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mfb-better-fury · 3 years ago

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Episode 1

Night

In an observatory, a boy is alerted to the new star fragment and searches for it through his telescope. Upon seeing it he becomes excited to have finally found it.

In an area of ruins, a hooded figure watches the star fragment fall and speaks to himself: “When a dazzling light shines brightly on the earth, from the heavens a new star fragment will arrive and awaken a great power.” He then calls to the star fragment to give that great power to “the black sun”.

As both watch, the star fragment splits into 13 pieces. One piece targets the observatory and hits the boy and his bey Mercury Anubius. He is knocked to the floor from the impact but quickly rises to his knees to ensure his bey’s safety.

As the other fragments fall, one piece makes its landing near the ruins. The hooded figure demands to know what’s going on then calls for Johannes, telling him to collect the scattered pieces. When Johannes disappears, the figure muses to himself that it is only a matter of time before “Nemesis” is revived.

Madoka has just finished the repairs on Galaxy Pegasus from the battle against Spiral Force when she watches a piece of the star fragment fly past her window. She assumes that she imagined it due to her exhaustion.

A woman with long blue hair is cleaning the parts of a bey when a piece of the star fragment comes in through the window, knocking her from her chair. It’s a struggle for her to get to her knees and look across the desk, but she finds the parts of the bey dimly sparkling. After the brief difficulty to get back in her seat, she picks up the parts to look at them closer, then sighs and decides it’s something to worry about in the morning. She reassembles the bey and uses a cane to get to her feet, then turns off the desk light. Storm Aquario is left gleaming in the darkness.

Next Day

At Bey Park, the semi-final round of a tournament is taking place, commentated by Blader DJ and Gingka. Kenta is battling.

Gingka continuously tries cheering for Kenta even though DJ keeps reminding him he must be neutral.

In the final battle, Kenta uses Flame Claw, raising Gingka's urge to battle. After the tournament, Kenta and Gingka head to the B-Pit, Kenta with his victory trophy. Madoka is asleep at her desk, but Pegasus' repairs are complete.

Madoka is awakened by Gingka's antics, and he thanks her fervently for her work.

With Pegasus repaired, Gingka and Kenta are eager to battle and run out, Madoka chasing after them. Immediately after exiting, a plunger arrow shoots down at them, prompting Gingka to push Kenta down. The arrow sticks to the B-Pit’s outside wall just as Madoka steps out.

Gingka finds a message tied to the arrow, challenging him to a battle. They head to the misty island mentioned in the letter.

Gingka, Kenta, and Madoka arrive at the coast of the misty island to find no one waiting for them, prompting Gingka's anger. Kenta and Madoka discuss the strangeness of Gingka being challenged right as Pegasus' repairs are complete.

A rowboat appears in the mist and the challenger is revealed to be Kyoya, rowed by Benkei. Kenta and Madoka express their lack of enthusiasm to seeing another battle between Gingka and Kyoya, causing Benkei to get riled up and then fall out of the boat.

Benkei reminds them that in Gingka and Kyoya's last battle during the World Championships the two tied. Kyoya is here to settle that score.

Kyoya jumps out of the boat and readies Leone. Gingka agrees to battle with him. Kyoya states that the entire island will be their battlefield.

Rock Leone VS Galaxy Pegasus begins

There’s an immediate burst of dust at initial contact. Gingka and Kyoya begin running along the island coast, causing their friends to make chase. Using Lion Gale Force Wall, Kyoya has Leone create a tornado of sand, which Benkei boasts about. Madoka uses her computer to gather an explanation they can understand.

The sand twister picks up Pegasus and hurls it against a nearby boulder, smashing the stone into rubble. Pegasus recovers at Gingka’s call, but Kyoya has Leone and its twister pick up the debris to hurl at its opponent. Madoka and Kenta call this out, but Benkei quiets them and Kyoya claims this is a battle to see who will survive.

Gingka is a little miffed at the realization that these tactics are why Kyoya picked the location he did. Kyoya declares this is the way of the lion’s hunt and the way of his strength. At this, Gingka can’t help but agree, knowing Kyoya’s ways and recalling their first battle.

Gingka then announces that he won’t let himself lose, and directs Pegasus straight for Leone and its tornado. Kyoya mocks this, but Gingka knows what he’s doing. When Pegasus is picked up by the wind this time, it crashes into a tree that topples over on top of Leone, instantly dispersing the sand twister. Madoka and Kenta cheer.

Kyoya initially gives brief props to Gingka, but Leone then breaks through the tree and frees itself. Seeing this Gingka decides to lead Kyoya into the forest for a change of environment. Coming across a gathering of tall boulders, Leone uses them to gain height and achieve a domino effect of knocking the flat-sided rocks forward with the intent of crushing Pegasus.

Madoka calls a frightened warning to Gingka, who in turn calls for Pegasus to ride the last boulder, slanted like a ramp, and jump. It evades the falling domino rocks and smashes into another boulder ahead, which shoots debris back toward Leone. Madoka, Benkei, and Kenta have more trouble avoiding this debris than Kyoya and Leone do.

As the beys continue clashing, Kenta complains the battle is getting out of hand. Madoka growls about having just finished repairing Pegasus.

More boulders are destroyed in the fight and Gingka commends Kyoya on his strength and the battle. Kyoya replies with a promise to settle things, which Gingka denies due to Pegasus’ attack-type strength giving him the advantage in a head-on battle. Gingka aims to prove this by having Pegasus loop around to hit Leone just as such rather than in a racing style. Leone is sent flying and lands in a lake of mud, though manages to stay above the surface.

Gingka calls for Pegasus’ Starbooster Attack, using two trees as walls to gain height and soar above. Pegasus’ spirit appears, making Kenta cheer. Madoka adds that Leone is stuck in the mud meaning it’s unable to use its own move in retaliation.

As Pegasus shoots down, Kyoya calls to Leone, which swirls up the mud in a tower to catch Pegasus’ attack. Benkei attempts to name this move but struggles, making Kenta comment to simply call them all “Lion Gale Force Wall”.

Both battlers urge on their beys, with Pegasus cutting through the tornado. However, when the light clears, Pegasus is now in the mud and Leone is nowhere to be seen. Kyoya calls their attention to the sky, where Leone now spins after riding its tornado. Benkei praises his friend.

Leone flips itself over and Kyoya calls for its King Lion Reverse Windstrike. He then taunts Gingka for his backfiring plan in changing their location and claims his only reason to grow stronger is to finally defeat him.

Gingka counters Kyoya’s words claiming that whenever Kyoya gets stronger, he’ll become stronger still, and that he and Pegasus are in agreement on this. Kyoya brushes this off and calls to his own bey, having it ride down the center of its reverse tornado to smash into Pegasus, yelling that this time he will defeat Gingka.

In this moment, Kyoya and Leone awaken their power. The resulting energy destroys the mud pond and leaves a crater in its wake as Leone evolves, and Pegasus plummets to the ground beside Gingka, landing on its side. Everyone is completely stunned.

Kenta questions Madoka as to when she added this feature and why she kept it a secret, but she denies having anything to do with it. Rather than cheering, Benkei suddenly quiets them, staring intently at Kyoya who has gone completely still.

Kyoya’s face holds a bewildered and somewhat haunted expression. He’s completely ignoring the still-spinning, transformed Leone, instead staring across the crater at the defeated Pegasus. “I...won…?”

An energy pulses across Kyoya and he grabs his head. His vision darkens until only he, Leone, and Pegasus are visible. Whispers start to echo around him and he mutters shaking denials, even before the words become clear. The voice is dark and harsh, ordering him over and over that his job isn’t done until Pegasus is destroyed.

In desperation, his eyes shut tight as he continues clutching his head, Kyoya cries Benkei’s name.

Benkei rushes to action, demanding Gingka not touch Pegasus as he runs across the crater to get to Kyoya. As Gingka wonders what’s going on, Madoka sees hints of dark energy flickering around Kyoya, making her think back to Tsubasa’s battles against the dark power during the World Championships. Realization hits and she cries out in alarm that Kyoya’s been hiding an infection from his battle with Ryuga this whole time, startling Kenta and causing Gingka great concern.

As Benkei gets closer to Kyoya, Leone reacts and moves to block his path. Deciding to shout from where he stands, Benkei calls encouragement to Kyoya, reminding him that he’s beaten this before and he can do it again. This only further worries the other three as they learn how oblivious they’ve been to Kyoya’s plight when Benkei seems to have known all along.

In Kyoya’s blacked-out vision, Benkei’s words are staticky like they’re coming through an old radio, but they are getting through. Slowly Kyoya starts getting a hold of himself and manages to open his eyes, hesitantly looking toward the fallen Pegasus. He doesn’t need to go further. The battle is over. It’s over and he needs to calm down, take a breath-

The whispers turn into a roar, drowning out Benkei’s voice and ordering Kyoya to attack. His strength falters, his eyes glowing red as he stares at Pegasus. The others see Kyoya lower his arms as the dark aura around him starts to grow. Benkei calls out to him, but goes quiet when he hears his friend speak as if in a trance: “Destroy...Pegasus…”

Leone responds, rushing around Benkei toward Gingka and the others. Gingka moves to grab his bey, but Benkei once again orders him not to touch it. Before Leone can make contact with Pegasus, Dark Bull slams into the motionless bey, sending it flying away from danger. Bull takes the hit from Leone head-on, and the explosion knocks Gingka, Kenta, and Madoka back due to their close proximity.

Benkei grits his teeth and holds his ground, ordering Bull to attack Leone in an attempt to divert Kyoya’s attention. Kyoya roars behind him, claiming that if he gets in the way he’ll be destroyed too. The dark aura now fully envelopes him. Madoka is frantically trying to collect data on the new Leone but comes up with nothing. With the way Bull is being pushed back, Kenta realizes Leone isn’t behaving like a defense-type bey at all.

Benkei refuses to surrender, leading the battle away from Gingka and the others and calling Kyoya’s name. There is no reaction.

As Leone mercilessly attacks Bull, Benkei calls out again, this time telling Kyoya to remember Battle Bladers, to remember how they were hurt during it because of the Dark Nebula and Lightning L-Drago. Benkei demands to know if that’s what Kyoya wants to happen again, and if he wants to be responsible for repeating it – responsible for hurting his friends. Benkei asks Kyoya if he intends to hurt the people he’s been trying to protect all this time.

In the darkness, Kyoya jolts. Fuzzy memories of Battle Bladers dance around him – Reiji’s battles against Hyoma, Kenta, and Gingka. Yu showing up severely injured due to his own battle against him. Ryuga’s battles against Hikaru and Tsubasa. Ryuga’s battle against him.

Beyond the voice controlling him, Kyoya begins to hear others. Benkei’s first, encouraging him, promising that he won’t tell anyone and he’ll stay by his side. Nile’s comes next, chastising Kyoya for being stupid enough not to tell them about this; Demure’s voice chimes in with concern and asking what they can do to help.

Then, Kyoya’s own voice: “I know how to stop this. But I can’t do it by staying here.”

Tsubasa answers: “Whatever happens, we have each other, right?”

Hikaru adds: “Maybe I can’t be out there battling with you guys right now...but I’m with you no matter what.”

Kyoya slowly clenches his firsts, his breathing becoming strained. “I...won’t…”

In the battle, Leone’s attacks against Bull start to lose power and speed. Kyoya begins to growl, catching everyone’s attention. He grabs his head again, but this time the dark aura appears to be shrinking, bright green taking its place. Benkei immediately starts calling to him again, affirming his belief that Kyoya can pull out of it. Though scared and still not certain of the entire situation, Kenta and Madoka do the same. Gingka is silent, watching the events fearfully.

With a roar echoed by Leone’s spirit as it appears in a sudden storm of wind around them, Kyoya breaks free from the dark power’s grip. Both the aura and the glow to his eyes are fully replaced by blazing green. In response his bey shoots away from Bull, driving itself into the forest leaving destruction in its wake until at last becoming trapped within a boulder and ceasing its spin.

Calling back Bull, Benkei rushes to Kyoya’s side with the others close behind. Kyoya is unsteady on his feet when they reach him. He tries to turn to Gingka, but his vision doubles and he falls against Benkei due to sudden dizziness. He manages to get two words out: “I’m...sorry…” before losing consciousness. Benkei fixes his hold on Kyoya, promising that it’s alright and that everyone is safe. Madoka and Kenta decide to go off to search for Leone.

Gingka stares at Kyoya for several seconds before turning around to look back at Pegasus, still resting where Bull had knocked it back to protect it from Leone’s attack.

The boy from the observatory has arrived at a harbor and is in a great hurry to find Gingka. Unknown to him, Johannes is on his tail.

#Better Fury #Better Fury episode #BF Star Fragment #Johannes #Gingka Hagane #Kenta Yumiya #Madoka Amano #Benkei Hanawa #Kyoya Tategami

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smiting-finger · 5 years ago

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Bin AU Headcanons

Part II of the (〃ω〃) 500 followers! unwritten-headcanon amnesty (some given in response to AO3 comment questions, and others given unsolicited, lol), this time for Out of the Bin and Into Your Heart and from me to you, my heart to yours

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian

Pre-Wei Wuxian’s first arrest, Lan Wangji was quietly volunteering as general legal aid (helping old migrants with their internet/other service contracts, helping women with their domestic violence paperwork), and then Wei Wuxian gets arrested at a protest and Lan Wangji is not there and he doesn’t know this area of law so he signs up to get involved with Activist Legal Support the next day.

Relatedly: Lan Wangji’s approach to helping Wei Wuxian has always been to turn up, do what needs to be done for Wei Wuxian to achieve his goals and then silently leave again. So when the two goobers eventually move in together (and are finally fully in each other’s space, and fully across each other’s movements), Wei Wuxian goes through a period of constant realisations like “Oh, Lan Zhan, you’re the one who’s been doing this? This as well?! THAT, TOO???”

Pre-fake dating, Lan Wangji knows that Wei Wuxian won’t keep any gifts given by secret admirers, but will shamelessly accept anything that Lan Wangji gives him outright as a friend (”friend”). He derives a petty satisfaction from that, and so has responded more than once to a gift-incident by giving Wei Wuxian a corresponding gift of his own:

So if he heard about the gift socks, he’d go out and get Wei Wuxian a pair of novelty There’s No Planet B! socks, which Wei Wuxian would naturally wear both immediately and proudly with his shortest pair of 4/5ths pants. (And Lan Wangji would stand next to him and somehow radiate smugness without making any change to his expression.)

Needless to say, Wei Wuxian has received a lot of Lan Wangji chocolate (chilli, fairtrade), lunches (homemade, nutritious) and other small items.

Wei Wuxian never even considers the possibility of not putting all his fake-dating eggs into the Lan Zhan basket. And also never stops to think about why that iss.

In re kungfu practice: when sparring against normal people, Lan Wangji does annoyed-leg-sweeps because of “I’ll bring you down every peg to the floor” reasons he’s too well-bred to voice.

Past recipients of this treatment have included:

Wen Chao,

Xue Yang at his most obnoxious

Jin Zixuan when gossip about his comments in re Jiang Yanli not being pretty or successful enough to date him (”I can’t believe my mum set me up with someone so mediocre”) is at its height.

This is pre-Wei Wuxian onstage-punch. That comes during the second round of gossip.

With Wei Wuxian (and only Wei Wuxian), however, it’s always leg sweeps and pinning, which is because of ... “irritation”.

The Phoenix Mountain Reserve photo has been Lan Wangji’s favourite shot of Wei Wuxian since it was made publicly available, but he couldn’t use it as a wallpaper for obvious reasons.

Then he agrees to the fake-dating, sees how far Wei Wuxian was going to take it and realised: chansu!

At some point during the fake-dating, Wei Wuxian escalates from the phone entry of Oppa to calling Lan Wangji “Oppa~!” in real life, and then from there to a full “Oppa! Saranghaeyo~!” with the arms-on-head love heart.

After n iterations of this, Lan Zhan responds with a mirror arms-on-head love heart and a deadpan “Saranghaeyo.” with his face still like (• _ •) and it’s an instant, supereffective K.O. for Wei Wuxian.

Every so often, when another one of his romantic overtures has soared right over Wei Wuxian’s head, Lan Wangji considers Jin Zixuan’s over-the-top demonstrations of affection and thinks (bleakly) “...Jin Zixuan got a singing telegram. Must I also resort to a singing telegram? ; _ ; “

In re: the concert hip-hop number, shirtlessness is the goal all along:

A-Qing (who is also a troublemaker on Lan Qiren’s radar - as soon as he receives the form that says that she and Wei Wuxian will be working together, his spidey senses start tingling) has been constantly referencing it throughout all their practices like:

“Well, because you’ll be shirtless, you’ll have to make sure to-”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea, totally do that, but remember that you’ll be shirtless too, so-”

Even Song Zichen and Xue Yang know about it and have been visibly bracing themselves for the dress (or undress, lul) rehearsal

Wei Wuxian has missed all of this because of his amazing tunnel vision.

Speaking of Song Zichen and Xue Yang, while they’re having their Moments:

Xiao Xingchen is swanning around like “But do you think the performance had artistic integrity? A-Qing, I’m a little worried that the choreography didn’t do full justice to the abilities of all our members! I hope they don’t think I’m hogging the limelight!”, taunting them with his half-nakedness while he earnestly tries to make sure that all the other dancers are comfortable and happy with the final arrangement

A-Qing fully notices the heart-eye beams shooting over from the wings (and fully notices the same heart-eye beams shooting over during various practices), briefly thinks about saying something to put the two losers out of their misery (because Xiao Xingchen is not the special level of oblivious that Wei Wuxian is), but then thinks ... nah.

During practice back-painting, Wei Wuxian is so focused on Not Looking that his mistimes his ~sexy stretch~ and gets it in precisely when Lan Wangji has turned his back to get the towel, so it really is all for nothing, RIP.

In the reprise back-painting session (and there definitely is one, what with Lan Wangji’s love for marking and the fact that Chinese calligraphers usually sign their name on their work), the levels of both shamelessness and trolling shoot through the roof on both sides:

Wei Wuxian suddenly feels the need to do a lot more whimpering and moaning, and his flinches of “surprise” and wriggling to “get comfortable” suddenly happen a lot more in the hip area than they did before.

Lan Wangji does a lot more touching of the skin he’s about to paint to “warn” Wei Wuxian that the brush is coming (do warnings have to be quite so ... lingering? Only Lan Wangji knows), discovers a sudden need for wrist-pinning to “hold Wei Wuxian still while he works” and his blowing on ink to get it dry suddenly gets a lot more ... sensual ...

Lan Wangji is the teacher that all his babies are always proposing to. They lOvE him with every inch of their tiny baby hearts, and after they get together, Wei Wuxian watches on with a knowing nod, like “My fam, I getcha. Gege will support you in expressing your feelings and we can ALL win!”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know it, but he has a group of grannies and grandpas wringing their hands over his happiness, too: It’s all well and good that he’s seeing the Lan boy now, but when are they gonna get married, huh? HUH?! WHAT’S THE POINT OF SAVING THE PLANET IF YOU’RE NOT GONNA FILL IT WITH BABIES, WEI WUXIAN???

So once they officially start dating, Wei Wuxian steps into the Cultural Centre like “Ah, our fresh new romance! Even after all this time of fake-dating, I’d better give people some transition time to get used to this new state of affairs!”

And in the background, 73 aunties and grannies are thinking “Look how behind schedule you are, Wei Wuxian!” (because it’s definitely his fault, and not Lan Wangji’s). “Where are the babies? WHERE ARE THE BABIES??”

The wedding advice Wei Wuxian got from the grannies during Mianmian’s wedding prep is liberally flavoured with real life anecdotes like:

“Don’t be like XX’s son. He made the mistake of trying to skimp on the dowry - so disrespectful to people who’ve poured so much love and energy into raising a daughter - and it poisoned the entire relationship.”

“That venue is no good - YY’s daughter had her reception there, and we all had diarrhoea after eating the prawns.”

(And Wei Wuxian is like: “How can you retain all of this bullshit detail about every wedding the Cultural Society has ever witnessed, but still not know how to say the phrase ‘Excuse me, what time is the bus coming’ in English?!”)

Mianmian definitely also gets strong-armed by her excited mother into some glorious(ly terrible) Chinese-style studio wedding photos (with industrial-strength airbrushing and wedding costume changes that span many cultures and many Chinese time periods).

Mianmian swears to never let Wei Wuxian get his grubby hands on that album, on pain of death.

But then her parents host something, and Wei Wuxian goes, and right there, hanging in their living room, is a floor-to-ceiling calendar, featuring Mianmian and Mian-man dressed as Chinese emperor and empress (because Mianmian certainly didn’t want it in her house, but it came with the package.)

