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moonsofmars-writes · 4 years ago

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The seed of a promise

Fandom: 七つの大罪 - 鈴木央 | Nanatsu no Taizai | The Seven Deadly Sins - Suzuki Nakaba (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Diane & Fairy King Harlequin Characters: Fairy King Harlequin, Diane, Ludociel, Gerheade, Helbram, Elaine Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, War, Death, Blood and Injury, Nothing is graphic, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Hopeful Ending, Pre-Relationship

Summary: In a world where the Holy War didn’t end with Elizabeth and Meliodas, where Mael never became Estarossa, a final battle has just been fought.

The Holy War is finally over.

As the victors gather and the vanquished are chased and finished, the young Fairy King tries to find a way to prevent yet another tragedy - and ends up finding an ally in an unexpected place.

Notes: I've been wondering for a while what would have happened if Gowther's plan hadn't worked and Demons and Goddesses had kept fighting and this is what I managed to come up with! Since it's me, King and Diane are also here - with a whole lot of drama.

Please, enjoy!

There is blood on his hands and his clothes, on his wings and his hair. It makes his jacket heavy and his skin unpleasantly slick. Harlequin can’t bring himself to care right now.

The battle is over, yet he keeps flying over the field, eyes darting from a corpse to the other, studying the survivors as they make their way through the craters and bodies that cover the ground. Most of them walk silently, looking around as if they just woke up from a dream; others are frantic and turn their heads left and right, calling out names and getting no answer.

Harlequin doesn’t call but still searches. The knot in his stomach starts loosening only when he finally catches a glimpse of Elaine on the ground, standing among some human soldiers, alive and apparently unarmed. He is too distant to see her expression when she looks up at him, but he can read her heart as she can read his and what he reads is relief and exhaustion and grief. Later, when they’ll be home, they’ll find each other to whisper words of loss and comfort, or maybe they’ll just rest together, shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand, as they did when they were younger. Right now, they both have other matters to take care of.

Minutes later, Helbram waves at him, a tired grin on his face. He is floating over the remains of a burned tree surrounded by a group of Fairies, to whom he soon returns to give orders. Harlequin doesn’t approach them and heads forward, feeling relieved that his best friend is fine. He knows he can leave this part to him; after all, Helbram has been his first in command for years. He knows perfectly how to handle the aftermath of a battle.

Gerheade is the next. His advisor looks tired, there is a cut on her cheek and bruises on her left arm, but the purple blood staining her dress isn’t hers. “We are still not sure about the number,” she says after a quick bow. They have done this countless times before, and she knows exactly what he wants to know. “For now, the reports indicate that more than five hundred have fallen. The wounded we have found are being taken care of by the Goddesses. I’ll personally check how many won’t be able to fly back on their own.”

Harlequin nods, clasping his hands behind his back. More than five hundred have died today. He expected a high number, considering that they have battled for hours; he still feels sick. More than five hundred Fairies won’t return to the Fairy King’s Forest alive, five hundred people who trusted him, followed him, and he failed to protect. Deep down, he knows it could have gone worse. If they had lost this battle, he doubts many would have left the field alive, and their home would have been next. Had they lost here, his entire Clan would have eventually been wiped away by the enemy.

Still. Five hundred. He swallows hard and sighs, “Give the order to gather the bodies. We are taking them home.”

Gerheade frowns, a question on her lips, but she holds it back when she meets his eyes. “As you wish, my king.” They have never collected such a large amount of bodies from the battlefield, and it will take hours to find them all and bring them back to the Fairy King’s Forest. It doesn’t matter. He couldn’t protect them, but this doesn’t mean he will abandon them. They deserve this, at least.

His next task is a little more bothersome but necessary. Tomorrow morning there will be an official meeting for the leaders of Stigma, but he doesn’t want to leave before checking on the Goddesses.

Read on AO3

As he flies, Harlequin’s gaze turns to the east. That’s where the Demons came from, where the Demon King opened a portal from the Demon Realm to bring most of his army to Britannia. He is fairly sure that the portal collapsed when the Demon King died, destroyed by the hand of the Supreme Deity; still, many Demons flew in that direction when they realized the battle was lost as if in a last attempt to save their life. That’s where the Goddesses warriors have followed them, too.

In the distance, Harlequin can see figures battling in the air, he can see smoke rising from the ground and flashes of light against the darkening blue of the sky. Inside, he feels nothing but exhaustion. Driven by the euphoria following their victory, some Fairies have tried to chase after the Demons too, yelling menaces and obscenities. He stopped them, of course. He has no rule over the other Clans, but he does over his people and he decided that today, no other Fairy will die and no other Fairy will kill.

Briefly, he wonders if there are still Giants standing with the Demons. So many kept fighting until the very end, even after their leader Matrona was killed, but it’s hard to believe that not even one gave up to fear and tried to save themselves at last. As he stares at the fight that still consumes in the distance, Harlequin feels as his bowels have turned into stone. Even if they had tried to escape, they are probably being killed right now. And all of that, because the Giant Clan chose to side with the Demons.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, so he decides to push it away and focus on his task. There is nothing he can do for the Giants right now. And at least, even though he knows he is being selfish, he is relieved he doesn’t sense her power over there. Perhaps it’s because she is already dead, but right now, Harlequin allows himself to hope.

He finds Ludociel hovering high in the sky, giving orders to a small group of Goddesses. “Ah, Fairy King,” he welcomes him with his usual smile, gesturing at his soldiers to go. Some bow and fly away, others stay close, hands tight around their weapons, watching carefully their surroundings. Ludociel’s guards. Stigma’s victory has been overwhelming today, but they are obviously not going to let their guard down anytime soon.

Ludociel pays no attention to them as he turns towards Harlequin. There are stains of dirt and dry blood on his feathers, yet his cape is immaculate, so white it hurts his eyes; he probably changed it as soon as the battle was over. “I see your army is preparing to retreat.”

“My people need rest,” Harlequin says, eyes wandering over the few Goddesses around them, over their tattered clothes and bruised skin. “As does yours.”

“We will get to it,” Ludociel dismisses the problem with a wave of his hand. “As soon as our enemies are gone for good.”

There is something in his tone that makes Harlequin’s hands twitch. “Most of the Demon warriors have died today,” he says slowly, “The Demon King is gone. All his Commandments are gone.” He took some of them down himself. Even the Demon King’s son fell, overpowered by the magic of the Archangels. “Isn’t it enough?”

Ludociel hums. “The most of the work is done, undoubtedly. However, we can’t know for sure how many Demons are left in the Demon Realm unless we don’t verify.” His voice is sweet as honey, it clashes unpleasantly with the cold implication of his sentence.

“We both know that the ones left in the Demon Realm are mostly civilians, Ludociel. Will you slaughter them too? Even the ones who cannot fight? Even their children?”

There is a moment of pause, as Ludociel studies him, tilting his head, his expression unchanged. “We will do what’s necessary,” he finally says. “We don’t want anything like this to happen again, don’t we?”

It takes an effort not to react to the veiled threat in his words, but Harlequin knows this game well; he won’t offer Ludociel anything, especially not a sign of weakness. “What about the Giants?” He asks instead.

Ludociel paints regret in his expression like a skilful painter. “They will be taken care of too. They are traitors, and as such they will be considered.” He slightly shakes his head, “Such a shame, don’t you think?”

This time, Harlequin doesn't hold back. “I don’t think it’s wise to pursue them more. They have lost many lives today, and they lost their chief. They will not be a threat anytime soon.”

“Ah, still nostalgic of the times they were our allies, young king?”

“I just believe,” he answers coldly, “that the relationships among our Clans will run more smoothly if they’ll see us show mercy. The Giants they left behind today are but their youngsters and mothers with children - they knew this battle was decisive. Are you truly planning to exterminate them all?”

“What I’m planning to do is to find them and ensure that we won’t get another unpleasant surprise. Stigma will decide about their fate.” The Archangel shakes his head again, and this time a faint smile appears on his lips. “You are too young to remember clearly about their treason, I’m afraid. We won’t show their warriors more mercy than what they showed us, and about the others … there is time, now. The humans will want to have their say too.”

There is no point in discussing this now. Harlequin feels the gaze of the other Goddesses on him, the resolution radiating from Ludociel’s heart, and suddenly, he feels incredibly exhausted. “Very well,” is what he forces out of his mouth, “We will speak about this tomorrow.”

“Indeed,” Ludociel hums before looking away, as to imply that Harlequin is dismissed. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion, both physical and emotional, but this time his arrogance doesn’t touch the Fairy King. He leaves without another word and flies down, towards the scarred ground.

Giant, Fairy, Demon and Goddesses’ magic destroyed this plain. Rocky spurs rise wrapped in vines among still fuming craters, and wherever his eyes can reach hundreds, thousands of bodies are scattered. Harlequin would want to look away, for once. He is so tired of death.

And that’s exactly why he forces himself to keep looking. He is tired of death, and he won’t let anyone else die in this war if he can help it. He already looked before, but now he has to make sure that her body isn’t among the fallen. Could have she fled? It hurts to realize that he can’t be sure she didn’t. The person he needs right now, the person who could help him prevent another bloodshed, inhabits his memories as the ghost of a gentle child who offered him friendship when life was easier and Fairies and Giants were allies. Even though he has seen her later, again and again, on too many battlefields, the first image that comes to his mind when he thinks of her is from their past.

Eyes shining in the light of dusk, a finger raised to make a vow.

“We will be friends forever! Like Drole and Gloxinia!”

Warmth tinges his cheeks with red as he raises his finger too.

“We will. I promise!”

He is rewarded with a bright smile that outshines the sun itself.

The smile on Harlequin’s face is now bitter. It didn’t last long, their promise - the promise of two kids from two different clans that thought that war could never harm them. After all, Gloxinia used to tell him that the Fairies and the Giants had been close for centuries, that their bond would have never faded. He also used to smile and tell him not to worry about him when he left for a battle because he was the king of the Fairies and he would have always come back to his people.

Gloxinia had been wrong about many things.

They had died together, he and Drole, the king of Giants, during a battle so dreadful that Fairies and Goddesses still refused to talk about it. They had died and they had left their Clans in chaos, one lost without a guide and the other thrown in the hands of a young Fairy with too little knowledge of the world outside his forest. As new Fairy King, Harlequin had chosen to remain loyal to the Stigma and the Fairies had followed him, while the Giants had forged a new alliance, one with the monster who was able to defeat their king in combat. The Demon King himself. It was usual for the Giants to follow the strongest, but this didn’t make their betrayal less hurtful.

Harlequin had come to terms with it years before, but he had been unable to forget about his promise to the young Giant girl who had been his best friend when their Clans were allies and he was nothing more than a simple Fairy Gloxinia had taken under his wing. When he saw her again, after years of training and clashes, she was a warrior under the direct command of Matrona, and she danced ballets of death and destruction.

He could never bring himself to face her. He focused on other enemies, turning his back on her, hoping that she would do the same. Even though they had been enemies way longer than they had been friends, he couldn’t help but fear the day he would have found her dead body on the battlefield. She was a tie to a past he missed terribly, a tie he simply didn’t want to cut because once gone, it would have been lost forever.

Until now, she survived, and there is a part of him that refuses to give up just yet. It takes effort to use his magic after he used so much for the battle, but he grits his teeth and flies faster, trying to detect any sign of her power. Even a crumble would be enough, to at least tell him that she lives.

Long minutes later, as he flies over a small crater that seems to brim with corpses, he halts in mid-air; it wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t known what to look for, but there is a presence - distant, feeble, like a spark among ashes. Harlequin turns his head towards the wood that skirts the battlefield at North. It hasn’t been spared by the battle, not completely, but many trees are still standing. It wouldn’t be a bad place to hide.

After ensuring that no one is watching him, Harlequin flies lower, swerving among the debris, and fastly approaches the wood, following the trace of magic. It becomes stronger as he enters the tree lines, and with it, his heart pounds faster and his bowels knot. That’s when the traces of blood appear, with the obvious signs of someone passing among these branches, breaking the frail wood. From there, it’s not hard to find her.

When he finally sees her, she is lying with her back against a tree, the broken handle of a war hammer in her hand. Her eyes are on him as soon as he emerges from the branches, studying him from under dirty brown hair. Her expression hardens, but she stays still, waiting for him to reach her.

It’s not that bad, he thinks as he examines her injuries while slowly flying towards her. Her left leg seems to be broken and her face is scratched and swollen, and fresh blood soaks her clothes coming from dozens of cuts on her arms and shoulders, but she is a Giant and he saw Giants survive way worse than this. The thought doesn’t stop his heart from sinking in his gut. He can’t leave her like this.

