y/n smirked, drawing her own sword. “Good thing I’m not a man then, yes?”

“STOP! Stop!”

The two adversaries’ heads whipped over, catching the glimpse of a tall brunette in a brown trench coat walking down the aisle of seats, hands out in a preventative gesture. “Stop.”

“Wil…?” The man who left her behind. The man who promised safety. The man who most importantly, loves her. The former President, to protect his former First Lady.

Schlatt’s sword ran through Y/n’s body. Wilbur screamed.

The girl gasped, grasping Schlatt’s shoulder’s with tight fingers, looking at him in shock. He had gotten the upper hand. Y/n had never lost a duel, yet this one was over before it had even started because she did the one thing she had been trained to never do in battle.

Y/n found distraction in a lover.

Wilbur would always be her hubris.

Schlatt leaned over with booze-tainted breath to whisper in her ear. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He then ripped the sword out of her, and everything went black. The last thing Y/n heard before waking up laying in the soft grass of a forest was the sound of Wilbur shouting her name.

Y/n was killed by JSchlatt

—

The Stars…

Long ago, in a world different from where she was now, Y/n’s mother had taught her every constellation strewn across the night sky. The young girl would marvel at her mother, eyes shining with curiosity and awe as the soft-spoken woman would point to each cluster of stars.

Life was simple then, before war after war Y/n was forced to fight and win. Before aching loss and hurt.

Y/n laid on the angled roof of Philza’s house, her lips parted slightly as her eyes traced designs of warriors and beasts and lovers. Her breath fogged into the night sky, the girl indifferent to the cold surrounding her.

“Kid, what’re ya doin’?”

She flicked her eyes down to where Technoblade stood beneath her, staring up at her form with disinterest but yet a glint of confusion or curiosity.

Y/n smirked, her eyes traveling back up to the sky. “Chasing constellations.”

Technoblade definitely had the right idea to be a tint worried at the sight of Y/n on a roof, staring off into nothing. It had been a week and a half since they had both blown up New L’manberg, and her mind was undoubtedly conflicted. Techno supposed if he were in the same situation, he’d feel the same perhaps. But now (though he’d never show it) he was just concerned of the well-being of his old friend.

So Technoblade was immensely surprised when Y/n patted a spot on the roof next to her and said: “cmon”.

The blood god was silent and still for a moment before pulling out his trident, using it to launch himself up and land gracefully onto the roof next to her. The girl didn’t flinch a bit, just turned back to the night sky.

Y/n looked tired, Techno noticed, but yet relieved. He hadn’t seen her this relaxed since their last war fought together away from this server, where she had spoken of a kindhearted brunette she was running away with after the battle’s conclusion.

Technoblade sat next to her, the girl sighing. “No more wars, Techno. I’ve fought my last one. I’m tired of being a pawn in someone’s game, of breaking myself for others.” Y/n huffed out a laugh. “I think I might try that retirement plan.”

“Retirement is overrated.” Technoblade groaned. “So if I made you an offer, you’d refuse?”

Y/n shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her kneecaps. “Depends on the offer. I’m pretty done being taken advantage of.”

Techno turned to look at her. “All these years and you don’t trust the proof I wouldn’t.”

“Can’t blame a girl for having trust issues.” She grumbled. “What’s the offer?”

“I’m putting together a group of people with common ideals. Anarchy, we’d be there to abolish these kingdoms’ governments before they can cause more death and destruction, cause more Wilburs.” Techno explained, the girl turning to him at the sound of her ex-lover’s name. “We’re called the Syndicate.”

Y/n murmured the name to herself, furrowing her eyebrows. “Who’s we?”

“Philza and I. Zephyrus and Prostileus. And, potentially, you.” He stated. “Codenames.”

She turned back to the stars, silent for a few minutes. Technoblade patiently sat in the quiet, letting the girl mull over her thoughts. It had been about five minutes when he spoke up. “So? What’ll it be?”

Y/n pursed her lips, before parting them with a soft exhale. “Andromeda… call me Andromeda.”

Technoblade smiled at his old comrade in battle, now considered an ally and friend.

“Welcome to the Syndicate, Andromeda.”

—

The Secret…

Y/n wasn’t sure how long she had sat in the makeshift cell. Had it been days? Weeks? She didn’t know. All she knew was locked away to stand trial for “aiding fugitives in escaping”.

Her thoughts drifted to Wilbur, as they usually did in moments like these, where she fought desperately to remember the sound of his laughter or his loving assurances. Y/n hoped he and Tommy were safe, and she knew they were smart so they would be.

But she feared for Fundy as well. They had spoken on the night he announced his campaign for president, their hushed voices behind the podium as the rest of the server were asleep.

Y/n met the boy in the shadows of the podium, Fundy looking at her for some kind of reaction. Would she shout in anger? Cry in sadness? Running against his father was a betrayal, he should be reprimanded by the closest thing to a mother he had.

Instead, she smiled, and hugged him.

Fundy tensed in surprise before wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder as his hands clutched the back of her jacket.

“You know I have to support and stand by your father,” she started, softly rubbing small circles into Fundy’s back. “but it will never overshadow how proud I am of you.”

“Thank you, mama.” He sighed out, Y/n smiling kindly.

“You are my pride and you are my joy, Fundy. There’s nothing you could do that could make me love you less. Don’t forget that, okay?” Y/n asked.

Fundy nodded his head against his mother figure’s shoulder, still embracing her.

He missed the tears in her eyes as she bit her lip to keep her walls up. Indulging in this moment wasn’t something she was deserving of, and she knew that.

She had chosen to forego this path, it would be unfair of her to try and act as though she hadn’t changed everything.

The door to empty room creaked open, Y/n looking up to meet the eyes of a man she had once thought of as an old friend, but now some who repulsed her more than anything on this server. The man smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Y/n. Long time, no see.”

“Schlatt.” The name sounded like venom on her tongue, Y/n glaring at the man with dark eyes.

“How are you, hm?” Schlatt pulled a chair over for him to sit on, Y/n scoffing in disbelief.

“I don’t know Schlatt, you tell me. What the fuck is wrong with you, you were our friend!” She shouted.

Schlatt sat back in his hair. “I’m no one’s friend here. I’m a president here to run this country.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and leaned back against the wall, the man smirking.

“I want you to join me.”

That made the girl start to laugh, shaking her head. “You are something else, Schlatt.”

“I’m serious, I want you to join me and Manberg.” Schlatt deadpanned.

“Fuck off.” was Y/n’s reply.

Schlatt sighed, standing from where he sat, and paced to another side of the room. “Tell me, does your little lover boy have an infatuation with TNT?”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “Not that I’m aware, and if I was I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair enough.” Schlatt said, his footsteps clacking against stone as he further paced. “Well, he recently made some deals with the devil and came into possession of a lot of fucking TNT. You wanna know what he traded for that much power? Secrets.”

She stiffened, eyeing Schlatt warily, her voice barely above a whisper. “Secrets?”

Schlatt hummed, grinning. “Oh yeah. Loads of ‘em. I’m a chronic eavesdropper, so I had to get the scoop. And you’ll never guess what I heard.”

Y/n stood slowly, like an animal bracing for a fight, her fists shaking. She uttered the man’s name in warning, Schlatt stopping and turning to her with a wicked grin.

“You have a child.”

It felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, Y/n momentarily forgetting how to breathe. Her mouth felt dry, her body numb. Schlatt laughed, knowing he had her right where he wanted her.

“Fundy’s actually your son! Biologically and everything! And you never told him, you just left!” Schlatt exclaimed.

Y/n burst forwards, slamming Schlatt against the wall and lodging her forearm across his throat. She spoke with a low, dangerous voice. “I was young. I was stupid. And I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I couldn’t be the mother he needed.”

“So you left. And then you come back and you play the part of his mother, while the poor boy thinks your lover fucked a fish? That’s fucked up, Y/n.” He chuckled lowly.

Y/n pursed her lips, glaring into Schlatt’s eyes. “What do you want?”

Schlatt slowly removed Y/n’s forearm from his throat. “I want you to join me as one of my officials. I want you to betray Wilbur and Tommy. And if you don’t…”

“… I tell Fundy your big secret… and then I personally kill him until he’s dead.”

Y/n felt completely and absolutely defeated. She had never let someone have the upper hand on her. Not like this. She remained distraughtly silent, Schlatt nodding Ashe received his answer.

