#look at your painting upon the wall. centuries pasts. the sun is now painting you the same way

[lanternlightss]

if we ever get nameless bard’s model, i really, really hope at one point we get him framed in the lighting like this (a call back to him surrounded by light in the boy and whirlwind? put upon a pedestal? or the bard, a guiding light from past...)

[hezzabeth]

In this part of the story we are introduced to the concept of cousin siblings. We are also introduced to clone ethnic minorities. By the year 3856 A.D human cloning is common and legal in many parts of the solar system. Two centuries prior in the year 38337 A.D clones were given equal rights on Mars, the moons of Jupiter and the Pacifica Empire. Sibling cousins are cousins who happen to have clone parents. Twin cousins on the other hand are people whose clone parents reproduced with another set of clones. A clone ethnic minority are a group of people who descend from a single cloned person. The Bun clan for example descends from nine clones. By the year 3856 A.D the inner system census documented 23,000 members of the Bun clan. They are well known for their ability to speak to plants and their unique hair in different shades of pink.

"Is that the famous Lilyfield summer home? I read about it in my travel books!" She said with an eager whisper to Mrs. Bun.

"Oh yes! The flowers are open, which means the summer social season is on! They'll host a big ball for Apple day tomorrow," Mrs. Bun smiled.

"She wasn't like this before, she was acting all weird and prickly at the telehub," Revati whispered to Brigadeiro.

"Maybe she had a concussion? One time I had one, and I bought two dozen cupcakes, and then I smashed them all over that wall," Brigadeiro replied as they scooted past a pond and onto grass that appeared to be made of real gold.

Brigadeiro was pointing at a house perched right next to the golden grass lawn. Unlike the fantastic homes they had passed, the building Brigadeiro was pointing at was thankfully ordinary. The walls were painted bright white with navy trimmings. The space station's false holographic "sun" was beginning to set behind the pointy roof. Next to the house, there was another similar building, this one surrounded by a crowd of people.

"And that building?" Pauletta asked.

"Oh, that? That's just the family house," Mrs. Bun explained as they pulled to a stop. The crowd of people had all gathered around outdoor tables covered in platters of food.

"It's more than a family home; your mother would love this! Our house is almost three thousand years old," Brigadeiro explained, helping Revati out of the cart.

"Three thousand years old, shouldn't this place be in a museum?" Revati asked, staring at the house. Actual historical buildings from old Earth were rare.

"This place was built in Australia in the year 1810 by a sea captain who hunted some sort of monster called whales! It was called Collingwood House," Brigadeiro explained as several family members descended upon them.

"And now it's here? How?" Revati asked, completely shocked.

"When the space station was first opened, it had a museum, and this was part of it! Then when my great-grandpa got cloned, the Mill family gave him this place as a reward," Brigadeiro explained, ignoring all the relatives who were frantically asking him about the terrorist attack.

Within seconds, Revati found herself jostled and pushed away from Brigadeiro.

"Sit! Sit," someone shrieked, and Revati found herself sitting down at one of the tables. Two old ladies who almost looked like twins were sitting down fanning themselves. Their grey-streaked pink curls were pinned under massive yellow disc hats, and they were wearing matching yellow dresses.

"So you're the Martian then? I'm Auntie Saffron," said the old lady to the left with a birthmark on her nose said.

"Mars has over forty-six countries and territories; calling me 'the Martian' is like calling someone 'the alien,'" Revati replied, looking down at her bowl. The meal on it appeared to be some sort of savory stew garnished with apple slices.

"Hah, she has you there! I'm Auntie Magdalena! I have to apologize for my sister-cousin; she thinks us being the oldest family members gives us the right to be rude," the second old lady smiled.

Here's the corrected version of the text:

"Cousin sister?" Revati had to ask after taking a mouthful of the stew. The stew filled her mouth with earthy, spicy heat.

"Our fathers were clones who married clones, genetically we're sisters," Auntie Saffron said, studying Revati as she ate. "You can handle my daughter's gumbo; I thought it was far too spicy," she remarked.

"It's spicy? Really? Most food on Mars can melt through carpets when you spill it," Revati shot back, and Auntie Magdalena cackled.

"You're not going to scare this one off easily. I heard she saved Bridgadeiro's life three times," Auntie Magdalena said to her sister-cousin.

"Actually, we're up to five times. He fell into a ditch two months ago, and yesterday a hairdryer tried to strangle him," Revati admitted after drinking some apple.

"A hairdryer! Bubby! You never told your parents about that," Auntie Magdalena shrieked as Bridgadeiro sat down next to Revati holding a plate of muffins.

"Well, I was a bit distracted by the enemy attack and getting Revati here," Bridgadeiro replied.

"I don't know why your parents keep letting you run off to Mars! I've tried to discuss it with my nephew, but he keeps insisting you're an adult now," sniffed Auntie Saffron.

"I'm almost twenty-two! Also, I told you I need to complete three months of field research on a terraformed world for my doctorate," Bridgadeiro replied.

"Surely you must have finished it all by now! I thought once you inherited this place you'd be back," Auntie Saffron whined, raising a snooty eyebrow.

"So! What do you do?" Auntie Magdalena asked Revati, yelling over her sister-cousin.

"Do? Well, right now I'm eating..." Revati pointed out.

"She means what do you do to earn money; people ask that here a lot," Bridgadeiro said.

"Oh! I follow a ghost haunting an android about on her quest to find her long-lost daughter, who's also my sister," Revati explained, taking another spoonful of gumbo.

"How interesting! And where did you go to school? I heard that New Singapore has many fantastic universities," Auntie Saffron remarked dryly.

"My mother and her partner educated me in an abandoned Victorian doll museum," Revati replied, glaring back.

"Your mother educates you? So you don't have any vocational training?" asked Auntie Saffron.

Revati dropped her spoon on the table, staining the tablecloth.

"Before the appliance war, Revati's mother was a history teacher at one of the best schools in her country, and she's written an entire book about the appliance war," Bridgadeiro said, grabbing Revati's hand. "She did the best she could. Before Bridgadeiro came along, none of us could leave my home without risking freezing to death," Revati explained.

"Freeze to death? Really?" Auntie Saffron asked doubtfully.

"Yes, and if you were lucky to have a tent for protection, you still ran the risk of getting kidnapped by a wasteland gang," Revati added.

"That's how Revati and I met! She saved me from a group of actors that were going to kill me in a play," Bridgadeiro added.

"My word! What an interesting life your little friend leads!" Auntie Saffron drawled, and Bridgadeiro nodded towards their hands.

"She's far more than a friend, Auntie Saffron," Bridgadeiro replied coldly, and Auntie Magdalena giggled nervously.

"Why don't you go take Revati to the desserts? Your Mama is serving up her Tarte De Maca," Auntie Magdalena asked, gesturing to another table.

Was Bridgadeiro far more than a friend? It was a curious thing to consider. First of all, Revati only considered a few people, such as Aurora, Little Hardi, and her favorite feral child, as friends. Now that she thought about it, she had never slotted Bridgadeiro neatly into that category.

There were nights when he visited her on the road. Cold nights when the android switched herself off to charge, and they huddled together under a blanket playing Buggle on down. Nights where the game often ended in a way it never did with her actual platonic friends. There were warmer days where the android was waiting in some distant city for a new DNA trace. Revati and Bridgadeiro would wander the streets together, Bridgadeiro pointing out a particular rare plant. One time a band was playing music, and her head dropped against his head as they danced. Of course, it always ended the same way. The Android would detect a sample of Dityaa's DNA, and they would head out. Bridgadeiro would pack up as well and head back to his university. Sometimes he sent her messages. Sometimes she didn't hear from him for weeks. And then came the Diwali with Margarine.

Despite all that, she hadn't been able to file him into his proper place. Instead, he floated about in her subconscious, occasionally popping up in strange dreams.

Mrs. Bun gave her a sympathetic look as she handed Revati a plate. Vanilla, who was standing next to Mrs. Bun, shook their head with a knowing smile.

"Was Auntie Saffron bullying you? She made me cry three times during my first Apple day," Mrs. Bun said, handing another plate to Bridgadeiro.

"She brought up me coming back, then she called Revati's life interesting and referred to her as my little friend," Bridgadeiro said.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Bun winced, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.

"Don't worry, Auntie Saffron referred to me as Barley's coworker at our wedding," Vanilla reassured Revati.

"She called me the housekeeper at Bridgadeiro's color day," Mrs. Bun winced.

"And you just put up with that? If anyone spoke to me that way back home, I'd stun them until they smelled like fried hair," Revati remarked, glaring at Auntie Saffron.

Auntie Saffron merely waved at their table with a heavy-ringed hand.

"Stunning people is illegal here; it's a form of assault," Bridgadeiro explained.

"Is it? How annoying," Revati remarked, still glaring at Auntie Saffron.

For a fraction of a moment, her eyes traveled further toward the crystal pond. Someone was moving amongst the waist-length clear crystal reeds. Someone with mint-green skin dressed in gold. They turned towards the party. Revati's eyes, well-trained from spending years staring into the dark, saw familiar weedy features.

"Hang on, who's that?" Revati asked, pointing at the person as they disappeared into the reeds.

"No idea; must be a guest of Lord Mills! Sometimes they get lost and wander into the private staff areas," Bridgadeiro remarked.

Revati merely shook her head, putting the plate back on the table.

"I'll be right back," she said before running to the pond.

In the dim light the stranger looked exactly like the Duke of Io.

Lakes, ponds, and oceans always seemed vaguely sinister to Revati. She knew that on faraway distant worlds, people swam in the waters and surfed the waves. The only body of water in Olde Landon was a man-made river filled with melted snow. Before the invasion, tourists would ride on lantern boats across the clear waters.

Authentic "bathing machines" had been set up on the pebble-covered beach. After the invasion, Revati would use the machines as makeshift showers. They never went further than the shallows. Skeletons lay in the sunken darkness. After the appliances invaded, the dead had been thrown off the bridge into the water.

Revati found herself standing at the very edge of the pond. Up close, the translucent reeds were tall and sticky, brushing against her dress. Something moved in the purple twilight, and Revati spun around. "I know you're there! I saw you all the way up from the party," Revati hissed, and there was another rustling sound. "Leave us alone," a man's voice hissed, and Revati's hand anxiously grabbed her golden necklace. No weapons, no bandages, and no bits of string. "It's you, isn't it? The Duke of IO? Or at least the appliance pretending to be him," Revati remarked, pushing her way through the reeds.

The reeds suddenly parted, revealing the glimmering pond. "I'm not pretending to be anyone! I'm the Duke and an appliance; two things can be true," the Duke of IO snapped back, his voice hidden from a boat floating on the pond. "I don't care who you are! Take me to my sister," Revati said, stepping into the water so she could wade over to the boat. "She doesn't want to see you! We didn't even know you would be here," the Duke's voice snapped back, and Revati grabbed the boat, rocking the edge. "I can't drown you, idiot!" the Duke shrieked.

"No, but you can probably sink," Revati snapped back, rocking the boat again. "Stop it right now, Sissy!" Dityaa's voice yelled, and Revati glanced over her shoulder.

Revati often dreamed about what she would do if she finally found Dityaa. The dreams were often filled with suffocating rage. Sometimes she would follow her, demanding to know why she never came back, how she could do such an awful thing to their mother. But in the dim light of the pond, Revati now felt nothing more than the cold water lapping around her legs. Dityaa was watching her from the other side of the small pond.

A different, somewhat more fragile Dityaa, her body stooped over as if she was in pain. Revati let go of the boat and waded towards Dityaa. The water now reached her waist. Dityaa was wearing a loose white shirt and a pair of grey pants. Her feet were bare. "What did you do to her?" Revati screeched at the Duke. "I didn't do anything!" The Duke protested, glancing over the eye of the boat. "You kidnapped her! And now look, she isn't even wearing a dress!" Revati protested. Dityaa often claimed she was allergic to pants. "He didn't kidnap me! I ran away with him, and we got married," Dityaa wheezed. "You married him! I've been chasing you for four years because you got married?" Revati shrieked, unable to believe it.

But then a thought occurred to Revati. "You got married! You literally wore a wedding dress to Medieval Faire," Revati snapped, wading towards Dityaa. "I knew you wouldn't approve," Dityaa murmured, her eyes fluttering. "I can't believe you did this! You almost killed Nanni! It would have taken three seconds to message anyone saying you were alright," Revati snapped, and suddenly Dityaa sighed before collapsing face-first into the water. "Darling!" The Duke cried with relief. "My darling," she whispered back with a small smile. Her eyes shut again, and she began to loudly snore. "You better not have brought that bitch of a maternity droid with you," the Duke said, and Revati violently shook her head. "Are you talking about the ghost who's Dityaa's real mother? I left her on Mars," Revati and the Duke nodded as if relieved. "She needs a bed; expelling the energy can be exhausting," The Duke said. "I don't live here! I can't just magically pull a bed out of nowhere," Revati pointed out. "It's fine, we have plenty of room in the kitchen building," Bridgadeiro's voice called. "How much of that did you see?" Revati had to ask, "I saw everything, but I think the party just saw you running back to the lake with the pie," Bridgadeiro replied.

Dityaa had, of course, managed to get the best room in "the kitchen building". Once Mrs. Bun realized the strange unconscious girl was Revati's sick sister, she insisted upon it. The kitchen building turned out to be much larger than the actual house. "In ancient times, it was used as a sleeping area by convicts and to store meat; now we use it for extended family," Bridgadeiro explained. Mrs. Bun merely made tutting sounds as she tucked Dityaa into bed. The walls of the bedroom were covered in thick thorny rose bushes. Gigantic pink and red roses bloomed everywhere, scattering the floor with heavily scented petals. The bed was fitted with pale pink sheets and pillows. "Why the rose bushes?" Revati had to ask. "Roses are excellent at monitoring the health of sleeping people; if something happens to her, they'll alert us," Bridgadeiro explained, shutting the door.

[catmansquad]

Drive (Excerpt)

Stranding Gabriel O'Hara in the Pacific Drive universe.

Earth- 16139693 The Olympic Exclusion Zone, 1998

Junction C15: Facility, Mid-Zone

What could once have been something imposing and brutalist was now little more than a hollow shell of crumbling concrete. Only the basic frame of the facility remained; criss-crossing girders overgrown with bioluminescent plant life. Gabriel pulled the car to a stop, hesitating for a moment longer before switching off the engine. ‘Alright….’ He spared a glance at the device mounted on the passenger seat, all seemed well enough. “STABLE”. The word was both reassuring and painful; while he was glad that reality was not about to melt into a soup of pure, burning chaos, it was still not stable enough to allow Gabriel to open a portal back to his own world, back to Nueva York. Stability held together by chewing gum and tape, as far as reality was concerned; it could barely stand to open a gateway back to the safe haven of the Auto Shop without collapsing, attempting to open a portal across the multiverse would probably turn the entire Olympic Peninsula inside out before he could even think about leaving. Gabriel exhaled slowly, grip tightening on the steering wheel. ‘… I’ll come home eventually, Mig, I promise you. I just… have to escape from here first.’ He knew that there were several miles of irradiated, unstable reality and a 300-metre-high wall between him and freedom. He released his grip on the steering wheel an unbuckled the seatbelt before stepping outside. The warm air passed over him, carrying the scent of charred wood and a strange sweetness as the fields of overgrown crimson grass rippled in the breeze. In the distance, beyond twisted ruins of buildings, the sun slowly set in the horizon, painting the skies in cloudless hues of gold and deep purple.

‘Why am I out here? I don’t even know what I’m looking for...’ He clapped his hands against his sides, before stepping around to the passenger side door, watching the screen of the ARC device swivel to face the window. ‘I don’t even have enough power to get back…’ He pulled open the door and leaned in, working the screen and adjusting the map until it picked up the energy emission of the anchors that pinned down reality; the perfect energy source. “2K-LIM FOR GATEWAY”. ‘…. A century in the shockin’ past and they’ve got touch-screens. Is this world just so advanced, or is your inventor just nuts?’ Granted, a touch screen computer with vacuum tubes, a makeshift barometer, and goodness knew what else; attached to a 1970s station wagon. The ARC device offered no response or comment, and Gabriel was glad that it didn’t, the car seeming to have a mind of its own was enough for him. ‘Right…’ Memorising the nearest location, he shut the passenger door and began to make off in the direction of the nearest anchor point, his eyes peeled for any sort of threat, one in particular clung to the back of his mind.

“Don’t think. About anything. Not your home, not your family. Reality is tearing at the seams around you, and is currently as solid as soup in a sieve, any conscious waveform could imprint upon it in a disastrous fashion. We call them Aberrations. You don’t want to get chased by something that resembles a pink elephant? Don’t think about pink elephants.” Gabriel had tried his best to heed that warning, and he had been caught in the madness of an Instability storm, the very fabric of the world was coming undone, warping and twisting. Keeping his mind blank, as calm as a zen master in that moment had somehow been a miracle. He had almost succeeded, almost back to the shielded safety of the station wagon, until his dimensional travel bracelet had beeped; overclocking itself as it tried to keep him stable. His eyes had flitted to it, and a pang of nostalgia had lurched inside him, and his mind turned to one face; Miguel. His brother. Spider-Man.  It had only been for the briefest instant, but he had felt reality shudder for his failure. The Anomaly, the Aberration he had created, was out there somewhere; half-formed, feral and crazed, so malformed it resembled Miguel in his superhero suit in only the merest sense, like a painting with the ink running, like wax melting under a candle flame, a creature unused to existing in a world of stable matter, redrawing itself with each movement. Yet, Gabriel had not found respite from it, it pursued him across the Exclusion Zone wherever stability failed, and even his dreams had become nightmares of his brother. It was a psychic leech, feeding on the memories and feelings of his brother to ground itself. MEEP! Gabriel was drawn from his thoughts as he heard the car’s horn honk. He looked back over his shoulder, finding it still switched off and parked up, bereft of drivers or passengers. Gabriel swallowed thickly, returning to his hunt towards an anchor point. He hadn’t even realised he’d been lapsing into thinking about Miguel again until the honk had snapped him out of it.  

The anchor plug was a reassuring sight, at least to a point. Unlike the stablised anchors of the Outer Zone, the Mid-Zone anchors were… struggling. They had been doing their job for far longer; the gentle yellow glow replaced with a vicious, shimmering orange light, even the anchor itself struggled to maintain its consistent spherical shape, warping and distorting as the lights inside pulsed. The wonders and horrors of LIM Tech. Bracing himself, Gabriel reached out, gripping the anchor and feeling his skin tingle at the contact, and heard the crackle of the Geiger counter from his bracelet. ‘Ok…’ He twisted the anchor from its plug, feeling it turn and creak before finally coming loose and Gabriel stumbled back, carrying in the anchor in his arms. The effect was almost immediate; the anchor plug went dark and silent, reality became slightly wobblier, clouds swirled into life above, raging with a spontaneous storm and downpour, and Gabriel found himself drenched in seconds. Sloshing back through the muddy ground that seemed to be turning into marshland beneath his feet, and well aware that he was carrying a radioactive, unstable ball in his arms. He watched the landscape shift, hills rising and falling. He felt the ground lurch beneath his feet, a spontaneous eruption of sheer force and Gabriel found himself tumbling down a slope, the anchor rolling down alongside him. Mercifully, as fast as the danger and distortion had started, the changes settled once more. Gathering up the anchor in his arms once more, soaked through by the rain, Gabriel pulled the anchor back into his arms and fumbled to open the passenger door. ‘There.’ He sighed, the clicking of the Geiger counter stopping as he slotted it into the ARC Device, watching mechanisms click into life and the orb vanished as it collapsed into pure energy, absorbed straight into the device. He leaned closer watching the power meter fill and a smile broke across his face as he saw the measurement stored within. “2.1K-LIM”. He checked over the map again, there was one more anchor nearby, and it was better to have too much energy than not enough… ‘Odd…’ he zoomed out of the map, scouring the area. ‘I’d swear there was two more…?’ He frowned, seeing only the energy emitted from one more anchor marked on the map. ‘What the shock?’ He watched a second signal flare into life again briefly, much closer, before flickering out once again.

He had found the closer anchor plug, dark and powerless with scraps of bent and broken metal lying around it, there was no sign of the anchor that once sat there. He picked up one of the pieces of scrap metal, turning it over and pondering if it was any worth remaking into something else. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the claws marks that ran across one side of it, almost slicing through the metal. ‘No… No, no…’ He dropped it like it had burned him, looking around in a panic. The thing that was not Miguel, the Aberration, had to be nearby. With a far greater haste, Gabriel sprinted across the fields of red grass, keeping his eyes peeled for any mere glimpse of the Aberration. His mood rose as he saw the reassuring sight of the last anchor plug, and skidded to a stop as he watched the Aberration rise from the grass and grip the anchor, ripping it effortlessly from the plug, tearing it apart like a child with a Christmas present; absorbing the energy inside. But what horrified Gabriel was just how solid it appeared to when he had last seen it; there were still errors in its form, the spider insignia was half melted, and its masked face split open with a mouth of jagged teeth. Gabriel’s heart skipped a beat as its head tilted, hidden eyes looking right at him. He felt it again, the little mental tug, like fishhooks in his thoughts; the Aberration scouring his mind for more memories of his brother. Gabriel turned and sprinted away, soaked coat flying out behind him.

He didn’t look at his bracelet as he heard it beep in warning, he didn’t need to, the warning klaxons in the distance already told him what he needed to know; stability was falling over the entire area. He paused as he reached the reliable sight of the station wagon, pressing his face to the glass of the passenger door and peering at the ARC device. “STORM WARNING”.  It was definitely time to leave, mercifully the Aberration didn’t seem to be following him. ‘Huh?’ He paused, feeling something land on his shoulder. He reached up to feel it, rubbing it between his fingers. Concrete dust? He felt a few more flecks land on his head, and tilted his head back, dreading what he would see. There it was, the Aberration crawling across the concrete reinforced girder, claws sinking into the metal like a knife through butter. ‘… Shock. Its learned how to climb walls…’ Gabriel whispered, terrified before he heard the car honk again. Snapped from his terrified stupor, Gabriel vaulted over the car bonnet and climbed into the driver’s seat. He barely had time to clip his seatbelt in before the engine sprang to life and the gear stick shifted into drive. ‘Yeah, yeah, time to leave. “STORM IMMINENT”. He fumbled with the screen of the ARC device, managing to tag a gateway point long enough for the device to force it open, the output of energy racing through the car and spooling into the air. Like a bolt of divine retribution, a pillar of golden light tore both ground and sky asunder; his way home. “DANGER.” He didn’t look at the ARC device, or the map displaying the closing storm, he didn’t spare the Aberration above his head a second thought as he slammed his foot on the accelerator and steered the car desperately towards his way home. ‘…. Eating anchors to… what? Try and stabilise itself? My day just gets better and better…’

[harrison-abbott]

[Copenhagen - Travels.]

Flying across the North Sea yon come across these knife-like islands

Ragged against the water; blustery and cold looking: and they make you

Think of those men violent men who bustled in boats a thousand years

Back, seeking new land on new coasts and determined for spoils.

Much of the language you speak is down to them, and now you’re coming

Here a thousand years later, all numbed-eared from aerodynamics, all

Spoiled with the sights of clouds from such a height as the Vikings could

Never see … And so, let’s explore this new country and see what happens.

It’s an early flight and so the airport is super quiet upon arrival. Doesn’t

Seem like an airport, only an airy space with folks wandering around.

But, when you get to the Border gates, and meet a woman with black hair

Through the strong window glass, she goes, “Why are you in Denmark?”

In quite a blunt manner. But you play the civilian: “I’m just a tourist.

Back on Wednesday.” She asks you if you’re with somebody and you say

No it’s only me.

You get the metro into the city. There is always something profound

About entering another nation when you walk up from the concrete

Metro steps and into the light, width and wind of a novel town.

You come out onto a square 500 yards in breadth and pockmarked with

Pigeons and layered with cobblestones and centred with a fountain brimming

In blue and white. You sit on one of the benches for a while. The winds really

Are quite nippy and they flap your hood.