He halts mere feet from her, distant enough not to make her feel threatened - or so he hopes - but close enough to speak with her. But as her violet eyes bury into his soul, he finds himself at a loss of words. Here is the child who used to play tag with him, who smiled when he gave her flowers and danced with him in the bright days of summer. Here is the child who told him she loathed violence so much she would have rather abandoned her own Clan than fight this war. The child who would have wanted to use her dance to build, rather than to destroy. He would have liked to live in a world where her wish had come true.

“Have you come to finish me?”

Her voice, weak but firm, feels cold as ice on his skin. His expression doesn’t change, though - he has been practising his self-control for too long to let it slip, how deep her words wound him.

Not once in the past years, when they saw each other on the battlefield, she has shown a sign of recognizing her childhood friend, and still now that they are finally facing each other, her expression is a mask of stone and mistrust. Has she really forgotten about him? Does she truly believe he would go after her just to kill her?

“I haven’t,” he hurries to answer as he lifts his hand; when the green light of Pollen Garden surrounds her, the Giant hisses and pulls back, pressing her back against the trunk, then freezes and watches with wide eyes as the luminescent pollen rains over her, closing her wounds and welding her bones. When she returns her gaze on him, it’s filled with wonder and confusion.

“The Goddesses are chasing the warriors who fled the battlefield,” Harlequin says, “but they won’t attack the Giants who didn’t participate, not today.” With another movement of his hand, his Spirit Spear disappears. “You should be able to come back to your home before them. Matrona is dead, but you were her second in command. They will follow you, and you have to take them away. Leave Megadozer and hide somewhere until the Goddesses and the Humans’ bloodthirst has quenched. This war lasted far too long and too many have been hurt. Even though I don’t think they all are willing to harm civilians, the situation could easily escalate, and I doubt that I … that anyone would be able to stop it.”

Her eyes darken but she nods. She knows as well they won’t make it easy for the Giants. Slowly, she stands, until her face is at the same level as his, her stare fixed on him. There’s a part of Harlequin that is tempted to use his heart reading powers to know what she is thinking now, but as usual, he suppresses it. Heart reading is as natural as breathing for him and helped him so many times, but it can be a double-edged sword. Besides, they aren’t fighting - it would be rude .

“Why are you doing this?”

He should expect her next question, but it still floors him, leaving him silent and still as he thinks about the right words to use.

“The Giants betrayed you,” she insists. “We killed so many among the Fairies. And yet you are here, helping me, giving me the chance to help my people. I want to know why.”

He hesitates another moment before speaking, staring back into her eyes. “I have never wanted to see the Giants annihilated, and I’m tired of slaughters. Our Clans hurt each other enough and you don’t pose a threat for us anymore. I hope that under your guidance, the Giants will follow a new path, one that will allow them to coexist with the other Clans again, once the wounds this war left will start to heal.”

“My guidance? Have you seen me?” He is taken aback by the bitterness in her voice. “There is so much blood on my hands. I’m no more than a murder, Fairy King. What makes you think that I will make the Giant follow the path of peace?”

“Because you never wanted this.” The words slip from his mouth before he can stop them, and they are met by shock flourishing on her face. With a sigh, Harlequin continues, folding his hands in front of him not to move them nervously. “You don’t take pleasure from fighting and killing, nor you have reasons to continue this war. We all have done what we had to, Diane, and we all will answer to the consequences by ourselves. But I believe that now that you have the chance to do what’s right, you will take it.”

She gasps at the mention of her name and watches him in awe. He expects her to question him now, to yell at him to get out of her head, as they all do when they think he is reading their hearts. But again, she surprises him. “You … you remember me,” she whispers, covering her mouth with a hand. “Don’t you, Harlequin?”

Breath stops in his throat. “I - of course I do, how could have I forgotten? You were my best friend.” He swallows, his hands clenching around each other. “I thought you didn’t remember me.”

“I thought you didn’t remember me!” She shakes her head, “I spent years stuck in Megadozer, training for the war, hoping that when they’d let me out, I could at least see you again. But the first time I met you on the battlefield, you didn’t even look at me. You never even tried to talk to me.”

“I kept my distance because I didn’t want us to be forced to fight. I couldn’t have brought myself to hurt you,” he admits.

“I couldn’t have either, I wouldn’t have. I thought you didn’t recognize me - or you simply didn’t remember me.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “You didn’t say anything either. I thought it had simply been too long since we were friends. Besides, I ... changed quite a bit, since then.”

Diane raises a brown, examining him. “You’ll have to do way more than growing a pair of wings for me not to recognize you.”

Harlequin can’t stop an astounded laugh, “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” she snorts. “Though … I didn’t expect the hair.” For the first time since forever, he sees her lips curve into a smile. It’s surprising, how much he missed it. “No,” she continues, shaking her head, “I was afraid of what would have happened if I had confronted you. It’s not just your appearance, your entire attitude changed since we were kids. I thought that even if I had reminded you about our friendship, I couldn’t be sure about your reaction. You could have not cared about it anyway.”

“Diane, I’m so sorry. If I had known, I …” Truth to be told, he isn’t sure what he would have done. Reconnected with her? While they were on the opposite sides of a war? There was no way it would have worked smoothly.

“I’m sorry too,” she says softly, “I’ve missed you.”

A shiver travels through his body. “And I, you.” There is so much he would want to ask, so much he would want to tell her. She is Diane, his best friend, yet she has changed so much and he thinks he would want to know better the person she became. But there is no time. The sun is going to set soon. “If you want to go home, you should go now,” he says quietly, “Before someone finds us.”

She heaves a sigh and nods, looking down. “I know,” she says as sadness obscures the light in her eyes. “They’ll be waiting for news.”

As are the Fairies he left in the safety of the Fairy King’s Forest. Harlequin will have to do the same himself, later; he will have to look at his people and tell them about the losses they suffered today. There have been so many battles in this bloody war, but this part never got easier. “I’m sorry,” he says again, even though he isn’t sure what he is apologizing for. “If things were different, I’d want you to come with me. I would be able to keep you safe in the Fairy Realm, not even the Supreme Deity can come there without my permission. But …”

“I can’t leave the others behind,” Diane finishes, shaking her head. “I’ll find a way to keep everyone safe. Thank you, Harlequin. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this.”

“I do.”

Her stunned expression would be funny if it wasn’t for the way her body tenses and her hand clenches around the remains of her hammer. A few minutes of reconciliation can’t cancel years of war, he bitterly thinks as he hurries to explain, “I want things to change between our Clans. I know it will be difficult and things will probably never be like they were before, but I want us to stop fighting and to be on good terms, at least. And I hope you can help me with this.”

It takes her some moments to answer. “I’d like that, too,” she admits. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to change their minds. Giants are raised to be warriors, and fighting for our honour is supposed to be our reason to live. Some will want revenge. But … I’ll try to - I'll find a way. I won’t let them throw their lives away like this and I won’t let them stain their hands with blood”. Something new shines in her eyes when she looks at him, “I promise.”

“Thank you,” he answers, letting a relieved smile curve his lips. “And I promise you that I’ll do the same. No harm will come to you from my people, as long as I breathe.”

This is so different from the promise they made each other so long ago - for once, they do not seal it with their pinkies - yet he can’t help but feel a little bit nostalgic; there is something in Diane’s expression that makes him believe she feels it too. There is no time to evoke images of a past long gone, though, and so she nods and moves away, her walk as swift as before the battle.

Before she disappears between the trees, she turns around one last time to look at him. It’s hard to read the mix of emotion in her eyes, but despite the curiosity, Harlequin avoids reading her heart. He smiles, instead. And she smiles back, just for a moment.

Then, she is gone.

When Harlequin comes back to the battlefield, his Fairies have been gathered and are working on finding a way to bring the bodies of their fallen back home. Humans are going back to their settlement, and in the distance, he sees a few Goddesses preparing to return to the Celestial Realm. The air is still filled with anguish and mourning, but something else smoulders in the hearts of the survivors, a sense of excitement that Harlequin knows will rise to the surface tonight, when celebrations will be held all around Britannia. If just for a few hours, people will try to forget about what the future holds for them, to finally allow themselves to live free of the shadow of the war.

As he lands among the Fairies, as he solemnly nods to their tired bows, Harlequin wonders when he will be able to do the same. For others, the war is over, but he knows his allies too well to think the peace after this war will be easy. If Diane manages to hide her people away, Ludociel won’t be happy, nor will the human kings. They will want answers and will search the entire country for them.

But there is something that makes the morrow look a little bit easier; it’s the promise of a different future, the seed of an agreement he just planted alongside with a Giant girl.

So Harlequin holds his head up and breathes in deeply, feeling like part of the weight on his shoulders has been finally lifted; then, he gets ready to lead his people home.

#nnt #nanatsu no taizai #the seven deadly sins #seven deadly sins #king harlequin #diane #nnt king #nnt diane #gerheade #elaine #ludociel #helbram #nnt fanfiction #mars-writes #i wrote this for myself mostly but i hope someone else will appreciate!

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nukyster-blog · 4 years ago

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Changing course, chapter 6) Till the bone

.-.-.

Piglet’s will to keep Ivar alive turned out to be relentless. Her guard was high up as she crossed her makeshift line, skittish as a deer; dark eyes large and breath shallow, lips slightly ajar. She nearly dropped the steaming content of her cup when Ivar was caught by another coughing fit.

It would have earned her a mocking laugh from Ivar’s side, were it not for the lack of strength to lift his head up. Lucidity was an ability he no longer possessed. There was a Mara riding his chest; the demonic creature made his chest heavy; entangled his lungs and riddled his sleep with nightmares. Panic rose in waves between the moments of regaining consciousness and drifting back into the Mara’s realm of nightmares.

“Mother?”Ivar muttered when hands tenderly lifted his head to rest on comforting thighs, “I’m sorry, I should have never abandoned you.” Ivar’s voice was nothing more than a whimper, “father’s death… I should have died too.”

His quivering lips were pressed around a wooden rim and scalding hot water was forced down his throat. The smell and taste was ferocious, that of strong herbaceous. Ivar gagged and fought, but the fever had burned away all his strength.

Feebly, he arched his head to the side, but those tender hands were ruthless; merging his head in between strong thighs and pinching his nose until Ivar nearly choked and gasped for air.

This cruel ritual became a routine of four times a day. Ivar was being force fed a variety of soups; broth with seasonal vegetables, soaked pieces of bread and herbs. Every waking moment was a struggle; his phlegm filled lungs were desperate for oxygen and the fever continued to scorch his body and ravaged his mind. At times he saw his mother’s morose eyes behind the dark lashes of Piglet. Every shadow seemed to be possessed by feathered creatures, their gurgling croaks keeping Ivar on edge and petrified. It took Ivar six days to fight off the Mara and regain enough strength to slap the wooden bowl away from his face.

Piglet took that statement of defiance as her cue to retreat back behind the line. Her care however did not lessen; for reasons unknown to Ivar she was dedicated to nurture him back to health. It was one of the things that occupied Ivar’s thoughts. Tit for tat, in life no-one does anything without getting something in return. Ivar’s sickly condition was not doing her any favours. The Giant would come by every day to inspect the coughing patient, to see if he was worth all the time and trouble. The Giant would not leave out any occasion to either bark or spit at Piglet; who’d obediently make herself as small as possible and simply take full blame for Ivar’s slow recovery. She wore the bruises of Ivar’s dreadful healing process and spent half her ration on him. She must be starving herself so Ivar could gain back little of his strength. “Stupid thrall, if you’d know what I’d do to you if I wasn’t shackled,” Ivar sneered at her as he picked on his bread; it tasted stale, but everything was better then a howling stomach. Piglet sat across from him against the wall, petting a lamb, it’s wool such a contrast to her dark arms. The lamb’s wobbly legs were still nascent and thin, but functioning well. As it’s mother bleated and the youngster squirmed to get free. Unbalanced, the lamb hobbled back to the motherly call. Ivar stared at the little legs, each one a spindle of bones and skin. Ivar channeled down to his own legs, the similarities were not to be missed. The only difference was that the legs of the lamb were able to carry its body weight with ease.

Ivar’s legs were useless and deformed, twisted in odd angles due to erupting spasms and stiffness. He used to fracture them when he was a child, how could he not with so many older brothers, eager to fight and frolic, as all kids do. All kids, but Ivar, because his physical condition would not allow him to. He hated his lower body for it; the lack of muscles made his bones stick out, the skin of his shin bones translucent and delicate from being shielded off by his braces. Some of his toes were crooked and repulsive to look at. His lower body; everything from the waist down, was useless and ugly. And if he survived, he’d cut it all off.