He reached into his pocket, throwing her comm device onto the floor. “Lover boy’s been trying to call you for weeks. You should call him back one last time and tell him to never call again. You know what’s at stake.” Schlatt then turned and walked towards the door. “I’ll have a fine pressed suit for you tomorrow morning and a more comfortable room, then the real work begins. Goodnight, Y/n.”

And he was gone.

Y/n fell to her knees, her body shaking with fear and guilt. Why did she have to be so stupid why did she have to create such deep-sewn weaknesses, why did she leave her son?

She reached for the comms device, her trembling fingers clicking a button as she spoke out in a terrified whisper. “Wilbur?”

—

The meeting…

Y/n hated parties with a passion she could not fathom. The celebration of another war won, a country saved. She was just a wandering soldier, moving from one battle to the next, finding celebration a little tone-deaf.

But nonetheless she stood in the banquet hall, her sash of medals and patches detailing her great accomplishments hung on her frame, with the world’s most uncomfortable dress covering her. Technoblade had told Y/n to liven up, drink and dance a little, though what a fucking hypocrite because he didn’t show up.

Y/n sipped her champagne, leaning against the bar top, a bored expression laid across her face as she traced circles into the wood with her finger. She didn’t register the boy standing next to her, eying her with curiosity before he spoke up. “One vodka neat, please.”

She finally indulged to meet his gaze, the tall brunette smiling and offering his hand. “Wilbur Soot.”

Y/n knocked back the rest of her champagne, before shaking his hand. “Y/n L/n.”

“You seem bored, Y/n L/n.” Wilbur observed.

She scoffed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“So I can tell.” He quipped, Y/n beginning to question the audacity of this kid. But he just smiled widely, pulling a stool and sitting next to her.

“Look, I don’t know what you want, but if it’s getting in my pants tonight it’s definitely not happening.” Y/n bluntly responded.

“Woah there! Take me out to dinner before we discuss that.” Wilbur defended, retrieving his drink from the bartender.

Y/n couldn’t even tell if the man was joking, but she rolled her eyes anyways. He was silent, she could tell he was trying to size her up. Figure out what made her brain tick, how to read her.

Must be frustrating for him to know he can’t.

She sighed, pulling away from the bar top, smoothing out her despised dress. “Well, thanks for the chat Wilbur, but I’d best be going.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Y/n.” Wilbur raised his drink and tipped it towards her in a kind of toasting or saluting gesture. She was a high ranked militia official anyways.

Y/n nodded and walked away, Wilbur watching her as she left. What she didn’t know, was he could read her like an open book. He saw her pain, her guilt, her stone disposition. But he saw her kindness, her generosity, her beauty. Wilbur was intoxicated by the mere presence of her, and her mystery.

Wilbur just had a gut feeling they’d cross paths again. And when they did, maybe in a space she was more comfortable than the loud and cheering party, maybe he’d offer her a drink, or even a dance. The boy slammed his drink on the table before standing, and rushing across the room.

Why wait when you know?

Y/n felt a gentle hand on her wrist, the girl turning to see Wilbur. She raised an eyebrow in question as he released his soft grip, and held his palm flat out in front of her. “May I have this dance.”

She had seen years of pretty boys offering her drinks and dances and the world. Each disappointed, each never following through. But Y/n looked up at Wilbur, and she could see the world in his brown eyes, she could see hope and chivalry and mirth. She pursed her lips, the boy seeming to deflate at her monotone and silent response.

Y/n took his hand, to the boy’s surprise. “One dance. That’s all.”

They danced all night. And laughed all night, more than Y/n had in years.

Y/n had never felt more alive than the night she met Wilbur Soot.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

we poured mud through their veins (part one)

the first installment of an au i am in love with 

in which a new member joins the Deetz-Maitland family!

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

The sky was the color of the ocean- dark, wild, and swallowing everything in its wake. The only thing that could possibly rival its impenetrable wall of thick black-blue were the occasional cracks of blazing lightning that split the roiling clouds like a hot knife. The storm would be cut in half at the flash of its searing glory, then sewed itself back together like a monstrous, watery wound. The wind was so fierce that it seemed to be sent by an enraged being (in which Delia would helpfully say it was “God” or “angels playing bowling”) to punish Winter River for some unruly sin. Water rushed down the streets like baby rivers, threatening to drag anything and anyone in its way down the asphalt with it. Raindrops battered windows and walls and doors, knocking so viciously like an unwanted guest.

An unwanted guest. That was what this damn storm was. And Lydia was at her wit’s end with this elemental stranger.

Her computer crashed for the third time and she finally slammed the lid close, letting out a miserable groan that was soon challenged by a deep rumble of thunder. She cringed, curling her shoulders in, and then sighed.

 “Fuck this storm,” She growled.

 “Language,” Barbara said from the kitchen.

 “Sorry,” Lydia muttered. “Screw this storm.”

Barbara chuckled lovingly. “Better.” She peered over at the closed laptop. “Everything okay?”

 “It keeps crashing,” Lydia said miserably. “And I’m finally not procrastinating on doing my essay!”

 “You had an essay due?” Adam looked at Lydia sharply, yanking his head out from the spice cabinet.

Lydia smiled innocently. “Maaaybe,” She said. She noticed the stern expression on Adam’s face. “Hey, I’m doing it! So don’t worry!”

 “Hmm,” Adam squinted at her suspiciously. “Seems like you planned this.”

 “What? Me? Never!” Lydia said.

Barbara laughed again and then turned back to the pot she was stirring. “What’s your essay on?”

 “Well, my English class needed to write something that had to do with society or the ecosystem,” Lydia explained. “So I chose to do mine on why the eighth amendment should be abolished!”

Barbara and Adam blinked at her proud expression.

 “Reason?” Adam asked.

 “If we don’t have the eighth amendment, then we can torture rapists,” Lydia said confidently.

Barbara and Adam then nodded in agreement.

It had been nine months since the whole incident with the ghosts, and it was honestly some of the best months of Lydia’s entire life. Not only did the Maitlands officially become part of the family, but Beetlejuice stuck around, too, becoming Lydia’s chaotic best friend and older brother figure, at least after being properly “housebroken” as her father would describe it. Waking up each morning always greeted her with new mayhem from one of the otherworldly tenants and more things she could learn about them. It was incredible.

They were a family.

 “It’s really coming down out there.”

Lydia looked over her shoulder to see Delia standing at the back door, sipping a steaming cup of her weird herbal tea (which tasted disgusting, by the way).

 “It’s what you would call ‘Noah’s Arc’,” Barbara said knowingly. Except her ‘knowledgeable’ comment got a weird look from Lydia and a laugh from Adam and Delia.

 “Noah’s Arc was the, well, arc, honey,” Adam said. “Not the storm. But nice try.”

 “It’s so foggy,” Delia commented. “The river may flood at this rate.”

Foggy.

Fog.

That word always sparked a memory in Lydia’s mind.

The Netherworld.

Lydia remembered the Netherworld clearly.

The air there had been wet and heavy, like she was breathing in a thick fog that stuck to her throat like tar. There was a certain sticky humidity in that dark place, pressing down on her in heavy waves, as if the very atmosphere itself was trying to crush her skull, punishing her for even plucking up the courage to step foot in the place where the Living didn’t belong. It was cold, yet uncomfortably warm at the same time, with no wind blowing to ease the mild heat that had settled its oppressive, sultry murk over the Dead’s civilization. It spilled into every street, every alleyway, every house that dared to open the window, thinking that it would help with the clamminess that fogged their home, but to no avail.

This, of course, had brought upon complete and utter dreariness that coated every Dead making their rounds through their daily lives. And, in reaction to her presence, the gloom tried to wrap its dark protections of the underworld around her in layers that pressed deeply into her skin, trying to become a part of her. It adorned her until she was nearly suffocated in the thick, moist air.

She did not belong there.

The Netherworld had been filled with enough freaks to make a whole circus- a suicidal beauty pageant queen with slashed open wrists, a failed skydiver in a shredded jumpsuit, a lady swathed in a smoldering towel and had hair crackling hair that hugged a toaster to her chest, a charred man who breathed smoke like a great fire dragon, a very confused football player, a man with a huge cleaver lodged in his skull as a sign of his infidelity, a gravely-injured jockey that spit blood when she talked, some kind of hunter with a shrunken head, and a very excitable victim of explosion, among many more that Lydia hadn’t seen. Not that she was surprised at the amount of strange characters in the underworld.

