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gyuluster · 4 years

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the prince and the jackal | {f}

collab oneshot | fantasy! au | 11.8k words

“Because the prince of the earth can make you fall not only for nature, but the boy who rules over it.”

s u m m a r y : in the Kingdom of Terrae, you, a metalbender, believe in the deforestation to modernise the land. As a member of the Lumberjackals, you thrive on cutting down trees and stealing resources until you get caught by the Crown Prince, Choi Beomgyu, a lover and embodiment of the nature you wish to destroy. However, instead of imprisoning you for your crimes, Beomgyu decides to show you the beauty and wonders of nature, leaving you to doubt your beliefs, your identity, and your very feelings for the certain boy determined to change you for the better.

w a r n i n g s : prince! beomgyu, woodcutter! metalbender! reader, reader hates wildlife and all things nature, beomgyu is sunshine and flowers and everything good, shit ton of wildlife and fantasy stuff, bts kim line are part of the lumberjackals so are evil in this story i am so sorry y’all, beomgyu has a pet squirrel called jisung yes han jisung, kind of enemies to lovers not really but im pretending it is

p l a y l i s t : fairy of shampoo by txt | colours of the wind by judy kuhn | willow by taylor swift

a u t h o r ‘ s n o t e : yes i am back from the dead to bring this fic hello!! this is a collab with @soobmint @juunnies @bffsoobin @honeyju pls do read their parts too they’re so sexc <3 do lemme know what you all think and thank you for reading!!

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“And this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her.” — William Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey, 1798.

“ONE MORE BLOODY TREE, AND I’LL SCREAM THIS FOREST DOWN!”

You ignored the complaints of your comrades, trekking deeper into the forest.

The sun was nearly drowned out by the towering shade of the surrounding trees, and there remained a constant buzz of the animals, either scurrying away or chirping in the skies. The cut up logs strapped on your back was a huge burden, and slowed your steps as you trudged onto the muddied pathways, staining your boots.

“_____, how much longer until we go to the markets?” one of the men asked, exhaustion clear in his voice.

“Just a few more logs, Tae,” one of the woodcutters, Seokjin, answered, casting a side-ways glance at you.

“But we’ve already got so many!” the former whined, pointing to the goods over their shoulders. “We can make decent money today!”

Unsheathing your sword, you cut away at the vines in your path, masking your sight ahead. It must be here somewhere, you thought, eyes darting sharply to every flower and bush. It has to be.

“Haven’t you fools understood already?” a snarl resonated from the group. Your horse trotted past you as Namjoon, sat on top, brought out his machete, brutally slicing the branches of the towering trees. “The wood we’ve got won’t last us all year!”

His eyes blazed with a certain greed as he looked over you all. “We must find the Tree of Life,” he declared, strolling past you, cutting down the path. “One strip of its bark could bring us a fortune.”

You listened to his statements with raised brows, following in his steps. In truth, none of you had ever seen the Tree of Life. No one in the kingdom had for centuries — it had become something of a myth, a legend passed down from every earthbender to child of its origins, and its significance. You didn’t know the great specifics, but the whole group knew that if they were to obtain even a twig from the great tree, it could grant them millions worth of gold.

And that was something the Lumberjackals desired more than the wellbeing of an omnipotent tree.

Soon, the search progressed, your group cutting down a few Ebonies for its useful properties, but there was no heavenly legend welcoming you in all its finery. The sun was descending on the horizon, and although Spring was present, you were situated in the part of the forest where the gusts of the Ice Kingdom blew consistently in your direction. The cold was about to descend, and you were far from your home in the Metallum villages.

Taehyung, the youngest of the Kim brothers, held onto a nearby oak, all strength leaving him. “I don’t know about you, but I am not travelling any further.” He glared daggers at Namjoon, who showed no signs of stopping. “I’m setting camp here, and you can do nothing to stop me.”

Seokjin joined his youngest sibling, collapsing on the patch of grass beside the gathering of flowers as he shrugged off his work of the logs. “I vote a little rest, even if Joon does not understand its meaning.”

The said-man let out a scoff at those words. “You both are just bloody lazy!” He turned to you, eyes pinning you where you stood. “You’ll keep searching with me, right?”

You agreed, but when you saw the fatigue in your leader’s gaze you grabbed the reins from his horse, stepping beside him. “You need sleep, Joon,” you said, concern in your eyes. “I’ll do another search. You three stay here.”

Namjoon held your stare for a moment before swiping his leg over the back of the horse, jumping off. He handed you the reins fully. “Come back after dawn. Us three will take over from you.”

You had a right mind to challenge the amount of time he was making you explore, but you kept your mouth shut, heaving onto the animal. Dumping your logs of wood upon the ground, you dipped your head in farewell to the Kim brothers. “I will see you in the morning, boys.”

Taehyung waving excitedly as he set up camp, Seokjin going straight to bed upon his blankets, and Namjoon’s stare cold yet understanding, you cracked the reins as the horse began to gallop away from the oaklands, and deeper into the forest.

The moon barely lit the way as you delved deeper into the trees, the sounds of nature turning sinister as the owls began to hauntingly hoot, and the wildcats began to purr. You kept your sword close, in your hand as the other steadied your horse.

You let out a hard sigh as you commenced your searching. Sometimes, only when you were alone, you wished that Namjoon would snap out of his delusions. There was no Tree of Life, no invaluable source of fortune which would challenge the earthbenders and start their industrialisation. In truth, you only wished for a life more than just cutting down wood, but your leader’s promises could be much too enticing.

Perhaps he was right. Maybe with the metalisation of Regna Terrae the metalbenders would be able to progress. It was not like the Kingdom cared for the likes of you, nor the nature which brought you to existence.

Stupid, damned forest. What good had it ever done you?

Suddenly, you heard the harsh snapping of the twigs which wasn’t from your horse. In an instant you halted, pulling the reins as your eyes darted to every corner of the dark forest.

Silence.

You furrowed your brows.

The forest cannot be trusted. Even its silences were sinister and misleading.

Slowly, you got off your horse, tying the reins to a nearby tree. “Keep still, Aurum,” you whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

Patting the mane, you turned and followed in the direction of where the sound was heard, every step quiet and cautious. There was little light, you having to rely on your ears alone, and the hands which touched trunk from trunk. In moments like these, you wished you possessed a more useful power than mere metal manipulation — firebending would have been nice, but you supposed that luck had never been in your favour.

Seething, you held onto your sword tighter, sending a little rush of power from your fingers as it sharpened the steel. No one tailing you would survive in your hands.

You then heard a little sigh, and whipped your head to the direction. Gritting your teeth, you rushed to the place of the origins, anger rising. Swiping away the branches in your path, your boots were the only sound among the quiet hush of the forest, along with the slicing of your weapon. Whoever was toying with you will not leave your wrath.

Swiping away the plants, you finally found an opening of grass among the trees. Squinting, your anger surged to find a distant figure standing before you, all masked in shadows from the lack of light within your surroundings. It stood statue-still, matching your deathly quietness.

But the figure did not seem like it offered death. Nor anything so dangerous as you promised.

“Come out!” you shouted, taking a step forward. “I know you were following me!”

No response.

“Scared, are you?!” Another hesitant step. “As you should be!”

Still, only silence answered, and the soft crunch of the leaves underneath your boots. You took a deep breath, shining your sword from the moonlight. A scoff emitted from you, nerves disappearing. This should be easy.

With an aggravated roar, swinging your weapon, you thundered towards the figure.

You rushed into the moonlight pooling onto the grass, eyes intent with damage as you willed iron-like power from your veins, and into your hands, swirling around the fuller of your sword until it reached its tip, ready to burst onto the figure.

It was then the shadows moved.

A flick of his hand. A soft glow within the darkness.

And all of nature followed suit.

You were taken aback as the thousands of vines circulating the surrounding trees unwrapped themselves from their trunks, and snapped towards you in thundering speed. You had no time to take in their stems swirling around your feet, cutting off your run towards this certain figure. A gasp escaping, you were pulled back by the impact, and let out a further scream as you began to fall flat on your face. Then, even more shock reverberated through you as your feet were pulled upwards, shooting your body up until you were suspended from a tree branch, your one foot wrapped tightly in the vines.

Your world all upside down, you shook your head vigorously, feeling the strain of your one leg under complete control of the tree. The thrum of powerful magic of nature resonated through your body, ceasing you from moving your free leg and kicking any potential passerbys.

Craning your head backwards, you saw with horror that your sword was clattered upon the ground, too far away to reach from the air. Straining your hand towards the grass, you willed your magnetic force, trying to lure your weapon into your hand.

The sword would have ended up in your grasp if another surge of the same natural magic did not break its path, sending it back on the earth.

Enraged, you looked out to the dark, sight distorted. “Gods, just come out already!” you screamed, swinging slightly by your sheer force. “Stop hiding in the damned shadows!”

There was a flutter of little animals coming out from the shadows. “Ha!” you spat, reaching for the dark. “Only sending a few creatures to scare me? You’re going to have to work harder than that!”

When there was another round of silence, you laughed harshly to yourself. “That’s what I thought.”

This time, however, you were not greeted by their usual, quiet answer.

More vines slithered down your frame, pushing your hands together. You gritted your teeth as the gnarly weeds tightened around your wrists, stopping yourself from using your hands.

Glaring daggers at the darkness ahead, you spat at the ground. “Show yourself!” you roared.

Your threats were answered.

Responded in an unimaginable way as the figure stepped into the moonlight.

You could not suppress your reaction.

The most enchanting boy you had ever seen revealed himself from the shadows. You could clearly see him from the light, the soft, child-like features amplified by his undoubted beauty — his mahogany locks curled around his face, cascading over his forehead. His gentle eyes promised great amusement, more so when they landed upon you, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. He was adorned in a fine green gown, few assortments strapped on his belt as leather boots, etched in ink, covered his feet. A crown of flowers and leaves settled in his curls, emitting its own, fantastical glow among the darkness.

The smile curved wider at your widened eyes. “Why so speechless now, my lady?”

By all the gods. Even his voice sounded like the sweetest honey in all the hives.

“I have come before you, now,” he continued, deeply amused by your bewilderment. “I have stopped hiding in those damned shadows, as you said.

“Where is your anger?”

Well, that seemed to bring your rage all back.

“It’s still here, you bastard!” you hissed, struggling in the rope-like vines as you tried to swipe your hand across his face. He merely took a step back, completely out of your range.

“Even without a weapon you are a force to be reckoned with,” the mysterious boy voiced out, raising his fingers as magic sparked from the tips. Instantly the vines encircled your arms, pinning them to your sides as the weeds wrapped around you completely. You were like a human-sized caterpillar, cocooned in vines except you would not turn into a butterfly and rush away into the forest.

This nuisance before you would make sure of that.

A satisfied hum escaped him. “There we go,” he said. “Now you won’t be of any danger.”

“Who even are you?” you demanded, glaring daggers at the sight before you. Terrible shame that the sight was something you wouldn’t mind witnessing for the rest of your life. Even if it was upside down.

A hint of surprise exposed upon his features. “Oh, this is amusing, indeed.”

He took a step towards you, you catching the faint scent of...flowers and trees and fruit and honey. You couldn’t really figure out a perfect essence — if nature had a scent, then this boy embodied it. “I am surprised you know not of me when you wish to destroy what I own.”

You raised a brow, at eye level with him, despite the loopy image.

Then, the gears in your head turned, and you were struck hard with the realisation.

When you wish to destroy what I own.

“Oh gods,” you slipped out.

The boy smiled.

No, not just the boy.

The Prince of Regna Terrae — the heir to the Earth Kingdom.

Choi Beomgyu.

Maybe this explained his otherworldly beauty. Crown princes of the earth kingdoms were known to be blessed by nature, so adorned the finest features known to man. Standing before you now, you cursed yourself for not seeing it before.

And cursed yourself again for cursing at him. Multiple times.

Beomgyu saw your eyes moving a mile a second and spluttered out a soft laugh, raising a finger so you focused on him. “I am glad you have figured out my identity. Now we both know what we are.”

His next words did not possess much hilarity. “I, a prince, and you, a Lumberjackal.”

The declaration had you gulping. There’s no escaping this.

He was not wrong in the slightest — you were a part of the Lumberjackals — a group dedicated to industrialising the Earth Kingdom, and giving it a head start from the other kingdoms who did not possess the natural resources that this land contained. You prided on deforestation, the cutting of wood and, even to a certain extent, the consumption of animals. Although you never participated in the last activity out of pure shame, you knew the Kim brothers certainly did, and enjoyed it to great extent.

“Do you deny it?”

You tried to look away, but his gaze was a little too intense. Even if it was reversed. “I do not.”

“And what do you have to say for yourself?” he got out, and you could hear the pain in his voice. Could you even blame him? You destroyed what he held so dear.

Still. You were a metalbender. The desire for modernisation is in your very blood.

“I do what I must do, your Highness,” you grit out, struggling in your weedy cocoon. “It is the only way we survive.

“And I will not stop.”

The boy’s eyes widened a fraction, in pure disbelief. He could not comprehend this — how could one be so against the idea of nature? How could anyone be so resolute in the decimation of what they survived on?

Prince Beomgyu cocked his head, pursing his lips.

How could one hate a deity he considered so beautiful?

He said so himself.

“How?”

You blinked.

The boy continued. “How can you hate nature?”

His question took you by surprise — you did not really know the answer yourself.

It was not like you despised the earth in all its natural form. Sure, it brought you the air you breathed, the food you ate, and the water you drank. But what else had nature given you?

You soured upon seeing the Prince’s face. You did not possess the powers other Terrae citizens were gifted with. Your branch of magic was hard, unforgiving. Simply a practicality, only useful for finding resources and making weapons.

Where were your subservient vines? Where was your natural greatness?

With this in mind, you mustered up the most brutal expression you could offer to the boy before you.

“Because nature was not kind to the likes of me. So I shall not be kind to it either.”

This time, the Prince’s eyes widened even further, afraid they would pop right out of their sockets.

Once again, his mind was in a twist — how had his dearest accomplice, his most cherished friend, been unforgiving to his subjects? He would never consider himself sheltered, but this was something quite unheard of in his kingdom.

“I know you do not believe me, but this is the only explanation I can offer.” You paused, accepting your fate. “Untie me already so you can send me to prison.”

You felt something swirl beneath the boy’s brown eyes, irises sparkling with wonderment. His voice was soft, if not lost within his own thoughts.

“I believe you, jackal,” he said. With a final step towards you, he left little distance between the two of you, eyes at level with yours as you hung from the tree. “But I cannot be satisfied with it.”

Another blink, taken aback by his declaration. “Well...well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

Shocking you further, he curled a little smile upon his lips. “Well,” he started, and as the smile began to widen further, he knew just what to do.

No, he was certainly not satisfied with her accepted hatred.

“We can start by changing that.”

It was your turn for your pupils to dilate. Gods above. This boy seems one chop away from a stump.

“What do you mean?” you demanded, but the boy was already turning on his heel, looking to the surroundings. He fell to his knees, feeling the ground beneath him with his hands. “Your Highness, what are you doing?!”

He did not deem to answer your question, only counter it with his own. “Do you have a horse nearby?”

You looked at him, surprised he figured it out by merely touching the grass. “Yes, but…”

It seemed that he did not need to hear any more, as he brought a hand out, fingers stretching. A tendril of green power burst from his palm, snaking through the dark air beyond your peripheral vision. The Prince was focused on his conjury, and you wondered what in Terrae he was trying to do.

Then, you heard a distant neighing, and found Aurum following the green trail of his magic, eyes glowing slightly.

You tried to escape the tight cage of the vines. “Gods, what are you doing with my horse?!” you exclaimed. “She hates strangers!”

The magic disappeared, along with the glow in her eyes. You could tell she was confused at her surroundings, about to raise her hind legs at the boy who spelled her. “She’ll kill you!” you warned, bracing yourself to witness the death of a prince.

It was then Beomgyu stepped towards the horse, gaze sparkling with kindness.

His hand touched Aurum’s face.

With no small amount of shock, you watched as the boy whispered to your horse, stroking her muzzle. You had never seen her be so friendly to any human she’s made contact with — by Terrae, she even deigned to show attitude to you, who had fed and groomed her since she was a mere pony. How was she sweetening up to someone she had just seen?

Maybe she’s still under a spell, you thought with malice, but then a more honest thought came to mind, and it only made you angrier.

Or perhaps animals can be just as enchanted with him as humans can.

“What are you talking to her for?” you interrupted them, letting out an aggravated groan as the cocoon engulfed you tighter. “You’re sharing words with her as if she’d spread them!”

Beomgyu slid his eyes upward to you. “I was just asking Aurum if she’d like to have an apple.”

“No, I’ll give her one myself—” you tried to say, but then stopped short. “Wait. How do you know her name?”

He looked at you as if you had asked the most ridiculous question. “Because she just told me.”

You stopped struggling in the cocoon. “What did you just say? Aurum told you?”

Hands never ceasing his comforting upon the horse, he raised a quizzical brow. “Pardon me, jackal, but do you mean to tell me that you...you cannot talk to animals?”

Maybe you were not wrong to think the heir of the Earth Kingdom absolutely crazy.

He gestured to the world around you both. “Can you not sense each and every creature nearby? Can you not hear their heartbeats, in sync to their purrs and murmurs?

“Can you not hear the very trees breathe around you?”

You did not know what to say. Perhaps you did not understand his words, what he really meant by a tree breathing. Was that even possible? You thought it unimaginable.

So you offered him the only thing that remained in your mind.

“I have never felt these things.”

The hand upon Aurum’s nuzzle paused, unable to accept the statement which you offered him.

His suspicions were confirmed. Your hatred of nature and all the beings which it birthed had rid you of your powers.

He had seen this before — lost souls who had done grave wrongdoings to the earth, and as a consequence, their very instincts were snatched, right down to the basics. There was no shortage of Lumberjackals in the palace dungeons, and upon closer inspection, he saw that these woodcutters felt no connection to their surroundings. It broke his heart seeing the lack of attachment, the lack of desire for exploration and yearning for their powers, but he knew it could not be helped.

Whoever crosses nature would not be forgiven.

Still, when he inspected the confused, tired gaze of yours, searching him for any suspected lunacy, he just knew that he could not toss you in another old cell. This plan he had in mind could not occur through rotting in one place for the rest of your life.

“Worry not then, jackal.” He raised his hand, magic blooming from his palm. “I am going to change that.”

Whispering to your horse, he listened for a soft neigh before heaving atop her back, hissing at the reins and other controls tying her down. You watched with slight fear. “W-wait a minute,” you started, trying to squeeze out of the vines, but with no luck. “You’re not going to just leave me here, are you?”

Patting Aurum’s mane, he voiced out calmly, “I wish with my whole heart, but then my plan will not work.”

You pursed your lips, watching his eyes sparkle with mischief. “If you were not a prince, I would have cursed you.”

With a flick of his hand, a rush of magic travelled to your cocoon; you felt yourself turning on your front, hovering you upright as the power gravitated you back on the ground, loosening the vines.

“Not like that has stopped you before,” he merely countered as he observed you shrug off weeds in slight humiliation. “Now get on. We have somewhere to be.”

He waited a moment, sighing when you would not oblige. “Is something the matter?”

You wanted to say yes — gods, you wanted to scream at him to get off Aurum, leave you alone and let you cut trees in peace, but of course, that would be an impossible route to take. You still had no inkling of why the Prince of your kingdom was having mercy on you, and you would be quite the fool to exploit it foolishly.

With gritted teeth, you kept your complaints behind your tongue as you brought your foot on the stirrup, heaving upwards as you brought your leg to the other side, settling upon the horse. “Now,” Beomgyu began, looking over his shoulder. “There is no need to be shy. You may put your hands around me as the horse goes fast—”

“I shall be completely fine, thank you,” you interrupted him, brows furrowed. What was this prince even doing? You wondered whether he was a fraud. With that power you witnessed, though, you highly doubted it.

And his features. There is no way a commoner could possess such enchanting beauty.

Flustered, you soured even further.

“Are you ready, jackal?”

You grunted out a yes, which was enough for the boy to command Aurum to start.

The horse, against your expectation, began galloping much faster, and with a yelp you were nearly sent flying out of the seat. Your hands, on instinct, wrapped around Beomgyu’s waist, and when you realised what you had done you cursed yourself for obliging him.

You could almost hear his grin. “I told you!” he exclaimed over the noise of hooves clattering against the rocky mud.

If only you could slap the heirs of kingdoms. “Just take me where you have in mind!” you barked back. “I need to be back to Metallum at dawn.”

“That will be just enough!”

The horse swept past more trees, animals scurrying from your path as the moon lit the dim forest path. You held onto the prince for dear life, refusing to acknowledge the hard surface beneath his silk, his ethereal warmth radiating onto you.

“Hey, jackal?”

A sigh. “Yes?”

“Your horse’s name.” A pause. “Aurum.”

You looked to the trees whooshing past your vision. “What of it?”

Beomgyu whispered for the animal to slow down, scanning his surroundings for his destination. “’Gold’. A very ingenious name.”

He glanced at your irritated face, and smiled. “My mare is called Argenti.”

Your mouth parted at the little revelation.

Argenti. Silver.

Before you could say more on the matter, the boy stopped the horse, cooing at her and praising her for helping him. Swinging his leg over, he jumped off the horse gracefully. He fixed his flower crown before turning to face you, falling rather awkwardly on the grass.

A small laugh escaping him, you daggered him with your gaze as you stepped beside him, a hand on Aurum. Your stare lingered as he took a circle turn of the surroundings, moon almost winking at him as it journeyed in the blanket of night. After a while, Beomgyu pointed to the tree nearby you, stepping past you to palm its trunk. “Here we go.”

Fingers stretching, magic spluttered as it swirled into the thick expanse of the leaves, nearly covering the sky with their excess. The matter squeezed through, and brought out the hidden vines, tumbling down till they reached the roots. Grabbing onto the plants, the prince turned his head towards you, an offer in his eyes.

You hated how you understood exactly what he meant. “I am not going up with you,” you retorted.

“It’s my arms or the dungeon.”

Gulping, you swallowed down your irritation for him. Taking a step towards him, you maintained a safe distance as you made sure he was aware of your distaste. “Just get us up already.” Damn the gods for making him so aggravatingly beautiful, you thought shamelessly as you looked at him. “Your Highness.”

Perhaps he knew, for the little smile was back, wrapping his arm around your waist, and pulling you close. “That’s more like it,” he murmured out before willing his magic into motion.

Your breathing hitched as you were pulled rapidly upward by the vines, breaking through the surface of the leaves. You closed your eyes, feeling the scraping of the branches against your clothes until you felt yourself still, listening only to the deep breaths of the prince beside you. His hand was still snaked at your side.

“Open your eyes, jackal.”

Somehow, on instinct, you obliged.

And widened them further.

You were in another world entirely — the branches expanded beyond your vision, intertwining with the others from different trees, so intricately interlinked beneath your feet that they created a floor. Upon this branching surface there was a little room, decorated with every unusual object that one could identify. Beside the bed, interwoven by these branches, you saw an abundance of flowers and leaves, an lamp of glowing fireflies resting in the corner, and a thousand other items which needed further explanation.

Judging by the awe on your face, the boy answered you, heading to the small cabinet where everything was placed. “A collection of gadgets,” he began, using his magic to separate every object. “That I’ve bought or been gifted since my princedom.” He took out a few unrecognisable things and strolled to the wardrobe, made from the same intertwining branches, and opened the doors, rummaging through.

“What are you even looking for?” you asked, but were dutifully ignored as he kept searching. You admired the intricate scenery, the plush excess of leaves beneath your shoes, shielding you and the prince nearby.

You heard him let out a satisfied ah! as he closed the doors shut. He walked over to you, showing you the rather odd object — it was an unusually large ice cube, miniscule snowflakes etched onto its every side as it orbited slowly in Beomgyu’s hand.

Your curious gaze upon the gadget had him into explanation. “A present from the Ice Prince,” he said, admiring the cold gift in his palms. “It provides an infinite water supply, so is incredibly useful for long journeys.”

“Taehyun, is he not called?” You shivered at the thought. “I am shocked to think he is capable of such small kindnesses.”

Beomgyu slid his eyes to yours. “Taehyun is not the man that his subjects have painted him to be.” His irises swirled in an indecipherable emotion. “Sometimes, one cannot judge the character of another simply based on rumour alone. Only with having conversation can one truly have an honest opinion.”

A small part of you wondered if he truly meant that for Taehyun, or to you, another villain in the Earth Kingdom’s millennia-old tale. Whatever it may be, you looked away, wondering when you’d be able to leave the prince’s presence.

“Right,” you heard him say, pocketing the other unknown object in his breast pocket of his gown. “Let us go on ground once more.”

The boy was about to tug on the vines again when he was interrupted by a most unusual sound.

Well, not unusual, considering you were situated in a tree house, but the noise was so shrill you instantly looked down to its origin.

Before you was a little squirrel, cheeks puffed as its little hands perched on its sides. Its soft tail moved rapidly behind its body, indicating irritation.

Its small, black eyes were fixated upon the boy beside you. Letting out yet another squeak, you saw Beomgyu sigh out in exasperation, as if he had just remembered an important matter.

“Oh gods, I do apologise!” He exclaimed, falling to his knees as he held his free hand out, the other holding the hovering ice cube still. “I’m afraid I cannot feed you now, but would you be able to wait?”

The squirrel let out another squeak, and this time the prince flinched. You gawked at the scene — so not only can he command the trees, but he could talk to animals?

What can this boy not do?