Ivar noticed Piglet watching him stare at his own deformities. She did that a lot, ogling at him from the curtains of her headscarf. It pissed him off greatly. If looks could kill, Piglet would be halfway to Valhalla, or whatever afterlife her religion offered. His scowl formed a toothy smile on Piglet’s face. Cunningly, she redrew her makeshift line on the floor with the heel of her foot, regarding her safety. “Hamar,” she addressed him, while sitting down Indian-styled. From a hidden pocket, she retrieved a handful of dumpy bones. Ivar recognised them as knucklebones from a sheep as Piglet dropped the bones on the dusty floor. Unimpressed, Ivar stared at the bones and then back up at her. It did not lessen her enthusiasm; teeth glinting as her smile grew wider. Picking up one of the bones she let her thumb rub over the smooth upper side.

“Wahid,” she spoke, holding up her index finger. She then pointed at three bones, all with their stubby sides up.

“Arbe,” she held up four fingers. “Sitta,” she pointed at the remaining knucklebone, with it’s ear-shaped side up and showed Ivar six fingers. “Wahid, arbe, sitta,” Piglet held up her fingers with every word and drew tally marks with her other hand on the dusty floor. “Tiseat eashar.” She was teaching him a game, one quite familiar with the game he knew as tali; the difference was that her game added up all different sides, while tali’s rule was to throw and catch the bones in various manners.

Now that she got his undivided attention, Piglet hastily recollected the bones, but froze as her fingers crossed the makeshift line to pick up the last one. She held her breath and scanned over his on-edge demeanor. She left the knucklebone that had crossed the safety border and placed the recollected ones along the line. “You want me to play games with you?” Ivar scoffed, wondering if the savage lost her mind or will to live. Did she seriously think he’d consider participating in any way that might make them appear as equals? “Then why don’t you come a little closer?” Ivar purred innocently and motioned her with his index and middle finger to come closer, “c’mon, I’m not a threat,” the words escaped his lips sweet as honey.” Bowing forwards, Ivar lay his hand on his stiff legs, “I am but a cripple,” extracting his arms he held up his palms and nudged his chin towards the knucklebones. “If you want me to play, you need me to get the dices, c’mon now,” he cooed. Piglet remained marble, indecisive as a startled deer, her muscles grew tense, all set to flee if provoked. “Come closer, so I can gut you like the little piglet you are!” The last set of words turned into a low growl and Ivar launched his body forwards, hands trained to adjust to the unevenness of the ground. His legs however curled up due to the pain coming from his knees, they’d still had to get used to the inevitable scraping over the floor.

Piglet yelped and faltered back, cowering away into the corner near the door. The whimpering response of his useless attack was pleasing Ivar, although his shackles had embedded themselves into the skin of his ankles, tearing open old cuts; he roared in victory. Piglet covered her mouth with her hands as Ivar puffed out his chest and screamed again. A wooden bowl, chunks of dirty, rocks, everything within arms reach was lifted and thrust into her direction.

Piglet managed to use her wrists as a shield and shrank further away from him. The madness erupting within the barn startled the animals and Ivar’s raging sounds were joined with the panicked bleating of the cattle. The noises alerted the masters and once the keys were turned, Ivar’s outburst came to a sudden end.

Two peasants overpowered him with ease, his upper body still weakened due to hunger and overcoming pneumonia. “Don’t you dare touch me, pathetic human beings! I am a prince!” Ivar yapped and tried to sink his teeth into the wrist of one of the men. He managed to tear open his opponent’s sleeve, but the small triumph came with a terrible price. The Giant merged in between the two peasants and stomped his foot down onto Ivar’s right bicep. The immense pressure on his upper limb casted out Ivar’s rage and brought him back exactly where he was; an insignificant slave, trampled down by it’s master. Powerless, utterly and completely powerless against the men who enslaved him.

An eel slithered from his stomach up to his lungs, it’s skin touched by ice and Ivar choked up.

In slow motion, the Giant craned his axe up, all the way over his shoulders. The man’s dead grey eyes did not focus on the fear stricken eyes of his victim, but on Ivar’s right wrist. Ivar felt his jaw drop and the eel must have eaten his tongue; because no words came out to express his pleads. To please stop, to please I’ll do anything, because if he’d lose his right hand, his entire life from this moment on, would be useless. The eel’s tail clutched his chest and slithered itself around his heart, as the Giant’s axe struck down. A crack of splintering bones silenced all sounds within the shed and Ivar felt bile rising up his throat while his trousers soaked in his own piss.

Ivar expected pain, reflectively he clenched his teeth and squeezed his tear-ridden eyes shut. Bracing himself for the upcoming smell of blood, the sight of his own right hands spasming detached from his body on the floor and for fire to merge through every never of his wrist.

But none of that came and laughter filled up the room. When Ivar dared to peek through his lashes, he saw the three men tower over him, nudging one another towards Ivar’s pathetic squirming state and piss stained trousers. The Giant’s axe rested upon his shoulder, it’s blade still impeccably clean.

Ivar’s head snapped to the right side of his body. His right hand was balled into a fist, but still very much attached to his wrist. Beside him, laid a wooden bowl, split perfectly into two.

The Giant’s bouldering laugh stopped abruptly and he brought the tip of his axe down to Ivar’s throat, applying just enough pressure to tear his skin. Ivar did not need to learn Dietsc to understand the meaning behind the Giant’s words as the man started to speak. The message was clear: obey, or lose a limb. And Ivar did something uncharacteristic; he nodded and surrendered. It was not worth losing either his right hand or his life. Not like this, not with him and his opponent in a state like this.

Ivar cradled his right hand tightly to his chest, curling up into a ball while his shoulders shrugged from grief. He’d given every bit of his willpower to remain strong, keep his head up as all Ragnarsons would. But this was simply too much. He was entirely alone in this godforsaken place, with only a wildling as a witness of his breakdown.

.-.-.

A/N: A show of hands if you thought Ivar was going to lose his. I think this chapter was the beginning of the end. Sure, ever since being sold as a slave, Ivar grew hungry. And cold. And hurt. But I think in this chapter he realised quite brutally how absolutely powerless he is. How his life lost it’s value, completely.

Oh and the Mara, again I took a dive into Scandinavian folklore. The Mara is a demonic creature believed to be the bringer of nightmares. With Ivar’s fever and hallucinations it seemed like the perfect creature to summon up. Please share your thoughts, I’d love to know what you think of the story. xoxoxo Nukyster

The tagged: @xbellaxcarolinax @youbloodymadgenius @saldelys @shannygoatgruff @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @readsalot73 https://lauraaan182.tumblr.com/ @lauraaan182

#ivar lothbrok #Ivar the slave #vikings fanfiction

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ardenssolis · 4 years ago

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@nvrcmplt said (inbox):

She settles beside him, her hands occupied with a kitten who sleeps at ease upon her lap. Attention moved from the masses to the guest once again at their tent, this time however, Zateros does not dance or prance with fire. It was a training show for the youths of their troupe and it was an honour for them to have such a Pharaoh amongst their audience.

"Another escape from the Throne, Pharaoh?" Amused she was, her tone was tired, exhausted from training mouthy brats and keeping them safe with reflexes alert. "Shall we trade jobs? You teach them the balancing act and I sit upon your cushion for an evening?" Movement of eyes to the children once more balancing swords on noses and snakes upon shoulders, her attention moved to the feline in her grasp, fingers gentle in stroking down mini spine.’

❝ESCAPE? YOU MAKE IT sound as if I were unruly prince breaking out of the palace once more.❞ Not wholly wrong, except rather than an unruly prince, it was more or less an unruly king always finding ways to get out of his work when he was feeling particularly ‘unmotivated’. He had said that he was going to take a nap and that none should disturb him, the perfect cover for sneaking away and doing as he wished for at least an hour or two. Most were aware that he disliked being awoken for anything that was not important, so no doubt his room would be avoided unless absolutely necessary. He watched the young performers at work, giving them a nod whenever they did something successful and making sure his attention was glued on the acts being done rather than anywhere else. If there were any mistakes made, he certainly did not notice them. Zateros’ sharp eyes as well as the older performers, would be the ones to catch any of that.

❝Honestly, what you do sounds so much more exciting in comparison. You make it sound as if being a king is all lounging, but you would grow bored quickly the moment a scribe comes to you describing the number of wheat in storage, or the Vizier listing off the most mundane things imaginable that require your attention.❞ He looked away from the youngsters, his eyes turning to focus on Zateros. He smirked, amused by her tongue as he oftentimes was. ❝Oh, if only I could teach them such things, but I fear I would wind up taking over your job if I did. What a shame that would be to see the greatest pharaoh to ever exist, now the becoming greatest trainer too. It is just too much. The songs that would be written about me would resound throughout the ages.❞ He laughed softly, looking away once more.

No, all Ramses could teach was how to use a weapon, how to ride a chariot and shoot a bow, as well as how to govern, and these children certainly did not need to know such things -- especially the former. Anything else would have been outside of his realm of expertise. ❝As a child, I had always wanted to learn how to do these things whenever I saw performers come to the palace. I think if I had been able to, however, I would have complained and become frustrated.❞ He gave a long dramatic sigh. ❝Patience was never my friend.❞

#nvrcmplt #;nvrcmplt : zateros #answered #;;inbox #;v: gods walk among us #;;past

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in-somnis-verita · 4 years ago

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━ BURNING BRIDGES

he truly doesn't remember, does he? ah, the million dollar question ... it did cross her fleeting mind, in the dead of the night, as navy hues observed the unfolding scene from afar. And if the ponderation itself HURT, then the answer, that promptly came, was DESPAIRING: he did not , for a fact.

and oh, she knew so, but that didn't ease the weight on her chest, nor the way her heart clenched everytime she saw him; the ghost of the man he once had been. Mana was no longer, or at least, not in the way she remembered him as. And now, what else could she do but wait? for days, weeks, months and years, all that the ninth, the SHEEP THAT WIELDED THE DREAMS OF NOAH, could do, was wait for the inevitable to happen: for him to remember who he was and what was his purpose.

the gene always awakened, eventually. And they always remembered. NOAH DOESN'T SLEEP FOR TOO LONG WITHIN HIS HOSTS.

the MILLENIUM EARL. the one who would bring this world to its demise, the one who's done it once and who'll do it again, inescapably. The one who devoured his own other half. ❝ Don't stop, keep walking, ❞ he had said, before his life was stolen from him. And he didn't stop, but he also didn't recall his past; because the blood that stained his hands was so unbearable (and so desired, at the same wicked time) that he forced himself to forget what he had done. Destroyed the face of ❝ Mana ❞ and replaced it. Destroyed the memories. REPRESSED THE GENE.

ah, the courage it must've taken him to go as far as erasing his own identity impressed her greatly, and she couldn't say she blamed him, really ━ how could she? ━ for the weight of his brother's death in his shoulders was far too heavy in comparison to the mental torture the pierrot, who lived in a faux state of peace, put himself through all over again.

if only she could ease his nightmares or the unsettling sensation that something important was lacking or the shadows that seemed to watch over him at night, creeping, lurking, waiting FOR A CHANCE TO STRIKE ... if she could ease all that, she would.

BUT SHE COULD NOT. NOT UNTIL HE REMEMBERED. until then, there was nothing she could do. It'd be useless, anyway; nothing but a waste of energy. All she could do was checking on him every once in a while to see if there was any evolution on his awakening. And that was precisely what had brought her, at such ungodly hour in the night, to the outskirts of the campsite of the GARVEY CIRCUS TROUPE.

what had motivated Mana to join a circus as a pierrot, she did not know: but it'd be a lie to say that it wasn't ironic. A sad, lunatic clown that ingenuously lives in his own reality; as though in a limbo between what's real and what's not quite. It'd also be a blatant lie to say that it didn't take her a great ammount of time to discover his whereabouts after he vanished without a trace, and not only because of how his features had drastically changed, but the BOND between hosts ran far too deep in their veins.