Aside from the beauty pageant queen, the jockey was the Dead that Lydia got to know the most. Even for the short amount of time she was down in the Netherworld , the jockey seemed to grow attached to her, talking to her animatedly as if they had been friends for years and hanging onto her arm like a baby koala would to its mother. She learned that her name was Presley.

And Lydia had to leave Presley behind.

It wasn’t because she wanted to- she had to! Presley said it herself: the living didn’t belong in the Netherworld. But still, it kinda hurt to leave her new friend behind.

But she got over it. And she moved on. And she got a new family that made her completely forget about the undead horse rider.

Lydia’s memories were then interrupted by a terrible crash of thunder that seemed to rip the entire town in half. The sound rang in all of their ears, even causing Lydia to snap her hands up to cover her own, much to her embarrassment, and making Adam phase straight into the drywall of the kitchen in reaction to the shock, and the sonic boom that followed rocked the house from side-to-side.

As the rumble faded and the lights overhead flickered, there was a heavy thud from upstairs.

From Lydia’s room.

Lydia groaned. “That’ll probably be Beej,” She said. “Messing with my stuff. Again. Probably thought the thunder could cover up the sound of him setting some kind of prank.” She turned her head to yell up the staircase as she stood up. “But not this time!”

She heard Barbara, Adam, and Delia laugh as she walked upstairs.

As quietly as possible, Lydia snuck up the stairs and to her bedroom. Inside, she could hear shuffling and a muttering voice.

Someone was in there.

Wanting to scare Beetlejuice for trying to prank her again, she grasped the doorknob, slowly pushed open the door, and peeked in at the demon in her bedroom.

The light from the lamp that she had left on fed into his white and red suit, soaking into the filthy fabric. He kept looking this way and that, the helmet he was wearing shifting against his head, and-- that was not Beetlejuice.

But Lydia did know this person.

White-and-red checkered shirt, white pants, gloves, black riding boots, a helmet with a crack straight down the middle, a crop holstered to narrow hips, old blood and hoofprints all over…

 “Presley?!” Lydia yelped out loud, then quickly shut her mouth. She stepped fully into her room and closed the door behind her. A moment later, the undead jockey was in her arms, clinging to her in a way that felt more like how a drowning woman to cling to the side of a boat than a normal hug between reuniting friends.

Except she didn’t feel undead. She felt warm, solid, real…living.

She was living.

But…that shouldn’t have been possible.

 “Presley…” Lydia said slowly. “How are you here?”

Presley looked up at her, the rim of her helmet sliding into her eyes slightly, then glanced all around. When she turned her head back up to Lydia, she seemed equally as confused. There was a stream of dried blood trickling down between her eyes and on one side of her nose. There was another scoring her right temple.

 “I don’t-- I don’t know,” Presley whispered, and her voice was hoarse and weak. She then sucked in a sharp breath and coughed. Lydia realized this must have been the first time she had breathed in a long while.

 “Well, that’s…confusing…” Lydia said. She batted Presley backwards so she would be away from the door. Presley clung onto her arm with one hand like it was her lifeline. “I thought you were dead? Like, really dead?”

 “Yeah…” Presley shifted. “I would know.”

Lydia laughed slightly. “What happened? How did this happen?”

Presley shrugged helplessly. “Your guess is as good as mine. I was just sitting in my room, crying, as I usually am, and then I fell asleep and now I’m here!” She looked around. “Nice room, by the way.”

 “Thanks,” Lydia said. She glanced at her door. “Okay, well…” She ran a hand through her hair. “This…will cause some issues.”

 “Oh.”

Presley took a shuffling step backwards and unholstered her crop, which she began to fidget with nervously. Lydia thought it was strange- wasn’t that the thing that basically caused her untimely demise? How could she be comfortable with even having it on her person after that?

 “Sorry…”

 “Hey, it’s not your fault,” Lydia assured her. “How were you supposed to know that you were going to…come back to life?”

 “Heh. Yeah.” Presley smiled slightly at her, which then turned into a grimace of pain. “May I sit down?”

 “Yeah, of course,” Lydia said, and Presley instantly dropped down to her knees. Her breathing came out strained and ragged. “Are you alright?”

Presley gave her a weak smile, and there was blood in her teeth and blood on her lips and blood on her tongue. “Yeah, yeah… I’ll be fine.”

 “Are you sure?” Lydia prodded, crouching down in front of her. “You don’t look so good.”

 “Well, you know how I died,” Presley said, sitting up from her hunched position. She pressed a hand against the left side of her ribs, wincing. “Wasn’t exactly very, ahh, pretty…” She swallowed.

 “Your wounds didn’t heal after you came back to life?” Lydia said. “I guess that’s what we’re calling this. But you didn’t get a fresh new start?”

Presley shook her head. She unbuttoned her jockey uniform and opened up one flap, the cloth making a disgusting peeling sound as it detached from her skin, to reveal the dark black abyss that was her trampled chest. Looking at it, even in the lamp’s golden glow, Lydia couldn’t tell where one wound ended and another wound began. They were all- the bruises and the lacerations and the welts and the hoofprints- melted into one big blemish of agony upon the young jockey’s torso. For a moment, Lydia didn’t even see that she had a sports bra on because the fabric (it had been grey, once upon a time) was completely soaked in blood and blending in with the rest of the mess.  

 “Unfortunately, no,” Presley closed her shirt. “I suppose it’s a fair trade. Being brought back for a second chance at life, but I have to live with the effects of how I died in the first one. Actually, that isn’t as fair as I thought. My internal organs had definitely been ruptured when--” She stopped talking and looked down at her stomach grimly.

 “Well, that…sucks,” Lydia said. She glanced at her door again. How was she going to explain this to her family?

 “Lydia!”

And speaking of the devils…

Lydia turned back to Presley. “Ready to meet my family?”

Presley perked up. “Really?”

 “You don’t exactly have anywhere else to go,” Lydia said. “And you’re here, aren’t you? One more supernatural being living in our house won’t hurt!”

Presley tilted her head, and her helmet slumped over on her skull with the movement. “There are others?”

Lydia grinned. “Yep,” She said. “I got pretty much the coolest family.”

 “Lydia!”

 “Coming!” Lydia called back to the voice yelling for her. She looked back at Presley. “I’m going to go talk to them first. I’ll call down for you once they’re ready. Just be cool, okay? They’ll like you.”

At least, she hoped they would. Presley didn’t have anywhere else to go if they didn’t.

Delia, Barbara, Adam, and Charles, who had emerged from his office, were all assembled downstairs, preparing for dinner. Barbara smiled at Lydia when she came down.

 “Did you find BJ?” Barbara asked.

 “How long did it take to dismantle the prank?” Adam asked, sounding amused.

 “What prank?” Beetlejuice materialized beside Charles, nearly making him drop the bowl of spaghetti he had been carrying to the table. He looked at him. “Sorry, Chuck.” He looked back at Lydia. “Now, what about a prank?”

All eyes turned to Lydia, and Lydia couldn’t help but feel like she was being interrogated, which was weird because she hadn’t done anything wrong. The ghost of a jockey who got killed during a race appearing in her bedroom as a living person wasn’t her fault! That was nobody’s fault!

 “It turns out there was no prank,” Lydia said.

 “Then what fell?” Delia asked.

 “Yeah, about that…” Lydia glanced up the staircase. She faintly saw Presley hovering in the hallway. “Remember that one time we went to the Netherworld?”

 “Yes,” Charles said. “It was the worst place ever.”

 “Oh god,” Beetlejuice said. “Is this another lecture? I already said I’m sorry!”

 “No, no, this isn’t about that,” Lydia said quickly. “While I was there, I met this girl. We kinda became friends, but, you know, I had to come back here so I haven’t seen her since.”

 “Where is this going?” Adam asked, looking curious and slightly concerned.

 “What if I told you guys that my friend came back to life somehow and appeared in my bedroom for no real rhyme or reason but now she’s here and has nowhere else to go?”

The house went quiet. Thunder rumbled outside, as if the very universe itself were laughing about the situation.

And then--

 “WHAT?” Adam yelped.

 “That can happen?” Delia said at the same time, looking at Beetlejuice.

 “I guess!” Beetlejuice yelled.

 “Wait, so there’s someone in our house right now?” Charles asked.