“Ji, I am sorry!” Fishing out an acorn from his breast pocket, he offered it before him. “I have one, if it helps! I promise to feed you properly after I am done with a certain task.”

Even so, the animal seemed much unimpressed. It then turned its little head to you, and you could have sworn that its eyes judged your very soul.

It squeaked some more, and this time Beomgyu widened his eyes, cheeks flushing. “By Mother Nature, no!” He bellowed out, panicked eyes fleeting towards you. “No, I just met her today.”

“Are you talking about me?” You asked, raising a brow. The squirrel then made another sound, one you could not decipher but, judging from the boy’s reaction, could definitely take a wild guess. “By gods, is this creature mocking me?”

You were rewarded with further squeaking, but was instantly silenced by Beomgyu. “Ji, no! I cannot have you being sarcastic tonight. Save your grievances for tomorrow morning!”

And as the prince scooped the squirrel in his hand, he walked over to the bed, settling it on the sheets. “Stay here. I will be back.”

There was sure to be complaints, but the boy kept sending looks of apology as he stepped back to the edge of the exit, tugging on the vines. “Deeply sorry for Jisung’s behaviour,” he said, swirling the cube slowly. “He is grumpier tonight as I have not fed him this evening.”

“A pet squirrel, huh?” You interrogated, looking down to the grass below. “And one you can talk to? Is that how you could communicate with Aurum?”

Nodding, the prince held his arm out. “Are we ready?”

You hurrying my shook your head. “Not again!” You crossed your arms. “I’ll slide down myself. Without your help.”

Shrugging, the boy held on tighter to the vine. “Your wish, jackal,” he said, and jumped down. Perking up, you squatted down to see him descend smoothly down the tree, landing perfectly on the grass.

Grabbing onto the plant, you looked back to the grumpy pet, stuffing the acorn in his mouth.

He then stuck his tongue out, and you gasped at the audacity. “Rude!” You shouted, but we’re only answered with shrill squeaking. Ignoring the creature, you took the vine by both hands, and followed suit.

Your descent was much less graceful, landing instead on your backside. You were met with the huffed laughter of the prince, and you forced down the urge to beat him with his stupid flower crown. Or perhaps tie these vines around his neck and strangle him.

No, that would only result in him using his silly magic. Awful, attractive bastard.

“What are we doing now, Highness?” You wondered out loud, rubbing your sore backside. “Do tell me there is some use of your rather odd ice cube.”

Beomgyu, after strolling further into the woods, slowed himself for you to catch up. “There is some use, unfortunately for you.” He waved you over, stepping past the wild bushes in his path. “Follow me, jackal!” he called out to you.

Grudgingly, you did as he asked, hugging yourself from the cold breeze of the midnight, wondering where in Terrae he was trying to take you. The trees towered over you like intimidating strangers — if the prince spoke true, then you wouldtuly be unwelcome.

You were surrounded by this coercion until the forest opened up to an open grassland, encircled by the nature which looked down at you. Beomgyu turned to you, bringing out a few seeds from his trouser pockets and standing right in the middle of the circle.

“There you are,” he said as you stepped beside him. He glanced at the moon, measuring the amount of time he had left.

“What are you going to do?” you asked him, still clueless regarding the whole situation. Why has he not sent you to the dungeons already?

His eyes travelled to your face. With a half-soft scoff, he held out his hand, the seeds now in perfect view. “It is not what I’m going to do,” he began. “It is what you are going to do.”

The confusion grew within you. “What do you mean?” you tried to clarify. “What am I to do with these seeds?”

Beomgyu’s eyes promised answers. “Bring out your hand, jackal.”

You did as you were told, holding out your hand as he put the seeds in your palm, fingers barely brushing against your skin. He then descended, knees upon the grass as he patted to the space beside you. “Come, sit.”

Pursing your lips in thought, you knelt before the grass, seeds in your enclosed fist as your gaze never strayed from the boy. “Your Highness—”

Magic oozing from his fingers interrupted your demand, slipping into the earth. Slowly, but surely, a small hole was separated by the green matter, dirt being shovelled to create a dip in the grassland.

Once he ceased his conjuring, he jerked his head towards the new opening. “Place the seeds in the hole,” he instructed. “Gently now! Treat them with the utmost care.”

Grumbling in response, you leaned forward as you gingerly put each seed at the corners of the muddy dip, noticing a small spark with each placement of the grain. It was a bizarre feeling, but assumed it normal in the ways of gardening as you inserted the dirt over them, covering them fully.

You peered at the prince then, who brought out the large ice cube. Turning it rapidly, treacle of water dripped down to the ground, moistening the earth and feeding the seeds of its necessities. Putting the gadget back in his storage belt, he then returned his hand upon the damp mound, closing his eyes in a fixated peace. More magic swirled from his hands, but this time it encircled not only the place where you had placed the seeds, but you, all of you, engulfing you in its otherworldly warmth.

“Your Highness?” You whispered out, but he was murmuring, murmuring words you could not comprehend, words which felt like you were not meant to hear. His curls were being lifted slightly with the tendrils of his power, but he stayed rooted to his spot, carrying on with what you feared was a grotesque ritual.

You, too, became still when you felt fingers curl around your hand.

On instinct you looked at him, eyes widening — you should have expected his hand to radiate some form of heat, considering this boy had such an unusual glow about him, but this…

Despite the soft chaos around the two of you, the touch was oddly comforting.

His hand, dragging you out of your thoughts, led yours to the place you sowed the little grains of life, and spread apart your fingers till they covered nearly the entire, dug up earth. More matter escaped from his fingers, shooting further warmth upon the back of your hand, and travelling up to your heart.

“Close your eyes, jackal,” you heard him chant from his cocoon of magic. “I need you to see from within.”

“See what?!” You beseeched, but his fingers held onto you a little tighter, and, as if he commanded your very body, had your eyelids descend shut, cornering you into the chambers of your mind.

See from within.

What could you see?

Darkness. Eternal darkness, and rusted iron, spilled mercury, and all the grim faces of the people who wanted to decimate the very place you knelt in.

I cannot see! You screamed in your mind, because in the whirlwind of his power you felt alone, trapped in your own mind, trying to join in on a ritual which would cursed the likes of you.

But in reality, you were not alone.

No, not when you felt something foreign in your body.

You swore you stopped breathing.

Your fingers felt squeezed by another, but was ignored because you could see a whole other heartbeat which was not your own.

A familiar voice entered your mind.

“Do you see it?”

The prince’s voice; the soft, almost desperate inquiry, which you could not help but answer.

“Yes...yes, by Terrae, I do see it.”

And perhaps he said some more, but you were not listening to his words. His speech seemed a little insignificant to the little heartbeat — it was as faint as the scent of departure, delicate as a snowflake, and as real as yourself, the prince, and the neverending forest.

When you tried to lift your hand, Beomgyu’s fingers halted you still. You could not believe that you did not mind it. “Whose...whose is it, your Highness?”

You were positive that he did not hear you with the lack of volume you let slide from your tongue. However, he answered your question, almost feeling the joy radiating from his response.

“The seeds.”

Shocked, you opened your eyes, and found the Prince of Earth staring at you with an elevated joy. He gestured to observe your creation, and when your eyes fell upon the sliver of a stem which broke through the earth, between the spaces of your fingers, you wondered whether this was all a dream.

You could not help the curse which escaped you. The boy beside you spluttered into laughter, and you turned to see his face radiating with elation. The heartbeat, the one which you thought was under your control, proved you wrong as it skipped its beat along to his laughs.

“Wh-what are you laughing at?” You demanded, but you were unable to execute it with the anger you wish you held for him. He offered you a honeypot of smiles.

“You’ve brought life to the forest, sweet jackal.”

The little plant shivered in response, along with your own hairs at the back of your neck, which stood at his announcement. Its faint heartbeat grew louder, as well as your own in your ears.

“Do you feel it now?” he whispered, leaning ever so close as he looked to the forest around you. “Do you feel the trees breathing in your presence?”

Unfortunately, although you could sense your plant’s essence, the heartbeats of every tree in the forest were still unheard. You shook your head no, but that did not wipe the grin off his face.

“We have time,” he reassured you. “Just know that Mother Nature has hope for you still.”

He took your hand, putting another upon the back as he brought you a different kind of warmth. “I have hope for you.”

You parted your mouth, unaccustomed to the contact, the kindness...to all that he represented.

His eyes locked with yours, and although he had spared you the wrath of his palace dungeons, you feared whether you could escape the imprisonment of his gaze.

There was no doubt in your mind as you let yourself be arrested into his stare — the Prince of the Earth was not going to haunt just a single night.

FRATERNISING WITH THE HEIR OF REGNA TERRAE WOULD BE THE DEATH OF YOU.

Of course, that was not the last time you saw him — you had become something of a personal project to him, a sin which must be reversed. Almost every night after the fateful encounter, you snuck out from the fences of the Metallum villages, barely evading the suspicious eyes of the Kim brothers, and met with him under his treehouse.

You did not know why you endeavoured so ardently in seeing him. It was not like he had become any less irritable with his amused grins and unmatched power, but there was something about him which you could not fend off.

In a way, he made you believe you were worth more than simple woodcutting, selling oaks in the market, the empty promises of revenge against the Natural Kingdom.

Somehow, he made you realise that, maybe, you truly were deserving of a more memorable path.

These very thoughts accompanied you as the sun began to set, pulling your hood over your head as you swept past the familiar trees, reining in the urge to greet every woodland creature which scurried past you. The past few weeks, after many misunderstood arguments with the Prince’s pet squirrel, you learned the slight quirks which the animal possessed, his every movement and what it would signify. You had Beomgyu to thank once again, but each time you wished to do so, he would say the same, hair-rising reassurance.

“Fret not, sweet jackal. It is a pleasure to show you the wonders of nature.”

Sweet jackal. The endearment made you so flustered, and that aggravated you to the greatest extent. You had already shared your name with the boy, but he insisted on calling you this name, as if the two of you had already established an intimacy from decades before.

The very thought had your actual heartbeat racing.

You made sure to completely dismiss this foolery as you found the special opening of the grassland in sight, the glowing figure waving you over. A small smile involuntarily curled at your lips, hurrying closer till you fully saw Prince Beomgyu’s face clearly in the setting sun.

“You have arrived much earlier this evening,” he said in a way of greeting, fixing his flower crown as his squirrel played with the petals. “I would not say I’m displeased.”

On your part, you certainly were not either — he bore more finery than usual, his normal green gown threaded with gold swirls at the hems, small vines tied around his ears as natural jewellery. His hair was sprinkled with petals, a trait Jisung adored as he settled in the nest of his locks. His hands, too, were intertwined with dark vines, swirls wrapped around his fingers like extended rings.

By the gods, he truly was an exquisite being.

He noticed your silence, raising a groomed brow. “Is something the matter?” he asked, but when he saw your eyes dart to anywhere but his own, he immediately understood. You just managed to catch a satisfied quirk of his lips before he turned his attention to your plant.

Following his trail, you brightened up to see your creation in full bloom — bright red poppies, stark against the pool of grass, stood as they swayed to the evening breeze. You knelt down to observe them closer, and felt a peculiar sense of pride at sensing their clear heartbeat harmonising with yours.

“They’re my favourite flower,” the boy said behind you. “I have always adored how they stand out amongst all the others.”

Watching the poppies almost dance in the cool air, you stood upwards once again. “Then why do you not wear them?” you asked out of curiosity.

“Because my parents do not like me wearing them.” He gestured to the flower crown, at risk of being torn up by Jisung. “They say the colour is too harsh.”

He clicked his tongue in irritation. “At least they could have spared me on my birthday.”

You were about to comment on his parents when those words escaped his mouth. Your own mouth parted in surprise. “Your birthday is today?”

The prince mocked being stabbed in the chest, nearly sending the squirrel to the trees. Taking Jisung from his hair, he propped him on his shoulder. “You have truly wounded me, ____!” he whined. “All this time together, and you had no inkling?”

Although he was only jesting, it only embarrassed you further. “I truly am sorry, your Highness!” you apologised, clasping your hands together. “If I had known, I would have made you a present.”

“Oh?” He took a step towards you. His eyes danced in mirth. “And what would you have made me?”

That seemed to rob you of your speech. “Well, um…” you trailed off, searching your now useless mind of any decent idea for a gift, but he waved off your fluster, chuckling.

“It is no problem, dear jackal,” he said, looking at the red flowers once more. “Seeing your poppies in full growth is a gift to me anyway.”

You wished he had not said that; glancing at them now, you could only hear his fascination within the petals.

There he was again — staining your every entity of his remnants. How much more till he stains your very soul?

Jisung’s irritated squeak brought you back to the forest. You tried not to murder the damned creature as you muttered out, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Beomgyu groaned out. “I shan’t have you calling me that hideous title all the time.” He put a hand to his chest. “Have we not reached first name basis?”

Despite your surprise, you offered him a scoff. “Jackal is not my first name,” you jeered. “And please. You’re the prince of our land. Anyone who catches me being informal with you will surely have my head.”

“I would never let them,” he merely said. “Not before I show you one last part of the forest.”

You quirked a quizzical brow. “I think you’ve shown me half your kingdom by now.”

“But this is...quite different.”

The boy stepped closer to you, reaching out his hand. You found yourself warming up as he enveloped it with yours, a gesture so small yet so triggering to your nerves.

“Follow me, ____.”

With the tug of his fingers, you were led out of the grasslands and back into the jungles of Regna Terrae, catching familiar sights of ancient mahoganies and birches, different variations of trees all grouped together.

As the moon began to ascend, your anxiety increased. His hand worked wonders for your skin, but at the back of your mind, you could not shake off the image of the Kim brothers wondering where you had gone so long.

Especially Namjoon. Seokjin and Taehyung may have been much simpler in the brain, but the leader of the trio bore his suspicions of your whereabouts. He always knew you were never enthusiastic of your occupation as a Lumberjackal, so your sudden interest to roam the woodlands for hours into the night certainly had his ears perking. Of course, you always made sure to know that you were going without being followed, but in the end, the three brothers were quite unpredictable.

You just hoped that whatever the prince had to show you, it would be seen quick enough to leave.

The density of the forest began to increase, and you soon began to doubt whether you had been to this part of the Kingdom before. It was then Beomgyu’s hands flowed with magic, and completely changed the scenery. The ancient trees, trunks as wide and thick as horses began to move apart to make way for him and you, the squirrel holding onto his shoulder tightly as it too squeaked in surprise. Your own eyes widened as each element of nature bent to his will, creating an easier path for his boots to step onto.

It was clearly a sight for admiration. These few weeks you had begun to realise the power of the earth, and how rich and true its roots lay. You felt the faint hum of their essences as you rushed past them, hand still clasped with his, and you dipped your head in thanks to the trees, hoping that one day you would hear them sing welcomes to you.

Slowing down, the group was barred by the curtain of thick vines, hiding you from the world behind. “I have never seen this before,” you wondered out loud, but when Beomgyu let go of your hand, and stepped forward, hands stretched out, your curiosity reigned further.

Jisung quickly scurried from his shoulder, ending up on the muddied path as he watched with black eyes of the phenomenon about to occur. You made to make fun of the squirrel when the prince let out an aggravated moan, hurling your head to his direction.

His heavenly voice chanted in a millennia old language, huge power emitting from his finger tips and swirling to the tumbling vines of the entrance. You could see the sweat beading down his forehead at the sheer effort it took, but he stayed rooted, sending surges of green matter to the cold nature.

Slowly, the curtain began to withdraw. Blinding light cut through, and when the boy let out a roar, pushing the whole family of vines apart you hid your head from the white bursting through.

There was a deathly silence for a singular moment.

You heard his ragged breathing, lasting for ten seconds before it turned into relieved, panted chuckling.

Bringing your hand away from your face, you looked to see beyond the curtain.

Your very breath was snatched from your lungs.

Before you was the most enchanting deity of nature you had ever seen in your existence — it was a glowing white tree, trunk as wide as the two of you twice over, etched with milky-coloured wrinkles that contained sparkles of ancient magic. The leaves, much like finely cut diamonds, protruded from every branch which stretched towards every corner the eye could see. The diamonds were infinite, shining from the gentle light of the moon.

Even though you had never seen it before, you knew exactly what it was.

“The Tree of Life.”

Your gaze dared to break away to see the prince for a second, whose own breathing seemed to have halted. Sensing your stare, he looked back at you, his face half glowing from the deity’s light.

“I...I thought it did not—” you tried to say, but of course you could not when it was right there before you, as if it had been waiting to be found all its life.

“Exist?” He took a step forward. “Every myth is borne from truth after all.”

Indeed it was — you had learned of the Tree of Life when you were a mere girl, listening to fairy tales before being told to sleep. This Tree could not be seen by the common man, and legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk. Evidently, no one could prove this theory, but its mystery had what inspired so many people, metal and earthbenders alike, to find it, for opposing reasons.

You knew why Namjoon wanted to find it — for the amount of gold a singular leaf could bring him. Now, having accused him of believing in fantasies, you almost felt ashamed for having ridiculed his searches.

“Come.”

You perked up at the Prince’s voice.

“You must get a closer look.”

Picking up the pace of your feet, you fell into step beside him as the two of you started towards the legend come to life. The closer you approached the more enchanting it looked — the leaves glistened further, as if greeting you with their shine.

Jisung scurried between you both, his little head never straying from the Tree. It let out an awed squeak, and Beomgyu hummed in agreement.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?”

You shook your head, transfixed. “Never,” you responded, feeling the very earth shift beneath your feet.

If nothing else convinced you of the power of nature, then the existence of this deity certainly did.

You stepped past the boy, the grass hushed beneath your feet as you stretched out your hand. When your fingers touched the milky bark your breath shuddered out of you. It was simply unreal. The touch was surprisingly soft, so unlike the normal trees, and with each crack of the bark there was ancient writing inscripted within. With further shock you felt a very distant heartbeat as the fingers ran along the words, faint yet powerful.

By the gods.

“Where have you been hiding all this time?” you whispered to the Tree, tracing the aged trunk. “Your Highness, is everything about the legend true?”

There was no response — you figured he was still star-struck, and you continued to admire the most beautiful force you had ever seen.

It was not until you heard Jisung’s shrill squeak that you turned around.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Because there he was, the one man you dreaded to see. The one man who held Beomgyu’s unconscious body in his hands as he dropped him upon the grass. You noticed the little dart on the side of his neck, and all the blood in your body was drained.

Kim Namjoon.

His answering smirk was more a flash of teeth. “Do you believe me now, ____?”

You backed up against the Tree, eyes darting to the prince. “What did you do to him?” you asked instead, voice void of any emotion.

“That does not matter,” he dismissed. “But of course, it would matter to you now that you’ve attached yourself to him.”

He took a step forward, his ebony machete glinting in the light of the phenomenon behind you. “Stand aside, girl. It is time to make our fortunes.”

On instinct, you stretched a hand out. “I cannot.”

The man was taken aback by your hesitance. “Whatever the gods do you mean?”

Gulping, you tried to steel your will, inhaling slowly. “I cannot let you do it, Namjoon.” Your eyes glanced at the still prince before glaring at the perpetrator. “You won’t get a single branch of the Tree.”

A harsh laugh escaped him, taking a step forward. “Oh, and you’re going to stop me?”

You brought out your own sword — the one which you promised to use on Beomgyu — and raised it toward him. “Do not come any further,” you warned.

It seemed the man was not not going to compromise.

Not when he swung his machete, well on his way to hack you to pieces.

You quickly brought your weapon upon you to deflect his aim, sending him forward, and away from the Tree.

He can try and hurt the Tree of Life.

Easily gaining step, Namjoon mustered his power, ebony sharpening from his fingers as he clashed against you, lightening-fast strikes of his machete having you strained. You never doubted the bastard’s swordsmanship — he was skilled enough to be a general in the King’s royal army.

A shame he chose his fighting for a darker purpose.

You tried to slice the free space of his abdomen, but the man was sharp, quickly dodging as he swerved to the side, another clash of weapons ringing around the forest.

“You cannot beat me, ____!” He roared, one hit after the other, sending you further back.

Taking every hit, you stumbled, gaining your step yet staggering once again with his sword. After all, you could not outsmart the master; he was the man who taught you to fight.

Even so, you refused to give up. “I can die trying!” You seethed as he brought his strength down. His weapon, screeching against your own, slowly descended, closer and closer to your neck.

A harsh groan escaping, you mustered all your strength into sending his machete aside, barely a spare second in your name before you whirled to your left, missing the power blow.

“All this for a bloody tree!” He screeched, thundering towards you. “We would have been rich, you fool!”

Another mighty hit, and you were sent back, averting his strikes with your sword. Because you were so exhausted, your magic would not burst from your hands, adding more power to your weapon. It was your melee strength, nearly all gone, and your nimble feet.

“What is all this for?!” He demanded, slicing at your cloak, cutting through the fabric of your trousers. The clash of weapons continued, faster and faster. “What is worth more than all the riches of the Kingdom?!”

Amidst the brawl, your eyes slipped to the figure before you. Distant, yet instantly recognisable with his eyes closed, and mouth parted, flower crown scattered around his head. Jisung, too, laid injured beside him, watching your fight with fear in his little eyes.

What is all this for?

You only had one person in mind.

But that was not enough.

No, not when that sliver of a second gave Namjoon enough time to strike you, sending his machete straight into your stomach.

A shuddered gasp escaped you as the machete entered through — a burst of pain shot through your entire body, echoing the fatality of your situation. Tears stung your eyes as you dropped your sword, looking at your opponent in the eyes.

The Leader of the Lumberjackals showed no mercy as he yanked out his weapon.

A moan rushed past your lips as you fell to your knees, gripping your blood-gushing stomach. Namjoon gazed down at you with no remorse at all. “Perhaps he was not enough,” he said, cold as metal.

He stepped past you, focusing on the glistening Tree of Life, its white treasures still exalted in the moonlight. Your body, completely spent, could not hold you upright, falling straight into the grass. Straining, you cried out as you stretched your hand out in vain efforts to stop him, but it was simply no use.

You had been defeated.

And now, after witnessing the most perfect element of nature you had ever seen, you were to watch it be decimated.

This is how it ended. You, fumbling for your last breath, your prince nearby and probably dead.

Namjoon raked his eyes over the Tree, grinning wildly. “Oh, you are going to make me the richest man in the Kingdom,” he declared, raising his machete till it hovered just before the bottom of the trunk.

He elevated his voice so you could hear. “Enjoy watching me destroy what you sacrificed yourself for!”

Closing your eyes, you were about to let oblivion take over.

You awaited the sound of his weapon against the bark.

What you heard was something completely different.

An explosion filled your ears as white light, even more blinding than the one before, had you squeezing your eyes further shut. You made out the screams of your once leader as it was drowned out by the eruption, and you tried to see what had so suddenly occurred, only to be greeted with more brazen lights.

What...what was going on?

When the deafening noise quietened, you picked up on the soft crunch of grass, edging closer and closer to you. A compelling force was felt against your dying soul, and you wondered if the Reaper had finally come to take you.

When you felt air-light hands on your abdomen, you did not expect death to be so warm.

Slowly, dragging open your eyes, you prepared yourself to be taken to the afterlife.

What you saw instead was something else entirely.

Something which made even the Tree of Life as a mediocre enchantment.

Looking over you was not human — not with the glowing, shimmering skin, sparkles and shine radiating off its golden, liquid body. Her eyes were white with the same light you had seen twice this evening, fluid locks of hair flowing all around her. Her lips offered a radiant smile, already bringing some life back into you, and her whole body, although similar to yours, was free of attire, exuding the light of a star.

Perhaps you truly were dead.

The being, however, proved you wrong with her words.

“Brave human,” she began, and her velvet voice had you clutching your stomach. “I saw what you did to defend me.”

You tried to open your mouth to tell her that you defended the Tree, but then your eyes dilated at the revelation.

The legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk.

But this...this god-like creature was not just a mere girl.

“You sacrificed yourself for my Tree,” she stated, voice echoing across the woodlands. “For my forest, my every creation, despite being an enemy of mine in the past.

“You deserve a token of my gratitude.”

Her voice nearly put you to sleep with the way it lulled in the midnight air. You wondered in your tired mind what she could offer you now that you were breathing your last breath.

Then, you felt her hands upon your stomach.

A loud groan escaped your lips as the torn flesh began to stitch on its own accord, courtesy of the magic which poured from the sublime being. Your whole body worked to heal you, reversing the damage done by your once leader, whose whereabouts you had no inkling of.

The pain, which once tore at every nerve within you, began to fade away, and you opened your eyes further after gaining the strength, fully taking in the earthly spirit which had restored you.

You parted your mouth, voice parched as you rasped out, “I...Beomgyu…”

A heavenly smile curled at her lips. “The prince is fine, soldier. It would take more than a dart to eliminate the heir of the Earth.”

A relieved breath left your lips. You then looked to the being, putting your hands above hers. “I am not who I was,” you whispered.

Mother Nature smiled down at you, and you knew then and there that perhaps the world is not so cruel after all.

“I know, brave human.”

The luminous creature ascended to her feet, letting go of your hands. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, and turned on her heel. Struggling to your side, you watched as the otherworldly figure stepped up to the Tree of Life, looking at you one last time.

Raising a hand to her chin, she blew some magic towards your way, bathing you in sparkles. With a final beam, she slipped into the tree, enlivening the whole structure till it stood straight once again.

You truly could not believe what you saw.

Feeling the glimmer dancing on your skin, however, you knew this was not a figment of your imagination.

Mother Nature saved you from death.