another thought that left a bitter taste in her mouth and caused a frown to form itself upon delicate features and a shiver to trickle down her spine: that had been why Nea couldn't hide for long, after all. and sometimes, the ninth apostle couldn't help but wonder ( for her heart did not only ache for one, but for BOTH ) if he had fulfilled his promise of returning. She liked to believe he did, or that he would, but there wasn't a trace of the fourteenth anywhere. nor in her DREAM, nor in the physical realm. life is made of uncertainty, though, is it not? And thus, no matter how the perspective of being reunited with Nea once again caused a torrent of feelings to wash over her, Road Kamelot didn't waste too much time dwelling on that idea. The world, to her knowing eyes, was nothing but an endless chain of action and reaction; where free will and fate constantly clashed and waltzed together, trying to escape and contradict each other in an endless loop that she had seen far too many times. and far too many times had she been awfully amused by the choices humans made and by the mistakes they kept falling into. Just like she was on that moment, heeled shoes clacking softly against a ground that had been cleaned from the snow that covered it a few hours before, as she made her slow way towards the tall and mighty circus tent. one thing was for sure; he hadn't lost the kindness that had always been part of him, not yet, at least. Sometimes he was alone, with a dog that went by ❝ allen ❞; other times, gradually more often than not, he was accompanied by a kid that had, most likely, been bought by the ringmaster. Red was the name she had heard others calling him, out of spite and out of sheer rage, and while she knew how to recognize INNOCENCE when she saw it, this one didn't seem to want anything to do with its bearer. which was, as far as she had been concerned, good and bad ━ it couldn't hurt Mana, on the one hand, but on the other, it also confirmed that she'd still have a long time to wait until she could bring him back. Mana didn't seem to be bothered by it, either; for there wasn't any sort of adverse reaction to the present of such a thing so close. And this despite the beaten up child's protests against his attempts of affection ( did he know anything else other than ire and hatred tossed his way? ) and how particularly fond he seemed to be growing of him. he seemed genuinely happy with the kid's company. AND SHE WOULDN'T BE THE ONE STEALING THAT JOY FROM HIM. not when life would do that, sooner than later, she thought to herself, as she halted her march and adjusted the thick cloak closer around her petite bodice. seen from up close, it was impressive how HUGE the circus actually was: beyond the main pavillion, the one where the shows were presented and repeated to death almost every night, a quick look around put into evidence the three smaller tents that surrounded it, as well as the lion's cages. Other than her lonely steps, there was barely any other sound in the air; apart from the ocasional snore from inside any of the make-do cots or the cutting, bone chilling wind that whistled by and recklessly agitated trees and fabric with its passage. she was alone, then. The one she sought wasn't in sight, so she could only assume he'd be sleeping ( or trying to ) inside one of those tents with his precious, loyal companion. This had been the first time she had been so close to him, since thirty five years ago, hadn't it? Despite being on her own, and despite how he ignored her existence ( AS HE SHOULD ), being there, running a dainty appendage through the shelter, brought a sense of peace to her errant heart. HE WAS STILL FAMILY. regardless of how she'd like to ( mayhaps ) stay for longer, she had already seen what she needed to and put her mind to a rest. So she figured she should be on her way back; it had already been a risk to get so close ( what if he was risen from his slumber by her presence? what if she triggered his memory earlier than what it was supposed to? ) but curiosity never killed this cat before. who could have guessed that it'd be this one time? as a sigh escaped past pale chasms, Road's hand slowly slipped down the dusty fabric and she gracefully spun on her heels. And as she did, she realised that she WASN'T on her own, after all. Although a glimpse of surprise might have been noticed upon her visage and posture, which tensed up momentarily, such a look was immediately replaced by a rather soft, almost gentle, simper across her lips. what a child was doing up at that hour, she didn't know, but she wasn't asking either. A few feet away from her, staring at her with an emotion she couldn't quite grasp ( was it fear? confusion? curiosity? ), stood Red, silent. It would have been easier to simply vanish without a word; it would have been easier to write it off in the youngster's mind as their little secret, and yet, maybe because of HOW this child had been treated his entire life, maybe because he seemed so upset by her presence, Road decided to instead approach him. and when she was close enough to crouch in front of him, she held out to him a colorful lollipop. It was all she had on her, at the moment, so a sugary treat would have to suffice to at least ease him. ━ ❝ here, ❞ she said, dulcet tones soft and barely louder than a whisper. ━ ❝ do you like candy? ❞

#;;the moon is always changing #road kamelot #dgm rp #solo drabble #road is really like a mother watching over mana all through those years #roleplay #writing #ic #d.gray-man #d.gray-man roleplay

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spectralscathath · 5 years ago

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Remember That I Am Thy Creature

“It was on a dreary night in Atlas that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the teal green eye of the Creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.”

Clover Ebi, Captain of the Ace Ops, is dead. But Tyrian is not one to let an opportunity like this slip by, and Arthur is always one to indulge him.

AO3 link

Tyrian practically skipped along, tail swishing in the air behind him as he reached the end of the hall. He turned to survey his trail of destruction, robots and prison guards turned into an art form of anguish and shreds. He clapped to himself, a giggle bubbling up in his throat as he went back to grab himself a souvenir, blood clinging to the bottom of his boots as he stepped in a sluggishly growing pool of it.

Now, with a new Atlesian military hat perched atop his head, he felt quite fetching. After all, one must look their best when breaking the good doctor out of his prison cell. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to tell him all about how awe-inspiring their goddess’s entrance was, how he had nearly sobbed with glee from the sheer beauty, the power, the magnificence!

Truly, Salem was the only truth in this world, and she would bring Atlas to ruin. He was so blessed to be a servant to a deity such as her, and he had gotten to indulge so much of his bloodlust on this fine night, he hoped that his work setting the stage truly pleased her.

He had never felt such a purity of joy like this as he had on the night his queen came to collect him, when she had chosen him as her reaper, her hand of death in this world of the unworthy. When he had been reborn as her humble servant. He felt he could plunder all mankind, conquer all the odds, just as he had conquered and broken his dear sweet little bird’s heart.

What a marvel it was to be so alive, on such a night like this! He felt he’d live on forever with Salem’s blessings at his back and his blades at his side. It was a truth that no one could deny, that his goddess was here to take Atlas by right of conquest, to show the world that now and forever there was no mere mortal who could dare to oppose her. What a feeling of being alive, while an army of nightmares came to reap what Tyrian had sown.

Well. Him and his dear darling doctor.

Speaking of, he checked the door into the maximum security wing, where all the arrested criminals with activated auras were kept. Aura turned a mere man into a monster, after all! There was no battle a man with aura couldn’t survive. At least… until that pretty little protection was ripped away.

His fingers curled at the thought, licking his lips and teeth as he remembered how lovely it felt to tear away the little lamb’s soul shield. Dear Robyn, leading a lamb to slaughter? Tsk tsk. She was a fascinating target, one he would love to spend a few days with. Such fire and pride in pretty lavender eyes, wouldn’t he love to watch them drown with fear?

He would have to beg his goddess for such a chance later, delighted at the hopes that he could grovel at her feet like the devout beggar he was. Perhaps she could leave those ace operatives alive as well, wouldn’t they make fine prey to hunt. Oh yes, the little dog had shown himself to be the omega of his pack, full of nerves and desperation.

He would be the one Tyrian would leave alive the longest. He’d kill him soon enough, of course, but his time in Mistral had been a period of experimentation, of artistry, and he had found that the knowledge of an impending doom created a tension so thick that he could sink his teeth into it, if he didn’t sink them into his victims.

As for the others… he had very few opinions on Zeki and Bree, though he would definitely make sure their ends were as painful as he could, it wouldn’t be fun otherwise, but the strong Elm Ederne? A Vytal champion, a woman who seemed to pride herself on being as unbowed and unbroken as her namesake?

Oh, how exciting it would be to bring a sweet miss like her to her knees! She and Miss Hill would definitely be worth taking his time with, if he was granted the permission to slaughter them.

He grinned ghoulishly and checked the security door. Ah, fingerprinted, a clever move, but one Tyrian could easily bypass. All he needed was to find the highest-ranked corpse and- yes, there we go. He cut the hand off the man and practically danced towards the door, testing each finger before one beeped and the door unlocked.

He giggled and tossed the hand over his shoulder, doffing his new cap as he slithered in the door, into the hall of all those poor souls in their lonely cells.

He looked in the window set into the first door, seeing naught but a man tossing a ball at the wall, how incredibly boring. However, the next door told him that these cells, despite their windows to the outside, had one-way glass on the doors. What a useful little trick, Atlas, allowing the guards to see in while the prisoners could only see the freedom they had so unwillingly lost.

He stalked along, glancing in each door to look for his dear doctor, before he saw a sight that had him howling, tears of laughter threatening to spill down his cheeks.

Robyn Hill herself, the little bird turned to a prowling beast as she paced the line of her cell, her strides long and proud despite her incarceration. She reminded him of a trapped vixen as she slank back and forth, her lips pulled back from a steel-sharp snarl. He noticed that her tattered scarf trailed behind her, slung low like a fox’s brush, her wrist bare of her wings and arrows.

What a delight it had been, to find out what a pleasant burn they had for himself, the explosion’s taste dancing across his tongue in a memory of copper-ash sparks, tingling behind his teeth like eels writhing in a stream, sending warm shivers down his spine to pool in his gut like venom pooled in his stinger.

He watched her for a moment, the room so soundproofed he could not hear a word of her raving, screaming rant, wondering what tune his sweet songbird was whistling to have her worked up in such a fury, her ponytail having fallen free in her rage to turn into a wild mane that gave her the appearance of a lion, perhaps, untamed and primal and burning with the desire to break her cage.

It was glorious, before the thought struck him, and he felt giddy with the possibility of who might be in the next cell, who could be jailed with his lioness, his songbird, his dashing, vulpine outlaw, who thought she was saving lives when she had instead helped Tyrian end them. Her rally had been child’s play, Clover’s death a wonderful result of her temper, her recklessness, her ego and her chaos. How could he not have capitalised on such a wondrous opportunity to deal a blow to his darling crow’s heart?

He was far from a fool, he had seen the looks the bad omen had shot the leader of the ace operative, how they had worked together to combat Tyrian. From the moment Tyrian had realised how much dear Branwen had cared for the fisherman, the lucky Clover had become his target.

He was so, so glad to have succeeded. The desolation in those pretty red eyes had been beautiful. Anguish became Qrow, it seemed. Tyrian had been more than happy to provide.

His glance into the next cell had his chest swell with pride, at the sight of poor unlucky Qrow. Defeat was clear in the slump of his shoulders, his back to the door as he curled on his bunk, on his side, the tattered cape hanging off the edge and his shoulders like a pair of broken wings. Oh, Tyrian was thrilled to be able to call this man his enemy. Perhaps, even, his nemesis?

Qrow had survived Tyrian’s sting, but his scar still remained, Tyrian knew without needing to see under the man’s new Atlesian plumage. But Tyrian’s venom had coursed through his veins, perhaps linking them in a way deeper than the bond of shared blood.

Qrow was his ultimate prey now. They had a score to settle indeed. Qrow’s scar, his shattered heart, and the mechanical whirring of Tyrian’s tail were only part of the strings that bound their fates together, entwined in battle and blood. They still had a rematch waiting in the wings, after all. Tyrian knew that their next one would end in death.

Patience, Tyrian.

It would be best to let the bird’s wings heal. After all, if he wanted a battle with a true huntsman, he would need to wait for Branwen to be at his full strength, just as before.

The anticipation would make it all the sweeter.

So, with a flick of his tail and a skip in his step, he carried on, hunting for his dear Watts. It was time to get back to work, and Tyrian had an absolutely delightful idea. One he was sure the good doctor would positively adore. After all, they were both predators of a kind, and they worked so well together. Why wouldn’t Arthur dearest indulge him?

Perhaps his goddess would too.

-----

Watts surveyed Salem’s storm from his cell, a dull ache across the entirety of his face and imprinted on his throat a reminder of the absolute beating James had given him. Well. At least he’d left some aches of his own. How was that arm, James? Did it sting?

If only he’d had a doctor around willing to heal it. Such a pity.

Watts would hardly waste his semblance on James, especially not now.

He watched Salem’s storm approaching, amused at the sight of the army of flying Grimm that could easily overcome Atlas’s defences, and the whale she rode on. It seemed Salem had decided that if she was going to leave her realm, she’d bring part of her fortress with her.

He wondered if that meant Hazel and the two brats were there as well. Tyrian would be glad for that, he seemed to positively adore tormenting the youngsters, now that Cinder wasn’t around. Not that it was hard.

Emerald was easy to pick apart, driven by her past where she had nothing, to the point she’d fixated on Cinder as her giver of everything. Food, shelter, comfort. Toss in her passive nature and how much fear controlled her, and it was hardly a wonder that Salem was able to bend the girl to her will as much as she could. To the point of ratting out her saviour to Salem as well, hadn’t that been interesting. He could only assume that the guilt of Emerald’s so-called ‘betrayal’ was festering at her from the inside.

The Black boy, on the other hand, was a much more fascinating cocktail of issues. Chronic Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was a given, considering his father’s abuse of him, and all his other behavioural issues made him a right little brat. Still, one that was also easily manipulated. For as logical and cold as he claimed to be, he was intensely driven by his emotions. Just like James, in fact.

Now that he cast his mind to it, the tin man and the metal boy really did have quite a lot in common. An interesting little coincidence, nothing really worth pondering about. But still, it was in those strange little asides when he let his mind wander that he tended to find interesting if generally useless information.

Then again, the human brain was designed to see patterns, even when there were none, so perhaps it was less a trivial insight and more his sharp mind falling to base instincts.

The door to his cell opened and his eyes flitted over to it, absorbing and processing all the information in naught but a moment before he picked his words carefully, as always. “A hat, Tyrian? That’s new.”