 “Surprise!” Lydia said weakly. She looked up the staircase. “You can come down now.”

There was shuffling from upstairs; Presley emerged into the light of the open stairwell and staggered her way down the stairs, each step she took being punctuated by a wince. There were several gasps, mainly from Barbara, Delia, and Adam, as she stopped next to Lydia- not that Lydia blamed her family for their reactions.

Presley looked much, much worse in full lightning. Her skin was no longer pale pink like it had been in the Netherworld, rather just pale, as if all the blood was drained from her body and leaving her as an empty shell. Even her lips were completely leached of color. It was impossible to tell if the dark rings around her eyes were from sleep deprivation or were just shiners caused by her death. Her jockey uniform was slathered in a thick caking of mud--and then Lydia realized most of that was just dried blood. Black hoofprints were stamped up and down her chest, stomach, and legs, and some areas of the fabric were ripped, revealing grimy, bruised, and bloodied flesh underneath. The streams of blood down her face and side of her head were completely dried now, crusted over and flaking off. She was squeezing her crop nervously, bright hazel eyes darting everywhere around the house, but she quickly latched onto Lydia’s arm with one of her hands, holding on tightly, similarly to how she did down in the Netherworld when they first met. 

 “Everyone…” Lydia said to her gaping family. “Meet Presley!”

[cannibalisticshadows]

Nightcall (1/2)

Inspired and named after the song “Nightcall” by Kavinsky 

Rating: T

Pairing: Megamind/Roxanne

Tags: Angst with a happy ending. 

Summary: Megamind can’t take it anymore. He has to tell her.

(ao3 link) | (part 2)

He’s sick.

It’s shameful how badly the words sit on his tongue, begging as if it’s life or death to be said. And it’s sick. So, so sick. Evil gods above, common sense screamed that everything about this was wrong on a million levels. Though “common sense” never applied to him much, this was a boundary even he was unwilling to cross. Their relationship was professional!

But how can he help it when he sees her walk away, hips swaying side to side like a metronome that seems to beat to his heart. He wants to cry out from the tugging at his soul the farther she is from him.

So, he supposes that’s why he’s always taking her. Mr. Tighty-Whities goes out and entertains hundreds of woman, but there’s only one woman that’s worth the effort.

These day’s he’s taking her more frequently. Half-assed schemes be damned, all he cares now is seeing her face again, right in front of him and not on television. To hear her voice being spoken just for him, tones low and seductive and just for him.

Temptress...

He can’t even...

He digs his fingernails into his palms so hard that even through the kid leather it hurts. He can feel it behind his gums, unsoothable even with his own tongue, which drools with the mere thought of being allowed to touch her in the most chase of ways.

The need to have her to himself has become overpowering. He writes out absurdly poor or well-thought-out plans just for the sake of telling Minion to fetch Ms. Ritchi. Once every-other week has become weekly.

Weekly incidents have become twice, or even thrice, a week.

“Are you okay?” She asks suddenly, tied to her chair and being quieter than usual. No. No that’s not right. She’s supposed to be talking about the plan. Taunting him. Bantering with him. Why isn’t she!? "You kinda seem... tired."

He nervously runs his hands down the crappy built control system of today’s Evil Scheme. It’s cold here, biting at his exposed skin, but the heat of his desperate, sick want keeps him heated. Bitting into his lower lip, he hunches over the buttons and knobs with his back turned to her. But he watches her from the little mirror he put beside him.

“I am ecstatic,” he says with false, half-mad cheer. “Today is the day Metro Man will die.”

“Wow,” she says mildly. She pauses. “Never hear a death threat before.” Despite her tone they both know it’s true. He usually says defeat. Is she frightened for once? Nowadays he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He bites harder, this time on the tip of his tongue.

He tastes metallic, and it burns his throat.

“Just shut up and be a damsel for once?” He sneers, baring his teeth and turning around to show her. He’s angry at himself, not her.

But it makes Roxanne jolt in her seat, comically surprised. Then she goes still, eyes wide with... Something. He can't read her. Always guessing, with her. She doesn’t respond, but shrinks a bit in her chair, glowering at him with suspicion.

It’s a weird feeling to drawl out this reaction from her.

~.~.~

He’s becoming more desperate to help his vice. Withdrawal starts the second Wayne throws him into prison, keeping him quiet and brewing over the duration of his stay. The guards notice; they steer clear of him.

No one is surprised when he breaks out not twenty-four hours later, snarling at the one puny guard who dares to raise a gun at him when he comes charging out.

Minion, barely given the warning he’s breaking out on his own, manages to catch him a few miles away from the prison he’s running from.

He’s sick. Still sick. Still wants to barrel himself through this confusing life with the little bits of the drug that’s pretty much the only thing keeping him afloat. An unquenchable hunger that has nothing to do with food, and it gnaws at him like a flesh-eating parasite. And it’s so, so wrong. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. Shouldn’t be physically shaking everything she moans his name in tiredness at yet another kidnapping. Shouldn’t be crying into his pillow at night because he wants to hear her voice outside of the television.

Kidnappings are more frequent. At the third kidnapping this week, Roxanne is barely awake which slightly pisses him off. This is a two-person job. He can’t just broadcast their trysts with her snoozing!!! He wants to grab this little woman by the shoulders and shake her—gently—because he just wants to talk to her.

Curse his alien psychology. Because he damn well knows what is happening to him. He knows why he’s resorted to spending more time in his room, biting at his own flesh because he can’t have what he wants. No. What he needs. Minion is starting to catch on, a bit, and Megamind cannot let that happen. No. No he doesn’t feel anything more than an annoyance for Ms. Ritchi, Minion! I am not falling into the same cycle my ancestors did!

He has to convince himself that his tone is somewhat convincing. Because it isn’t.

Tonight he’s determined to do it better. Today’s kidnapping ended before it even began, thanks to a sloppily build machine. It ended with a bitter, nasty remark at her choice in dress. He feels like a boy on schoolgrounds, tugging at the cute girl’s hair to get her attention.

But anyway. He fixed the machine and he demands a do-over. Tonight. At this very moment.

She’s at home, according to one of his spy-bots. not gonna admit that he’s so wretched over his own alien heart he’s started to spy on her in an indirect way.

He’s already on his hoverbike, because Minion, bless him, finally passed out from being worked too hard. He’s getting really close to Roxanne’s place when—

“Oh, no you don’t,” says a disapproving, gruff voice.

Snatched out of the air, his bike’s handles caught in the same beefy hands used to grab his collar, Megamind finds himself dangling and flailing his limbs.

Fucking Wayne. Fucking fucking fucking Wayne. What does he have to do at this time of night around Roxanne’s place, the bloody creep.

Oh. No. Megamind’s the creep, he viciously realizes, eyes ablaze with fury. Wayne’s the perfect boyfriend. Fuck him, Megamind weeps internally.

“Listen, little buddy,” the meat-head starts, pissing off the other alien even more. “You’ve kidnapped Roxie four times this week. What’s your problem?”

“You are my problem,” he hisses vehemently. “Let go!”

“No,” Wayne sighed, flying off closer to her apartment. Still spitting curses, but also rather confused, because why bring him to his destination when he was usually dropped off at the prison when caught? “You need to see this.”

Wayne drops him on the balcony without delicacy, making Megamind hand on his side with the air sucked out of him. Huffing, he stands and wipes dust off him. He breathes in, catching the faint vegetation scent of her potted plants.

His long-time enemy lands beside him on his white-clad toes, staring inside of the glass doors. Peeved, he meets where his gaze lands.

It’s Roxanne. Yes, she is home, and not at all conscious.

She’s still dressed in the same outfit from earlier; a sleeveless, deep wine-red—almost black—dress that flared at the knees, hugging her hips and derrière like a godforsaken glove. She looked good enough to drink. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, earlier,

That could have been a terrible, terrible tease if she hadn’t spent the duration of their short encounter today falling asleep. Why was she so tired lately?

She’s conked out on her red couch, one leg hiked up over the back of the couch, the other hanging off with her heal barely hanging onto her big toe. Her hair is completely disheveled, her mouth parted open as she drools slightly onto the couch’s fabric. One of her arms is curled up behind her hair, with the other hanging off the side of the couch.

And with that hand she’s gripping onto a bottle of wine. Her mascara has smeared down her face like black veins.