Truly, utterly, ethereal.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard soft coughing nearby, and you heaved upward at the sound, your strength all present.

Beomgyu.

Upon your feet, you rushed to where he lay, stumbling from the hurrying as you fell to your knees, hands clinging onto his face. Jisung, his injuries healed from the celestial visit, scurried upon his owner’s chest, waiting for him to awaken.

“Beomgyu?” You murmured out, fingers stroking the soft planes of his cheeks. “Beomgyu, damn you, open your eyes!”

Tilting his face till it faced you, you watched as the prince’s eyes fluttered open, tired and wide and absolutely beautiful.

A trembling breath gasped out of you. “What…” he grated out, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “What just...happened?”

You willed the tears in as you caressed his face. “The legend was true.”

His confused gaze had you continuing. “Beomgyu, I saw the celestial creature when I was dying, and she saved me. It was true, Beomgyu, she healed me with her hands and—”

Your rambling ceased when the boy brought his fingers to your face. Warmth flooded your cheeks, and not because of how hot his hands were.

His smile could have easily beaten Mother Nature’s.

“You called me Beomgyu.”

He did not let you respond as he brought your face down to his, tilting it slightly as he pressed his lips against yours, enveloping you in a sweet kiss.

His mouth was warm, just like him, soft and plush, rendering you helpless over him. Your shock was quite prevalent, but you let the affection take over as you kissed him back, hands carding in his curls. He moved against your lips as his fingers stroked down to your jaw, savouring every feathered touch.

When he broke away, his breathing was ragged, cheeks flushed. He saw your own dishevelled gaze and chuckled to himself.

“I think this might be the best birthday present I have ever received.”

The Prince of Regna Terrae laughed some more when you refused to meet his eyes.

You were about to counter him when you heard another, completely new voice.

“You both could have done that without me being here.”

Your stare dove to his chest, to the direction of the sound.

Jisung the squirrel glared at you with the entire irritation of the Kingdom. “Oh what? So now you can hear me?!”

A yelp resounded from you. “How are you talking?!” You screeched. “You’re a bloody animal!”

“Oh, thank you so very much for stating the blatantly obvious!” He drawled, and you could not comprehend the sarcasm that just came from a bloody woodland creature.

You peered at Beomgyu, who was just as surprised as you were, despite his entertained features. “____,” he started, sitting up straighter. “Does this mean—”

Getting to your feet, you looked around the forest, the Tree of Life standing proudly.

It was then you sensed the heartbeat.

Not just your own, or the poppies — but of the entirety of the Kingdom.

Faraway, yet still present, it thumped against your chest like an echo of your own heart, a harmonisation of all the trees, bushes, flowers and animals. It was almost enchanting how it slowly thudded within you, and with such welcome.

Like greeting a friend you had not seen for a long time.

When you caught the Prince’s gaze, his entire face lit up.

Before you could say anymore, you were swept into the boy’s arms, engulfing you with a hug of eternal warmth. His voice rang along your soul as he declared to the whole word.

“Nature has accepted you, ____!”

You heard the clicked tongue of Jisung beneath you, and Beomgyu brought you at arm’s length before sticking out his tongue at his pet.

He looked to you once more, and saw the very emotions you dared not let yourself believe in.

“I knew you were capable of change, sweet jackal.”

The tears, this time, refused to be held back any longer.

The boy melted as he swept away each tumbling drop with his fingers, clutching your face.

As you leaned in this time, kissing him breathlessly, you tasted the smile which flourished upon his lips, drinking in your every essence.

You wondered, thinking away as your heart beat faster, whether this was still a dream, a vision which would end the moment you woke up, back in the cold village you once called your home.

When you felt the presence of the celestial being again, looking down from the branches of the Tree of Life, you knew that this was no delusion.

Pulling away, you turned Beomgyu to the glistening, living structure, both of you catching sight of her.

Mother Nature smiled at her heirs.

The both of you knew it in your hearts, simultaneously beating.

The heirs of Regna Terrae would not let her down.

#txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu fluff #txt fluff #choi beomgyu imagines #choi beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu #beomgyu oneshots #txt oneshots #choi beomgyu oneshots #beomgyu soft #choi beomgyu soft #beomgyu scenarios #choi beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x you #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you

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discopig · 3 years

Text

Butterfly in flight (William Killick)

After months of ruthless combat, William had long become just another ruined soldier, but when he meets a woman whos only dream is to fly. Could he find hope again?

A/N: Finally something new! I was crying to As The World Caves In by Matt Maltese (highly recommend you listen, even while reading this), and felt inspired to write this story. It’s set in the universe of The Edge of Love, while William is at war. I didn’t make this x reader as I didn’t feel it suited the theme of the story, and I had quite a specific image in mind of the character I wrote, but if you feel your appearance matches hers it could most definitely have a similar reading experience. Also idk shit about military equipment so don’t sue me thanks. Hope you enjoy :)

All characters in this are fictional.

This is pure angst. Literally no one is happy

Warnings: description of war

Word Count: 561

129. 129 days William had been at war. Or was it 139? He didn’t know, he didn’t know if he was even keeping track of the days and nights anymore. It had to be 129.

The sounds of screaming men, gunshots and explosions, the ringing sound in his ears - a bomb missing him by mere centimeters - that seemed to accompany him even in his sleep, these were William’s companions, they followed him around like his shadow.

William had lost all sense of himself, all sense of who he had been before he became just another soldier. Just another man thrown into the thorny embrace of survival. He had lost hope for anything at all, that is until he met her.

There were 4 of them. 3 women, and one boy. Pilots. Assigned to special fighter jets. They were small jets, most pilots being too heavy and bulky to fly them without weighing them down. Amy, a 12 year old boy named Patrick, Lorene and her.

She was like a breath of fresh air. Her brown curls cut into a bob and pinned to the side with a gold pin, a butterfly adorning it. Her mother had given it to her when she turned 16. Told her she would fly, just like the butterfly and just like her father did. Her father passed away from tuberculosis when she was only 10. Her faded memories of him and his flight journal, being the only thing she had left of him.

They were inseparable. When William would return from combat, shaken up and in a daze, she would hold him, without a word. He didn’t want to speak, trying his best to forget everything that had happened only a few hours ago. Trying to forget the horror of looking into his friend’s eyes - that only the previous evening were glistening with hope for a better future, laughing over the campfire in a rare moment of peace - now dead and empty. Their bodies nothing but shells of the men they had been.

The ringing had stopped. When it would start again he would think of her. Her soft brown eyes that seemed to shimmer in the sun like a warm pot of honey. Her laughter, that never seemed to be anything but loud and clear despite the not very humorous life they were living. She made the ringing stop.

The 4 pilots were to be sent off today. Their first mission on the jets. She gave him the pin as she couldn’t wear it under her helmet. She placed it in his palm with a firm grip of his hand, and stared into his cold, shaken eyes. Pulling him into a hug, she whispered “I’m going to fly today William”, he could hear the soft smile on her lips. She pulled away with a soft kiss to his cheek.

All 4 of them were gone. Their mission was to fly into a German camp, jets lined with explosives, ready to detonate on impact. She gave him the pin because she knew she wasn’t coming back.

Amy Carrington

Patrick Bright

Lorene Ridley

and her.

All awarded Air Crew Europe star medals, their medals in frames accompanied by their photos, jet numbers written on the back. She was smiling in her photo.

“I’m going to fly today William”

She flew. Flew to her death

I cried writing this just letting you know

#the edge of love #the edge of love fanfiction #the edge of love fanfic #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy writing #angst #cillian murphy angst #william killick fanfic #william killick fanficiton #william killick writing #william killick angst #william killick x reader #sort of

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clueless-grunt · 3 years

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Ask (simplified): A poet/singer reader that gets kidnapped by pennywise and forced to tell stories and sing.

First public writing, please be nice.

Pennywise x gender neutral reader. Kidnapping tw. Don't like it, don't read it. For @charliedawn

The day had been quiet. The house had been still, not even the wind being separated by the eaves penetrated the deafening silence. Cobwebs hung limply from the ceiling, creating sheer walls that did their best to block anyone from entering.

You shifted slightly, and the floor cried out beneath you, warning you to leave now, before you discovered for yourself wether the legends of monsters and ghosts surrounding the house were true. You felt a weight clinging to you that you didn't notice before now.

Turning your head sharply to the left, peering over your shoulder to the door, making sure it was still there. But the dread that melded your heart and your stomach remained, and slowly, slowly you strained your eyes to look directly at your shoulder blade. You knew you wouldn't see anything, yet something about the home made you feel like you weren't alone.

You looked at the floorboards behind you, looking for a beast that clinged to your back like a myling, one that grew heavier with each step towards the heart of the house. You saw nothing.

Yet still the feeling of your sins crawling upon your back unnerved you.

Turning back to face the dark pit of the house, you consider taking heed to the advice of the legends, and turning around, running far and fast away from the dilapidated house at the end of an equally abandoned street. The only visitors to the street were lost or curious children and occasionally a morbid adult.

Your legs ached to move, to leave and never come back. But stubborn as you were, instead of turning towards the door, you steer yourself towards the living room. The light sound of crushed tin cans reaches your ears as you kick them aside.

The living room, although likely the best illuminated, was still dismal. Making your way further into the room towards the damask drapes, you wondered wether your fear wasn't of being alone, but rather the fear that you were here with someone, something else that was discreetly watching just past your line of sight.

Drawing the fabric to the side with a slight rustle, you were momentarily blinded by the light. Turning from it, you looked to the fireplace. Carved into the wood above it read the words, "Good cheer, Good friends".

You thought it ironic, since all cheer and friendly hospitality seemed to have left the confines of these walls with the last owners. You wonder what happened to them.

You sat on the crushed velvet of the sofa and pulled out a small journal. Looking at the floor, you observed how far the light from the grimy windows reached into the shadows before succumbing to the drab void that emanated from the far corners of the room.

Nothing came to mind. You had been sure that you would have found inspiration here. The few short poems you had wouldn't put food on the table for much longer, and you made next to nothing from your songs.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to think about your financial situation. You payed more attention to the uncomfortable feeling that you weren't alone.

"Ghouls and ghosts that crawl and climb,

That fly and slither, to seek and hide.

Creeping through the window,

and underneath the door,

dancing in the shadows,

Tapping across the floor.

They hide behind your jackets, underneath your bedded frames, waiting for their time to strike with hungered eye and fang.

Satisfied with this, you jot it down in your notebook and move on. You come upon a faded kitchen table and cracked ceramic tiles. Here the dust hung like a thick fog, weighing down anything within the confines of the rotted plaster and decaying wood.

The weight of the room was too much, if you stayed, you would end up running far away from this forsaken place, only to return once the last of your meager savings had been completely dried. Only then, it would be permanent. You would become another one of the slightly more believable tales meant to scare children.

Bracing yourself for whatever you may see next, you turn towards the staircase, and hoped the brittle wood could hold your weight.

The floorboards underneath you mourned your foolishness as you acended the stairs.

Upstairs, the first thing you come upon is a bathroom.

Reflected in the dingy mirror was yourself. Behind you, the hideous wallpaper clung loosely from the damp drywall. It's odor polluting the air.

You recalled as if from nowhere all the old superstitions that you had always blown off as nonsense. The ones that told young children that seeing their doppleganger was bad luck, that the mirror held a piece of the onlooker's soul, that the other side of the mirror was another world. And you wondered if you would ever find the truth to these tales. You wondered if you would ever watch yourself blink, or see someone walk by the doorway when you were certain you were totally alone.

Your double looked back at you, terrified.

Focusing on the legends, you thought for a moment, this is what you needed.

"The sound of the violin is clear,

The dancer's waltzing showed no fear.

Her heart beat faster as they drew nearer,

A single reflection swayed in the mirror."

Looking back to the mirror, the fear was too much. But you came here for a reason.

However, you had gotten a few poems down, and there were less terrifying places to find inspiration.

You let yourself move forward into the suffocating shadows, moving ever closer to being lost completely.

You come upon a solid ebony door. It's polished exterior gleamed even in the faint light. When you started to push, it easily, yet gingerly swung open with a soft sigh.

The room greeted you with a bright, but not harsh, light. It was softened by the yellowed curtains that concealed the room from the outside, warming the room with it's buttercup hue.

You passed the threshold, nothing but the sound of your footsteps following you inside. No boards creaked, the wind didn't mourn your insipid ways. Just the dust falling after being dormant for years, disturbed by your sudden intrusion, your boots on the silent hardwood, and your slowing breath.

You felt safe.

To your right, a lofted bed. The blankets looking half eaten by moths and rodents that plagued the walls with their festering disease, running up and down the plastered confines with their frantic pattering.

To your left, a large coal burning cook stove. The cylinder was blackened with soot and layers of dust. When you touched it, it stained your hands,turning them black as pitch, a reminder of this house's unclean repute.

Straight ahead, just under the window, was a desk. It was painted a faded emerald green, that showed the wood underneath through the chipped colouring. The top was littered with small jars and brushes. Also on the desk, reflecting the light into a colourful array on the wall, was a small mirror.

You turned it towards you, your reflection now calm and serene.

Then you looked behind you, directly at the door.

The one you swore you had left open.

You turned, certain that the light off the mirror was tricking your head into thinking that it was closed. And it could have been a trick, if there had been a door there at all.

In front of you, in place of the sturdy oak door that you had entered through, was a solid wall of light brown planks, shelves cluttering the surface, sparsely decorated with small trinkets and instruments.

You dashed up to where the door had been, and pounded, the vibrations throwing the odds and ends from the shelves, breaking the glass and making a horrid sound.

Your heart beat against your ribcage, threatening to break free. Panic hit suddenly, punching your stomach and weighing it down. You were hyperventilating, and we're quickly becoming lightheaded.

You felt as if you would pass out if you didn't get some fresh air. You turned, looking to open the window, and feel the cool, sweet air fill your lungs.

Your weakness and lack of breath made it a struggle to lift the curtains and the stubborn window. It opened with spastic jolts, opening only a few inches each time.

But those few inches allowed a gentle breeze to upset the curtains and let new air into the room. The ancient air left the room, breathing the soft, sweet smell of early summer in like a lung.

You stumbled over to the bed, hoisting yourself up to meet the stiff pillows and threadbare comforters.

Your mind races, thinking of how you would leave, of the fall from the window, and of your family. Thinking of these, you began to sing. Softly, gently, your voice ebbed and flowed like the gradual change of the seasons. Barely noticable, barely vocal in its words, a casual whisper just to guide you, you sang.

"Upon one summer's morning,

I carefully did stray,

Down by the walls of wapping,

Where I met a sailor gay.

Conversing with a young lass,

Who seem'd to be in pain,

Saying 'William when you go, I fear,

You'll never return again'.

My heart is pierced by cupid,

I disdain all glittering gold,

There is nothing can console me,

But my jolly sailor bold. "

Your heart slowed, bumping at a steady pace, accentuating each word you sang. You lay on the bed, catching your breath, listening to the whisper-quiet rush of the breeze through the window.

You opened your eyes to darkness.

How long had you been sleeping?

You looked around you. The house once again was quiet, formless shapes danced to the sound of wind, a discordant violin.

There was nothing recognizable to focus on on the lightless room. You could feel nothing but the coolness of the air and the scratchy feel of the blanket under you.

You listened, and waited, wondering what had awoken you. And then you heard the rustling of fabric from next to the stove. Frozen, hoping you had heard wrong, hoping you had moved without noticing, moving the fabric under you.

Hope however, is only there to be crushed.

A fabric covered hand covered your mouth, the thick fingers muffling your terrified and confused whimpers, the other wrapping its long digits around your throat. And the shape across from you was gone.

Struggled to no avail against the limbs pinning you to the bed. You became light headed, and your lungs ached, prying at themselves for air.

Sitting there for just a few minutes, knowing that a soft breeze of sweet smelling air was just out of your grasp.

You began to see colours, even in the deep dark. Blue, then green, then yellow, and then nothing at all.

You woke in a damp cavern. It's walls curved inward, creating a basin shaped room. In the center, a very old circus cart sat, covered with tattered clothing and toys.

Circling around the top of the pile, were children. They stared blankly, emitting only a soft song that dripped with melancholia. They were all in different conditions, from in tact to... unnatural. The words 'half eaten' come to mind.

The walls were slimy with mold and algae. It smelled of rot. Telling of something very old, and very slow.

The top of the basin, where the ceiling should have been, was a pipe that let in a cylinder of light that cast itself like a spotlight down onto the mountain of what can only be described as garbage.

The sound of rushing water struggled to reach your ears with its violent thundering. Somewhere, far away, there was an opening. You would never have the chance to persue it however.

A repetitive thundering boom drew nearer, and you scrambled to the centre of the room to the circus cart.

The door was open a small ways, letting a slim wall of light slip down onto the stairs. You threw the door open, All the while trying to make the whole of your movement as quiet as possible. The room was nearly empty, except for a few scrapboard props and a few oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. The deep yellow of the dancing and jumping flame gave the room a comforting, hearty glow.

The room around you began to shake and the deep pattering, booming footsteps became thunderous, ground shattering pulses. The shadows rushed and swayed with the swinging lanterns, darkening corners for mere seconds before inverting its course, only to return to its dizzy dance, unable to make up its mind.

A frantic and hurried melody drifted through the air, singing the highs without the slightest effort and bellowing the deepest lows with a thick and cool voice.

The jittering tune came from everywhere, surrounding the cart like the air itself was full of vibrant colours.

A childlike, tittering voice sent shockwaves through the air that made your stomach fall to its knees.

It was incomprehensible, a mash of all languages. Some you could make out, child, lost, afraid. Some were only understandable in foreign languages, and some didn't sound like anything you've heard before. Growls, chittering, whistles, and screeching rang through the air, bouncing off the walls like bullets.

Then there was silence once more. Nothing could be heard except for your erratic heart and deep, dizzy breath.

A light sound reached you, the cheerful twinkling of bells, a sound that made distant memories seem so close. It was almost comforting, or it would have been, if the sound wasn't right outside the door.

A quick knock on the door.

"Pretty thing... Such a bright young flower. Did you really think you could get away from old Pennywise?"

The lanterns blew out without a noise. No beat. No melody followed. Nothing broke through the dark. At some point, you were asleep.

You awoke in a large brass bird cage. You looked up to see a lock on the cage door, and a bell.

What a sick joke.

You couldn't make out much in the suffocating gloom, that could almost be smelled. And yet, in the corner, a silver form could be seen staring. Two bright green orbs could be seen though the dark. Then the beast who had been staring, the one who called itself Pennywise, spoke a simple demand.

"Sing."

You were stunned. You had no clue what had happened over the past hours. (Days, weeks?) You sat, staring back at the beast, returning their favor.

"If you don't sing for me, my little songbird, I can personally promise a fate far worse than this."

You wanted to scream, to run, but both would end terribly. So you straightened yourself, letting the wind pass freely through your vocal chords, and you sang.

It wasn't original, but even so, your voice came in waves, drifting though the rank air, bringing a sweetness that could not be smelled, but could be appreciated all the same, taking to the breeze and wandering through the chamber, seeking only a soft heart to settle upon, to give the strings only the softest of tugs.

The beast's eyes became a nearly slate coloured blue, less than half open as they reclined, their breath becoming as light as the fluttering melody that escaped you.

The song ended all too soon, much to the shape's displeasure. It glared at you with both the deepest anger and the most heartbreaking care.

"Why did you stop?"

You scrambled to explain yourself, to try to make it understand that you were trying. But nothing except a mess of pleas were loose enough to come tumbling from your lips.

The being stood up, and began to walk towards you. You tried to fit through the bars of the cage, to no avail.

They were standing at the cage door, seemingly amused at your attempt to escape. You looked over your shoulder at it, pleading without words, hoping that your life would be spared.

The lock fell off the latch and clattered on the floor with a deep rattle. The door swayed with a scream, slowing them inside. They wandered over to your quivering form, as if you were trying to shake the thing off you.

It crouched in front of you and took your arms from in front of your face. They forced your legs down from in front of your chest and into a crossed position. All of this surprised you, as although it definitely wasn't being rough, it was making a point not to test it. However, its credibility was immediately tarnished when it laid its head in your lap. It spoke directly to you for the fourth time, speaking its wishes once more.

"Tell me a story, or yours will end."

It didn't seem too serious with this threat though.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

#oof this took longer than expected #sorry #pennywise #pennywise fanfiction

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gangsofolympia · 3 years

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excerpt from gangs of olympia

They were coming.

The sound of pealing bells ripped the man from his slumber, urgent and yet doleful as they sang, as though they knew that all was lost. The small room, usually dark as a tomb at night, flickered from the light of torches as frantic footsteps sounded in the hallway, running this way and that. From the window, the man could see the courtyard, illuminated--almost blindingly bright--by light streaming out from the many windows of the dormitory and dancing along the courtyard, which was lined with oil and kerosene lamps. A large, stone fountain, water trickling from its spout, glistened and sparkled below, the grass and flowers around it undisturbed--for now.

The old man stood, stumbling around the room as he dressed, feeling for robes and shoes and hood, usually a bright daffodil-yellow, but simply gray in the twilit room. More footsteps hurried past the room and down the hall, shadows coming and going in flashes as bodies blocked the light streaming in from underneath the door. Each shadow seemed to foretell what was to come. They said there was no hope. Darkness would descend on light.

The old man cursed as his shaking hands fumbled over the buttons on his robe. He was taking too long.

It was the first of the screams that made the man abandon his task, and he fastened a belt around his waist, his sword hanging from it, neatly tucked into a leather scabbard. He quickly lit a kerosene lamp and threw the door open, looking back and forth down the hall before he stepped from the room, barefoot and with his robes partially unbuttoned. He reached over, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The halls had become eerily quiet when, only a few moments ago, they had been alive with footsteps and whispers. The man shivered. He didn't want anyone to think he was a coward--of course he was dedicated to the cause, but he had heard this story a million times--and never once did it go well for people like him.

He could hear more shouting outside. Most of the other Illuminators were probably fighting by now, and, indeed, the old man heard the clanging of swords, interspersed between the savage chorus of yelps and groans. He couldn't help but shiver, once again. Never before had he faced one of the monstrous shadow-men. It was said that they had no faces, their entire heads covered with cloth, and yet they could see. They growled like monsters, fighting with blades and talons, and sometimes even flying through the air. They struck, lightning-fast, like vipers, but not for want of strength. One man alone could toss a dumpster half an acre, and together--well, they might as well have walked off with the entire building.

The old man knew it was silly. The descriptions were greatly exaggerated, but still he knew the shadow-men were dangerous. Most likely, they would all die.

Making his way down a spiral staircase, the man finally arrived at the door leading to the courtyard. The sounds of the struggle were still muffled behind the heavy, oak door, but only a crack was needed between the barrier and the threshold to unleash the fury beyond.

He found himself wishing that they hadn't put all those lights in the courtyard.

It was a sight he had seen before--people being killed ruthlessly, brutally, as they begged for their lives--but never before had his brothers, the Illuminators, been the victims. Never before had he watched the people he cared for as they were slaughtered by creatures, nothing more than shadowy streaks as they darted to and fro, causing bodies to fall and blood to splatter.

It was unbearable. The sounds--the screaming, grunting, gurgling, and the inhuman screeching, coming not from the monsters, but the men. His brothers lay on the ground, their robes soaked in dark liquid, and a stench wafting from their bodies. The others--the ones who still lived--ran, but they never made it far before they were cut down from above or from behind by phantoms--nothing but shadows in the flickering light.

Fear gripped his heart. The old man watched as one Illuminator was ripped from limb to limb in just seconds by a swarm of shadows. There was no way he was going out there. They could call him a coward, but all he wanted to do was get out alive.

He closed the door, locking himself away from the massacre outside. He could escape through the graveyard.

Making his way down several halls, the man's bare feet slapped on the stone floor as he ran. Occasionally, he looked behind him, but nothing followed, and each time he turned a corner to find another clear hallway, he sighed.

While the courtyard was to the south, the graveyard sat to the west, running alongside the building to the north. It had two sections: a large, empty field, and a small, fenced-off area with stone slabs, all neatly lined with multicolor perennials. Above each slab burned a torch--an everlasting torch that could only be extinguished by magic. As the old man exited the building, he could see that none were lit.

Leaving the door ajar, he ran out onto the mossy hill past the torch-marked graves where fallen Illuminators lay in peace, and jumped the fence, nearly twisting his ankle as his robe caught on one of the spikes. He yanked at the fabric, letting it tear, and continued to run.

Despite the man's panic, the area was peaceful, save the inquietude caused by the darkened torches. Crickets chirped to the stars, and fireflies--good omens to the Illuminators--did their piece, twinkling among the flowers and grasses.

The old man slowed his pace, panting as he passed the long dead Illuminators. He had memorized them all--the brave men who fell, cleansing the sacred area of the impure. Their blood and flesh fed the flowers and grass.

Godfrey Hendricks, Lyle Seastone, William Huxley, Wesley Pierce, Henry Donovan, Timothy Rexler, Lucien Van Dyke--all martyrs, their lives sacrificed in exchange for light.

Who would bury the others? Who would bury him?

No, now wasn't the time to have morbid thoughts. He would get out of there--alive. He would run to--Fossil, yes, Fossil was close by. He would run to the city of Fossil and get help.

The graveyard gave way to an open field, and just like any field, it was large, flat, and covered in grass--but it was what lay underneath the field that made it special. The impure. All the dead impure--elves and dwarves, men, women, children, their remains rotted away and leaving nothing but bones.