Tyrian grinned with that sickle smile he loved to wear, yellow eyes bright with his particular brand of madness. Watts never really cast his hand at trying to diagnose Tyrian, even though he probably could. That seemed more like it would remove half the fun the scorpion’s unpredictability brought him.

“Greetings, doctor. Did you miss me, perhaps?” Tyrian placed a hand on his chest, silver tail bobbing behind his shoulders, both poised to strike and simply because Tyrian was most comfortable with his tail held high.

“Of course, Tyrian.” Arthur rose from his seat, unfolding his long legs before he straightened to his full height. He dusted his sleeves off out of sheer habit and adjusted his suit jacket. Hazel could tear his jackets all he wanted but Arthur actually gave a damn about his outfit. Propriety was important, after all. “I would have thought you’d have gone to meet her grace yourself.”

“Without you?” Tyrian feigned hurt and shock, stepping back as though Watts had physically hurt him with his words. “Why, doctor, I am wounded by such an accusation. Of course I will be heading straight to our goddess, but first I wanted to find you. I’ve caused such chaos this fine night, and I have so many ideas for what else can be done. Our work is not yet complete!”

“Very well.” Watts stretched his fingers out of habit, missing his rings. Those had taken so much time to make and now he’d lost both sets. He’d make them again, of course, to not do so would be idiotic, but it was such a hassle. “Tell me all these plans you have while we depart.”

“Oh I will,” Tyrian’s grin returned full force. “But first, I notice your hands look rather bare.”

“A worthwhile sacrifice. I can rebuild.”

“Perhaps.” Tyrian dug a hand into his pocket and opened a fist, a set of four very familiar rings held in his palm. “But imagine to my delight when I found that those weapons of all those they’d confiscated on this night were still being transported to storage.”

Arthur grinned wickedly and proffered a hand, Tyrian bowing deeply before he took it and slipped each ring on himself, humming a jaunty little fourteen-note tune that Watts recognised as one that Tyrian had whistled here and there, the notes rising and falling despite the overall melodic descent.

Only when each ring had been affixed back in place did Tyrian rise, an eyebrow quirking playfully as he tipped his stolen hat. “I suppose we have the General to thank for the state of your poor face?”

Watts rolled his eyes as he stepped out of his cell, Tyrian gracefully stepping back to allow him passage. Watts rolled his shoulders and offered an arm, Tyrian’s hand slipping through it out as they walked out of the jail. “Indeed. Now what are these ideas you have?”

“Dear Arthur, how do you feel about putting your semblance to good use?” A debauched purr curled around the edges of his words, golden gaze turning heady with excitement. “I have a corpse that I think would make a lovely little puppet for you~”

----

Darkness. That was the first thing he could remember.

For a moment, everything was dark, and silent, and maybe a little cold, but it was painless and peaceful. Scarily peaceful, like if he was here for even one second longer he’d slip away into the void and never come back.

Then his entire world lit up with sheer, overwhelming, unrelenting agony, biting at his skin and burrowing deep until it made itself a home in his bones, pain eating him alive from the inside out.

His chest was freezing, so cold it burnt, and there was fire there too, chewing up his heart and choking his lungs. He thought he was dying, he wished he was dying, but he felt more alive then he’d ever been before.

Somewhere along the line he realised he was screaming, that there was pressure on his neck, right under his jaw, right where people checked for a pulse, and that was the eye of the storm. He could feel it. Right there, that point, everything was numb, and every ounce of the torment was radiating from that one point of contact.

Contact? Yes, it was contact, that was someone’s touch, and he wrenched open his eyes to a lightning storm of harlequin green, so bright it seared itself into his brain.

He scrunched his eyes shut again, trying to raise his hands to cover them but he was restrained. He could feel leather bands holding him down, across his forehead, his wrists, his legs, and his torso. The smell of iron and copper and rust filled his senses, the sickly sweet tang of blood and cold sterility.

He could hear the crackle of electricity, cruel laughter as a backing track to his symphony of hurt. It took a second before he figured out he was talking, saying words, screaming at whoever was doing this to him to hurry up and kill him, let him die, he couldn’t take this he couldn’t it was too much just KILL HIM-

Then something was shoved into his mouth by a gloved hand, a set of intelligent green eyes appearing in his vision, meeting his own confused teal. Those eyes were sparking with the lightning that had wrapped itself around Clover’s form, knitting the gaping wound in his torso back together.

Watts raised a brow and removed his right hand from the leather gag he had shoved between Clover’s teeth, top revent the man from breaking them if his jaw reflex snapped shut as his muscles seized. His fingers crooked and curled like he was manipulating a puppet, infusing a spark of being into the lifeless thing under his hands. Tyrian laughed in the background at the show, Clover’s body strapped to the morgue’s table as he convulsed, reanimated and alive once more.

Clover’s howls were muffled now, certainly, but he still made his best attempt at them.

Watts raised his hands eventually, releasing Clover’s pulse point as he surveyed his work with clinical detachment. Sweat streaked Clover’s brow as he panted for air, fingers flexing and curling as his chest heaved, the scar from Harbinger the shiny red of new skin. He turned his head to the side and spat out the gag, limp on the table as the absence of pain left only exhaustion. His chest felt too cold, like ice was bound around his heart, chilling his breath where it sat in his lungs.

He- no, he had been dead, right? He’d looked at the blood, he’d touched at the wound, he’d known from the second Tyrian had ripped the sword three that he would be dead in minutes. No man could survive that. Even if he hadn’t been severely bleeding out his aura had been broken. The chill of Solitas could kill a man in hours. He’d seen people who’d had frostbite set in within minutes.

So… he had died. He had to have died. This was… what was this?

The sound of footsteps made his pulse skip with fear, restrained and tired as he was, he had no way to fight back. He was helpless here and he hated it. He recognised Watts. He recognised the evil chuckles Callows’ made.

Knuckles brushed against his cheekbone in a mockingly soft gesture and he took a page out of Marrow’s book, snarling like a dog and snapping his teeth at Tyrian’s hand. Marrow had been crap at the intensive interrogation training. Unfortunately, the lady playing the role of ‘questioner’ had found out exactly what happened when an ‘enemy’s hand got too close to a trapped dog faunus’s teeth.

No blood, thanks to aura, but Marrow had been incredibly apologetic about the whole debacle.

Tyrian seemed to find it fucking hilarious though, his sneaky yellow eyes meeting the dregs of defiance in Clover’s gaze as he twiddled his fingers just out of reach. “Naughty, naughty! You shouldn’t peck at your friends, my little kingfisher.”

Clover simply set his jaw and furrowed his brows in a glare he knew was far weaker then what he was normally capable of, refusing to engage verbally with the serial killer.

Tyrian didn’t seem to care, his tail whipping happily behind him, almost like it was wagging, as he turned to face Watts. “Isn’t he fun, doctor?”

“I’m sure he is. I could do without that stubbornness, however. I’d rather he gives us the same blind obedience he gave James.”

“That’s-“ Clover’s baritone cracked and rasped as he tested it, rough and rawed from his earlier ordeal. “Not… Going to happen.”

Watts glanced at him, moustache curving with what had to be a smirk. “Mr Ebi. Do you honestly think that my semblance doesn’t come with the caveat that you owe me your life? You work for me now.” He crooked his fingers in that strange puppeteering gesture again. “Now. Lights out.”

Clover’s eyes barely had time to fill with horror before unconsciousness claimed him entirely.

----

“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”

So Clover getting resurrected is a popular enough idea and one that I like, but I want to put my own spin on it.

Just for clarity's sake, Watts' semblance here is Resurrection and he's able to manipulate the mind and perceptions of those he uses it on, such as planting sleeper commands in them, or switching up who they view as enemies and allies without really changing who they are.

#RWBY #Tyrian Callows #Arthur Watts #Clover Ebi #Nuts and Volts #if you tilt your head and squint #my writings #I'm giving Watts the Victor Frankenstein allusion he deserves #Clover deserves better but probably not like this

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nautiscarader · 4 years ago

Note

Claudia finds an old spell to use on Rayla and Callum. Dreamweaver: allows the user to control over the dreams of others. She gets the materials and prepares to do it tonight.

I am nothing but punctual.

Yeah, this was one of the prompts that I backlogged for the march ones, and then i was hit with a huge writer’s block throughout May and June, so here it is now. Apologies to the person who asked for it and kept reminding me of it.

Also, reminder, this all takes place in AU where Claudia hasn’t gone to the dark side.

============

(Ao3)

- Are you guys ready?

With a somewhat unsure looks, Claudia asked the couple on the bed, and the two youngsters eagerly nodded in anticipation.

- We trust ye'. - Rayla spoke, before Callum nodded in unison. - Okay, it's just... I've never cast this kind of spell... - Claudia took another look at her notes - I'm not sure what's gonna happen... - We do trust you, though. - Callum spoke and sat up to kiss her.

Their lips remained linked, until Rayla stole the attention from their boyfriend, to finally reassure her in her skills. The three have been living together for quite some time, and though Claudia occasionally brought some of her magic into their bedroom life, she never tried anything that would allow her to exert control over others.

Claudia took the vessel and poured the pinkish substance into it, until it started fuming. Callum helped her, and with his magic, he let the mist spread around him and Rayla, until they started getting drowsy. Before they both knew it, they were snoring, asleep in a deep slumber.

Then came the waiting game. The spellbook said that one should wait around hour and a half, but Claudia waited only thirty minutes or so, and began her incantations. She took a whiff of the mist that gathered above Callum and Rayla's heads and when she closed her eyes she could finally see what the two were dreaming about.

She was in a village, presumably the one where Rayla grew up, given the faint figures of Moonshadow elves around her. She followed her instincts, and soon found herself in a glade, outside the town's limits, with a small lake in which a naked elf was bathing. And from the looks of her hands, she was doing something else as well.

Rayla's fingers mashed against her pussy, letting only the softest of moans, despite her place of solitude. Or, at least, apparent one, since a second figure quickly joined her. Callum was equally naked, and his girlfriend seemed beyond ecstatic to see him, so much so she jumped into his arms, and before Claudia knew it, she was riding him, filling the glade with their carnal noises she knew so well. Rayla was quite a screamer...

Claudia felt the same tingling sensation between her legs, and was about to join them, but then heard a new voice, a male one, behind her.

When she turned around, she was in Katolis, in the castle's courtyard, watching... Callum, watching her. She remembered that moment, and with her powers, she sneaked around and through the tree Callum was sitting under, to see what he's been drawing in his sketchbook. It didn't surprise her that she wasn't wearing any clothes in his drawing. But when she looked back at where she stood, she realised her dreamy vision was naked as well, and from the looks of it, she wasn't ashamed of it. Her dreamy clone walked towards Callum, and a moment later, her head was bobbing up and down on the prince's cock, for everyone to see in the light of day.

Claudia looked behind her, at the naked Moonshadow Elf, and decided to mix the two dreams. With a single move of her hand, she swapped the places. Rayla and Callum were now in Katolis, making love in the presence of Callum's people, while her clone could enjoy the tranquillity of the elven forest.

Rayla seemed shocked at first when the scenery has changed, but she didn't stop riding Callum's cock. If anything, the sudden audience made her more vocal about her love for the young prince.

- Callum! I love yo-ou! - she cried when Callum flipped her to the ground and came with a deafening, cry, flooding her with cum, bringing her to her peak as well.

At first Claudia wasn't sure whose dream was that, but once she turned around, she knew this one was Callum's, because the dream Claudia was no longer giving him a delicate blowjob. The King Callum was face-fucking her against the tree, and judging from the sounds, the Claudia was gulping down a hefty dose of royal seed, making lewd noises of approval of each batch that made it to her tummy.

Though he looked so cute when he was torn by an orgasm, Claudia decided their boyfriend had enough time asserting his dominance.

Two more waves of her hand, and when the black mist she surrounded herself with vanished, he was on his knees, in front of two thrones, occupied by two queens, one dressed in black, and second in white.

- Please, forgive me... - For spying? On the royalty? - queen Claudia fumed, crossing her arms - We're gonna have gallows prepared, just for ye - Rayla snickered - And we're not gonna chop yer head off...

Callum flinched when queen Rayla announced her plans, looking frantically for anyone, who could help him. At the same moment, the two queens stood up and surrounded their prisoner. The two circled him like the wasp vultures, touching his shoulders and head, and with each contact, he flinched, afraid of his imminent punishment.

- Although... - queen Claudia suddenly spoke, and Callum at once raised his head - I think we might have another use of our prisoner that might just save his dignity. - Oh, right... - Rayla smirked. - Yer in luck, lil' peeping Tom, for ye may be just what we need.

Claudia knew exactly what her dream vision had on her mind. This was part of her fantasy now. She waved her arms, and the scene changed. Callum stood in the same spacious bedroom he was peeping at before, though now he was no longer in chains, and the two queens lay on it, in much less regal attires than when they pondered their judgement on Callum.