“You need to back off a bit,” Wayne said, his heroism voice gone and replaced with something that actually sounded human. It made things a hundred times worse because Megamind knew what his problem was.

He stood and stared at his poor Roxanne. Why. What the fuck is wrong with him!?

Wayne grabbed him by the collar before he could linger another moment, and he’s being thrown back into prison, to the bewilderment of the Warden. Can’t blame the old man; everyone could see Megamind was finally losing his marbles. He could see the thoughts in their eyes.

But as he sat in his cell, the tv on but muted, familiar orange jumpsuit scratchy against his sensitive blue skin, he thought over this hell of a month. He was sick of this. Sick of his wretched alien secret of this… need.

It should be below him. It should be abolished from his DNA; a trait his pre-evolved ancestors needed for… things. He was a scientist; an evil genius; a lone wolf. He shouldn’t be made weak by the simple, kind smile of a blue-eyed reporter.

Yet he was.

And he knew what he had to do.

Before it destroyed him.

[looselucy]

Prologue

2014 I was a bundle of nerves, walking through the back of the restaurant as the guy who was supposedly training me unenthusiastically pointed towards different things as we marched, half telling me what things were, but it was all so hectic and I was so nervous, nothing sunk in.

It was the first job I’d managed to get since moving to Liverpool, and I really didn’t want to fuck it up. The entire atmosphere of the place was utterly chaotic, and the very first thing I wanted to do was cry. I managed not to. I was shoved towards a guy with long hair tied up into a bun, who stood waiting for me with a black apron in his hands and a large smile on his face. “I’ll take it from here.” He grinned, immediately passing me the final part of my uniform. “Y’arlight?” “Mhm.” I unconvincingly replied. “I’m Harry, I’m gunna train you up.” He nodded. “What’s your name again?” “Bellona.” “Bellona?” His eyes went wide. “Roman Goddess. My mum thought it would be really quirky, but I think even she regrets it now. So everyone calls me Lona.” “Lona it is. Okay, Lona, I’m throwing you in the deep end.” He reached down to his side and picked up two plates, passing them over to me. “I want you to go deliver this.” I took the plates from his hand, already concerned that my shakes would force me to drop the food everywhere, looking at him like he’d gone mad, but he was still just smiling at me. “You mad? I’ve had… no training.” “This is the best way to do it, I’m telling ya. C’mere.” He walked a little, leading me towards the small window that looked through into the restaurant, pointing at a table. “You see those two? The woman with the red hair and the bloke who’s sweating profusely?” I giggled, spotting the two of them immediately, jumping to the conclusion they were on a first date, and that was why he was clearly freaking out. “I see them.” “Just take it over… be polite… come straight back. Job done!” “Okay.” I nodded. “Okay, I can do that.” “Alright, so do that, quick sharp, then come back to me.” “What if they ask for something?” I glanced up to him. “Then come back here, tell me what they asked for, and we’ll figure it out together.” I liked Harry within seconds. He had such a warm and inviting demeanour, one that managed to sooth me just slightly, at least to the point where I no longer felt as though I was going to burst into tears. He nodded towards the door, and I took one deep breath, and spun on my heel, marching as confidently as I physically could out onto the main floor and towards the table I’d been instructed to serve, plastering a giant smile on my face as I did. I was with them in a few seconds, placing the plates down ahead of them both and grinning so much my cheeks were already hurting. “Do you need anything else?” I asked, rather shakily. “Uh… This isn’t our order.” The woman scowled. “I’m sorry?” I swear, I felt my stomach hit the damn floor. “We didn’t order this, we’re just waiting on some drinks.” “Oh shit.” I mumbled. “OH GOD! I’m sorry. Please ignore that. It’s my first day you’re my first table, oh my god, I’m so sorry.” I scrambled to pick up the plates again, knocking over a thankfully empty wine glass as I did, trying my best not to curse for the second time as I rearranged the table and tried, and failed, to gather myself. “That’s okay.” The woman chuckled. “Your drinks will be with you soon, I’m sorry.” I practically ran back into the kitchen, my heart beating at a million miles a minute as I burst through the door. Harry was stood there in fits of laughter. I marched over and placed the two plates down before hitting him hard on the arm, then placing my hand on my chest as I squealed. “You fucking arse-hole!” I cried. He just continued laughing as I tried to calm down, my mouth wide, literally in a state of shock that he had just purposefully sent me to the wrong table with the wrong food. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. “I can’t believe you just did that to me! I just swore at them, oh my god!” “I’m sorry.” He sniggered, and he couldn’t have sounded less apologetic. “But that was so fucking funny.” “I hate you so much, I want to die.” He just carried on laughing, and once I’d managed to get over the initial shock, I joined him. I couldn’t help myself! I was embarrassed and mortified and ready to hit him again, but I just couldn’t help it. Him playing that little joke on me, abolished the idea that I was going to fuck everything up, because I’d already fucked up, and it was fine. Him doing that, helped me to ease. I watched him continue to laugh, clutching at his belly, smiling to him and shaking my head. I liked him immediately.

2015 A girl at the restaurant had asked Harry out on a date, which was never good news for me, because Harry was a bit of a nervous wreck when it came to girls and always made me go with him, which meant that I would in turn be coupled up with any lad Harry could find, and we’d double date. I didn’t mind too much, because I was just doing him a favour, but his choices were always so poor. Not once had I ever even gotten a shag out of any of the people he’d dragged to dinner with us. It was verging on painful. But I knew how choked up he got around girls who were potential love interests, and even though it was never easy work, I wanted to help him. I eyed up the latest victim as he groaned on and on about someone he worked with, turning my head briefly to scowl at Harry for providing yet another useless lad. He mouthed a quick sorry to me, and then I turned back to look at Ben. We’d both known we were off to a poor start when he fixated on my name after I’d introduced myself, questioned it and laughed about it produced a typical reaction which Harry knew I hated. “I basically hold the whole team together.” Ben shrugged arrogantly, sipping on his wine. “It’s embarrassing. That place really would fall apart without me.” Harry said he was a friend of a friend, so it was clear he didn’t know him that well; maybe they’d met a few times, been drunk together before, but I still felt like a little warning wouldn’t have gone a miss. Harry was uniquely good at picking out terrible men. Or maybe it was something to do with the majority of men being terrible. “So what do you do?” He finally stopped talking about himself and turned to me. “I work with those two. I’m a waitress.” “Oh.” He tried to hide his judgemental tone, but he failed. “That must be boring.” “Uh…” I glanced across the Harry and Kay, noticing the way she batted her eyelashes and placed her hand on his thigh, and he just seemed entirely uncomfortable. “No… it’s fine. It pays the bills.” “Barely though, right? You must be on minimum wage.” I turned to them again, hoping they’d help me through the conversation since we all worked in the same place. Harry earned a little more than myself and Kay did, but none of us were on a brilliant wage, but I wanted them to have my back and get as defensive about the topic as I was doing. But they weren’t fully listening, Kay excitedly asking him questions about his dog and Harry trying keep a conversation flowing. I could see Harry was trying his best to reciprocate her flirtatious actions, but he was always a bag of nerves with girls, and if there was even a small part of him that felt hesitant or unsure about someone, it radiated from him. He was all or nothing when it came to girls. “Uh… Yeah, I’m on minimum wage, but it’s fine.” “You should really look into different jobs. You could be doing so much better for yourself.” “I’m good. I like my job, and I work hard, so-” “You don’t know hard work until you work for a company that needs and respects you. At places like your restaurant, they-” “Oh my god, just… shut the fuck up.” I finally lost my nerve, reaching for my wine and taking a hefty sip. “You’re like… genuinely difficult to be around, it’s insane.” Harry tried to contain his smile, kicking me lightly under the table and dropping his head. Suddenly, we were trapped in an awkward silence, all four of us. Kay was looking at Harry like she couldn’t work out why he seemed so withdrawn and awkward, and I thought Ben was about to snap and start an argument with me and get all defensive and probably start talking about how he was the one holding our evening together, just like he held his team together at work. But he caught us all off guard. “So… This clearly isn’t going well, is it?” “No.” I grumbled. “Can I suggest a way that we don’t let this evening go to waste?” I rolled my eyes before turning my head back to him, seeing him look around the three of us with an almighty and arrogant smug sitting pretty on the corner of his mouth. I didn’t think it was possible for me to dislike him any more than I already did, until he spoke again. “Foursome.” He simply said. I bolted my head to Harry, seeing his eyes go wide before he slapped his hand against his forehead. We both knew he was terrible at picking men, but he’d really hit a new low with this one. I dropped my face into my hands for a moment, shaking my head and knowing it would have to be me who broke the silence, but I just didn’t have a damn clue what to say! About any of it! I lifted my head back up, looking straight to Harry, who released a big sigh, and poked his bottom lip. “I’m just gunna fucking go!” I blurted, rushing to my feet and grabbing my coat off the back of the chair. “I’ll come with ya.” Harry jumped up with me. “Harry!” Kay cried, and I was on my way to the door in seconds. “I’m sorry!” I heard him calling. “I’m sorry, I know, I’m shit, I’m sorry!” Harry was hot on my heel, the two of us rushing past tables towards the front door, silent for the entirety of the journey outdoors. As soon as the cold air hit, I turned myself around and hit his arm relatively hard, to which he faked pain, clutching at the spot and sobbing hopelessly. “I am not doing this again, Harry!” I told him off. “You’re gunna have to learn to date on your own because you have the worst taste in men!” “I’m sorry!” He cried, following me once again when I started storming down the street. “A fucking foursome. Jesus Christ. AND YOU CONSIDERED IT!” “What?” “I saw that little twinkle in your eyes, Harry Styles.” He slung his arm around my shoulder, trying to conceal his laughter by planting a kiss on the top of my head, his giggles gliding through my thick hair. “It was… a small thought. A moment of weakness. A momentary lapse.” He admitted. “You’re ridiculous. I can read you like a damn book.” “Do you still love me?” He asked pathetically. “Never did in the first place.” “Liar.” I placed my arm around his waist and laughed sweetly as we headed home together, curving into the side of his body quite wonderfully, glad to finally be in some company that made me feel comfortable and at ease. “Wanna come to mine?” He suggested. “We’ll order shit food and watch a shit film but have a great time.” “Sounds better than a bloody foursome.”