He scanned the vastitude of the field before him. The ground was pitch black. The man’s heart pounded in his ears, as though it were warning him of some hidden danger. Some trap he was steps away from falling into. But he had to keep going. He had to get out.

The old man hopped the second fence, venturing out onto the dark field. It only took a few steps for him to realize that something was not right. The ground had become uneven--hard and full of crevices and holes. It shifted and cracked under his feet.

“But you know.”

A voice rang out from the darkness, and the old man stood, frozen, as a shadow appeared before him.

“You know what you stand upon, Illuminator.”

Indeed, he did know. There was no sign of the usual grass and soil beneath his feet. It had been stripped away, revealing--

“The dead.”

The shadow stepped closer, radiating ice. The Illuminator could not help but shiver as the faceless form approached, showing dark black against the already dark sky. He was simply a silhouette. A shadow.

Then, he removed the hood.

#gangsofolympia #gangs of olympia #excerpt #would love to put this under a read more #but i can't figure out how to do it anymore

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tealin · 4 years

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Castle Rock

As always, if the images aren't showing up on Tumblr, I invite you to visit the post at its original location on http://twirlynoodle.com/blog

There are a number of hiking and skiing trails around McMurdo Station. Some, like the Arrival Heights track, one can do alone and without giving notice; others, like the Castle Rock Loop, go far enough from the station and through questionable enough terrain that one has to check out, travel with a partner, and take radios in case of emergency.

I have become a great fan of the country walk in the UK. You dive into a beautiful morning on a promising footpath, refuel at a pub, keep walking all afternoon, maybe a quick half at another pub, then fall into bed all topped up on nature and exercise endorphins. Having been shuttled nearly everywhere in Antarctica via a motor vehicle of some sort, I was desperate to stretch my legs and cover some of Antarctica myself. I wanted to visit Castle Rock anyway, and the trip there and back was about the length of a leisurely country walk back home, so it was a natural thing to do once all my planned trips were over. My coordinator's opposite number is an avid hiker so he and I set out one sunny morning to put some miles on our sturdy boots.

The track is scenic and adventurous without being too arduous, so the Castle Rock Loop is a popular hike for the locals, as you can tell by the well-trammelled path in the photo above. Its full extent loops down to Scott Base and around back to McMurdo, but the shoreline down there didn't hold much interest and I'd done the route between Scott Base and McMurdo loads of times, so we just walked to Castle Rock and back.

It was a beautiful day. Much like the day I went up to Arrival Heights, it was calm, sunny, and hovering around freezing, the sort of conditions I insisted on calling 'picnic weather' long after the joke wore off. We also had an amazing low layer of thin cloud, which I unromantically call 'pond scum clouds' in my head, rather an unfair name as not only are they sometimes iridescent but they create wonderful light effects on the ground beneath them. On this day they were penned against Ross Island and cast their dappled shadows over Windless Bight, thereby showing up the perspective and giving everything the suggestion of being underwater.

Away from Ross Island the sky was clear, and from up here on the spine of the peninsula you could see pretty much everything, including Williams Field, where I'd spent so much time recently:

There's nothing like a pure white background to show you how much pollution our internal combustion engines spew out – that smoke plume is, I believe, from a C-130 which was warming up to take off that day. It's a lot better than coal, but we've got a long way to go yet.

Humans' rudimentary flying machines are not the only thing to have emitted noxious gases into the Antarctic atmosphere. Mt Erebus still puffs away with the occasional mild eruption, but the Hut Point Peninsula is an artefact of a more active volcanic past. Much of the rock is obviously igneous, black or grey and spongy with bubbles, and most of the hills that stand up from the body of the peninsula are old volcanic craters, which spewed that aerated rock in ages past. Castle Rock is similar in origin, but gets its distinctive shape from having been an sub-glacial volcano, rather than a surface cinder cone. It's not exactly a volcanic plug, like the Devil's Tower in Wyoming, where the central chamber of a volcano solidified into a tower of basalt and the softer layers on the outside eroded away. Rather it is the volcano, having melted its way up through thick ice, which held its sides almost vertical while new layers of lava were deposited on top. This stratification, as well as the way the igneous rock has weathered orange-brown, makes it look more like sandstone than basalt to the casual observer, especially one who's spent so much time in the parks of southern Utah.

It feels enormous when you're standing under it – the name 'Castle Rock' is well-deserved – but when compared to other sub-glacial volcanoes (for instance Tuya Butte) it is but a teeny tiny fairy volcano.

This southeast face is the most precipitous; the north side slopes more and there is a climbing trail up it, should one wish to scramble a bit. It was just on the verge of opening for use when we visited, so we didn't climb. We did take as many pictures as we could, staying on marked paths, but before long it was time to turn around and head back again.

We stopped at a small shelter we'd passed on the way up, which you can just see as a little red blob in the photo above. It is officially known as an Apple , but some refer to it as a Tomato, which it more closely resembles if you ask me. It's an emergency shelter, in case you happen to be doing the Castle Rock Loop when a blizzard blows up, and it is actually rather cosy inside.

Further along the trail, the familiar landmarks of McMurdo rose into view.

That's Observation Hill on the left, and Arrival Heights on the right, with the "Golf Ball" under Mt Discovery in the middle.

As you may be able to guess from the above photo, the slope dips more steeply as we approach the base, and because of this it catches the afternoon and evening sun, and gets very icy. We both had good hiking boots but not crampons, so on the way up had tried to climb by the snowier sections. I was looking forward to sliding down on my coat on the return journey but alas it wasn't quite steep or slippery enough for that – the best I could manage was a slow bum-scoot, which was fun but not exactly efficient. However, it got me close to some funny features I'd noticed on the way up.

My guide explained that they form when a rock gets blown onto the slope. Being dark, it absorbs a lot more heat from the sun than the surrounding ice does, and so melts its way down through the ice, and keeps going as long as it the sunlight can reach it. When the ice refreezes to fill the hole, it reorganises its crystalline structure from the chaotic granules left over from when it was snow, to something that reflects the container in which it was formed. You can sometimes see this radial pattern in your ice cube tray – this is exactly the same thing.

We had been walking on ice and snow all day, which made for a surprise when I stepped back onto the familiar gravel of McMurdo. I have walked on a lot of snow in my life but I suppose I always went from frozen water to frozen ground or pavement. I have not, apparently, stepped from ice to fine gravel so dry that the pebbles haven't frozen together, and my first impression on doing so was that I had stepped onto cake. It was a very strange sensation that took some minutes to shake, but I can remember it even now.

It had been a very good thing to stretch my legs, and getting out in the fresh(er) air with a walking partner who could make good conversation but also didn't mind silence did me some good, to process the whirlwind of trips I'd made in such a short time. In that sense, my own walk to Castle Rock was much in keeping with those who made the hike when waiting for the sea ice to freeze over in 1911 – it was somewhere to go that was well away from the madding crowd in the Discovery Hut, where one could have a private conversation or just catch a bit of peace and quiet. On its busier days, the route is well-enough travelled that one stands the risk of encountering as many people out there as anywhere else, but we got a quiet weekday when everyone else was working. Being a bright day in midsummer, my imagination will have to add the richer hues of the dying light of autumn, but I'm glad I got to stand there in person at least.

If you want more detailed, expert analysis of the geology of Castle Rock, this is the PDF for you.

#antarctica #castle rock #travel #hiking #photos #ross island #mcmurdo station #mcmurdo sound #mcmurdo #views

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violetsystems · 3 years

Text

#personal

It was a pretty quiet September 11th around the city for a change. I took the train downtown for coffee near the river. I was all over the place yesterday. On foot, on skateboard, on train. On the platform, a woman who had been seated with her son approached me. She asked me softly what book I was reading. It was William Gibson's "Pattern Recognition." I had been carrying it mostly because I saw a woman holding a bag a few days prior with the words "always carry a book." You get clues from society sometimes of how not to be a douchebag. You learn to read the court. Know when to fake. Know when to pass the ball. Know when to dunk on a motherfucker. This was one time where I had a chance to follow through on that wager. I told her it was science fiction but written too long ago so that it just seems like reality. The least complex way I could explain it was science fiction meets advertising. I could hear her son groaning presumably in the background. Probably at me. But it was a thoughtful conversation. We both agreed that carrying a book was about as neutral as it gets. If someone wanted to talk to you they'd have to reference the literature you were holding. It beat doom scrolling through the news which we both agreed is always different but never changes. We also agreed books put us to sleep. I said that was probably why I liked to read them in transit so I could tune out the world. The train approached as she wished me a good day and I continued my journey of minding my own business. Chicago lately feels a little less intimidated by culture as it happens. Particularly in communities of color where I spend most of my time and foot traffic in. I don't really feel all that comfortable or at ease around white people for the most part. They're all too scared to be real and talk about anything unless they're drunk. One of my favorite white basketball players was inducted into the hall of fame. He's a cracker for sure but a Croatian American which is one third of my nationality. He was called "the waiter" in which he was famous for waiting to pass the ball at the right time. He won a game for the bulls with five seconds remaining. He could dunk from the foul line and so on. And he played on a team of athletes where he was the minority and got his due. He did well enough to get inducted in the Hall of Fame when all was said and done. But he achieved that through team work not through domination. I have all these situations where it might seem from a certain vantage point that I alone saved the day. That I'm some superhero. And my only power is getting along in the environment I'm in. An environment that people constantly report is unsafe, in flux and horribly toxic. It is when you don't do anything about it to change it And then again people are smart enough and connected enough to figure out ways to cope. That is if they talk to each other. It's not like New York or Hong Kong where everyone is so used to living side by side. Chicago loves to have space and defaults to awkwardness. It's gasping for air sometimes in that respect. You need to wear your heart on your sleeve at all times. What better than a good book?

It seems like I write one every week. There's so much to reference and yet it all seems like chaos to organize. I can get lost in my head for any number of reasons. The people I care about most are far away in some ways and not so much in others. But it is still all so very vague. Small interactions at least keep me from feeling attacked and isolated. I think we're all looking for a balance to be able to express what we feel out in the open normally. Everybody is so focused on crystalizing it online one sentence at a time. They react to a feed that's been frankensteined together for an ulterior agenda. You read it on the news and it must be true. And year after year it is never about you. They've since taken the model of activism and made it a fucking reality show with Usher. The prize culminates at the G20 where you face the secret tribunal and receive funding for your cause through some bizarre sectarian ritual. I'm sure this is not the truth of it. But activism like reading should be a passively active goal. It should be your compass on the high seas of adventure in a city like this. The reward should be the conversations you unlock. The things you can reflect on and write about. How I don't really feel self conscious talking to people on the spot anymore. If a member of the opposite sex came up to you and asked what you were reading what impression would they leave you with? I'm already changing the world around me. And there's things that I've done in the past that are great trivia but don't speak for the real me. I was invited to see some people dj down in Chinatown last night. It was by the river in a park. I had just gotten back from Little Italy to get Hong Kong style Indian food at a restaurant called Siri. All of this is within walking distance if you don't mind shin splints. Everybody can tweet away how they're afraid to visit Chicago for fear of getting shot by the gangs. I am on foot ninety percent of the time. There's crime and then there's crime. And then there's what five media conglomerates owned by five billionaires have to say about it. This is why I listen to publicly funded radio. I hurried back, burnt my mouth on dal makini and jumped back on the bus to the park. Everybody was there that I knew from footwork and magic the gathering. An impossible mix of people who nonchalantly know you as violet systems moreso than Tim. I hung out for an hour and left around eight thirty. I took another long walk home over an empty bridge overlooking the city. I did this all alone. Aside from the people I run into from the neighborhood on the block. I was free to do so. And Chicago is still that place no matter how mad I get at it. And it isn't going anywhere.

Seemingly neither am I. For all the bullshit I write about how frustrated I am with things, people do eventually get the message. Would you rather have them understand it organically or force your perspective? You can repeat the same thing over and over again and it becomes tired. About how you are so progressive that nobody in your city has actually heard of you. About how you are doing all these things to fix the future but aren't living life in the present. All it really takes is letting the world know you are stable. Getting your own chaos in order and operating from there. Maybe you inspire someone along the way. Maybe you start a conversation that has nothing to do with you. But it all starts with communication. Knowing when you've said enough. Knowing that simply showing people another side of you may change the dialogue. Living by example and not just talking about it. Maybe understanding that it isn't constructive to be fighting with the universe all the time. Maybe the peace we seek to achieve on the global level starts with the conversations within ourselves and not the society trying to galvanize public opinion. If we could just help people feel normal again maybe we would all deserve normalcy. September 11th was a horrible thing caused by an outdated mindset across the board. It is twenty years later and we still cower in fear. Mostly of our own country's shadow if we are Americans. We have since thought of our freedom as something to be shaken out of other people. To rattle and provoke each other to show our true selves like a bull in a glass house. We don't start small. We get egged on and thrown in such a paranoid mind state that we think everyone is out there just to roast us. We constantly feel we have to prove our patriotism to a peanut gallery of billionaire funded social networks. We chase money in the present instead of investing in better futures. We don't know when it's our time to pass the ball. Working as a team, you fear you will be forgotten. That somehow you won't get your slice of the bloated pizza pie and unevenly distributed future of the American dream. But we all live here oblivious to the freedom we have to build it back better ourselves. The billionaires aren't walking on these streets. They're blind to how it really works. Maybe it just starts with a book and an honest question. What am I reading these days? I'm reading into all the signals and they're coming back clear. Whatever I've written in the past is just context for whatever I write about in the future. And the future holds less terror because I am less fearful of being misunderstood. I still wear that bright pink heart on my sleeve. It's the team I represent. I'm just waiting for the right time to dunk from the foul line. For now I pass it back to you all until next week. <3 Tim

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katefiction · 4 years

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A Royal Christmas Carol

by katefiction (Maria) / 2013

The voices of hundreds of feverish and excitable people rose and fell through the crowd. Occasionally, snippets of conversation could be heard like little balls bouncing up from the ground. ‘How much? Ten pounds?’, ‘Oh she’ll absolutely love that!’, ‘It looks yummy…I might just have to try one’.

Catherine Middleton’s voice was just one of them.

‘Brutwurst for the pretty lady?’ a vendor said, thrusting a long German sausage in her direction.

‘Oh no thank you’ she replied politely.

‘Only two pounds for you’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye, his thick German accent adding extra charm, ‘it’s delicious!’

‘I’m sure, but I’ve just had some stollen and mulled wine from that stall over there’ she said pointing to one of the wooden huts that were lined neatly in a row.

‘Stolen my business!’ he said, throwing his arms theatrically in the air, followed by something in German that Kate presumed to be an expletive.

Kate giggled, pushing William along gently before they were convinced into buying any more food. They both already had a bag each filled with meats, gingerbread and fudge.

It seemed to William that his new housemate wanted to stop at every stall possible at the Christmas Market that had landed in St Andrew’s that December day.

‘Oh that’s gorgeous!’ Kate enthused, looking at some blown glass baubles with a hand painted design.

William trudged on behind her, his feet sore from the walking and fingers numbing in the wintery air. He pondered for a second whether this was what having a proper girlfriend felt like. The constant pretence of being interested in the wooden toys, sparkling decorations and handmade crafts that Kate had insisted on showing him that afternoon. Not to mention always having to carry the heavier shopping bag.

Still, William might not mind all that much if Kate were his girlfriend.

‘What do you think Will? Should I get one for Mum?’ she said holding a bauble up to the last bit of daylight there was left.

‘Urm, yeh?’ he replied, looking over to his protection officers who blended into the crowd like two bored men waiting for their wives.

‘Oh I don’t know though, she might not like it. It’s one of those marmite things, you know, she’ll either love it or hate it’

William nodded, ‘how much is it?’

‘Twelve pounds’

‘For ONE bauble?!’ he exclaimed.

‘You’re paying for the quality and the craftsmanship’ she explained.

‘Extortionate’ he muttered so the vendor couldn’t hear him.

‘Oh don’t start that again’ she laughed putting the bauble down and walking away from the little wooden hut a little mournfully.

It was a fact well known that William Wales hated Christmas. He thought it a brazen excuse for companies to rip people off. Who says you should have a turkey, a tree, and a mound of brussel sprouts at the table? And why, oh why must Christmas songs be obligatory from November onwards?

As they walked back to their little home in Hope Street, Kate rattled off all the things she still needed to get for their house Christmas meal.

‘We still need crackers, and to decorate the tree, oh and I should fish out my snowman slippers!’

If William weren’t as enamoured with Kate as he was, he would find this irritating. But the plain fact was that just recently, he found nothing about Kate irritating.

The way she threw her hair behind her shoulders, sending a gentle waft of her shampoo scent in his direction. The manner in which she gently touched his arm when she was teasing him. He liked everything, every little thing.

‘I think the snowman slippers are going a bit far’ he said drily.

‘Oh bah humbug!’ she retorted.

Just as he was about to tell her how her festive spirit was all a concoction of the media driven world, a small ball of energy, about knee height crashed into them.

‘Whoa’ Will shouted, almost dropping his bag.

‘Tim!!!’ screeched a high Scottish voice.

From around the corner leading up to Hope Street came a rather dishevelled looking woman. From a far, she looked like she could be fifty, with dark thin hair and bags under her eyes. As she grew closer, however, it was clear to William and Kate that she was thirty at the most.

‘Say sorry Tim!’ she shouted at the little boy, who was now peering into William’s carrier bag.

‘Sorry’ he said.

‘It’s fine’ Kate said kindly.

Tim, like his mother, was scrawny and tiny too for his ten years.

‘Righ’ come on’ Tim’s mother said, grabbing him and pulling him along the street.

‘But Ma, they’ve go’ a turkey!’ they heard him say, ‘you said the shops were all out o’ turkeys!’

‘They must’ve gone somewhere fancy, we can’nae afford somewhere fancy’ she replied.

It was true, William and Kate had queued for half an hour for their turkey from a high end butchers in town.

‘But I want a turkey this Christmas!’ he moaned.

‘I said no! We’ll have ham’

Their voices were cut off when they entered one of the terraced houses on the street William and Kate were walking down.

‘I feel terrible now’ Kate said, looking down at their overflowing bags.

‘Don’t, if we hadn’t been preconditioned to associate turkeys with Christmas, that little boy wouldn’t know any different’

‘Do you ever get tired of being a Scrooge?’ she asked.

‘No’ he laughed.

‘What made you hate Christmas so much anyway?’ Kate said as they approached their house.

‘No reason’ William said. ‘I just do’

Christmas Past

‘Where are you going!?’ she shrilled.

‘I told you, I have a meeting’ he responded calmly.

‘I don’t believe you’ she said defiantly.

‘Well that’s not my problem’

William stood behind the door, peeking through the crack at the two figures inside his father’s study. He couldn’t see much, just the odd shadow or a splash of blonde hair going back and forth.

‘I don’t want you to go!’ she continued.

‘I have to’

‘Please Charles…’

Sometimes the shadows would come closer and William would jump back quickly, scared to be found eavesdropping.

After a minute’s silence, the voice of his mother came again, but quietly this time. ‘I know where you’re really going’ she said at almost a whisper.

‘I am going to a meeting’ he said sternly.

‘Why must you lie? Why must you lie to me?’

William could hear the familiar closing of her throat, her voice becoming wobbly. He pressed his eye closer to the door crack.

‘William, what are you playing?’

William was almost thrown backwards by his heart jumping at the shock of his six year old brother’s voice behind him.

‘Shhhhhh’ he ordered quietly, turning around with his hands on his hips. ‘Go away’

‘Why?!’ Harry said at his normal volume.

‘I said shhh!, it’s grown-ups only’

‘You’re not a grown up’ Harry sulked.

‘I’m more of a grown up than you now push off’. He attempted to push his brother down the hallway, but he wouldn’t budge.

‘I’m gonna tell mummy and papa you were spying’ Harry said, poking his tongue out.

The voices inside the study began to raise once again, footsteps approaching the door.

‘It’s Christmas in two days Charles! Please think of the boys!’

The footsteps stopped briefly. ‘I must go, I’m sorry’.

Darkness covered the whole crack of the door and William sprang to action.

‘Go, move!’ he said, pushing Harry down the hallway and around a corner just as the door swung open. Neither Harry nor William dared peek to watch their father descending the stairs, but they heard him. Seconds later, their mother’s heels clicked on the hardwood and she shouted over the bannister.

‘I hope you’re happy! You’ve ruined Christmas! Ruined it!’

A door slammed. Then there was silence.

‘Go back to the playroom’ William told Harry as they released themselves from the soldier like stance against the wall.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ll come in a minute’

‘And we can play spies again!?’ Harry brightened.

‘Yes, we can play spies’ he agreed.

Harry ran off, leaving William to tread carefully down the hall, purposely avoiding the creaky floorboards he knew so well. He went into the study and pulled a few tissues from the tissue box on his father’s desk and set off to find the familiar sound of sobbing.

It wasn’t long before he found it, at the end of the hall in the first floor bathroom.

‘Mummy?’ he said to the shut door. There was no response, just the harmony of sobs.

‘Mummy?’ he said again. She couldn’t hear him, so consumed by her sorrow as she was.

Deftly, William kneeled onto the floor and pushed each tissue under the door one by one. Then he waited, and waited and waited until finally she came out, mascara wiped from her cheeks, her smile back on her face, but the sparkle gone from her eyes.

Christmas Present

William had never told anyone that it was that Christmas when he was eight years old that has ruined it for him for years to come. No-one need know how his parent glared at each other in stony silence over the turkey at the dinner table. They didn’t need to know how Charles had lavished gifts on the boys that year, only for Diana to say he was ‘trying to make up for something’ when she thought they weren’t listening.

He’d never enjoyed Christmas since that year, and after his mother passed, it seemed even more meaningless.

‘We’re home!’ Kate called to their housemates, as she brushed her boots onto the door mat.

Fergus bounded down the stairs, eager to lay his hands on the sweet treats they’d bought.

‘Don’t let him near them!’ Kate said immediately to William, ‘they’re for tomorrow’

‘What a taskmaster’ Fergus laughed. ‘Was she like this all day?’

William stared at Kate dopily but said nothing. Their hands had just touched when she took his bag off him and he was reeling from the after effects.

‘Helloooo?’ Fergus said. ‘Bit distracted are we?’

William frowned at his friend, but Kate was so caught up in her festive haze that she didn’t notice.

‘Can you two unpack this stuff? I need to put up the tree’ she called from the kitchen where she placed the shopping down. ‘But no snacking, Will I’m trusting you to keep him in check’

She flashed a wide grin at him, causing butterflies to flutter inside his stomach.

‘I’ll rugby tackle him if I have to’ he said.

After Kate had gone upstairs to relay the wonders of the Christmas Market to Olivia, Fergus set about interrogating William.

‘So did you talk to her?’ he said, inspecting a gingerbread man.

‘About what?’ he replied, his cheeks flushing.

Fergus sighed, ‘About you two, you should do it before Christmas’

‘There’s no rush’

‘Not if you’re not worried about her going home for a few weeks and kissing some loser from Bucklebury under the mistletoe’

William didn’t reply to this, focussing instead on a bottle of wine.

‘I’m just saying, you don’t wanna leave it too late, Kate’s a good one’

‘I know that’

William more than knew that. But beneath it all, he was shy and insecure and did he really want a steady girlfriend anyway? He tore open the gingerbread man to distract himself.

‘William!’ came Kate’s voice from the stairs as she spotted him eating the biscuit.

‘Sorry’ he smiled. ‘Couldn’t resist’

She tutted and rolled her eyes at him.

‘You keep telling me to get into the festive spirit, so I did!’ he teased and read from the label of the gingerbread, ‘“enjoy your Christmas with Gingerbread George” – see he told me to eat him’

Kate pulled it off him and snapped off the arm to taste ‘Gingerbread George knows that festive spirit isn’t about eating yourself silly’

‘You tell him Kate!’ Fergus chimed in. ‘It’s about drinking yourself silly too’

Kate scowled at Fergus playfully, ‘it’s about spending time with your loved ones and being thankful that you have them’

‘Isn’t that thanksgiving?’ William teased.

‘Yeh and Christmas is about Jesus?’ Fergus added.

‘You two are impossible!’ she huffed jokingly.

As Kate went over to the living area to decorate the tree, Fergus saw an opportunity to leave them alone, patting Will on the back and sprinting upstairs.

‘So what do you do on the actual day?’ Will asked, helping her to attach some baubles to the tree.

‘We usually go to church, and take a nice walk, play board games…oh and dad usually buys some kind of fancy dress outfit and turns up in it’

Will laughed at the thought of Mr Middleton in fancy dress.

‘Pretty similar to our family Christmas then, minus the fancy dress’ he said.

‘See, not so different, you and me’ she said with a nudge.

‘Apart from you actually like Christmas!’

‘I’ll make a convert of you yet, just you wait’

‘I doubt I’ll ever enjoy it’ he said, his mother’s dulled blue eyes suddenly popping into his head.

‘Maybe when you have kids you’ll change your mind’ she said placing the star at the top of the tree.

William scoffed, ‘doubt it’

Then would’ve been the perfect time to talk to her about how he felt. Surely that little nudge was a sign?

Kate looked at him expectantly, like she was waiting for him to say something. But his thoughts had been clouded by memories of Christmas’ past, the stale feeling it gave him, the one he thought he’d never get over.

‘No, Christmas is about money and pretending to like people you wouldn’t talk to any other time of the year’

Kate shook her head; clearly her patience with William’s attitude was waning.

‘Well I’ll enjoy it regardless’ she said plainly, getting up and heading upstairs again.