Wei Wuxian makes a noise that Mianmian previously thought only dolphins could produce, and proceeds to take SO MANY photos with his phone.

At some point after Mianmian’s wedding, Lan Wangji comes out of the shower to find:

1 pair of pyjama bottoms waiting for him on the bed; and

Wei Wuxian in the corresponding top (which doesn’t cover his butt after all, but whatever, he’s committed), shooting him a double-thumbs up and wearing an expression like 8D!

(And Lan Wangji decides it’s not worth fighting and just goes with it.)

Lan Qiren

Lan Qiren is totally the kind of parent who never boasts about his children directly, but will listen politely to you telling him about how your son scored 86 in his maths examination, and wait for you to obligation-ask about his kids before casually saying, “Oh, Wangji? He scored full marks” and smiling thinly.

He’ll add “Sounds like your son worked really hard” for extra fuck you value if you were being particularly obnoxious.

The greatest tragedy in his parenting life is realising that if your children are The Best, it’s only possible for them to marry down.

His initial feelings regarding Wei Wuxian dating his nephew can probably be summed up as: “Wei Wuxian, I did not lovingly raise my precious Lan Wangji just to give him to you!!!”

(The problem is that his nephew (inexplicably) likes Wei Wuxian so much, mumblegrumble.)

For weeks after The Resentment of Lan Qiren, every time Lan Qiren sees Wen Ning, he shakes his head sadly to himself and mutters “What a shame, what a shame.”

When Wen Ning responds with a slightly panicked “?!”, Lan Qiren just pats him on the shoulder, like, “No, no, it’s not you. We can’t choose our relatives. And isn’t that the greatest shame in the world?” - and then DOESN’T EXPLAIN ANYTHING.

And after many bouts of thinking and rethinking still lead him to the conclusion that Wei Wuxian is the best choice in comparison to all the other available options, Lan Qiren may or may not visit Cangse Sanren’s grave to burn some incense for an excuse to stand there and offer a sullen, “You fukken got me again, you bastard. I can’t believe you.”

He doesn’t know who he hates more:

Wei Wuxian for being himself and yet still the best choice

Cangse Sanren for not letting being dead stop her from continuing to be a thorn in Lan Qiren’s side

Wen Ruohan for being undesirable enough to disqualify the only valid competitor

The other parents for failing to produce children who are better than Wei Wuxian

(Like: Surely it can’t be that hard if he (+ his brother + his sister-in law) managed to produce two)

So he settles for hating everyone.

For his next birthday, Lan Xichen sends him a box of blood-pressure-lowering supplements.

Lan Qiren is like “!!!” but he still takes them because just because his nephew is being impudent does not mean there is not also a Need.

In re 3zun:

Lan Qiren goes around determinedly Not Thinking about Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao. Every time his eyes approach something he doesn’t want to see, he just turns his head like NOPE.

He eventually realises that he and Wei Wuxian have this in common and that Wei Wuxian is therefore his most valuable ally - both in terms of having someone to pivot to and have very loud, very enthusiastic conversations about anything else whenever the 3zun do something they don’t want to see, and also having someone to commiserate with about Not Wanting to Know. (But because they’re them, they alternate between teaming up for self-preservation and using their mutual weakness to take petty jabs at each other.)

"-If two of them are dating, then where does that leave the third one?!"

"RIGHT? Imagine finding out that they were silently pining away, forced to third-wheel for their unrequited love and best friend - unrequited LOVES AND BEST FRIENDS? What would you say to that?!"

"That's not even considering which one the third wheel would be - I honestly don't know which option would be the worst, they're all terrible."

"I'm almost ready to say that I'd rather they all be dating each other, except then I'd have to think about how that would work, dynamic-wise, like - who calls the shots? Do you think Nie Mingjue is domineering all the time, or do you think it’s a public front, and he then goes home to be dominated by-"

“STOP.”

Even before 3zun get together (both Lan Qiren and Wei Wuxian have chosen to Never Know when this is), Jin Guangyao is throwing out suggestive comments left and right and then immediately whipping out his (◔◡◔✿) face for anyone’s double-take:

50% to test the waters of public sentiment before he makes a move and it actually becomes his problem

50% because he’s a troll who likes dominance displays

Knowing this factoid, one of Wei Wuxian’s mental 3zun Dynamics possibilities features Superdom!Jin Guangyao, but he does his best to avoid thinking about that.

After Lan Qiren mentally accepts Wei Wuxian into the fold:

He still internally responds to at least 50% of the things that Wei Wuxian does with “Why, that little shit”, but it’s also implied that Wei Wuxian is their little shit now.

And for Lan Family! Qiren, this means: If you shit on him, WE shit on you.

“Shufu”

Lan Qiren definitely Notices when Wei Wuxian calls him that, but it Doesn’t Do to make a fuss.

He probably has a conversation with Lan Xichen sometime around the first family dinner that goes:

LQR: You've noticed that he's still calling me 'Uncle Qiren' like we're nothing to each other.

LXC: ...If you want him to call you Shufu, should you perhaps not mention that to him?

LQR: What? No, he should already know these things!

And then after the wedding:

LQR: Your brother's boyfriend is finally acting like one of the family. LXC: Haha, oh my.

Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan

Although their mothers have been friends for ages, Jin Zixuan grows up in a different city, so they don't see each other growing up. The Jins later move for Jin Zixuan's high-flying corporate job, Madam Jin joins the Culture Society at her friend's behest and immediately falls in love with Jiang Yanli as a daughter-in-law.

After a lot of cajoling (in both directions), she gets them to agree to one date, which is a disaster (I have more headcanons about this but they won't fit in here)

Jin Zixuan has a lot of money and zero sense of proportion, which does not generally result in tasteful things. (Where Jiang Yanli is concerned, his desire to keep up a "cool" image is completely overpowered by his desire to please, so that doesn't help either. Like a golden retriever who wants people to think he's a cat.)

After they get married, Wei Wuxian sometimes thinks about the peacock's peacocking rituals, like: "It's good that he's gotten more reasonable now that they're married - no, wait, what if he hasn't gotten more reasonable, but there's just no one around to see it because they're married?!" and never gets brave enough to ask his sister about it.

After Jin Ling's birth, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng (and maybe even Jin Zixuan) get locked in an ongoing battle for Jin Ling's affections. Jiang Yanli is the clear favourite, as she should be, but they all want to be #2, and their constant jostling is how he ends up with no chill despite being raised by one calm mum and one aloof (but secretly disaster) dad

But because Jiang Yanli is around, he's very polite about it: the kind of kid who barrels in screaming blue murder, skids to a halt and says "Auntie", and then tears out screaming blue murder again

Wei Wuxian tones it down a lot after he and Lan Wangji adopt A-Yuan because he’s got better things to do, but it’s still A Thing (during visits, A-Yuan spends a lot of time in Auntie Yanli’s lap being gently fed things while his dad and shushu yell at each other over the top of his cousin’s head)

Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli

Initially brought together by their brothers, they now meet up for regular, peaceful, wholesome tea-dates where they discuss the lives of their mutuals and gently exchange advice (and strategies on how to keep their angry-angry parent/proxy-parent's blood pressure down.

Whereas Jiang Cheng gets closer to coughing up blood with every year that passes by without Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji getting their shit together, Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli take the more optimistic view of "Look at how well-prepared we are, we've just run another year ahead of schedule!"

Dinner Crew

Jiang Cheng has been the unwilling audience to years of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s bullshit.

If asked, he would say: “And you wonder why I’m so angry?! What do you mean ‘dating’, you’ve been fucking married for the last five years!” but no one ever does :’D

Every so often, he thinks about how happy their sister is about the dating situation because she doesn’t know that it’s fake, and he grinds his teeth because why can’t he also not-know!?

To this, Nie Huaisang says, “If we didn’t know we couldn’t help!”

And Jiang Cheng replies, “WE’RE NOT HELPING ANYWAY, LOOK AT HIM!!!”

Meanwhile, Jiang Yanli continues to gush about how happy she is for Wei Wuxian and all Jiang Cheng can do is laugh really unnaturally because he has to “Be strong, Jiang Cheng! Be strong for A-jie! ╥﹏╥”

He goes to read the comments on the Society Facebook after the fujoshi conversation, and gets so angry at all these people who are like “Ah, their love is so beautiful!” that he has to uninstall his Facebook app, and go and shout into a cupboard somewhere.

The non-Wei-Wuxian members of the dinner group have set up a separate chat to act as a support group, where they all go to:

Wail and gnash their teeth after Wei Wuxian does something particularly dumb

Scheme ways into getting Wei Wuxian to get a clue

Console one another when someone’s brave attempt at getting Wei Wuxian to face the truth fails miserably (because while they play by the rules of ‘what a normal human would do’, Wei Wuxian lives by the principle of ‘lol norms are for losers’.)

Relatedly: for every resigned Nie Huaisang face or enraged Jiang Cheng face that Wei Wuxian notices, there are at least three desperate-yet-silent exchanges that he doesn’t.

Wen Ning is always really optimistic about it, nodding encouragingly like “He’s gonna get it - he’s gonna get it! - oh no, he’s not gonna get it. Oh. Oh no. Ó╭╮Ò”

Wen Ning always has at least one small child hanging off him at all times when he’s at the Cultural Centre because they know he can always be bullied into playing with them and they think he’s great.

Past bullshit dinner group projects have included Getting Jiang Cheng a Date and Making a Picture out of Jin Guangyao’s Forehead Dot While He’s Sleeping

(In re the forehead dot, they end up settling for making it bigger every time he nods off during a movie night at Nie Huaisang’s house, and Nie Mingjue comes home to what’s basically a Japanese flag on Jin Guangyao’s forehead and is like ಠ_ಠ)

Future dinner group projects include providing Wei Wuxian with support for Grand Plans like Getting Along with Uncle Qiren and providing Jiang Cheng with unwanted support for things like Workshopping Jiang Cheng’s List of Partner Requirements

A-Yuan

After A-Yuan’s adoption, Wei Wuxian and Lan Qiren redouble their efforts in Can we divorce an in-law?! because although they couldn’t save themselves from being related to Jin Guangyao, for their PRECIOUS BOY--

Therefore, when A-Yuan is five or six and starts to sound out how he’s related to people and why:

A-Yuan: So if Jin-yeye is Uncle Guangyao’s dad, then that makes him my-

Wei Wuxian: NOTHING!

Lan Qiren (springing up from the other side of the room): NOTHING!

Lan Xichen: lol

At around about this same time, Wei Wuxian, who is never gonna stop trolling Lan Qiren about ruzhui until the day he dies, runs A-Yuan through the “You see, my son, my family is not so well-to-do, and since your Uncle married into the Nie family-” talk, and then proceeds to reference it at every opportunity:

1: Despite A-Yuan almost certainly not asking, and

2: despite (/especially because of) Lan Qiren shouting “DON’T TEACH HIM WEIRD THINGS!” in the background.

(Lan Wangji probably lets it happen or encourages it because he thinks it’s funny)

#CQL #The Untamed #Wangxian #陈情令 #魔道祖师 #mo dao zu shi #not-fic

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classyfoxdestiny · 3 years ago

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Inside the Turbulent Origins of the Miami Building Collapse

It was in the middle of summer in 1980 when developers raising a pair of luxury condominium towers in Surfside, Fla., went to town officials with an unusual request: They wanted to add an extra floor to each building.

The application to go higher was almost unheard-of for an ambitious development whose construction was already well underway. The builders had not mentioned the added stories in their original plans. It was not clear how much consideration they had given to how the extra floors would affect the structures overall. And, most galling for town officials, the added penthouses would violate height limits designed to prevent laid-back Surfside from becoming another Miami Beach.

At one point, the town building department issued a terse stop-work order. But records show that in the face of an intense campaign that saw lawyers for the developers threaten lawsuits and argue with officials deep into the night, the opposition folded — and the developers got their way.

Frank Filiberto, who was on the Town Commission at the time, recalled feeling as if the developers regarded him and the other officials as “local yokels.”

“They were bullies,” Mr. Filiberto said. “There was a lot of anger.”

Although there is no indication that the catastrophic collapse of the Champlain Towers South building in June was related to the tacked-on penthouse, the alteration was just one of many contentious parts of a project that was pushed through by aggressive developers at a time when the local government seemed wholly unprepared for a new era of soaring condo projects.

Surfside had only a part-time building inspector, George Desharnais, who worked at the same time for Bal Harbour, Bay Harbor Islands and North Bay Village. Records show that the Surfside building department delegated inspections of the towers back to the Champlain Towers builders, who tapped their own engineer to sign off on construction work. The town manager was unable to resolve the penthouse issue because, just as the issue came before the city, he was arrested on charges — later dismissed — of peeping into the window of a 13-year-old girl and abruptly resigned.

The development team itself had a dubious record. The architect had been disciplined previously for designing a building with a sign structure that later collapsed in a hurricane. The structural engineer had run into trouble on an earlier project, too, when he signed off on a parking garage with steel reinforcement that was later found to be dangerously insufficient.

The early 1980s was a freewheeling period for construction in the Miami area, known at the time for its uneven enforcement of regulations, but the Champlain Towers project stood apart — both for the tumult that occurred on the job site and the brazenness of the developers behind the project.

Investigators with the National Institute of Standards and Technology are still in the early days of examining the building’s collapse, with ongoing examinations of the integrity of the foundations and the strength of the materials used to support the building. The investigation will include a review of how the building was designed and constructed, including the building’s modifications, the agency said on Wednesday.

Troubled pasts

By the late 1970s, Surfside was still a humble corner of South Florida, so popular with Canadian snowbirds looking for a discounted slice of paradise that the town dedicated a week to celebrating the connection. Winners of the festival’s beauty pageant could receive a trip to Canada.

One of the Canadians with an eye on the town was the lead developer of Champlain Towers, Nathan Reiber, who brought a grand vision to reshape Surfside’s waterfront at a time when the town was eager to find new sources of tax revenue to keep taxes low for full-time residents. As Mr. Reiber’s team filed for the first Champlain Towers permits in August 1979 — with no 13th-story penthouses — city officials were struggling with serious inadequacies in the water and sewer systems that had led to a moratorium on new development.

The Champlain Towers developers came up with a plan: They would provide $200,000 toward the needed upgrades — covering half the cost — if they could get to work on construction. The town agreed.

“It was exciting,” said Mitchell Kinzer, who was the mayor at the time. “Here we are, little Surfside, a tiny town getting first-class luxury buildings.”

Mr. Reiber pursued the project even as he was dealing with legal troubles in Canada. A lawyer from Ontario who had ventured into real estate, Mr. Reiber and two partners were accused by Canadian prosecutors of dodging taxes in the 1970s by plundering the proceeds of coin-operated laundry machines in their buildings in a scheme to lessen their taxable income. The prosecutor also accused the group of using the expenses of a fake building project to avoid taxes on some $120,000 in rent payments.

After court proceedings that dragged on for years, Mr. Reiber pleaded guilty to one count of tax evasion in 1996. Family members of Mr. Reiber, who died in 2014, did not respond to messages seeking comment.

Mr. Reiber’s lawyer, Stanley J. Levine, also figured prominently in the development of Champlain Towers, handling corporate work for some of the companies involved.

About a decade earlier, Mr. Levine and a member of the Miami Beach City Council had been charged with soliciting an $8,000 bribe from a woman who wanted a zoning variance to build a 47-unit apartment building, according to news coverage from the time. The charge was later dropped. Mr. Levine died in 1999, and a member of his family could not be reached for comment.

Allegations of influence-peddling also dogged the Champlain Towers project. In early 1980, the developers had made campaign contributions that were significant at the time — $100 to one commissioner, $200 to another. Mayor Kinzer objected, and the developers tried to take the money back.

Rick Aiken, the town manager who later had to step down, said the Champlain Towers builders were constantly pressing the town to move faster on permits.

“They’d call me on the phone, want to take me to lunch so that I would push the commission toward giving them a permit,” Mr. Aiken said. He told them that they needed to follow the rules, he said, adding that he could not recall any instances of the developers engaging in improper activity.

On Nov. 13, 1979, the town approved the overall plans for the project.

‘Grossly inadequate’

As the construction got underway at the Champlain Towers sites, both at their North and South properties, turmoil was emerging and plans were changing.

By May, the project’s lead contractor, Jorge Batievsky, had resigned. He soon filed a lawsuit, though records from the case have since been destroyed and Mr. Batievsky has died.

The developers brought in a new contractor, Alfred Weisbrod, but problems continued.

As the first levels of the South building were rising above the ground, a crane on site collapsed so violently that its steel was contorted, according to archived video. A week later, crews discovered that more than $10,000 in wood had been stolen from the site.

Frequently Asked Questions

Why did Champlain Towers South collapse?

It could take months for investigators to determine precisely why a significant portion of the Surfside, Fla., building collapsed. But there are already some clues about potential reasons for the disaster, including design or construction flaws. Three years before the collapse, a consultant found evidence of “major structural damage” to the concrete slab below the pool deck and “abundant” cracking and crumbling of the columns, beams and walls of the parking garage. Engineers who have visited the wreckage or viewed photos of it say that damaged columns at the building’s base may have less steel reinforcement than was originally planned.

Were residents previously concerned with the building?

Condo boards and homeowners’ associations often struggle to convince residents to pay for needed repairs, and most of Champlain Towers South’s board members resigned in 2019 because of their frustrations. In April, the new board chair wrote to residents that conditions in the building had “gotten significantly worse” in the past several years and that the construction would now cost $15 million instead of $9 million. There had also been complaints from residents that the construction of a massive, Renzo Piano-designed residential tower next door was shaking Champlain Towers South.

Are other buildings in Florida at risk?

What do we know about those who died?

Entire family units died because the collapse happened in the middle of the night, when people were sleeping. The parents and children killed in Unit 802, for example, were Marcus Joseph Guara, 52, a fan of the rock band Kiss and the University of Miami Hurricanes; Anaely Rodriguez, 42, who embraced tango and salsa dancing; Lucia Guara, 11, who found astronomy and outer space fascinating; and Emma Guara, 4, who loved the world of princesses. A floor-by-floor look at the victims shows the extent of the devastation.

Did anyone survive the collapse?

But public anticipation was building. A newspaper ad for the unfinished buildings claimed that only 27 residences remained available. “Get the best — while they last,” it advised.

By the end of the summer, the developers hired a new permanent contractor, Arnold Neckman, and in August they applied to add the new “penthouse” floor to each property, raising the buildings from 12 stories to 13.

The added weight brought by the penthouse had the potential to exacerbate a failure and contribute to the progressive collapse that killed 98 people this year, said Mehrdad Sasani, a professor of civil and environmental engineering at Northeastern University who reviewed the building’s design plans. He also said the decision to add a new floor to the top of a previous design was not an accepted practice.

But the penthouse addition would not explain the cause of the collapse, Dr. Sasani said, since buildings are designed with large safety margins. “The relative weight of the penthouse compared to the weight of the structure is not so significant that it could have been an initial cause,” Dr. Sasani said.

There is no record of an objection from the architect on the project, William Friedman, or the structural engineer, Sergio Breiterman.

Both had come to the project after some criticism of their past work. State regulators suspended Mr. Friedman’s license for six months in 1967 after an investigation determined that he had designed a “grossly inadequate” sign structure that fell over during Hurricane Betsy two years prior, damaging the structure of a Miami commercial building, according to records from the Florida Department of Business and Professional Regulation.

About five years before the Champlain Towers project, Mr. Breiterman had been responsible for inspections on a $5 million parking garage in Coral Gables, where officials later found that the walls in the building lacked steel reinforcing rods that would prevent cars from crashing through, according to a 1976 article in The Miami Herald.

Mr. Breiterman also got the job of inspecting work at Champlain Towers. He gave his seal of approval to the work in October 1980, before the penthouse dispute began.

‘A violation of the code’

A month later, in November, the town appeared to approve the added-on penthouse permit, although it is unclear who signed off on the idea. Two weeks later, the police chief, serving as the interim town manager, sent a curt memo ordering the contractors to halt work, revoking their penthouse permits.

The memo, sternly warning that the penthouses were in fact a violation of Surfside’s codes, came on town letterhead, with the name of Mr. Aiken, the town manager who by that time had been arrested on the peeping charge, crossed off with a series of X’s. (The case against him was later dismissed, with Mr. Aiken saying he had been looking for his dog behind people’s homes.)

Then, a week later, the Town Commission voted to allow the penthouses after all.

Mr. Filiberto, the former commissioner, said he believed that some of the penthouse construction was already completed by then. He said the town was left with a tough choice: Grant a variance or order the builder to demolish the penthouse work — and face a lawsuit.