2016 Pinky, Harry’s Pomeranian, was dragging him down the street with much more strength than a dog of such small stature should be able. The happy little ball of fluff excitedly tugged on her lead as the two of us headed into town, thankful to have the sun shining for once, and due to the fact we both had a day off for the first time in over a fortnight, we were making the most of it. “Harry, your muscles are fake as fuck!” I laughed. “I go to the gym every day, Lona, don’t start with me.” “No you don’t!” “I go to the gym most days. These muscles are real! I work hard for these!” “Pinky is dragging you around all over the place.” “She’s very strong.” He tried. “She must go to the gym more than you do.” He stuck his middle finger up at me, once again unimpressed that I was poking fun at him, but I could rarely help myself. I spent most of my spare time with Harry. I’d made a few friends since moving to Liverpool, mainly through work. They hired young staff and there was always a massive turnover, so we were constantly meeting new people and it wasn’t that rare that I would form a bond with someone that pushed past just being a colleague, but none of them were like Harry. He’d been in Liverpool since he was at uni, so he had a few more years than me in one place and a few more friends, but we knew we’d found something special in one another. It wasn’t even something I could place, really, but it had been there from the very start; a bond that existed between the two of us that was precious, something undeniable and beautiful and something I never wanted to lose. I’d never had a friend like him. I didn’t think I ever would again. “My mum’s been asking about ya.” He looked my way, finally managing a little restraint against the pup. Harry’s mother worried about me and asked about my wellbeing quite often. My parents lived down in London, so it wasn’t often that I got to see them, unlike Harry’s mother who was less than an hour drive away. I only saw my parents a few times a year, whereas Harry’s mother always asked to see me when she came to visit Harry, and she’d always bring me a Tupperware full of food she’d cooked too much of and try to slip me a tenner and act like my mum as much as she could. Harry had said he couldn’t imagine being too far away from her. He’d never move abroad, or even to London, because he would always want to be close to his mother. “I bloody love that woman. How is she?” “She’s alright, I think.” He shrugged. “Yeah?” I prompted, noting the uncertainty in his voice. “The divorce has just been finalised, so… I think it’s just a weird time for her.” Around a year earlier, Harry had called me in the middle of the night begging me to drive to Cheshire with him. I didn’t even ask questions, I just listened to the terror in his voice and immediately said I would go. It turned out his mother had called him in a state, and when we arrived she was down on the kitchen floor, black eye and bruised rib and broken window. Harry had always told me he hated his step dad, but for no reason he could truly note other than a gut feeling that he wasn’t a good man. They’d been married for ten years before Harry finally got some confirmation to accompany that instinct, and we were soon to learn that things had been far from sweet pretty much since Harry left for university when he was eighteen, and she’d been too scared to say anything. It took a broken rib for her to finally leave him. “We should go see her.” I suggested. “Cheer her up.” “Yeah… Yeah! We should. When aren’t you working?” “I dunno. I’m always fucking working.” “Okay… when was the last time you pulled a sicky?” He tweaked his brows. “Ohhhh I’ve not thrown one for a few months now, I’m down for that.” “Tomorrow?” “I could be sick tomorrow.” I nodded, forcing a cough. He let out a light laugh as we turned a corner, my happiness beaming and my smile bright until I concentrated on what I could see right ahead of us. I didn’t buy it at first, like it was just my mind playing tricks on me. I stopped in my tracks, lowering my brows and squinting my eyes, making sure I was absolutely sure before I had a breakdown. “Holy shit.” I gawped once I knew. “Holy shit!” I retraced my steps and went back around the corner we’d just turned, leaning against the building and placing my hand on my chest, feeling the vicious beat of my heart, gripping my eyes shut and trying not to cry. “What? What?” Harry questioned, coming back to me. “Ash is in that restaurant.” “Huh?” “He’s in that fucking restaurant across the fucking road and he’s with a fucking girl for fuck sake.” Harry moved his head to see what I’d just seen, studying the sight in the same way I had before the moment of realisation hit him too. I’d been with Ash for around six months. It had been only a week since I’d told him I loved him and he’d answered with a simple ‘I’m getting there’ and I had wanted to crawl into the shadows and not acknowledge my declaration ever again. But from what I’d seen, it hadn’t scared him off! He’d stayed with me and he was still wonderful and funny and gentle and other than my embarrassment, everything felt the same. I really wanted to cry. I really wanted to just burst into tears right there in the street. My bottom lip was wobbling and my heart was shattering and I really wanted to cry. Harry was still watching him like a hawk, Pinky staring up to the two of us with her tongue out and clearly wondering why it was we’d stopped. “What the fuck?” He spat. “What’s happening? Have I jumped to conclusions? Do they look like they’re just friends?” I then begged for information I didn’t want to know. “Is he kissing her? Is he holding her hand? What’s he doing?” Harry didn’t give me a definite answer to those questions, but what he did say answered everything for me, and I knew I hadn’t just jumped to conclusions. “I’m gunna go punch him in the fucking face. Take Pinky.” “Harry, no!” I cried, jumping to him and attempting to drag him away, but he truly was difficult to move. I had no idea how his tiny dog managed it. “Please, let’s just go! Let’s just leave it!” “Let me punch him square in the fucking face, and then we’ll go.” Harry shrugged, his newly short hair hidden beneath a dark beanie. “No!” I finally let the first few tears fall, and I knew that just made him want to punch Ash even more. “I’ll deal with this… later, I’ll talk to him!” “No you won’t, Lona!” He squealed. “You’ll just end things and you won’t confront the bastard, when he deserves to be punched in the damn face! Someone needs to punch him, and you won’t do it, so I have to!” “No one needs to punch anyone, Harry, so let’s go! C’mon! I don’t wanna cry in the street and I’m crying in the bloody street so we’re leaving!” “Fine, fine.” He lifted one hand in surrender, leaving me just a blissful moment of thinking we could just forget the whole thing before he practically threw Pinky’s lead at me, and ran back around the corner. I cursed uncontrollably to myself, Pinky still with her happy little face staring up to me and perfectly still as I paced the spot a few times before finally retrieving her lead and poking my head around the corner to watch Harry. I got there just in time to see him burst through the front door of the restaurant and move immediately towards Ash, and then he grabbed a chair and just sat himself down. He just bloody sat himself down, at the table, with Ash and this girl, with a massive smile on his face the entire time, like everything was really casual. “Oh god, he’s mad. He’s absolutely mad.” I whispered. I must admit, the immense pleasure I received watching Ash’s face drop made me immediately grateful that Harry had decided to confront him. Besides, he was absolutely right. I probably would have just called Ash and ended things over the phone and never let him know that I knew he was actually cheating scum and deserved to die a horrendous death including fire and maybe sharks. Harry looked as though he was just taking part in some pleasant, idle chit-chat and it was the first thing to make me smile, but he didn’t let it last long. I’d say he’d been sat down for a minute before he pushed the plate that had been on the table so that it landed directly on Ash’s lap. I slapped my hand against my mouth, finally bursting out laughing when I saw Harry get up to his feet, pick up a glass of red wine from the table and throw it directly into his face. I was still crying a little bit, but I was laughing, hiding back around the corner when I saw Harry walk out of the front door and approach me once again, grinning away to himself the entire time. I was a bizarre mixture of sobbing and laughing by the time Harry got back to me, pulling me into his body and keeping me there, kissing repetitively at the top of my head. “I’m so sorry, Lona.” He eventually mumbled, and I cried even more.