Will cursed himself; he’d just missed his chance.

Christmases Yet To Come

That night, he slept fitfully, images of Kate and Gingerbread George floating in his mind. He had probably eaten too much of it, he thought as he drifted uncomfortably from reality to dream.

He found himself standing in a large living room, a sparkling tree in the corner, a cream sofa covered in thick throws and a fire crackling under the mantelpiece.

To his shock, out from one of the rooms came someone who looked very much like himself. Well a version of himself that he almost didn’t recognise. This William had bags under his eyes and much less hair, but he was smiling, beaming even at something he was holding in his arms.

‘Rockin’ around the Christmas tree, at the Christmas party shop’ he sang, bouncing the thing up and down in his arms.

‘Those aren’t the lyrics’ came a voice he knew so well.

Kate appeared from the room looking just as, if not even more beautiful than William knew her.

‘It’s Christmas party hop, not shop, that doesn’t make any sense’ she added.

‘Alright Mother Christmas!’ he laughed. ‘Mummy’s such a know-it-all isn’t she?’

It was only then that Will noticed what his older self was holding. A bouncing baby boy.

Was it his? Surely it couldn’t be his.

‘George, tell daddy that mummy does know it all, yes I do’ she said tickling the baby’s stomach. ‘Especially about Christmas’

Kate held up a tiny red knitted jumper that she’d had behind her back, a reindeer design was on the front.

‘That’s ridiculous’ the two Williams said in unison. The younger clapped his hand over his mouth before realising that no-one could hear or see him.

‘It’s cute Will!’ Kate insisted.

‘He’s gonna be boiling in that thing’

‘He’ll be fine for a few minutes while we take some pictures, won’t you my pumpkin?’

William sighed in defeat.

As he stood observing from the corner, William recognised the look that his older self was giving Kate as the same dopy look he often gave her in their home at Hope Street. Was it conceivable that this could be his future? Married to Kate and with a baby that he sang Christmas songs to?

George screamed out as Kate tugged the jumper gently over his head.

‘He hates it!’ William shouted over the noise.

Will walked over to the sofas and sat close to the three of them, finding himself grinning at their domesticity.

Kate managed to get the jumper on and began snapping away with her camera, while William stood behind her making faces at the baby until finally after all the fuss, George cracked open a huge smile.

‘That’s my boy!’ Kate beamed.

For the next hour, or what felt like an hour as he had no sense of time, Will followed the family around the house. He watched them as they laughed together, chatted about a trip to Australia and other everyday things. He smiled with them when they fed George, and got frustrated with them when he wouldn’t eat.

When George was safely tucked up in bed, they sat down again at the couch, and he was surprised to see his older self voluntarily switching on Miracle on 34th Street. What had happened to him?

‘I love this film’ Kate said happily, tossing her legs up onto William’s.

‘It’s a good one, especially that scene at the end in the court room’

‘Do I need to get you some tissues?’ Kate teased.

William smirked at her, as did Will.

So this was what normal family life was all about, he thought.

Just as he was about to get comfortable and watch the film with them, darkness clouded over his dream, pulling him away.

He tossed and turned in his bed, neither waking nor going back to that room in Kensington Palace. Instead, he found himself plunged into a study, just like the one his father had.

There was William, the older, sitting at the desk, writing letters. Only this time, he was even older, fifty maybe. He sat with no expression on his face, a lamp flickering on his desk. There were no pictures on his desk, no sign of his wife or child, just emptiness.

‘Oi’ Will shouted.

But William couldn’t hear him.

He walked around the desk and behind the chair, where he could see William dating the letters as 24th December.

‘Oi’ he repeated. ‘It’s Christmas Eve, what are you doing here alone? Shouldn’t you be with your family or something?’

Will knew instinctively that there was no Kate or George in this scenario. This was the William of a future without a family.

And he hated it. He wanted to see himself ice skating with his kids, or chasing after them with snowballs. He wanted to be forced to watch Christmas movies, and eat turkey and brussel sprouts, and spend ridiculous money on visiting Father Christmas’ grotto with George.

‘Get off your arse!’ he shouted at his older self. ‘It’s Christmas!’

‘Get up! You’re married remember?! Go to your family!’

Of course the older William didn’t move, he merely sat solemnly, and just like he’d seen somewhere before, the sparkle gone from blue his eyes.

Will woke with a start, feeling like he hadn’t been asleep at all. He sat up for a few minutes dazed from being snapped out of the particularly vivid dream. But it had felt so real, he thought. He could almost taste the crackling fire from his apartment.

On walking downstairs, unable to stay in bed any longer, he found Kate warming some croissants in the oven.

‘Morning’ she said brightly. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Not really’ he said rubbing his eyes, ‘I had the weirdest dreams’

‘About what?’

He considered for a moment telling her the truth, but maybe it was a little too strange. ‘Um Gingerbread George…he came to life’ he said.

Kate laughed.

‘Can I help you with the lunch today?’ he asked.

She eyed him suspiciously, ‘you want to help?’

‘What’s wrong with that?!’

‘No, nothing’ she said, waving a butter knife in the air, ‘just surprised that you want anything to do with Christmas, that’s all’

William smiled, ‘I promise I won’t do anything without your approval’

‘Fine, you can start on the turkey stuffing, that’s hard to mess up’ she joked.

So William and Kate set about making Christmas lunch. William was pleased to spend this time alone with Kate before they went home and once or twice he almost plucked up the courage to ask her out. The dreams from last night still ran through his mind. If he didn’t ask her now, would he end up that lonely old man working on Christmas Eve? Was it even possible that he could know a happy family life so different from those tense Christmases of the past?

By the time Olivia and Fergus emerged in the kitchen, William was still mulling over his thoughts and was alone with Kate no longer.

Timed perfectly by Kate, at one o’clock, the four of them sat down at their small table, food and drink almost falling over the edges.

‘It all looks amazing’ Olivia enthused, ‘I can’t wait for you to cut into that turkey’ she said to Kate.

The turkey was the centrepiece of the table setting, golden brown and oozing with juices and stuffing.

‘Actually I think Will should have the honours’ Kate said, slipping on her snowman slippers for the occasion.

‘Me?’ he said unconvinced.

‘You’ve shown your Christmas spirit today, plus you made most of it, it’s only fair you should carve it’.

They exchanged a look over the table, and Will knew he was doing the dopey eyes again, realising how much he liked Kate’s attention.

‘There’s enough to feed a small army here’ Fergus remarked as William picked up the knife.

Just as he was about to slice the knife through the turkey, he stopped abruptly.

‘Will?’ Kate said.

‘You’re right…you’re absolutely right’ he said vacantly.

He dropped the knife on the table and picked up the entire turkey, platter and all.

‘Um Will, are you ok? … where are you going with that?’ Kate said, concerned as William headed for the front door.

Kate, Fergus and Olivia exchanged worried glances.

‘Come with me’ Will said, attempting to put on a baseball cap while balancing the turkey with one hand.

‘Where?!’ Kate asked, but William was already on the doorstep, so she was forced to jump up and follow him.

William turned right from their home, and strode up the street purposefully. ‘Keep up!’ he teased as he turned and saw Kate rushing behind him.

They rounded a corner onto the next street and William looked searchingly at each door, finally recalling the one he wanted.

It was then that Kate understood what was happening, and she couldn’t help smiling to herself as William rang the doorbell at his chosen house.

The door opened a few inches, ‘we haven’t got any spare change’ a voice snapped from behind the door, and began to shut it again.

‘No we’re not collecting for charity’ William said quickly. ‘I’d just like to…well I have something I’d like to give you’

‘I’m not interested in finding Jesus’ she said spikily.

‘Wait please’ he said before she could slam the door in his face, ‘we met yesterday, we live down the road, your son’s Tim isn’t it?’

‘What has he done now?! TIM!!!!!!!!!!’ she screeched.

‘Nothing!’ Kate attempted, ‘please could you open the door’

The woman finally relented; opening the door fully as tiny Tim came storming down the stairs.

‘Wow! Ma look a’ tha’ turkey!’ he said, his eyes transfixed.

William grinned at his excitement. ‘It’s for you, if you’d like it’

‘Wha’ for?’ the woman said suspiciously.

William pondered for a second and then said, ‘call it Christmas spirit?’

Kate beamed and placed a hand on William’s back.

‘There’s nothing wrong with it honestly, we made it this morning, I know it’s a bit large…’

‘…but you can cut it up and put it in the freezer until Christmas day if you’d prefer’ Kate finished for him.

‘I’ve go’ three more kids in there’ she said, ‘they’ll polish that off’

‘So you’ll accept it?’ Kate said hopefully. ‘As a gift’

‘I can’nae really say no, can I?’. For the first time the woman smiled, softening her face considerably.

William handed the turkey to her, and ruffled Tim’s hair, who was still transfixed.

‘Thank you’ the woman said. ‘From all o’ us’

‘No problem’, Will said, lowering his hat and turning away.

‘Wait, what are your names?’ she said.

‘It doesn’t matter’ William said. ‘Merry Christmas to you all’

‘Merry Christmas’ she said back to them both.

William and Kate walked back to Hope Street partly in silence, nothing really needing to be said.

‘Do you think Olivia and Fergus will be pissed off I’ve given their turkey away?’ William asked eventually, as they walked purposely slowly.

‘We have more than enough other food’ Kate said sensibly. ‘Besides they’ll have the same opinion as me when they know where it went’

‘Which is?’ he said, smirking.

‘That you’re very sweet and even a little awesome’

William stopped in the pavement, ‘you think I’m awesome?’

‘You know I do’ she said rolling her eyes as if it was a silly question.

‘Right…well the thing is, I think you’re kind of awesome too’ he said, with all the confidence he could muster.

‘Do you?’ she gave him a smile that made him blush.

‘And I was thinking…maybe when we come back after the break, we could…um…you know’ William was bright red and running out of words.

‘Be awesome together?’ Kate suggested.

‘Yes, exactly, if you wanted to, obviously’ he mumbled.

‘I thought you’d never get the hint’ she chuckled.

‘Well I’m not very observant’ he said calmly though his spirits soaring.

Kate reached on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek, sending the flush roaring back to his face.

Maybe that dream last night wasn’t just a dream, perhaps it was the push he so badly needed, he thought optimistically.

He looked down and saw that to his great amusement, Kate was still in her snowman slippers.

‘Nice slippers’ he teased, pulling a face at their gaudiness.

‘Oh bah humbug!’

#katefiction #royal fanfiction #cambridge fanfiction #kate middleton

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chroniclackofselfpreservation · 4 years

Text

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 1 - for it is important that awake people be awake

Next chapter >

AO3 (go to AO3 for complete list of tags for this fic)

Masterlist

(TW: violence/graphic imagery, guns, snakes, fear)

(The title for this chapter comes from “A Ritual to Read to Each Other” by William E. Stafford.)

Roman's gut twisted painfully and his eyes snapped open. He sat up. His room was still dark, the heavy curtains blocking out whatever moonlight would have fallen across his bed, but he didn’t need it. He’d lain his clothes and equipment out before going to sleep a few hours earlier. The routine was so ingrained into his mind at this point, light became arbitrary.

Roman’s movements were almost mechanical as he folded back the covers and slipped into his shirt, pants, and armor with long-earned efficiency. The armor was a gift from Logan, who stood as the only person Roman had ever told about his nightly endeavors. It was made of a tough but flexible leather that wasn’t as protective as metal, but far quieter—which Roman found worked to his advantage most nights. Logan, being the obsessive problem-solver he so often was, hated the fact that there was nothing he could do to alleviate the curse. It had been sealed in Roman’s own blood—against his will, of course, but it made no difference. According to the dragon witch, whose brilliant plan it was to have Roman fight a demon for the rest of his life, had told him that he was the only one capable of keeping it at bay.

Yeah, right, he thought sourly as he wrapped a ruby amulet around his bicep. Another “gift” from that blasted dragon witch. Roman had given up pestering her for a remedy for the curse several months ago, finding the long haul up into the mountains far too much work just to be rejected. He couldn’t even kill the stupid thing. It was immortal. He could weaken it, sure, and make things easier for himself for a few weeks, but it always came back.

Sometimes stronger.

What did the dragon witch expect to happen? Eventually, he would die. Whether it was the demon’s doing was yet to be seen, but he definitely wouldn’t outlive it. What then? Would she simply pass the curse on to another? Continue the viscous cycle of torment? Stop complaining, he scolded himself, pressing his lips into a thin line and cinching the leather guard tight about his forearm. It’s been a year. You should be over this by now.

Picking up the pace, Roman holstered his two pistols on either side of his belt, slipped a dagger into a sheath secured around his stomach beneath his shirt, and picked up his sword. He was best with the blade, though he wasn’t foolish enough to go in without back up weaponry. He despised the guns most of all. They were loud and clunky and gave him a headache to use, but more often than not they got him out of perilous situations, so he kept them. The sword was heavy, though Roman was so used to it now, it felt comfortably weighted.

Doing a quick double-check to make sure he had everything he needed, he opened his door and stepped out into the hallway. He closed the door behind him with a soft click. Roman had grown accustomed to traversing their house in silence, dreading the possibility of Patton or Virgil discovering him sneaking out loaded with weapons. He turned a corner, about to head down the stairs, when he noticed a warm amber glow trailing up the wall. Someone was still up—or they’d left the light on, at least. Was Virgil having trouble sleeping again? Or was Patton indulging in some late-night baking? Both options were likely. Could Roman manage to sneak by without being noticed? Thoughts raced through his head a mile a minute. Something inside him pulled, like someone plucking a bow string drawn dangerously taut. The curse compelled him forward, and he nearly stumbled down the steps as he pulled back. He had no choice; he had to leave. Could he sneak out his room window? It was a long way to the ground and the only tree was by Patton’s bedroom window. He’d risk injuring himself by jumping, which could put his life in jeopardy later. He’d have to try and sneak past whoever was out there. It wasn’t worth having to face the demon with a twisted ankle. Perhaps he could knock them out and convince them it was all a dream? He shook his head. He couldn’t attack any of them. It would eat him up inside.

Slowly, he peeked out over the banister. A short reading lamp sat on an end table beside the couch, barely light enough to keep the shadows in the corners of the room at bay. Bathed in gold light, the figure in the chair turned out to be Logan, hands clasped in his lap and eyes staring vaguely at the wall, deep in thought. Relaxing somewhat, Roman straightened and continued down the stairs as quietly as possible. The third one down was always squeaky. Logan hadn’t noticed him yet, and even as Roman approached, he stared at the wall, chewing on his bottom lip and mouthing silent thoughts to himself. Roman couldn’t help but smile.

“Logan,” he said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Logan jumped, startled. “Wha—oh, it’s you. I was wondering when you’d leave.”

“What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night.”

Logan cocked his head to the side, considering. “The sun sets at nine p.m. and rises at seven-fifteen a.m.. By all accounts, we are less than halfway into the night,” he said, gesturing to the otherwise dark and empty house. He cleared his throat. “I, er, wanted to see you off before you... left.”

“I’ll be back before the sun rises, Lo,” Roman said, waving a dismissive hand and trying to hide the strain in his voice. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you can’t stay up like this every night.”

“I think you’ll find there are many things I can do,” Logan said, his normal sternness hardening into something akin to anger. “One being making sure you arrive back home in one piece. Are you positive I cannot accompany you? I’m sure there are options we haven’t explored yet.”

“Logan, you—“ Roman tripped forward into Logan as the curse tugged at him once again, endlessly insistent. Logan caught him, but Roman quickly righted himself again, struggling to keep the pain from showing on his face. He cleared his throat. “You know I can’t do that. You being there would only distract me and put me in more danger. I’d be too worried about you getting hurt.”

Logan studied his face for a moment before sighing and letting him go. “Very well, but you better come back.”

Roman put on a smile, chuckling. “Of course I will. Have a little faith, Lo.”

“I shall try,” he muttered as Roman opened the front door. He glanced back one last time only to see Logan lower himself back into the arm chair and lose himself in pained thought.

* * * * * * * * * *

The forest was only two blocks away from their house, so Roman didn’t have to walk very far. He’d devised a route through the neighborhood that led him behind houses and between backyard fences to lessen the probability of someone spotting him waltzing around dressed like a walking armory. Most nights, however, were largely uneventful save the occasional barking dog. The sudden noise used to scare Roman.

Now, he had bigger things to be scared of.

The forest dampened every noise as soon as Roman stepped through the tree line. Though he could still see civilization through the trees, he felt a thousand miles from any sort of help were something to happen. The curse wouldn't allow him to leave until the first signs of dawn—he would know, he'd tested it. Many times. The beginning was always the most dangerous part. The demon knew exactly where he was, and at what time he'd be there. The trick would be escaping into the darkness of the woods and losing him along the way. He shook off the nerves breeding in the pit of his stomach, and trudged deeper into the darkness, sword at the ready.

Ah, the darkness. He’d brought a flashlight only once before, and had barely escaped the night with his life. Turns out, a bright beam of light does more to give oneself away than to help locate a possible predator. He never made the mistake again. Since then, he’d become quite familiar with the dark. However, it was less of an old friend and more an impartial entity desiring entertainment regardless of who ended up on the wrong end of it. He took no solace in it, but rather treated it with deference and wary reverence.

Something shifted in the trees above him. Roman froze. Dense fog clung to the ground, curling around his legs like ghosts desperate for living touch. The moon was nothing more than a sliver, denying Roman what little light he usually counted on. The heavy slithering bounced around him, as if it couldn’t decide which direction it came from. Roman pressed his back up against a tree and held his sword in front of him.

“So brave,” a chilling voice hissed. Roman’s stomach dropped. “Have you not bored of this constant battle, yet, little prince?” Roman kept his eyes on the canopies and his mouth shut. He’d never figured out why both the dragon witch and the demon called him a prince, but he’d rather that than his own name. Roman refused to give it that power.

“I tire of this endless game. You drag out the inevitable,” the demon sighed. It sounded vaguely human, though if that human had swallowed shards of glass and gargled with shrapnel. The sound of the beast dragging its enormous body through the branches still eluded Roman, jumping around his head like he wore headphones that kept shorting out.

“Why?” it breathed so close to Roman’s ear, he could feel it. He tensed, swinging his sword around. It sunk into something solid. It took Roman a split second to realize that it wasn't a giant serpentine head, but the tree trunk. He tugged. It didn't budge. Terror swept through him in the same second as a grating laugh echoed around the trees. He abandoned the sword and hadn't so much as taken a step away when a wall of cold, hard scales slammed him back into the tree. He could feel the creature's muscles undulating and constricting beneath the smooth plating, slowly crushing him into the wood. It was dark, yes, but Roman had seen it before on nights with a full moon: a gold scaled beast with a body several times thicker than the trees and a head the size of a small car. Eyes like pools of molten lead the size of Roman's whole face and fangs longer than his arm. He'd only been caught by it a few times in the last year. Each time he'd nearly died. Though, he was ashamed to admit, they didn't usually happen quite this fast.

He'd definitely set a new personal record.

Luckily, he'd managed to pin his arms in front of his chest, so he could somewhat resist the creature's constricting. He took short shallow breaths and pushed outward with all of his strength, but it was a futile effort. The constricting halted, and the monster lowered it's head to meet Roman's eyes.

"Tell me why."

"You think I want to be here?" he spat. "A dragon witch cursed me."

"Dragon witch?"

"Yes, the dragon witch named Ursula. You know, after a whole year of barely five words to me, you're suddenly really chatty," Roman said derisively, hoping to distract the beast from the fact that he was slowly reaching for one of his pistols. Not exactly easy when your arms are being crushed by a gigantic reptile, but progress was being made nonetheless.

"All this time and she still holds onto that ridiculous nickname. You'd think she'd have learned to imprison me with more than a sniveling child," it hissed, baring its enormous fangs. Roman paled, wriggling his arm toward the holster a little faster now. It reared up its head and tightened its hold. Roman cried out, the air slowly forced out of his lungs. He saw stars.

"I am no troublesome pixie that can be held over by a simple curse. She will pay for this insul—"

BANG!

Roman drew and fired the pistol faster than he'd ever before. It hit just below the demon's eye, ricocheting off its scales and off into the night. The snake hissed angrily and released him, retreating in a spiral up the tree and into the canopies once more. It knew better than to stay in close range while the guns were out, regardless of it's tough armor. Roman may not like guns, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to use one. So far, the mouth and the eyes were the only weak spots he'd located.

He dropped to the ground, heaving and retching. Roman scrambled to his feet. There was no time for recovery. He tore his sword from the tree and sprinted deeper into the forest. He needed to find shelter or somewhere to hide. While he couldn't see the serpent as well when it was in the trees, it couldn't move nearly as fast. If he managed to lose it, he may just have a chance.

Calm down, Roman. You've been doing this for three hundred and sixty-five nights, and you haven't lost a single one. Don't make tonight any different.

The battle was nowhere near over, and the night had only just begun.

* * * * * * * * * *

Roman fumbled for the key beneath the place mat. It was almost five-thirty in the morning, and though the sun hadn't technically risen yet, his curse had seen fit to release him as soon as the first hints of light played at the horizon. It was still relatively dark, the skyline glowing a pale blue-green against the starry indigo above it. His ribs ached, his knees and elbows were scraped, his clothes and face were streaked with mud, and he was covered in blood up to his elbows. Not his own. Last he checked, his blood was red, not black. It was the demon's, from when he'd driven his sword through the underside of its mouth. He hadn't seen his reflection yet, but he could imagine the horror show that was his appearance. The stuff never really dried, either. It remained sticky like tar and was an absolute nightmare to try and get out of the leather armor Logan made him—not to mention his own hair.

Eventually, his sloppy fingers found the spare key and managed to stick it into the lock. He turned it, replaced it beneath the mat, and pushed the door open. The house smelled of cinnamon and happiness, due in great part to Patton's baking yesterday. The lamp still sat on in the living room, illuminating Logan's sleeping features. His glasses hung askew across his nose and some fancy-pants scientific book lay open on his lap. Roman closed the front door behind him as softly as he could manage, then froze with his foot inches above the floor. Virgil had just mopped last night. If Roman took one step off the front rug, he'd track mud, dirt, and demon blood through the entire house. Cursing under his breath, he leaned forward, reaching for the coat closet. He nearly fell on his face and woke the entire house, but in the end he'd acquired what he'd been looking for: his old jacket. It was worn, fraying, and impossibly comfortable, and would do exactly what Roman needed it to. He could always wash it later, right? Laying it open on the floor, Roman stepped onto it and proceeded to shuffle his way down the hall toward the stairs. True, he could have simply taken off his boots, but they were laced up tight and sticky with blood he didn't have the patience to deal with in the middle of the house. He'd see to it once he got to the bathroom and didn't have to worry about anyone seeing him. He passed by Logan, who had fallen asleep in the arm chair, snoring softly.

It was a long, tenuous journey, but he eventually made it to the base of the stairs. There, he was met with a new problem. How was he supposed to make it upstairs on his jacket?

"Roman?" Logan muttered groggily, squinting at him.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," Roman whispered, waving a hand at him.

"What's all over your—is that blood?"

"Yes, but be quiet!" Roman hissed. "You're going to wake up everyone else!"

Logan stood. "What do you mean yes? Are you hurt?" He reached a curious hand out toward the black goo covering his arms.

"Don't touch it," Roman snapped. His temper was worn thin after the night he'd had, and the last thing he needed right now was a scientific analysis of demon blood. He sighed, "Sorry, Lo. I just... need to get to the bathroom. Could you get some towels or something to lay on the stairs so I can—" he started, but Logan apparently had other ideas. In one swift motion, he hooked an arm under Roman's knees and scooped him up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" Roman demanded, "You're going to get it all over you."

"Irrelevant," Logan said, though his nose crinkled slightly at the stench of death covering his friend. "I shall simply carry you upstairs. It will be faster and more efficient. Don't worry about the jacket, I'll take care of it. Now," he shifted his grip, "are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Yeah," Roman said, though it came out as a strangled gasp. The way Logan was holding him put pressure on a bruise he'd gotten while the overgrown worm had tried smothering him in a swath of mud. Logan cocked an eyebrow and didn't move. Sighing dejectedly, Roman instructed him where he could place his hands to cause him the least amount of pain. After a few moments of readjusting, Logan set off up the stairs. Roman was impressed at how steady Logan was despite carrying his entire weight up the stairs.

"Watch the wall," he grunted, and Roman tucked his feet in to keep from leaving streaks of mud down the hallway. They passed Patton's room, then Virgil's, then arrived at the bathroom. Logan set him down on the tile flooring, promising to fetch him a clean pair of clothes and a bag to place all of the blood spattered articles in. After one last concerned look, he closed the door and left Roman alone in the bathroom.

He grimaced as he glanced at his reflection. Roman looked like he'd been run over by a garbage truck. Blood, dark and glossy as pitch, speckled his face and neck and clumped in his hair. It covered both forearms up to his elbows, as if he'd dipped his arms in black paint. Contrastingly, his own crimson blood had dried across his upper lip and chin from the bloody nose he'd received when flung into a tree. Sickly gray mud clung to the rest of him like plaster. Carefully, he peeled his clothes off and tossed them into a pile near the door. He'd had hopes of the washing machine saving them, but looking at them in a pathetic heap on the floor, he doubted anything could be done. He'd have to burn them later.

Returning his attention to the mirror, his throat constricted. His torso was mottled with a myriad of purple and green bruises, or maybe that was just more mud. They certainly felt like bruises. His eyes trailed down his shoulders, then came to rest on the grimy amulet still tied to his upper arm. He turned it over in his hand, wiping the dirt from its surface.