There are five hours until your hotel opens for reception and so you fancy

A wander to kill some time. Off you go walking to see what’s what.

Starlings explode from the rooftops in shotgun fodder ballet, soundlessly,

And then disappear again overhead. There are lots of gulls, too, keen on

The fish fodder from the restaurants; that acidic biting smell of fried fish

From the restaurant tables outside – with the tent plastic flapping overhead.

You go into a shop and buy some things and it’s super expensive from what

You were expensive and a young woman serves you and she giggles a little

At your locational ignorance over how to make the payment, how to handle

These bizarre coins.

You head south. Towards the canal district.

The sun expands the green water and it alights the housing from the eighteenth

Century along the straights of the esplanade in pink blue yellow green & gold.

Like walking alongside postcard vanity in real time. The boats, too, hang above

The half fairy / half murky water. They don’t quite have a purpose aside from to

Float there in touch maritime vibe: with the wrist-thick brown ropes tied to the

Steel rings by the sidewalk. And their names in RAINBOW CAPITAL LETTERS,

Gleaned across their fronts and sides. You don’t see anybody in their hulls and

The seagulls perch above their masts and twitch and observe the humans fluttering by.

You head out of the tourist district and into the south of the city, going along these

Skinny spans of sea, and you wonder what it would be like to fall in the water.

There are no fences or walls above the drop, and you ponder how many folks have

Fallen in the past – how many stories there are about that …

You look across the watery spans and in the distance you see the industrial area of

Copenhagen, with these tall tunnels erect against the sky, churning hard smoke.

And, before those, a quarter mile away, are the navy boats. These Goliath military

Ships, proper war material. Except, ironically, when you see them for the first time

They look like they’re coloured in those Airfix paints that you used to colour in

Plastic soldiers when you were a boy: they have that same toyish tinge of grey,

That seems to distract from their size and power …

Stopping by another bench nearby, you sit there for a bit.

Some man in his fifties or so comes up to a bike which is stationed close to the bench.

He says something in Danish that you don’t understand, but you

Figure if he’s asking if this is your bike? So you respond, no, politely.

Bikes.

You’d heard Copenhagen was a ‘Bicycle City’. But, Jeepers.

The bikes clog up the roads in a clunky manner and yet they glitter effortlessly

In the sun in their metallic paint; and they suffocate each street you meet

And yet they keep breathing at the same time: and the cyclists aren’t fast or

Manic or aggressive like they are in other places: they’re just always flowing.

Young women on bikes; boys wearing headphones, biking; older women without

Helmets gliding along: older men with cigarettes from their lips, pedalling.

[Makes you want to hire a bike as well to enjoy the experience and get with the

Programme, but, you have a few bad memories with cycling and kinda retired

Half a decade ago.]

Your hotel should be opening soon.

So you head back north towards the location.

As you go you pass lots of jogging folks as well. Most of them are female.

And you watch the shapes of their bodies, of their faces, in ripe milliseconds.

… When you do get to the hotel, the reception lady is Spanish. Brown hair, eyes,

Skin: she was speaking in that elastic language with somebody else when you

Entered. She gives you the keys to your door. At this point you’ve been awake for

Way over a day. An absence of sleep distorts your thinking. When you get into your

Room, a great tiredness goes over you. And you eat a little bread and humous

Before heading onward. And down the corridor of the hotel room you can hear the

Voices of the other residents, too. There are further Spanish girls. And some of them

Are Polish. Some Danish and some from England. A whole mix of nationalities.

Shall get some sleep in for now. And explore further tomorrow.

[yanderepuck]

I GOT CLARAMELL21′S PERMISSION FOR THIS

LOOK AT THESE LESBOS!!!!

I never want to shut up about this drawing.  I want it as a print and put it on my wall so I can stare at it all day.  WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS.  Therefore . . . . we write a fic.

I’ll still be using their names tho to avoid confusion.

Liking someone of the same gender wasn’t unheard of, but for this time period it was highly frowned upon.  But Will didn’t care.  The moment she saw the blonde, her heart stopped and she couldn’t look away.  

Will knew she had to push these feelings away.  The odds of this woman having the same feelings were so very slim.  Besides, it’s not like they would be able to do anything about these feelings.

Will first saw her walking through the park, then it seemed like she saw her everywhere.  At the market, at the bakery, even around the theater.  How hadn’t she ever noticed her before.  Did she just move here?

In the evenings Will found herself writing sonnets again, writing about her.  The words all came naturally like with her original sonnets.  But how long has it been.  How long has it been since she wrote about her feelings for someone.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Puck was thumping on the ground for attention.  She laughed and picked him up and carried him over to the bed.  “What should I doth, Puck.”  Being a female writer was difficult enough.  Back in her original time she had to use a pen name for anyone to be interested.

But now many things make sense.  She was never interested in men, her sonnets were about women, which worked well for the pen name.  But now it is the 19th century, she’s no longer wanted to hide who she really was.  Directing was difficult, but at least women were able to be on stage now.

She pet Puck while getting lost in her thoughts again.  “Should I invite that lady ov'r?  Asketh that lady to the theater?”

As odd as it may seem, Will was now actively looking for this blonde.  She noticed that this woman always comes to opening night of her plays and wanted to offer her a box seat.  But how.  How does one go up to some random person they’ve never spoken to.

Will was in the park sitting on a bench, thoughts rapidly going through her head.  Was it weird that she knew the blonde was going to be here today?  She just had a gut feeling.

The sound of a wagon snapped her out of her thoughts.  She looked up to see the blonde pulling a wagon behind her.  It was filled with what seemed to be painting supplies.  Will’s leg began to bounce up and down while watching her set up.  

She sat there for a few minutes, watching the other setting up.  She takes a deep breath and watches the blonde mix paints.  Will was just about to get up when she got mesmerized by the strokes of the brush.  Defiantly a different technique.

Eventually Will made her to her feet and made her way over.  She’s really hoping this isn’t weird.  She came to the side of the blonde.  “Excuse me.”  She looked over and she had the brightest blue eyes Will has ever seen.  She had an apron covering the front of her clothes and it was covered in paint, there was even a mark or two on her face.  And wow her lips looked soft.

Will parted her lips to start speaking after the short pause, but suddenly the other’s eyes lit up.  “You’re Will, aren’t you?” there was excitement in her voice.  “The play writer and director?”

“Why yes I am,” and before she could say anything else the blonde spoke again.

“I love your work!”  Just when Will thought her eyes couldn’t light up anymore, they did.  Her eyes.  She couldn’t look away from her perfect blue eyes.  So bright and filled with life.  How could someones eyes be so perfect.  The way strands of blonde hair framed her face made them even brighter.

With her bare hands she grabbed Will’s gloved ones, smiling so bright, but quickly her face contorted into confusion.  “But what are you doing here?”

Being too mesmerized by her eyes, she nearly forgot to speak.  “I was looking for you, darling,” Will gave her casual smile, closing her eyes, head tilted slightly.

The blonde was shocked and let go of her hands.  “For me?  But why me?”  She started to fidget with the hem of her apron.  What could someone as wonderful as this playwright want from her.

Quickly getting off topic, Will moved past the blonde to look at the canvas.  “Beautiful,” she went to touch the canvas, but stop her fingers just short remembering that it is wet.  She turned on her heels to look at her.  “Do you?” she stopped short realizing she didn’t even know her name.

“Uhh, Vincent!  I’m Vincent.” her smile was as bright as the sun.  Will knew she would truly compare her to a summers day.  “My little brother helps me with having my work noticed.”

“Ahh!  Vincent!  Your work is magnificent!” this time Will took a hold of Vincent’s hands.  “I wish for you to help me.”

“Help you?  What could you possibly need me for?  I’ve never done anything with theater.”

Will had come here with the simple intention of giving her box seats at her shows, but now she had a different idea.  “My sets!  I need someone with an artistic view of life.  Will you help me decorate my sets?”

Vincent could feel her face getting warm.  She loved theater, but never thought of being apart of it, especially not with her favorite playwright.  “Yes!  I’d love to help you.” Her cheerful smile appeared on her face again.

Will just couldn’t look away.  But why?  She’s never had this warm feeling before.  “Perfect!” letting go of her hands  “Shall I see you at the theater this time next week?”

“You can count on me, I’ll be there!”  Vincent can’t remember the last time she felt this excited about something.  Finally she’ll get to work on something that will for sure get noticed.

“Great.  I shall see you then, dear Vincent,” Will did a small bow as she is use to and went off on her way.  The moment her back was to Vincent, blood rushed to her face.  Why is she feeling this way.  It’s just another woman.

[theredsuzuran]

Hello! Could I request Douma with a s/o who enjoys art? For instance, painting or drawing then placing their artworks around the paradise cult? They could be demon / human but preferably aware about the whole eating cult members thing? Me being me I would be fine knowing that lol. Sorry if this is too specific but thank you in advance!

Thank you so much for this request, I hope its upto your liking and I apologize if I have messed up🥺

Douma x Reader ~

The warm rays of the sun glistened your skin with a golden hue as you stood there on the long wide corridors holding the remaining pieces of arts that you were pasting on the walls of the busy temple, gazing at the distant sky with full concentration succumbing deep into the abyss of its aesthetics. So much so that you failed to notice your fellow cult members reaching out until someone pat your shoulder startling you suddenly.

"Oh" a soft sigh escape from your mouth as you to snapped out of your thoughts, looking directly at them with eyes still dreaming.

"We have been calling you for so long (y/n) san~ aren't you gonna tell your friends about him?"

"Do you think its going to rain anytime soon?"

"Are you even listening to what am saying?"

Averting your gaze from them you lifted your head upward at the direction of the tremendous vast expanse paying no attention to them while drifting away in your own world.

"If it rains will I see that again?" spacing out yet again but this time evoking vivid memories of a man finding your desolated body covered with blood and mud, drenched under the heavy downpour.

"What?" One or them inquired both curious and annoyed at the same time.

"I told you! (y/n) is weird just leave them alone its fruitless to strike any conversation at all, Lord douma probably shows his pity being a man of virtue" one of them whispered so that you don't hear them badmouthing you.

"Right who cares about those stupid paintings" the other giggled at your face then turned away leaving you behind in the now empty hallway.

All of them associate with you because of the favour you get from Douma, the supreme head of the eternal paradise cult. You have merely smiled knowing that they have always belittle your precious artworks crushing your fragile confidence into pieces although let's say you would never encounter them again and that's a different story, still they were unable to break your devotion. Every painting you made were nurtured and cared with great affection as you put your heart and soul into it. Most importantly there was the charming leader himself who encouraged you rather than making fun of it. That's the exact reason why douma was your savior.

Even though you knew the heinous crimes he have committed, the cannibalistic practices that occurs during midnight inside the temple complex, yes it terrifies you but still you cannot find in your heart to hate him, you wish demons could co exist together alongside mortals although it sounds absurd as predators can never befriend their natural prey but you were an artist who saw the world with a different perspective instead of blaming demons you felt sympathy. Since they were humans too once and due to unavoidable circumstances they are now suffering this fate. Making you wonder what was his story?

However you are quite mad lately since It has been days you last saw your beloved cult leader, afterall he has things to do and you seem to grow lonelier each day due to the lack of his presence. The way he caressed your cheeks and smiled ever so lovingly at you made your heart flutter with ecstacy. Art therefore have always been your escape as your days passes drawing sketches of him. You sat on the wooden engawa, with papers and colours scattered all over the floor holding your brush in hopes of completing his perfect image but your mind wandered to the eromous clouds engulfing the sky above. When suddenly you caught glimpse of a familiar sitting right next you.

"I thought I would wait since you were busy admiring the beautiful nature"

"Douma" a sudden rush of emotions came pouring down, the storm seem to have calm down by the heavy rain. However it was hard for poor (y/n) to decide whether to jump with pure happiness or to just sit and cry for leaving them astray.

"There there my little dove, am here" he replied smiling charmingly engulfing you in a tight embrace.

The two sat on top of the wooden floor. Once again letting the silence to develop, this time droplets of water accompanied the tranquil atmosphere with its drizzling sound.

"Are you hanging your paintings on the walls?" Douma asked enthusiastically breaking the previous calm.

"Yes" you replied politely

"good good" reaching his arms to pat you gently, he praised.

"Douma, where have you been?" You questioned Finally letting those words escape from your quivering lips which you were desperately trying to swallow inside this entire time and regretting because you are afraid of what might happen next for asking such an outrageous question ruining the blissful aura.

"Aww did (y/n) miss me?" Douma answered still maintaining his lively composure. Although there was sudden shift in the atmosphere as it grew a bit tense.

"What if I say I did?" You murmured under your breath blushing slightly to which his eyes widened for he have awaited long for something like this to happen.

"I have some orders to fulfill for that man" the douma chuckled slightly as he began speaking again "and probably he did not like it a bit that I failed to accomplish my mission" when you notice one of his beautiful multicolored orb a little swallowen as if someone have pierced his eyeballs out. You were aware of his supernatural existence and strength because he was not some ordinary demon but witnessing such injury made your heart drop.

"Now (y/n)~ show me what you are drawing" his face gleaming with excitement as he clapped his hands.

"It's not yet completed"

"Don't be like that show me" he made a puppy face.

"Noooo" you cried in protest trying your best to restrain him but failed miserably, since he was faster than you and upon seeing the drawing the sheet of paper he stopped responding. Been living for a century having money, status and almost a perfect immortal body, he still felt hollow. People stand in line for hours to worship him in order to achieve their own desires, to gift him valuable fortunes, antiques, exclusive garments and all sorts of expensive merchandise and sometimes in hope of wooing him but never in his life he felt so content by a simple piece of art made with such adoration. Overwhelming a ruthless uppermoon like him with strong emotions.

"I know it's not that good" you bit your lips in embarrassment but you were taken aback when you felt a pair of muscular arms wrapping your waist resting his head on your lean shoulders. Returning his gesture you smiled and closed your eyes running your hands in his platinum blonde hair in an attempt to soothe him.

"Douma do you remember the time we met?" douma hummed in response.

"Its because of you that am still alive and I can't show my gratitude enough, I have sworn to the art I love I will never break my loyalty towards you", douma looked at you this time when you suddenly reached your arms to cup his face amusing a bit in the process.

"Back when I was a child, I saw a beautiful arc covering the blue sky displaying a wide range of bright colours taking my breath away for I was mesmerized, and I hope I could see that again as I was laying down on the ground reminding the jovial moments of life before my demise, admist the rain I saw a shilloute of a man approaching me- that's when I saw that again in your eyes instilling hope within me, its a monochromatic world when you are not around"

That's when he took your hands into his large ones gently, giving the most lovable expression he could ever make, something so genuine for someone like him. He did not know why he was so attracted to a human like you. Moving his fingers on your lips caressing it softly smudging the colour you have applied before as he leaned closer and closer making your eyes shut tight too flustered to even look. Your face heating up on his cold touch, as you felt a his lips pressed softly onto your nose.

Opening your eyes slightly you found him grinning at your beet red face.

"Let's put that painting on my wall then!"

[bitchfitch]

Death crept through the lavish halls of a rich man's home. Old cracked paint flaked beside sun faded tapestries and over well worn wood floors. The raged leather soles of of his boots softly thumping along with the creaking of old wood that accompanied his every step. He found the room easily, following the sound of a fading cough and short not quite gasping breaths that failed to draw enough air. 

He ducked through the door and the dying man greeted him with age hazed eyes and a broad grin.

"Copper!" his exclamation carried joy even if his lungs couldn't support more than a creaking whisper, "Bastard, it's so good to see you again," he stopped to catch his breath, his eyes closing as he did so,

"And you as well," Copper returned the smile as he sat in the chair beside the bed, "But to be honest I'm a touch surprised, both that you can see anything through those cataracts, and that you would... Appreciate my presence," 

The rich man chuckled, "Not many people have hair that color, even fewer are as tall as you. I may not be able to see much, but I can still see that,"

"I suppose you're right," Copper huffs with a hand going to his dark red mess of a mane "Still, you must remember the terms of our deal and what my presence means for you now?"

"I do," he nods, "I'm going to die tonight, going to see Min again," 

"Min?"

"My wife," he smiles as he speaks of her even as his words become more labored, "That quill you gave me, I wrote a letter to the girl I had fallen in love with when we were young. I didn't know she couldn't read, so she had to get someone else to read it to her, but when she'd heard what I wrote she came all the way into the valley to slap me and call me an idiot," he laughs, "Told me we should've eloped when we were both still fresh, before she'd found another man to call her own,

I'd not even thought that she'd have gone on like that. It made sense, she could have, and did, do so much better than me. But luck of lucks saw that husband of hers dead not long after. I felt bad for being so happy, but I couldn't stop smiling when she and I married,

That quill- You, gave me the happiest life I could have imagined. I'm glad to pay my end of the deal now, because it means I get to see her again,"

"It's a rare treat to find someone with no regrets, thank you for your story," Copper smiles softly, genuine and warm,

"Oh, I've got regrets," the rich man say "Many, but I don't care to dwell on them, not now... or... Well, one, there's one,"

"Hmm?"

"Min and I, we had a fight right before... She was so mad at me last time I saw her. Do you think she still is?"

"I don't know, but you will have plenty of time to make it up to her soon,"

"Yeah, yeah that's true... It's close now is it?"

"Moments if I had to guess," Copper shrugs, "The clot in your lung is migrating and will soon block off blood flow to the area completely. After that happens you won't be able to get enough air and will... fall asleep, then you will suffocate over a few minutes. It won't be the most pleasant of deaths, but it won't hurt badly," he simplified things greatly, not caring for the slight inaccuracies so long as they helped keep the rich man calm and peaceful in these final moments.

"Any final requests?" Copper cocks his head,

"I think... yeah, I think I want to be alone for this. Thank you," 

"Of course. Rest well then, and may your sleep bring great growth" Copper stood from his seat, the blessing leaving him without thought as the rich man closed his eyes a smile still tugging on his old, withered face.

The door to the rich man's room shut with a light thud as Copper drifted down the halls, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He rarely visited the dying, usually he only came to the deceased caught between their death's and their afterlives to guide them across, and this was why. He knew where the clot was, it would only take a moment and a little bit of concentration to break it up enough that the rich man's body would be able to handle it on it's own. Sure, doing so would probably only buy him a few more bed bound days, a week maybe, but healers can rarely be trusted to leave the sick and dying to the whims of nature and he was no different. 

He wandered through the empty halls decorated with treasures that, do to a single deal made half a century ago, would soon be his, and found his way into a shrine room. Shelves upon shelves of precious jewls and metals, fine fabrics and sculptures filled the room. Though the alter beneath the stained glass window held only sea glass and shells that glittered from around a poorly made tapestry that depicted a stormy ocean.

The threads were too loose in some places too tight in others and there were places where it was clear the weaver ran out of one color and had attempted to dye more only for it to come out just wrong enough to be noticed. It was clearly made by inexperienced hands and now stood displayed still in it's loom in the place of honor on this shrine. Pride in its existence radiated from it and that made it stunning despite it's flaws. 

Distantly, he felt the rich man die, quietly and peacefully.

One of Copper's aspects would guide him across and later while Copper slept he'd dream of the conversation that aspect and the rich man would have, and he would dream of the conversations his other, near innumerable, aspects would have, and have had, and have been having with every other human who has crossed into his domain since he last slept. Then he would wake, and forget almost everything said during those conversations as they meld together into a messy but beautiful tapestry. All the threads visible and traceable in their places but ultimately he saw it not for the individuals, but the grander thing they made together.

He picked at the stones and shells scattered on one of the shelves, his dulled claws scraping against the rough surface. He should probably go find someone to deal with the body...

The soft creaking protest of a floor board that no longer fit in it's place being tread on called from behind him. Copper turned, curious to who or what would be intruding on this moment, but he was left slack jawed with a greeting trapped behind his lips as he saw the man.

Surrounded by gold and silver and precious gems that glittered in the low moonlight that flowed through the windows, this man outshone them all. He was tall for a human, coming up to just below Copper's collar bones, with broad, strong looking shoulders. His sharp features highlighted by the silver light caressing his warm tan skin and haloed by that same light echoing through the broken strands of bleach blonde hair that fell from his neat bun to frame his narrow face.

Light agitation turned to wonder and awesrrucked silence as Copper struggled for a second to find words, but once again those words died when he met the man's eyes, they were probably a deep brown but the low light turned them onyx. His gaze was sturdy, not cold or calculating, not bored. Determined but practiced.

The strange, beutiful, human man wore the expression of a butcher or a slaughterer, he did not draw perverse pleasure or joy from what came next. He was so obviously merely doing a job as he moved faster than Copper's confusion addled mind could react to that that alone struck more fear into Copper's core than if the man were hissing and snapping with rage.

The ice hot cut of an iron blade dug past the flesh between his ribs and into his chest even as he recoiled. On pure instinct he growled an awful rumbling sound that made the butcher- the hunter, flinch as Copper managed to stumble away, nearly falling to one knee as his own lung struggled to inflate. He could feel his magic burning along the wound as it tried, and failed to pull it closed. His hand going to his bloodied side in a vain attempt of staunching the flow. 

The hunter advanced, cautious and silent, his blade, slicked with Copper's own viscous black blood, raised as he followed the retreating god.

Copper hissed as his back collided with a shelf, cornered he pulled his attentions together just enough to attempt to teleport away, only to feel his magic jolt painfully within him as it failed completely.

The hunter advanced, already readying another swing.

In that moment Copper forced himself to focus on the warm summer night air, on the flickering candles and the heat of the hunter's body, most seals could be overpowered, he just needs to rush it hard enough. 

Heat leaves the room, the hunter stumbles with a pained gasp as the heat leaves him too. Copper doesn't see if the hunter falls because the seal gives as he uses all of that stolen energy to burst against it.

He drops to his knees on the cold stone floor of the cave he calls home. His blood singing through magic seared veins, his hands shaking as he braces one against the floor below him as his world swims, both from blood loss and the disorientation that always came with pushing his power that hard,

He struggles with his wound, gasping with effort as his magic finally starts working again. The wound tieing itself closed beneath his palm, a thick black scar forming as he comes down from the mountain top high of fearing for his life for the very first time since before the advent of this universe.

Copper slumps against the water-carved wall of his home, his head falling back against it with a deep buzz running beneath his skin, and he Laughs, deep and hearty and Alive in a way he has not felt in centuries.

[royallyjoon]

flower petal

credit for the gif goes to whoever made it and posted it first 🖤

yandere! jeon jungkook x reader oneshot

reincarnation au

you were once the queen married to the most well-known king of his dynasty, Jeon Jungkook. He failed to rule his kingdom properly, however, and took to prioritizing you rather than his kingdom. As a means of escape, you helped the people sneak into the palace and overthrow the young king.

centuries later, where you may have forgotten your place by his side, Jungkook will be all too sure to remind you where you stand.

note: (M/N) is for your middle name, and not your mother’s name just to avoid any confusion :) happy reading!

warnings: yandere themes, physical altercations

A.D. 1200s-1400s, North Drokest

“A king…does that mean I can be yours?”

He balked in confusion at the dark tone in your voice.

You weren’t meant to sound like this. Your voice was the honey in his tea to soothe his aching throat, the flower petals pressed between his pages in which he left a bit of his soul.

His queen would never speak to him with such a cruel, demeaning tone.

“Answer me.” Your voice got steadily louder. “You call yourself ‘king.’ You claim you rule over this sad, desperate realm but in reality, you divide. You cause turmoil. Your people aren’t happy. They starve, and they beg you for your mercy and you have none to give.”

The throne room was vast but straightforward. High walls and ceilings held up by ornate columns, decorated in every inch with the colors of the household. Red and gold banners decorated the walls, even the carpet leading to the red, plush seats of the golden throne was red with yellow lining. The tall, wooden doors of the palace stood behind you as threatening as the presence of the man before you.

 The space was empty, except for you and the king, as all the advisors and knights had been released from duty. You assumed they were happily spending their freedom buried in spirits, women, men, or something of the sort.

You stood before the king, the red and gold trim on his robes mockingly prominent.