- You see, young stable-boy, though we are in love, there is sadly one aspect of our marriage that we cannot achieve, even with my magic. - Claudia let out a small, pink spark from her hand. - A-and what is that? - Well, it is the issue of heirs... - Claudia spoke dreamily, watching as Callum's eyes widen and knees wobble.

Words got stuck in his throat, but even if he could say anything, Rayla was quick to articulate his thoughts that raced through his mind.

- That's right, if ye were so eager to get inside our bedchambers, you'd be equally fast to get inside us...

Rayla gently moved the thin veil of her dress away, showing her exposed, glistening pussy, and dream Claudia did the same, spreading her legs to revel her sex. As Callum gasped, watching the erotic spectacle, Claudia decided to fast-forward it to the juicy part.

With a move of her hand, he was naked already, pounding each of his lovers in turn, unable to believe his luck. Rayla and Claudia kissed and caressed each other's breasts, moaning in rhythm of his thrusts. But both Claudias had the same idea on how to make their love-making even better. Their hands moved at the same time, as dark aura surrounded his genitals, and once the mist has vanished, Callum was surprised to see he now had not one, but two cocks, one for each of his lovers.

Claudia never found a correct animal to perform this spell, but in the realms of dreams, anything was possible, and now the two queens salivated at the sight of Callum with two phalluses, about to rock their world.

And with that, Callum no longer had to choose which pussy he wanted to please first, and plunged himself deep inside both queens, driving them mad with pleasure. It certainly helped that Claudia's magic gave him an extra inch or two of length...

If the bed they were on were wobbly before, it was now properly shaking with their three joined bodies mashing against each other. Callum no longer cared that the women he was pleasing were queens; Claudia had her hair pulled, and Rayla's ass was sore from spanking when the new royal lover flipped them around.

And when he reached his peak, Claudia allowed him to fulfil his and her fantasy as well: he lunged himself inside their yearning pussies one last time, filling them with endless stream of his potent warmth, which in turn set off their climaxes, making their bed shudder again. For a solid minute, Callum flooded the queens, and when he pulled out, he was greeted with a sight of two creampied, overjoyed women that praised his virility.

- What do you think, Rayla? - Claudia gasped, when she rolled to her side and spread her legs to see how plentiful Callum's orgasm was. - I think he will do fine... - Rayla wheezed, unable to catch breath. - Well, looks like you got lucky. - Claudia stated - You have managed to please us both... Not as well as we could each other, but still, when the time comes, I'm sure you will give us plenty of heirs. But until then...

Claudia's eyes grew black, and with a single spell chains appeared around his neck, tying him to the bed post.

- You will be our pet and a fuck toy. Do you understand? - Y-Yes!

Claudia pulled the chain, making Callum yelp in pain.

- Yes...? - Y-yes, your majesties. - Callum whimpered, knowing he was still lucky to be alive.

Claudia smiled, watching as her dream self and Rayla engage in post-coital kisses, leaving the poor Callum to watch his two creampied ladies. She decided to end his suffering, and with another storm of black mist, the scene changed.

This time, Claudia had difficulties seeing through it. She walked through the mist, until she found herself in a very familiar cave, and as she realised when the scene was happening, her heart skipped a beat.

They were all a bit younger, confused, and unsure of what was going to happen. After all, the war was still raging, and they have just escaped certain death...

The campfire gave off just enough light so she could see their faces. Callum, Rayla and younger Claudia lay next to each other, staring into the cave's rocky ceiling, as if nothing happened. But Claudia knew exactly what preceded this awkward moment, and with a wave of her hand, she easily turned the time back to hear it again.

- I love you. - Callum spoke, holding their hands, looking back and forth at the two women. - I-I love you both.

Claudia and Rayla exchanged knowing looks and as Rayla was about to say something, Callum started speaking his mind, stuttering and rambling.

- Because I can't-I can't choose between you two! You, Rayla, you are a loyal friend who made a brave, the bravest choice, and you, Claudia, you are the smartest mage I know, and-and... and you too decided to stand against those, who were controlling you...

He wiped his tears and addressed his companions again.

- I love you. - We kno' Callum. - Rayla chuckled. - It was pretty obvious. - Claudia added, giving him a warm smile that soothed his worries. - I think I knew since you've been twelve.

And just to confirm his feelings, the two women got closer to their future boyfriend and gave him a kiss each, before they themselves joined their lips for the first time. Claudia sniffed, watching the moment their relationship was sealed, but quickly remembered how uneventful was the conclusion of this night.

- Bet you didn't expect that... - Claudia spoke to flabbergasted Rayla that just had her first two kisses of her life.

Claudia smiled and brought her own memories, mixing it with a few of her own fantasies, joining the heart-warming love confession with another unforgettable night from about a year later.

Their three-way kiss didn't end as awkwardly as it really had. Instead, it continued, filling the cave with slurping noises, while their hands began roaming each other's bodies, desperate to get out of their clothes. Callum's got ripped apart first by two sets of hands, but Claudia's followed soon, when both Callum and Rayla took care of the mage's outfit. Rayla's assassin suit took a bit more time to undo, and the elf done most of it herself, at least not until Callum realised he can disrobe her in a single motion, toppling her to the ground.

With another wave of hands, the three suddenly were no longer novices at love-making. They were richer with years of experience they've gained over the few years that followed, and it showed, when Callum dived between Claudia's legs, instantly knowing which buttons to push. At the other side, Rayla took Callum into her mouth, showing no signs of gag reflex that plagued early attempts at oral sex from her. The elf adored Callum's scent and taste, licking inch after inch of his human cock, while he kept his hands around Claudia's legs to prevent her from kicking him or Rayla when they quivered.

And then, Claudia did what she always dreamt about. To complete the triangle, her younger self reached between Rayla's legs, and gave her a taste of what Callum was doing to her, much to her surprise. With that, the vicious cycle of giving was complete, and it was only a matter of time before one of the would become the weakest link. But not in this scenario: younger Callum would have filled Rayla's mouth five times already, but with his new skills, it Rayla a long time to bring the prince to his edge... Exactly as much as it took Claudia and Callum for their respective lovers.

The cave was slowly filling with louder and more desperate moans, and with a single slash of Claudia's hand across the mist, it exploded with light, just as the three youngsters achieved their first climaxes, much more powerful and potent than their actual, timid first time. Rayla's received a thick portion of Callum's seed, while his and Claudia's faces got covered with girls' juices, seeping onto their fingers that joined the action to help their tongues.

The three jittered and spasmed in convulses, as their simultaneous, triple orgasm raged through their joined bodies, as if it hopped from one person to another. The moans gave a way to erratic, rugged, tired breathing, as they recovered from pleasure, and within minutes, loud kissing noises eachoed between the walls, when the three decided to share their lips again, as if just ti prove that this amazing moment happened.

Well, at least that's how it should have happened. Claudia smirked, seeing their younger selves taking first rather big step into self-discovery.

And with that, she thought it would be suitable to end their dream on this cliffhanger. She uncorked the bottle and gathered the mist that surrounded her into it, and when the last cloud of smoke vanished, she woke up, with the bottle still in her hand, though with a few missing pieces of her attire, lying between her two equally naked lovers that began to wake up as well.

Something was wrong.

Callum was the first to open his eyes and meet Claudia's worried sight. His dreamy, blissful expression changed at once, when he realised something went wrong.

- Cla-Claudia? Did-did the spell...? - Well, it worked... - Claudia spoke, hoping her words would calm down Rayla as well - But I shouldn't have fallen asleep myself, and...

She reached between her legs, feeling a familiar stickiness.

- ...I think we kinda had sex for real. - Yer don't mean we did it in my village? - Rayla asked, as she sobered up - That-that spell couldn't have...

Claudia reached the door and grabbed the handle, only to find it to be locked. She let out a sigh and leaned back onto the bed.

- No. At least I don't think so. - And I hope I didn't give you two children, right...? - Callum asked with an equally worried voice. - Cos-Cos I'm not ready to... - Well, we took the potions... - Claudia scratched her head. - And I don't think the dream versions of us were fertile either, so... we should be fine. - Well, that's... that's a relief.

Callum wiped sweat from his eyebrows and stood up to open windows, to let in fresh air and combat the stuffy, heavy air inside the room. But when he turned around, he heard two gasps from his girlfriends. Rayla put her hand over her mouth, while Claudia's jaw dropped lower than he has ever seen. And only when Callum looked down, he realised what other element of their shared fantasies became reality as well.

The looks of shock and horror on girls' faces turned into ones of delight when they realised the sight of Callum with two cocks was not an illusion, but a part of their reality.

- Cla-Claudia?! - Callum asked in a squeaky voice, almost losing his balance - Can-Can it-Can you- - Even if I can, I'm not gonna do it without some tests. - she licked her lips. - What do you say Rayla, shall we continue the dream? - Oh, yer don't ha'e to ask me.

The moonshadow elf grabbed Callum's hand and brought him back onto the bed. It looked like their dream has only just began.

#raydium #claudia/callum/rayla #lemon #not safe for zim #nautiscaraderfics #Anonymous

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sourirez · 5 years ago

Text

Abusage

Summary: The imprisoned god finds amusement in a strange half-mortal while he’s kept in Midgard. What he doesn’t expect is for the princess to turn into a warrior as he leaves with a scar not only on his body but in his heart, only to be healed by the same person that very evening.

Loki X Reader

Part 1

The quiet sound of the room filled the gray walls while the only thing that moved inside the room was Loki’s chest, his breath filling the air. The compound was empty today, no signs of any souls while the merciless god remained alone, the state in which he was the most calm and peaceful.

He thought about his mother, whom he hadn’t seen in a long time but because he was with Thor, he knew she wasn’t worried much. He had learned how to use certain midgardian tools like a box with people in it and also how to warm food, it was Tony who showed him the use of technology here, something they didn’t need much in Asgard as magic did the most. He had gone out with Bruce and Steve once, they didn’t want to take him out but after Nat but him in casual midgardian clothes, they didn’t want to waste the effort.

Midgard was different, so much more violent and filled with a little too many problems, even for a god. He had seen so many people shouting outside, seemed like peace had left this city whereas Tony said that peace was just found around here, after his arrival and defeat. Loki saw the reflection of sunrays called rainbow and found it rather childish how the colors were all so simple yet, he enjoyed the observations around here.

His hair was growing, it was still slicked back and it’s raven color was brighter than ever, creating a contrast between his eyes. He was bored most days, almost to a point where he couldn’t take it but there were times like when he talked to Y/N that made things a little better for him, she was interesting after all.

Loki had learned that Y/N was really a half-god. He had found it suspicious how he hadn’t heard of her but after talking to his brother, he knew she was the lost daughter of Cyra. He had heard so many stories about her mother, how she was the most fascinating women on Asgard and how much of a brave warrior she was on the battlefield next to his father. Loki saw some of these traits in Y/N, but he didn’t comment because his observations were only for himself.

He walked slowly, cautious of any other souls that could be in the building since it was a training day for some young midgardians he had seen, they had something different about them but nothing that stood out too much. He had observed a few of them while Y/N taught them the art of fighting and a few rules of the universe she had been taught before.

Loki had realized that Y/N was not a midgardian in the way she behaved, neither was she an Asgardian like her mother. Loki saw all kinds of realms and creatures in her: she carried herself around like the king of Alfheim, with class and much respect but she knew too much about the universe and its flaws to be a king. She fought like her mother, an Asgardian blamed for things she didn’t do, there was a shadow to her, something that kept Loki interested but he also knew that it wasn’t much of a thrilling shadow she had, it was made of all the broken parts she had.

Loki and Y/N were similar in ways they wanted to deny. They had both been let down too many times, by family and their close circle. Y/N had seen way too much compared to the grumpy god yet, he would deny this any time it came to his mind. Loki couldn’t read her mind either, it was a spell she had and much stronger than any other spell Loki had come across so he also wondered if she was trained by witches like Frigga had been.

His slow and steady steps brought him towards the noise. It was the huge training room that was occupied with a few familiar faces Loki had come to know. Slow grunts and the sound of flesh hitting metal filled the room,s the glass walls made everything even more visible while Loki approached the two people training, it wasn’t very much like training and more like one of them kicking the other’s ass. It was simply amusing to him.

The compound was soon filled with what they called ‘the team’. Loki was not the most content but he didn’t mind the company of some mortals around here who possessed a great deal of knowledge much to his surprise. He sat around the glass wall and watched the youngsters train, some of them had talents while some were simply pathetic in the eyes of the god.