Think of it as insurance, the dragon witch had written in a nice, instructional letter on how to handle his curse. Insurance that you don't go dying on me too soon. Any injuries you sustain while wearing the amulet will heal as soon as you take it off. You won't even need to sleep, my prince. Easy as that.

Scowling, he undid the clasp and pulled the necklace from his arm. Immediately, burning cold energy coursed through his body. He bowed forward and rested his elbows on the counter, biting his fist to keep from making a sound. It took a considerable amount of self control not to collapse to the floor and itch his gradually healing skin bloody. It felt like a million spiders with needles for legs crawling around inside him.

Some healing magic, Roman thought venomously, breathing hard through his nose. Feels worse than healing normally.

But it was faster. And Roman couldn't risk Patton or Virgil finding out simply because they touched a tender spot. There was a knock at the door.

"Roman? I've got some new clothes and a trash bag, can I come in?"

"Hold on," he choked through gritted teeth. The sound was more like a whimper than Roman would have wished, but there were far more pressing matters for him to deal with than a measly voice crack. An entire year of this, and he still wasn't used to the feeling. How pathetic. He stumbled into the shower and pulled the curtain.

"All right," he said, leaning heavily against the tiled wall. He wasn't going to pass out. He been in worse shape on previous nights. This was nothing. Roman heard Logan open the door slowly, then silence. He heard the faint scrape of him picking up the amulet. Roman had explained its purpose to him the night he'd found out. Mainly because Logan had demanded to know how he wasn't a pile of mush every single night. No one could take a beating like that every twelve hours and still be walking, let alone acting like nothing was going on.

"Are you going to be okay, Roman? Do you require any assistance?" He came closer to the curtain.

"I'm fine. Thank you, Logan." Please don't look, you'll only worry. Don't look.

A pause. "Very well. I will await you downstairs when you are done cleaning up." Another long silence as Roman clenched and unclenched his fist as the healing magic completed its circuit around his body. The feeling eventually faded into a dull prickling. Logan sighed, set the amulet back down on the counter, and left.

Roman let out a breath and cranked the faucet as far to the hot side as it would go. The water was scalding, but he didn't care. The demon blood slowly dissolved from his skin and hair, swirling down the drain in a disgusting black soup of mud and dirt. He wished he could wash it all away, scrub the demon from his pores and the pain from behind his ears.

Clean water streamed down Roman's face in the place of the tears he did not shed.

Thanks for reading!! You can find the rest of this fic on AO3, here.

8 notes · View notes

maswartz · 4 years

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RWBY: After Salem (concepts here are free for anyone to use, just give credit)

In the final battle with Salem the heroes combine the power Ruby’s silver eyes with that of all four maidens to purge her of the Grimm essence and manage to get her to admit that she’s moved on from her daughters deaths resulting in her losing her immortality. Aging thousands of years in seconds she was soon dust. However before her defeat Salem managed to unite the four relics. The Brothers had returned. Displeased by the conflict still existing they were about to judge humanity as irredeemable when the heroes convinced them that humanity was not that far gone. Listening to their argument the Brothers agreed that humanity was neither worthy of them returning nor did they deserve extermination. Thus they returned to the stars. Before leaving however the God of Darkness left a gift. One in every five hundred babies born after this day would have the gift of magic. In time the four maidens would create the Seasons Academy to teach these new magic users how to use their gifts. Magic users have weaker semblances so the scales are not too unbalanced. Magic users are given the title of Wizard or Witch and act like Huntsmen, protecting the people of Remnant from the always present danger of the Grimm. The Huntsmen Academies lowered the age requirements after Salem’s final plan involved destroying many of the minor academies. In the following years much has changed. One such change is that Menagerie is now an official kingdom. Technology has advanced at a rapid pace, trains using anti gravity technology connect most cities. As a result trips that would have taken days now take a matter of hours. Due to this more and more cities rise outside the kingdom borders. The heroes of team RWBY and JNOR and their allies have all begun new lives after the fall of Salem.

Ruby and Oscar are married with four children. Ruby now runs a weapon repair and modification store with Nora while Oscar writes books about the past Ozes. Maria Pine-18 Lyme Pine-16 Sunny (M) and Luna (F) Pine-12 year old twins. They don’t possess magic or have silver eyes but their parents have made it very clear they love them all the same. Especially after they learned about Maria’s insecurities. Sunny and Luna have reached the phase where they want to be individuals instead of just one half of twins. Recently they unlocked their semblances. Sunny can sense aura and Luna can read body language. Based on Apollo and Artemis. Blake and Yang are married with two adopted children. Blake works to help Faunus equality across Remnant while Yang helps design and test new vehicles for the SDC. Tawny Belladonna-Xiao Long-18 Vivi Belladonna-Xiao Long-17 Weiss and Jaune are married with three children. Weiss took over SDC and is working to undo the damage done by her father while Jaune teaches combat at a local academy. Nichole Schnee-19 Maple Schnee- 13- Named in honor of Pyrrha. She inherited her mother’s singing voice and has a huge love of music. In fact she wants to enter the music industry rather than become a Huntress. To her relief her parents told her they’d support whatever decision she made. William Schnee- 10- A curious young boy with an interest in science. He loves touring the various SDC research labs with his mother. Ren and Nora are married with three children. Ren is the mayor of a rebuilt Kuroyuri while Nora runs a weapon repair and modification store with Ruby. Lie Balder-17 Lie Nezha-16 Lie Sif-15 The headmasters remain a part of Oscar’s inner circle however with the fall of Salem their mission is now to continue to guide all of Remnant into everlasting peace and preventing future disasters. Beacon- Glynda Goodwitch Haven- Ghira Belladonna, took over informally after the battle of Haven and made official around a year later. Shade- Otto Dune, A dog faunus, friend and ally of Professor Theodore, he took over after Theodore retired. Atlas- Robyn Hill, after the fall of Ironwood Robyn was placed in charge of Atlas Academy allowing her to lead a new generation away from the military and teach them how to act like proper Huntsmen. The current Maidens Spring- Raven Branwen- After the battle of Haven Raven lost everything, her tribe lost all respect for her, Taiyang rejected her, she had nowhere to go. Eventually she decided she needed to redeem herself and began spying on Salem’s forces delivering vital intel to the heroes. Summer- July Storms- When the heroes arrived in Vacuo they befriended sisters June and July Storms. They soon discovered that June was the Summer Maiden. During a battle with Cinder June stayed behind to buy the others time to escape. Once they were safe she called down a bolt of lightning to kill her before the powers could be stolen. Her sister was the last one in her thoughts so July gained the powers and has been the Summer Maiden ever since. Autumn- Emerald Sustrai- In a fit of rage Cinder revealed that she never truly cared for Emerald as anything more than a pawn. Broken Emerald fled Salem’s fortress with Mercury. They joined the heroes to save their own lives from Salem and Cinder’s wrath. During a battle Emerald used her semblance to distract Cinder long enough for Ruby and Jaune to kill her. Her last thoughts were of Emerald so the power of Autumn went to her. Winter- Penny Polendina- After the fall of Ironwood many Atlesian soldiers who were loyal to him and the ideal that “Atlas Will Prevail” deserted and formed an underground cell known as the Frozen Soldiers. Lead by Harriet now known as Snow Hare (the only Ace-Op who refused to surrender) they will stop at nothing to bring down the other Kingdoms. Penny has devoted much time and effort into stopping their plans. Beacon Staff Headmistress- Glynda Goodwitch- The first headmistress of Beacon. Once Beacon was rebuilt the decision to name her headmistress was unanimous. History- Dr Bartholomew Oobleck- Still his energetic self always eager to share knowledge with anyone willing to learn. Grimm Studies- Peter Port- Still bombastic and passing on his wisdom and experience. Head of Security- Gordon Ryder- Gordon’s semblance allows him to create orbs of aura that act as his eyes and ears. He is capable of creating multiple orbs and has them placed around the boundaries of the campus. However while keeping track of them he often loses track of what’s happening around his own body. Origin- The Headless Horseman Combat Instructor- Paulina “Babe” Bunyan- A bull faunus, her semblance allows her to spot the weak point in things or people which allowed her to help her lumberjack father when she was a child. Origin- Paul Bunyan Airship Piloting- Skye Gale- When he was younger his hubris caused an airship crash that nearly killed him. After recovering he set forward to teach others to learn from his mistake. Origin- Icarus. Wilderness Survival - Forest Mann- The son of explorers who perished during a jungle expedition his semblance and basic wilderness training allowed him to survive. His semblance allows him to copy the traits of nearby animals. After making it back to civilization years later he began teaching others how to survive the wilderness. Origin- Mowgli/Tarzan Beacon Teams Fourth Year Team MNTY Maria Pine- Growing up Maria couldn’t help but feel like she was in the shadow of heroes and legends and as a result she grew insecure. Her desire to prove herself “worthy” eventually results in her being injured on a training mission. After that she admits her insecurity to her parents and her team who help her grow past it and see her own self worth. Like her father Maria can use magic. Appearance: 18 years old. 5ft 8in- Brown hair to shoulders Hazel eyes Outfit: Light red top with maroon corset. maroon shorts. Light red tights with green vine design, roses on knees. Maroon fingerless gloves up to elbows. Green vine design on gloves. Maroon boots. Half length version of Ruby’s cloak in maroon. Emblem: Three roses on a single stem, one white, one red and one maroon Emblem Location: Back of cloak Aura Color: Maroon Semblance: Stat Boost- Allows Maria to boost a single stat (speed, strength, stamina, etc) Weapon: Rose’s Thorn- Kusarigama with extending chain. Gun built into the end. Partner: Nautica Waves Origin: Rose Red Nautica Waves- The daughter of fishermen she grew up on the water most of her life. Resourceful and daring, she won’t give up until all options have been exhausted. Appearance: 19 years old. 5ft 6in. Short dark blue hair. Blue eyes. Shark Faunus- Shark gills allowing her to breathe under water. Outfit: Teal wetsuit with wave pattern, armor plating on shoulders, elbows, knees, torso. Optional flippers. Emblem: A series of waves descending in size Emblem Location: Shoulder armor Aura Color: Teal Semblance: Hydrokinesis- Can control water as long as it’s in liquid form. Can even shape weapons out of it. The more water she controls the more aura it takes. Weapon: Ebb and Flow- Twin pistols modified to shoot water. Using her semblance she can boost the power of the water to the point it can cut through metal. Carries a dagger called Shark’s tooth as a back up. After a few missions begins using a harpoon as her main weapon to conserve on water. Partner: Maria Pine Origin: The Little Mermaid Theo Schwartz- Due to a less than stellar home situation he attempts to defuse tense situations with humor. He believes in being prepared and carries many tools and items in his hat including a set of throwing knives, tents, medical kits, food and water. Not to mention his team’s ammo. Appearance: 18 years old. 5ft 9in. Short black hair. Green eyes. Cat Faunus- Cat whiskers. Outfit: Black pants. White shirt with black dress coat. Red bow tie. Tall hat with red and white stripes. Emblem: A hand reaching into a hat Emblem Location: Back of coat Aura Color: Ebony Semblance: Hat Trick- A pocket dimension inside his hat where he can store and retrieve any inorganic item he wants. Weapon: Cat’s Cane- A hook style cane with a built in grappling hook and gun. Partner: York Letterson Origin: The Cat in the Hat York Letterson- A firm believer in the phrase “Knowledge is power” York is almost always reading. He is eager to learn and teach as much as he can and often volunteers to tutor other students. When he has free time he can often be found in the library. Appearance: 18 years old. 5ft 5in. Long green hair reaching down his back. Often in twin ponytails. Green eyes. Outfit: Dark green pants. Light green button up top with a pocket on the upper left breast. Dark green armor over the shirt with light green pads on arms and legs. Pair of reading glasses. Emblem: A head of lettuce Emblem Location: Shirt pocket Aura Color: Green Semblance: Prehensile Hair- Can control and use his hair as weapons or extra arms. In a pinch can even shoot strands like darts. If the hair is cut it will regrow to normal length within days due to all the aura inside it. Weapon: Close Shave- A pair of blades with gun barrels in the tips. Blades can be combined into a scissors form. In scissors mode it can be thrown like a boomerang. Partner: Theo Schwartz Origin: Rapunzel Team NGHT Nichole Schnee- From a young age her parents made sure she knew that her name made her no more important and no better than anyone else. She is kind and generous and always looking for ways to help others with the Schnee fortune. She’s very aware there’s still plenty of damage to undo from her grandfather. In battle she will often target powerful or unique Grimm to add to her semblance. Appearance: 19 years old. 5ft 10in. Long light blue hair in double ponytails. Light blue eyes. Outfit: Light blue dress with white fur pattern trim. Dress ends little above knees. Blue and white stripped stockings. Light blue boots. White gloves. Armored breastplate, armor on lower arms and shins. All armor is ice themed. Emblem: Schnee snowflake with a sword resembling the sword part of Crocea Mors Emblem Location: Knee and elbow armor Aura Color: Light blue Semblance: Grimm Aspects- She summons pieces of Grimm to use herself. She can call on the wings of a Teryx or a Nevermore, the claws of a Sabyr, the armor of an Arms Gigas, punching power of a Beringel. Like normal summons if they receive enough damage they’ll dissipate. Weapon: Cyros- Icicle themed javelin that doubles as a rifle. The shield part of Crocea Mors. Partner: Guile Widows Origin: Christmas Elf Guile Widows- A cunning strategist who excels at using his enemies own actions against them. He prefers to lure targets into his webs and let them tire themselves out trying to escape. Appearance: 19 years old. 6ft. Black hair with eight dreadlocks, four on each side. Brown eyes. Outfit: Black cargo pants with a mild webbing pattern. Gray shirt with black straps from backpack forming an “X”. Fingerless gloves. Emblem: Eight eyes, top pair are farthest apart and bottom pair are closest together. Emblem Location: Bandana Aura Color: Black Semblance: Aura Webs- Webs that can catch, contain, or even act as nets. Weapon: Spider’s Bite- Twin curved swords with guns in the hilts. Partner: Nichole Schnee Origin: Anansi Hunter Python- Strict and serious he considers being a huntsman too serious to joke about. To his dismay his partner Tawny has made it his mission to get him to laugh at least once a day. Hunter is very reluctant to use his semblance due to its nature. However if lives are at stake he will do so with frightening effect. Appearance: 18 years old. 5ft 11in. Brown hair. Snake Faunus- Snake eyes, yellow with green pupils. Outfit: Green boots with a snake skin pattern. Yellow-green cargo pants. Yellow shirt under a green hoodie. Yellow-Green armor with scale pattern over hoodie. Emblem: Stylized snake head Emblem Location: Pockets of pants Aura Color: Yellow-Green Semblance: Hypnoeyes- Can command people to do things. Stronger commands require more aura and concentration and a command too far removed from what the subject would normally do will not be followed. When activated his eyes glow green. Requires full eye contact Weapon: Serpent Staff- Staff that can separate into chain linked segments. Can also shoot from the mouth of the serpent. Partner: Tawny Belladonna-Xiao Long Origin: Kaa Tawny Belladonna-Xiao Long- Adopted when he was 6 years old. Hyperactive, full of energy, eager to make new friends. Inherited Yang’s love of puns. Appearance: 18 years old. 6ft 2in Scruffy orange hair, brown eyes. Tiger Faunus- Tiger tail. Outfit: Orange sweatpants and orange top with baggy sleeves. Black patches stripe all along outfit. Armor on knees and elbows. Emblem: A tiger pouncing Emblem Location: Back of shirt Aura Color: Orange Semblance: Rebounce- Allows him to jump, leap, and bounce incredible heights and land from any height without injury. Weapon: Tora Tearors- Clawed gloves with guns built into the hand guards. Partner: Hunter Python Origin: Tigger Third Year Team VLET Vivi Belladonna Xiao-Long- Adopted when she was 5 years old. Very self conscious about her appearance after bullies at the orphanage convinced her that her birth parents abandoned her because she was ugly. Her mothers and brother spent years trying to get her to understand that she is beautiful on the inside and the outside. After being named a team leader she gradually gains self confidence. Appearance: 17 years old. 5ft 11in. Long dark black hair. Purple eyes. Outfit: Long purple robe with a hood she uses to cover herself up. After she gains self confidence she switches to a more streamlined version without a hood. Emblem: A pair of wings overlapping each other. Emblem Location: Back of robe Aura Color: Purple Semblance: Energy Ripple- Sends a burst of energy in a direction. Weapon: Tempura- Staff with fire dust on one end and ice dust on the other. When used with her semblance she can create waves of flame or frost. Partner: Terry Braun Origin: The ugly duckling Lie Balder- Though serious around most people when he’s with family and friends he opens up and loosens up. As a child his parents would call him their little Sunshine. Appearance: 17 years old. 5ft 9in Dark orange hair with a pink ribbon tied in it. Blue eyes. Outfit: Sleeveless green robe with golden sash. Magenta pants. Both have a sun pattern. Emblem: A stylized sun Emblem Location: Back of robe Aura Color: Golden Semblance: Light Burst- Absorbs natural light and discharges it. Depending on the amount of light stored it can stun or temporarily blind. Weaker grimm may even be destroyed by a strong enough burst. As he evolves his semblance he can direct the burst instead of releasing it in all directions. Even storing it in the form of light armor. Weapon: Stormbringer and Stormbreaker- Twin hook swords with guns built in. Partner: Alison Eirian Origin: Balder Alison Eirian- An optimist often lost in a daydream, her mind wanders easily. She enjoys seeing the bright side of even the darkest situation. However she does take her duties as a Huntress seriously. Tries to get Terry to smile more. Appearance: 18 years old. 5ft 10in Blonde hair in a ponytail, blue eyes. Outfit: Long cobalt dress with silver armor plating on the front. White stockings with blue shoes. Silver gloves. Emblem: A mirror Emblem Location: Back of gloves Aura Color: Cobalt Semblance: Reflection- Allows her to enter any reflective surface. Inside the reflection is totally silent. She can travel to other reflections as long as there’s no obstacles in the way. Weapon: Full Deck- sword that appears to be made of a deck of cards, shifts into gun mode. Also carries reflective cards to use as emergency reflections. Partner: Lie Balder Origin: Alice in Wonderland Terry Braun- Growing up on the streets led him to adopt a tough cynical persona. His new friends convince him that there’s more than one kind of strength. Very protective of those younger than him. Tries to get Alison to be more realistic. Appearance: 17 years old. 5ft 11 in.Scruffy brown hair. Brown eyes. Outfit: Brown boots, brown shorts. Brown t-shirt with torn vest. Emblem: A howling wolf Emblem Location: Back of vest Aura Color: Brown Semblance: Howling Wind- Can create powerful wind with his breath. Weapon: Howling Hatchets- Twin axes with guns built into the handles. Can combine to form a shotgun. Partner: Vivi Belladonna-Xiao Long Origin: The Big Bad Wolf Second Year Team JNGL Jim Peaches- Analytical and strategic he is highly skilled at coming up with plans that utilize the strengths of his teams. He has a fondness for insects and is known to talk to them when he thinks he’s alone. Appearance: 16 years old 5ft 5in. Short brown hair, pink eyes. Outfit: Tan pants with peach shirt. Tan shoes. Peach longcoat. Pink tie with insect designs (grasshopper, centipede, ladybug, spider, earthworm, glowworm) Emblem: A peach with a bite taken out of it Emblem Location: Belt buckle Aura Color: Peach Semblance: Peach Protection- Creates forcefields over himself. Can extend to include other people. With practice he learns to create smaller ones to throw as projectiles. Weapon: Peach Pit- Mace with detachable head. Gravity dust built in allows him to launch and recall the head. Partner: Lie Nezha Origin: James and the Giant Peach Lie Nezha- Eager and impatient he’s often the first to race into a battle. He enjoys moving fast and hitting hard. As a child his parents would call him their Moonbeam. Appearance: 16 years old. 5ft 6in. Short black hair. Pink eyes. Outfit: Amber sleeveless vest and dark orange cargo shorts. Armor plated elbow and knee pads. Orange goggles Emblem: A burning wheel Emblem Location: Knee pads Aura Color: Amber Semblance: Speed Rails- He creates rails of aura in the air to run on boosting his speed as he pleases. Only Nezha can interact with the rails, all others will simply pass through them. Weapon: Stormlillies- Twin chakram that turn into shurikens. Partner: Jim Peaches Origin: Nezha J.J Grayson- He is used to people mocking or underestimating him due to his weight and bulk. However he isn’t bothered by it because he knows it’s mostly muscle instead of fat. His teammates all find him awesome. He’s the powerhouse of his team and will put himself between them and danger if it keeps them safe. Likes to call Lyme “Sprout” Appearance: 16 years old. 6ft. Bulky build. Mostly muscle instead of fat. Short gray hair. Elephant Faunus- Elephant Ears. Outfit: Necklace with a black feather on it. Gray boots. Gray baggy shorts. Gray sweatshirt. Emblem: Elephant head Emblem Location: Front of sweatshirt Aura Color: Gray Semblance: Flight- Can fly as high or as fast as he wishes. Weapon: Stampede- Spear that turns into rifle, spear tip splits to reveal barrel. Partner: Lyme Pine Origin: Dumbo Lyme Pine- Calm and caring he enjoys nature in all its forms. A love of plants lead him to study botany, he can even use plants and herbs to create medicine in a pinch. He acts as his team’s medic. Likes to call J.J “Big Guy” Appearance: 16 years old - 5ft 3in. Short blackish hair, silver eyes. Slight tan from extended time outdoors. Outfit: Green overalls over a light green top. Brown gloves with floral pattern. Dark green boots. Emblem: A pinecone wrapped in vines Emblem Location: Front of overalls Aura Color: Lime Green Semblance: Aura Vines- Can create vines made out of his aura. These can be used for extending his reach or in combat. As his semblance grows he can add thorns to the vines. Weapon: Harvester- Pitchfork with guns built into the points. After running out of ammo during a training mission he has Harvester upgraded to a rail gun with two settings, small beam (the two middle prongs charge it) and large beam (all four prongs charge it) Partner: J.J Grayson Origin: Jack and the beanstalk First Year Team SNST Shiro Shishi- When Shiro was a child his uncle a crime boss named Kuro Shishi decided to cut loose ends. After personally stabbing Shiro’s father Kin Shishi in the back he sent a trio of assassins after Shiro, leaving the boy for dead. Fortunately a pair of drifters rescued the boy and helped him recover. The pair were retired huntsmen and they trained him until he was accepted to Beacon. Patterning himself after ancient warriors he read about as a boy Shiro is honorable, courageous, and a great leader in battle. He does however have a bad habit of starting inspirational speeches when they aren’t required. Appearance: 15 years old. 5ft 2in. White hair and golden eyes. Lion Faunus. Lion’s mane. Outfit: White samurai armor with golden accents. Armor has a lion theme. Emblem: A roaring lion head Emblem Location: Center of chest armor Aura Color: White Semblance: Power Roar- Creates an omnidirectional shockwave. Weapon: Lion’s Pride- A katana with a lion’s head on the hilt. Can shoot from the lion’s head. Partner: Lie Sif Origin: Kimba The White Lion/The Lion King Noah Rhythm- Growing up in a family of traveling musicians taught him two things, one was the importance of music, the second was how to ward off the creatures of Grimm. After arriving in a village for a show only to discover the villagers slaughtered by the Grimm he swore on the spot to become a huntsman. Appearance: 15 years old. 5ft 3in. Light purple hair and eyes. Outfit: Dark purple shoes. Light purple tunic. Purple cape. Light purple alpine hat with dark purple feather. Emblem: Flute surrounded by music notes Emblem Location: Back of cape. Aura Color: Light purple Semblance: Animal Melody- Can use music to communicate and command animals. No effect on faunus. His flute isn’t required to use his semblance but it amplifies it. Uses it to ask animals for intel when arriving in new places or to get a bird or squirrel to give Tomi a ride. Weapon: Pay the Piper- His flute shoots blasts of sound like Flynt’s trumpet Partner: Tomi Tumbleweed Origin: The Pied Piper Lie Sif- Curious and always eager to learn new things once she gains an interest in a subject she won’t stop until she knows everything about it. As a child her parents would call her their Shining Star. Appearance: 15 years old 5ft. Long light orange hair in ponytail to her left side. Blue eyes. Outfit: Dark pink dress with dark green accents. Armor on legs and along left arm and shoulder. Green quiver on back. Emblem: A green lily within a pink circle Emblem Location: Shoulder armor Aura Color: Magenta Semblance: Alliance- the more friends and allies fighting by her side the stronger her aura. She channels the extra aura into her arrows Weapon: Stormpiercer- A bow and arrow. The bow splits into twin daggers based on her grandfathers and her arrowheads are infused with dust. Partner: Shiro Shishi Origin: Sif Tomi Tumbleweed- The child of tailors they grew up helping their parents with the sewing. They love to keep up with latest fashions even if they know they could never afford any of them. Despite some initial confusion their team fully accepted the fact they’re non-binary. Appearance: 15 years old. 4ft 11in. Short blonde hair. Yellow eyes. Outfit: Tan shoes with yellow socks. Yellow shorts. Tan shirt with yellow suspenders. Emblem: A needle and thread Emblem Location: Buttons of suspenders Aura Color: Tan Semblance: Shrinking- They can shrink to a minimum of one inch high. Their strength remains the same as when they are full sized. Weapon: Needle point. A rapier that can shoot from the point. Partner: Noah Rhythm Origin: Tom Thumb/Thumbelina

#rwby #rwby ocs #rosegarden #white knight #bumbleby #renora

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chiseler · 3 years

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Peleshian: Life & Nothing Less

For over sixty years, Artavazd Peleshian—Артавазд Пелешян; Արտավազդ Փելեշյան—has been slowly sifting through the mountain of debris that has built up around the cinema. His films seem to intrude upon a present which smugly believes that it has solved all the old problems from a static horizon, that all is over and done with, that everything has been settled. What is left is merely the production of ghosts.