“A king would not sit back in amusement as his land festers away with an illness, a virus that is the king himself. You poison your land, this land. You have absolutely no right to call yourself king. To me, you are nothing more than a child playing dress-up.”

He sucked in a breath, gazing at you curiously. This was the first time he was making this sort of expression to you and for some crazed reason, you thought your words were finally reaching the mind of the deranged man before you.

“As for me? I am anything but yours. My body is dust, my breath air. Everything that was given to me I intend to give back to this world. You lay no claim over me, just as you lay no claim over this earth.”

“A king is only as powerful as his people intend him to be. In accordance with your current state, the people have deemed you unworthy.”

Your words were accentuated with the crashing of the palace doors. Citizens young and old marched into the throne room, pitchforks and torches lit, clamoring for the death of the king.

His eyes never left yours as the crowds grew behind you. “So you have betrayed me, my love.”

“You lied to me. You promised that once you took the throne, you would change everything your brother and father stood for. The minute you placed yourself on their seat, you followed in their footsteps.” You had to scream over the chants now.

The crowds hushed as the village leaders climbed the steps to the throne, pausing beside you.

“This is not me enacting punishment against you, for it is not my place, but the responsibility of the people to remove a leader they deem unfit.” You said.

“This is how we end?” He asked, remaining calm. If anything, the sadness in his tone made you clench your fists tighter.

“We ended a long time ago,” you said.

Just before you stepped to the side and let the people take him away, you bowed to His Majesty one last time.

“Your flower petals lost color a long time ago,” You choked out, stumbling backward and rushing out the throne room.

Your voice was torn, he noticed. You had tears in your eyes.

That was his darling.

Breaking out of the cold, hard shell that was the woman before. You were there.

“(M/N)!” He called, watching your form retreat into the darkness. The leaders restrained him, but he fought tooth and nail to catch a glimpse of your form once more. “Petal!”

You froze, but only for a moment. You then continued on with a quickened pace, holding back sobs.

And all throughout the kingdom, up until the king’s execution, the only words that passed through his lips were your name.

In small, breathless whispers and desperate, ravaged screams.

He called for you, but you never came.

———————————————————————————

A.D. 20XX, a metropolitan city

“I don’t know why I took this course,” you muttered to your friend, sticking your phone inside your bag as you stood in line at the Treshiuan Art Museum.

The building was lined with obsidian rock, glistening in the morning sun. The steps were dark and slippery, and the glass walls that adorned the first floor reflected harshly against the material. Inside, the cool blasts of air from the ceiling didn’t make the space any more welcoming. You untied your sweater from around your waist and zipped it up.

“You didn’t want to be stuck with a science course for the optional summer colloquium,” Taehyung stated, carelessly flicking through a museum pamphlet. “You said, and I quote, ‘Memorizing old people, dates, their art, and its meaning would forever be easier than learning oxidation-reduction.’’

“But was I wrong?” you grinned at him as he rolled his eyes. Taehyung felt that you had a lack of appreciation for “the arts”. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate them; you just weren’t as interested as he was. You would never discredit the beauty (or lack thereof) and meaning artists placed into their pieces.

“Tell her she’s wrong, Jungkook.” The upperclassman pouted at your classmate, whose eyes were glued to the game on his cellphone.

“You’re both wrong for trying to interrupt me right now,” he muttered furiously slamming his fingers on his screen.

“Joumou University students, over here!” The art history teacher called your group out of the line, standing next to a tall, brown-skinned woman with dark eyes. She smiled ominously, eyeing your trio with something akin to amusement in her eyes.

“Good morning everyone,” her slightly accented voice rang through the students, causing even Jungkook to look up from his handheld game.

“My name is Ilyana and I will be your tour guide this morning. I have been told by your teacher that most of you know little to nothing about thirteenth to fifteenth century dynasty art. I am excited to tell you everything I can. Before we embark upon our journey to the past, are there any questions?”

“I like her,” Taehyung whispered in your ear.

“Same. Anything like ‘embark upon our journey’ would sound lame from anyone else, but she makes it elegant and exciting.” You whispered back.

Jungkook snorted and tucked his phone into his pocket.

“No? Then let’s begin. Our tour will cover pieces from the Drokest region.”

Ilyana led your group to the elevators spouting information about the formation of royal lines in Drokest, where you somehow managed to fit in with another group. Your stop was first, and as you stepped off the elevator, your jaw dropped in awe.

The room was covered wall to wall with blue, purple, and silver. Tapestries, silks, and paintings, all had the same colors with glittering figures and jewels.

“In this land, every dynasty had designated colors. The first family to rule, the Layvns, were crowned with shades of royal blue and purple underneath a full moon, depicted by the silver embroidery.”

You walked around with Taehyung and Jungkook, admiring the care and attentiveness put into the tapestries.

“They must have loved this family,” you noted.

“The royal line of the Drokest region, albeit short, was mostly highly favored,” Ilyana said as she moved into the next hall.

“Mostly?” Taehyung asked.

“That’s a story for later.” Ilyana smiled. 

You giggled and glanced over at Jungkook. He had his hood fully over his head, walking past all of the artwork without so much as sparing a look.

Like this, you passed rooms and rooms of bright, blooming colors. Pink and ivory for the second family, black and green for the third, and brown and ginger for the fourth.

As you passed through each room, the amount of artwork lessened. The number of tapestries decreased, the silk wardrobes became sparse, and the only consistent painting was that of the king and queen, possibly with their royal family.

You were with Taehyung, who was commenting on the horrible color choice the fourth family made when you noticed Jungkook sitting on a bench in the middle of the room. He had been downcast since before your tour of the exhibit started.

You left your energetic, argumentative friend and sat next to Jungkook. “You know, for the actual art major, you seem less interested in these pieces than me. Is everything okay?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I’m fine…the pieces are nice and everything. I just feel like…”

“Feel like what?” You gently pressed for him to go on.

“…I feel like I shouldn’t be here.” He finished. “Like someone hurt me and I don’t want to feel that pain ever again.”

Usually, you would push the feelings off with a joke, claiming Jungkook was getting in his feels because of the art and asking him if he wanted to play his hurt girl music. But the pain in his face told you a truer picture.

“Well, we’re almost done. After this next family, we can leave the museum and head back to the hotel. Or we can go to the restaurant you were excited to check out!” You said, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s only another half an hour. You’ve got this, and I’ve got you.”

Jungkook smiled weakly at you and you both stood as Ilyana called for the group to move on.

When your group entered the fifth room, it was a surprise for you to see only one painting. The room was bare of any tapestries or silks, and all of the lights were off, except for a single, dim light clearing the piece.

“Here, we have the fifth and final royal family of the Drokest region. We call them a family, but they were really just a royal couple. A young royal couple.”

“King Jeongguk and his Queen, (M/N). The two have quite a fantastic love story, full of tragedy, love, and disloyalty.” Ilyana smiled as if she had been present for the development of their story herself. “Gather for such a story, if you please.”

“King Jeongguk grew up in the palace a sheltered, careful boy. He did not have the same bloodthirsty, righteous drive his father and older brother carried. His closest companions were the walls of his bedroom; not even the chambermaids would speak to him.

“Jeongguk’s mother passed away at his birth, and he had never known the kindness of a woman’s touch. Legends say it was why he fell so hard, so fast for his future queen.”

“(M/N) was a little girl, the daughter of a flower peddler. She would stand in the streets of the capital city with her parents and older sister, charming people into buying a flower or two from her.”

“Jeongguk’s chambermaids would often purchase a bouquet of these flowers and place them in his room and the hallways of the palace. He adored their smell and look, pressed the petals between the pages of his book to save them, and talked to them in his extreme loneliness.”

“One day, the youngest prince escaped from the palace. He fled to the streets of the capital city, away from the brown and ginger flags of his father and pledged to live a simple life hidden amongst the commoners. During this short escape, he managed to meet the young girl as she and her family were selling his favorite flowers.”

Jungkook choked back a groan as he felt a sudden migraine hit. He stumbled his way to a bench and held his head in his hand as he tried not to draw too much attention to himself.

Images flashed before his eyes, with words and names that didn’t name sense. The clearest image was that of a young girl, with (h/c), (h/l) hair and the most beautiful (e/c) eyes. Her (s/c) hand extended a flower to him.

“Would you like to purchase a flower today?”

She grinned up at him, a few years younger and a few heads shorter. “I think it would look ever so lovely on your wrist or finger.”

He stood in awe until he heard the pounding feet of the palace guards.

“The palace guard found him, however, and dragged him back to the palace where he endured years of torment at the hand of his father and brother.” Ilyana continued.

Jungkook sat shaking.

How was he able to see the story in his mind?

“With every beating, the prince lost more and more of his humanity. The very viciousness that the king tried to instill in his own son was inflicted upon him and the crown prince. He slaughtered them and hung their bodies from trees in the mountains, letting the birds pick at their flesh. When nothing but bones were left, he had the soldiers throw their skeletons in the river.”

“Damn.” Taehyung whistled. You shivered, the feeling crawling down your spine.

“And once this cold-hearted prince became king, he had only one woman on his mind for him to marry. The same, precious little girl who offered to place a flower around his finger.”

“The king had her brought to the palace, where he essentially threatened her into marriage. At first, their relationship was tense but with time, the flower peddler’s daughter saw what was once in her young, sensitive prince. She brought out the best in him, hoping his kindness towards her could reflect more upon his actions in the kingdom.” Ever so often, Ilyana would pause and look you in the eye as she spoke about the queen. Her eyes carried a heaviness, a burden of emotions that you felt had no right to be turned against you.

“Unfortunately, however, it did the opposite and his reign got harsher, and the control he placed over his wife was suffocating. The citizens were taxed harshly, and corruption in the palace ran rampant. Jeongguk cared more for his wife than he did for being king. He was extremely possessive of her and forbid the chambermaids and knights from speaking to her. The queen eventually tired of this treatment and worked with the townspeople to overthrow the king. She disappeared in the night, and he was executed with her name on his lips. Thus, this was the last of the Drokest dynasty.” Your tour guide finished.

The room was hushed with the power of the story. Jungkook grit his teeth as more images flashed by in his mind.

The cracking of a whip against the air, the sting on his back and the smell of blood. His voice was hoarse from screaming.

The feeling of blood on his hands as he rid himself of his tormentors.

The joy he felt when he slipped a golden band onto his queen’s fingers.

The despair and anger that consumed him when she turned against him.

You had your eyes glued to the painting. Your chest ached painfully at the images of those two, young people. In every other portrait, the royal family is side by side staring cold and unforgivingly into the onlooker’s eyes. But in this portrait, as the queen grasps the king’s hands, she smiles gently. Her eyes are crinkled a bit, and the king beams as he turns his eyes on her.

How long must he have held his head in that position?

Since the beginning, I only ever had eyes for you. You are my saving grace, flower petal.

You turned, expecting to see someone next to you, but there was just empty space.

“Who said that?” you muttered.

Your eyes scanned the room for Jungkook, worried about how he was feeling after hearing the story. Perhaps it had hit him as hard as it hit you. Or perhaps it had made his uneasiness worse.

The young man stood in front of the painting, as close as the red rope allowed him. He scrutinized every aspect of the work.

Why did it feel so familiar?

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jolted. “Woah, are you okay?” You chuckled.

His eyes refused to land anywhere near you and his voice was currently not working, so he settled for a nod.

“The story must have gotten to you too. I was just thinking about how much love he had for her to break his neck staying in one position for the painting…” You looked at him searching for a laugh, or even a smile, but to your surprise, Jungkook had tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Jungkook?” You gasped out and reached to wipe them away.

He smacked your hand away harshly, his hood falling down to cover his eyes. Without another word, he stormed out of the gallery.

You were about to go running after him when Ilyana stepped in your path. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“What? Oh...yes.” You said. “In another life, I’m sure they would have made a great pair.”

Ilyana laughed gracefully. “I admire the way you think. Would you like to hear a little known fact?”

“Sure,” you said trying to hide your frustration as you watched your friend get farther and farther away. “Why not?”

“Rumour has it, King Jeongguk had the sweetest nickname for his queen.” Ilyana mused. “He called her flower petal.”

Your blood froze.

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

The rest of the summer was extremely hard. Ever since the travel colloquium, Jungkook had been ignoring you. Two weeks into the school year his behavior hadn’t changed. He would be with Taehyung, and once you walked up to the two he found a way to step out of the conversation.

There was a day when he stopped giving excuses, and it was the same day you stopped accepting them.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Taehyung asked as you were in his dorm room one night. The two of you were eating pizza and playing video games, as usual, relaxing from a busy, stressful week of adulting. He sat relaxing in his Gucci shirt and sweatpants. “Why are you and Jungkook so tense? Are you fighting or something? Did you two have sex over the summer and then things got really awkward, so you stopped talking?”

You spluttered, choking on a slice of pizza. “Tae, what? No! Absolutely not! I don’t know what went wrong--we were looking at that painting from the Drokest dynasty and he flipped out on me and hasn’t spoken to me since. I don’t know what I did wrong...”

“You shouldn’t let him treat you that way, especially if you don’t deserve it,” Taehyung advised. “Why don’t you confront him about it?”

“You know I’m not a very confrontational person. I don’t like getting into other people’s business. Then again, Jungkook isn’t just ‘other people’. So if he’s going through something, I should at least try to meet him halfway.” Your argument changed direction in a matter of seconds as you reconsidered your thoughts.

“Most definitely!” Taehyung cheered you on. “It isn’t too late, why don’t you go over to his apartment now?”

You hesitated but grabbed your bag. “Alright. I guess I’m off, then.”

Taehyung walked you to the door, hugging you goodbye.

On the way to Jungkook’s, you thought over everything you were going to say. Things ended so awkwardly back at the museum, you hadn’t the slightest idea what to do.

You passed by a familiar green and white sign, looking at the multiple flower bouquets and stands.

This would either go horribly wrong or horribly right, but it was going to happen nonetheless.

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

You stood, shaking for some reason, in front of Jungkook’s door. He resided in a quieter part of the university town, a considerable distance from campus. 

When terms with you two were better, he would join you and Taehyung’s  “legendary” sleepovers and rarely had to worry about the distance. Lately, according to Taehyung, he’d been shutting himself inside his house. 

Jungkook was a good student--he’d show up to class, never handed assignments in late, and was virtually passing every subject. But for the past couple of days, his teachers hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him.

You gulped. 

“Come now, (Y/N). You’re not walking into certain death here.” You spoke under your breath. “This is a friend of yours who is shutting himself away from you, and you care about him. This is serious.”

With that self-encouragement, you rang the doorbell twice and stuck the flowers behind your back.

It was quiet inside for a moment, but you soon heard floorboards creaking. The chain slid into place before the door slightly opened.

As he peered out the crack, he saw you standing there with a smile on your face. His eyes widened.

“Hey, Jungkook.” You rocked back and forth on your heels. “I know it’s been a while but...I’ve been worried about you since our museum trip...I’m sorry for anything I did to offend you back then and I would sincerely like to talk to you about anything you’re worried about.”

He eyed you for a few moments. Without another word, he closed the door and removed the chain.

“Come in.” He said quietly.

You smiled, entering with your front to his so that he could not see your gift.

Jungkook was never this demure before, you noticed.

The apartment was dark. All of the lights were off, save a single lamplight illuminating his desk. It looked like the apartment of a recluse.

“So you have willingly returned to me, my love?” Jungkook murmured.

“What?” You asked, turning your head to face him.

“What?” He replied, locking the door behind him. “I didn’t say anything.”

You laughed weakly, eyeing the lock he just turned. “Sure, okay. But on a more serious note...”

Rather than the usual doodles and pieces of artwork Jungkook would have strewn around his apartment, there were clippings of articles about the fifth king and queen of the Drokest dynasty pinned to the walls, curtains, and windows. From art reviews to historical findings, any piece of information he could find was stapped to a chalkboard near the desk like a considerable life map.

“Were you that fascinated with the king and queen?” You asked him. “I still find the ending unsettling. I kind of wish it had ended another way, you know?”

This was obviously dangerous territory, for the last time you tried to talk to him about them, he’d burst into tears.

Yet when you looked at Jungkook, his eyes were alight with a hope that had not been present before.

“Yes!” He said, beaming. “That’s why I’ve been trying to find out so much about them...I want to recreate ou-their story so that they can get the best ending possible.”

“That’s cute.” You chuckled. “I wish you all the success in making that happen.”

“What did you bring me?” He questioned. “I’m ever so curious.”

You blushed, ignoring his antiquated speech. “Funnily enough, I was coming from Taehyung’s dorm-”

You didn’t notice the way his face darkened.

“-and on my way here, I passed by a flower shop and saw these and, well,” You handed him the bouquet. “Aren’t they beautiful? I think they’d look adorable on someone’s wrist or-”

“Wrapped around someone’s finger, yes.” Jungkook took the flowers so carefully, treating them like precious glass. 

“Yes, how did you know?” You wondered.

“It was just a feeling...” Jungkook placed the flowers on his table and started preparing a vase for them. “...you know, (Y/N), when we were at the museum listening to the story, you didn’t feel anything strange?”

“Strange? No, I-actually, there was something a little weird. I thought you or Taehyung had said it to me, but after the story ended I heard someone calling me their ‘saving grace.’ But there was no one next to me the whole time.” 

Since the beginning, I only ever had eyes for you. 

Your head began to pound harshly. You grimaced and sat on a chair by his living room table. 

Your friend placed the vase in the center of the table, setting the flowers in the water. “So you don’t remember anything other than that?”

Jungkook’s voice was oddly menacing. He trembled in the darkness of his apartment.

“No, should I?” You said. 

Why is he shaking?

“You remember nothing of our past.” Jungkook lifted his head and those deep, dark, brown eyes were teeming with rage. “You remember nothing of your betrayal, yet your actions remain the same.”

“Jungkook, what are you talking about? I never betrayed you!” Your headache wasn’t getting any better and the situation had clearly worsened. 

“I’ve been using my time to find out any and all information about us,” He continued. “My death was broadcasted all over the kingdom, with the next ruler being the son of one of the village elders. You, however, you disappeared without a trace.” 

Your head was spinning too fast for you to understand. “Your death? The kingdom? ...Jungkook. Do you honestly think you’re the fifth king of Drokest?”

“I don’t think! I know I am!” He hissed at you. “I didn’t ask to remember, but now that I have do you expect it, all of it, to be water under the bridge?”

“Is that why you’ve been so angry at me?” You stood now furious, head pain be damned. “You think I’m the queen from the painting? You think I want you dead?”

“Like I said, your own actions betray you.” He gestured towards the flowers you brought him. “I can clearly see that history is about to repeat itself.”

“Those people are dead, Jungkook!” You finally burst. You had had enough of his emotional tantrum and gaslighting. “They lived, they loved, they’re gone! We are us! Here! In 20XX!”

Jungkook grabbed you by the shoulders and slammed you so hard against the wall you saw stars. But they weren’t the normal stars erupting behind your eyelids. 

The sky was lit with constellation upon constellation. A cool night breeze blew your (h/c) hair from your face. You reached up to brush it back for the hundredth time when another hand grabbed yours.

“For you, my love.” A young man with dark hair and dark eyes appeared next to you, holding out a beautiful hairpin. The flower on it was a dazzling red, and the beads that hung from it shimmered of gold and pink. 

You accepted the gift with a bow and trembling hands. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

When you tried to fix the ornament in place, your hands were shaking so bad it would not stay still. He gracefully took it and in one swoop, locked your hair behind your ear.

“I know that you are afraid of me,” he claimed as you stiffened. “I won’t pretend that I have not done some things others may consider atrocious...”

“Yet you have nothing to fear from me, darling. Should you give yourself to me, I promise you will see me anew.” He wrapped his arms around you so easily, as if they had always been there. “As a changed man, I will do better for you.”

You relaxed some. “Your Majesty-”

“Jeongguk.” He interrupted. “Please, call me by my name.”

You blushed and whispered his birth name. “I am afraid of you. I’m not crafty enough to lie in your presence. But there is something I have wanted to ask you since the wedding.”

“Speak.” Jeongguk rubbed his head into your shoulder. “Anything you ask of, I will comply with.”

You gently pushed him off of you so that you could look him in the eyes and it would not be taken as rejection. “Why me? My family and I have done nothing but vend flowers for years. I have no special meaning to this kingdom, I truly can not comprehend how I can be its queen.”

The king was still for some moments. “Your flowers were my only friends in this palace.” He muttered at last. “In this sad, cold place where I was confined to my room, I pressed the petals between the pages of my books simply to feel their smoothness and warmth later on.”

His arms, strong and constricting, still rested around you. They tightened as he went on, holding you to the point where you felt that you could not breathe.

“When my father and brother chose to discipline me into becoming like them every day, it was the love for your flowers that they tried to beat out of me. My love for you.” He smirked. “Clearly, it didn’t work.”

You shivered and resisted the temptation to look to the mountains, where the bodies of the previous king and crown prince were still hanging, swaying in the wind.

“I chose you because you are the reason I stay human. Since the beginning, I only ever had eyes for you. That precious day when we met on the market streets, and you offered to tie a flower around my finger. You are my saving grace, flower petal.”

With a harsh gasp, you were brought out of the memory. Your hands grasped Jungkook’s arms like a vice and your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath.

The vision..the voice...they were real.

Jungkook patiently waited for you to calm down, tsking as you slid to the floor still in his arms.

“That’s just like you, petal. Blaming me for not being able to recognize your wrongdoing.”

“So I was the...” you said. “And you were...we really...why?”

“I couldn’t tell you why, (Y/N). I hardly know why myself.” Jungkook said. “I laid here in torment since the summer, trying to find a way to prove to myself that it wasn’t real.”

“The visions?” You asked.

“Your betrayal.” He gritted out. “The way you sold me out to the villagers like some common criminal. I screamed until my throat bled, begging for you to come back and you never did.”

Your eyes widened with awakened fear. “I...it was...”

“Do you still stand by that decision?” Jungkook asked as he kneeled next to you on the ground. 

“I...had to...” You whispered. Even after all these years, your feelings hadn’t changed. He was destroying the country, you, and himself. “Everything you touched was poison.”

Jungkook let out a sickly, dark laugh. He wrapped his hands around your throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, bringing his lips to your ear.

“I suppose that alternate ending you were waiting for has arrived, then, hasn’t it?” 

You feebly kicked at the spot between his legs but he jerked back without removing his hands. “Don’t worry, petal. I’ll make sure we go back to being happy and in love. With that, we will have the perfect ending. We can start the sixth line that never got to be.” His voice was dreamy and his eyes were light, despite the fact that he was applying enough strength to your neck to choke you out.

“N..o...” you barely managed to get the word out. It didn’t matter how much you resisted. Jungkook had centuries worth of anger backing him up.

"Don’t make me break you, petal,” he brushed tears from your eyes and shushed you like a child. “Flowers can’t grow to be as beautiful as they can be if the stems aren’t intact.”

I never should have come, you thought to yourself.

“Yes, you never should have betrayed me. But it’s alright, (Y/N). As you said, those people are dead and gone. We will start anew in this century and this life...and perhaps even the one after that.” He smiled, looking down at your unconscious figure and stroking your hair.

“I don’t care how many lives I have to live if it means I can finally be with you, petal.”

[sol-futura-est]

When hell is finally empty, you will find me in heaven waiting for you all over again. Our old lives ended, we will be all that remains. Nothing but memories will we be, just like we were in the land of the living, only unrealized. Every inch of us subsumed, nothing even left for the worms, the centuries so many lay passed. For whatever we are in this world, there is always more to meet in the next. For whatever walls we raised against barbarians, for whatever labors we made in penance, for whatever journeys we made that now lie remembered in the minds of old fools who refuse to let go. Our lives, fickle, stretch no matter how long or short, into a significance only mattering to us. Our memories might live on in the hearts of others, but for us, they were not just moments. For us, they were the trials to remember forever. Everything from waking to drifting to sleep had immense meaning. Often we deny ourselves the intensity of that meaning, try to brush off things that we take for granted. Only in those far gone moments do we remember how much weight even the frozen milliseconds held now that they’re past.