A dark chuckle escaped his lips when Sam fell on the ground once again, finding it hard to fight against super human powers, Loki was actually surprised he lasted this long. Due to the small sound he made, all eyes were on him now. He met all of their judgemental eyes before Tony spoke, sarcasm dripping out of every word that came out of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t you like to try, Reindeer Games? ” he spoke, there was first silence and a few giggles. This was a nickname Tony had given him and Loki was unsure of the meaning, yet it annoyed him so a hiss came out of his mouth instead of an answer.

If Thor were here, he would make the mortals know of the powers Loki possessed, none of them measured up to his level of accuracy and skill when it came to fighting, he was a god after all. The small footsteps interrupted his thoughts when Y/N came in, ready to fight in less clothes with more flexibility.

Bucky was the in the room, waiting for her so he could train. He didn’t need to but he knew it was a fun way of relieving the pent up energy he had inside him. While Loki’s eyes traveled from Y/N’s braided hair to her hands as she covered them with black gloved designed for her, the others spoke but he didn’t hear, he was too busy looking at his own view in front of him.

The gloves were actually to help Y/N with her powers. She was able to control a few things much like her mother, maybe even more powerful but she wasn’t fully comfortable with using them here, not in front of them. They had seen her hands light up and create illusions, weapons and different realities but they had never seen it in the compound, it was far too dangerous here.

Cap touched Loki’s shoulder, more like a push it was to get him out of staring and thinking, he was in his own world for a bit too long.

“Why don’t you go for a round with Y/N, I’m sure she’ll measure up to you.” he joked, Loki’s eyes glistened while they met Y/N’s.

Her mouth closed before she said anything, shrugging his shoulders as to say that it was alright. Nat was amused at this, she knew how well of a fighter Y/N was and knowing Loki was a demigod, she stood a chance to win for sure. Y/N didn’t say anything, she just waited for some sort of a reaction from Loki while he found this opportunity amusing.

He was searching for an opportunity to see the ex-assassin at work. Ever since the fast healed scar on her neck and their talk about her past, Loki had grown even more interested. The warrior who had a dark past just like her mother seemed too much of an intimidating story and Loki wanted to know, anything and everything Y/N was capable of not only on the battlefield but on the daily.

“Okay.”Y/N heard Loki say and that was all it took for her to come out of her thoughts.

She didn’t doubt herself nor her skills, she was trained on more than one realm and was experienced but she knew too much of the god. All the stories she had been told as a kid about the mighty brothers came to her while the admired god turned into an enemy on the training grounds, much faster of a change than she was used to.

Unlike others in the compound, Y/N wasn’t intimidated at Loki’s usual self. She knew he tried to annoy her, bore her but she only found his efforts more interesting than she had expected. Thor was a sweet person for sure but Y/N was interested in the mysterious god born after him, he was everything but what was expected of him and this caught Y/N’s attention a little too much.

“Alright.” Y/N said, stepping into the empty room while the team watched them through the glass door, it was protected from the inside yet, it was clear to see.

Loki’s gaze first traveled around her exposed neck, her hair came out of a few places yet it almost seemed like she did it on purpose. Her face was far too beautiful of a creature’s to be here, fighting with him. He knew of the gloves and their specialty but he let go of that, he didn’t want to seem to interested in the woman before him.

“Wanna throw the first punch?” Y/N joked, but before she knew it, Loki was already holding a weapon against her neck, it was an illusion he used.

Loki chuckled right before feeling a warmth on his stomach, was he bleeding? He looked down after letting Y/N go only to see nothing, she had used her powers to stimulate the feeling. Loki didn’t have much time after that when Y/N kicked her stomach, landing a few punches around his neck, making Loki stumble and fall onto the floor.

Y/N blew her hair out the way, feeling Loki’s strong grasp on her waist while he chuckled, way too darkly for someone who was about to be thrown into the ground once more. They heard the reactions of the avengers through the doors while Loki dragged Y/N’s body across the room. Y/N kicked her way out of his grasp, a little too fast for the god right before she felt a metal object right under her neck.

Her breath was not audible but it was there while Loki didn’t let go, holding her body tight against his while the team seemed simply terrified, he could kill Y/N if he wanted.

“You minx.” he practically growled while she smiled slowly, finding it almost endearing how he had given her a nickname just when he was about to kill her.

While thoughts made their way into Loki’s mind, Y/N hit his crotch, a little too cliche but his grasp loosened and the next thing he knew, Y/N had kicked her across the room until his back hit the wall, a loud thud across the room while the god stood there, trying to gain his balance and find his knife.

It was all too fast for anyone but Y/N as her actions took up a few seconds. After kicking Loki across the room, she grabbed her knife skillfully and just when he stood up, threw it across the room. A smooth sound could be heard by everyone around the room right before the knife stuck on the wall, right next to Loki’s cheekbone where there was a small cut. Too fast, Loki thought after he felt the cut on his cheek.

Avengers cheered slowly, Y/N’s face was nothing but celebratory. Her eyes didn’t leave Loki’s for a long time, there was something Loki had stumbled upon her during the fight that she found too hard to explain and so she just stood there for a while, facing the god with wide yet calm eyes as he bled. Her breath slowly calmed down under his gaze, her mind cleared and she gave her a small smile before walking out of the room.

Loki didn’t know what had just happened, it was far too fast and unexpected for him to digest. The god had just experienced his first individual defeat, he was bleeding and was in a state of utter shock but nevertheless, he was even more interested in the woman who was responsible for his current state.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

Staring at the reflection of himself on the ceiling, Loki’s eyes drifted to his scar. It was healing up slower than usual, probably because Y/N used some magic on it before she threw it. It was Loki could think about, how fast it all happened was the additional cherry on top. He had kept his cool around the half-god for some time now but when she threw that knife, there was so much she could see, so much of what Loki was out of his mask.

Y/N was also shocked, the god was not the sarcastic trickster she knew of at that moment. There was more than a whole universe inside the raven haired man before her, she had seen it in his eyes. There was so much sorrow, pain and fear he had but he was simply perfect at hiding it, much like he had done in the past years of his life. Y/N also saw regret, small hints of the past weighed him down a little too much.

Y/N kept these to herself while they stayed at the corner of her mind, creating curiosity and interest towards the god even more. Loki’s gaze left the ceiling and his scar when Rhodey came in the room with Thor, all the avengers were amused by the scar and how it had all happened, Loki saw it in their faces much like his brother’s.

Unlike what he would usually do, Loki wasn’t angry at Y/N nor he wanted to hold some sort of a grudge to unleash upon her in years to come, if she would be around. Loki hoped she would but he was aware of the unpredictability of the future. He was simply impressed at the creature, she was way too bold for a princess yet the way she carried herself told Loki otherwise, she was a whole different world in herself.

“Brother, you’ve been well?” spoke Thor, Loki didn’t know why he was here since he had been gone for the last week.

“Kind of you to ask after abandoning me here.” Loki said, sarcasm dripping from every word as he sat on the bed, Thor was sitting on a chair.

“I came to tell you about an event today, you need to make no trouble.” he spoke once again, Loki knew Thor was here for Jane yet he ignored it. He was used to being the second choice at this point.

“And?” Loki said, standing up while his brother kept his eyes on him, Rhodey was long gone.

“There’s a celebration being thrown, they have invited you as well since you have been quite bored. I ask nothing but for you to keep your mischief away today.” said Thor, trying to act as gentle as possible.

“They’ll have Y/N around for any magic tricks you might wanna pull.”

Tony appeared in the room, an apple in his hand while he winked at the demigods before him.

“And seeing how well she’s kicked your ass today.” Tony continued, walking in the room and his gaze met Loki’s scar.

“I think we’ll be just fine.”

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

The sky was dark, it was nowhere near a navy color while stars decorated the vast universe. The street was crowded, cars and guards coming out of each corner while everyone kept themselves occupied with a glass of champagne. Loki was staring around, trying to get used to the new realm he was in.

The party was one of Tony’s many, it wasn’t unusual that it happened but it was usual that a demigod who tried to destroy the very place they were in was invited. He chuckled, the guards and their guns would do nothing but harm if he tried to escape but the harm would be to the city once again.

Walking in the building, Loki’s eyes met the chandeliers, grand and well designed with too many lights on them. The place reminded him of one of the palace’s he’d been to, gold in many corners with statues and fountains inside the glass windows while laughter and greetings filled the thin air.

The place smelled of vanilla and champagne when the demigod’s eyes met the so called team. They were all here, wearing suits and expensive dresses while Thor walked towards them. They had smiles on, something rare Loki got the see and he also saw them out of their armors for the first time, they all looked different.

“Look who it is!” said Tony, the team laughed while all Loki did was to roll his eyes. He had gotten to this Midgardian sarcasm and dealt with it pretty well up until now.

As much as he wanted to deny it, his eyes searched for Y/N around the place. It was too crowded but for a god, it was nothing to search for someone in this place. He looked around for a while, his gaze met tones of women and men dressed in fancy attire with a drink in their hands yet Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

He was far too proud to ask anyone about her just when she appeared. She had left her wavy hair down, it created shadows around her face as she walked. Her maroon dress complimented her skin color completely as she made her way towards the group. She simply glistened under the lights, her face was accentuated with make-up and a few simple jewels and Loki could tell she took her beauty from her mother, it simply left him breathless.

He didn’t shift while she greeted the team, everyone except Loki. She was feeling a little guilty about the small scar on his cheek and knowing the stories about him, she was sure he was mad and annoyed at her so he remained away from him the whole time. Nat and Bruce got up dancing after a while, moving their bodies to the beat while the others also got up from the circle table, they had too much to drink.

Y/N chuckled at the crowd, all the foolish stumbling they made seemed to amuse her while she sat on the table across from the god. Their eyes met frequently, mostly because Loki didn’t seem to look away and Y/N waited for him to do so. She didn’t have much to drink even though he was good with her liquor, Midgardian drinks were far too weak.

The night and the dim lights created shadows on Loki’s skin, Y/N couldn’t keep her gaze away while she watched the city lights reflect on his porcelain skin. His blue eyes stood out while his slicked back hair and a few strands of hair on his face made him look like out of this world, even though he really was. He was wearing a suit, no tie with an unbuttoned shirt until he could reveal some of his silky skin. There was a green scarf around his jacket, matching the green detailing on his shoes and sleeves.

She gave him a smile while her gaze fixated on his eyes first, his scar second. Loki liked the small game they were playing until a slow song came on. There was a hint of fear in Y/N’ eyes when Loki walked towards her, leaving his chair while the rest of the team remained in their own world. He sat next to her while all her eyes did was to follow his figure, everywhere he went.

“Hello, Lady.”he spoke, a hint of mischief in his tone only she could see.

“Hey, Mister.”said Y/N, playing along while his eyes traveled up and down her body, finding her too good.

“Would you care to join me on the dance floor?”Loki asked, way more kindly than he would usually do.

Y/N was relieved and stressed. Loki wasn’t mad nor annoyed, that was her worry all along. The god was now next to her, asking her to dance with him. It was a slow song playing as they got up, Loki took her hand in his and she followed her, his touch was gentle unlike it had been in the fight today.

Her breath was slow while their bodies touched, Loki’s one hand was on her waist while the other held her hand up, intertwined fingers while they danced. Y/N could feel his heartbeat, his shallow breaths confident as they warmed her face with a steady pace. She didn’t look at him for a while, making sure she would not step on his toes as they waltzed around the room.

The crowd made a circle around them as they traveled from corner to corner around the room. When Y/N looked up, she realized he had been staring at her for the whole time. The lights around the room reflected from the surfaces of the glasses on the tables, creating small crystal shadows around the room while the two souls danced, almost perfect.

“I thought gods don’t bleed.” said Y/N, out of the blue after realizing that Loki was nowhere near holding a grudge about the small scar, he was simply impressed was all.

This earned a small chuckle from the demigod as he held her close, his chuckle filled her ears as a smile made its way to their faces. Loki smelled of mint and what Y/N imagined a mystic creature to smell like, it took her out of the thoughts she had and put her into reality.

These souls were both scarred too deep, betrayal and sorrow was carved into their minds as it appeared many times in their lives. Somehow, they would both come to heal each others’ wounds, all they would need was time and patience as they would come to grow together. The two kids who were dancing together would be each others’ light and dark but they were not so aware of this.

“You amuse me, dear.” Loki spoke, finding some sort of comfort in the exchange of a few words with the half-god. Her gaze met his once more, their crystal eyes filled with something out of the blue.

“Well, It’s an honor, Prince.” she spoke, not realizing the fact that he called him a prince.

In Y/N’s mind, Loki had always a prince ever since she heard of him. He was a misunderstood one but Y/N saw more elegance and nobility in Loki than in Thor. He was meant to be a King someday, there was no doubt in her mind but somehow, things had gone wrong and there he was now, imprisoned in a place far too weak.