2017 I slowly let myself into Harry’s flat, hating the silence of the place. I closed the door as gently as I could, taking off my shoes by the door before quietly calling his name, hoping for a reply but not receiving one. I knew he’d be in bed. Harry dealt with his sorrow by wrapping up and staying hidden for as long as he needed. Whether it was a few hours or a few days, when Harry was feeling down, he would retreat to his bed and battle his demons there. I journeyed the short distance towards his bedroom, slowly pushing the door open and seeing him there, curled up, fist gripped and pressed against his lips, not acknowledging my presence in the slightest, his bloodshot eyes remaining fixed on his blank wall. I approached and then took my place on the spare side of his bed, beneath the sheets, settling down beside him and laying on my side so I could look at him properly. The two of us lay in silence for a while. I knew he was hurting, but I also knew he was in desperate need of company, or he wouldn’t have called me in the first place. I eventually broke the silence. “Y’know, it’s annoying how you’re still proper gorgeous even when I can tell you’ve been crying for hours.” The smallest smile shaped his lips for a split second and then disappeared again, Harry sniffling slightly and moving his hand from his lips, searching through the heavy sheets to find my own. We intertwined our fingers, and I smiled at him, trying to encourage some words. “They said there was nothing they could do for her.” He swallowed, his voice hoarse. “Said… it was the kindest thing to do… to put her down.” “At least she’s not in pain anymore.” “Mm.” He nodded, swallowing. “I am though.” I squeezed his hand tighter, unsure what to say. It had only been a matter of weeks since Harry had first taken Pinky to the vets after feeling a lump that hadn’t been there previously. They’d operated on her to try and remove the cancer, but there was nothing else they could do for her, and she was in too much pain. It was the kindest thing to do, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. “What do you want me to do? How can I cheer you up?” I whispered. “You can’t.” “You need a cup of tea, and you need to watch School of Rock.” “Okay.” He nodded. I squeezed his hand again, knowing they were the two sure ways to get even just a small smile on his face, but the truth was that Harry was going to be miserable for at least a few weeks. He’d never been too good with his own company, he liked to have someone there with him, and even Pinky was enough to help him feel a little less lonely when he was at home. It was going to be a strange adjustment for him. “M'sorry,” I sighed. “I dunno what to say.” “It’s okay. Just want you here. Just want your company.” “I wish I could stay all night, but I’ve got a shift.” “When?” He asked desperately, eyes flickering over my face. “Few hours yet. I’ll stay til the very last minute, I promise.” There wasn’t a single part of me that wanted to leave him to go to work, but the week before I’d turned up still a little bit drunk from the night before and I’d dropped a plate full of food and I felt as though I was already skating on thin ice. Besides, I’d recently started applying to different jobs, and having to request time off to go to interviews was never going to sit well with the managers. “I feel like shit, Lona.” He trembled. “I’m never getting attached to anything or anyone ever again. It’s not worth it.” “Okay. Well, I saw Ash last night and he told me he misses me so I’m swearing off men. How about me and you pledge our abstinence?” “That’s like… the opposite of what I want.” He finally smiled for a little longer. “I feel like a shag might cheer me up.” “Ohhhh. Yeah, I forgot that you can have sex and not get attached.” I huffed, moving to lay on my back, my eyes on the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s not for me.” It was nice to hear him laughing, no matter how brief and quiet it was. I leaned in, placing a gentle kiss onto his forehead, and when I withdrew, I noticed that there were tears in his eyes. “Love you loads, Harry.” I told him. “Love you too.” He just about returned, throat thick.

[alrights]

from Aurora Leigh by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1856)

In those days, though, I never analysed Myself even. All analysis comes late. You catch a sight of Nature, earliest, In full front sun-face, and your eyelids wink And drop before the wonder of ‘t; you miss The form, through seeing the light. I lived, those days, And wrote because I lived–unlicensed else: My heart beat in my brain. Life’s violent flood Abolished bounds,–and, which my neighbour’s field, Which mine, what mattered? It is so in youth. We play at leap-frog over the god Term; The love within us and the love without Are mixed, confounded; if we are loved or love, We scarce distinguish. So, with other power. Being acted on and acting seem the same: In that first onrush of life’s chariot-wheels, We know not if the forests move or we. And so, like most young poets, in a flush Of individual life, I poured myself Along the veins of others, and achieved Mere lifeless imitations of life verse, And made the living answer for the dead, Profaning nature. ‘Touch not, do not taste, Nor handle,’–we’re too legal, who write young: We beat the phorminx till we hurt our thumbs, As if still ignorant of counterpoint; We call the Muse ... ‘O Muse, benignant Muse!’– As if we had seen her purple-braided head. With the eyes in it start between the boughs As often as a stag’s. What make-believe, With so much earnest! what effete results, From virile efforts! what cold wire-drawn odes From such white heats!–bucolics, where the cows Would scare the writer if they splashed the mud In lashing off the flies,–didactics, driven Against the heels of what the master said; And counterfeiting epics, shrill with trumps A babe might blow between two straining cheeks Of bubbled rose, to make his mother laugh; And elegiac griefs, and songs of love, Like cast-off nosegays picked up on the road, The worse for being warm: all these things, writ On happy mornings, with a morning heart, That leaps for love, is active for resolve, Weak for art only. Oft, the ancient forms Will thrill, indeed, in carrying the young blood. The wine-skins, now and then, a little warped, Will crack even, as the new wine gurgles in. Spare the old bottles!–spill not the new wine. By Keats’s soul, the man who never stepped In gradual progress like another man, But, turning grandly on his central self, Ensphered himself in twenty perfect years And died, not young,–(the life of a long life, Distilled to a mere drop, falling like a tear Upon the world’s cold cheek to make it burn For ever;) by that strong excepted soul, I count it strange, and hard to understand, That nearly all young poets should write old; That Pope was sexagenarian at sixteen, And beardless Byron academical, And so with others. It may be, perhaps, Such have not settled long and deep enough In trance, to attain to clairvoyance,–and still The memory mixes with the vision, spoils, And works it turbid.                  Or perhaps, again, In order to discover the Muse-Sphinx, The melancholy desert must sweep round, Behind you, as before.– For me, I wrote False poems, like the rest, and thought them true. Because myself was true in writing them. I, peradventure, have writ true ones since With less complacence.                    But I could not hide My quickening inner life from those at watch. They saw a light at a window now and then, They had not set there. Who had set it there? My father’s sister started when she caught My soul agaze in my eyes. She could not say I had no business with a sort of soul, But plainly she objected,–and demurred, That souls were dangerous things to carry straight Through all the spilt saltpetre of the world. She said sometimes, ‘Aurora, have you done Your task this morning?–have you read that book? And are you ready for the crochet here?’– As if she said, ‘I know there’s something wrong, I know I have not ground you down enough To flatten and bake you to a wholesome crust For household uses and proprieties, Before the rain has got into my barn And set the grains a-sprouting. What, you’re green With out-door impudence? you almost grow?’ To which I answered, ‘Would she hear my task, And verify my abstract of the book? And should I sit down to the crochet work? Was such her pleasure?’ ... Then I sate and teased The patient needle til it split the thread, Which oozed off from it in meandering lace From hour to hour. I was not, therefore, sad; My soul was singing at a work apart Behind the wall of sense, as safe from harm As sings the lark when sucked up out of sight, In vortices of glory and blue air. And so, through forced work and spontaneous work, The inner life informed the outer life, Reduced the irregular blood to settled rhythms, Made cool the forehead with fresh-sprinkling dreams, And, rounding to the spheric soul the thin Pined body, struck a colour up the cheeks, Though somewhat faint. I clenched my brows across My blue eyes greatening in the looking-glass, And said, ‘We’ll live, Aurora! we’ll be strong. The dogs are on us–but we will not die.’