There was an old joke I had with my oldest son, Vincenzo. My youngest, but somehow, the most adventurous, the most daring: all the world was a path before him. When we found ourselves looking out to the horizon, or to the plazas and boulevards as they quieted down, I would ask him “What do you think would be enough for you, in this life?” and every time he just shrugged. With a grin, a slog of wine down his throat, he’d just say “Enough? I’ll get to heaven and still want to find mountains to climb, old man.”

It was the truth, I’m sure. He would vanish on me often as a teenager, going out to the forests, the hills, the plains, the desert sands, and even into the cities, making all kinds of friends. There came a point, I think he was 16 or 17, he had a taste distaste. Firsthand witness to some kind of evil that should’ve been put away centuries ago. In a short few weeks, he left the house, and joined the legion, eager to make a difference, to go see whichever lands he so chose to, to wear a sun-badge and a smile as he braved himself for adventures Hercules would envy. Persia met him first, in the metropoli of Tehran and Fars. Then another few years were spent in the underground of Arkhangelsk, Karelia City, and Peter’s City. Then still, came the adventure to the west, in the Mojave, the Saguaro, the Rockies, and the Pacific Coast. Back then, those places were ruthless, uncivilized places. Men with bayonets on street corners, men being thrown out of hotel rooms, slaves being rutted out and freed; none that I enjoy remembering him endeavoring into. Back then, the empire was uncontested, but slow to expand. Diplomatic missions to far off countries came as security forces, construction contractors, ag-boys, you name it. Before a place ever took an eagle upon their capital, men of the empire built their lands up a bit first, so trust was high. Nobody could stand against us, and even if there was, nobody wanted to: the emperor held grudges. Even for a very trustworthy and good man he was, if you stepped on his toes, his glare would paint you marked. Every day you’d spend looking over your shoulder waiting for justicars to cut your head off. Indigo cloaks that don’t do as much as hide, so much as wait for you where they know you’ll end up. Running was useless because you’d run right into them. None of them ever defected: many were blood relatives of the emperor's family itself, none eager to disrespect Octa for what he had done to build up lands that were once called The West. Even the earth beneath my feet this very moment lacked and lacks anyone who would do less than kneel before him.

Half truth: I’d salute. But never again would I kneel before that old fool I once pledged my life to. Octa shattered that oath of mine a long time ago. Only a few more moments than that have sundered me so badly. I still remember his face, parted chocolate locks, a clean shaven face looking no older than 27, classical features marred by a few scars and a calmly happy demeanor. He was taller than me, I don’t quite remember how tall. Maybe he was 6’4” or taller, but I was on the shorter side for my stock and my family. Being 5’11” in a family that’s known for men a head taller than that strikes itself out. When you looked at him in his gilded eyes, how they seemed to glow a little brighter than anyone else's, you didn’t feel like he was looking down at you, pointing his finger in your face to obey. His aim was always for his people to understand. To look at him as he looked at himself. What few of his advisors survived since the last time I saw him were few. All those old family friends who raised him were gone a long time ago now. Men of many nations and many upbringings, those who knew suffering like Octa did. Maybe that’s why you could feel he was a good man. His own life wasn’t pretty. Not that I knew more than anyone else.

“Hey Lou? Are you up?”

Courier. A letter from some place or another and a call for me to get up and do my job, not withering here waiting for the reaper. Sinking my feet into a pair of buckskin boots, adjusting my pants and my old henley sweater, I walked over to the door of my apartment and opened it.

“Yeah, Billy?”

“Spondence from Hyde Rowe.”

Like lighting the kid took the envelope out from his pack and held it up to me. He was no taller than three and a half feet tall, and probably only seven or eight. He was Mart and Wilma’s son, a pair of farmers from the plains. Correspondence from Hydroponics, but few in this little corner of the world spoke like the old ways, so I didn’t bother to correct them.

“Thanks, kid.”

“You never take those specs off?”

Looking down at the runner, I peered through those silver capped sunglasses I always wear around here. The sun was always bright, and if not the sun, it was the snow on the ground. These specs were a boon.

But that’s a half truth.

“No, never.”

[elysianrey]

 let me take your coat (and this weight off your shoulders)

He first notices her after his Thursday afternoon therapy session with Dr. Raynor. 

His brain begins to automatically profile her as it does with most people he interacts with these days. Short. At least 5’3”. Petite frame. Shoulder length, brown hair. Soft features. Brown eyes. Mid 30s. Jittery legs. Twisting fingers.

Old habits die hard, he supposes. 

She’s sitting in the waiting area of the mental health facility, eyes briefly meeting as his footsteps fall past her chair on his way out of the office. 

She looks familiar. 

Her eyes echo the same sentiment of recognition, which causes an uneasy feeling to creep into the pit of his stomach. His fingers tighten around the small leather notebook in his jacket pocket. The moment is broken as he shifts his attention back to the polished flooring. 

His gloved hand pushes the door open, leaving the brunette woman alone. 

+

 He spends the evening rifling through the pages of his notebook. His mind shuffles through the faces like an old film roll. Then he hits replay after his initial check. 

 Again. 

 Again. 

 Again. 

 He combs his fingers through his hair as he leans against the wall of his apartment. He lets out a small sigh of relief. 

 No connections to her are in the book. 

 +

 It becomes a habit for him every Thursday.

 Leave Dr. Raynor’s office. Walk through the lobby. Make eye contact with the brunette woman, whom he still can’t seem to place. Consider acknowledging her with a grin. Decide against it. Look down at the ground. Leave the facility. 

 He realizes he’s capable of acting more- human? Normal? Like an actual functioning adult in the twenty-first century. Dr. Raynor kindly reminds him of it every session, and yet, the creeping feeling of self-doubt never fails to get the better of him. 

 Yesterday. 

 Today. 

 And probably tomorrow. 

 +

 She’s not in the waiting area the following Thursday. 

 His feet pick up their pace to exit the facility that day, seeing as he has no real reason to take his time. His chest twinges in disappointment, despite having no good reason to. He doesn’t even know her name. In fact, the only real thing he knows about her is that she meets with a therapist on Thursday afternoons. Like him. 

 Which meant she was working through some stuff. Like him. 

 As he approaches the door, his eyes focused on the ground, the force of a body slamming into him nearly knocks him on his ass. His hands instinctively rise to steady the person apparently in a rush today. Then his breath catches upon realizing who is standing between his outstretched arms. 

 Her eyes are red-rimmed, cheeks puffy, and when she lifts her head to apologize, she suddenly begins to aggressively wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks. Embarrassment mixing with the despair she is clearly experiencing. 

 He stammers. “I—are you ok—?”

 Before he can finish his question, she pulls back and cuts him off. “I’m so sorry—I really have to—“ 

 She stumbles around him and disappears past the receptionist and down the hall without another word, leaving him feeling confused and concerned all at the same time. 

 +

 He spends the next week worrying about her. 

 It’s better than worrying about his own demons. 

 Strangely, it gives his brain a small sense of relief.

 +

 Dr. Raynor has to reschedule for Friday. 

 He leaves flowers at the receptionist desk and tells them they’re for the brunette woman who comes in at 3. 

 He hopes she gets them. 

 +

 She’s approaching him before he has the chance to register her appearance in the lobby. Her small, yet self-assured frame blocks his exit to the double doors. She’s speaking and he immediately picks up that she uses her hands to get her point across. 

 “Hi. I just want to apologize for what happened a couple weeks ago. I hope I didn’t cause too much damage to—,” her right hand does a sweeping motion across his chest. “Anyway... my name is Jane. Jane Foster.” The woman extends her hand, eyes finally meeting his directly. 

 She’s nervous. Hesitant. 

 He takes it in his gloved, vibranium hand and gives it a gentle shake. “James. And don’t worry about it.” She smiles and he returns the effort out of politeness. 

 She drops his hand and brushes a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Well, it was nice to meet you James. I better head—“ She finishes her sentence by pointing in the opposite direction, toward the hallway of therapist offices. 

 He gives her a nod, stepping out of her way. Jane starts past him and before she can get too far, the words slip out of his mouth. 

 “Would you want to maybe grab a drink sometime?” James can’t help but inwardly cringe at the awkward bluntness in the question, however there’s no going back now. 

 Jane turns and bites down on her lower lip. “Yeah,” she replies. “Yeah that would be nice.”

 +

 James sits on his makeshift bed in his apartment living room, scrolling through the contacts on his phone list. Sam. Shuri. Dr. Raynor. Clint. His apartment manager. 

 And now Jane Foster. 

 Dr. Raynor wasn’t kidding when she chastised him for only having ten contacts. At least he had added one name to his list. 

 They were meeting tonight at 8 pm. She suggested a small, trendy downtown bar that had a bizarre name he couldn’t prounounce. He wonders if this date was going to be like all the others. 

 Fake. Stiff. Unbearable. 

 A small part of him tries to insist that Jane is different. Sure, he can’t logically reason how he knows this, yet he can’t shake the feeling she is different in some way to the other women he’s met since his return. 

 +

 He’s right. 

 She’s unlike anyone woman he’s ever met in the twenty-first century. 

 It’s not hard to get Jane talking about herself, and once he does, he spends nearly the rest of the evening listening to her talk about her work with space. 

 He learns she’s an astrophysicist and she’s in New York working at the Simons Foundation. She disappeared during The Blip too and now she’s trying to make up for the 5 years she lost. Jane’s passion for learning more about the universe captivates him. She shares some of the theories she has about other universes that may exist and he’s left in awe as she paints pictures into his mind of periwinkle planets, alien lifeforms, and methods of possibly meeting them. 

 She doesn’t get the chance to ask him many questions, which is a relief.

 Her laughter is light, the alcohol clearly easing the weight of the world that she wears like a prisoner around her shoulders. He doesn’t know what she was like before whatever shit got to her, but he enjoys seeing Jane this way. Carefree. 

 He asks if he can see her again. 

 She says yes. 

 +

 She texts him about an upcoming Celestial event. A telescope will allow you to see Saturn’s rings and moons all night if the sky is clear. 

 He buys a telescope and sets it up on the roof of his apartment building and spends hours watching Saturn from his point on Earth. It makes him feel like a small speck in comparison to everything beyond this planet. He wants to find out more of what this life has to offer before it’s too late and it reminds him of his effort of making amends for his past sins. 

 Clearly he still has a lot of work to do. 

 +

 She admits that she did some digging and she knows who he really is on their third date. He supposes he’s not too surprised at her inquisitiveness, but her declaration suddenly makes him feel entirely exposed and vulnerable. 

 They’re sitting in the corner of a quiet coffee shop and James eyes the nearest exit because his chest is contracting and the air is not meeting his lungs like it should. His heart hammers in his chest as hard as his metal fist did against the cryogenic cage Hyrda imprisoned him in time and time again. 

 “I have a friend who is pretty skilled at finding out about people,” she continues lowly, toying at the ceramic coffee cup. “I just—didn’t feel right lying to you about it. You looked familiar when I saw you in Dr. Raynor’s office that first day.”

 He tries to relax the muscles in his neck and shoulders. “No, I understand. So I guess you know I’m pretty messed up then?” He had never personally seen his own file, however it wasn’t hard to imagine what it contained. 

 Jane let out a breathy laugh, as if she couldn’t quite believe what he said. “Aren’t we all, James?”

 +

 The weather is nice enough to start meeting in Central Park and they begin taking strolls around the park during her lunch breaks every day. They play a game where he gets to ask her a question about her past and then she gets to ask him a question about his past and they have to answer honestly. Maybe it’s reminiscent of his meetings with Dr. Raynor, yet James is willing to open up because Jane is too, and he recognizes it’s not easy for either of them. 

 Sometimes they only get through one question, the memories being too painful, and in those moments, their fingers tentatively find the others. It’s reassuring, this insignificant brush of skin against glove, and James suddenly wishes he wasn’t wearing the gloves. It’s been too long since he’s felt the touch of another against his bare skin. 

 He decides to take the right one off when he’s with her. James makes sure he’s standing on her left side for their walks and his heart flips in his chest when she unexpectedly intertwines her fingers with his. She gives him a squeeze and he returns it, an actual smile ghosting the corners of his lips.

 Maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him or maybe it’s just the sun, but he swears he sees a faint blush creeping up her fair cheeks.

 +

 She invites him over to the apartment the foundation is paying rent for after her therapy session. Jane insists that she is more than capable of making something for the both of them that tops the usual take out they have a habit of settling for when they hang out together. So he can’t help but let out a chuckle and a teasing comment when he walks into a smoking kitchen and the fire alarm beeping wildly while a flustered Jane is scrambling to turn off the oven where a blackened chicken resides. 

 They end up ordering their usual take out.

 At the end of their sushi dinner, Jane sets her empty container on the coffee table in front of them and leans back into the armchair, tucking her feet beneath her. She’s oddly quiet and he stares from his spot across on the couch. Her brown eyes gaze distantly out the wall-length windows, her brilliant brain lost in thought. 

 He doesn’t mind the silence, of course, yet he feels a tug to pull her back from wherever she’s gone off to. “Do you ever dance?”

 Her lips curve upward. “Only if you count when I’m by myself and I have the radio blaring.” 

 James smiles at the mental image of a goofy Jane, throwing her arms and legs about in no particular rhythm. “Back in the 40s, I was known around the town for my swing dancing moves,” he informs her casually with a cock of his eyebrow. 

 She laughs, shooting him a mock expression of awe. “James Buchanan Barnes, I had no idea you were such a man of many talents.” 

 He nonchalantly shrugs and then practically bounces off the couch, extending his concealed, left hand to her. “It’s time you learn a move or two today, Ms. Foster.” 

 They rearrange some of Jane’s furniture around to make an adequate amount of space that won’t end in destruction. He begins by teaching her the basic steps, leading her slowly through each one until she insists she’s ready to go on to the next. He finds it ironic that out of all the damage Hydra did to his brain, he can still remember one of his favorite weekend activities from when he was a young man. Well, he’s still pretty young compared to his friends who were with him at the time. 

 If he’s being honest, Jane was born with two left feet, but she is determined to try regardless of her uncoordinated legs. By the end of the night, he gives her the name of a song to play on her Bluetooth speakers and they’re dancing away, Jane doing her best to keep up with the beat and James laughing every time she steps on his feet again. 

 He’s convinced he could stay in this moment forever. 

 +

 She surprises him by taking them to a jazz and swing dance club. 

 He swears he’s in love with her by the end of the evening. 

 He kisses her for the first time when they’re standing on the doorstep of her apartment. 

 +

 James is leaving Dr. Raynor’s office, ready to get as far away as possible from the head spinning forest wallpaper he’s stuck in front of every session when her words stop him in his tracks. 

 “You’re helping her, you know.” 

 He’s never said her name when they discuss her in his sessions. He assumed Jane saw Dr. Raynor too, seeing as she was connected to the superhero world, yet she’s never told him and he’s never asked. 

 He looks over his shoulder at the older woman, his hand still on the doorknob. “Actually, I think it’s the other way around.”

 +

 He has not made love to someone since before he was drafted into the war so when an evening of drinking and card games turns into take off one article of clothing every time you lose a game, James begins to sweat. He has a feeling he knows where this is leading when she’s seated on top of him, clad in only her undergarments, her hips grinding into his mercilessly. 

 It turns out she’s not a very good card player. 

 His mouth is connected to her neck, breathing a trail of wet kisses up to her ear where he bites down softly on the tip of her earlobe and she lets out a tiny whimper that nearly ends him then and there. 

 Her hands wander under the hem of his long-sleeved shirt and he freezes when she starts to tug the material upward. She senses his apparent discomfort and stops, looking down at him. 

 She’s picked up on the fact that he’s sensitive about the metal arm. “Sorry,” she whispers. “If you don’t want to take it off that’s—“

 He knows he’s ready. He knows it’s time to stop living in fear about what others will think of the hideous seam binding the vibranium to flesh. “No, I do. Just give me a second.”

 He sits up and she shifts off of him, unsure of his next move. It takes her by surprise when he sweeps her off the ground in a single motion, carrying her to the bedroom and placing her carefully on the mattress. His hands go to either side of the hem of his shirt and he tugs it off, standing bare chested before her, his silver dog tags resting against the rise and fall of his heavy breathing. 

 She stares, drinking him all in. The defined muscle. The trail of dark hair leading below the waistband of his underwear. The scars from years of battling ‘the enemy.’ Then finally, his metal arm, the leather glove still secure on his left hand. Jane rises to her knees, taking both of his hands and tugging him closer to which he does not oblige. 

 He wants her desperately. Wants to put his mouth all over her. Wants to hear her say his name. Wants to feel every inch of her on his skin. 

 “May I?” she asks, glancing down, fingers ghosting his skin. He nods and suddenly she’s running her fingers over his chest and her fingers sear, burning him, making him feel more alive than he’s felt in the past 80 years. 

 He allows her to touch every inch of him, noting how she studies the outer workings of his arm in true Jane-fashion, and when she decides to replace her fingers with her lips instead upon reaching the seam of his shoulder and arm, he lets out a moan. James is certain this woman will be the end of him. 

 He loses himself in her in more than one way that night. When she takes him, he begs her to call him ‘Bucky’ because he’s tired of acting like the name of a man he never had been in the first place. 

 He falls asleep that night to the memory of her voice whimpering ‘Bucky,’ ‘Bucky,’ ‘Bucky’ as if it were a prayer on her lips. 

 There are no nightmares. 

 +

 Dr. Raynor comments on his unusual openness at their next session. 

 She doesn’t even have to threaten him with the notebook that day. 

 +

 “Vulnerability is the essence of connection and connection is the essence of existence.” - Leo Christopher 

 +

 Longing. 

Rusted. 

Seventeen.

Daybreak. 

Furnace. 

Nine.

Benign. 

Homecoming.

One. 

Freight car. 

 The string of phrases are weaving their way into his skull and he’s trapped. There’s no escape from their cruel entrapment. He must obey. He was engineered to carry out the missions. No, he doesn’t want to obey. Fight back. Fighting makes it worse. Fighting means pain until he can fight no longer. 

 Obey. Must obey. The mission. See that it’s carried out to completion. No witnesses. No survivors.

 Bucky jolts awake in her bed, beads of sweat pooling across his brow. He’s gasping for breath and everything that’s touching him only makes his heart beat faster. He yanks the blankets off of him and sinks down against the wall facing the bed, trying to take in his surroundings and focus on what’s real. Hydra can no longer control him. He is no longer their puppet. 

 He pulls on the dog tags around his neck, using them as something to stabilize his unstable mind. His eyes slide open and he sees her sitting up in bed, watching him silently, her brow twisted in concern. 

 “Just a bad dream,” he comments quietly, inhaling through his nose, pausing, and exhaling through his mouth. 

 She remains unmoving for a moment. 

 “I get them too. Sometimes it feels like the aether is still inside me. Controlling my mind. Forcing me to bend to its wishes.” He’s only heard bits and pieces of her time on Asgard, Thor and Loki’s home planet. It’s still strange to think about the life that exists beyond Earth. 

 He wants to tell her more about Hydra, but he doesn’t. 

 “Think I’m going to stay down here for a little longer. Is it weird that I find the floor softer than the bed?” 

 “We all have our ways of coping,” she muses with a half smile. 

 He wonders what hers happen to be. 

 +

 They spend many nights together watching the starry sky from his apartment rooftop. Jane sits between his arms, pointing out the major constellations, sharing ancient stories of how they got their names. 

 Bucky listens to her words, her voice, drift through the close space they occupy. His eyes grow heavy with tiredness, his chin resting on the crown of her head. 

 He could listen to her talk about space until the end of time. 

 +

 “Are you ever going to answer him?” Jane inquires casually, settling down beside him on the couch. She grabs a blanket and tosses it over their legs. 

 She doesn’t have to say his name to know whose she’s referring to. His name appears on his phone screen nearly every day. “Maybe,” he responds indifferently. 

 Jane gives him a look that tells him she’s not going to let this one go. “He’s clearly worried about you. How hard would it be just to update him about how things are going?”

 He wants to answer with ‘nearly impossible,’ however he has a feeling she won’t drop it if he lets the words slip.

 “Just think about it, okay?” Jane must have picked up on the fact it was going to be a losing battle. 

 He nods. 

 +

 “You sent the flowers that day in the office, didn’t you?” Her breath catches sharply when he bites down on her inner thigh, then immediately tends to the bite with his lips, moving them closer and closer to his objective. 

 “Yes,” he reveals, that day in the office, far from what he’s currently fixated on. She whimpers his name once he finds his source. 

 +

 He can’t remember the last name he’s felt this angry. Bucky paces back and forth in his apartment, trying to calm down, trying to think rationally. 

 She’s leaving. 

 She’s going back to London. 

 Her work in New York was only temporary and she has no choice but to go home to continue her research with her colleagues. 

 The time he assumed they had left together has vanished. She promises they will keep in touch. She’s only a phone call away. 

 It’s not the same though. 

 It’s not the same.

 +

 “You’ve helped, you know,” she murmurs, nestled cozily in his arms. Her fingers play with his dog tags while he stares at shadows on her ceiling bedroom, trying with all his might to will her to stay if he just never lets her out of his grasp. 

 His eyebrows knit together. “Helped create more problems in your life?” he teases and she retaliates by giving the dog tags a tug. 

 “When I came back to New York, all I wanted was to be able to talk to someone about the shit life has thrown at me. That’s part of the reason I started seeing Dr. Raynor,” she admits, nuzzling deeper into his hold. “You listened and you cared, Bucky. I don’t know what I’m going to do in London without someone who actually gets it.”

 He wonders the same thing. 

 +

 On the day she leaves, he finally decides to text Sam back. 

 She was right. 

 Sam was worried about him. 

 He chooses honesty over the typical response of ‘I’m fine’ for once. 

 I’ve had better days, he writes. He’ll tell Sam more about it when they see each other again. 

 +

 It’s a Thursday afternoon when he sees him sitting in the chair next to her old spot. 

 He’s about his height (Bucky’s taller, of course). Black hair, cut close to his head. Brown eyes. And a smug smile that makes him want to punch it right off his face with his metal fist. 

 Sam rises from his seat and goes in for a hug. “Long time, no see, grandpa,” he jokes, pulling back and poking him in the chest. 

 Bucky rolls his eyes, a grin breaking across his face. “Yeah, yeah. Missed you too,” he says, pushing him away and starting toward the doors. 

 “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. But it might have to wait until after we take care of business,” Sam states, trailing after him. 

 He wants to protest. Sam’s the last one he wants to talk about the events of the past few months with, but he’s got no one else left. 

 Bucky figures he’ll have to settle for him. 

 For now. 

[serararku]

Where the Wild Things Are Pt 3

<Theme>

The pool beneath Valhaas Barrow came from a subterranean river said to stretch all the way from the Black Shroud. The source of nearly every oasis in Thanalan, it remained the sole reason why the Miqo'te and various beast tribes could even survive in the dust-swept wastes. This water was as precious as it was sacred, reserved only for those closest resembling the divine image of Azeyma. The punishment for any Tia, slave, or outsider in this holy place was death.

The walls were painted by the many hands of women who came before. Some told tales of legendary heroes, others of harrowing tragedies; but the space along the ground was reserved for the kittens, who doodled rough paintings of flowers, or the sun, or even each other. Era wanted to place her mark in this place too one day, but she wanted to make it count- she wanted it to mean something.

“Well?” Her mother asked, catching her attention. She stood with two aunts, and all three stared at the woman expectantly. “We can’t get you clean if you’re not naked.”

Era was hesitant, but begrudgingly obeyed, starting with her boots before working her way up. When she first left her family to search for Tage, she had only a few scrapes on her hands from pulling feisty rodents from their tunnels and homes; but the more skin she revealed now, the paler her mother became. Era had her shirt halfway over her head when she was swarmed by her and her aunts.

“Were you stabbed?! Beaten?!” Yuun traced a few scars on Era’s stomach with her finger. “Gunshot wounds… did the shelled men do this?”