Years later, Mr. Filiberto wondered whether the developers played equally loose with other aspects of the building project. “If they are that overt in violating the height orders,” he said, “think about all the little intricacies that go into building the building.”

Adam Playford and Michael Majchrowicz contributed reporting. Jack Begg and Kitty Bennett contributed research.

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michaelbogild · 3 years ago

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Quotes by Mehmet Murat ildan

A beautiful mind is like a beautiful path! The more you travel with it, the more you find peace and happiness!

A beautiful smile without any reason is the smile of the existence!

A bird without wings and a man without art are both condemned to wander in low places; they can never soar up to those unrivalled heights.

A cat’s New Year dream is mostly a bird! Don’t be like a cat; in New Year, dream something that you have never dreamed! Target for new things!

A good book is a lighthouse; a wise man is a lighthouse; conscience is a lighthouse; compassion is a lighthouse; science is a lighthouse! They all show us the true path! Keep them in your life to remain safe in the rocky and dark waters of life!

A little happy house is the strongest castle in this whole universe!

A long walk in a long beach shortens every kind of sorrow!

A romantic person will know from the bottom of his heart that no source of light can ever replace the mysterious beauty of a candle!

A street full of shadows will teach you what life is much better than the street full of lights!

A waterfall cannot be silent, just as the wisdom! When they speak, the voice of power speaks!

An uneducated society will eventually turn into something lower than a herd of animals!

Are you a stupid sheep in the flock or a free eagle in the sky? Look at the mirror, what are you? Are you some dullish cattle in the herd or a wise owl in the forest? Look at the mirror, what are you?

Autumn is the greatest reminder: It reminds us how dreamlike beauties our earth has and it reminds us how all these beautiful dreams can easily vanish!

Carry your bag by yourself; carry your umbrella by yourself; open your door by yourself; light your own candle! Do your job by yourself! Don’t use others! Don’t behave like a king, don’t behave like a queen! Be humble!

Clouds in the sky very much resembles the thoughts in our minds! Both changes perpetually from one second to another!

Cowards cannot pass beyond the walls or beyond the wire fences! For them, frontiers are always the end of the road!

Disappointment means that things haven’t worked out the way you wanted! And now what to do? Very simple: Stand up and walk! Cut the tragedy because our limited time must always be used for the forward movements!

Don’t follow any leader; don’t obey to anyone; crowds are slaves; take an independent stance; take orders only from your own mind!

Don’t say deep things to shallow people and don’t talk about shallow things with the deep people!

Elephants don’t know anything about the world of ants; the peaks of mountains are oblivious of what is happening on the plains!

Enlarge your windows till you get a window where you can see the whole universe with one look!

Every long separation is a test: A test to see how powerful or how weak the will of reuniting is!

Every morning is a revolution against the darkness!

Every New Year must be celebrated at the heart of nature - in the middle of a forest or by the side of a lake under billions of stars - because it is nature who has made our existence possible!

Every season has its own art and the art of autumn is to bewitch the people!

Every time it rains, the soil counts every drop to know exactly how many times to thank to God!

Farewell is a beautiful and a soft word and yet it is a horrible and a heavy thing too!

Flowers are the Romeos and the Juliets of the nature!

Flowers have the greatest talent in converting an ordinary place into a magical palace!

For a dark street, sunshine is most welcome; for a wounded soul, love is most welcome!

For a new year to bring you something new, make a move, like a butterfly tearing its cocoon! Make a move!

For the cowards, all doors are locked; for the daring, all doors are open!

For the land, the sea is beautiful; for the sea, the land is beautiful!

Forest is a dream where you may find yourself and dream is a forest where you may lose yourself!

Full moon is a good fisherman; every eyes are easily caught in his net!

Genius tries to conquer the world with art, with songs, with words; stupid tries to conquer it with sword, with guns, with arrows!

Give freedom to colours and then you shall meet the rainbow everywhere!

Great artists come and go; they are born and they die; but there is one exception who has been living for thousands of years and still continues creating new works, new beauties every year: The Autumn!

Happiness has only one colour: The Bright! The bright of red, the bright of green, the bright of any colour! Happiness is bright! It shines, it sparkles, it glints!

He who does not walk against the arrows cannot talk about the strength of his shield!

If the storm underestimates your power, nothing happens to him; but if you underestimate the power of the storm, you sink!

If we had known everything in this universe, we would have had to find another universe to feed our curiosity, because what keeps alive man is the curiosity!

If you are good at building bridges, you will never fall into the abyss!

If you are sure of tomorrow, there is no fool greater than you!

If you close your eyes, no lighthouse can help you!

If you do not have the concept of distance, you may reach an unreachable place!

If you feel you have to open a particular door, open it, otherwise all your life that door will haunt your mind!

If you have carefully examined hundred people you met in your life journey, it means that you have read hundred different books! Every person you know is a book; world is full of walking books; some are boring, some are marvellous, some are weak, some are powerful, but they are all useful because they all carry different experiences of different paths!

If you have ever walked in Paris, you will see that Paris will ever walk in your memoires!

If you love yourself first, you will find your Valentine much quicker!

If you move faster than the music, it will look strange; if you move slower than the music, it will look strange! Be like autumn leaves which follow exactly the rhythm of the wind!

If you open your eyes very wide and look around you carefully, you will always see a lighthouse which will lead you to the right path! Just watch around you carefully!

If you see a castle under fog, you must walk there to meet the extraordinary dreams!

In a society where everyman is fox-minded, you need to be foxier than the fox!

In autumn, don’t go to jewelers to see gold; go to the parks!

In deep waters, you encounter only the wise and the brave; in shallow waters, the ignorant and the coward!

In defeat, look at the stars; in victory, look at the ground! From the stars, you get hope; from the ground, you get caution.

In the middle of nowhere, an old wooden bridge is a golden bridge!

Instead of politicians, let the monkeys govern the countries; at least they will steal only the bananas!

Leave city, leave reality; enter forest, enter fantasy!

Let me tell you something big: Give importance to little things!

Let the people discover you! You might have the key of the locked doors in their lives! Open yourself to the world; you might be the magic the world needs!

Let yourself disappear in the darkness; if you are loved, people will come and find you with torches in their hands! Love is a great searcher; it always searches the loved one! To see who really love you, just disappear!

Lighten your life with a simple life!

Magic of the nights is always much impressive than the magic of the days!

Man must be able to think freely and he must be able to express his thoughts freely! He who is against this is not only fascist and primitive but at the same time is a very great coward also! Only the brave and the honourable men are never afraid of freedom of thought and freedom of expression of ideas! Just like the cockroaches do not like the light, evil minds also do not like the freedom of thoughts!

Man must behave like a lighthouse; he must shine day and night for the goodness of everyman.

Max Lucado says that ‘A man who wants to lead the orchestra must turn his back on the crowd.’ That is true and a man who wants to find out the truth must also do the same thing!

New Year’s most glorious light is sweet hope!

No flower is happy in a vase, because vase is nothing but an ornate coffin for the flower.

No king has a throne more beautiful than a bench covered with the autumn leaves!

No matter how right or how beautiful your path is, never try to impose your path on others! Remember that flowers by no means pull bees by force to their world! Your path is your poem; if people like your poem, they will fondly join you in your path!

No season appeals to the eyes as much as autumn; no season touches the souls as powerfully as autumn and no season invites us to the world of mournful thoughts as intensely as autumn!

Not every lake dreams to be an ocean. Blessed are the ones who are happy with whom they are.

Nothing is more mysterious than watching a lonely man who is taking for a night walk in a foggy street!

Photography is an art of teleporting the past into the future.

Pigs are dirty, but I will tell you something dirtier: Liars! Untruth always smells like rotten garbage!

Rain is nature’s art; umbrella is man’s art.

Real love and Sun have something in common; they are so bright that they don't have shadows, they are free of darkness!

Rumi says love turns thorns into flowers. This means that hate turns flowers into thorns!

Searching for the real faces of every face we met! This is what our life is!

Silent streets have many things to say.

Similar souls wander in the similar places! They may not know each other, but often they touch the same winds, they step on the same leaves, their looks are lost in the same horizons!

Simple life and peaceful mind are very close friends!

Smile is a good reply to the dark world.

Some looks are heavier than the thickest books because they carry the saddest stories of life!

Something reduces the speed of the world and that something is stupidity! Stupidity is a boring friction!

Sometimes you must do crazy things to discover the life beyond your life, to enter the unknown zone beyond your known zone!

Strong winds create giant waves; strong wills create giant men!

Sun gives light; torch gives light, candle gives light; smiling gives light.

Sunset is so marvellous that even the sun itself watches it every day in the reflections of the infinite oceans!

Sunset is the opening music of the night.

The best thing you can give to a child is to create an environment where the child can develop an independent mind so that he will be the man of no one and the instrument of no system!

The fate of the bridges is to be lonely; because bridges are to cross not to stay!

The first step to be a good man is this: You must deeply feel the burden of the stones someone else carrying.

The greatest storms on our Earth break not in nature but in our minds!

The Moon always finds an opportunity to turn our attention from the ground beneath our feet to the sky above our head!

The most beautiful springs are those that come after the most horrible winters!

The most beautiful sunset is the one which suddenly appears in front of you while you are walking pensively!

The most precious light is the one that visits you in your darkest hour!

The scent of the morning is prepared by the night; the scent of the night is prepared by the day; everything helps everything!

The trains always arrive at your station. The question is which one to take?

The wisdom of bridges comes from the fact that they know the both sides, they know the both shores!

There is a hidden message in every waterfall. It says, if you are flexible, falling will not hurt you!

There is no real silence for the sensitive ears and there is no real tranquility for the sensitive hearts!

There is nothing more beautiful than living a simple life in this complex universe!

There is so much beauty in autumn and so much wisdom; so much separation and so much sorrow!

There is so much hope in a little flower and so many flowers in a little hope!

Those who mastered in the art of falling have no fear of rising!

To get inspiration, go to the nature; for silence, go to the nature; to question the meaning of life, go to the nature; to feel the existence, go to the nature; to protect your mind, to reach the truth, to think about the universe go to the nature!

To speak with the shadow, you must know the language of the darkness!

To think is sacred; let every person think freely! To express what you think is sacred; let every person express his thought freely! If you do this, you prove that you are a conscientious and a moral human being! If you don’t do this, you just declare yourself being fascist!

Tradition kills originality; you keep repeating the same things in tradition! Behave like the sky; always create new and different things; be original!

Umbrella is comfort, rain is life! You must often leave comfort to touch the life!

Watching the infinite horizons gives you infinite dreams, infinite ideas, infinite paths! Choose a great target and then you will see that great instruments will appear for you to reach that target!

Water is the most perfect traveller because when it travels it becomes the path itself!

We are all on the stairs, my friend; some of us are going down, some us are going up!

We see what we are only through reflection and thus the more our reflections occur, the less our mistakes will be!

What do you need in the New Year? You need a dream; your dream needs an action; and your action needs right thinking! Without right thinking, you can have only unrealised dreams!

What is the name of your dream? A lovely wooden cottage in the middle of a forest? Or walking in an endless autumn path? What is the name of your dream? Don’t give a name, always give a list! Fill yourself with dreams because dream is the path to reality!

What you do when nobody is there is your true you!

When everything looks like a magical oil painting, you know you are in Autumn!

When the moonlight and the waterfall come together, all other things fade from the scene!

When the spirit of nature touches us, our hearts turn into a butterfly!

When the sun is setting, leave whatever you are doing and watch it.

When you are happy, you feel the sunshine even inside the fog; when you are unhappy, you feel the fog even in the sunshine.

When you are on the bright side of life, do not forget the people who are on the dark side and remember that man can easily slip from one side to the other!

When you increase the number of gardens, you increase the number of heavens too!

When you lose your path, you get an opportunity to discover a world you have never known! And better worlds are often found this way! Darkness and uncertainty hide presents in itself!

When you read a book, book also reads you! The book will know who you are from the sentences you underline!

Winter invites white; white invites silence; silence invites peace. You see, there is so much peace in walking on the snow!

Winter is dead; spring is crazy; summer is cheerful and autumn is wise!

Wise man is the rooster of the universe: He awakens the unawake!

Without the stairs of the past, you cannot arrive at the future!

You can never leave a place unless you leave that place in your mind!

You can walk in a dream while you are awake: Just walk in the misty morning of a forest!

You either keep your childhood innocence or you rot!

You need a temple to feel good spiritually? Go to a beautiful garden!

You need new roads to discover new places!

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dailytomlinson · 5 years ago

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When One Direction announced their hiatus at the end of 2015, the world took out their magnifying glasses and awaited how each of the members would progress past the mammoth presence the supergroup had bathed them in. Over time, a particular light fell onto the tender tenor of the group, Louis Tomlinson, as his voice always provided the edge that elevated the group beyond the generic boyband model. Just as other wildly successful boybands like *NSYNC and The Backstreet Boys had Chris Kirkpatrick and Brian Littrell, One Direction had Tomlinson whose voice differentiated the band from others in their field. So, when Tomlinson announced his long-awaited debut record, Walls, back last Fall, there was an air of intrigue that soon accumulated for where this voice would journey, solo.

Tomlinson experimented with a handful of singles over the years with “Just Hold On” and “Back to You” tapping into the EDM market while his highly underrated track “Miss You” dabbled in the foundations of pop-punk to solidify his sound as an independent artist. Yet, it’s when the British-bred singer began digging into his roots that he found a familiar fire that shaped the overarching soundscape that is found in the bulk of Walls. It’s obvious that Tomlinson found comfort in Britpop, and if anything, it is a strong starting point for a debut as his voice sits naturally atop the genre.

Opening the record is electric track “Kill My Mind” which feels as though one has shaken up a fresh soda can and popped the lid. It’s a rowdy fizz full of a hodgepodge of 90’s alternative influences, and the longer one sips on Tomlinson’s biting vocals and rambunctious, guitar-led production, the better it tastes. Following the tune is “Don’t Let it Break Your Heart,” an instant crowd-pleaser detailing the strength of healing through adversity, relying on it’s endearing chant-like structure to push the track to new heights. It’s easy to imagine this song rumbling a venue as the fans scream out its words. Bleeding into the piano-entrancing “Two of Us,” we see Tomlinson at his most vulnerable, lyrically and vocally, as the song details the passing of his mother at the end of 2016. Almost as if he is cracking his ribcage open to allow others to find collective healing through the process of grief, the track is more uplifting than sorrowful—it being Tomlinson’s words and personable voice to thank for that. The title track, “Walls,” being a nod to Oasis, was well-received by critics and fans alike as Tomlinson breaks down the walls that his trials and tribulations have built up around him over the years. It’s rare to find a title track that can firmly stand on its own, yet this one does just that.

It’s when we fade into the meat of Walls, past the singles, do we start to see Tomlinson’s artistic identity flourish. “Too Young” acts like a melancholic lullaby that is sang too tenderly to cross. A simple acoustic that highlights the delicate vocals he was famous for in One Direction. “Habit” easily presses rewind on the era and takes a trip back to the alt 90’s, providing what could be the blossoming of a softer Everclear influence. Tomlinson showcases his impeccable ability to flow words overtop a sonic landscape here, which follows into a couple other tracks, providing a storytelling technique that has been challenging for his fellow bandmates to crack as he confesses to his love interest that they’re a habit he can’t break. It’s difficult not to hear this breezy, guitar-driven tune and not think of how seamlessly the chorus could blend into a 90’s, coming of age film that stars Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

“Always You” gives way to lighter moods in musicality as Tomlinson’s voice bounces over lively guitar plucking, providing the same word flow as “Habit” just more staccato. The building climax compliments his tone, being a hidden talent in his repertoire, landing with a big melodic chorus so gravitating that one will be humming it to themselves long after the record’s over. Then, there’s “Fearless,” a surprising power-ballad that is hard to forget. Structured around the age-old phrase, “let’s stay young forever” it would’ve been easy for this theme to fall corny rather quickly, but instead, the track is a haunting recount of forgotten youth and being lost in nostalgia. Tomlinson’s vocals are at their peak here, following the foundations of simple verses and light instrumentals, allowing his isolated vocals to take center stage to deliver an iron-clad performance.

The two most personal tracks on the record, though, are saved for last. Being the most reflective of his growth going forward as an artist, “Defenceless” and “Only the Brave” display his duality in the sonic landscape. The former is a powerhouse earworm that represents everything good about a pop song. Bringing one of the catchiest bridges to the mainstream in recent years, “Defenceless” soars with poppy chords and heavy drums that’ll have one itching to listen to it on the open road. Tomlinson teamed up with Andrew Jackson and Duck Blackwell for the latter, “Only the Brave.” An interlude track that came to Tomlinson as a demo, it resonated with him enough to mark it the star of the show as the album’s closer. It taps into an indie market that suits his voice well as the song’s corners feel burnt and tinged. The stunning religious subtext that could be metaphors for both his relationship with another and with fame is only a little over two minutes long, but it acts as one powerful ending.

Walls works because it’s a culmination of Louis Tomlinson’s best assets—the distinct edge of his vocals and his commanding lyrical prowess. Tomlinson’s voice has a knack of making a listener feel as though he’s sitting across the kitchen table, speaking directly to them. It’s personable, tender, comforting, and it’s endearing. His peaks as a vocalist breathe through his debut, nailing airy falsettos and parading his raspy edge. Lyrically, whether it be him tackling adversity in the title track with, “These high walls never broke my soul,” shedding the tightly constructed public image tied to his boyband past in “Habit” with, “I took some time ‘cause I’ve ran out of energy of playing someone I’ve heard I’m supposed to be,” directly asking a friend the heavy question, “[are you] strong enough to get it wrong in front of all these people” in nostalgia-chasing’s “Fearless,” or sticking true to his clever symbolism found in “Always You” that details, “We’re sleeping on our problems like we’ll solve them in our dreams / we wake up early morning, and it’s still under the sheets,” it’s obvious that Tomlinson is a true songwriter. All in all, it’s in the conjoined efforts of these two aspects of his artistry that lays a solid foundation for Tomlinson moving forward. Walls has proven that he has what it takes to stand on his own, and looking towards the future just like the record’s closing lines, Tomlinson has shown that “it’s [his] solo song, and it’s only for the brave.”

Thanks for the amazing review @aliensyndrome !

#louis tomlinson #wpress #060220 #the alternative

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risingsouls · 4 years ago

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Recruited: Prologue

[I suck at titles so excuse the lameness of me just using the name for Nabooru’s new verse.

So I decided to write actual shit for this because I’m in love with the idea and exploring it. This is just some background on how shit gets set in motion but you can have it anyway. :3]

Nabooru had witnessed falling stars before, trails of light streaking through the sky on clear nights. But never had she seen such a display at midday. Watched them crash into the desert sands with such force as to quake the ground beneath her feet, the edifice she and her people resided in shuddering in protest.

If they had been shooting stars, she would have made a wish on them like a child still so filled with hope for the world. She would have wished for clairvoyance, to know the dreadful shift her life would take, delivered by this phenomenon.

After helping to quell the excitement and panic, she joined Ganondorf and a group of the Elite to investigate. They found that the stars were no stars at all but spherical contraptions embedded in deep pits they created in the sand. They cracked open like a quintet of eggs and out stepped a crew of people the likes she had never seen before, their features all varied and strange to her down to the clothes they donned.

They hardly noticed the pair of Gerudo step forward despite the king’s size as they conversed among themselves. Planning. Doling out orders. Three took to the air without aid that she could see, leaving the Gerudo in awe. The two remaining--a shorter fellow with a snowy mohawk and reptilian features and a burly warrior with dark hair and sea-colored skin--approached and demanded we offer refuge. Nabooru opened her mouth to protest, but the lizard man raised a hand, a yellow sphere of light forming in his palm and aimed at her chest. Baffled by the technique, on edge over its similarity to magic, she closed her lips again. The message was clear: comply or die.

The band of Gerudo lead the strangers back to the Fortress and Nabooru's unease was reflected back at her on each of the Elite's faces. Ganondorf’s tense jaw and posture, the cogs working behind his eyes as he, too, strategized ways to keep their people safe while wondering who they were, what they wanted. Friend or foe. I could see Aveil desperate to speak to me and convey her own ideas or perhaps make a joke about their appearance to relieve the tension in the furtive glances she shot between myself and the pair. Avira's hands never once left the hilt of the broadsword at her back, and I noticed a flash of silver pressed in Valis's palm. When we passed through the gates, onlookers peered around corners, stopped their training to stare, but the king's glares and the presence of these two kept them all at a distance.