In Kyanq (“Life”), made in 1993, Peleshian ignores the diegetic revolution which followed the discovery of the power of cutting within a single sequence. Cross cutting has become another prison, and making a film seems almost unimaginable without recourse to its seductive shifts and its promises of infinite simultaneity. But passing through Eisenstein and Dovzhenko, starting again after the hard-won miracles and defeats of the past, Peleshian has come out from the other side. He has made a second beginning for cinema by rearranging ideas of the past.

The film opens with a beautiful woman in close-up profile, apparently in the throes of ecstasy. Soon, an arm in scrubs enters the frame and we see that she is actually in a medical theater (the hand is a doctor or relative’s; blurred vertical planes are parts of the metal delivery bed; a glowing orb is hospital lighting). She is in labor, which is a mundane and sentimental subject for a film. The use of the close-up in film, crowding the screen with sweat and ‘emotion’, is an easy manipulation of the viewer’s emotions. It also bares the chill of forensic pathology, which seizes the living as if the body were a puzzle useful only for illustrating hazard or solving its own crime. The soundtrack is music by Verdi, which stops and starts fitfully until it is finally freed from the film’s editing, adding a skipping unreality to the formal ‘realism’ of Life. The only other sound is a heartbeat amplified over the beginning (and note, not the electronic blip of a monitor), which remains slightly audible under the requiem mass.

Though the film follows the simple timeline of a woman giving birth, the editing follows the inward time of a mother. The use of extreme close-up is now clear: in the epochal scheme of a general, universal time, the close-up is used to make myths into statues or it captures momentary passions as if these passions or myths were the only ones in the world. But through a subtle use of jump-cuts, the viewer starts to feel an odd remove from the girl’s lovely features. She begins to resemble a landscape, as in those old enigmatic Dutch paintings where hills and rivers form a great human face. We have returned to painting, the first inspiration of filmmakers, but the laws of perspective and the order of objects are far less important than the alternation of internal and external time. Filming and watching take time, are revealed in time, try to trick time by poking it full of holes (visible first in the sprockets of exposed film, as it feeds and moves in light projection). Life is made of different times, a fact which seduces us into believing that time is all that governs life and that all time is reducible to the power of a dominant course.

Rembrandt said: Life etches itself onto our faces as we grow older, showing our violence, excesses, or kindnesses.

Do not children kill their mothers in childbirth, all or in part, with the violence of birth, with the all the terrible duties that child-rearing demands? And one of the last taboos—maybe also the first, if we accept that the horror of incest is inseparable from it—the link between orgasm and birth is also the possibility of dual death and the ruthless affirmation of Life over death which dictates that the life of the child is a supreme right against its mother. Life at all costs—the greatest of tyrannies, a monstrous physical drive which unleashes a tsunami of living over the earth: the atrocious flood of total creation. Life as something that equals what is most terrifying within it—of it—the blank face of a genetic machine wanting itself and nothing else, consuming itself via the temptation-engines of a chattering god of sheer velocity (this is also the god of information, beloved of the tech wizards). It is not the phantom of Death that haunts the living, but the phantom of Life. And the individual life strives to fool this specter, to shock it in its own wild onrush by producing a single life in the monolithic barrage of limitless coming-to-be. Bearing witness against this crude biological nihilism which William Blake identified as The Beast, the machine mills of the slavers’ empire, one single life then occurs as many—each without repeat, yet each one the selfsame in the body of the swarm.

Against this omnivorous shadow—a cellular destiny which rises out of the solitary reflections given us by our vague notions of science, by a primary education that teaches biology as fate and terror only—Peleshian projects a woman in contortions, giving birth down by the walls of the hegemon. Things get smaller in the film. Life shrinks down to a mouth, a hand, a slight bewitching smile, ringlets of hair and beads of sweat. And here we realize that exaltation—accompanied by an Italian death mass and the heart’s regular drum—is always done alone, and that its joys must be betrayed by the world from which each ecstasy severs it time and again. Entering back into the crowd (via the film, via an audience she cannot know), what is unique returns in this disorder of movement and gesture—which is everyone’s autobiography. Just as when ‘something strikes you’, striking the eye with an immense force: a face on the bus, corner stoop faces, faces and faces from whose vast gallery one singular expression comes into clarity for an instant and then returns—on the verge of life or leaving life, there is nothing else at this hypothetical moment—almost caught at the corner of the eye.

It is strange that in extreme close-ups, faces seem at their most indistinguishable but also at their most familiar (you mistake someone for someone else and stare at them to be sure, staring ever more intently until you are far more than unsure—you are lost in that other face). The film’s other close-ups are of hands. The human hand is midway between the features of the face and the wild movements of the limbs. Hands riddle and grasp, make knots, then relax for a split second; they curl like mites, tree branches, or Chinese brushstrokes; hands touching, climbing, cradling, joining. Think of those famous handprints in red ochre found on cave walls—and finding that which is before art in these images, we still foolishly call this act which far outstrips any cultic or imaginative art, just as erroneously as we do the images made with hands, an ‘expression!’—palms measuring breadth, and not just the span of vital time but the time of an imprint that will remain for an accidental 80,000 years. The Peleshian-captured hands clench and constrict life, that nothing be left undone. It does not matter whose hand the woman in the film clasps—anyone, someone, for a moment the only one (perhaps all together, all those she has met, summed up in a stranger’s hand). Dark supposition: that everyone only knows life by their separation from life, lives peering at Life across an impenetrable gulf. But life is also the work of hands.

She raises a finger to the corner of her mouth with its intricate sloping shadow, touching the ghost of a smile. The woman is lost in some reverie and giving birth would seem a strange time for letting the mind wander. But from the jump cuts, we know that Peleshian has edited this sequence internally, so it is far from certain when moments like this actually occurred (I counted 15 cuts in a sequence which accounts for about 5 minutes of the film’s 7-minute running time). At the end, the child is tossed to her mother like a bag of apples, after being bathed in torrents of spurting water (there is no afterbirth or blood, another conscious omission). The young woman and her child then stare at the camera in freeze-frame. I can think of a thousand reasons why you shouldn’t have, but you did, despite all—and I now understand why in the flood of existence you added one more as if you were adding nothing at all. This is Peleshian’s only film in color, which ads credence to the rumor it was to have been his last (Happily, it was not). Color is the first sight of a guileless world seen by guileless eyes, eyes soon to fall upon the architecture of black and white and the gridlines of working rooms.

“Fac eas, Domine, de morte transire ad vitam…” Verdi’s Requiem Mass, 1874: deliverance (and delivery, “Libera animas omnium…”) and liberation (from life, from hell, the lion’s jaws), faithful souls, holy light, deepest pits. “Grant O Lord that they might pass from life death…” Thus is the connection between life and the freeing from life, death and multiple birth sealed (Verdi’s Offertorio is cut and partially repeated on the soundtrack). Now the hand at her mouth, in her hair, rack of contractions. Take and in taking, receive, “Tu suscipe pro animabus illis, quarum hodie memoriam facimus.” The others—all souls—hostias, “we offer...”

Endnote/ Links:

Artavazd Peleshian’s entire completed work takes about two hours to view (his longest is his latest, the 63-minute La Nature, 2019). Kyanq and many others can be seen here: https://www.ubu.com/film/peleshian.html

Peleshian and Godard: https://kinoslang.blogspot.com/2013/07/before-babel.html

Peleshian speaks: http://www.movingimagesource.us/articles/going-the-distance-20120106

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illshowyourhurricanes · 4 years

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Flash: Focus (Part two)

Finally, I bring to you part two of a request by @something-tofightfor for image 7 of my image prompt list, choosing season 2 Billy Russo as the subject. You can find part one, titled “Zoom”, here. Thank y’all for reading and I really hope you enjoy!

Rating: R

Word count: 2300 on the nose.

Tag list: @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @logan-deloss @lexxierave @madamrogers @yannii04 @gollyderek @carlaangel86 @maydayfigment @vetseras @thisisparadisemylove @malionnes @thesandbeneathmytoes @crushed-pink-petals-writes @delos-destinations @luminex3 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @tenhargreeves @witchygagirl @fific

As always, if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list, just shoot me an ask or DM!

The room was spinning, tilting, like a terrible, sudden case of vertigo. You needed to sit down; you were dizzy and heady and nauseated and your hands had started to tremble. Russo. Billy’s voice echoed in your ears, over and over again and it was all you could hear. Everything else fell away.

This was the man you had fallen in love with, a fact you’d admitted to yourself when it was the end, when he kept doing tour after tour after tour and the letters and Skype visits stopped. Everyone experienced lost love, the one that got away, and Billy was that for you.

How did he end up here? What had happened to him— did he get injured overseas? How long had he been in the psychiatric ward at Sacred Saints? Who had he killed?

Taking a few steps back, you sank down onto one of two hard, uncomfortable chairs against the wall, clipboard on your lap. You stared at his signature there again on that release form and cleared your throat.

“Excuse me, of course. Mr. Russo.” His name burned your throat like straight whiskey; felt abrasive on your tongue. You harbored no hard feelings or ill will, but you had so many questions. And another one invaded your mind then, blinking on and off like a neon sign, blinding and intrusive. Why is he pretending not to know me?

The two of you spent years together, passing time with greasy food in a neighborhood diner and dripping ice cream cones for dessert melting in the park; you’d spent time tangled in sheets, sometimes for most of the day; you’d lose time taking picture after picture of his perfect face with your old instant Polaroid camera… pictures you had somewhere in a shoebox in your apartment, stacked with other forgotten things you couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of, collecting layers of dust. Your heart continued to race, You had to say something… so you said the first thing that entered your mind.

“How’ve you been, Billy?”

________________

“How’ve you been, Billy?”

How have you been, Billy? Fucking peachy.

“Best time of my life,” he answered, glancing at you out the sides of his eyes, his view partially obscured by his mask. It took a few moments for it to hit him, but when it did, he immediately bristled, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. It wasn’t easy, but he stood, the barrier of the bed along with a few feet of tile flooring between them. Holding his stance, he turned to look at you straight. Billy. He always signed as William Russo, but you had called him…

“Billy?” He almost spat the name. It meant one of two things: either that you knew him— which was impossible, he had not one iota of an idea who she was until you volunteered to introduce yourself— or his reputation had preceded him. “You’ve been told,” he continued, jutting his chin angrily toward the windows. “Didn’t they tell you I’m a felon? A dangerous man, to myself and others. A murderer.” His lip was curled beneath his mask, heat from his anger causing beads of sweat to form at his brow.

“Part of it’s true.” He rolled his left shoulder, feeling a satisfying crack. “I’ve killed a lot of people, I could be a dangerous man.” He paused to let out a laugh, smirking at the horror in your eyes. “I’m a Marine. Bet they didn’t tell you that part, did they?”

His eyes flashed with anger, and you quickly attempted to diffuse the situation. Abandoning your camera in your lap, you shook your head vehemently. “I know you were a Marine.” I know what it’s like to watch you leave for another tour overseas. I know what you look like in your dress blues. I know what it’s like to live with the thought of possibly seeing you for the last time.

“Were?” His laugh was muffled, but not enough to disguise the darkness behind it. “I’m a lieutenant. Special Forces.”

Your heart bled for Billy then. You heard the clear conviction and pride there in his voice behind the slight anger. His accent was thicker than you remembered. And it hit you in another harsh, sudden rush of realization that Billy wasn’t pretending not to know you; he didn’t know you.

He didn’t know a decade had passed since he’d seen you, because he had no memory of your existence, your name. The last thing he remembered was fighting in Iraq. He’d lost years of his life, a life where he’d made a name for himself in the name of corruption, a life when he’d been living on sex, money, power, manipulation and murder. It was a life he didn’t know and a life you didn’t know either. To both yourself and Billy, it was ten years of nothingness.

“Lieutenant.” You corrected yourself softly. There were so many questions you wanted to ask him, but you were skittish about asking. This wasn’t the Billy Russo you knew. This was a phantom of someone you used to know. Concentrate on your work, Y/N, you told yourself. You’re here to do a job, not get yourself re-involved in Billy Russo’s life.

With two quick strides, Billy crossed the room, sitting in the identical chair a yard away. You managed to look at him and found him peering at you intensely, a curious yet accusing look in his eyes softening into one of desperation. You’d never seen desperation in Billy’s eyes, and it was heartbreaking to the point that your breath caught in your throat. What happened to him?

“Frank.” His voice was just a shadow louder than a whisper. “Frank Castle… I need to… do you know Frank? I need to see Frank.” Dropping his head, Billy ran a hand over the short spikes of hair on his scalp. Once upon a time, you’d had a soft spot for his hair. You wondered why it had been shaved. “Please.”

Your chest seized and felt tight like you were in a vise. You suspected that Billy wasn’t quite this open with so many people, his therapist perhaps, but why you? You were only there to take a few pictures; you should have been gone, on your way home to a glass of red wine and some reading in bed, relaxing before returning to Sacred Saints. Tomorrow was photo talking day, but something nagged at you that photos of Billy couldn’t wait. Even before you’d known who he was, you had felt that intuition.

But things hadn’t gone to plan, weren’t going to plan. So many wrenches had been thrown into your plans that they were barely recognizable. And you knew you had to answer Billy, but how?”

“Frank Castle,” you repeated. You had just moved back home to New York recently; you’d done a lot of traveling over the years, rented a place on the West Coast close to Napa Valley for most of that time. After you were satisfied with the bulk of your portfolio when you’d come back. “How do you know Frank Castle?” You had no plans to lie to Billy, and you wouldn’t allow a wrench to be thrown in that.

“Frankie, he’s…he’s my best friend. My brother.” Again, he dipped his head and fixed his eyes on the floor. “I have to speak to him, please help me.”

Swallowing past a lump of emotion that had become lodged in your throat, you dreaded what you knew you had to say. “I’m sorry, Billy. I don’t know a Frank Castle.” Why would I? You were quick to add, “But I’ll… if there’s a way, I’ll try to help you. I want to help you.”

You paused for a moment, cursing yourself for getting involved. This wasn’t just a quick, professional snap of a few photos any longer. This had turned into you, a stranger in Billy Russo’s inky black eyes, offering to see what you could dig up on this Frank Castle; this became you, foolishly putting yourself in a position that would inevitably lead to more time spent with the man you’d once loved that had, at one time, alluded to a future with you. But the question that seemed branded in the foreground of your mind the whole time, gnawing at your nerves and on the tip of your tongue… it was ringing in your ears, constantly threatening to tumble out of your mouth: What happened, Billy? How did you end up here?

And despite all that was happening, this unfamiliar version of Billy Russo that you were still coming to terms with-- the man sitting across from you was not at all the man you’d known so many years ago-- wasn’t off-putting. You weren’t frightened, and you wanted to ask him. You had all but decided to, but suddenly, you remembered you were there to do a job. You had photos to take. You needed the images you’d capture of Billy, and you were afraid that if you asked a question that was considerably personal, your initial reason for reintroducing yourself into his life purely by chance would be foiled. Swallowing the words back down with the lump that had formed in your throat, you double-checked the settings on your camera that you’d mindlessly fiddled with earlier. Everything was ready.

“Is now a good time?” You gestured to your camera that you held in one hand.

Billy remained still for a moment, not saying a word. He was still thinking about Frank, and he was thinking about the woman in front of him who had offered to help. For what? What’s in it for her? What’s her motive?

“You help complete strangers search for people often?” he asked, and you were struck once again with the thickness of his accent. He wasn’t trying to hide it at all, and you wondered if that was intentional, or if he just didn’t care. Either way, your memory didn’t recall such a stark accent; it had always been there, but not so obviously.

His question hung heavy in the room, and slight movement caught your eye. He had leaned forward in his chair, tilting his head to the side, eyes narrowed through the two holes of his mask. The way he regarded you with suspicion unnerved you, because what was also apparent in his eyes was a calculated coldness, and even that was partially removed. Billy’s eyes were, underneath it all, empty. You felt your chest constrict, followed by an awareness that you couldn’t seem to inhale an adequate amount of air. Your thoughts were on rotation. Billy, what happened to you?

Before you could answer, he spoke again, asking the questions that had originally popped into his head. “Why-- for what? You get what?” His eyes narrowed a fraction more. “You got a motive.”

The last of what he said wasn’t as much of a question as it was a statement. The surprise you felt was written all over your face, an unconscious raise of your eyebrows and widening of your eyes.

“A motive?” you repeated. Your expression of shock melted into one that mimicked confusion: a furrow of your brows. You felt almost dumbfounded, and you looked around the perimeter of the room. “What kind of motive could I possibly have, Billy? What could I “get” from doing it? Maybe helping someone to have some peace of mind, because it doesn’t seem like the people around here are giving you much of it.” Your voice was soft, but firm in your conviction. You felt like this man was an imposter, a total stranger. Yet, in a contradictory manner, you were still utterly jarred at the fact that he didn’t remember you. There was no looking past it. How was it possible to be so affected by someone you no longer knew?

Billy blinked, and any shadow of emotion he’d held in his eyes was erased, replaced with the blank emptiness you’d seen when you first walked into the room. You looked away, out the window, and saw that the sun was hanging low, just over the horizon. You needed to get home.

“I’m going to take a couple of shots if that’s okay with you. I’ll be back tomorrow to do some more work.” You turned your attention back to Billy, glancing upward into those empty eyes. Hopefully, I’ll have some information for you.

He seemed as if he were far away, somewhere else entirely. His eyes were almost glazed over, and within two seconds, he was back again, though he wasn’t looking at you; instead, he dipped his head and ran two hands roughly over the short, dark hair on his scalp while rolling his left shoulder. Then, he raised his head and focused on you. Two tilts of his head, first to the left and then to the right, had you holding your breath. Some of his mannerisms were uncannily familiar. All at once, Billy was finally still, and with a sniff, he nodded his approval.

Finally able to do what you’d come to do originally, you held your camera to your face and peered through the viewfinder. Your heart dropped into your abdomen; Billy had once been your favorite subject to photograph, equally as attractive in any photo as he was in real time. It was he who was in full control of the camera with his defined, angular jawline, a smirk of his full lips or his dazzling, full grin that could light the entire city during a blackout. You thought you might give anything to take just one more Polaroid of that man that had been replaced with the phantom you had in focus.

I’ll work with what I have, you thought to yourself, and with the light pressure of your index finger, you pushed the shutter.

#dani's 150 followers event #drabble requests #image 7 #s2 billy russo x reader #flash #flash: focus #flash part 2

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 4 years

Text

The Guardian’s Oath, Part Eleven

So we ended the last part with the Demon Balor doing a three count... What did that mean? Well, there’s a little insight provided in this next chapter... Of course, if you don’t know what I’m talking about there, you can go back and read the previous chapters, all of which are linked in the Master List.

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 3,027

Content advisory: Nothing in particular; It’s a horror story that involves demons (well, a demon) and there are some discussions on the subject of childbearing that might be uncomfortable but that’s it.

It was several weeks after I discovered the baby blanket and robe that I finally decided to confront Feargal about them. I had determined that I would say nothing apart from that I had found them in the cedar chest. I was not going to mention Sophia’s invocation of the name “Colin”. I was not going to say that Kate had told me the story of Sophia’s prior obsession with a younger brother of that name. I was certainly not going to mention any part of what Susan had heard from her aunt or the villagers. I was simply going to state the facts as I would have interpreted them without any information from others.

“My love,” I began quietly when we were retired to our room for the night, “I found these when I was making space in the cedar chest. I know that you told me that there was nothing that you wished to keep there but these looked like they might have some sentimental meaning and so I thought that I would check with you.”

My hands shook as I held the pieces out to him, scanning his face to read his reaction. If he had ever seen these objects before, there was no evidence of it. He took the fabric from me with no more than mild curiosity and it wasn’t until he started to unfold them that there was any change in his expression. When he saw the embroidery, his hand moved over his heart, still clutching at the fabric, and I was afraid that his heart might give out.

“I’m so sorry, sir, have I done something wrong?”

He took a few deep breaths before he gave me a pained smile. “I do hope that eventually you will entirely stop calling me sir.”

I smiled and blushed a little.

“You’ve done nothing wrong at all, Helen and I’m sorry that my reaction alarmed you.” He took my hand in his and fixed me with his boundless, clear eyes. “Just before my former wife died, she thought that she was pregnant again. Based on the signs and her experience, she was certain that it was another boy. We planned to name the baby Colin, after my father.

“But as time wore on, things became confused. She became obsessed with the child she was carrying, one day believing that it was some kind of monster and the next that everyone was conspiring to do her and the baby some kind of harm. Again, I meant to have a doctor evaluate her but then…”

His shoulders slumped and his gaze fell to the floor. “In the end, I don’t even know if she wasn’t making the whole thing up. The child could have been one more delusion. But she died before I knew for certain.”

“Feargal, I am so sorry. I am sorry that you had to go through such things and I am sorry that I inadvertently made you think of them again.”

“I found out after Sarah was gone that she’d been talking to Sophia about the new brother she could expect. For months, Sophia seemed to have this idea that both her mother and the baby were out there, that they would come back.”

I wrapped my arms around him, unable to think of anything else I could do, and held him against my body, as close as possible. He responded, pressing me flat against him and burying his face in my neck. I thought I felt him shed a couple of tears but after a minute or two, his lips twitched and I could feel a slight smile form on them.

“How God must smile on me to have sent you here,” he murmured, lifting his head so that his lips grazed my ear when he spoke. “A woman to whom I can speak about my darkest times and whose beauty reminds me of the fact that darkness passes into light.”

I gasped at the compliment. “Oh, my love, I cannot hope to thank you enough for saying that.”

He held my face in his hands and kissed me, lips soft and pliant and yet somehow demanding.

“There is nothing I would keep from you,” he whispered, “but if I can ask you for this one favor, I would like this to be the only time we discuss this story. Get rid of the blanket and the robe, please. I would honestly feel better without them in the house, in our house.”

I nodded and laughed a little as he lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bed, to our bed.

I kept my promise never to mention the subject of “Colin” again with my husband. Likewise, I never mentioned it with Kate and Susan or with Sophia. But that was not to say that I did not think of it. I fretted over whether my predecessor had told the truth. I fretted over how Sophia might have perceived the stories told to her by an unreliable mother. I fretted over what had transpired in the village between Susan’s Aunt Anne and Sarah Devitt. When I tried to rest, I found myself trapped, wondering what my beloved husband knew and did not know and wondering if and how my demon lover fit into the story.

I tried not to let my worrying distract me from the beauty of my life. I had scarcely dared imagine that I could have a husband that I loved so much, that I could be mistress of such a fine home, or that I could feel as loved and wanted as I did. Everything else, I told myself, was my imagination, something conjured by the Devil to entrap me.

When Feargal was at home, it was easy to ignore the darkness; we would spend time together with the children and when we would retire to our room, we would make love that was tender, romantic, and like a fantasy.

When Feargal was on the road, Balor would come. He paced his visitations so that I could never be sure when he would arrive or what he would expect from me. He would never simply allow me to participate passively. He wanted me active in our encounters, whether it was by servicing him or by becoming so excited that I would aggressively seek my own climax. He seemed as aroused by my reluctance as my excitement, which made both feel shameful to me.

My body felt worn down as the winter wore on. I slept too little because of my dark visitor and I was always flinching from the invisible welts and cuts he left over my body. It remained cold weeks longer than usual and the coast was frequently locked in a frozen fog that made it seem even drearier. I bore up as well as I could but I felt myself growing sickly, my body like some kind of sack I was forced to drag everywhere, but also like something that was angry at me, taking out that anger by inflicting pains whatever I did.

Kate and Susan noticed what I was going through and did what they could to help me. Susan would take the children on her walks to the market so that I could stay indoors on days when I felt weak. Kate was always coming up with excuses for me to sit near the fire in the kitchen, the warmest place in the house.

“You’re not sick, are you?” William fretted as he showed me some stones he’d picked up on his walk with Susan.

“No, I’ll be fine soon enough. This is my first winter by the ocean, that’s all.”

Sophia took her coat and her brother’s to put them away and he skipped off to show his new rocks to Kate.

“If you’ll pardon me for saying so, ma’am,” Susan told me once the children were out of earshot, “I don’t think it’s the ocean that’s making you sick. I think you’re in the family way.”

I was a little shocked at her impertinence but I was more astonished that this hadn’t thought of this myself. I wasn’t terribly well-informed about the signs of pregnancy but when I reflected on it, I realized that there was a very good chance Susan was right.

“My sister Ellen had three and she was always bad at the beginning. She was so sick at first with her youngest that the doctors thought there was a problem with it but they were both fine.”

I bit my lip, trying to imagine what it would be like to go through months of this. Seeing my concern, the girl continued.

“And she wasn’t sick the whole time, either. Just the first bit. All her children came out healthy.”

“I hadn’t thought about it. We haven't talked about having another child, the Reverend and me.”

“It’s not the talking that does the job,” she quipped.

I couldn’t help but laugh a little at her joke, however coarse it was. She was right. Feargal and I had done what was necessary to conceive a child many times, even if we had never discussed it as a possibility. Did that mean he would want a child with me?

Susan leaned closer and whispered, “Has it been long since you’ve bled?”