Era was barely able to get a word out when their hands began poking and prodding at all of her past injuries; something about this made her feel more vulnerable and ashamed now more than ever. “Y-yes, the Garleans-”

“What happened to your arm?!” Her mother grabbed her by the elbow and held her forearm close to her face. “Is this a burn?! How did this happen?!”

“Mom, please!” Era yanked her arm back and slinked away from their incessant touching. “It’s a long story… all of it is…” Telling them about how ‘Had-rel’ commanded her to stick her hand into a crackling fireplace was the last thing on her mind. Or the time she was shot during her ambush against that Garlean century. Or the time she got smacked in the side of the head and lost consciousness for a minute. Or all the times she was beaten during her many training lessons.

She aptly decided to change the subject before they continued to pelt her with questions.

“Do I have to do this? I don’t… I don’t want to mate with him, mom…”

Her mother’s face was still flushed with worry, but a reassuring smile began to creep along the corners of her lips. “Leave us.” She commanded, sending the grumbling women back upstairs to give them the space they needed. Era flinched and looked away when she casually pulled off her clothes; she knew she would have to be naked, but she wasn’t expecting her mother to do the same. Her skin was like polished porcelain, with her rich brown hair ending in small curls that almost reached to her knees once she let it all down. Even after giving birth seven times, her body remained a work of art. It was hard not to stare, harder still not to be envious; Era could only hope to have half a body like her mothers in twenty years. “We used to bathe all the time naked together, dear. Why are you so nervous now? All that time in those tribeless cities has affected you.” She reached over and gently took her daughter by the hand. “Come come, into the water while it’s still warm.”

Getting washed by her mother made her feel like a kitten all over again- a recurring theme since returning to her home. The water was warmed by dropping smoldering rocks heated by the bonfire into the depths, but the pool itself was surprisingly shallow- barely reaching over her hips while sitting down. Era definitely remembered being able to float in this exact pool when she was just a little younger. Did she really grow so fast? Or has the pool been shrinking since she departed? 

Her mother started with her hair, massaging raw honey into her scalp until it ran down her chest, shoulders, and back. “You need to grow out your hair. Keeping it short is cute... but there isn’t a Nunh alive that wouldn’t kill to gaze upon your body with hair that reaches the floor.”

“Mmmn…” Was all Era could mumble in between licking at the honey dripping too close to her mouth; the little bit of boar she ate from her mother’s helping wasn’t nearly enough.

“Era…?” Her mother started, causing her ears to perk. “You have been mating in the cities?” She did her best to conceal her startled shock, but her flattening ears and her tail thrashing about in the water beside her mother gave away the truth. Era’s mind frantically raced as she tried to conjure up a convincing lie, but her sudden silence only further proved her guilt.

“W-what are you t-talking about…?”

“I know bite marks when I see them.” She gave her daughter’s shoulder a few sharp pinches. “These ones look recent… very recent. You were supposed to save your first time for your Nunh.”

“W-well, I… I figured… w-why not practice…? F-for when I’m with my Nunh, I mean…” Era didn’t dare turn to look her mother in the eyes; the heat searing her face, neck, and now shoulders, was enough to boil this water. “That makes sense… r-right…?”

“A man has patience for a maiden.” She started, with the tone of her voice darkening. “Don’t tell Vahli about your ‘practice’, I don’t know how he will react.” Her mother paused to gather her hair in her hands to expose Era’s shoulders and back. She then plucked a lump of cactuar flesh out of the water to rub against her skin; with luck, the rejuvenating flesh would help conceal her more recent love marks. “What is his name?”

“Zevi…” For some reason she decided against revealing his tribe, not that it mattered; he cut all ties with them long ago.

“A Tia from the tribeless cities.” Yuun mused, working down one of Era’s arms. “He must be quite something for you to abandon your duties to the tribe. What is he like? Is he handsome? Strong?”

Era bit her lip for a moment in silence, but the silence did only last for a moment. “Brown skin burned by the sun. Black hair like raven feathers… and looking into his eyes is like staring up at the bright blue sky. Is he handsome…? Mom, he’s gorgeous…” She blinked a few times before clearing her throat. “And um… he’s strong enough to punch a deeproot tree out of the ground with a single punch. He was with me when I stormed that castrum to avenge Tage’s dea-...” Mentioning his name again put a dull ache in her heart; she thought she was over his death, but being here… where her journey all began… and it almost felt like she was right back in her apartment, staring at his ruined corpse all over again.

“I’m so sorry, honey…” Her mother leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her. “I know you wanted him. But he is with Azeyma now… hunting in Her endless fields of eternal sunlight.”

Era leaned into her mother’s embrace and closed her eyes. “Mom… I… I don’t want to lose Zevi. But if I defy the Nunh… I’ll lose my family…” Slowly she turned to look her mother in the eyes. “What do I do…?”

She planted a wet kiss on Era’s temple before sitting upright to continue scrubbing her daughter’s skin. “When your father became the tribe’s Nunh, he had to kill my father to do it. I was… I was so angry that this overgrown brute murdered my father and expected me to have his children in return… like I should be thanking him for taking my father away from me. I planned on killing him before it was my turn to pleasure him, you know. I almost went through with it.”

“What stopped you…?”

“My mother did. Killing him wouldn’t bring my father back… and it would only put the entire tribe in terrible danger. Any Tia could walk in and claim us as their wives without having to fight for it. No… instead of that, my mother suggested a better way. I learned Rarku’s secrets, memorized what made him tick, and discovered his deepest desires. I did my duty as his wife, and eventually had him eating out of the palm of my hand. Men are simple creatures… and easy to please. I guess what I’m saying is…”

“To do my duty and stop complaining?” Era groaned. “I don’t know if that’s something I wa-ow! Ow ow ow!” Yuun gave her daughter a warm smile as she continued to pinch and twist her ear.

“Let me finish.” She firmly spoke, eventually releasing her. “You can’t have your family and your forbidden love if you don’t have his favor. Do what us wives do best, dear… turn your will into law.” She took Era by the chin and turned her head toward her. “If you’re successful, you may even be able to convince him to let you visit the tribeless cities every few years or so.”

They remained quiet for the rest of the bath. Yuun washed the honey from Era’s hair thrice over, until her locks shimmered in the flickering torchlight. She ran a bison-hair comb through the fur on her tail until it glided effortlessly from base to tip, and lastly she scrubbed Era’s face with hardened animal fat and spearmint leaves. As soon as her mother rinsed her face, she shot up to her feet in a hurry. "What-?! Where do you think you are going without your clothes?!"

"There’s only two things I can do that shouldn’t be done with clothes on." Era called back, turning to look down at her mother. “If I want Vahli to do what I want… I need to leave an impression. Goodbye, mother, and thank you for the bath.” Without another word she spun on her heel and began marching to the exit, foregoing her clothes and leaving her mother and her dignity behind.

Walking among tribekin topless or wearing little more than war paint and boots wasn’t an uncommon sight for this sect. The concept of modesty was a little more ambiguous around here, with many kittens running around butt-naked during the summer migrations. But for a fully grown woman strutting her stuff and soaked from bathing in the blessed waters was, well, just strange enough to garner attention. 

Era held her breath and stepped beyond the curtain dividing the sacred pools from the rest of Valhaas Barrow. The searing heat returned to her face and shoulders the moment she saw familiar faces down the hall, but it was too late to turn back now; she was in deep, and if her confidence wavered now, she wouldn’t be capable of seducing Vahli, and her chance of keeping both her tribe and Zevi in her life would blow up in her face. “If I refuse Vahli, and return to Ul’dah, I would never see my mother and family again. If I fail to impress Vahli, I wouldn’t be able to be with Zevi.” Era had to focus on organizing her thoughts to distract her from the gawking stares. Most of the slaves averted their gazes when she strode into view, while many of the warrior women nodding approvingly. “I need to blow his mind to keep both my tribe and my love. Gods… I hope he’s not worrying about me…” She caught a glimpse of Denoh sitting alone in the corner with his boar scraps in his grasp, but she looked away before their eyes met. Despite the audible gasps or faint whispers, Era found herself handling this situation quite well; at the very least, nobody was trying to stop her, or call her out by her name-

“Yeah-hahah! Errraaaa!” Chaje Koss hollered and shouted when she briskly marched by, holding a half-empty skin; with three empty skins littered around her staggering feet. She was as sloppy drunk as you could get on fermented goat’s milk without also getting food poisoning. “Go get you some! Hahaha- yeeeeaaaahhhh!” Soon others joined in, giving the ‘champion of Azeyma’ a round of applause. Era wanted to wither away and die, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling at her aunt’s slurred encouragement. She awkwardly waved at them before reaching the bottom of the incline, and the spiraling tunnel that led to her destination.

Era stormed into his personal chambers by nearly ripping the leather curtain from the ceiling. Vahli was hunched over the stone table with Auntie Shepka, the Lady of War, at his shoulder when they both looked up at the same time to witness her and all her splendor. She stood there in silence as she caught her breath, letting her Nunh’s gaze follow the beads of water trickle down her shapely form. Era could feel his eyes on the bullet scars dotted on her stomach, the discoloration from the old burn halfway up her forearm, and the deep scratches covering her fingers. Judging by his ears flattening against his head and his thick tail twitching under the table, he clearly liked what he saw. Yet she couldn’t tell if he was speechless or not; he wasn’t exactly a chatterbox when they first met out by the bonfire. 

Fortunately Shepka was willing to break the awkward silence. “Ahem… you should tend to this…” She reached over and rolled the leather up before tucking it under her arm. “We’ll discuss our plans later when you have more time.” Vahli still didn’t speak- he simply nodded in her direction, but his gaze never left Era. In fact they kept their staring contest going as Shepka walked past her on her way to leave, and the naked woman didn’t blink until the two were alone at last.

Vahli pushed off the table and stood up straight. His pointed ears were only a fulm and a quarter away from brushing against the ceiling. “Your scars… you’ve seen many battles…?” Era caught on to the tone of his voice almost immediately; he was distracted… surprised… nervous. She could use this. It felt like that time she seduced that Lalafell in the Gold Saucer, but she knew he wasn't lonely enough for her to come on that strong. She closed her eyes, took a few deep and steady breaths, and relaxed; the rest came naturally.

“I didn’t come all this way to talk.” Era stepped back and reached behind her to make sure the curtain was fully closed. A shy smile spread across her face once she began walking along the wall, plucking each torch up and blowing them out like candles; one by one she dimmed the room, until only a single torch resting on the table beside Vahli remained.

Era emerged from the dark, her blue eyes reflecting the only light source left in this chamber. There were no chocobo down beds, and no cotton pillows or wool blankets for them to rest on; only the loose dirt floor and the hard stone table. "I will return to you…" She reached up and grabbed her Nunh by the bone necklace, and pulled him down into her awaiting kiss.

"Whatever the price… I'll pay it!"

---

Mentions: @rzevi-tia-ffxiv​

[meloncubedradpops]

Repo! The Corona Opera

For every rotation that Earth has completed around the sun since the dawn of humanity, humans have created art to cope with the realities surrounding our everyday life. We weave stories in songs, movies, plays, books, paintings, and so forth, that help digest the world around us and provide an entertaining escape from the cruelties we endure. Some stories take place in abstract universes or in the future, and we rely on what we know in our present reality to build upon these fantasy societies. My favorite movie, Repo! the Genetic Opera, certainly makes this list. We are currently experiencing perhaps the most surreal year of our collective lives, and with each passing day I argue that we find ourselves closer to the world crafted in Repo. I have seen this movie, at least 20 times. If you haven't watched Repo! the Genetic Opera or you haven't seen it in a while, I recommend giving it a view. The movie is unique in that it falls under three distinct genres: musical, horror, and sci-fi. And while the jury is out on whether our future society is going to go full on gothic aesthetic, I can say that the Repo! movie experience offers a glimpse into a dystopian fascist post-plague world wrapped in unapologetically hilarity with a heaping side of camp. It doesn't offer any spiritual cleansing that our souls collectively need, but it does show us what a new normal could look like if we really go off the rails.

As things stand, right now, so much of our daily lives and culture are impacted by the coronavirus. All of our institutions have been impacted, from school, to work, to family, to the way we interact with strangers, and especially our economy. We have all felt the effects in one way or another, and honestly? Most the impacts are of our own undoing, for better or for worse. I am going to write three pieces analyzing Repo! the Genetic Opera. First I will create the foundations that bridge our contemporary life and the world of Repo! Second I will explain how the Repo! universe operates under the definitions of fascism. And third I will weave together parts one and two into our contemporary world (particularly in the context of the United States) to highlight the dark path we heading towards. My viewpoints are of mine, and my own alone. Let's dive into part one.

Part I Repo! the Genetic Opera takes place in the year 2056. Humanity was on the brink of collapse as a result of a medical crisis that caused massive organ failure.

I never gave the premise much thought, at least not until recently. We aren't given much detail beyond the fact that entrepreneur Rottissimo "Rotti" Largo solved this crisis through his company GeneCo. GeneCo provides organ transplants that can be repaid through a payment plan. Witnessing the coronavirus unfold in real time and seeing its wrath, particularly on severe cases, honestly makes me wonder if the writers had some sort of "super plague" in mind when creating this universe. For the purpose of this analysis, I will assume that humanity suffered at least one infectious disease crisis. And just to reiterate covid-19 particularly, we really *don't* know what it's going to do to us long-term. Let the parallels begin. 

The world in Repo! the Genetic Opera, operates as normally as the citizens possibly can, which appears to be quite limited. I have noted how dated some the technologies look.

For a world 30 years in the future, it lacks cell phones and easy access to internet. When we enter Shilo's world (aka her bedroom!) she watched Blind Mag sing on a busted up tiny ass TV and the program itself looks like an ad on Home Shopping Network.

The Graverobber is shown reading headlines on a newspaper. The news reporters shown in the ribbon cutting ceremony during the 1st Italian Post-Plague Renaissance have old school cameras with flashbulbs.

The most contemporary technology appears to be a Wish.com version of an Apple watch, and even that looks like a leftover prop from Spy Kids.

Obviously the people who made this movie intentionally inserted these anachronisms, but why? This is a science fiction movie after all. I speculate that they reverted back because the impact from humanity's crisis resulted in an overall professional "brain drain" from the sheer volume of professionals that dropped dead. In fact every scene depicting medical procedures looks dimly lit and lacking in sanitation. We will see this as we struggle to contain the coronavirus, at least in America. Healthcare workers have already died from this thing, and I am sure many prospective college students will have second thoughts about a career in healthcare. I mean hell, look at no other than GeneCo itself. That company employs workers called "Genterns" who are most definitely not in full PPE. I don't doubt their medical expertise, but they appear to be disposable (please see: that time Luigi killed one for NO REASON in "Mark it Up").

On that note, it really was quite incredible how China built the pop-up hospital in Wuhan in under 4 days, but it was also not the most safe or structurally sound building by far (it collapsed, people were hurt!). Maybe at this point, the people in Repo! don't have much of a choice. I am sure there were likely legit hospitals, but the fact that the Renaissance had gross surgery tents is a bit unsettling.

This is a world that is completely built upon the social more of valuing your health above all else. There had to be a turning point in the GeneCo business model where they really played on up-selling organs for the benefit of "genetic perfection". "I needed a kidney transplant desperately. GeneCo showed this single mom sympathy. This makeover came for a small added fee. Now I look smashing on live TV!" Imagine signing the documents for your power of attorney while actively going into renal failure, when your doctor chimes in with an up-sell for breast implants. When all is said an done, your body is now not only functioning again, but you're hot! Even in a post-plague dystopia we are still holding value to having a nice rack. What's not to love about GeneCo? Obviously we know right away that GeneCo has a dirty side. Rotti Largo personally lobbied to make organ repossessions legal, and he does not hesitate to recollect his property. The concept itself is, of course, wild. In America, our healthcare system is incredibly broken and expensive.  You would wonder how it could get worse without us backpedaling many steps on the industrialization timeline. And in a lot of ways, I could see a company like GeneCo thrive here. We already hate the poor, and we have political think tanks that salivate over the idea of cutting social programs that keep people alive. Our president has wanted to repeal the Affordable Care Act while many people are unemployed during a pandemic. In Repo! we hear about those who don't pay, but obviously there are plenty of people who do. Those who can will happily pay, either for vanity reasons or to stay alive.

And while society cites Rotti as being a "hero" for humanity, we see more and more evidence that the crisis is both not under control and life is cheap.

His son murders multiple people, in front of others, with seemingly no repercussions. In the scene where Shilo meets the Graverobber for the first time, adjacent to the graveyard and tombs owned by wealthy families who could afford grave markers, lies a poorly constructed wall hiding thousands of corpses piled on top of one another. We even get a glimpse of a truckload pouring more onto the pile. I would not be surprised if there is a disinformation campaign there keeping the public in the dark (although you'd think the smell would be unbearable at this point).

There are multiple indications that propaganda works in society (still), and no one is getting the full picture of how much of a raw deal the people in Repo! have. We see poster after poster about GeneCo, in the literal absence of other corporations. 

And a lot of them bear resemblance to 20th century Russian propaganda. It would be a real shame if the goals outlined The Foundations of Geopolitics: The Geopolitical Future of Russia were actually realized. Imagine going to visit your mother's grave and hearing commercials for hardcore analgesics play through the cemetery. Also, there's a police presence too. Apparently the police are called Genecops and have authority to execute any assumed graverobbers on site.

Imagine the hellscape it would be to live in a world where your loved ones may have died from a terrible pandemic, and you face a non-zero chance of an over zealous cop murdering you thereafter, and because their qualified immunity bypasses the judicial system entirely...oh wait. Anyways let's circle back to the Graverobber character.

Graverobber's role in Repo! appears to be minor on the surface. Rotti's daughter, Amber Sweet, appears to almost despise her relationship with him. And that relationship involves him supplying Amber with what he describes as the "21st Century cure". This cure you ask? A super effective painkiller with the clinical use to accompany GeneCo surgeries. This drug is called Zydrate, and it has a street version that he acquires and sells, with clients including Amber Sweet.

Graverobber makes his living sucking the glowy blue brain corpse goo and injecting them into people on the streets. Yum!

Not everyone who needs an organ transplant can pay for it all upfront. Luckily for them, GeneCo provides payment plan options! The caveat to this is if you fail to make those payments, legally GeneCo can come and repossess your newly acquired organs. If you find yourself past due, you will soon see the last face before your doom, the Repo Man. He will harvest GeneCo's property, and it won't matter where you are or what you are doing. There is no anesthetic, and you will likely die! This was all made legal through Rotti's lobbying efforts.

Society, as it's set up today, allows for property repossessions. This can be as straightforward as a repossession of your vehicle to as heartbreaking as a foreclosure on your home. At the end of the day, the impacts of that are difficult and life changing. Currently millions of people in America are out of work, and the threat of losing everything is at stake for many. We could lose our homes, our vehicles, and our sense of purpose. And while many government bodies have created temporary moratoriums, they have not provided any substantial financial relief to keep the proverbial repo man at bay. What went wrong in this dystopia to normalize the concept of death due to nonpayment? Fascism! Ah yes, the dreaded f-word. In my next essay, I will outline the 14 characteristics of fascism and how it relates to the universe in Repo! After I will relate that to our modern world so that we can try and stop this from becoming our reality.

[hysterialevi]

Eitr | Chapter 2

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

FORANGAL CASTLE, WEDENSCIRE

MORNING

Hurrying down the steps of the castle as her dress frolicked around her legs, Lady Edlynne rushed to catch up with her brothers before they could scurry off into town without her, and leave her at the mercy of Bishop Hundwerth once again.

Apparently, the head chef of the castle was in need of some trout for the meal she had planned for this evening, but instead of relying on one of her servants like she normally did, the ealdorman’s sons had offered to fetch it for her, and were preparing to leave from the main gate.

Unfortunately for Edlynne however, her name had been left out of their festivities as per usual, and thus left the girl at a disadvantage considering how she only learned of their plans mere moments ago.

But this time, she was not willing to stay back as she normally did. The dreary walls of the castle had caged her in for far too long already, and with Hundwerth constantly hammering his piety in her ears, the young noblewoman was in desperate need of some fresh air.

Jogging up to the main gate, Edlynne found her brothers conversing at the stable as they readied their horses for the journey ahead, giving them a light snack to start off the new day.

Her twin brother, Joseph, was currently sat on top of a rather wobbly looking fence with an apple in his hand, but seemed to fare alright thanks to his lean frame. He was only a boy of sixteen years and hardly stood any taller than his sister, but even then, some still considered him to be particularly scrawny for a nobleman.

As for their elder brother, Edric, his appearance was more akin to that of a soldier than a lord. Despite not even being thirty years of age yet, the young man already had his fair share of battle scars and sported a rough beard, giving him a much more weathered temperament than his father probably would’ve liked.

He constantly carried a sword around with him and armored himself with a black gambeson, but still made sure that the cross hanging from his neck was visible underneath the collar of his cape.

Both of them were a welcome sight to see after Edlynne’s many days of being trapped in the castle, but with the absence of their eldest brother Gareth looming over them like a stormy cloud, she couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sadness suddenly gripping at her heart.

“Joseph, Edric!” She exclaimed, running up to them. “Wait!”

The two boys turned their heads towards her, clearly surprised to see her face this morning.

“Sister,” Joseph greeted, “I didn’t expect to see you here today. It’s been ages since I last saw you out in the sun. Will you be joining us in town?”

Edlynne sighed out of annoyance. “God, I hope so. Bishop Hundwerth hasn’t dared take his eyes off me ever since I spoke of my interest in the Danes’ religion. He fears that their influence will corrupt me.”

Edric chuckled at that. “You thinking of converting to paganism, Edlynne?”

“Hardly,” she denied. “I will always be a Christian at heart, but I do not think it is wrong to have an interest in other religions either. How can we expect to resolve the conflict in our shire if we will not even attempt to understand our enemies?”

Joseph took a bite out of his apple. “Well, some people would consider that to be heresy.”

Edlynne crossed her arms. “Some people would see us at war for another century.”

The eldest threw a grin at his brother. “You hear that, Joseph? Wise beyond her years, this one. We should give her a seat next to father.”

Edlynne smiled in response. “You jest, but I’ll have you know that father has sought my counsel in the past. He spoke to me last night, in fact. Though... it’s not very often he actually listens to me, I’ll admit.”

Joseph hopped off the fence. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure he doesn’t hear of your fascination with the Danes. You know of his feelings for them.”

The girl’s expression drooped with sorrow. “Yes, I do. He’s changed so much ever since... well, you know.”

Falling into a state of heartache, the young woman quickly snapped out of her grief when she realized how she had dampened the mood and forced herself to push her thoughts aside, not wanting them to overtake her again. 

“But... let us not dwell on that. You two have a busy day ahead of you, and my chances of getting any fresh air dwindle with every minute Hundwerth isn’t near me. So let’s get going.”

Edric climbed on top of his horse, taking hold of the reins. “Alright. Edlynne, you go with Joseph. I’ll take my own mount. We’ll ride the path west of here, and cut through the woods into Agenbury. It’ll take longer, but the main roads are laden with soldiers nowadays. I’d rather not weave my way through them.”

Taking a seat behind her brother as he plopped himself onto the saddle, Edlynne wrapped her arms around Joseph’s waist and held him tightly as the three of them began trotting through the main gate, bidding the castle farewell.

It was a bright morning today, blotted with only a few clouds. The sun shone freely throughout the sky despite the residue from the recent storm, and thanks to the rain that poured on Wedenscire the previous night, a fresh layer of mist hung over the land, catching the light in a fashion that was worthy of paintings.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Edlynne remarked. “And also much colder than I remember. Though, that’s probably due to the storm. Still, it’s nice to be outside of the castle walls again. I can’t recall the last time father allowed me to leave. Thank you both for letting me come with you.”

“Of course,” Joseph replied. “I fear that Edric and I were also in need of some time away from Forangal. That’s why we volunteered to help Nelda. The poor old woman’s practically locked herself in the larder this morning, trying to prepare this meal for us.”

“How is Nelda?” Edlynne asked. “I’ve not spoken to her in ages.”