The Elite meeting room was the first stop. A compromise to the initial request. Information for comfort. Nabooru sat on Ganondorf's right side, Aveil next to her, their guests seated directly across from them. The rest of the Elite filled in along the table, all eyes locked on the newcomers. She was grateful that Ganondorf wasted no time with introductions or greetings. Though the warning in his tone when he demanded they state their business only caused the two to exchange smirks. Haughty and overconfident like the stuffed-shirt nobles of Hyrule's court when either of them spoke. Nabooru wrapped her legs around the legs of her chair to keep from springing over the table and tearing them from their faces, that sphere of light poised toward her heart stark in her memory.

The lizard man answered with the ease of being used to such conversations, of someone with nothing to hide. The five of them were soldiers for the ruler of a galactic empire, words that only half made sense to Nabooru. He sent them to the planet to scout its resources, to see if it held any promise as an addition to their empire. When pressed on what that meant for them, the two once more exchanged darkly amused glances, and the dire explanation, blunt and up front, revealed why: they either found usefulness in the planet and its people or it and them would be exterminated.

A million questions swirled around in her panicked mind, most of which fell to pieces before they could reach coherence. Every sinew screamed that they should attack, but the weight of dread and apprehension pinned her and the rest of the Gerudo to their seats, masks of indifference threatening to slip and reveal the desperation and anger they had all felt for years. Hyrule's offences suddenly felt as insignificant as the bite of ants.

The second soldier spoke up before anyone could articulate further questions with one of his own. He saw the warriors training, called attention to those who had welcomed them,all armed and in peak physical condition, and asked if they were warriors. That their power levels, whatever that meant, suggested as much, dismal as they were. Nabooru could see Ganondorf felt the sting of an insult neither of them could quite grasp yet, but answered proudly that Gerudo are taught to fight from the moment they could remain upright and hold a sword.

As the conversation continued along this vein, Nabooru's apprehension welcomed curiosity when they hinted at such information at least being promising toward their survival. Potentially. A new means of combat for her to learn and strengthen herself. They mentioned something called ki, the energy he had used to threaten her, and Nabooru failed to hold her tongue. Was it magic, then? Both laughed and assured her it wasn't, that even a band of weaklings like them could harness ki or life energy and become an army capable of razing this entire planet and more. Another slight, but in the glance she and the Gerudo king shared, the glimmer of something akin to hope and a desire for strength they both shared to some degree sparking in their eyes, she knew they both wanted to unlock the secrets of this ki. A way to solve their current problems. To fight by their own means rather than artifacts not meant for them just as she always hoped.

Neither of them liked the prospective offer they set on the table for the newcomers, a sentiment shared between the king and his second the following evening as they pored over the same maps that often lead to their more heated arguments, the dead end strategies doomed more than one of them, ripped to shreds in frustration. In futility and helplessness. It was like swapping one ruler for another, but neither had cared to doubt their glib explanation of their business there. With some apprehension, Ganondorf had explained the growing tension within the country, the ire and fear of their neighbors that threatened to slowly suffocate and end their race entirely. How they fought to stave off war with diplomacy and promises of unity, a war they could only dream of winning with the scars of the last one still so fresh. It always shocked her how easily he shifted into the role of the humbled king, how he wove his passion for his people back into his words, his motives, his being. She saw the king she was proud of, the man she fell in love with all those years ago.

The bargain was simple: Ganondorf offered the Gerudo as a standing army to rule over the planet for this emperor of theirs in exchange for training in using ki which would help them overtake the current governing body. Nabooru added that, as natural warriors, the Gerudo learned quickly, and would not cost them much time. She also suggested they teach the Elite warriors first and that they could pass the knowledge on to the rest of the tribe, rather than expend time and soldiers of their own on training an entire army.

Though an agreement hung in the air, the soldiers informing them they would need to run that and the rest of their report by their emperor, Nabooru felt an elation she had not felt in years. A sense that they might finally make progress. She wanted peace, but Hyrule had made it apparent that wasn’t an option. The prospect that they could triumph and survive, to discontinue scraping by, she couldn’t help herself. And to be on the same page as the man she devoted herself to working with--someday ruling beside--after so many long months of disagreements and fights...to see a glimmer of the future she thought they could no longer sustain…

They made love that night. Truly. Deeply. Lovingly. Not as the result of a heated argument, a need for release or the adrenaline after a sparring session. Though the thought of impending doom occurred to her and spurred a second and third round before she tucked herself against his side for sleep, the thought that this could be their last night, such anxiety played a secondary role to her bolstered spirits.

Spirits that only soared higher into the cloudless desert sky when the soldiers returned with the rest of their crew and news that their emperor, Frieza, had agreed to the terms. Training commenced immediately, and Nabooru flourished. She felt like a kid again, handed her very first proper sword and learned to wield it. When she tapped into the energy slumbering within her, it amazed her how natural it felt. The skills, the strength she could have had all that time. Flight, blasts fired from her hands that tore through solid plateaus. It was invigorating. She obsessed over mastering it and challenging herself to reach new heights, finding time outside of the formal training sessions to train more. To spar with Aveil, Avira, Ganondorf, or any of the other Elite who would humor her.

If only she had known her zeal for combat would someday bite her. That she would find her proclivity for fighting, her love and enjoyment of it, a hindrance over an aid.

How it would cost her everything.

Each Gerudo had to brace themself as the gargantuan ship flew low over the fortress, the gust left in its wake ripping flags from their standards and sand whipping through the air. It landed just outside the gates in far more graceful fashion than the pods the others arrived in. Their five guests scrambled to round up all the Gerudo and assemble them in front of the fortress, barking orders to straighten clothing or to stop looking so slack-jawed. Many aired their grievances with the rushed treatment, their confusion over the unidentified craft that flew overhead. But the sight of it working the galactic soldiers into a frenzy made sense with the whispers and off-handed comments made during their stay once they finally illuminated the significance of the ship: Frieza had arrived.

Nabooru stood at Ganondorf’s side as a chair carrying a horned, diminutive creature hovered toward them tailed by two what she could only guess were his guards or generals, and she followed suit in bowing along with the rest of her tribe and the soldiers. Her gold gaze lifted in curiosity to watch them, to understand why the emperor was so feared and surmise if the horror stories his men told them rang true. She only had to stare into his crimson eyes and witness that condescendingly amused smirk once to discontinue doubting them.

The alarm bells should have sounded when he requested an audience with both her and Ganondorf. It made sense to want to speak with the one who would rule the planet in his stead. But to specifically request she join them after inquiring if she was the one he had been told about, she should have seen the signs no matter how futile a retreat would have been. Her pride blinded her to any possibility except her skill and power being seen as impressive for a beginner. Enough to have earned the emperor’s praise.

She had only been half right.

The turn the conversation took after a cordial discussion of the planet’s landmarks and resources, of how the warriors handled the training and a prospective timeframe for the attack on Hyrule, had forced Nabooru to forget most of the details of anything prior. The world slipped out from beneath her when Frieza informed the king and his second that he would recruit Nabooru to his ranks due to her skill and unusually high power level for a denizen of a planet like this one, and explained that he couldn’t rightly take Ganondorf, the more powerful of the two, as he needed him to stay and rule as promised. He would settle for close second. As insurance, to feel that he was given as much as they took in their conquest of the planet.

Every fiber of her being screamed out in protest. How could she leave her home? Her people? Her lover? And after all they had worked for and accomplished and on the brink of sacking Hyrule and starting something so entirely new? They were her life, everything she threw every ounce of her essence into. But to refuse was death. Or worse, her people's slaughter over it. She could feel herself hollowing out with each passing moment, as the same hopelessness she thought she had left behind tore the feelings of assured victory from her heart.

Ganondorf opened his mouth at last to speak for her, but she stopped him with a deep bow. "It would be my honor to serve you, Lord Frieza."

#:: nabooru ☀#:: u7 recruited ☀#fic: recruited

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mountphoenixrp · 4 years ago

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We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

Suppapong Udomkaewkanjana, who is also known as Saint; a 20 year old son of Horus. He is a figure skater.

FC NAME/GROUP: Saint Suppapong / Suppapong Udomkaewkanjana (Thai actor) CHARACTER NAME: Suppapong Udomkaewkanjana / ศุภพงษ์ อุดมแก้วกาญจนา AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: April 17, 2000 (adjusted from 1998) PLACE OF BIRTH: Ban Khlong Nonsi, Koh Chang island, Trat province, Thailand OCCUPATION: Professional figure skater HEIGHT: 1,81 / 5’11 WEIGHT: 62 / 137 DEFINING FEATURES: Caramel brown eyes that remind of his father’s golden eye, chubby cheeks and a bright as the sun smile, tends to wear his hair styled up but occasionally has it down for competition or styled shoots, broad shoulders relative to his frame, multiple scars along his legs and a few on his hands from skating injuries as well as rough calloused feet, scarring along his right outer thigh and just above the hip from a car accident in Seoul when he was 15

PERSONALITY: Suppapong, or as everyone calls him by Thai custom Saint, is a very driven individual and it shows in everything he does. Almost everything has a goal, whether it is choosing his food, declining your request of him or moving to the other side of the world. He always has a reason and he rarely gives up on his goals. He wants to make his family proud of him and strives to be the best. Not just as a figure skater but in general as a person he wants to be complimented and told he did well. Even so, it is undeniable that the man has a side of arrogance. However he sees it as something that even though it has its negative effects, if he controls it well is a perfect drive to keep him going further and further till he reaches the top. That and his rivalry with others. He can be prickly and impatient with things he doesn’t think worth his time yet he has the patience and focus to repeat one thing over and over again at training till he gets it just right. Though, faster is better. He considers himself unlucky but in reality he might often be the cause of his own misfortune. His highly demanding personality spills over into his personal life and surroundings, making it often hard for him to mix well with people who don’t have a similar mindset of working towards a goal. Add on to that his charisma and he can come across intimidating to some. But those who know him well enough are aware there’s a whole different side underneath. The brightest laughter and the most caring friend you can wish for. Crawling and clawing yourself to that spot however is not easy. But when you get there, he might just drop his guards and relax for once and you’ll see the Saint that doesn’t just act nice for the sake of it but who is actually warm and kind-hearted.

HISTORY: Born an only son of a resort owner on Koh Chang island in the Trat province of Thailand Suppapong, nicknamed Saint, never had too much to wish for in his childhood when it came to material things. The resort did well but as a result thereof and his mother’s wish for her son to excel he did not live on the beautiful island for long. Instead the boy was sent off, encouraged (made to) try many things to find his niche he could reach the top in. His mother wasn’t unkind, gods no, but she was determined in her wanting the best for her son. She saw finding your talents and excelling in them as the goal in life and as such created that life for Saint. His father was Horus, the Egyptian god who had a similar perfectionist attitude in the things he did. The boy never complained, always having seen it as normal for him and that he was made to excel, to make his parents proud. And eventually, in a local city they found something. It started with inline skating. Saint practically flew on the skates and in a short time through his joy and passion for the sport was doing tricks. The watchful eye of his ‘caretaker’, Aawut Ritthirong, who’d been with him throughout this search for his talent immediately saw it. He added to it. He had seen Saint excel in controlling his body and movements and knew exactly where to bring him. One flight to the capital Bangkok later and a scheduled training with a private coach they found it. Figure skating. Not only did it match the boy his interests and talents, it was also a prestigious sport. Fast forward one year to the age of 7 and the young Thai child arrives in an unfamiliar country with just his caretaker and one suitcase full of clothes and personal belongings. Everything arranged for him there to become who he needs to be. In Paris he begins training to become a professional, and this is where he meets a lifelong rival and friend. Timothée Valère Iver. The two boys are both the opposite and same poles of a magnet. At times attracting and at others repulsing one another. And it made for a very fruitful training environment, especially for Saint. Not only that, for the Thai demigod it was also a social experience and a relationship that eventually opens his eyes to more. Nothing is meant to last though and at 14 he is sat in a plane again with a suitcase, moved across the globe to Seoul this time to train with a new coach. Through his years he perfects his English and learns relatively well French and Korean, good enough to get him through most conversations. Most of all of course, he soars as a talent in the world of figure skating, dominating the field of youth competitions alongside Timothée. But it has a shadow side as between the two, one of them shines just that bit more. And it’s aggravating, to know how hard he works and seeing his rival take the majority of first places. However, Saint is determined to overcome him and to be the pride of their family his parents wish for. Or so he thinks they do. Countless days and nights are spent training to the point coaches, fellow athletes and friends try to stop him before he overworks himself. The blisters on his feet are endless but he skates through them and when he makes a mistake and falls or creates a wound on his legs or hands on accident he covers it with bandages and continues on as if nothing had happened. He suffers injuries because of it and from simply being unlucky at times, yet pulls himself out of them quickly. But it all doesn’t matter, because his rival remains to be above him. He makes it look so easy, something he could never achieve. At times the injuries and fatigue lead him to ‘bomb’ a competition in his own eyes, having to be satisfied with a 3rd or even 5th place. Unthinkable in his head, and his phone calls with his father every other week do not help. Everytime he asks about a competition and Saint has to tell him he didn’t come in first a piece of him turns black and rotten. He just wants to make them proud, but until he can win those competitions he can’t. Time distances him from them, unable to open up to his parents. To not even mention his inability to manifest wings like his father and half-brother are able to. Eventually, down a spiral of greed for success in his sport and auto-aggression focused on his high demands on himself he is urged by a manager to take the offer for a magazine shoot and interview. He does it and finds it’s addicting. Having people fuss over him, giving him whatever he wants and not even minding when he’s being arrogant, not to mention the responses on it afterwards when it is published. And slowly but surely he begins taking more and more of these jobs where he can fit it in his schedule, even appearing on entertainment shows. Despite the fact he still never misses a single day of training, those surrounding him see his arrogance grow more outward. Where it had been a driving force when it had been inward, it was now becoming something bigger that others had to deal with as well. Yet with his natural charisma and glorified attitude as the hard-worker they’re willing to accept it of him. That is until his mother calls, having heard and seen her sons changes. His caretaker still reported all his daily activities to her and tells her he’s worried he will be overdoing himself to the point of fainting or worse. She thinks the same and that it’s a distraction as she worries he has given up. And maybe a part of him had. She pulls him back and with another call to his father the young man is sent off once more in his existence, this time to live a more reclused life on Mount Phoenix. The only reason he complies is because it’s his parents, and because his rival just so happens to be training there too. He will be the best.

PANTHEON: Egyptian CHILD OF: Horus POWERS: Ability to manifest falcon wings and fly with them for short periods of time though it drains his energy rapidly and he hasn’t been able to do it yet, limited manipulation of air such as the ability to create small gusts of wind (also still developing), naturally charismatic as a leader STRENGTHS: Incredibly hard-worker who rarely gives up, focused learner, funny and good at socializing (when he wants to socialize), open-minded to people and opportunities WEAKNESSES: Perfectionism leading to overworking and being highly demanding of himself and his environment, being too strict on himself, arrogance and occasional self-pity, tunnel vision when he is too focused

#kpop rp #krp #saint suppapong #suppapong udomkaewkanjana #mp; welcome

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lynne-monstr · 5 years ago

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where brave and restless dreams are won and lost

Written for the malec secret santa 2019, for the lovely @gaywoodandbine

Summary: Magnus is a witch. Alec is the witch-hunter tasked with bringing him in. (Two of these things are true, one is only half-true)

ao3 link

In the last remaining hours before first light, Alec crouches behind a precariously balanced pile of steel rebar and observes his target.

Magnus Bane stands in the middle of the gutted out building with his arms outstretched, a king of concrete and scrap metal. It should look ridiculous but even Alec, with his affinity for nature-based magic, can feel the power swirling in the air.

Blistering gusts of wind cut through Alec’s jacket like knives as he watches the ritual unfold. Though the building is sealed off by hanging sheets of tarp, it does little to ward off the winter chill. Alec’s fingers twitch in their gloves, aching to draw warmth from the earth deep below the concrete foundation.

He doesn’t so much as shift. He’s too close to his goal to surrender to something as trivial as discomfort. Not when there’s so much at stake. He sacrificed too much to get where he is now. The closeness of his family, his morals, his self-respect. One by one, they all fell to his ultimate goal.

If he concentrates, he can still see Jace’s face on that fateful day. His brother’s usual teasing and bravado was gone, replaced by grim determination as he shoved Alec aside and cast his last spell to keep Alec still. To keep him hidden and safe.

Jace’s parting whisper of, ‘It’s okay, Alec. It’s better this way,’ haunts him to this day.

‘It’s not,’ Alec had wanted to scream, but couldn’t. Not with the spell binding him. ‘I’m not worth it.’

The smooth tones of Bane’s voice snap Alec back to the present. He shakes off the memory, focusing instead on picking out the individual words of the ritual. When he does, he nearly gives away his position with a hastily muffled snort.

Bane is reciting the New York City building code.

An urban witch. Alec has never met one before. Growing up, he’d been taught that urban magic was rough and unrefined, a substandard form of witchcraft for those who couldn’t harness the raw power of nature. Looking at Magnus Bane, nothing could be further from the truth.

Alec refrains from rolling his eyes at himself. He can spend his time in frivolous debate on the merits of magic or he can focus on the mission, the first one he’s been trusted with since infiltrating the ranks of the witch-hunters.

No matter how beautiful this man and his magic are, it isn’t enough to save him.

“I’m sorry,” Alec whispers to the concrete ground. Perhaps it’s enough to give his apology by proxy, spoken to the medium of this witch’s magic rather to the man himself. Alec hopes so.

Drawing his bow, Alec readies an arrow tipped in magic-suppressing poison and fires.

Magnus is sunk deep in his own spell, electricity in his blood and the bustle of early morning traffic in his veins. The ebb and flow of a city that never truly stops. All of it rushing into his lungs and bringing fresh waves of power in its wake. And something else. Something that pings on the edge of his senses, a tang of vinegar in a freshly uncorked bottle of wine.

He doesn’t know what brings him out of the ritual, only that it does. He heeds the warning of his magic, the growing itch under his skin, and opens his eyes to the sight of an object flying straight for him. An arrow unerringly seeking his heart.

Not his heart, a distant part of him notes. His shoulder. Whoever is after him wants him alive.

Magnus’ eyes flash yellow. The hue of blinking neon. Double lines on dark asphalt. Taxis trailing a cacophony of horns as they weave through overcrowded streets. He throws himself to the ground just in time to hear the arrow soar past, his hands scraping open on the loose gravel. His blood seeps out and the city rushes in to fill the void.

Wild magic flickers at his hands, called by the spilling of blood. He twirls his wrist and the pile of steel beams on the other side of the building collapses in a ringing clatter. The sounds of cursing follow.

The shadow of a man stands to his full height amidst the strewn pile of steel rebar. Even in the dark, the swoop of his impressively large bow blooms from his body like wings. An avenging angel crashed down to earth.

Magnus has never put much stock in angels.

“You must be a new recruit, I’d remember a build like yours,” he taunts. An attack like this could only come from a witch-hunter, and if this one is arrogant enough to try and take Magnus on his own home turf, he’s about to learn a very painful lesson. “It’s been a long time since one of you people dared to come after me.”

He expects another arrow. What he doesn’t expect is a gust of clean wind that knocks him clear off his feet.

The world spins and he grasps for power that’s gone slippery in the face of such distilled natural magic. Magnus recoils even as he rolls to his feet. The witch-hunter is a witch. His mind races, trying to process the impossible. The witch-hunters hated their kind for the gifts they possessed, for the sacrifices they were willing to make to wield their magic. It was a hatred borne of fear, of the unknown. For a witch to join their ranks was unthinkable.

Magnus dodges another attack. ”Why are you doing this?” he shouts across the empty space. “You must know they’ll put you down the moment they learn what you are.”

He doesn’t get an answer.

Being in the heart of a city, Magnus should have the upper hand but this witch came prepared. The man reaches into a pocket and pulls out a pinch of dirt from a small pouch. Time seems to slow as he flings the earth to the ground.

The moment it lands, the building’s concrete foundation shakes apart, small cracks growing into larger ones.

Magnus dances out of the way to keep from being swallowed, and not in the fun way. The power from his interrupted ritual has run dry and so has the boost he’d gotten when he scraped his hand. He bounces lightly on his feet and prepares to fight the mundane way while he preps another spell. Looks like all his years of Tai Chi practice are going to pay off. Balance and flexibility aren’t just good skills for the bedroom.

Several large, thick vines snake up from the widening cracks, writhing in the air.

“Kinky,” Magnus calls out to his opponent, watching the vines come at him. “I like that in a man.”