I nodded dumbly. “Longer than usual, definitely.”

She nodded and was about to speak again when the children came back into the room. I turned my attention to them and Susan left us. As I read with them and helped them with their piano practice, I tried to imagine what it would be like to make such a thing, to have one of them grow in my body and emerge as its own soul. I thought about how such a child might look, a mix of my features and Feargal’s. And at the same time, I fought back the far worse possibility, that I was pregnant with something terrible, some monster that Balor had put into me. Surely, that couldn’t happen? But if I accepted that I had had communion with some sort of demon, why couldn’t it be true? Hadn’t I engaged in the same acts with him?

Once Susan had put the idea in my head, it was all I could think about. I had no idea if I should tell Feargal right away or wait until I was certain. Then again, I didn’t know how long it would take for me to be absolutely certain. During the days, I was able to distract myself by spending time with the children and attending to matters of the house, but at night I lay frightened in my bed, wondering what was happening inside my body.

After three or four nights of this, it was almost a relief when I saw Balor crawl out of the shadows and onto the bed. I sast up but he immediately pushed me back down, pinning my shoulders against the bed until he was sure I would remain still. He gave a little smile that was somehow more disturbing than his usual sneer and ran his hands down my body, roughly grabbing and pinching at my breasts and finally fanning them out over my stomach. As he did, I felt something like a spark, like a candle being lit deep inside me.

“You can feel it now, can’t you?” he hissed.

“Get your hands off me. It’s mine, mine and Feargal’s. You’ve had your favor repaid.”

“Is that what you think, my dear? You think that this is only about you repaying a small debt? Oh no. The third one is mine and I will not be cheated again.”

“The third one? What? And how can you say I’ve cheated you?”

He cocked his head slightly, waiting for me to catch up with his meaning. As the truth dawned on me, I wished only to go back to my state of ignorance.

“You mean the third child is yours. His third child. You intend to take it from me!”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. I do and I will.”

“And if I try to stop you?”

“I hadn’t decided, but I was thinking I might take you to live with me as well,” he chuckled. “No need for more unpleasantness.”

“Unpleasantness?”

He kissed me gently, easing our lips together in a way that was more romantic than carnal, and for a moment it felt like I was embracing my beloved husband. As the kiss continued, I felt the air leaving my body and at the same time, I couldn’t force any back in. I struggled a little in his hold, growing frantic as I felt like I was suffocating or drowning until it was like something broke inside me, like I no longer needed to breathe, but that my body could simply draw what it needed with no action on my part.

Balor pulled away slightly and I opened my eyes. We were no longer in my bed but in an ancient, overgrown forest, the tall trees eclipsing the sky above us. Looking back at me was not the seal-skinned demon but Feargal, pale and beautiful and otherworldly, exactly as he had seemed to me when I had first met him. As I stared at his face, however, I was increasingly troubled that something seemed off about him. The longer I looked, the more it became obvious that Feargal’s face was some kind of mask or disguise and as I struggled to comprehend what I was seeing, I realized that we were actually underwater, that the forest was submerged in the ocean.

I opened my lips to scream and felt the briny water rush in, but then I was once again back in my bed, the Demon Balor perched over me with an inscrutable expression.

“What did you mean when you said ‘more’ unpleasantness? And why did you say you wouldn’t be cheated again?” I mumbled, trying to get my bearings.

The Demon wrinkled his nose and shot a derisive expression to the sky. “She cheated me of what was mine.”

“Colin,” I choked.

“Mine. The third one was always to be mine.”

“But she wouldn’t let you have him.” I sat up, feeling like I was seeing something clearly for the first time. “She went to the village woman to get something to get rid of the baby. Then when that didn’t work, she ran away and drowned herself and the child she was carrying.”

He flashed his fangs at me and leapt back onto my chest, pinning my body between his thighs. A stream of hisses and snarls escaped him and small beads of spittle dropped from his lips to mine.

I recoiled and a few tears escaped but I persisted with what I now felt was the truth. “She found a way to protect her son. But what did she owe you?”

“Silly girl. She never owed me anything. She never knew me. You’ve embraced me. You’ve given yourself over to me. You don’t have that pious reluctance in you because you know you’re ruined.”

“Get the hell out of here!” I cried at him, marveling that the sound of my voice when he was near never woke the others in the house. “I won’t let you take this child! I would let you hurt us! I pray I never see you again and if I do I shall make certain to send you back to Hell forever.”

Grinning, he withdrew from the bed and back into the shadows.

“Soon enough,” he rasped in parting. “We shall meet again soon enough.”

When Feargal made it home at the end of his travels that week, he was shocked to find me awake and fully dressed, waiting for him with a pot of tea.

“My love, you look distraught. Has something happened?”

I hardly knew where to begin but knowing his preference for the practical, I chose to start there.

“The Church has been promising since before we were married that they would find someone to take on some of the work you’ve been doing, so that you could spend more time at home.”

“I know,” he responded sadly. “I should have followed up with them and asked what they’ve been doing about it. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I’ve avoided being here with you.”

“It’s not that I want you at home, Feargal,” I snapped, immediately feeling guilty when I saw his hurt expression. “I mean, it’s not just that I want you near me. If it were just me, I could find a way to bear it but I’m afraid… My love, I think I’m… I have a baby in me. Our baby. And I want to know that you’ll be here for us and that you want this.”

“Want this?” he repeated incredulously. “How could I not want this?”

He crossed the room and ran his hand over my stomach as if it were something magical.

“Are you certain?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to be certain. I have all the signs. My body feels different to me. I know we’ve… I know almost nothing about children but I believe that’s what’s happening.”

“Oh love,” he touched his lips to mine and took me in his arms. “Don’t fear. I shall write to the Church tomorrow and insist that they send someone right away.” He trailed kisses down the length of my neck, smiling at the soft mewls it elicited from me. “At the very worst, if you aren’t with child now, we could use the extra time to make sure we get you that way.”

I gasped at the implication, only for him to pull me into a passionate kiss.

“You can’t imagine how much I miss you when I’m away,” he whispered, pushing himself flush against me. “I think of you all the time.”

He caught both of my arms in a firm grip and guided me upstairs to our bedroom, the wild, hungry glint in his eyes offering me a clear preview of what was in store.

“I’m glad you stayed up,” he told me.

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bluecastleinthesky · 4 years

Note

please ignore this if the topic makes you uncomfortable.

lots of ww2 stuff in this fandom but no ww1.

so ww1 proto prucan. prussia/canada's interactions over the brutality of the war years. canadas first war to one of prussia's last. their increasing illness as the years pass. what does prussia think of this war and of seeing essentially a child nation fall in line with the brutality of the war? and to adapt to it so well when canada's nature seemed so different from this wars environment?

Okay i’m going to be real here. There is going to be more. So much more. This is going to be long. This may end up being my NaNoWrMo project because my GOD i love WW1. (i’m actually doing my phd centered on it) so here is a snippet. there will be more. Wait for me prompt asker <3

The ending

Canada looked over the silent destruction. The dead had passed and the silence except for the hum of the earth and flies rang in his ears. Picking his way across the field the no longer hostile land permitting his passage he looked for white among the bodies. In the back of his mind he hoped Austria and Germany were feeling every bit of the weariness he felt. But Prussia…he hoped Prussia had ceased to feel at all. He remembered when his mother. Alfred’s mother had begun to fade. How her sense of pain had dulled after decades of incursions by England and others before she finally disappeared ghostlike after France and England officially named America and him as avatars of the land. He wondered if the same would happen to Prussia as Prussian military and governmental power diminished. He hoped it was quick unlike the long slow decay of Rome.

The beginning

Prussia looked glumly over the plans on his desk while he supported William he could not help but wish Fredrick could have kept his shit together another few years. William had been fantastic at the military school he helped at but was absolutely terrible at diplomacy. Not that Prussia was much better. He winced thinking of the last shouting match he had had with Russia the previous week. Still, if William wanted to burn bridges with his cousins that’s what Prussia was going to do he picked up his desk putting the files and letters in his bag every pen and item in its exact spot. Walking through the corridors of the place he looked out the window to the clear April sky. He would have to see if Ludwig wanted to go with him next week to visit Austria and Hungary. While still growing into being a nation his brother had a much better relationship with the two than Prussia did. Ironic really Prussia mused weaving his way around quiet conversations in the hall. Getting to the room he was looking for Prussia straightened himself out again lifting his head high and pushing the doors open.

“Hello Britain” he said coolly moving around to the head of the table receiving a soft humph in response. As he settled in his seat, he looked over the entourage that had come with his British counterpart. Normally Wales or more recently India came along as a secretary and flunky this pale shadow of a nation was a different companion. Prussia let his diplomat and Britain’s conduct their business as he sized up Britain’s companion. Canadia? Canada? It must be as Prussia ran down his list of commonwealth and colonies that Britain owned. Internally Prussia was surprised at the difference between American and Canada. While America was tall and brash and into Prussia’s universities and Austria’s science, Canada seemed smaller, younger. Prussia realized the word he was looking for was ‘colonial’. Still it was not often a different face came to a meeting he would have to formally introduce himself after they finished holding their Admirals hands.

Tuning back into the matter at hand Prussia handed the documents outlining ship and navel changes to Von Tirpitz. Fading back into the background to watch. Things had changed since the unification. Over the last 80 years somehow their kind had slipped from conducting things on their own with the support of their leader to subtly pulling strings and forming connections in the background. The glance Britain gave Prussia was met with a nod to a side door which they both moved to as the meeting moved to business and their bosses sat. The adjoining room was set up with a settee and refreshments which Prussia moved to immediately. “Glass of scotch Britain”

“Of course” the other nation said wandering over to the nearby window.

Pouring the glass under the watchful eye of Canada Prussia handed the drink off to the other nation to take to his master “Did you want something to or…” Prussia asked

“No thank you” the other nation replied taking the drink over to Britain and attempting in Prussia’s eyes quite successfully to fade into the background.

“I can’t believe they’ve tamed you like this” Britain commented as he took a sip.

“We’ve both been tamed” Prussia said resisting the urge to bare his teeth.

“It’s a pity” murmured Britain.

Prussia did not bother responding to that pouring his own drink instead. “I saw America the other day” he finally said “he was harassing the scientists over in Brandenburg again. It’s always a delight when he comes over”

“He doesn’t call does he” Britain said glancing over.

“Never. It’s always a shock to feel him arrive”

“I keep telling him one day he is going to wander onto Switz’s land and be shot”

“It would serve him right” Prussia said with an eyeroll “still nice to have the colonies over” he nodded at the vague shape of Canada (how did he almost literally disappear?).

Britain took the opening “I thought since Canada is becoming more federated it would be useful to begin to meet others. Besides it’s been a while.”

Prussia nodded sitting the settee in a way that would make both his boss’s wife and Ludwig grit their teeth. But honestly if a nation couldn’t lounge tiger like on furniture in their own governmental halls, where could they? Prussia honestly thought that half of his brother’s idea’s of manners and propriety were a result of Austrian and Williams’s wife’s ridiculous standards.

Britain must have read his mind “How’s Germany doing?”

Prussia shrugged “Well he’s gotten tall”

“You should keep an eye on that” Britain warned

The sweet alcohol in Prussia’s glass suddenly soured “I don’t know what you mean” he said derisively looking at the smaller man.

“You know exactly what I mean” Britain said meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “On a lighter note how is Augusta?”

“Charming as ever and off in the countryside for the fresh air”

“She was always such a good child” England said wistfully “She loved the roses at Kent house”

“I remember” Prussia said thinking of how small Ludwig had been when he had gone to pay his respects to Britain’s queen and the heavy rose bushes surrounding the garden as the children played.

Britain interrupted Prussia’s musings pushing Canada forward with a nudge “I know you used to enjoy the snow Canada has begun setting up ‘ski’ retreats in his territory I heard Austria and your brother were doing the same”

Prussia took the opening “Have you been meeting with Norway then?” He asked the younger nation curiously.

Canada nodded his carefully demure but confident façade slightly shifting as Prussia got up to circle him.

“Hmm” Prussia said coming back to the front “You should talk to Finland or Russia and then Finland”

“You know that wouldn’t be wise” Britain cut in.

Prussia ignored him “Finny is built like you and has been building racing tracks with Norway I’m sure he’d have advice”

Canada nodded “Do you ski?” he asked tentatively

Prussia shrugged “it gets you places but I haven’t found it more than a useful way to get places my brother finds it ‘fun’ though”

“Oh” Canada blinked “Well we would welcome a visit once we have established it as an industry” he glanced back at Britain who gave him an improving nod.

Prussia rolled his eyes “I would enjoy that the last time I went to the America’s I was helping your brother out it would be nice to just relax” he smiled at the stiffing of Britain’s shoulders.

Canada faded a bit before coming back into focus “I look forward to it then”

With that the door creaked open and another lacky peeked in. “Sirs?”

“We will be right there” Prussia said with a nod.

“See you soon Britain, Canada” he said ushering them back to their masters.

“Likewise” Britain replied steering his colony back to their side of the table.

#prucan #ww1 fiction #writing #my writing #i love you anon

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katherinewilliams221b · 4 years

Text

For A Greater Good 2/18

Gif not mine just the text

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang's staff at Dumbledore's request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc

Masterlist

[Part 1]

Dear Charlie, 7 Jan ‘96

I arrived yesterday in one piece. I wanted to write just as soon as I got here, but you can’t owl anytime you want. They have a strict and very controlled system, and they are very protective of their owls. You can use the owlery as many times as you want during Sundays.

The headmistress considered giving me a little more freedom in that regard, but I don’t want to tempt luck and make people ask why I have privileges.

I will stick to their rules and only send letters on Sundays, and with their owls. Please do NOT send Whiskey here, and warn your family not to use Errol either, I don’t think they could survive the weather here and Durmstrang won’t like my using foreign owls.

She assured me that the letters arrive within the day, so that’s good. They have a training program for the owls, but I saw them, and they are bigger than usual. Maybe a cross-species with a magical creature?

I am trying to convince the headmaster to let me use her fireplace from time to time to talk to you. I was told that this school uses spells to keep the place warm and protected from the snow, and they don’t use the fireplaces. Ever. I will have to be very careful, and I’m still trying to figure out how to be discreet.

They obliviate you when you arrive. They say it’s because they don’t want the school to be found, so I expect to be obliviated after my return.

They gave me a language potion! I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that I will be able to talk to anyone. Can you imagine that? The possibilities? I would investigate how that magic works right now if I had time. Can you do me a favour? In the tower next to our house, where I work, I have a small blackboard with some notes. Can you write something in the lines of “translator charms” or similar? Just so I remember.

Tomorrow I will start as a healer. You wouldn’t believe how big is the hospital wing! The headmistress, professor Rhode, told me it is common that students experiment by themselves and they have this room fully equipped for patients. Not even St Mungo’s have this quality. I wish I wasn’t in these circumstances, so I could explore the place with more detail.

I know what I have to do if you know what I mean, but I still have to put everything in order and figure out how exactly I’m going to face the task. I have no idea where to start, and I will be anchored in the hospital wing, so I won’t have much freedom.

Oh! I have a bedroom to myself on the top floor of the castle, and the views are breath-taking. You would love this place: the grounds, the mountains, the forest, and the lakes! I can see a ship from here, the one you told me they used to get to the Three Wizard Tournament last year, I believe.

Things are going to be calm for now, classes start again in less than a week so there’s not going to be not much to tell the next days.

I’m going to have lunch now and then get a map of the castle to be able to move around here.

Love,

With a kiss to the envelope, she handed the letter to the owl that hopped in circles in front of her. He chirped with excitement at his new quest and accepted the message before lifting into the air.

Kate leaned on the rail at the top of the owlery and admired the mountains. Her uniform was suited to the cold weather and let her enjoy the views.

The owl flapped its wings and disappeared through the low clouds that painted the horizon. She remembered Hogwarts and its owlery; how she used to spend many afternoons watching the sunset while the owls were still asleep. Even the not so pleasant smell of it had become something so familiar that she missed it when it wasn’t there. Kate’s smile vanished at the thought. There were too many things she wished that were there, but weren’t.

The whistling of an eagle caught her attention. She tried to focus on the bird, but it was flying in circles above the forest. She turned around and looked for an owl that wasn’t sleeping; she didn’t want to scare the poor thing.

She chose a horned owl that seemed curious about her movements and placed her hand in front of its beak to let it recognise her.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” She drew her wand out and murmured “Strigiforma.”

A pair of opera glasses appeared in the owl’s place and she hurried to catch them before returning to the rail.

It wasn’t an eagle; it was a hawk. Kate didn’t know much about birds or their behaviour, but flying in circles above a certain spot didn’t seem very usual. Perhaps there was a prey in the forest, for it seemed riveted by the trees.

On its way back towards the owlery, the hawk seemed to advert Kate’s presence in the tower.

Faster than her eyes could register, the bird flew straight into Kate’s direction, only to change its course in the last second, passing over the roof.

Still confused with the events, Kate set the glasses on a nest nearby and turned them into its original form.

The owl scoffed indignantly and turned around to avoid her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She rounded the nest and offered her hand as a peace offer. The owl looked at it and then away, keeping its head as high as possible.

“I will bring you some treats as compensation, I promise.”

Durmstrang Castle looked no smaller than Hogwarts from the inside. Kate managed to get to the library with great difficulty and had to suffer the taunts of some students when she asked for directions.

The library was a circular room, one of the towers, and was probably four stories high. Long tables occupied the centre of the room and each floor, visible from below, had small study areas.

Elegant chandeliers illuminated the place, but judging by the size of the windows, it would not receive much natural light throughout the day. This did not seem to bother the few people who were there. Perhaps they were used to the shadows, Kate thought.

Her attention was drawn to the golden, well-kept staircase upholstered with a red carpet that went up to the different floors with it. Just behind it, partially hidden behind black curtains, an empty table held the weight of more books than it should. It looks like my desk; she thought with a half a smile.

As she approached, she read the plaque propped up on one tower of books.

“If that book is not your thing, try to give the bell a ring.”

She scanned the place until she found a tiny bell hanging from the edge of the desk. With her index finger and thumb, she caught the string and hit it against the metal. Not hearing any noise, she tried again.

From the top of the tower, a bat hanging from one of the giant chandeliers broke loose from its resting place and plummeted to where Kate was standing. Flapping a couple more times, it flew over her head, causing her to jump. As it reached the desk, the bat changed shape, and a man dressed in an elegant black robe appeared.

“I heard you the first time.” He said with smiling eyes. “You don’t look like a student.”

“I am a new healer. Maybe you can help me, I’m looking for a map of the castle.” Kate looked at his face and could not help but feel a little envious; his skin seemed to glow, he had not a single wrinkle and his features were refined, almost translucent, as if made of glass. At first glance, it seemed that he was much older than Kate, but on closer examination of his features, it might have not been the case.

“Of course, I can help you. It’s my job.” A cloud of black dust appeared before her, and again the bat shot up. Kate followed its path up the first floor until it was out of sight.

After a minute, in which Kate shifted in her place several times, the sound of chains alerted her. She turned to the desk to find the librarian looking at her again. Her surprise must have been palpable, because the man snorted with amusement.

“Castles are particularly good at hiding secrets. Here, that’s for you.”

With a bow, he extended his arm and offered her a scroll. Kate went to accept it but held back before doing so.

“Am I allowed to borrow material?”

“I trust you will return it.” Kate nodded and accepted the scroll.

“I will. And thank you...”

“Corentin. At your service.” He said in a French accent before he turned into a bat one last time and flew to the lamp.

Kate went around every corner, every corridor and every room she could. She was able to recognise many of the places Astrid Rhode had shown her, and she discovered many more.

After a while, she entered what appeared to be a trophy room. Multiple shelves of medals and cups adorned the walls. Quidditch, duelling, and arts. It was clear that Durmstrang had taught many powerful and skilled wizards and witches.

At the end of the hall, a gigantic painting that occupied practically the entire wall showed a portrait of a woman. It stood still, unlike many of the paintings that decorated the corridors. Still, Kate felt as if her eyes followed every movement.

“Nerida Vulchanova.” She read on the plaque “Architect and founder of the Durmstrang Institute.”

“Remarkable woman, Vulchanova,” said a voice behind her back.

A woman with a complexion as dark as her robes and a shaved head observed her from an armchair in the shadows. When she stood up, Kate recognised her from the documents Astrid Rhode had given her.

“Mer Yankelevich. You may call me Mer.” She reached out her hand and Kate accepted it, trying her best to pretend she didn’t know her. “I teach charms. Haven’t seen you around here before...”

“Kate. I’m a new healer.”

She didn’t seem to care what Kate could say to her. She immediately turned her gaze to Nerida’s painting.

“Did you know that this castle could not stand without magic?” She made a dramatic pause that Kate found extremely unnecessary. She focused on the teacher’s mind and found arrogance and a strong feeling of superiority. She was gloating over her knowledge.

“The castle was built in the 13th century, and you can tell by its style and the size of its walls However, it has a peculiarity that no other building has. It can be seen right here in this room. Can you guess what it is?”

Kate watched as the long earrings Yankelevich was wearing seemed to wriggle with the question and a strange feeling invaded her body. She turned around, inspecting the room more closely.

Before she could make any comment, the teacher decided to speed up the conversation.

“Sometimes the things we are looking for are right in front of our eyes.” She went to the large windows behind Kate and leaned against the sill.

“When a wall is thick and low, it’s harder to knock down than a tall, thin one. Durmstrang Castle is only four stories high, and the walls are extremely thick, as you may have noticed. Their task is to support the castle.”

She touched the glass a couple of times with her razor-sharp long nails and smirked at Kate’s expression at the sound.

“It looks like it’s made of water.”

“That’s because none of the castle windows are made of glass. Nerida Vulchanova knew perfectly well that you can’t put windows in walls that support the entire weight of the vaults.”

Kate’s stomach jumped at the words. While she knew that her brother’s memories will always accompany her until the day she died, sometimes a word or a person could trigger the darkest parts of her mind. She had learnt to control it, and slowly but surely those memories hurt less than the day before.

Yankelevich reached for the handle and opened the window, letting in the cold wind of January.

“If these windows were made of glass and not magic, all the walls and ceilings would fall down. Fascinating, isn’t it? They are also soundproof.”

“Incredible, yes. Are you interested in architecture?”

“More than teaching, perhaps. I’m passionate about finding hidden places.”

“I’m sure Durmstrang is full of them.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” The teacher walked to Kate again, her back to the portrait. “I mean, here, in the trophy room.”

Kate raised the map and was about to explain how she explored the castle afternoon, when sounds of a fight alerted them. They looked at each other and hurried to the door.

“Say that again! Say that again!” a boy, probably in his third or fourth year, shouted while he pushed another student backwards.

“Your Dad deserved it! You are just a bunch of blood traitors! You and your stupid family!”

Everything happened so fast, it looked like someone had pressed a switch and from one second to another, both students were on the floor trying to punch and kick each other.

Kate’s eyes widened at the sentence. She was left frozen in place, unable to react fast enough to the situation.

She saw how they managed to get up, but they were still fighting. Some other students came to enjoy the show and the corridor rapidly filled itself with deafening screams of encouragement.

Kate stumbled as she was being pushed further away from the wrestling.

The map slipped from her hand in the commotion and she struggled to get on her knees to find it. From the corner of her eye, she saw how something fled from somewhere among the crowd. A book?

“What the...” Kate murmured when huge black clouds covered the ceiling of the hallway.

Sounds of a storm right above their heads made everyone stay motionless in their spots.

“What, in Vulchanov’s name, is happening here?” Headmaster Rhode’s voice sounded as if she was holding a megaphone. However, her hands were raised, controlling the rumble and lightning of the storm.

With a wave, the clouds dissipated as well as the students that opened a path for her to walk.

Kate noticed the blood in one of the boys’ nose and tried to reach them, pushing aside the curious souls that didn’t want to miss Astrid Rhode’s fury.

“What do you think you are doing? Fighting like a pair of water demons instead of duelling like civilised young wizards. I’ll throw you myself in the lake if that’s what you want?”

A pair of ‘No, professor.’ bounced against the walls and echoed in the tense stillness of the place.

“Let me see the nose,” Kate ordered. After a quick examination, she drew her wand out before saying “Episkey”

The cracking noise made more than one student hiss.

“Now everyone out of here. I don’t want to see you. Prepare everything for the new term that’s starting in a few days. Go.”

The corridor cleared, and Kate noticed the book that rested on the floor. Before she could grab it, Mer Yankelevich bent down and took hold of it.

“Advanced guide for curse-breaking.” she read “Someone’s been inquisitive these holidays. I’m going to return this to Corentin, now.” she added, laughing.

Astrid nodded first at the teacher and then at Kate, adding a hidden meaning unknown for Yankelevich.

She couldn’t identify what Rhode was trying to tell her until the headmaster’s gaze shifted almost imperceptibly towards Mer Yankelevich’s back. Kate inhaled and crouched, pretending to tie more securely the shoelaces of her boots.

When the charms teacher rounded the corner, Kate darted after her, trying to jog, avoiding touching the heel to the ground.

She pressed her back against the wall, turned her head slightly to spy to the other side and observed how Yankelevich opened a door to another corridor instead of heading to the library’s direction.

Kate spent the rest of the afternoon considering Mer Yankelevich a procrastinator or a liar, inclining herself for the latter.

[Part 3]

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x ofc #durmstrang #hphm #kate williams #order of the phoenix #i dont know if i will be able to keep up with 1 chapter/week #it's going to be a surprise for all of us lol

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