“Oh, you know her,” Joseph said sarcastically. “Cranky, old bat as usual. Still the same woman that used to chase us around the castle after we’d steal the treats when we were children.”

Edric butted in. “And then blame me for it.”

Joseph laughed at that. “Do you remember that one time Edlynne and I brought in that stray cat from the streets? And we accidentally left it alone in the kitchens? The wretched animal had buried its face in a meal she was making for father, and sent it spilling all over to the floor. I thought Nelda was going to butcher us all that day -- cat included.”

“Oh, don’t remind me. She dragged the two of you fools over to me later that day and shouted with a fury so hot that I could’ve sworn I saw flames on her breath. Gareth had to calm her down whilst we ended up cleaning the kitchen.”

Edlynne smiled at the memory. “Gareth always had a way with Nelda. He knew how to ease her temper.”

“Indeed,” Joseph said. “Though, I think he had that effect on everyone. Something about him always brought peace to other peoples’ hearts. He knew how to unify them in times of division, and comfort them in times of war.” 

A morose sigh escaped the sullen boy. “Things will... not be the same without him around. I know it’s been over a month since he died, but... I fear the wounds are still fresh.”

“Aye.” Edric agreed quietly. “He was a good brother to us all. And an even better friend. It was a tragic loss, the day he died. I think father’s taken the brunt of it.”

A sudden thought crossed the man’s mind. “Edlynne, you said you spoke with him last night?”

The girl nodded. “I did.”

“And... how did he seem? Did he seem better to you?”

Edlynne stuttered, unsure of how to describe their encounter. “I... I don’t know, to be honest. He appeared to be doing alright, but it felt like he was wearing a mask. As if... he was simply putting on a strong face for everyone else’s sake. Deep down though, I think he’s still hurting.”

“Of course he is,” Edric noted. “He lost one of his children. It’s a parent’s worst nightmare.”

Joseph raised a question. “What exactly happened to Gareth, anyway? I know he was killed near Grantebridge, but father has yet to give us any further details.”

“That’s because you would not wish to hear them,” his brother explained. “Believe me. All you need to know is that a clan of Danes killed him. The Raven Clan, specifically.”

The name was unfamiliar to Edlynne. “The Raven Clan? Who are they?”

“You haven’t heard of them? They’ve been causing quite a stir in Mercia -- killing kings and crowning new ones. From what I understand, they’re the ones who helped the Ragnarssons remove Burgred from his throne.”

“But why kill Gareth?” Joseph asked. “What could they possibly gain from killing the son of an ealdorman? Aside from a lifetime of conflict, that is.”

Edric sighed solemnly. “I do not know their reasons, nor their justifications. But you would do well not to get caught up on it. All that matters now is that Gareth is at peace. He was a devote Christian, and he now joins our mother in Heaven, forever to be at God’s side. He would not want us to sulk. So keep your chins up -- both of you -- and let us carry on with our day.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

AGENBURY

Finally arriving at Agenbury, the three siblings slowed down to a halt as the peaceful settlement came into view, decorating the flat horizon with a quaint series of houses and shops.

The quiet town seemed to be the same as usual -- lunatics and all -- and despite the hefty toll the war had taken on its people, everything appeared to be in working order.

The fisherman’s wife, Ardith, remained attached to her husband’s stall as always, and with the unpleasant stench of freshly-captured fish to start off her morning, the permanent scowl on her face only seemed to deepen.

“There’s Ardith,” Edric pointed out. “She’ll have the trout we need.” He climbed off of his horse, leaving it near the main entrance. “Come along then, you two. Let’s finish this quickly.”

Mirroring their brother’s actions, Joseph and Edlynne unmounted their horse before following the young man into town, hanging behind him as he navigated his way through the scattered groups of civilians.

Many of the town’s residents seemed to eye the noble family with a wary gaze -- which was uncommon for their people -- and the further they stepped into the watchful settlement, the more everyone’s voices seemed to lower into hushed tones.

“Is it just me,” Joseph whispered among them, “or does it feel... odd here today?”

Edlynne narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “No, it’s definitely not just you. The people here seem frightened. It’s almost like the whole town is... waiting for something. Do you reckon something happened before we arrived?”

“It’s most likely because of the war,” Edric assumed. “I know the conflicts in Wedenscire have had a rough impact on these people. Who knows what kind of horrors they’ve had to endure at the hands of the Danes? Though... there don’t seem to be any signs of a raid.”

Joseph disagreed. “If there had been a raid, we would’ve heard about it. This is something different.”

“I suppose we’ll find out, given enough time. Just keep your wits about you, and try not to alarm anyone.”

Carrying on with their plans, the three of them casually walked up to Ardith’s stall as the woman focused on organizing her collection of fish, stopping only to greet the peculiar customers that had suddenly shown up at her shop.

“Hello, Ardith.” Edric said, deterring the woman’s attention.

“Oh, good morning, milord!” She said in surprise. “I was not expecting to see you here today. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m just here to pick up some trout for Nelda back at the castle.”

The stout woman rested a hand on her hip. “Ah, I see. Normally, it’s her servants that come by, but I won’t turn away a friendly face.”

Her expression grew dim. “I’m... so sorry about what happened to Gareth, Edric. We received the news not too long ago. He was loved by many people in Agenbury. It’s such a shame that he had to depart from this world in so brutal a manner. He will be missed.”

Edric nodded in agreement. “Indeed. His death has affected us all, I fear.”

“And Aegenwulf? How does your father fare?”

The young man shrugged in uncertainty. “Hard to say. He keeps his head high and does what he must to protect this shire, but he bears the burdens of twenty men combined. I do not envy his position.”

Ardith gave him a look of sympathy. “Aye. But have no fear, Edric. Your father’s always been a fighter. Trust me. I’ve known him since before he had any grey in his hair. He will come through. I know he will.”

“Thank you, friend. Your words bring me comfort.”

Joseph jumped into the conversation, inquiring about the rest of the town. “Ardith, do you have any idea why Agenbury’s so on edge today? The town carries a strange mood.”

The woman nearly offered a response, but bit her tongue in hesitance. “Y-Yes, but I do not wish to burden you with our troubles, young lord. I imagine you’ve enough of your own already.”

Edlynne took a step towards the stall. “Please, Ardith. If something has happened in this town, we’d like to help. You’re our people, after all.”

Ardith let out a deep sigh and crossed her arms, glancing back at her house.

“I-It’s my husband, Wilfred,” she said quietly. “He went fishing at the harbor this morning as he always does, but... instead of returning with a sack of fish, he came back with a bloody Dane...!”

Edric paused in alarm upon hearing that. “What? A Dane? In Agenbury?”

“Believe me, I was just as shocked as you. Apparently, Wilfred found him washed up on the shore, beaten and wounded. By whom or what, I don’t know, but he already looked dead by the time my husband dragged him back.”

Joseph decided to ask for more information. “Do you have any idea who he is? Or where he came from?”

Ardith shook her head. “No. We’ve yet to speak to him. He’s been unconscious ever since Wilfred brought him back from the harbor.”

The boy let out an uneasy breath. “Father’s not going to like this. He’s been tense enough already ever since Gareth died. If he finds out that a Dane has infiltrated the town...”

Edlynne cut him off. “He won’t. Not yet.”

Her twin quirked a brow. “What do you mean, not yet? He’s the ealdorman, for God’s sake. He has to know.”

“We can’t tell him about this. Not for the moment, at least. If father learns about this Dane’s presence, he’ll have him killed for sure.”

Edric scowled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

The noblewoman remained staunch in her belief. “Listen, both of you -- I know everyone’s still hurting from Gareth’s death, and believe me, I am too. But we could learn something from this Dane. He might be useful to us.”

Edric wasn’t entirely convinced yet. “We don’t even know if this man speaks our tongue, Edlynne. And if he does, there’s no guarantee he’ll help us anyways. You know the Danes. They’d rather pick death over dishonor.”

“Even then, I’d like to be certain of what this man’s intentions are before we start lopping off anyone’s heads. Let me speak to him, at least.”

Edric sighed in defeat, crossing his arms. “...Very well. If that is what you wish. But be careful, sister. We have no idea who this man is. And I’d rather we return to the castle in one piece.”

The young man turned back to Ardith, trying to calm the woman’s nerves. “Have no fear, old friend. We’ll speak to this Dane for you. He need not worry you any longer.”

She seemed pleased with that. “Thank you, Edric. I think everyone would feel better if we knew who he was, or why he was here. He should still be at home.”

“Then I will go there,” Edlynne said. “Joseph can come with me whilst you conclude your business here, brother. That way, we can get things done faster.”

“Alright,” Edric agreed. “I’ll meet you there once I’m finished here. Don’t do anything drastic before I arrive.”

The girl gave him a reassuring nod. “Of course.” She turned to her twin, beckoning him to follow. “Come on, Joseph. Let’s go see this Dane for ourselves.”

Allowing their paths to diverge for the moment, Edlynne and Joseph made their way to Wilfred’s house while Edric stayed behind to collect the fish for Nelda, clearly still unsettled by the strange turn of events.

He understood it was unfair to judge one Dane based on the actions of many others, but in a time of war, compassion and empathy were always a dangerous thing to gamble with.

Edric knew details about Gareth’s death that the twins didn’t. He knew how the Danes had butchered him and left his body for the ravens, and he knew that their people were not so easily negotiated with.

But still... he supposed he could let Edlynne investigate this Dane’s sudden appearance, at the very least. He may have been skeptical of this man’s motivations, but he could not deny that he was curious to learn the truth for himself.

And so, without another word said, Edric simply let the twins go about their business as he continued his conversation with Ardith, eager to get this errand over with.

Meanwhile, Edlynne and Joseph walked side-by-side as they approached the fisherman’s house, speculating amongst themselves about what this Dane could’ve possibly wanted. It wasn’t uncommon for a Northman to be in Wedenscire exactly, but Agenbury was a different story.

“A single Dane showing up on our shores...” Edlynne murmured, “what could it mean?”

Joseph shrugged nervously. “Nothing good, that’s for certain. I’m aware that not all of them are barbarians as Hundwerth would have us believe, but tensions have been rising ever since Gareth was killed. If we don’t sort this situation out properly, it could reach a breaking point.”

“Then let us make haste, lest it comes to that.”

Strolling up to the fisherman’s front door, Joseph firmly knocked on the wooden surface as the two of them waited for a response, silently observing the quiet house.

There didn’t seem to be much activity happening inside -- probably due to the Dane’s unconscious state -- and the only sounds they could hear were the rapid footsteps of a man coming to greet them at the door.

“Pardon my untidiness, whoever you are,” a gruff voice said from the inside as they moved around some objects to clear the way, “but I fear things have been rather... disorderly this morning.”

The fisherman swung open the door, revealing an old but lively man standing in the entryway.

“Now, then, how can I--” He came to a halt, his eyes widening in surprise upon seeing the twins. 

“Lord Joseph...! And sweet Lady Edlynne. Well, I certainly didn’t expect to see you two here today. I suppose this morning’s just chock-full of unlikely guests, isn’t it? What brings you to my doorstep?”

Joseph beamed at the elderly man. “Hello, Wilfred. Your wife sent us. She said you had a... Dane problem?

Wilfred scratched the bald patch on his head, sighing in discontent. “Aye. The poor bastard. I found him this morning, lying unconscious and alone. He was laden with battle wounds, and covered in blood. I don’t have a clue why the river shat him out in Agenbury of all places, but I wasn’t about to leave a man to die. Saxon or not.”

Edlynne admired his compassion. “Then you’ve already done more than most. Has he woken up yet?”

“Nay. He’s been out cold ever since I brought him back. He spoke briefly when we first met, but it was mostly out of delirium. Couldn’t understand a word he said. You know the Danes. Bloody weird language, they have.”

“May we see him?” Joseph asked. “We’d like to speak with this man ourselves, if possible.”

Wilfred stepped off to the side, granting them entrance. “Of course. Do what you wish. Though, I’m not sure if he’ll wake up during your stay here. He was in a severely bad state when I found him.”

Strolling through the front door, Joseph and Edlynne welcomed themselves into the cozy atmosphere of Wilfred’s home as they gazed around in curiosity, anxious to see what this Dane looked like.

Joseph had already met a few of their people during his time with Edric and Gareth, but Edlynne on the other hand, had yet to meet a Dane for herself. Aegenwulf often kept them at a distance when it came to interactions with his daughter, and now that he had lost one of his own children to their axes, the girl imagined he would only grow more protective.

“Look,” she said with a soft gasp, “there he is.”

Following his sister’s line of sight, Joseph spotted the fallen Dane sleeping on the opposite side of the room, seemingly undisturbed.

He was currently resting on a makeshift bed that Wilfred had created, and was wrapped head-to-toe in an abundance of bandages. He looked like he was still breathing -- for the time being -- but just based on the amount of blood that was already seeping from his skin, Joseph started to wonder if they’d even get a chance to see him wake.

He appeared rather normal though, the boy thought. For a Dane. His skin was etched with many traditional Nordic markings, and the red hair on his head had been shaved in a fashion common with his people. Meanwhile, his beard remained bushy and untamed, and the calloused texture of his hands told Joseph he was no stranger to battle.

“Friendly looking fellow, isn’t he.” The boy remarked.

Edlynne walked closer to the man, driven by her fascination.

“I’ve... never seen a Dane before. Father has always done his best to keep me away from them, but... he looks surprisingly human. Bishop Hundwerth always makes it sound as if they’re the Devil himself roaming the earth.”

Joseph took a seat on a nearby chair. “Bishop Hundwerth would call it heresy if one of his priests farted too loudly in the chapel. Pay him no mind.”

The noblewoman turned back to the fisherman, asking him more questions.

“Wilfred, what was he like when you found him? I know you said he was hurt, but... how hurt, exactly?”

The old man exhaled deeply, crossing his arms. “Let’s just say I’m surprised he was alive to begin with. He had two bloody arrows sticking out of his chest, and his skin was torn up from getting sliced so many times. I don’t know much about their pagan gods, but they must be a protective bunch to pull him out of that.”

Joseph thought back to their talk with Ardith. “Your wife said you found him on the shore?”

“Indeed. I assume the river carried him here from upstream. Possibly from the north. He crawled out of it like a corpse rising from the dead.”

“Do you think he’ll live?”

Wilfred furrowed his brow in a grim manner. “I... I don’t know, Joseph. I’ve done everything I can to patch him up, but I’m just a simple fisherman at the end of the day. I’m no healer.”

Interrupting their conversation, a knock suddenly emitted from the door, leading all of them to bring their attention to the entrance.

“That must be Edric.” Joseph announced. 

Allowing their new guest to come in, Wilfred stepped over the many items scattered around the house before opening the door, revealing Edric on the other side.

“Ah, hello, milord. Your siblings are here already.”

The young man poked his head in, greeting the twins with a new sack of fish on his shoulder.

“Well?” He said, walking into the house. “Have you two learned anything?”

Joseph shook his head. “Not much, I’m afraid. We’re fairly certain the river carried the Dane here from upstream, but other than that... all we have is speculation.”

Edric strode towards them, kneeling beside his sister. “Speculation won’t do us any good. We need to know for sure who he is, and what he wants. I assume he hasn’t woken up yet?”

“No. He’s been unconscious this whole time. We don’t even know if he’ll survive.”

Wilfred joined their side, offering his advice to Edric. “As I was explaining to your brother earlier, milord, the only way this Dane is going to survive is if you get him in the hands of a healer. I’ve done what I can to buy him some time, but... without proper medical treatment, I fear he may pass soon.”

Edlynne’s expression lit up with an idea. “Linette! Back at the castle! She could look after him. She knows what she’s doing.”

The look on Edric’s face alone was enough to make his disapproval clear. “What? You want to bring a Dane back to the castle? After what just happened with Gareth?”

“I know it’s risky,” the young woman conceded, “but he’s dying, Edric. He needs our help.”

“So do many of our own people.” He countered. “We need to save our resources for those we can trust; those who will fight for us. Not stray Danes that wash up on our shores.”

Edlynne almost appeared offended at that. “Brother, do you hear yourself? This man’s life is in our hands, and you’re willing to just throw it away? All because he’s a Dane?”

The older man fell silent for a moment, admittedly feeling somewhat ashamed of his words, but still obstinate in his opinion. 

“I know it’s harsh, Edlynne, but you’ve not seen the horrors that have occurred between our people and the Danes. We’d be foolish to trust one, especially when we have no idea who he is. There’s also the fact that we’d have to keep his presence a secret. Until he wakes up, at least.”

“I think it’s worth it if it means we can save a life,” she replied. “I understand your fear, brother, but what sort of Christians would we be if simply stood by and watched this man die? His being a pagan doesn’t make him any less deserving of our help.”

Edric grew frustrated with his sister’s naivety. “It’s not just about the religion, Edlynne. It’s also about the war. There’s no love lost between Saxons and Danes, and for good reason. How do you think our friend here is going to react when he wakes up in a foreign castle, surrounded by hostile forces?”

The young woman frowned. “And what if he has a clan? What if they come looking for him? How do you think they’ll react when they find out we simply left him to die?”

Joseph shrugged in agreement. “She raises a fair point, Edric. If we help this man and he turns out to hate the Saxons, so what? We’ll have a castle full of guardsmen fighting against a single Dane. But if we don’t help him and his clan comes looking for him, we’ll have an entire army to deal with, plus anyone who’s allied with them. I say we bring him back. How much harm could he do in this condition, anyways?”

Edric sighed in defeat, finding himself at a loss for words. He really wasn’t fond of the idea of bringing a stranger back into the midst of their home -- especially when that stranger was a viking -- but deep down, he knew it was the right thing to do.

After all, what good was he as a Christian if he was not even willing to help those in need? He may have distrusted the Danes for their crimes in the past, but on the other hand, he had no way of indicating that this particular man had any similar motives.

For all he knew, this could’ve just been some poor soul who had gotten caught in the crossfire, and left for dead. There was nothing that could prove he had any intentions of doing wrong by their people, and... perhaps it would’ve been cruel to assume otherwise without even giving him a chance to wake up.

“...Alright, you two.” Edric finally said. “We’ll bring the Dane back to the castle.”

Edlynne beamed with appreciation. “You mean it?”

“Yes, but this will not bode well with father.”

Joseph dismissed the warning. “Father is blinded by his grief. He’ll understand eventually.”

Edric stood up from the floor and handed the sack of trout to his brother, giving him a new set of instructions.

“Here, take this. Ride back to Forangal. I’ll bring the Dane with me, and meet you two at Linette’s clinic later.”

Joseph groaned in effort as he lugged the sack over his shoulder, surprised at how heavy it was.

“Sounds good. Stay safe on the way back, brother. We promise not to tell father about this.”

“Good.”

Bringing his attention to Wilfred, Edric took out a few pieces of silver and placed them in the man’s hands, giving him an appreciative nod.

“Here, Wilfred. For your troubles.”

The fisherman smiled warmly. “Thank you, Edric. You’re far too kind.”

The nobleman chuckled. “My sister would disagree.”

Making their way out of Wilfred’s house, the siblings finally took their leave from Agenbury and swiftly returned to the stables, eager to ride back to the castle. They had no idea how well they’d be able to keep this a secret, considering all the prying eyes at Forangal, but the three of them were determined to ensure this man’s survival.

He could’ve been the key to all the conflicts that had arisen in Wedenscire. So many fights had broken out in the past few years between their people and the Danes, that a part of Edlynne hoped their new friend’s presence would help to ease the tensions. 

Though, she couldn’t help but wonder if her elder brother was right. What if Edric turned out to be correct, and this Dane only ended up causing more trouble? Was it wise to trust a man so blindly?

Probably not, but that didn’t hinder her desire to help the wounded man. He was completely at their mercy in his current condition, and Edlynne did not have the heart to cast him aside, regardless of the risks.

So, with a nervous heart, the young woman simply followed her brothers out of town and prepared herself for the journey ahead, praying that it would not end in more bloodshed. She knew how adamant their father was in his hatred for Danes, and she hoped that he would be able to see past the grief that still held onto him so tightly.

Gareth would’ve vouched for peace, after all. He always favored the diplomatic route over unnecessary violence, and in light of recent events, Edlynne imagined he would’ve wanted them to save this man too.

It was the only right thing to do, Edlynne thought. And she did not intend diminish her brother’s legacy.

[illyrian-lover-flower]

The chosen forest keeper 2

                                       My shadows are demons, but                                                  so is my sunshine

Nothing.

There was nothing that could stopp his heart from racing.

Azriel didn’t know when the last time was, that his heart felt like beating out of his chest.

It was probably five years ago, when he actually wanted to talk with Mor about the thing between them.

Or rather the thing that was not between them.

But it always stayed at wanted to tell her.

He never got the courage to tell her about his feelings, most of the time because he always seemed to seek out the days on wich Mor brought a lover to her bed.

Which lowered his courage to confessing beyond zero.

But now was no choice.

Now was a must.

A must he chose as his torture.

Azriel wouldn’t be in the need to have the seeing ability of the past away seer, to know that if Feyres cries hurt him yesterday - the words of Nesta Archeron would be a greater end to him.

But he chose for himself - that he would be the one to tell her.

Preventing a sibling fight - that ended with both sides crying over their lovely lost sister. 

But he also chose to - so that his brother wouldn’t have to draw the wrath of his mate to him. They just started to, get at least, a little along, but if Cassian would tell her about Elains suicide, then she would not forgive him - even though he was not the one to blame for her death.

The oldest Archeron would not care that his firy brother helped her through the times she was broken. 

The first time, when she was thrown into the Cauldron, she hid her brokeness behind a mask of fire and steel.

The second time, when the father of all three of them died. This time not really hiding her brokness as she chose the easiest ways - sex and alcohol.

Azriel shuddered in the grey sky as he flew closer and closer to Windhaven, remembering himself that Nesta wasn’t the one who chose the easiest way out.

It was Elain.

Elain who seeked out the quietness of death instead of the beaming light of life the fae life could offer. 

A light that could have maybe cured her and all the things she went through - but Elain refused it. 

The words still in his head. 

Probably even for the rest of eternity.

“...she jumped off a cliff near the borders of Velaris.”

Words that could destroy so easily. Words that just made his shadows smile at him and whisper at him the words with a cold satisfaction ‘Your fault!’ ‘You should have taken more care of her!’

But as much as Azriel hated himself, as he always listened to his shadows, like a dog obeying his master. Even though he listened and mostly agreed with them - there was now a burden he wouldn’t take upon his shoulders. 

No, he disagreed with his shadows at one point.

 ‘You should have taken more care of her!’ that thought didn’t hurt so much, since he knew - if he would have taken more care of Elain - he would have probably suffocated her. Just like he always did.

Mor runs away from him because of his suffocaiting feelings. 

Feyre does only see the Spymaster and her flying teacher in him. She sees a friend too, yes, but dosen’t think of him as important enough to at least go out for a drink, let alone sit at night and maybe talk.

 But he realized that he would not even want Feyre sitting by his side, when he thought about his struggles.

Struggles he always only shared with a quiet seer - that seemed to long know what was troubling on his mind, but never pushed him into telling her. 

It was always just her who understood him. 

It was always her that read between the lines of his storys and knew how deep they really ran.

She knew that there was always more to just a story, she always knew when to pay closer attention to his words. But then again - she always payed attention to him.

Attention that was quiet and observing, probably not missing any detail of his behaviour as she watched and listened. 

Maybe the fact that she payed attention to him like no other, was the reason why he was always pulled towards her. 

Maybe that were the reasons why he always seemed to want to be in her surroundings.

Surroundings he didn’t care about that they were the most colorful things he had seen in years. 

But now everything would be tinted black again. 

The flowers she grew would beginn to wither, just as all the memorys about her would wither. 

And with time - his family would forget about the pain she caused.

With time they also would forget her smile.

A smile that was most often cheery and sweet, seemingly wanting to compete with the sun.

But Azriel would never forget. He would never forget how his heart always seemed to flutter when she smiled at him, like he was no monster of shadows and night. 

But of course it turned out this way.

It had to.