He dodges on nimble feet, keeping one step ahead of the vines as he reaches for his athame. To be fair, calling it an athame is generous. On a shopping trip many years ago, Magnus had seen one of those tiny pocket knives disguised as a lipstick and became instantly enamored. But that’s the beauty of magic. It’s the perfect marriage of tradition and interpretation. And so Magnus gets to see the scandalized look on the faces of other witches when he pulls out his lipstick knife.

Correction. He got to see it. He won’t get to see it anymore if the witch-hunters get their hands on him.

He doesn’t know what their organization did to recruit a witch to their cause, but it can’t be anything good. Magnus needs to escape, if for no other reason than to let the rest of his people know how much danger they’re all in.

The first vine breaks through his defenses and winds tight around Magnus’ wrists, jerking them apart and sending the matte gray lipstick case flying. Another set of vines encircles Magnus’ chest and creeps up his legs, tethering him to the ground.

Once he’s fully ensnared, the witch-hunter steps forward into a dim pool of emergency lighting.

Magnus’ mouth runs on autopilot as he tests the strength of the vines. It’s a good distraction for the panic threatening to claw up his throat. “This is a bit much for a first date, don’t you think? I’m afraid I have to insist on dinner and a safeword, first.”

The man’s eyes widen before his expression shutters shut. “It has to be like this.”

What a crime for such a plush mouth to utter such garbage. Magnus scoffs, even as he continues to struggle. It’s a waste of effort but it makes him feel less useless. “No it doesn’t. Lie to yourself as much as you want but don’t give me that crap. You’re hunting your own people and that’s a choice.”

“I have to.” A wave of grief flits across the man’s face so quickly that Magnus nearly misses it.

The acerbic response dies on Magnus’ tongue and he kicks himself for being too caught up in his own emotions to see the truth. Because why would a witch betray their own people? This young man is either power hungry to the point of self-destruction or being blackmailed.

Magnus has his money on the latter. “What do they have on you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m the one who’s going to die for it. I’d say it matters a lot.”

The verbal blow lands perfectly and his attacker’s pretty face freezes. If Magnus was a better man, he might feel bad about the manipulation but if he learned anything from growing up on the streets and leaning witchcraft on his own, it was that if he didn’t fight for himself, no one else would.

“It’s my brother,” the man whispers, not meeting Magnus’ gaze. “They took my brother.”

“And you think they’ll give him back in exchange for me? You’re a fool.”

The man shakes his head. “I know they won’t. But wherever they take you, that’s where he’ll be, too. I have to find him.”

Dread lodges in a tight ball behind Magnus’ sternum. The fate in store for him isn’t a pleasant one. Even so, he can almost understand. There isn’t much he wouldn’t do for his own patchwork family. “I can help you if you let me. I’ve fought them before and I can do it again. We can find another way.”

Hope flares in the other man’s eyes but it’s extinguished just as quickly. Despair races through Magnus as his attacker pulls out another arrow. He can sense the poison on the tip, the way his magic tries to shrink away from the substance.

Magnus’ mind races, searching for anything he can use, anything that will stop what’s about to happen. The sharp point of the arrow descends towards Magnus’ unprotected neck just as a last-ditch idea forms too late.

The arrow stops in mid-air.

Magnus doesn’t waste the opportunity. Words spill from deep within his chest, echoing like the clanging of steel on steel. He throws the last dregs of his magic into the words and hopes it’s enough to work on a witch who isn’t bound by city rules. His voice booms in the dead of the night, echoing around the deserted site.

“Special authorization must be granted to work after hours. You must apply for an after-hours variance. If you do not have an after-hours variance, all work must cease immediately.”

It isn’t magic, not really. Magnus calls on the city and it comes to his aid.

As if from far away, Magnus can hear the sounds of traffic, the unceasing horns and the pounding rhythm of footsteps on concrete. The shouted cursing and the chatter of conversation. The music wafting out from bars and strip clubs. The thud of the subway snaking its way in all directions like living, metal tendrils of lifeblood. It builds from a roar into a deafening crescendo, pulsing in time with Magnus’ racing heart until it spills forth in a loud crack.

The witch-hunter is thrown backwards, crumbling to the group in an unmoving heap. His handsome features go slack and he doesn’t get up. The vines holding Magnus loosen their grip and wither, sinking back into the ground.

Magnus runs.

He takes the unconscious witch-hunter with him.

Alec wakes as he always does, to a familiar litany of failure. Jace is gone. Isabelle is in hiding. He’s alone and it’s up to him to bring his family back together. For a blissful moment, he can almost pretend that’s all there is to it.

One thought topples into the next like falling dominoes and the full sense of his failure comes crashing down. His family. Jace. Magnus Bane. He had one shot to fix things and he ruined it.

Alec bolts upright, the fight he lost settling into his mind like the first crisp fall of leaves. He takes in the unfamiliar room around him. The clean lines and large windows. Modern architecture and exposed brick. Not a plant in sight.

The urban witch. He’s in the home of his enemy.

“Alexander Lightwood.”

A lifetime living under his parents’ strict rules keeps Alec from doing anything as embarrassing as startling when Magnus Bane appears from nowhere. Not nowhere, he realizes, studying the layout of the living room. From some sort of hallway.

“How do you know my name?” Alec asks, playing along until he gets a better feel for the situation.

“Magic.” Bane’s smile would be flirty if not for the sharp curl of his lip. “Actually, no. I picked your pocket.”

Alec pats down his clothes, alarm replaced by confusion when he feels the familiar bulge of his wallet.

Bane responds without missing a beat. “I gave it back.”

Despite himself, Alec is a little bit charmed. And trying not to think about where Bane had to put his hands to get at his wallet. Which is when he realizes that it isn’t his money or identification he should be concerned about. He was carrying something far more important. Panic quickens his breath and he struggles not to let it show on his face.

He must fail, because Bane’s smile widens and from behind his back, he pulls out a familiar cloth pouch.

For witches like Alec and his family—natural witches, they liked to call themselves—being in the heart of a city is like trying to do magic with dampeners. There are small patches of tree lined streets, flocks of pigeons, small parks, weeds valiantly trying to grow even in the most developed of places, but using it is the magical equivalent of drawing well water from a dirty, shallow puddle.

Clutched in Bane’s manicured hand is the dirt from the Lightwood family estate, Alec’s conduit to the woodlands and lakes of his childhood home.

“Looking for this?” Bane asks.

Even his gloating is elegant. Alec hates him a little bit. “That’s mine.” Alec leans forward before he can stop himself.

“Not anymore. Perhaps you should have thought of that before you turned against your own kind.” Bane claps his hands once, “Let’s talk, shall we.” He settles himself into a disturbingly bright blue side chair and turns to face Alec on the couch.

In Alec’s experience, talk means something more along the lines of interrogation or execution. He doesn’t take the flashy witch in front of him as the type to soil his expensive furniture but it would hardly be the first time Alec’s wrong about someone. Cut off from his natural witchcraft, he feels exposed and vulnerable and very alone.

His hands clench into fists. Jace is counting on him and so is Isabelle. “What’s there to talk about? Are you going to kill me or not?”

“Not all of us are so cavalier about killing other witches.”

Denial is on the tip of Alec’s tongue, and it trails a bitter line down his throat as he swallows. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t intend to kill Bane or that he hesitated in the final moments, caught by an overwhelming sense of wrongness. He would have gotten over it, shoved down the sick feeling in his gut and done his duty.

His fingers flex against the throw blanket next to him. It’s a cotton blend, the soft material against his fingers soothing to his magic.

He could draw strength from it with the right incantation and a little spilled blood. Not for the first time, he’s grateful for the rigorous training his parents put him and his siblings through when they were children. Most natural witches specialize in a certain type of magic, and while Alec prefers the soil of the earth, he can draw power from nearly anything. He’s at a disadvantage here in his enemy’s lair but he’s far from helpless.

“Nothing to say?” Silence falls between them and then completely unexpectedly, Bane’s laughs. The force of it shakes his entire body, his chest and arm muscles straining against his tight Henley. “I suppose I should thank you. I had suspected your employers were after me for quite some time, and now I know for sure.”

Alec scrambles to adjust from potential impeding execution to unexpected humor. How many times was this urban witch going to surprise him? Alec should hate it in the same way he hates everything he can’t plan for, but he can’t deny the thrill that runs down his spine.

“What will you do?” Alec asks. It’s meant as an accusation and a challenge. What is Bane going to do with Alec? Instead, the words come out sounding like concern for Bane, as if the two of them are old friends rather than enemies.

For a strange moment, Alec wishes it were true, they they had met under different circumstances. What would it be like to combine their magic, opposite forces joining together into something new? Alec feels a pang of regret that he’ll never know.

Perhaps Bane hears it too because he squares his shoulders, a strange combination of fierce and resigned. “What I always do. Survive.”

A rush of shame beats against Alec’s chest at the part he played in tonight’s events. Another crests hot on its heels—because even if he had the chance to overpower Magnus Bane and bring him in, Alec’s not sure he could go through with it. Not now that the other man is more than words in a file.

He isn’t sure whether that makes him a good person or a terrible brother. Maybe both.

“I wasn’t going to go through with it,” Alec blurts out, and immediately regrets it. When Isabelle used to tell him to be more open about his feelings, he didn’t think she meant to his enemies. “I know it doesn’t mean much but it’s the truth.”

For the first time, the smile on Bane’s face is real. “I figured that much out. I don’t take just anyone home, you know.” The man honest-to-god winks before adding, “But I appreciate the sentiment, Alexander.”

Something flutters in Alec’s belly. Before he can think too hard on it, movement catches the corner of his eye. Never has he been more grateful for a distraction. He reacts without thinking, his hand reaching out to catch an object in mid-air. He looks down at it and blinks.

His earthen pouch is in his hand.

Power surges through his veins and he stifles a gasp. With effort, he tears his eyes away towards Magnus, slouched his chair like a king in a castle rather than a lone man in his modest apartment. There’s amusement in his eyes but beneath the arrogance is something else, something that softens the harsh planes of his face.

“Why?” Alec asks. His fingers curl protectively around the little pouch.

It doesn’t make sense. Why would Magnus give him this? Alec had been caught by surprise during their first fight but he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice if they came to blows again. Magnus has no real reason to trust his words; he could easily be signing his own death warrant with one act of kindness.

Except Alec knows he isn’t.

“A witch’s power is a precious thing,” is all Magnus says before getting up from his chair to show Alec to the door. It’s a clear dismissal but any reluctance Alec feels is overshadowed by the surprise of seeing his bow and quiver hanging in the entraceway. Alec shoulders them both, half expecting Magnus to protest but unsurprised when he doesn’t.

Magnus sends him off with a final parting shot. “You’re not the only one who’s lost someone to them. If you wanted my help, you could’ve just asked. Remember that in the future.”

Alec hears the echo of those words for a long time after he leaves the loft behind.

By some miracle, he isn’t punished by his superiors for his complete failure of a first mission. Instead of assuaging his fears, it puts him on high alert. What if someone figured out his connection to Jace and was silently tightening the net around him? What if they were biding their time in hopes he’d lead them to Isabelle?

An attack never comes and Alec eventually stops holding his breath. Right up until he overhears a conversation in the research lab.

“…taking another run at Magnus Bane. Not even he can fight off a dozen of us.”

Alec flattens himself against the wall as the pair leaves, too lost in their chatter to notice him. The pounding in his chest crescendos in his ears as the voices fade. He can pretend he never heard it. If he plays his cards right, he can arrange to be here when they bring Magnus in. Surely his conscience would be appeased if he isn’t the one to capture Magnus. His original plan to find Jace can proceed.

He knows before the thought finishes that it’s a lie.

In his mind’s eye he sees kind eyes and magic that gleams like fresh neon. A man whose response to being attacked was a soft, ‘If you wanted my help, you could have just asked.’

Alec doesn’t stop to put on his jacket. He walks to the nearest oasis of greenery and kneels in the dirt. His fingers sink into the freezing ground, pulling the familiar power of the earth into his hands. On a crisp breeze, his message drifts towards a loft in Brooklyn.

‘Whatever you’re doing tonight, cancel it. It’s an ambush.

PS – you said I could just ask for your help. This is me asking.’

The message should feel like the end of something. Like he’s giving up on his family, like he’s abandoning the only people he’s ever loved. But as Alec gets to his feet, he feels renewed hope spring to life in his chest, a tiny sapling pushing its way into the light.

He can’t save his family alone and he doesn’t have to.

With that thought, another piece falls into place. He isn’t doing his sister any favors by keeping her sheltered from the fight. Eventually she’ll lose patience and leave and when she does, Alec won’t be there to watch her back. Before he can change his mind, he sends off another message, this time to Isabelle.

A laugh bubbles up in his chest as he imagines introducing her to Magnus Bane. He has a feeling the two of them will get along a little too well. When he finally gets back to the Institute, he feels lighter than he has since this mess started.

This isn’t an end, it’s a beginning.

#malec fanfic #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #lynne writes fic #i wrote this fic in an absolutel fury of writing and i only have vague memories of it #and in a weird way it almost feels like it was written by someone else #most of my time was spent on figuring out the plot and the worldbuilding once i had decided i was going with a witches au #it was a lot of fun to dabble in some different magic systems #anyway i can't believe i originally posted the version that didn't have my final round of editing in it #but here is the final version #better late than never i guess #wow i am dumb during the holidays oops

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hlupdate · 5 years ago

Link

#louis tomlinson #060220 #walls

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malecsecretsanta · 5 years ago

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Merry Christmas, @gaywoodandbine!

Mindy, I hope you have the best of holidays. Thanks so much for the wonderful ideas. I tried to incorporate several of them and then the story had a few ideas of its own that I ran with. I hope you enjoy, and that 2020 brings you only wonderful things.

Read on AO3

*****

where brave and restless dreams are won and lost

In the last remaining hours before first light, Alec crouches behind a precariously balanced pile of steel rebar and observes his target.

He doesn’t so much as shift. He’s too close to his goal to surrender to something as trivial as discomfort. Not when there’s so much at stake.

Jace’s parting whisper of, ‘It’s okay, Alec. It’s better this way,’ haunts him to this day.

‘It’s not,’ Alec had wanted to scream, but couldn’t. Not with the spell binding him. ‘I’m not worth it.’

Bane is reciting the New York City building code.

Alec sets his reservations aside, focusing on his mission. It’s the first he’s been trusted with since infiltrating the ranks of the witch-hunters. No matter how beautiful this man and his magic are, it isn’t enough to save him.

“I’m sorry,” Alec whispers to the concrete ground.

Perhaps it’s enough to give his apology by proxy, spoken to the medium of this witch’s magic rather to the man himself. Alec hopes so.

Drawing his bow, Alec readies an arrow tipped in magic-suppressing poison and fires.

He doesn’t know what brings him out of the ritual, only that something isn’t right. His eyes open to the sight of an object flying straight for him. An arrow unerringly seeking his heart.

Not his heart, a distant part of him notes. His shoulder. Whoever is after him wants him alive.

Magnus’ eyes flash yellow. The hue of blinking neon. Double lines on dark asphalt. Taxi’s trailing a cacophony of horns as they weave through overcrowded streets. He throws himself to the ground just in time to hear the arrow soar past, hands scraping open on the loose gravel. His blood seeps out and the city rushes in to fill the void.

Wild magic flickers at his hands, called by the spilling of blood. He waves a hand and the pile of steel beams on the other side of the building collapses in a ringing clatter. The sounds of cursing follow. Magnus’ grin is full of teeth. An attack like this could only come from a witch-hunter, and if this one is arrogant enough to try and take Magnus on his own home turf, he’s about to learn a very painful lesson.

The shadow of a man stands to his full height amidst the strewn pile of steel rebar. Even in the dark, the silhouette of the impressively large bow in his hands stands out. He cuts a striking figure

“You must be a new recruit, I’d remember a build like yours,” Magnus taunts. “It’s been a long time since one of you people dared to come after me.”

He expects another arrow.

What he doesn’t expect is a gust of clean wind that knocks him clear off his feet. The world spins and he grasps for power that’s gone slippery in the face of such distilled natural magic.

Magnus recoils even as he rolls to his feet. The witch-hunter is a witch. His mind races, trying to process the impossible. The witch-hunters hated their kind for the gifts they possessed, for the sacrifices they were willing to make to wield their magic. It was a hatred borne of fear, of the unknown. For a witch to join their ranks was unthinkable.

“Why are you doing this?” Magnus calls out as he dodges another attack. “You must know they’ll put you down the moment they learn what you are.”

He doesn’t get an answer.

The moment it lands, the building’s concrete foundation shakes apart, small cracks growing into larger ones.

Several large, thick vines snake up from the widening cracks, writhing in the air.

“Kinky,” Magnus calls out to his opponent, watching the vines come at him. “I like that in a man.”

Correction. He got to see it. He won’t get to see it anymore if the witch-hunters get their hands on him.

Once he’s fully ensnared, the witch-hunter steps forward into a dim pool of emergency lighting.

Magnus’ mouth runs on autopilot as he tests the strength of the vines. “This is a bit much for a first date, don’t you think? I’m afraid I have to insist on dinner and a safeword, first.”

The man’s eyes widen before his expression shutters shut. “It has to be like this.”

“I have to.” A wave of grief flits across the man’s face so quickly that Magnus nearly misses it.

The acerbic response dies on Magnus’ tongue and he kicks himself for not realizing it sooner. Because why would a witch betray their own people? This young man was either power hungry to the point of self-destruction or being blackmailed.

Magnus had his money on the latter. “What do they have on you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m the one who’s going to die for it. I’d say it matters a lot.”

“It’s my brother,” the man whispers, not meeting Magnus’ gaze. “They took my brother.”

“And you think they’ll give him back in exchange for me? You’re a fool.”

The man shakes his head. “I know they won’t. But wherever they take you, that’s where he’ll be, too. I have to find him.”

Dread lodges in a tight ball behind Magnus’ sternum. The fate in store for him isn’t a pleasant one. Even so, he can almost understand. There isn’t much he wouldn’t do for the people who have become his family. “I can help you if you let me. I’ve fought them before and I can do it again. We can find another way.”

The arrow stops in mid-air.

“Special authorization must be granted to work after hours. You must apply for an after-hours variance. If you do not have an after-hours variance, all work must cease immediately.”

It isn’t magic, not really. Magnus calls on the city and it comes to his aid.

As if from far away, Magnus can hear the sounds of traffic, the unceasing horns and the pounding rhythm of footsteps on concrete. The shouted cursing and the chatter of conversation. The music wafting out from bars and restaurants. The thud of the subway snaking its way in all directions like living, metal tendrils of lifeblood. It builds from a roar into a deafening crescendo, pulsing in time with Magnus’ racing heart until it spills forth in a loud crack.

Magnus runs.

He takes the unconscious witch-hunter with him.

One thought topples into the next like falling dominoes and the full sense of his failure comes crashing down. His family. Jace. Magnus Bane.

The urban witch. He’s in the home of his enemy.

“Alexander Lightwood.”

“How do you know my name?” Alec asks, playing along until he gets a better feel for the situation.

“Magic.” Bane’s smile would be flirty if not for the sharp curl of his lip. “Actually, no. I picked your pocket.”

Alec pats down his clothes, alarm replaced by confusion when he feels the familiar bulge of his wallet.

Bane responds without missing a beat. “I gave it back.”

He must fail, because Bane’s smile widens and from behind his back, he pulls out a familiar cloth pouch.

Clutched in Bane’s manicured hand is the dirt from the Lightwood family estate, Alec’s conduit to the woodlands and lakes of his childhood home. “Looking for this?”

Even his gloating is elegant. Alec hates him a little bit.

“That’s mine.” Alec leans forward before he can stop himself.

His hands clench into fists. Jace is counting on and so is Isabelle. “What’s there to talk about? Are you going to kill me or not?”

“Not all of us are so cavalier about killing other witches.”

His fingers flex against the throw blanket next to him. It’s made of a cotton blend, the soft material against his fingers soothing to his magic.

Perhaps Bane hears it too because he squares his shoulders, a strange combination of fierce and resigned. “What I always do. Survive.”

A rush of shame beats against Alec’s chest at the part he played in tonight’s events. Another crests hot its heels—because even if he had the chance to overpower Magnus Bane and bring him in, Alec’s not sure he could go through with it. Not now that the other man is more than words in a file.

He isn’t sure whether that makes him a good person or a terrible brother. Maybe both.

For the first time, the smile on Bane’s face is real. “I figured that much out. But I appreciate the sentiment, Alexander.”

Something flutters in Alec’s belly. Before he can think too hard on it, movement catches the corner of his eye. He reacts without thinking, his hand reaching out to catch an object in mid-air. He looks down at it and blinks.