[godstery-blogspot-com]

1.8 信仰

The east dawn,the sun flooded the square in front of the ziggurat, the Will was holding a grand new king enthroned. The square was full of people and spread to the surrounding streets. They looked solemn and stared at the ziggurat. The high-ranking slaves around all looked down at their toes. If anyone dared to look up or steal a glance, they would be beheaded for blasphemy.

High priest Flam was leading them to pray to God Willier. The scene was extremely quiet, but Flam felt a little nervous. He hasn’t received the oracle for many days, and he hasn’t had it since Gilgamesh’s departure. This kind of disconnection has happened before, but the difference was that this time the statue has undergone a subtle change. He could no longer feel the “light” on the statue, “Is my cultivation regressing?” He suspected.

According to the previous plan, the candidate crown should have long been appointed as the new king, but Willier God did not reply for a long time. The country cannot be without a king, he thought. Act as planned for the time being, if God Willler is dissatisfied with the new king, he can issue an oracle to abolish him.

After the prayer, Flam stood on a high platform and said loudly to everyone, “The old king Gilgamesh is dead, today the new king will succeed him and continue to take over the will of Willier God.”

A man in a robe knelt towards the statue, and Flam stood between him and it. Flam held his staff and hit the man’s left shoulder hard and said loudly, “Don't be afraid of hardships and dangers, have the courage to make dedication, can you sustain it?” The sound was spread to everyone’s ears by mana.

“I can!” The man said loudly.

Flam slammed staff on his right shoulder again, “Diligence and love for the people, fairness and justice, can you sustain it?”

“I can!” The sound was almost roaring from the high platform.

Flam hit the man on the head with staff, then turned sideways to let the statue behind him, crossed his hands on his chest and knelt down towards the statue, “ Serve the lord loyally, unswervingly till death, can you sustain it?”

“Noway！” before the new king could answer, a voice came from the crowd on the street. Although the tone was not high, it was crisp and neat, and it was very ear-piercing in such a quiet environment.

Everyone was shocked, and at the same time focused on the source of the sound, even the slave who bowed his head couldn’t help but want to take a peek.

A man dressed in leather and a battle axe on his back, strutted towards the ziggurat——It’s Gilgamesh.

The city people around him were surprised and happy, puzzled in their hearts, and subconsciously gave up a way.

“Willier is despicable and shameless. He avenged his benefactor, deceive the people and steal fame, a beast in human clothing, and still being a god?” Gilgamesh said as he went up the steps, his eyes fixed on the Flam.

The soldiers around didn’t stop him, after all, his prestige in the army was very high.

The crowd began to whisper.

Flam squinted his eyes and saw that it was Gilgamesh, and he was also suspicious. But he looked calm, looked down proudly and said, “How dare you blaspheme!”

“I didn’t blaspheme him, I‘m going to kill him.” Gilgamesh said coldly.

Everyone was horrified, with incredible expressions on their faces.

Gilgamesh took the scroll from his arms and threw it at Flam. “The map back to you!”

Flam’s expression changed suddenly and he ordered the new king beside him, “Kill him quickly, I‘ll enchant you!”

The new king drew the sword from the guard next to him and ran towards Gilgamesh. Under Flam’s enchantment, he felt as light as a swallow, his speed and strength were several times higher than before. He jumped up full of confidence and swung his sword towards Gilgamesh.

Gilgamesh stared at Flam intently. When the new king came close to him, he dodged the blade slightly on his side. Before the new king landed, he exerted force with his right foot and hit with his left shoulder, knocking the new king off the stage.

All this happened extremely fast. It seemed to everyone in the square that the new king quickly rushed down the steps and then jumped down from the side, just landed his head first.

“wimp!” Flam thought. Even with the magic, Flam can’t let him fly back to the stage.

Just listen to Gilgamesh’s vicious words, “You really know the truth, more than 1,200 blood debts, let’s take your life to pay it.” He rushed to the stage, raised the battle axe, and slashed towards Flam.

Flam’s eyes were full of contempt, and his figure disappeared when the axe blade was about to touch the top of his head.

“Stupid, how could you hurt me, you and I are not on the same level at all, you have not understood what space is.” The voice came from behind Gilgamesh.

Gilgamesh didn’t answer, didn’t turn his head, hit the ground on his toes, and bounced back.

Flam teleported to the side like a matador playing with a bull. Always unable to reach Flam’s body.

Gilgamesh suddenly turned around and threw a vine with his left hand and put it on Flam’s wrist.

The vine was not thick but extremely tough. The point was that Flam suddenly found that he could not perform any magical skills!

Although Flam realm is high, compared with Gilgamesh in physical skills, it’s like the difference between cloud and mud.

Gilgamesh exerted force under his feet and shook his left arm forcefully. Flam was swung onto the stone statue.

Flam had a sharp pain in his back that shook him out of breath, but the feeling did not last long. With a flash of silver light, his neck and the statue behind him were cut off.

Under the gaze of everyone’s eyes, the statue was broken in two, and accompanied by the blood spurted from the body that lost its head, it crashed down.

Flam’s head rolled down onto the square, with an expression of unbelievable horror on his face.

Gilgamesh stood on the high platform, looked around and shouted at the people, “Anyone who believes in Willier or prays to him will end up with such a scum.”

The people was solitary, only the loss of God was out of the wits. Although everyone was shining in the sun, they felt bitterly cold, as if their bodies had fallen along with the statue, and the scene was silent, lest they would be punished by Willier God.

Then, the golden light in the ziggurat flickered, dazzling brilliance, and a woman floated out from it, like a blue cloud covering the sun, falling on the platform and walking towards Gilgamesh.

She was dressed in a light blue dress, has a graceful figure, with rippling shirts, her black hair scattered on her white shoulders, a gold armband on her right arm and a lapis lazuli bracelet on her wrist, peaceful and mild steps. She was so beautiful and radiant. Everyone felt the warm spring breeze blowing in their hearts.

Gilgamesh was confronted a formidable enemy. Because the woman’s appearance was exactly the same as the god in the ziggurat of the City-Inana that he conquered some time ago.

She walked closer with a smile, laughed like a silver bell, glance at the vine on his hand, and said " The stray lamb, you really surprise me! How to use such a common Magic Tools to kill high-level mage, so good capability! I guess he never dreamed that he would die so egg!”

Gilgamesh didn’t know what she want, without a word, he just looked at her coldly.

Then she said softly “I’m the Goddess Istar, convert to me, pray to me, deify me as the god of Will, I can fulfill all your wishes.” The tone was sacred and solemn.

“scram!”

Istar’s face was frosty, “ I kill you as easily as crushing an ant!”

“Then what are you waiting for! Come on!”

The conversation between them was blocked by Istar mana, and everyone didn’t hear.

“I have a question, since you were born, who raised you, counseled you, and who protected you, taught you, and made you king? God Willier esteemed you so much and gives you glory, how can you be without him? And you blasphemed him! Who avenged benefactor? Who was inferior to a beast?” Istar returned to the sacred and solemn tone she had just now. Although his tone was not high, it reached everyone’s ears.

The square started to be noisy.

“He betrayed his race because of his own selfish desire to become a god, and because of his own advantage, thousands of people died.” Gilgamesh said through gritted teeth.

“Well, why was the army of more than a thousand people wiped out, but only you can come back?” Istar challenged.

Someone in the square suddenly realized, as if they knew something, and immediately whispered to others.

At this time, Gilgamesh had been unable to send Divine-mind, unable to pass on the situation at that time to anyone. Even if he can, they are difficult to believe that the god they believe in is so evil.

“You shrew, a lot of nonsense, talebearing, are you Willier’s concubine….”

Before he finished speaking, Istar raised her right hand to the Gilgamesh, and a golden light burst out. Gilgamesh blocked with a side axe, and the surging mana instantly knocked him into the air. He was like a stone on a trebuchet, thrown out of the city, the scene was very embarrassing.

For a moment, everyone was stricken dumb with astonishment.