He was a monster - that either way suffocated his family with his feelings, feelings that felt too much, or he would drown them - pulling them down with his lurking presence.

But now, now the monster he was, would get a deserved lashing.

The lashing of Nesta Archeron - the one that loved her flower growing sister more than any male in this world could do.

But Azriel wasn’t afraid anymore of talking to her - he knew how her reaction would be. He also knew that he deserved the words she would shout at him. 

So he would gladly take the lashing.

Still it felt weird to stand infront of the rooten door of the small hut, in wich Nesta and Cassian lived -his scarred hand just slightly hovering above the wood.

No animal dared to howl, no bird dared to sing - every being in the forest was still - afraid of the dark storm lurking above everyones heads, twisting in the morning sky.

Or afraid of the storm that was to come, the storm that was Nestas wrath.

He knew he deserved her fury, but would he be able to see the unbendable Archeron sister cry? 

He already saw Feyre crying over Rhys and now her dead sister. Both were memorys which would hunt him for the rest of eternity, but Nesta was a whole other story.

The oldest Archeron was unbendable and did not even shed a tear when their beloved father died. 

But now was different, she would cry - after all her beloved younger sister died - no, she didn’t just die.

Azriel swollowed hard as he finally knocked on the old door, how would he explain to her what her sister did?

The wind howled around him, the forest leaves rustled nervously, as they too, seemed to wait for the oldest Archeron to open up the door.

Even though he seemed to wait for an eternity, it was still too less time to prepare himself for what was to come.

No hour long flight could quiet down the roaring sound of his mind.

No mother would ever prepare him for what was to happen.

But he chose it to happen, he was the one that decided for the sake of everyone -that he would tell her the sad news. 

The news that would break her surly just as much as it did to him.

Sure it broke Feyre too, as well as Cassian and Rhys, even Amren and Mor, but they all would forget about her sooner or later. 

The kindness of her only a dusted memory in the back of their heads.

But not for Nesta and him.

Nesta would never forget her loving nature, that even drew her to her stubborn older sister when everyone turned their heads away from her, ashamed of her and her behaviour. Fed up with the way she talked. Fed up with how she acted. A fire in every aspect of her immortal life, but she was no kind warm light in the dark that led the way through darkness and cold winter days, no, Nesta was an inferno and everyone was afraid to approach that wild, roaring fire.

Everyone but Elain.

Elain visited her while she packed her stuff for Windhaven, even when she was already in the camp Elain asked Azriel many times if he could maybe fly her there since Rhys nor Feyre wanted to winnow her. Once he did - having pity with her as well as her sister.Elain approached her older sister with the same steeled back as the oldest one, as she tried to talk to her.

But as Nesta now opened the creeking door he was not able to stand straight under the waight of the words that were in the need to be spoken, no pity in his words - only pure and utter sadness.

Words that would break the oldest Archeron again.

He felt sorry for his brother that had to watch his mate suffer again like this, but if they would keep it hidden that her beloved sister commited suicide, she would feel broken and betrayed afterwards. 

Hating her family even more than she did now.

Nesta wanted to snarl at him as she looked through the small slit she opened, but moved aside once she saw his sulking figure, but maybe it was the pure sadness in his eyes that made her shoulders sagg and move. 

Sadness that could not even Feyre have drawn on a painting wall, sadness that was deeper than any root could go.

But he had to pull out that root - at the tip of the root the words attatched he would speak.

The little space inside of the hut made him feel cold - there was no memory attatched to the old wooden walls - well at least no good ones. 

He hated himself for only adding a new bad memory to these walls. 

“What do you want?” cut him Nestas steel hard voice out of his thoughts. She crossed her thin arms over her bony chest. The monthly training helped her gain back a little of her waight, but she still looked like a walking skeleton as she stared him down.

Standing proud next to one of the small old armchairs, like a rock in the tides, but he knew that she would need the seat soon.

Maybe he should sit down too?

Azriel still wasn’t sure of how to start this, but he needed to do it somehow - so he gestured for the armchair - taking a deep breath as he did so.

“You might want to sit down.” he told her in a voice he thought would be strong, but instead his words came out shaky - not able to hide the emotions in them -even after his century long training of selfcontrol.

But Nesta didn’t care - she just stared at him with narrowed eyes and a snarled question on her lips.

“What did I do this time that Feyre send one of her pets out?” 

Azriel ignored her insult -he would probably hear way worse ones as the day would age.

He didn’t want to imagine what the stormy female might throw at him.

Would it be just empty insults for him, hollow like his soul or would they break him even more?

Azriel hated to be in the unclear, but he knew for sure -he deserved every word of hers.

Still it pained his heart to see the older Archeron sister pale as he told her only these three little words. Words that already made her go into a little shock and reach out for the back-lean of the red cushioned armchair.

“It’s about Elain.”

Nestas breath came uneven as she tried to calm herself down, she wasn’t here with her in the steps - was she?

She shook her head at that - the thightly brushed back hairbun in the back of her head not moving an inch. Nesta knew that Elain already tried to visit her once, but Nesta refused her attempted try of re-connection and left her and the shadowsinger in the pouring rain.

Nesta knew that Elain took that gesture close to her heart, like she always did, but she would not give up on her -even though her last visit was quiet some time ago.

She wondered, but almost knew, that her naive little sister chose to become the lover of one of these monsters -that they were now too.

So she sounded a bit too harsh as she answered the shadowsinger “I’m not comming to her wedding!” 

Azriel looked puzzled at her and for just a moment, that was gone in the blink of an eye, sadness crossed those dulled hazel eyes of his.

His answer was only mumbled in a cold tone “If only it would have been that.”

He shook his head, the ink black curls of his hair flowing around him like his shadows, and got back to the topic. 

He looked her dead in the storm of her eyes as he asked “How do you want to know?”

Nesta shrugged only, her hand still gripping the lean thightly, “I have always been for the brutal truth.”

The spymaster nodded - almost hesitantly. 

The steeled female would lie, if she said she didn’t wonder why that was the case, but as soon as he started speeking - something inside her wished she would have never wondered.

“Elain is dead.” were the only three words that were needed to crash her world down. 

Now she knew why the Shadowsinger requested of her to sit. She could barely stand straight, her knees giving in to the waight of the world. Her world that just got lighter with one person less on it - but it still felt like as if the doubled waight was layed on her shoulders.

Her shoulders that only had gotten used to carrying the new fae life. 

Everything came crushing down as she watched how the spymaster lowered his head, inspecting the old floor boards insted of looking at her.

Nesta didn’t know if it was out of respect for her lost, lovely sister or if he was just afraid of looking into her eyes.

Eyes that were a cold raging sea, yet overwhelming with hot tears.

Nesta wanted to sit -so,so badly, but as much as her jelly legs wanted to pull out from underneath her, she didn’t give into them.

Stumbling across the small living room instead - only to grab the Shadowsinger by his collar. 

He was odly calm as her watery eyes scanned over his face - seeing the dark circles under his eyes and the touseled hair were evidences that he tried to somehow come to terms with the new situation too.

She knew deep down he was just as sad as she is, but right now she could not think of that. Nesta could barely believe the words he just said, let alone let any rational thought cross her mind.

Nesta knew it wasn’t his fault, but nothing mattered anymore as she dragged him down by his collar. 

Azriel was at eyes hight with her, but yet he felt like as if he was the little boy from so many centurys ago. Laying on the cold stone floor infront of his cell, his brothers bend over him as they watched and laughed at the little boy burning.

He didn’t let his fear show, but he knew he was about to burn.

Nesta would spit her fire at him and burn him with her firy words. Words that would leave burning marks on his soul instead of his skin.

“What do you mean?! What do you mean by dead?!” she hissed at him.

His heart sped up at that, until now he only spoke the words of Elains death, but never let them reach his heart. His heart that slowly started to ripp apart as he started to realize the meaning of those words.

Azriel swallowed hard, his hands shaking by his sides slightly as he spoke again.

“Nesta, Elain is dead. She had decided to end her life.”

“How did that happen!” yelled Nesta at him, he would have normaly flinched at least a little bit at the sudden change of tone, but he was frozen in place. Registraiting the words barely himself.

“She jumped...” was all he could manage in a whispered voice.

Even though Nestas heart stung a little at the sight of the Shadowsinger -eyes wide as a plate, hands shaking like the leafes outside in the cold autumn breeze, all while his skin looked as white as a wall. She knew he was the last person to be blamed and be angered at, but he was the only one she could let her anger lose at.

Everyone else of their family would not understand her pain like him.

They were both attatched to the fawn, like to no other.

“What do you mean ‘she jumped’!”

“... she jumped off a cliff near the borders of Velaris.” Azriel recited these words for the first time out loud and for the first time - he truly got the meaning of them.

For the first time he got what they ment, for the first time he realized it.

After having repeated them for already hundreds of times in his head, he first got the meaning of them.

She jumped.

Elain jumped.

Into the cold water of the sea.

On the sharp rocks in the tides.

Azriels breath hitched as tears sprung to his eyes. 

Normaly he would have never let that happen. Normaly he would never show any feelings about the situation, but right now -it was just different.

Everything felt too much as he stood so absurdly close to the oldest Archron. The cold and icy iceberg of the three sisters. 

A cold presence that send everyone shivering, but not him. 

Right now it was a pleasent reminder that the world around him was real, a reminder that he existed, but also one that the scenerys that played on his mind  were real. 

Scenerys he would really like to not see.

But it was useless. 

It was useless as he saw Elain how she stepped over the edge. Her gown a light pink cloud that should cushion her fall, but in the end only pulled her closer to the deep grounds beneath the sea, as it got soaked in the water. 

Cold water that seemed to empty itself above his head as Nesta shook him out of his cold thoughts. 

A stormy sea in her eyes a cold greeting. Her voice a hissing snake as she spoke again.

“Why haven’t you done anything?!”

Azriel was quiet - how would he know how to answer her question if he wasn’t aware for himself? 

The spymaster could only shake his head. Nothing but dizzyness found its way into his chest as the oldest Archeron started to chock on her unshed tears. 

It were these sounds that shook him out of whatever trance he was in. 

Making him put a scarred hand on the shaking shoulders of Nesta Archeron.

The one that understood his pain all too well. 

But yet here he was. Still unsure of who he lost and yet so aware of the pain. 

The curses Nesta shouted at him through thick tears and a fist hammering against his heart a constant reminder of reality to him.

That this was no nightmare.

That this was just like his childhood. Only that he slowly started to put up with his childhood. The scars a reminder of darker days, but the people who caused them slowly started to vanish from his mind as he thought about them.

Banishing them in a grave deep, deep in his mind. Away from everything.

But Nestas words would leave his soul wounded for longer than eternity.

Elains death would even hunt him even after his own passing. No sealed grave would put these memorys of her beneath the earth.

Not the prettiest grave would be able to help him heal this time.

Not when a part of his soul died with her. A part that didn’t know who she was.

A part that felt desprate to get to know her more.

A part that jumped with her in the sea and yet was still hurt by Nesta as she continued her thruming against his empty chest.

“Why did you save her from Hybern if you planned to watch her die from the beginning?!”

The little blood Azriel still felt in his veins suddenly went away.

Azriel thought an vanished heart could never hurt, but why was it that he stood here and never felt like as if he had bled more?

________________________________________________________________

“Come on Goldenrod! We almost made it!” cheered Fersia as she motivated her new friend to make the final steps through the thick forest. Already standing at the entrance of her little village as she did so.

Watching how, the in white cloaked figure, started to crawl over an old tree stem clumsyly. “You know instead of cheering you could actually help me!” complained her friend in her sweet, yet annoyed voice, as her cloak got stuck in one of the old branches. 

Fersia wouldn’t had been able to control her laughter as she watched how her little Goldenrod clumsyly stumbeled on the mushy earth next to the stem and started to pull despratly at the white hem that got stuck.

Tumbling from one foot to the other as she tried to find a strong stand - so that she could pull with more force. 

But it only ended with Goldenrod in the mud and a bit of the fabric still caught in the tree.

Fersia started to laugh whole heartedly as she saw how baffled her Goldenrod sat there.

Probably blinking in confusion at the tree stem, since her petite back was turned towards her.

In the end Fersia decided to have for once a good heart and moved to help her. Her old leather boots, that had probably more holes than any old ruin around here , starting to get soaked with the mud her Goldenrod sat in. 

The white color of her cloak surprisingly still white. 

As she reached her sunkissed hand down to grab Goldenrods pale one she couldn’t resist the question after her friend stood. Dusting off dust that wasn’t even there.

“How comes it that your cloak is still white?” 

If Fersia would have seen her face, she was sure her friend looked surprised her way. “Oh? I haven’t told you?” was all she asked in her sweet voice and started to walk towards the village of her tribe. Not even a small brown smear on her white cloak

Liquied honey could turn green from envy at the sound her voice left in her rounded ears. 

But Fersia swollowed that sweet feeling of her voice down and only shook her head.

Goldenrod only turned around and started to walk backwards closer to the huts. The glimps of a happy smile visible under her heavy hood.

“I weaved a spell into the fabric. It protects the cloth from getting dirty and covers up almost my whole scent.”

And indeed as Fersia sniffed the air, she only smelled the pine and the fog of the forest around them. In these strong smells wasn’t even the hint of the lavander smell Goldenrod left wherever she went.

The Illyrian female only rose her eyebrows and tilted her head in respect at the clever female before her and started to run towards Goldenrod.

And before her petite friend knew it-she  threw her arms around her and spun her up in the air. A squeal escaped her pale pink lips as she tried to find a hold on her friend, her delicate pale fingers gripping in slight fear at the shoulder panels of her fighting leathers.

Goldenrod gripped for dear life on them, but got a hold on them and soon started to giggle as her brunet friend spun her round and round. A bright smile on Fersias thin lips as she watched how the wind started to play with Goldenrods hood.

And for the first time in what seemed like ages, did the wind reveal the sweet face of her Goldenrod again. 

Her bright brown eyes sparkling from life as she looked down into Fersias green ones. Both couldn’t contain their laugther as Fersia continued to spin her friend around, watching almost in a trance at how the wind played with Goldenrods hair. Liquied honey all around them as they spun and spun in the forest.

The sun peaking out for the first time in centurys too, to watch how happy Goldenrod was. Making her look, in the brigth sunray that shone down on her laughing form, like as if she were a being of pure light. 

A sunray in the depths of the forest that was covered in dark myths and creaturs since the first milenia. A sunray that would brigthen up all those legends and show the world the real Illyrian woods. 

Fersia knew that her friend would be capable of this, but it would become a great task to acomplish, but she saw and knew of what her Goldenrod was capable of. 

Still the doubt that this task could break her petite friend lingered somewhere in her head. Screaming at her that she shouldn’t have taken Goldenrod away like that and shouldn’t have brought such danger upon her, but all those thoughts somehow quieted down and faded away at the bell like sound that left Goldenrods mouth. 

Fersia only smiled brigther and spun her even more around. 

Her Goldenrod would truly become the light of the forest, after all she managed to creep her light into one of the most fiercest creaturs around here.

But about that Fersia didn’t want to think just now. Right now she just wanted to dance in the sunshine with her Goldenrod.

Not aware of the fact, if Goldenrod was the sunshine or the brigth ray around them, but for now Fersia decided that Goldenrod was the sunshine.

Her hair a curtian of liquied honey around them and her eyes a brigth light leading the century old, cold hearted female out into the world.

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Taglist (please tell me if you want to be tagged):

@tanaquilpriscilla​   @generousfanfan @hail-doodles​ @courtofjurdan​ @classywastelandpirate​ 

[erikdragon]

Color Me In

When: June 25th Pride Parade day Warning: cute gay shit Written in discord with @angelseth

Erik didn't sleep. He didn't have to, not after staying asleep for centuries on end, but that night he let himself be lulled by Seth's steady breath to a state of semi consciousness, a hazy and comfortable space. 

He didn't realize when he sun sneaked into the sky, taken by surprise when ray of sunlight warmed his foot. The dragon had the angel in his arms, tangled with the soft white sheets when he opened his eyes, staring up at the glass wall. He had half a mind to wake Seth up, the view was stunning, but one look down to his face was enough to decide against him. He looked so peaceful, with his soft freckles across his cheeks and his parted lips, Erik didn't have the heart to disturb him. So instead he let his thumb rub against his hipbone, tracing circles over the soft skin.

Everything that had happened in the past weeks was not close at all to anything that Seth had ever experienced before. He was amazed at playing human. He enjoyed it to no end, but he had never felt anything similar to this in is over a hundred years and he was honest, it was a tad scary, but still, he wanted to get immersed in it and find out if this was what humans always bragged about and what his cherub siblings always talked about. Waking up next to Erik was something unexplainable. Seth was unable to say why he had even fallen asleep when it was not a common practice to hum even if his vessel did need some rest from time to time. But the calmness and warmth the dragon had brought into his life made it too easy to feel more and more human. The kisses and touches had gone from chaste to heated but still on a safe territory for him and he wondered if it was Erik’s reason to keep him untainted from Lust. Either way, it was soothing to feel the dragon’s soft touches. Especially in moments like this when he was on the verge of waking up. The Grigori smiled and flickered his eyes open gently as he stirred and shifted closer, “I fell asleep on you again,” the words came in a soft whisper as h licked his lips, “I should cook breakfast as an apology, shouldn’t I?”

Erik smiled at the sight of Seth stirring awake, he looked too adorable not to. There was a chuckle rumbling in his chest when Seth started talking and Erik ran his fingers through the angel's hair, fondly pushing the few lost strands off of his eyes "Nope" Erik whispered back, stretching himself out before pulling him closer and wrapping his arm back around him "You're not leaving this bed for at least ten more minutes, no chance" he hummed, locking eyes with him "Nice sleep?"

The involuntary smile painted on Seth's face was one of the few unexplainable things that kept on happening around Erik and he was enjoying it far too much for it to be allowed, but the angel didn’t want to worry about that too much. One of the Grigori’s hand moved to press it over the dragon’s chest, feeling his heartbeat under his fingers as their eyes locked, “Are you not hungry?” the question came still in a very soft murmur, “It was a nice sleep, yes, but I am ashamed of how easy it is turning into a bad habit to fall asleep in you. My vessel must be quite tired. Or very relaxed around you.”

Erik made a funny face, as if he was pondering the option "Maybe a little, but it can wait a while. One should never mess with things like fire right after waking up, that can be dangerous" he teased with a smirk "I'm sure they covered that I'm chef school?" The dragon joked, feeling Seth’s hand pressed right over his scar, a shiver running through his spine. Oh that could end so bad. "I like to think it's the later. If it makes you feel any better, you weren't the only sleepy one." The hilarity on the angel’s face was obvious, “Are you talking about cooking, or about yourself?” Seth questioned humorously. The shiver didn’t go unnoticed for the young angel and a light frown crossed his features, “Are you okay?” the concern sounding clear on the tone of his voice. “I would like to think so as well. One day I will ask him,” it was a promise since from time to time, Seth did get to talk to his vessel to make sure he was okay. “I thought you said you didn’t need to sleep after a long slumber.”

Erik let out a surprised bubbly laugh at that question "I was talking about a stove, but I mean... You're not wrong.  So for future reference:" he was chuckling, pulling Seth closer to kiss his lips "If you're handling me after waking up, treat lightly" he joked, nuzzling his neck "I'm fine, nothing to worry your pretty head about" the dragon dismissed it, not wanting to burst their bubble with things like his heart or traumatic past. "Well, then tell him I said hey - and complimented him on his tattoos, great choice" he smiled "I don't need to, but you were comfy" the dragon laughed "So, I hear there's a parade going on today."

It brought a nice feeling to be the causing of that laugh. The best part is that it was contagious so Seth laughed too, “I am being careful,” the angel said impishly as he let his fingertips to trace up from the dragon’s chest to his cheek as he leaned in to press their lips together in second chaste kiss. As much as Erik asked him not to worry, it was part of Seth’s personality to worry for those who had become important in his life and Erik had become very important in so little time. “I will make sure to tell him that, I will have to let him know about you. Sometimes I share some memories with him and he does with me,” the Grigori explained. “I’m glad you believe so, it would be very awkward if it was not,” the smile was back. “Yes, yes there is. It is to celebrate pride month. I usually work today and bake colorful cupcakes on the store to give them away, but I decided not to this year and to join the festivities,” Seth explained as he propped himself up on his arm, “Are you going to celebrate too?”

Erik chuckled, lifting his hand to a stray lock of his hair. Fuck, that smile. "Oh, so you're going to share memories of us with him? Now I feel important." He teased, though it was the truth. It was like someone telling their best friend about you, it felt nice. "Well, I am a dragon, pride is half of my personality" he joked with a chuckle "And I do love a festival, so... But remind me again, what are we prideful of?"

Seth shook his head, “No, not of us. Only some memories I have of you, when we met so he knows who I’m talking about, “ the angel cleared out. Erik had a very valid point, Seth knew how prideful dragons were so it made sense but it still amused him the way he said it, “You are aware that same sex couples had been frowned upon among humans for a long time, aren’t you? It has been a few years since people stopped hiding and being hunted because of their sexual preferences and that is why they celebrate being proud of being who they are, no matter who they love and to be loud about equality.”

Erik smirked "So you talk about me, huh?" he preened, then let out a surprised "Oh!" before smiling again "So it's like a gay parade? That sounds like so much fun! I was never really into human politics, things were a little more lax when you were at sea, but I've heard awful stories of land. I wonder how these festivals are nowadays. I bet you have to sign up for it online, don't you?" He groaned, grumpy "There's always an online aspect for stuff nowadays." he rolled his eyes before looking back at the angel "Do people go to these festivities with their dates?"

“No, I have not talked to Josh in a while. I do it every few months or so, but I hadn’t done it yet this time,” and then Seth noticed he had used his vessel’s name for the first time in front of someone. He never did that for the safety of his vessel’s life. For a moment, the angel got serious and nervous. He trusted Erik, he honestly did, but that had been a major slip that should not have happened. The excitement from the dragon at the mention of the gay parade was enough to distract him and bring his mind back into the previous conversation, “Yes, yes, a gay parade is a good way to describe it,” the Grigori agreed. “No, no there is no need to sign up, we can just go there and I suppose people do bring their dates. This will be the first time I attend. I supported it differently the past years.”

"Josh?" He asked, grinning and propping himself on his elbows to give him a better look. "It's a nice name, suits this face" he said gently running his fingers along his cheek "We should go together" he said simply, his voice much softer, vulnerable. He wasn't used to not knowing if people would tell him yes or no "If you don't have other plans, that is. We could keep your tradition, bake... whatever it is you bake, and then go to this party" he pushed Seth's hair off his face "If you'd like to join me, that is?"

“You seem to like him a lot,” Seth ribbed this time as he leaned into the touch. Now he wondered if Erik would be so interested if his vessel was another one. Perhaps he would ask the dragon, but not now. The angel only wanted to enjoy this for a little longer. “I would like that, yes,” his answer quick and honest. He could sense the uncertainty coming off in waves from Erik and Seth did not like it. He only hoped the dragon could see the eagerness of spending time together was mutual. “We do not need to bake. I would much rather walk around and enjoy the festivities with you. It could be a nice mundane first experience for both of us to share.”

Erik chuckled at that "Jealous?" he hummed, pulling the angel in for a soft kiss "I like you a lot" he corrected, then smiled when Seth accepted his invitation. "That sounds like an amazing plan" the dragon grinned before playfully rolling them around so he could hover over Seth with a smirk, pinning him in place "The only flaw of it is the part where you leave this bed."

A frown tarnished the Grigori’s expression and there was confusion in his eyes, “I do not know how jealousy feels like,” Seth admitted. Learning the vast range of human emotions and experiencing them was a very different thing. Seth had learned a lot in his years as a human but had never gotten attached enough to feel something like love or jealousy. It confused him why Erik found it amusing when he knew it was a feeling normally perceived as negative. That cloud of confusion was quickly removed from his head when the dragon hovered over him and looked at him in such a way. It was beguiling, “I could always share my bed with you tonight if you wish so,” the angel offered as both hands moved to cup Erik’s face.