His earthen pouch is in his hand.

“Why?” Alec asks. His fingers curl protectively around the little pouch.

Except Alec knows he isn’t.

Instead of answering, Magnus gets up from his chair to show Alec to the door. Hanging in the hallways is his bow and quiver. Alec shoulders them both, half expecting Magnus to protest but unsurprised when he doesn’t.

Magnus sends him off with a final parting shot. ““You’re not the only one who’s lost someone to them. If you wanted my help, you could’ve just asked. Remember that in the future.”

Alec hears the echo of those words for a long time after he leaves the lift behind.

An attack never comes and Alec eventually stops holding his breath. Right up until he overhears a conversation in the research lab.

“…taking another run at Magnus Bane. Not even he can fight off a dozen of us.”

He knows before the thought finishes that it’s a lie.

In his mind’s eye he sees kind eyes and magic that gleams like fresh neon. A man whose response to being attacked was a soft, ‘If you wanted my help, you could have just asked.’

‘Whatever you’re doing tonight, cancel it. It’s an ambush.

PS – you said I could just ask for your help. This is me asking.’

He can’t save his family alone and he doesn’t have to.

This isn’t an end, it’s a beginning

#gaywoodandbine #malecsanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

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coneygoil · 5 years ago

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The Home We Built Together, part 30

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Writer’s note: The 19th marked one year that I first posted this fic!! It’s amazing to see how far it’s come!

Her breathing was even now.

Astrid had fallen asleep against his side, her head resting upon his slender chest. Hiccup hadn’t loosened his hold on her. He couldn’t, not after almost losing her.

His heart had plummeted to the bottom of his stomach when he realized Astrid had fallen from the saddle. There was little comfort when he looked back to find she’d landed on a ledge. The red dragon had instantly sensed her presence there.

“We gotta go back, bud!”

Toothless didn’t hesitate firing at the red dragon. He aimed for its most vulnerable part – the eyes (and Night Furies never miss) -- and the dragon retreated, furious and snarling. The short window gave them enough time to rescue Astrid.

There was a lot to be said and discussed. A plan to formulate. A village and a whole fleet of dragons to protect. But now was not the time.

Hiccup had noticed Astrid’s behavior after the rescue. She was clearly shaken and upset, but when she collapsed in his arms sobbing uncontrollably, it was then that Hiccup realized how deeply it had affected her. Astrid was a pillar of strength, and to see her in such a state of distress had jarred him.

A new commitment welled up inside him. A fierce need to protect that he’d never experience before.

Hiccup was always the one in need of protection. He was the talking fishbone that could barely lift a weapon. He never had to worry about anyone but himself, really. But now? There was more at stake than just his puny well being.

Hiccup squeezed Astrid’s sleeping form a little closer against him, planting a tender kiss to her golden crown. He kept his lips pressed in her hair and whispered the three words he wished to utter aloud, “I love you.”

As if his confession stirred her from slumber, Astrid shifted in his arms. Her hair brushed his jawline as she lifted her head to sleepily look at him. Hiccup waited with bated breath. Had she heard his confession? Would she return the endearment? The first signs of daylight were peeking on the horizon, and the lamp continued to burn low on the bedside table. She blinked her eyes, still puffy from the breakdown she’d had not even a couple hours before.

Astrid cupped his cheek, her fingertips brushing softly on his skin. Hiccup nuzzled into her palm. He’d never had the chance to feel a loving touch before. He never knew his mother and his father only held him as a young boy. He’d longed for something his skin had never experienced. But now, he could have it and he closed his eyes to savor the caress of Astrid’s hand upon his cheek.

He was pleasantly surprised with a soft kiss that he returned in sweet pecks. They continued to plant little kisses on each other’s lips as Astrid pull him with her to sit up on the bed. They’d both gotten better at kissing, having lots of practice as of late. Hiccup was thankful they’d gotten passed the awkward dance of shyness of expressing their affections.

With hand upon the back of his neck, Astrid drew him into a deeper kiss. A kiss that told of unspoken need. A kiss that told of unspoken of love. Astrid broke away, though only mere inches from Hiccup’s face. Their heavy breathes warmed each other’s faces. He longed to capture her lips with his once more, to pour out the love that were overflowing inside of him.

Then Astrid spoke the words that made his heart soar, “I want to be your wife in every way.”

He searched her face, the reassurance of her gaze leading him on. This was what he’d longed for. “I want to be your husband in every way.”

***

Rap. Rap.

Hiccup’s face scrunched at the loud noise banging in his head.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

He groaned at the noise banging faster. He rolled over to hide under his pillow, or at least he would have if he wouldn’t have been held down. He blinked away the blur in his vision to find an arm strapped over his chest. The golden crown of his wife was cushioned against his shoulder, and her leg was thrown over his. She was cuddled up to him like he was an oversized stuffed toy.

“Hiccup? Astrid?” the all-too familiar heavy lilt of Gobber called from outside.

Why was Gobber at their front door? Hiccup peered out the window, eyes widening in realization. It had to at least be lunchtime!

“Astrid!” he hissed, taping her arm splayed over his chest. She’d never slept this deeply before, and Hiccup wondered why she was so tired-

Oh.

The thoughts of their union just a couple hours ago suddenly slammed into his memory like a magnificent, engulfing wave. The innocent exploration of each other’s bodies. The awkward positioning as they figured out how to fit together. The satisfying pants on one another’s faces at the height of pleasure that hit all too soon. The odd thought that, yes, there was blood afterwards mingled in just as Astrid had said on their wedding night. Heat flushed on his face when Hiccup remembered they didn’t bother redressing and were sleeping against each other in their birthday suits.

Astrid rolled off him, eyes slit open just enough to see him. “Huh?”

Hiccup jumped out of bed. “Gobber is here looking for us. I think it’s lunchtime already!” Glancing down at himself, he flushed at his bare skinny body. No time to linger on the fact that he was completely nude in the middle of the day in front of his wife. He fumbled with his shirt that had been strewn on the floor, shivering at the chill of it on his warm skin. Not bothering to put on undershorts, he tugged on pants, nearly falling over in the process. He dashed down the stairs to the bottom floor, dodging furniture on the way to the front door.

Hiccup yanked open the door, revealing Gobber with hook hand half raised to knock. “Hey, Gobber,” he greeted, slightly winded. Hiccup tried to look casual as he leaned against the door, planting the other hand on his hip and giving a toothy smile that wasn’t fooling a yak.

“Hiccup, you and Astrid missed dragon training this morning. I was wondering if one of those beasts had eaten you two for breakfast.”

Hiccup focused a chuckle, trying to hold up his pants that he carelessly tied on while stumbling down the stairs. “No. Me and Astrid had a long night.” He feigned an exaggerated yawn. “We uh… just overslept.”

Gobber narrowed his beady eyes suspiciously then the older man’s bushy eyebrows lifted into his forehead. His mustache spread into a wide smile. “Oh, I see.” He leaned in close as if there were people around that might hear. There was actually no one nearby. “Did you two finally decide to take your honeymonth?”

If this was anyone besides Gobber, Hiccup would have been terrified of the consequences. But even so, he went stock still.

Gobber chuckled lightly. “Oh, don’t worry, Hiccup. Your secret is safe with me. It’s okay that it didn’t happen right away. You two are young and still discovering your bodies. Ye just needed to get some practice in before the big event.”

Hiccup raked twitchy fingers through his hair that was most likely disheveled more than usual. As much as he wanted to sink into a hole talking about the private matter, he was thankful it was Gobber as the listening ear. Gobber was probably the only one in the entire village who’d take an understanding to their decision to wait. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

Gobber straightened as he stood back. “You two kids take all the time ye need. I’ll see ye back at work when you’re ready.” He winked before lumbering off in the direction of the forge.

Hiccup stood there in the doorway wondering if that conversation actually just happened. They’d been a bit of controversy about him and Astrid not taking their honeymonth (but when was anything involving Hiccup not met with controversy). It was never addressed to them face to face, but Hiccup overheard hushed tones around the corners of buildings and passing conversation in the Great Hall. Why was the Chief’s son not spending the time with his new bride? But their consummation had been confirmed (though a little deceitfully), and they’d had permission from the Chief to continue their duties only because of the fast approaching winter months and the need to train the newest warriors for Berk’s defense against dragon raids.

Shaking himself out of his bewildering contemplation, Hiccup shut the door.

“Did Gobber give you an earful?”

Hiccup spun around to find Astrid at the top of the stairs. Dressed in a red tunic. His red tunic. With pale, bare legs extending from the hem. He stared, awestruck, mouth slightly gaping. He’d never seen her in red, but he knew instantly he wanted to see her in that color more often.

Hiccup swallowed. “He let us off the hook.” He gravitated toward Astrid descending the stairs like she was a magnet pulling him in. As if just the sheer act of kissing her wasn’t enough to make him think he was living in an amazing dream, his mind shifted once again to their marriage bed. How his lips yearned to kiss the column of her neck and beyond. “Somehow he figured out we hadn’t yet…y’know—” Hiccup laced his fingers together.

Astrid laughed softly. “If you wouldn’t have acted so obvious whenever he brought it up.”

“How am I supposed to act when talking about…that?” Most Viking men talked quite bluntly and with no shame about the makings of their marriage bed. If Hiccup was supposed to start talking that openly about his and Astrid’s privacy, then he’d rather stay in his perpetual awkward state.

Astrid sighed with a little grunt and met him in the middle of the room. “I don’t know.” Her hand found his shoulder while her other lingered on his chest, teasing the skin between his loosened shirt ties. “I’m happy we became husband and wife completely.”

Hiccup felt the breath in his lungs shudder in delight. His hands found her hips. Astrid snaked arms around his neck as he drew her closer. “Me too.” He couldn’t help the soft smile that crossed his lips. “Gobber excused us from our duties.”

Astrid grinned, twirling a lock of his hair around her finger. “That means we can—”

“Go fly Toothless farther again--Ow!” Hiccup retreated into a defensive position when Astrid’s fist smacked his shoulder. “What was that for!?”

Astrid crossed arms over her chest. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m competing with a dragon for your affection.” Her mouth was an unamused straight line, but her eyes still held a twinkle.

“Toothless can’t give me this,” he replied in a deep suave tone. He pulled her by the biceps, planting a gentle peck on her lips. He shrugged a shoulder, looking thoughtful. “I mean, he could but it’d be way slobberier.”

Astrid’s grin was back. “I can hit you again, if you’d like?”

They dissolved into laughter until the moment had passed.

“What’re we going to do about the dragon’s nest?” The question sobered the mood and laid a heavy blanket of burden around them.

Hiccup frowned. “I don’t know. Not yet, at least.” The fear that clinched his heart when the massive dragon emerged from the pit returned, but that was nothing compared to losing Astrid off the back of Toothless. He could still feel the sensation of her sobbing in his arms and the fierce need to protect her that had awoken inside him.

Caressing her cheek, he vowed to her with all that was inside him, “I promise, I’ll protect you.”

Astrid search his eyes then shook her head, determined and strong as the Astrid he knew. “No, Hiccup. We protect each other.”

They held each other there in the middle of the living room, the promise bonding them together. Hiccup never knew he could feel this intensely for anything, but as they stayed there, he knew without a shadow of doubt that he’d formulate a plan to protect Berk and the dragons and Toothless. But most of all, the girl that he loved.

***

Writer’s note: It finally happened! I’d gone back and forth ever since I started this fic with whether I’d have them consummate the marriage during this fic. As the story progressed, it felt like it should happen. I’m not completely satisfied how some of this chapter came out. There were two moments that I’d been working up to and I felt I didn’t emphasize them enough. But I’ve been working on this chapter for like nearly a month now and if those parts hadn’t improved yet, then they probably weren’t going to. I’m happy with how the story is playing out and there’s so many more big things that are about to happen!

Thank you to all y’all who are keeping up with this story! I really hoped y’all are getting the same enjoyment I’m getting from writing it <3

Tags: @martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @drchee5e @celtictreemuffin @hey-its-laura-again

#httyd fanfiction #hiccstrid #arranged marriage au #the home we built together

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katiekoff · 5 years ago

Text

Strangers Or More (Muriel x fem!MC)

The thing is finally here, thanks to my betas.

@collective-laugh here it is :)

What do we have here? Here we have Muriel, we have my apprentice named Lynn, we have pre-canon, we have a hint of romantic attachment, and we have mine explanation about Muriel’s fears of touchings.

Link to the AO3 here.

Enjoy!

Words count: 7 663 || SFW

Summary: They’ve met already - long ago, before the plague came. He knew her - long ago, before she died and got burnt. She looks at him - right now, and right now they are strangers to each other. But… Are they strangers or more?

“Don’t touch me!”

She froze.

“Okay, I won’t,” - her pale hands soared up, palms out. He didn’t see it, but he knew – a thin scar snaked there, above the right elbow. And another one, more wide, more uneven, on the right shoulder, descending to the shoulder blade.

He shook his head and tried to reach the deer, but pain, piercing his side, made him moan.

“Let me help!”

“I don’t need any help from you.”

Looking into her surprised, bewildered and stubborn eyes the color of young spring grass, he understood: she wouldn’t leave. Lucio was stubborn, but this girl could easily compete with him.

Muriel hated Coliseum. He hated Lucio. He hated his clothes, in black and red, which “should bolster his ferocity,” according to Lucio. Muriel hated to kill, and he hated his rivals too – just because he had to kill them.

But, most of all he hated himself.

For his inability to resist Lucio.

For putting Asra in danger.

For the rage that blinded him during the fight.

For the red mist that blanketed his eyes, when he became, according to the same Lucio, “a real gladiator.”

Because of it, he didn’t always remember how he left the Coliseum.

And later one more item was added to this list: for almost killing a young doctor, whom Lucio had sent to deal with his wounds.

Lucio cared for him, oh yes, as one did for a sword or axe. He sent his doctor to him to heal and bandage his wounds, if Muriel had been getting hell - not that this happened often, it was rare that an opponent managed to wound him. Oh yes, Lucio also cared about Muriel’s weapons – he never tired of reminding that his axe, his butcher’s axe, should be sharpened and perfectly balanced. And one day, when they forgot or maybe didn’t have time to sharpen it – all weaponry workers disappeared. Muriel preferred not to think about what had happened to them, to people who dared to make Lucio angry.

He became used to Lucio’s talkative fat doctor: to his bouncing gait, to his sweaty wet hands, to his bleating voice – he was so scared and always babbling nonsense while he put the uneven stitches in Muriel’s wounds with shaking hands. One day Lucio probably decided that palace doctor shouldn’t fiddle with the gladiator – or, maybe, it was the doctor who persuaded Lucio to find someone else for this risky work.

And it was risky. And almost turned out to be the last job for the new doctor – for the young girl with green eyes the color of the young spring grass.

For sure, Lucio didn’t tell her about rage that seized him, - oh, was it worth mentioning such a trifle? For sure, Lucio didn’t tell her that she should approach him slowly and cautiously. What did the Count say to her, actually, how did he make her to go to the dusty arena, that smelled of sweat and blood, with the dead bodies, lying there, which had not even been removed yet?

Muriel didn’t know that. He also didn’t know that the small figure, approaching him so fast, is a doctor, not the late rival. Moaning through his teeth, he got up heavily – this time, after all, he was injured badly – and somehow indifferently thought that Lucio was gone mad, sending a woman against him.

Muriel didn’t see her face, didn’t notice how she was dressed – the red mist still blanketed his eyes and the hate still boiled in his blood – he only felt magic that began concentrating around her. His body reacted itself: forgetting the wounds, he rushed to her with a swift jerk and grabbed her by the throat – it seems, he could break her neck with just one finger – and then he threw her back like a rag doll, just like Asra occasionally did several years ago (for ages ago, it seems). And only then, just before the throw, he met her gaze – he met her surprised and bewildered eyes.

She fell on a pile of debris, raising dust and sand in the air, and when Muriel – already surprised himself – found her with his gaze, she lay on her stomach, awkwardly bending her arm under her, and blood flowed down her back. And although rage left him at the sight of a thin stream of blood flowing down her hand into the sand, he didn’t remember how he got to his hut and what the angry Lucio shouted after him.

***

“I know who you are.”

Again, this surprise in her eyes, these bewilderedly frowning brows. He almost didn’t listen to her explaining about her amnesia, about three years that she only remembered. Why?

“I know that, too.”

He felt her curious look on himself while she washed the blood from his body, and he tried to sit firmly, though all he wanted was to push her away, to order her not to touch him, to drive her out the door so that she could forget about his existence. Her touch made him tremble and clench his fists, forcing himself to sit calmly.

“I’ll heal you now, ok?”

After that time, Lucio didn’t call him for quite some time – Muriel managed to recover from his wounds and found out (not without the help of Asra, of course) that the girl had survived, and everything was fine with her. He even began to hope that after this Lucio would forget about him, but that was too naive.

Staying on the arena and looking into wolf’s sad yellow eyes, Muriel somehow remembered another’s eyes – surprised and bewildered, that he dreamed sometimes after the last fight. He expected the animal to attack, and understood that it would be not so easy to deal with it: wolf was huge, nearly the human height. Lucio eagerly shouted something about cowardice from his seat, shouted that Muriel should kill the beast, and the crowd was noisy, and the wolf … just sat in its open cage and looked at him. And it was only when he came closer that Muriel saw that it was starving, its fur was dirty and there was wound on its paw – and then he couldn’t stand it.

He didn’t hear, what Lucio shouted to him, he didn’t hear, what the crowd chanted while he cut a path through the Coliseum – for himself, for them. The blood pounded in his ears, and all was blurry before his eyes – it was a sure sign of approaching rage, and this time the rage was directed at him, at Lucio. Muriel knew that this wouldn’t lead to anything good – if he killed Lucio, the city, perhaps, would breathe freely, but then what? He might be executed on the spot, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing. But what if they came for Asra? And he continued to chop the thick wood gates – with all his rage, all his hatred, all his despair; continued to chop it with his perfectly balanced and sharpened butcher axe.

When he found himself at the doors of his hut, the wolf was still with him. There was no one behind them, and Muriel breathed a sigh of relief, but immediately felt the panic. What would happen now? Lucio wouldn’t leave him alone, he’d find him, he’d make him fight again, more violently this time. And what… what if he will hurt Asra? The wolf licked his hand – exhausted, weak, barely holding on its feet – and Muriel decided that he would do anything to not return the arena. Before letting the wolf in the hut, he thought that it would be perfect if all the people just forgot about him for good.

***

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“What sort of things?”

“What’s your favorite animal?”

Her questions cornered him. They were such a childish, simple, and she looked at him with amusement and curiosity, and he just didn’t know what to say.

“Stop asking weird questions.”

That very evening the hut door opened – Muriel expected for Asra, but instead of him he saw… that girl. She looked at him with warily but without fear, and it was he who was petrified, frozen to the floor, where he sat near the fireplace.

“Lucio sent me,” she said. “He’s not angry with you. Well… not anymore. He said you must be prepared for the next fight.”

A small bottle of golden liquid appeared from the spacious bag, and when she came closer and put the bottle on the table, he smelled a faint raspberry scent.

“Lucio said you needed something to recover your strength. And I barely found your home.”

“I don’t need anything,” he said. The girl raised an eyebrow a little and looked at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

“I won’t leave until you drink it,” she said. – “The best way is to add it to the tea. I spent all evening parsing the recipe, so do it. Drink it.”

She put her bag on the table, pulled out a chair and sat with her arms crossed on her chest. Muriel understood that she would not leave until she reached her goal. He sighed and got up awkwardly, rubbing his neck. Sat up on the bed. Sighed. Gathered his thoughts.

“I don’t need this.”

Instead of answering she pushed the bottle towards him.

“How are you going to fight? Lucio said you were weak.”

Was it just him or… there was disgust in her voice? He looked up at her and saw that she was looking at an axe thrown in a corner, - with disgust, almost with hatred.

“I’m not going to fight. I’m not going to kill,” he said.

“Aha. You didn’t kill anyone, did you? Never. Not once.”

Muriel scowls.

“I won’t kill anymore. You can say that to Lucio.”

Saying this was more difficult than he expected, and he felt the panic overtake him again.

“Oh? Where does such a humanity come from?” her mocking voice distracted him. Muriel looked at girl incomprehensibly. She was weird – she was not scared of him, she looked right in his eyes with this unreadable face. And though he felt a wave of hostility and contempt emanating from her, but there was not any bit of fear – and this after what he did to her.

“I have never wanted to kill. You can ask Lucio why I did this.”

The last words burst through his teeth along with the anger that began to boil in him. All of this was too recently, too close; just a few hours before, he’d gritted his teeth in rage – and now it was returning.

“I’m asking you.”

“Go away.”

“No. Drink it.”

Muriel clenched his fists so that he thought he would pierce his palms through. Well, if she didn’t want to leave, then it would be him who left. It was dangerous to stay near her; he was afraid that he would not be able to control himself, that he would fall apart again, that he would hurt her — again. But when he stood up and rushed to the door, she was already there.

Scowling, crossing her hands on her chest, lifting her head belligerently - she stood there, and in her eyes he saw that she wouldn’t budge.

***

“He killed the Heart of The Forest.”

“The Heart of The Forest?”

“Dead deer, there in the forest. It is supposed to be the guardian of the forest. Keep it safe. And now it’s dead, and I couldn’t save it.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“It’s dead. I had to save it. That sounds like my fault.”

When she repeated that it wasn’t his fault, he looked up on her, surprised by the anger in her voice. She looked at him – angrily and indignantly.

“That’s Lucio’s fault,” she said, and he realized that she wasn’t angry with him, but with Lucio.

“Get out of my way.”

The girl kept silent. She stood stock-still in front of the damned door, kept silent and looked at him with her sharp, piercing eyes. Muriel took a deep breath and clenched his fists.

“Please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh?” she said. “And when you tried to kill me, you also didn’t want to hurt me? Just … kill me, painlessly, right?”

Muriel staggered back from her, feeling shame, fear, guilt … but not the fury that seemed to recede before the rest of her feelings. How could he explain to her so that she understood?

He sat on the bed and covered his face with his hands, gathering his thoughts.

“I-I didn’t want to… I didn’t know who you are, I didn’t see…”

“You did a great job being the blind.”

“No… No, wait. I… I really didn’t want to hurt you. I mean I did want, but…”

He stopped midsentence being absolutely confused. She kept silent too, never leaving her place at the door, and Muriel felt her gaze burning a hole in him.

And he could not stand it. He told her. Everything. About this rage and fury, and how he hated the Coliseum and Lucio, and why he continues fighting, and why he continues killing. And that he won’t return there again.

When he looked up at her, discouraged by the silence, she sat at the table, her chin in her hands, looking at the fire in the fireplace. He saw the scar – fresh, reddish, coming down from under the short sleeve to the elbow, and he hated himself once again.

“You are the killer. You killed before the Coliseum.”

What?

He raised his eyes on her, opened his mouth about to say something, and shut it immediately. She looked at him with such a piercing gaze as if she could see right through him – and Muriel realized that there was something more behind that weird question, something bothered her, made her feel pain.

“What are you talking about?”

“You are from the South, aren’t you?”

“How do you know?” before that Muriel didn’t think that he could be so surprised. But it seems this girl decided to prove to him that he was wrong.

“You killed family there. With your axe. Will you deny it?”

He shook his head.

“It’s ridiculous. I don’t know why do you…”

“Don’t you lie to me!”

He didn’t expect such a burst of anger from her. He didn’t expect her rush to him. Didn’t expect her spit out these words in his face. Didn’t expect her to grab him by the shoulders and shake him – well, try to shake him. And maybe that’s why he grabbed her hands more tighter than he should, without calculating his strength. She hissed, recoiling from him and struggling to break free of his grip, and Muriel – scared, confused – could only watch the bruises pouring on the pale skin of her wrists.

“You killed my parents! You told about it by yourself, you told how you killed them, and I know everything!”

Her voice broke and she fell into a chair, rubbing her wrists and with her head bowed.

“I have never killed anyone,” he said slowly, trying to break through her anger and despair. “Never. Before I met Lucio. I was born in the South, but I left it as a child. Do you hear me?”

She looked up at him with disbelief.

“A child?”

***

“No.”

He looked at her with some kind of awe and the time seemed to freeze. Here, she did the step and stood before him – a year has passed. Here, she stubbornly bent her head a little and moved her fingers, calling the magic – two years have passed. Here, the ruffians burst out laughing and said something that he didn’t hear – three years have passed.

“Wh-What are you doing?”

She didn’t turn to him, warily watching the ruffians.

“I’m protecting us.”

She believed him. Muriel didn’t understand why she believed him, but she did, and now she sat at the table, clutching a cup of hot tea as if her life depended on it. He sat opposite, looking at her hands – a moment ago she removed bruises left from his fingers in one motion. He hurt her. Again.

“My name is Lynn.”

He flinched in surprise when she broke the silence.

“Muriel. This is Inanna.”

“So, you ran away with her?”

Muriel nodded and stroked wolf’s head. His eyes found the bottle with the potion, still standing on the table.

“If I give her that potion, will she recover faster?” he asked, opening the cork gently.

“Do you still think that it’s a medicine?” Lynn grunted, taking the bottle from him carefully.

Muriel tensed when her fingers touched his hand: after all he has done to her, he was afraid that her only touching could make him hurt her again.

“Is this a poison?”

“I don’t know how he managed to convince me,” she said. “Rather, I know, but…”

Lynn sighed and felt to silence. Stroking Inanna’s head, Muriel patiently waited while she found the right words.

“He sounded so earnest,” she said finally. “I’ve never encountered him before, and then… Some man has appeared, Brand or Brond, I don’t remember. He was fat and nervous. He said the Count wanted me at the palace. How did he even find about me?”

“That… man. The small one? With the bouncing gait?”

She nodded.

“He is Lucio’s doctor. He… used to bandage me. Sutured my wounds, sometimes,” Muriel said grudgingly.

“Sorry, but he did a shit job,” she said looking at his scars.

“He was scared,” Muriel shrugged.

Lynn snorted, and Muriel was sure he knew what she was thinking: you nearly killed him too?

“Anyways, Lucio offered me a job. He said, everyone knows that I healed well and so on… He said, the job isn’t hard, I just need to heal his favorite gladiator from time to time, because his doctor is tired.”

“So… You are a healer.”

“The damned good one,” she answered. Without boasting, just stating a fact. “If it was me who healed you, these scars wouldn’t be an option. …Well… After you… After that time when you… Anyways, I woke up in the palace, there was my friend who healed me, and Lucio. He said, it was an accident and if I still didn’t change my mind, his offering remained valid.”

She shrugged.

“I didn’t change my mind. He promised me a good money, and I wanted to deal with my house, and… So, he sent for me a carriage today, after lunch. He portrayed the sympathy so talentedly, he staged a whole performance – said that it was my friend who told him about me, and that I was from the South, and that my parents were killed, and that he was so, so, so sorry. He said that it was you who killed them, and that you were killer before becoming gladiator. And that you were from the South too, and that you told him how you killed the family near the Tarske, there was such a forest, you know? I was pissed off, and he apologized for not checking, and now it’s probably painful for me, and “ooooh, I feel for you soooo much, but he is a beast, he will never chaaaange, I can only keep him in check on the arena, oooooh, you pooor little thiiing”… And… Here we are,” she nodded at the bottle.

“He was right in one thing,” Muriel said. “I’m dangerous.”

It seemed to him that Lynn didn’t hear him – biting her lip, she looked at him with an anxious and thoughtful expression.

“I wonder when Lucio will decide to check how I did the deed?” she asked. “I could not find you. Or change my mind. Or you could… neutralize me.”

“You mean… kill you.”

“To kill me,” she agreed after the pause.

A few more minutes of silence. Muriel practically saw her thoughts jump feverishly. Oddly enough, but he didn’t care – if Lucio killed him… well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“If I were an impatient narcissistic bastard, I would like to check how my favorite toy is doing as early as possible,” her voice made him jump.

“Then go away.”

“You will go with me. We should hide you until we find a way.”

“No. It’s dangerous.”

“I’m already in danger,” she grinned sadly. “If he doesn’t find your dead body, he will realize that you didn’t drink anything.”

Oh great. Wonderful. As if he lacked any concern for Asra. Meanwhile, Lynn walked around the cabin, absentmindedly examining the modest furnishing.

“Let’s do it. He won’t looking for you at my place. Let him decide that you are gone, and meanwhile I… I will ask Asra for help, he is a good magician, and maybe we’ll come up with something.”

“Do you know Asra?” his throat became dry from surprise. Just… how? How is this possible?

“He is a friend of mine I mentioned before,” she said. “Do you know him, too?”

“He is a friend of mine I mentioned before,” Muriel grinned sadly.

***

“You can stay.”

He knew he should leave her room. Now. Immediately. He knew it and almost turned to the door. But…

“This room doesn’t look very secure.”

He watched her cast a spell on the window, and then approached it unexpectedly for himself – to touch, to feel this light, weightless magic of hers. And then she touched his hand, and began to talk about how they would deal with this mess – together, and he almost believed her. Almost forgot, who he was.

He failed in talking her out. The stubborn, unbearable girl whirled through his hut, scattering the furs, breaking the cup and throwing carvings into her bag, giving the impression of a hasty gathering. And then she grabbed his hand and tugged him to the night forest, like he was a child, who she decided to defend.

“I can handle myself.”

“I can run away.”

“I’m nothing but a problem.”

“Asra can help me.”

Nothing.

It seemed, Lynn just didn’t hear him: she still tugged him stubbornly, and though he could break free – she was much weaker than him, after all – he followed her obediently. And when they barely stumbled upon the guards armed to the teeth, who were pushing through the thicket with a noise, she hissed barely audibly: “I told you.”

They reached her house through the dark and empty streets, and it turned out to be small, with a magical goods store on the ground floor. She tugged him inward, and he, not having calculated, first hit his head on the lintel, and then, turning awkwardly, dropped some bottles from the showcase.

“I should leave.”

“Don’t you tired of it?”, she asked, lowering the dense curtains and setting a fire in the fireplace with one movement of her hand. “You should go to sleep, it was… pretty busy today.”

“Inanna…”

“She will be fine. You said outsiders won’t find the cave. I’ll buy some meat for her tomorrow and bring it to her.”

Lynn rubbed her face tiredly.

“It will be ok. I still need to return to the palace and tell Lucio that I didn’t find you. Hopefully I will be able to find Asra there. What does he do there?”

“I don’t know.”

Lynn shrugged and pushed him to the narrow staircase leading to the upper floor. And when he entered the room, he saw a bed. One bed. The big double bed, but the one damned bed.

“Well, sorry?”, she spread her hands, seeing the expression on his face. “I didn’t think that I would have to hide escaped gladiators.”

“I… I will go. This was a stupid idea.”

Just how can she move so fast? She was just standing by the bed, and already - instantly! - appeared at the door.

“You need to stay here for a couple of days. A few days. Not for a month, not for a year, not for life. Do you understand?”

He stood opposite of her and looked at her – she was so stubborn… like a donkey. Lifted chin, clenched hands – why did she even decide to protect him? As if he meant something. As if he were a worthy person to protect.

“Why?”

***

“Muriel! Muriel, wake up, it’s ok!”

Through his dream he felt her little palm on his shoulder, he heard her flurried whisper, and the next moment he jumped, huddled in the corner, trying to get away from her as far as possible.

“What are you doing? I could have hurt you!”

“But you didn’t. I’m not scared of you, Muriel.”

She understood what was his question was about. She shrugged, took his hand – flinched herself when he twitched – and sat on the bed, pulling him along. So that he couldn’t run away, he guessed.

“Who do you think would have killed my parents?”

Muriel twitched his head bewilderedly – somehow her question was unexpected.

“How would Lucio know who killed my parents?”

“Do you think it’s him?” Muriel asked.

“Tell me he wouldn’t.”

Muriel snorted. Lucio burned the cities, he destroyed everything in his path, and there was nothing he couldn’t do.

“I was here,” she said and Muriel frowned uncomprehending. “Here, in Vesuvia. My parents sent me here, to my aunt, because… I don’t know, they said something about the weather, and that it was not going to be for long, I don’t remember exactly. I was five, I think. And then my aunt got a letter and said that they were gone. I don’t know whether Lucio killed them and why he did this, if he did, but how, goddammit, did he know about it?”

“He fought on the South,” Muriel said. “I would be expecting him to have slaughtered all the villages”.

“I don’t know what happened to the others,” Lynn said. “And I don’t know what to think about it. But yet I think that I don’t want to give you to such a person.“

“You don’t have to. I can hide in the forest.”

“He will be looking for you right there.”

She stood up off the bed and pulled on her hand – he realized just then that he still held her warm little palm in his, rough and calloused. He opened his fingers, and Lynn went to the head of the bed, starting to make the bed.

“If I put on an act correctly, he will believe that I hate you and that I am very, very sorry that you weren’t at home.”

“It’s dangerous. It’s foolish to take a risk because of me”.

She sighed and turned to him, resting her hands on her hips. Even in the dark he noticed her eyes flashed.

“Can’t you finally understand? Even if you run away, I will have to return to the palace. I will have to put on an act before Lucio, otherwise he will find out that I found you – and let you go. But if you run away and he finds you, he won’t leave you alone. I don’t think he would kill you after all that happened, he would just…”

“He will just make me kill everyone.”

“Well, I don’t know how about everyone, but you get the point,” she grunted. “I assume the decision is done. Now, go to bed.”

He didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. Weariness piled on him too abruptly, and he even thought that she casted a spell on him – maybe she did, who could know? When he laid down and moved as far as possible, barely trying to breath, he felt his cheeks and ears burning. And it seemed Lynn saw it – she snorted, climbing under the blanket, and then turned her back to him and fell silent on the other end of the bed.

He often had this nightmare – the Coliseum, bloodied Asra, the triumphant Lucio and he, Muriel, standing over his still living friend with an axe in his hands. Sometimes there were changes: sometimes Lucio made him brutalize Asra, torturing him, killing him slowly and cruelly, and Muriel, being in the power of that nightmare, couldn’t help but obey.

“You were a bad servant,” Lucio said to him. “You will repay your escape. You will chop off Asra’s arms and legs by yourself. And then maybe his head, if I like.”

Muriel hated him. He stood so close that he could try to reach out, and here he was, a man who embodied in himself the most disgusting things in the world.

“Muriel.”

He shut his eyes and shook his head. Don’t listen to Lucio. He couldn’t kill Asra, he had already made so many mistakes…

“Muriel.”

“I won’t!”

“Muriel!”

Lucio grabbed his shoulders and began to shake him, and then Muriel could – to grab his hands, to squeeze them tight, to push him away… And then he realized that he woke up. And that the hands he squeezing belonged to a disheveled, sleepy, worried Lynn.

He let her go abruptly – perhaps too abruptly, so that she almost fell out of bed - jumped up, tangled in a blanket, and turned to face the door. “Run, leave, disappear for good”, pounded in his head. Again. Again! He hurt her again, he is dangerous for her – and for everyone else, he really is a beast, he must be alone, forever. He must run, anywhere, far from people, far from her, far from…

Warm fingers squeezed his wrist and he twitched, jumped to the window, and she almost fell off the bed again, leaning on her free hand in time, but she didn’t open her fingers clenched around his hand.

“Let me go.”

He stopped himself, scared of his own voice – it sounded like something between a roar, a moan and a wheeze.

“No.”

She got off the bed and stood next to him, still not letting go of his hand. She raised her head, and he felt shame and self-hatred again – she was so small, just above his elbow, and he had hurt her several times in just one day.

She looked at him – seriously, sternly and understandingly. There was no fear in her eyes, and he could not understand why.

“Stop it,” she said. “It isn’t your fault that you have nightmares. It isn’t your fault that you are angry. I am a healer, Muriel, and a couple of bruises isn’t something that is worth worrying about right now.”

“I did hurt you. I will hurt you again. That’s all I can do.”

“You are on edge. You aren’t used to dealing with people. When you become more calm, everything will be better, you’ll see.”

“No,” he said and finally pulled his hand out of her tenacious fingers. “This is who I am. I can only kill, I can only hurt, that’s all I can do. This is me. Let me go.”

“You will stay here. You will wait for Asra. And then we’ll decide how to help you. Together.”

“I don’t need any help! I need to stay alone!”

Muriel managed to think that it was a good thing that she closed the windows because his voice - almost a scream - would probably have been heard on the street. And then he looked at Lynn and realized that now she was really angry. He saw it in her narrowed eyes, in her clenched teeth, by the way she grabbed her blanket.

“Fine!”, she said through set teeth. “You will stay alone. Here. But if you think that I will let you leave this house, you are mistaken. I have never seen a person who needs help more than you do.”

She left the room, slamming the door before he could answer.

***

“We shouldn’t be here.”

He felt Lucio in this cave. And so did she. A moment before she squared her shoulders and stepped into the darkness, he saw the very flash of obstinacy in her eyes.

“We can’t leave. Just stay behind me, alright?”

“He’ll crush you.”

“No. We can’t let him win. If we have a chance to stop him, we have to take it.”

Her voice sounded so confident, so calm – too confident and calm. She was afraid. And he – he was afraid as well. He could give up, wait for her outside, or even grab her and never let go. But he stepped into the darkness after her and reached for her warm palm.

“I won’t let you go in there alone.”

Of course, Lucio believed her. Of course, she found Asra. Muriel was not even surprised: during the time that they spent together, he managed to understand that the basis of her character is absolute, sheer stubbornness and obstinacy. And if she decided that Lucio must believe her, he would have believed her, even if she had danced in front of him in a fancy dress. And sure she could have searched the whole palace to find Asra.

And now they were sitting in a small room behind the store, drinking tea and kept silent. Asra kept thinking, tousling his fluffy curls, Lynn thoughtfully twisted a cup of fragrant tea, and Muriel just tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, to move as far as possible – it seemed to him that even the slightest touch at her snow-white skin would leave crimson bruises on it.

“I’ve got it!”, Asra lifted his head and waved his hand victoriously. “I’ve got it!”

Lynn looked at him silently, raising her eyebrows, and Muriel held his breath. Really?

“I can cast a spell on Muriel,” Asra said looking at Lynn. “I told you about it, do you remember? Forget-me-spell it is.”

She nodded slowly and squinted.

“Will it help? Will it make him forget?” Muriel couldn’t restrain himself.

“Yes.”

“Not really,” said Lynn simultaneously with Asra. “You know it won’t stay for long. You will need to cast it all over again.”

“There is no other way. Yet,” Asra said and shrugged. “It’s quite a simple spell and I decided to leave the palace anyways. I think Lucio will do without my services, since he can do without Muriel. I will live with Muriel until we find another spell or something.”

“It could work,” she agreed.

“Then I can go,” said Muriel, awkwardly rising from the round table. “As Asra cast this spell on me, I can go home.”

“I’ve always thought that this place is cozy,” Asra grinned and rose after Muriel. “And you are in such a hurry to go home, as if this is not the cutest store in Vesuvia, but the Coliseum.”

“I need to be alone,” said Muriel, shivering at the mention of the Coliseum.

“You should make an influence on him,” Lynn said tiredly to Asra. Muriel saw that he smiled at her and then bent down to kiss her on the tip of her nose. So are they… not just friends?

“You already realized how stubborn he is, didn’t you?”, he answered. “Almost as stubborn as you are.”

Asra put his hands on Muriel’s back and he felt the magic enveloping him like a cold mountain stream.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Asra nodded. “We can go if you didn’t change your mind.”

Muriel felt that Asra wants to stay and couldn’t blame him – there was really cozy here. Calm. He remembered he heard tinkling this morning – he didn’t have time to get to the kitchen when Lynn came out to meet him: she was tired, under her eyes there were shadows, and there was a teapot with fragrant tea in her hands. She smiled at him, and he remembered just then why she looked so tired – it was he who didn’t let her sleep well. It was he who pulled her into this mess. It was he who hurt her.

“I didn’t,” he muttered, and, already leaving her house, turned his head and said barely audibly: “Thank you.”

Staying on the street he heard her giggling.

“Anytime.”

***

“I don’t care. I’ll be a coward, if it means Lynn doesn’t die.”

“Muriel…”

He shook his head, trying to escape her understanding, sympathetic gaze.

“We’ll keep each other safe.”

Stubborn… like a donkey. He really wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t forget his past. Every time she took his hand, he remembered dark bruises on her wrists. Every time she pushed back her hair or lifted her hands, he saw a thin scar running down to the elbow, and he remembered her lying in the dust and sand with the bloodied back.

“I don’t know how to protect anyone! I just know how to kill!”

He didn’t know why Asra didn’t tell him about Lynn. He brushed aside him, told him that there was nothing to tell of, they were just friends and nothing more – but Muriel noticed that Asra began to visit the city more and more; he became more thoughtful, looking at the fire in the fireplace, and his face became quite soft, dreamy, and his eyes glowed a special way somehow.