Erik perked with interest, an almost unbelieving smile on his lips. It was fascinating to see the angel figure things like this out "It feels... warm, but a wrong kind of warm. Like you have an itch that you can only scratch when you get someone's attention back to you" he tried to explain "Which you have, by the way. My attention" he added. The dragon arched an eyebrow at the offer, leaning instinctively his cheek against his hands "How forward of you, inviting me to your bed when the sun has barely awoken" he chuckled, loved the idea. "So we're going to your place after the festival, is that what I'm hearing?"

The frown remained as Seth tried to understand what Erik explained. What he had felt and the way he had worded his question had not been led by the sentiment Erik just described, “It was not jealousy,” his voice soft, “I am not sure what it was, but it did not feel the way you said it,” Seth explained. Hearing he had Erik’s attention did break another feeling he was growing acquaintance with. The concept of feeling butterflies for someone was foreign and unreal, but now he understood it and liked it more than he would express. “I assumed that would be a good compromise since you seem so reluctant of me leaving your bed,” there was a slight tilt of the angel’s head, “Only if you wish so.”

"Well then it wasn't jealousy" he shrugged it off "It makes me wonder though, what are you feeling right now" the dragon smirked at his next words, leaning down to properly crowd over him, pressing their chests together, his elbows against the mattress on each side of Seth's head "I'm reluctant of letting you go" he corrected, bumping their noses together "But the prospect of a day with you is an acceptable compromise."

Erik was very hard to predict. It was probably because he was not human and Seth had only learned not predict human nature. Dragons were impulsive and the angel was aware, but he had never imagined this much. Those words as simple and innocent as it sounded had Seth’s heart racing and the blood rush to his cheeks as he eyes looked down and the corners of his lips showed a nervous smile, “I am feeling too much to describe at the moment, but I can assure you there is not a pinch of ill sentiments,” the angel promised as his blue eyes returned to those dark ones. “You will have to let go of me for a short moment so we can properly repair for the parade,” Seth pointed in a matter-of-fact voice. “Will you not get bored of being around me for so long?”

Seth blushing and stumbling to put his feelings into words was one of the most adorable sights the dragon had seen. "In that case, I'm glad" he said with a smile before pressing their lips together and murmuring against his lips with a knowing smile "That's your cue to take a breath before your heart burst out of your chest." The reminder got him faking a sigh and he rolled off Seth and onto the floor, sliding off the mattress as graciously as possible, getting to his feet "I'm going to need some directions though, I have no idea what kind of outfit is appropriated for the parade" he said before laughing "Oh you could stay for the week and I doubt I'd get bored, love" he smiled brightly before moving away from his bed, purposefully so he wouldn't climb back in "You have ten seconds before I give up on the parade and decide to just hold you hostage in that bed"

Seth was realizing how difficult it was to follow Erik’s line of thoughts or his actions. The constant teasing and flirting were slightly overwhelming but the angel was liking it very much. And those kisses! The Grigori never expected a kiss to feel like that. There was a smile when they broke apart even if his eyes stayed closed for a heartbeat, “Can you hear it?” Seth questioned, “And if that happens it would be dangerous, then why are you so smug about it?” the tease implicit in his words.

Erik letting himself fall to the floor to give Seth some space was the most amusing thing the angel had witnessed so far, “You did not have to do that,” the pout was back as Seth sat up on the mattress. “You only need to be comfortable. The rainbow colors are appreciated, but not mandatory. Some people like to show a lot of skin, some others do not. There is no wrong dress code for this,” The Grigori assured. “I want to believe you, but I do not think it is possible not to get bored of spending so much time with one person,” it was a foreign thought for the angel. “No, please, I am ready to make breakfast and then I will have to leave but we can meet at my apartment in a couple of hours if that is okay,” Seth was already on his feet looking for his discarded clothes.

Erik chuckled at his words, nodding with a smirk "Clear as day" he answered gently before another chuckle "Well because I put that drumming in there, I'm proud of it." Thinking for a little while, Erik pouted "I don't think I have anything rainbow" he complained before smirking "I bet you're one of those who walk around parading all those tattoos, showing every inch of skin you cover every day, don't you?" He joked, because clearly Seth was the opposite. Watching him gather his clothes, Erik leaned down, grabbing one of his socks and stretching his arm offering it "You’re saying you'd get bored of me? I'm wounded, babe." “Are you trying to give my vessel a heart attack?” Seth question with a perfectly practiced serious expression that he did not mean at all and the smile at the end was what gave the angel away. “You do seem to enjoy the reactions you are getting out of me,” Seth stated, “It makes me wonder if you too enjoy the reactions I get from you.”

As he put on his shirt, Seth smiled, “I am sure you will look amazing no matter what you decide to wear,” the angel insisted, and then a bubbly clear laugh slipped from his lips, “I am not sure that goes with my personality, nor Josh’s. I do try to wear something tamer for this,” he did not mention he already had his outfit at his apartment, but Erik would probably guess it by now. The angel took the sock and shook his head, “That is not at all what I meant. I am only saying that I do not believe someone would like to be around me for that long time.” The dragon laughed with an arched brow "Not at all, just like to keep you on your toes" he teased "What reactions do you think you get from me?" He said watching the man move, a pout when he saw him covering those gorgeous tattoos with a shirt.

The laugh got him smiling though, he really liked the sound "Oh so I get a special view then, got it" he licked his lips "Then you'll just need to give me the opportunity to prove you wrong, won't you?"

The angel certainly had grown fonder of Erik’s laugh. He liked seeing that smile lit up his face and the clear ring of his laugh, “You do keep me on my toes for many reasons,” Seth murmured coyly as he moved closer to the dragon and in fact stood on his toes to be able to press a kiss on the taller man’s lips. “I am not quite sure yet, but I am aware there are good reactions, otherwise you would not invite me into your home nor bed anymore.”

Seth wasn’t sure how to answer that. There were few others that the Grigori had laid in bed half-naked with, and as much as he would like Erik to know that. The angel was still being careful to what this between them meant, “I suppose you do for now,” were his only words, the smile clear on his face and voice. “It was not a challenge; it was merely a comment. You do not have to do anything you do not want, Erik.”

Erik chuckled, arching a teasing brow, and then laughing when Seth kissed him. By getting on his actual toes. The dragon held the angel by his hips, keeping him close and leaning down to make it last just a moment longer "Yes, yes, but you don't have to worry your little halo about it, your invitation to my bed is still open" he hummed, then grinned "Oh, you couldn't make me do anything I don't want, love. If I'm spending time with you it's for the sole selfish reason that yes, I want to" and with that he sneaked his hands under his shirt, pulling him in for a claiming kiss for good measure.

Having the dragon keep him close to his warm body certainly caused Seth to feel those butterflies again, “I am glad to hear so, I must admit I do enjoy sharing your bed a lot,” the admission so open that it even surprised Seth himself. The words and kiss were very welcome and the angel let his hands slid from Erik’s naked chest to his neck and into his hair as they kiss. He could tell thing would get heated if they didn’t break apart so reluctantly, he broke apart with a sigh, “If we keep that going, we will not have a proper breakfast.”

Erik hummed "Who'd have thought a mattress on the floor would be my favorite, huh?" he teased with a smirk. The dragon shivered once again when the angel slid his hands up, brushing that x scar ever so slightly. The hand on his hair made him let out a soft moan, and Erik swallowed thickly after the kiss, nodding, and respectfully letting go of his hips, taking a step back "As much as I want to say fuck it to that breakfast, we have plans. And I do want to see you in your element" he took a step closer again, running his fingers gently through Seth's hair, pushing it back "Come on, food awaits."

“It could easily be everyone’s favorite. It is very comfortable and the setting is quite nice,” Seth’s words true and unaware of is Erik meant something different than just the comfortableness of his bed. The sounds falling from the dragon’s lips caused the angel to shiver. It was a reaction he was learning to understand but as with everything that came from Erik, Seth was enjoying it quite a lot. Their breakfast flew by and soon it was time for the Grigori to go back to his apartment to get ready. An hour later, Erik was picking him up so they could go find a nice spot on the main street to watch the parade. Seth was wearing something simple and not too revealing as others on the street. The black cap with the rainbows stripes covering his messy hair and protecting him from the sun. Erik on the other hand was all in black and he was certainly lacking some colors for the festivity, “Would you mind if I try something to get you in a more festive tone?”

Erik was annoyed when he was left alone. He soon realized his closet has mainly consisted of whites and browns and blacks for the past five hundred years of so. Pride seemed to be all about color, but he didn't have any to wear, so instead he focused on looking good and black seemed a nice option. Plus, those leather pants made his butt look really nice.

Seth looked absolutely adorable though and Erik decided that hats suited him. "You look great" he said simply with a smile, then tilted his head to the side curiously at the request "Well, be my guest, love" the dragon answered with a grin, arms open "What do you have in mind?"

“Thank you, Erik, you do look nice too, but I believe a splash of color would help,” and his smile got brighter when he got the dragon’s permission to try something. The angel raised a finger as if indicating the taller man to wait there as he turned around and walked to one of the small stands and talked to the seller. Then he came back with a face crayon with the colors of the flag, “I will need you to lean down for a bit. You are quite tall for me to reach,” Seth said in a soft voice. Once Erik did as he was asked, the angel uncapped the crayon and drew a simple line on Erik’s cheek right above the line of his beard, “There it is! Just enough color,” he beamed proudly at his work of art.

Erik hummed, watching him move. He was chuckling when he leaned down, closing his eyes when Seth held his face still with gentle fingers to draw that line. He had a smile when he opened his eyes back up again "Am I officially in the theme now?" he asked, standing straight again turning around to check himself in the reflection of a parked car nearby. "I like it" he stated, turning back with a grin reaching for the angel's hand to pull him closer "Where to now?"

“Yes, you are,” Seth assured as he capped the crayon and put it in his pocket. The angel was glad to see the dragon honestly approved the silly idea he had to give him some color according to the theme. Even if their mood was light and playful, Seth was not expecting much physical contact in public, therefore he was somewhat surprised when Erik took his hand and pulled him closer. His hand squeezing Erik’s for a moment as he looked up and smiled, “We need to find a nice spot to be able to watch the parade. It will be easy for you with your height, I would need to get closer to the front.”

Erik noticed the man's reaction when he was pulled closer, waiting to see if it would be okay, but the smile he got pushed any question away. "Well" he said "I could always hold you on my shoulders" the dragon smirked, leaning in to say in his ear so the passersby wouldn't hear it "I'd never say no to the opportunity of having your legs around my neck, love, even if it's outside the bedroom" he licked his lips pulling back with a shit eating grin.

Just as Seth was about to decline the offer with the argument that he was probably heavier than he looked like, Erik decided to lean closer and tease him with those suggestive words that only caused the blush on his cheeks to increase to levels he didn’t remember seeing on his vessel’s face. The angel almost choked on his breath and stopped his mind from wandering to form images that would match those words as he looked at Erik and shook his head, “Are you trying to make red my permanent color? You should not tease me with those things. Especially in public,” the angel reprimanded playfully.

Erik basked in the view he got, the smirk now glued to his face "You did mention people were colorful for the parade" he joked, then licked his lips, eyes locked with the angel's "But doing it in public is so much fun" he teased again, knowing full well how dirty that sounded before chuckling and pulling him by the hand. He stopped by the street where the parade was going, somehow managing a nice spot up front where he wrapped his arms around Seth and held him close, the angel's back pressed against his chest so they both could watch the people pass by "Oh wow, you weren't kidding when you said people were colorful!"

Seth only shook his head, unable to stop smiling at how easily the dragon was teasing and getting him all flushed and a little bothered. “You are terrible,” were the angel’s only words as he let Erik pull him by the hand until they found a good spot. It would be impossible for the angel to deny how nice this was, having those arms wrapping around him from behind as he unconsciously leaned back slightly against Erik’s chest, feeling his warmth and heartbeat steady against him. The feeling waking inside of him was still mostly unknown but it was very pleasant. The Grigori looked over his shoulder and smiled, “I did mention it. It is very joyful,” and without hesitation, he placed both his hands on top of Erik’s as he turned back his attention to the parade.

It was certainly a new experience. They danced to the music of the parade here and there, commented on what they were seeing and even got some people in the colorful floats yelling about how adorable they looked. He enjoyed having Seth with him, even just knowing he was at arm's reach was enough to keep that stupid heart in his chest at peace. It was late now and he wasn't sure how long it's been since they arrived, but he could see the sun setting behind the angel's head as he offered him an ice cream cone, keeping one for himself "So. Twenty-four hours with me. Are you bored?" He asked teasingly, taking a bite of his ice cream.

This year’s pride parade was for sure the best Seth had so far. In the past years, he had fun and he enjoyed making people smile when he gifted them decorated cupcakes and cookies. He enjoyed seeing the happy couple walk around hand in hand with a big smile and real pride on their faces. Love could be felt in the air but this time, with him being somehow part of those couples. Having someone to share it with, was something he would cherish a lot. The angel was normally smiley, but he couldn’t remember another time when he had smiled this much. 

He accepted the ice cream cone and pretended to think over his answer, “Absolutely not. I must admit there had been the best twenty-four hours I’ve had in a long time,” the angel admitted as he reached to tentatively take Erik’s free hand, “Thank you,” Seth’s words spoken in a gentle tone, “Are we going back to my apartment, or would you rather me escort you to your place?” he asked coyly, clearly remembering how he had promised to share his bed with the dragon the next time they spend the night together.

Erik loved to hear those words, a smile on his face as he rubbed Seth's hand with his thumb "I'm glad to hear that. That was a very different date, but... yeah, I think one of the best" he agreed, then the dragon grinned "Are you offering your services as an escort to me, love?" he teased with a smirk before softening his tone "Wanna go for the 48h mark?"

Seth’s heart fluttered inside his chest at the admission from dragon. It was good to hear they both had felt as comfortable on this unplanned date. “Are you always going to turn my words against me?” the angel asked with an infrequent pout before giving his ice cream an innocent lick. “Only of you think you would be okay spending that many hours with me.” 

Erik decided he really liked that view, Seth smiling. "Are you always going to make it that easy?" he teased back with a smile of his own before stepping closer and letting go of his hand. "I think I'd like that a lot" he almost whispered before raising his hand to cup his jaw and kissing his pout away.

[shadowgeist-stars]

Vitam et Mortem: Divine Pride

A small gift for Pride Month before June ends. I probably should've come up with this earlier, but hey, I hope you enjoy it regardless.

Bridget had wanted to show Emily her new favorite part of June for years since they first began. After all the time they spent together for the last five or six centuries, she found it quite fun to introduce the otherwise reclusive Mother Nature to all the things she otherwise ignored among the mortals.

But this particular celebration wasn't just a joyous occasion for herself. Many lost spirits and even deities from all over the world rejoiced at the celebration of their own way of love and life.

From the gods of ancient Mesopotamia, to the far-flung rainbow serpents of Australia, to the hidden deities in China and Japan, to Bridget's own neighboring Loas and other divine friends in the Americas. The jubilee expressed by the immortals could only be matched, let alone surpassed, by that of the humans. Finally, all of the unfortunate people who lost themselves for the sake of their own hearts wouldn't have died in vain. All of the poor children close to that edge had something to look forward to.

"Come on, Emily, it's this way!" she called, leading her companion by the hand. "I promise you'll love it!"

Mother Nature chuckled, following the winged girl as quickly as she could. "This is the most excited I've seen you in the past few centuries. Have you met another holiday spirit?"

Bridget shrugged. "Not exactly. But I think you'll especially love it. It can't be much further now."

They stopped when they reached a crowd of people down the road.

Marching through the street was a parade of celebration. Flags of many bright color combinations littered the area. Some were blue, purple and pink. Some were pastel pink and blue and white. But a great many of the flags and all-encompassing banners -- and there were so, so many of them -- were all the colors of the rainbow.

"Bridget, my dear… what on Earth is this?"

Before her eyes, the rainbow painted itself over Bridget's otherwise black cloak. Strips of each color encircled her long cloak in luminous, vibrant hues. Shades of deep bright pink and fiery red orange sought out her shoulder cape, imitating one of the proudly-waving flags in the parade with black between each stripe. Emily soon learned exactly what it meant, as many couples in the parade embraced one another without fear or shame.

"It's a celebration of people like us," the redhead explained, no less than sheer jubilee on her face. "You once showed me how many animals are able to love in the same way we do. And according to the older gods, mortals who were the same way never had such a chance to be themselves since before the Dark Ages. Now that they have that chance again… isn't it beautiful?"

Emily did remember showing her all that. From birds of all kinds to various cats and other mammals to even insects and fish, and a whole lot more. The colors around her and the light in Bridget's eyes and all over her cloak… it truly was a sight to behold.

"It's wonderful," she replied simply. "Absolutely gorgeous. I've never seen anything like it."

They joined the parade like it was the most natural thing in the world. Following families and children greeted the two, as did many more immortals who began to appear. The children were laughing and dancing together with the other immortals, sporting their own flags.

"Lovely day for a parade, ladies," greeted a man in a multicolored tribal outfit framed with various flowers. "I'm certain I saw someone handing out Sapphic flags. Just watch for the usual, ahem… intruders."

"Thanks so much, Xochipilli," Bridget thanked the stranger. "I'm sure Emily would love that."

He smiled. "Never thought I'd see the day that the infamous Mother Nature would appear here. I'll tell the others; all of your Loa friends are bound to be nearby, and they'll love hearing about this."

Emily was confused by the names. "Who was he talking about?"

"My Voodoo-related associates," Bridget explained. "Many of them like both men and women, so they'll almost definitely be sporting pink-purple-and-blue flags like those over there. Though it takes a trained eye to know who’s who with the outfits they wear.

“Xochipilli is Aztec, and one of the few gods in that group with a decent amount of common sense. Back in his hayday, he was the god of games, the arts, and flowers, as well as the patron of people like a lot of the mortals here. Really nice guy, but I wish I could say the same about some of his friends.”

Emily chuckled. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Are there others like the ones you mentioned?”

The redhead nodded. “Lots of others, all over the world. They’re all probably having a blast at parades on their home turf just like this one. Oh look, there’s the flag Xochi was talking about!”

The flag in question was actually quite darling. It had two pastel pink stripes around one that was white, with a pretty little violet directly in the center. The person beside the girl handing such flags out was handing out flowers of all kinds.

Bridget went for the flower person, taking a violet before flying up to plant it above Emily’s ear, adding on a kiss on the cheek.

The swell of warmth in her chest from the gesture caused the violet to spread into a crown on her head.

The Grim Reaper giggled. “Now it looks even prettier. It suits you!”

Emily sighed at her reaction, but eventually couldn’t help a smile. At least until she noticed the white-robed and white-winged people hovering above a different crowd. They glared at the celebration as they stood guard over the yelling people holding some… rather rude signs.

Her beloved noticed her expression. “What’s wrong?” Bridget followed her gaze, lifting off the ground a little for a better view.

Angels. And a whole lot of their own downline.

“Oh, for the love of vultures…” she muttered under her breath as she pulled her scythe out of her shadow. “Ignore them, Em. They should know by now that they can’t do much of anything without getting people upset.”

“Is that… normal of them?” asked the dark-haired woman.

“Very,” the redhead replied with a sigh, leading Emily away from the protestors. “Their minions love to say that living the way we do isn’t natural and that it’s corrupting their children. All because they like to listen to the one who commands those angels. We just call them the usual intruders. I think I’ve already told you how troublesome they are to my fellow death spirits.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” She noticed how the blade of Bridget’s scythe shined with iridescent colors. “Hm, even your weapon appears to have gotten into the spirit of the celebration.”

“There’s a reason for that, actually.” With a snap of her fingers, Bridget unveiled a slew of visiting wandering souls in the broad daylight. So many of them floated around in groups, like the other immortals in the parade had called them here. Many bore dark scars that only occurred among souls who sought their own destruction in life. “These are all of the people in just this area who lived the same way as all of these mortals, in worlds that didn’t allow them, or hearts that no longer wanted to beat.”

Emily gazed upon each spirit, seeing the joy and peace on each and every spectral face in the procession. “This is far more than the joy of the living... it’s also a comfort for the dead.”

Bridget could see the angels daringly lean towards the ghosts from above their followers, and firmly tapped her scythe against the ground. All of the ghosts turned their attention to the Reaper, and to those she glared at. The protesters faltered, as if perhaps they had seen her standing there. Either way, they knew better than to test an emissary of death with her albeit passive army, so she’d count that much as a win. So did the ghosts, who peacefully returned to their own mingling.

Fingers found their way into soft, owlish feathers. “Where did you learn that trick?”

Bridget’s smile returned with a chuckle. “The Valkyries have shown me how they command their soldiers a few times. Angels are a pretty popular overarching reason as to why the ghosts around here have perished. It's just a matter of setting off the alarm. They know better than to trust what killed them."

A couple of the children seemed more than a bit intimidated by the parade's protesters, regardless of their dropping momentum. "Come with me, Em. Forget the angels and their little friends. This is a time for celebration."

Mother Nature was quite willing to comply, her leaf-bearing winds gently guiding the children away from the scary people like large, caring hands. As they went on with the parade, the two eventually grew more cheerful again. More immortals dropped by to meet them, such as Nibo, one of the Loas Bridget mentioned earlier; Oua Oua, a higher-ranking Loa who led the children, also said hello. Several "Voodoo" figures made appearances, really, and all of them offered nothing but coos and congratulations.

It certainly made it a far more lively experience than Burning Man, where they usually wandered about largely unseen. But oddly enough, it wasn't quite unpleasant. Emily enjoyed meeting so many wonderful divine friends. Seeing Bridget's multicolored stripes grow brighter, and her hair shining in the sun like fire, against eyes so pale silver in the daylight they almost looked pure white, was a simply mesmerizing experience.

Near the end of the parade, Emily had discovered a work of art made entirely from flowers; an entire wall of words shaped with roses of every color. Red, orange, yellow, green, even blue and purple. She used her power to grow out a bouquet of separate lavender roses, with a little help from Xochipilli. After which she gently wove each flower into Bridget's lovely wings and hair, pale and beautiful against her bright red locks and dark gold feathers. Bridget was delighted at the gift; something she knew Emily would most certainly do.

"Now you look even prettier,” she said warmly, parroting the reaper's words. “It suits you.”

The look she got in response was so full of affection… Emily could feel it taking something else from her chest aside from her breath. Bridget floated to her eye level, cupping the taller spirit's face between her hands.

"I think you deserve a thank-you for it."

With that, she leaned in for a kiss.

Emily’s heart filled with a familiar, welcoming fire at the soft and warm touch of Bridget’s lips, yet entirely new and exciting. A wild and joyful tune, yet sung in the tone of a lullaby. Miniature earthquakes rattled through her body, and she felt like she was floating. Her hands started flexing and lifting up on instinct, until they dug into the soft down between the reaper’s shoulders, pulling her closer. The flower-decorated wings swung low, the ends of the joints resting on her sides.

A moment meant to last forever.

“Ah, young love. Truly a beautiful thing.”

“It’s like something straight out of those romantic fairy tales.”

The two voices startled the two from their reverie. Bridget sank to the ground with a face as red as her hair; given the fiery heat that went from her heart to her face, Emily probably wasn’t much better.

“Lundy! Limba! You ruined the moment!” scolded Èrzulie Dantòr, batting the two men away with dark-skinned hands. “Out, out, and away, boys, before you ruin their mood any more! Shoo!”

Bridget giggled at the sight of the Loas. “I take it you enjoyed that, Emily?”

Mother Nature cleared her throat, smiling down at her sheepishly. “I suppose I did. Though I… can’t say I expected to… Will there be other parades like this in the future?”

“Of course!” She took her hand as they prepared to return to the realm they shared. “It’s an entire month out of every year that celebrations just like this will occur. Why? Do you want to go to another one?”

Emily chuckled, mustering the courage to kiss the top of her head. “Perhaps…”

To see such colors like those still lingering on the Grim Reaper’s cloak… To feel such childlike glee she hadn’t experienced in millennia… Mother Nature could hardly wait for the next adventure outside of her fog.