Lynn herself came to his hut, too, and he didn’t understand why. When Asra was there, they sat at the table drinking tea and talking – precisely, it was Asra and Lynn who talked, and Muriel just moved to the far corner and withdrew into himself. When Asra was out, and she came, Muriel didn’t want to let her in (what if he hurt her again?), so he left his hut, feeding the chickens, chopping wood, and she sat nearby, occasionally breaking the awkward silence with questions or meaningless phrases.

“You shouldn’t come here,” he said to her one day.

“Why?”

He was silent. What could he say? Because he was afraid of hurting her? Because he still feels that rage sometimes? Because she makes him angry talking to him like he is an ordinary, decent person? Because Asra seems to forget about the rest of the world while speaking to her? Because this makes him feel angry too? Because this makes him feel jealous?

“I don’t need your help anymore. There’s nothing for you to do here.”

She was bewildered, he saw it in her eyes – green like a young spring grass. Bewildered, surprised, offended eyes – just stop, stop, stop looking at me like that!

“I thought we were… friends.”

“No.”

Minute silence.

“I don’t need any friends. And you are…. Not welcome here.”

He barely forced out the last words. And then he just watched as she walked away, and he hated and despised himself even more than usual.

And then the Devil dreamed to him and offered him a bargain.

***

Once he saw her in the city. Lynn examined a booth with the dried herbs, and he – once again – checked whether the Devil had kept his word. Asra told him that there wasn’t any other option, that the Arcana always kept their words, but… Muriel didn’t know if he could believe it. The seal still worked, though, and it seemed all of the city forgot about him, not only Lucio. And Muriel was glad with it, he was glad, really, until he saw her fingering bunches of herbs.

He froze looking at her hands, and she, feeling his gaze, turned to him. Smiled politely. Lifted her eyebrows a little. And asked:

“Can I help you?”

Muriel shook his head and turned into the nearest backstreet. She must forget about him immediately, and that’s… good. That must be good, isn’t it?

***

When Asra decided to show her Nopal, Muriel wasn’t surprised. He felt that Asra loved her, and loved much more than he could and wanted to admit. It seemed to him that she was taking away his only friend – that she avenged for his last words, unconsciously, not knowing that. And though Asra spread his arms, laughed frigidly and told that she seemed to see him almost a brother, Muriel was angry anyways.

Asra returned upset, although he tried to hide it. He habitually threw his bag on the bed, habitually zoomed the chair from the far corner, then he sat down, stretched out his legs and leaned back.

“Didn’t she like Nopal?”

Asra shook his head and snorted.

“She said there was too much desert there and that she missed the forest. Also it was too hot there and… Yeah, she didn’t like Nopal.”

Muriel grunted and said nothing. He wouldn’t like it either – he didn’t like the summer in Vesuvia, and it was much hotter in the Nopal.

“Why don’t we come up with something that would help people remember you?”, Asra offered, and Muriel flinched in surprise.

“Why?”

“You miss her, don’t you?”

“I-I… No. Not at all.”

“Then why do we constantly find ourselves near her store when we go to the city?” Asra asked and Muriel noticed mischievous flash in his eyes.

“It’s you who longing to the store,” Muriel said and got up from the table. “That’s enough, it’s late, let’s sleep.”

But then, making himself more comfortably on the floor, he barely audibly added:

“Besides, you said it is impossible to break the contract with the Arkana.”

Asra said nothing, but Muriel heard him laughing – it was very-very quiet laughing.

It took Asra quite a while to find something that would help people, as he said, remember Muriel. They didn’t understand why he didn’t forget him himself, - maybe because of their friendship, or maybe because myrrh, which helped to remember, was always in Muriel’s hut and in Asra’s bag. Myrrh. So simple, so elementary – and for so long he could not connect it with Muriel.

Muriel shrugged, grumbled, said that he wasn’t interested if it works, but he knew in his heart of hearts that he was… afraid. That it would work, that Lynn would remember him – and all he had done, and all he had said, and that he would see contempt in her glare. Or it won’t be any contempt – and then he will hurt her again, because there is no other option. He will hurt her again. So… maybe she doesn’t need to remember. Maybe it will be better this way.

It must be better this way.

He said that to Asra every day, but he kept up. And when Muriel almost agreed to experience myrrh, the plague came.

***

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you either. Do you remember me saying that already?”

In his hut, while healing his wounds, yes. Ages ago.

“It’s not about me. It’s never… I don’t matter.”

“Don’t say so. Of course you do.”

Warm palm. Sad eyes the color of the young spring grass. Silent, barely audible whisper.

“I trust you, Muriel.”

Blood on the sand. Bruises on the wrists. “You are not welcome here.”

“I don’t trust myself. I know how it ends – you, bloody at my feet, just like everyone else! Like… Like…”

Like the last time.

He must leave. Before it’s too late, before he ruins everything again, before he believes that he could live a normal life, that she really could feel something for him. He tried to pull his hand out of her fingers and met her gaze.

Frightened eyes the color of young spring grass. Warm palm.

Soft lips.

And the world around him has stopped.

Asra tried to find a way to revive her, to get her back, and Muriel thought that he’s only torturing himself and him as well. He almost hated her for what had become of his once merry friend – he almost stopped to eat and sleep, he returned to the palace and Muriel didn’t meet him for a long time. And then Asra burst into his hut and, panting, blurted out that he knew what to do. He tried to dissuade him – by God, he did all he could. He tried to explain that it wouldn’t be her – Muriel didn’t believe that one could return from the dead and still remain the same. She didn’t have a body, all that was left of her was only bones and ashes, and how, good heavens, may this become the same Lynn as she was before the plague?

“Anything is possible,” Asra said to him. “If you are willing to pay the price.”

Muriel couldn’t imagine what would happen to Asra after the bargain. What would happen to Lynn. He expected the worst, and when Asra burst into his hut after the bargain was deed, he thought that his worst fears had come true.

“She doesn’t remember. Anything. She doesn’t remember anything at all, Muriel, she doesn’t even know how to talk!”

***

“It was always easier to run away.”

“It was always easier to give up.”

“To live alone.”

“No one asked anything.”

“No one expected anything.”

“It was peaceful.”

“Then you showed up and I realized…”

“There could be more. Maybe.”

“May be.”

Asra moved to her house. Sometimes Muriel saw them on the streets – her pale face, blond hair, bewildered and surprised green eyes. She had the same face, the same figure, the same eyes, but something had changed in her – subtly, elusively. She learned to walk again, learned to talk again, learned to live for real, and Muriel thought that if they would remember him, if he could become decent man, if not for this load that pressed on his shoulders, then he, probably, would do the same – would learn how to walk, and talk, and live.

She re-acquainted with Vesuvia, studied magic and didn’t even imagined that somewhere in the forest, in his hut, which now so often seems empty, lived he, Muriel, forgotten by the whole world. And he got used to thinking that it would be better. That’s good. Let her live her life, let her laughing at the Asra’s jokes… let her falling in love with him.

And then she ended up in the forest, in front of him, and stubbornness, confusion and surprise were mixed in her wide eyes. He tried to drive her away, tried not to react to her, but…

“You need help. And I can help you.”

And he needed help.

And he needed her.

Very

Much.

#the arcana game #the arcana #the arcana apprentice #the arcana mc #muriel the arcana #the arcana muriel #muriel #muriel x apprentice #muriel route #muriel x fem!mc #the arcana fanfiction #the arcana fanfic #fanfiction #my apprentice #my writing #my translation #try my best

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meetthetank · 4 years ago

Text

Cruciamen Chapter 3: The Witch’s Cave

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Other Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), A2 (NieR: Automata), A4 (NieR: Automata), Emil (NieR: Automata), Kaine Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, genre typical violence, On the Run, Monster of the Week, 9S is a half demon, 2B and A2 are shapeshifter Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut in the future, inaccurate depictions of medical procedures, Fantasy Biology, A2 is Nonbinary

A2 had no idea how they fell asleep in the back of a carriage on a bumpy dirt road. Maybe Emil’s voice really did put them to sleep, because he was still chatting away to the horse when they woke up. Judging by the sun bearing down on them, it was about midday. They knick a wide brimmed straw hat from one of the piles of goods in the cart with them to mitigate some of the light. It’s serviceable, but they still shift so that they’re looking away from the sun.

In the time that they were asleep, Emil must have pushed his horse hard. The vast expanse of sand and arid savannah are replaced by great towering mesas and breathtaking canyons. Bands of clay and stone of varying colors tell the story of the earth itself and conceal its ancient secrets. Growing up in a lush forest, A2 only heard about these kinds of landscapes in fantastical stories told to them as a cub, and now they were in the middle of a legend themselves.

Emil guides Halua and the cart down a narrow canyon path. One side is a horrifying sheer drop into the river below, the other a vertical wall of rock. A2 braces their arms against the crates each time the cart wobbles or bumps over a rock. They want to shout at Emil to be more careful, but terror seizes their words in their throat. Somewhere in the back of their mind they find it funny that they regularly face off against horrors from another dimension, but a drop they could easily mitigate by flying terrifies them.

“You not a fan of heights?” Emil asks, looking back at them.

Gods, was this kid psychic?!

“I’m fine,” A2 snaps, shuffling back down into their makeshift nest. “We almost to your friend’s place?”

“Sure are!” he says, excitement clear in his voice. “Her house is just at the bottom of the canyon. We should be there in a few minutes.”

A2 scowls. Someone who lives in a place surrounded by walls of earth far from civilization of any kind always has something to hide, and someone with something to hide isn’t trustworthy. At least Emil wears his intentions on his sleeves, but this new person hasn’t even been named or described beyond Emil claiming that she’s his friend. The disarming quality of Emil could all be a setup.

They grip the hilt of their sword as soon as the cart comes to a stop.

Somehow, in an area that sees little to no rainfall, a grove of trees and lush grass grows at the bottom of this canyon. Maybe the constant water from the river and shade from oppressive sun makes living more manageable for plant life. Or maybe… It’s something else.

“I’ll be right back!” Emil announces. “I’m going to let her know she has company besides me. She’s not keen on strangers without warning.”

Then why bring me out here at all?! A2 thinks and grips their sword even tighter.

Emil hops out of the cart, gives Halua a pat on the snout, and strides into the grove with confidence. The crueler side of A2 wants Emil to turn and run screaming out of the trees just to prove their own paranoia right, but they can’t bring themself to wish harm on the kid. Not yet anyway.

Never one to sit idle (and never one to sit idle next to a horse of all things) A2 meanders off to a small pond nearby. It looks to be the end of the canyon river’s offshoot and probably contributes to the strange plant growth in the area. Murky, scummy water like this yields little to no hidden snacks in A2’s experience, but every so often they’ll find a large fish ruling the pond. They crouch in the mud and watch the water’s surface for the little shadows of insects or other water-dwelling critters. A few tiny mosquitoes and flies buzz around the stagnant water’s surface, but aside from those not much lives in the pond.

A large shadow darts across the scum-covered pond. A2’s hand shoots out on instinct, their claws primed and ready to tear through the flesh of an unsuspecting fish. Instead, their hand sinks into wet clay. They grunt in dismay, but the desperate wiggling of a terrified grub catches their attention. They curl their fingers with lighting speed and yank their arm back to examine their prize. The grub is about the size of their thumb and thrashes around with surprising vigor. Its slimy, mud-covered body is gulped down without a second thought. Grubs aren’t the tastiest, but it suffices.

Another shadow passes over A2 and the pond. Their eyes dart across the surface of the water, the instincts of a predator taking over. They watch for the smallest movements, any sign of life within the pond. Again, nothing stirs. Even the flies are gone.

A chill runs down their spine. The feathers beneath their hair stand on end. Someone is nearby. Someone is watching them.

The unnatural rustling of leaves makes A2 leap to their feet; just in time to see a boulder the size of Halua hurtling towards them. They dive out of the way as the rock slams into the pond, sending stagnant water flying out in all directions. A2 grabs their sword from the back of Emil’s cart as quick as they can as Halua snorts and paws at the dirt nervously.

A second boulder crashes to the ground next to them. This time A2 sees their assailant step out from the shadows to take advantage of their weakness. A woman, lanky and covered head to toe in filthy yellowed bandages, squares her shoulders at A2. A loose sky blue robe barely covers her body as it billows gently in the wind. In her hands she grips two identical black swords that curve wickedly, their jagged teeth glinting in the sunlight. Despite the size of their sword, A2 suddenly feels wildly outmatched in terms of raw weaponry. How have they never thought of carving teeth into this mass of iron before?

“Who are you?” the stranger asks in a calm yet clearly threatening voice. “What are you doing at my home?”

A2 opens their mouth to explain, but the woman looks at the agitated Halua and Emil’s cart. Her eyes widen when she realizes that Emil is nowhere to be seen.

“What have you done with him?!” she bellows, shifting into a crouching battle stance.

A2 hoists their own sword up, pointing it at the bandaged woman. “Nothing. He brought me here.”

She looks down at them, a sneer twisting her sharp features. “Bullshit,” she spits. “What the fuck did you do to him?!”

Before A2 can begin to explain anything, the woman leaps into a brutal attack. She soars into the air and brings down both swords on the spot where A2 once stood. If they hadn’t moved, their head would have been crushed under the weight that splits the earth they stood on. A2 retaliates with a mighty swing of their own, but the cumbersome weight of the blade makes their effort slow. The woman easily backs out of the iron blade’s reach, then shifts her balance to strike at A2’s legs with her twin swords. Her first swing barely misses but the second sword’s teeth dig into the meat of their calf. On instinct, A2 jerks away from the pain, but the sudden movements cause more of their muscles to be shredded by the cruel iron.

A2 snarls and slams their first into the woman’s jaw with enough force to push her back a few inches. They shove the pommel of their sword into her gut, making her gasp as the wind is knocked out of her. With their free hand they reach for the woman’s hair to bash her head in with their own skull, but she throws her palm into A2’s throat. They force themself not to cough or gag, but they can’t stop the spit and wheeze that escapes their mouth.

The woman throws herself and her swords at A2, not letting them have any time to regain their breath. They throw up their iron sword, using its immense size as a shield to buy themself a moment to recover. Again, the woman hops backwards to prepare another assault, but this time A2 is ready. As she bolts forward, twin blades primed to strike, A2 tucks their head low and rushes into the woman, dragging the heavy blade behind them. Just before the clash, A2 channels all their strength into a powerful overhead swing. The burns on their chest and gash in their leg scream in pain at the initial exertion, but once the blade reaches its peak, gravity brings it down. The woman nimbly dodges to the side, which A2 expects. They swing their sword in the direction she moved, forcing her to back out of the blade’s massive reach.

“Stop!!” A voice calls out from the sidelines of the fight, “Kaine! A2! Stop fighting!”

A2 makes the mistake of looking over at Emil waving his arms to get their attention. The moment they drop their guard, the woman, apparently named Kaine, rushes at A2 with blinding speed. Reacting as fast as they can, A2 lays their blade flat on the ground and waits until Kaine makes the mistake of stepping on it. The moment her foot hits just beyond the tip (and the moment before her swords cut into the bruised flesh of their throat) A2 yanks the blade skyward. Kaine’s body flies upward, reaching an impressive height before crashing back to the earth with a few choice expletives. At great pain to themself, A2 corrects the sword’s upward momentum to slam it back down on Kaine, crushing her beneath the flat of the blade.

“A2!” Emil screams, “Please stop!!”

Both fighters ignore the boy’s pleas. Kaine spits at A2, who points the tip of their sword at her jugular. All they have to do is stab and the fight will be over. Suddenly Kaine’s arm shifts, and in an instant A2’s eyes and nose are filled with stinging dirt. They stumble backwards, quickly trying to dig the tiny stones out of their face before Kaine can recover, but it’s too late. A2 blindly cowers behind their sword as Kaine repeatedly slams against it. They may be strong, but a continued assault like this will break their guard. The most they can do in the few seconds they have is blink away the dirt in their eyes and wait for an opening.

“Kaine! No!!”

A2 strains their body to jump backward out of range of Kaine’s swords while still keeping her in their range. Having seen each other’s brute strength, the clash devolves into one person trying to bait the other into revealing an opening to strike a single fatal blow. All A2 has to do is hit her once. Their blade is about the size of her body; one good strike is all it would take to break a few of her bones. However, Kaine aims for A2’s chest and legs, large targets that would cripple or kill them. Both focus entirely on the other, deaf to all but the blood thundering in their ears. For A2, their dance of brutality can only last as long as their body does. Their injuries make their movements slow and sluggish as they fight against two opponents, Kaine and the pain of untreated wounds.

Kaine shows no signs of slowing down as they rush in close after A2 misses another crushing overhead strike. They brace themself for what might be the final assault-

“ENOUGH!!” Emil shouts, his voice booming with unexpected power.

In a flash of movement the boy in bandages appears between A2 and Kaine, his arms outstretched, palms facing either combatant. A great blast of invisible force slams into them like a solid wall and sends both them and Kaine flying back several feet. A2 crashes to the ground, their sword flying uselessly away from them. They shake off the twisted feeling in their gut and stare at Emil, mouth agape.

What the hell is this kid?!

“Kaine!” Emil yells. “Would you just listen to me?!”

Kaine sits up and grumbles to herself. “Urh… Fuck’s sake, Emil. That hurts…”

“I brought A2 here,” he says, helping them to their feet first. “I found her-”

“Not a girl,” A2 interrupts.

“-In town this morning passed out by the well.”

Kaine scoffs as Emil offers his thin hand to her. “You’ve got to stop bringing wounded vagrants back here just ‘cause they tell you a shitty sob story.”

“She-... A2 wouldn’t let me help them for free. They can work off their debt in exchange for medicine and a place to rest.”

A2 watches in silence as Emil speaks for them. Typically A2 would rather speak for themself but they’d rather not risk saying the wrong thing in front of either Kaine or Emil. Before the fight their attitude might have been different, but now with all these new injuries, keeping their mouth shut is the better option.

Kaine glares at them over Emil’s shoulder, her dark eyes scrutinizing their ragged appearance and battle-scarred body. “...Fine. They can work.”

Emil sighs in relief and slips right back into his chatty habits. He all but bounces around his friend as she walks towards the entrance to her cave, regaling her with how he came across A2 and his other adventures. A2 stands in place, mesmerized by how these two wildly different people could get along so well.

Kaine looks back at them, a bored expression on her face. “Are you coming? Or are you just gonna stand outside all day?”

They nod, grab their sword, and follow her without another word.

The interior of the cave is about what A2 expects. A dank, winding path carved into the earth, lit only by a few torches burnt to embers. Several species of cave-dwelling plants are hung in pots that dangle beneath stalactites dripping a constant supply of water. As soon as A2 begins to suspect Kaine to be an insane cave hermit, they round a corner and enter a sunlit hole in the ground covered with lush vegetation and complete with a small hut made of chunks of wood. Animal skins sit in the sun, stretched out on tanning racks next to discarded crates of odd treasures A2 has no name for. Some of them look like outdated tools, others are strange gemstones or rocks. There’s even a statue of a forgotten god or two in the garbage.

Kaine fiddles with the locks on the hut’s door. Most of them are simple metal locks, but some of them have intricate runes that glow a bright purple when she waves her hand over them. A2 hopes all this security is only a desire to be left alone and not an attempt to hide something sinister. Then again, if it were the latter, A2 would be dead before they saw the hut.

The hut’s interior is cluttered with even more garbage. There’s barely enough room for the three of them to walk around. Kaine takes them through the kitchen first, and A2 is assaulted by the strong scents of spices and preservatives. Countless bundles of dried plants and meats hang by the window above jars of… things… stewing in opaque yellow liquids. Eyes, lizard feet, tongues and organs, even whole newts sit in a strange method of organization. Even more curious than this are the beautiful white flowers that glow in the dim light. They reach out to touch one, their finger brushing one of the petals, which stops glowing in response only to resume the moment they remove their touch.

“You can sleep in here,” Kaine says, pointing to a small room with only a cot against the wall. “Go ahead and settle in. I gotta talk to Emil for a second.”

A2 shuffles into the room, trying to keep their sword out of the way of Kaine and Emil. Only once the door shuts behind the two does A2 relax at all. They can’t place it now, but something about those two seems off. Their smell is wrong, not like anything they’ve smelled before. In fact, the whole hut smells the same, like the old books that sat with yellowing pages. Or like a pile of salt. Or perhaps both. Emil at least had the decency to try to cover it with herbs and spices, but Kaine seems the type to not take care of herself if she doesn’t have company.

They look at another discarded leather-bound book, its pages worn far past yellow and into brown.

Old, A2 realizes. They smell old.

#nier atuomata #nier fanfiction #fantasy au #fanfiction #A2 #Emil #kaine nier #Tanks fics

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