With the change of a song to an even slower one, Y/N’s hand slipped from Loki’s and landed on his shoulders while Loki’s hands held her by the waist gently. The two creatures could easily be mistaken for lovers from outside but the truth was, they were nothing but a pair of familiar strangers to each other. Loki danced with the half-god while her heartbeat could be felt against his. Their eyes met every now and then, breaths against each other while Y/N’s mind was nothing but confused.

This man before him was nothing she had been told. She wasn’t the one to believe a couple words but it wasn’t just the mortals around here who told him about the merciless god who was now holding her against his body ever so gently. He was misunderstood, a little too reckless and loveless, nowhere near a monster. So she looked at his eyes for the last time that evening and found something she didn’t know he was capable of.

Tenderness.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

Taglist: @themusingsofmany @yuzuhirado @parkbearum

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crispyimagines17 · 5 years ago

Photo

“GOSSIP GIRL: New York, New York“ (Chapter 1).

Summary: Gossip Girl, your one and only social media source into the scandalous lives of Manhattan’s Elite. Things begin to stagger at the Upper East Side with the return of Alana Howarth and the unexpected arrival of Timothée Chalamet, a European handsome boy and rising ruler who has come for Alana; ignoring that NYC already has an heir and prince in its realm, Tom Holland. Secrets, romance, drama and lots of champagne are our daily bread. You know you love me, XOXO.

Originally based on: R’s & CrispyImagines writers’ idea.

Written by: @crispyimagines17

CAST:

Tom Holland

Timothée Chalamet

Disclaimer: This fiction is set on our days (2019). Gossip Girl is now all over social media, Twitter and Instagram being the best sites to find hot tea. Also, for those who may ask what happens with Serena, Blair, Chuck, Dan, Nate and the original cast, they’re now grownups who set the reign and have left it for new generations.

Author’s Note: Well, I’m really really excited for this. A huge sorry for those who’ve been waiting an eternity; college and our sense of perfection got in the way. But now here it is. Hope you love it as much as we do and enjoy every word <3 (also hope this feels like watching a Gossip Girl episode).

Further author's note: So this me from the future haha I was reading this chapter and holy crap! I needed an editor for this, it's good but some scenes are garbage and just make the chapter really REALLY long. Please new reader, give my series a chance. I promise the 2nd chapter is better (check it on the masterpost). Way better. Also, I'll try to re-write this chapter to take away that shit. In the meantime, please try to enjoy my efforts.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hey Upper East Siders. Gossip Girl here… And I have the biggest news ever. One of my many sources – jessica97 – sends us this;

Spotted at JFK International Airport, bags in hand: Alana Howarth. Was it only a year ago our It-Girl mysteriously disappeared for, quote, ‘boarding school’? And just as suddenly she’s back.

You don’t believe me? See it for yourselves. Thanks for the photo, Jess.

Wonder what Tom Holland thinks about her return? Not much, I guess. Manhattan’s elite prince himself was caught low-key undercover at a downtown Starbucks.

But she’s not the only surprise that comes up with foreign winds. Fresh meat sent from overseas, girls. A foreign handsome boy chatted with our Lana before taking his own way. New snack, huh?

Enjoy your mocha latte, Tom; you’re gonna need it. And welcome back, Alana.

The flight 0159 London-New York City had arrived at its destiny. And Alana Howarth breathed for the first time in a long time the air of her city. Maybe it was good to be back at home. The airport was somehow peaceful, at least.

Geoffrey, the family butler, was waiting for her in the same place as usual; near the candy shop where 7-year-old Alana loved to buy chocolates after a long journey.

“Geof!”, she took her Prada pale gold sunglasses up to her hair to glance at her old friend better.

“Miss Howarth”, the 50-year-old man who might be easily confused with Alfred Pennyworth showed her a bright smile.

“Oh, c’mon. I brought you something.”

“You’re so kind, miss Howarth. Let me take your luggage and…” Geoffrey went silent and only made a gesture with his eyebrows for Miss Howarth to turn her face behind her.

A young handsome man was decidedly walking towards her. By the Louis Vuitton travel pillow around his neck, one could say his flight had just landed too.

“Surprise!”, he shouted while shaking his hands as magicians do.

“Timothée?”, but Alana’s reaction wasn’t reciprocal. She frowned and narrowed her eyes, completely confused. “Wha- How?”

“I was on the same flight, London-New York. Literally crossed the sea to see you again.”

“But I never saw you on First Class boarding line”

“Ran late.” Before she could argue something else, he added “And asked for a seat far from yours, I didn’t want you to see me.”

“Wow… Why?”

Both youngsters were looking right into each other’s eyes; Timothée’s with a flash of hope and Alana’s were almost watery.

“I just couldn’t let you go so easily”

The following silence allowed Geoffrey to help her and cleared his throat loudly, bursting their bubble.

“Miss Howarth, your mother gave instructions to have you at the penthouse at 2 p.m.”

The clock read 1:40 p.m. Saved by the bell.

“Sure, she did. Thank you, Geof.”

“Go, go. I’ll send you a DM”, Timothée nodded and made a gesture with his hand for her to enter the limo.

They shared a brief eye contact once more before the handsome man turned back and walked away.

Overwhelmed, Alana was about to step into the limo when she heard a female known voice.

“Alana?”

“Marva?”, a brunette typical-Upper-East-Side-girl approached her with eyes wide open and eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Oh God, you’re back!”

Both girls shared a courtesy hug. Though, Alana was clearly tired.

“And… how you’ve been?”

“Cool. My cousin Jessica arrives today”, Marva answered as opened her purse to take out her cell phone and unblock it. “Well, I guess everyone knows you’re back now. It’s all over Gossip Girl”.

“Wait, what?”, Alana asked with a frown while trying to see Marva’s phone screen, but before she could read anything Marva kept it back into her purse.

“Gotta go, A. See you.”

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

Oh, A. New York has never been peaceful at all. You should know that more than anyone. Our princess is back, but apparently her crown has lost one diamond; what did she do last summer? And why did she return?

Down at Starbucks in the Upper East Side, Tom Holland had his phone on Do Not Disturb mode. He preferred it that way. His mother had announced him Alana’s arrival at breakfast, and he wanted to take a breath before seeing her. The last time both had spoken left a weird feeling down his chest, so he better be prepared.

Tom plopped down on his Jaguar’s leather back seats with a sigh, leaned against his back and sip his cappuccino. His mother words echoed on his mind over and over again.

“Our dear Alana comes back today, Tom. Please, don’t forget the party Margot and I have prepared for her at the Palace.”

Our dear Alana. Another sigh escaped through his mouth as he smoothed his hair back with one hand. But he had a special ringtone for Gossip Girl and its sound interrupted his thoughts, couldn’t helping himself on unblocking his device and check out the latest news.

Tom tightened his grip on his phone as his eyes read the lines about a foreign handsome man. In a single move, he dialed a number and approached it to his ear with pursed lips.

“Evan. Tom Holland here. Tell me everything you know about this man, I’ll send you his picture.”

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

Timothée looked through the polarized windows with his eyes fixed on New York City. It was very American, not a single glimpse of Europe, indeed. His phone vibrated under his right pocket and as soon as he read the name on the screen, he answered.

“How was your flight, Timmy?”, a soft female voice asked on the other line.

“Good, mom.”

“Fine. Your father wondered where the private jet was.”

“Father… Asking for the jet instead of his son”, Timothée gritted his teeth and nodded ironically.

“Are you…?”

But he anticipated to her words and answered right away.

“Yeah, I’m on my way to uncle Chuck’s. Call you later… Love you too, bye.”

Chuck Bass, his mother’s millionaire cousin. They were related by Chuck’s mother, but her death didn’t make them close. Though, family is family and the Chalamet were always invited to every Bass event. But Timothée hadn’t seen him in years, he barely remembered Bart Bass’ funeral or more so, Chuck’s wedding with Blair Waldorf.

But he knew one thing for sure; his uncle had been the king of the Upper East Side, and now that he’s not a youngster then his place must be someone else’s.

With a frown and pursed lips only a true Slytherin could do, Timothée opened his Twitter and typed “Gossip Girl”, being immediately presented to an account describing;

Gossip Girl, your one and only social media source into the scandalous lives of Manhattan’s Elite.

He smirked.

“Time to catch up.”

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

February 16th, 2018. One year ago.

The sun drew a soft orange-blue in the sky, ready to let the night its way. Her Louis Vuitton luggage set laid behind her, up in an airport cart.

“Bye, daddy”, Alana kissed her father’s cheek and embraced him as a couple of teardrops fell over his shoulder.

“Take care, sweetheart”, Dr. Howarth’s nose huffed in an effort not to cry.

“Bye, Geof”, she embraced her old friend. The butler took his hat off and smiled at the Howarth girl he had served since her very first day.

“Bye, mom”, Alana kissed her mother. Though their adieu was shorter than her father’s.

A male voice echoed in every corner of the Airport, announcing the boarding room for flight 912 New York-London. Alana took a deep breath before nodding an airport butler for him to drive the cart along her side.

And without further goodbye, she walked towards the VIP boarding line.

***

Once on her seat, she asked the stewardess for a glass of water and an Aspirin. This was more than she can handle. Though, they say it’s better to tear it from the root. So, she typed the well-known user on her Instagram and found right-away the latest hit she had read a couple of days before.

In fairy tales, Cinderella danced until midnight with her Prince Charming. But on the Upper East Side, our Cinderalana ran away before dancing with our Prince T and, instead of a crystal slipper, left a whole crowd open-mouthed. Sorry T, but you had to read the tale first; Cinderella didn’t kiss the Prince on Valentine’s Day ball while he was under vodka’s spell.

Her eyes went watery and bit her tongue to hold her feelings inside. Gossip Girl having perfect timing for dropping bombs. Suddenly, Alana felt the chills running down her spine as she remembered Tom’s closeness and everybody’s eyes on them with their phones out ready to snap the moment.

And it made her sick. She shut her eyes as she leaned against her back on the comfortable seat with a sigh. This had to end, now. But gossips would always be around, and people have no mercy. That’s why she had to leave.

In a movement worthy of dramatic film scenes, Alana looked out through the plane’s window and saw New York City lights vanish before her eyes. Then, she brought her attention back to her phone screen still on Gossip Girl and decidedly clicked ‘Unfollow’.

A new beginning, far far away.

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

May 2019. Present Day NYC - Howarth’s penthouse.

“What do you mean dad is not at home?”

Alana frowned at the woman standing behind a desk with her glasses in the middle of her nose, focused on the golden MacBook screen.

“Well, hospitals demand a lot of him these days. And it certainly did not help the fact he had to deal with the Foundation too when his daughter left.” Margot, Alana’s mother, answered throwing a reproach glance in her daughter’s direction while interlacing her fingers to rest her chin on top.

“But I’m back now.”

“He said he’d be here as soon as his meeting with the board finishes. Maybe you can re-join your place as ‘Charity and Foundation leader’.”

“I’d love that, truly.” Alana said as a warm smile covered her face. If one thing she had missed was the Foundation and all its activities; see children’s faces when they were told their surgeries would be free.

“By the way, the Holland’s organized an evening party at the Palace in honor of your return.” Margot added, bringing her attention back to the MacBoook screen and typing fast over the keyboard.

“Oh mom…”, the prodigal daughter rolled her eyes. Margot being Margot Howarth and the socialite.

“You know they’re very fond of you. Besides, Tom and you have always been close, like cousins.” Alana’s mom took her glasses off to fix her eyes on her daughter as she shrugged. “And when Elizabeth told me about her idea, well, I thought it was hilarious.”

“Hilarious for you.”

“Alana please don’t act like a chi…”

“I’ll be on my room!”, she shouted already on her way towards the stairs. “Until I move again somewhere else”, this last muttered under her breath.

***

As soon as her foot stepped into her room, a kind of relief relaxed every muscle of her body, plopping down over her big bed. After a few seconds, the whole world fell under her chest.

“Fuck”

The very one thing she wasn’t ready to face, and her mother arranges everything as always for it to happen. Alana could’ve continued regretting her bad luck, but jetlag dominated her will and a couple of minutes later, fell deeply asleep.

***

It wasn’t until Dr. Howarth kissed her forehead that her eyes opened, and she slowly got up, still under the sleep’s stupor.

“Morning, sunshine”

“God, what time is it?”

“Six.” He answered calmly as he lend her a glass of cold water. “So, how was Europe?”

After drinking the last drop, she placed the empty glass on the bedside table and fixed her eyes into her father’s.

“Great. Thanks for… everything. Spending my Senior high school year there was the best I could’ve ever done, thank you for supporting that.”

Dr. Marcus Howarth sat up on her bed with his lips pursed in an apologizing manner.

“I’m sorry we had to leave so soon on your Graduation Day, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay. You were there, that’s all that matters.”

“You know I’m so thrilled you’re back, and more so behaving like an adult. What happened to my naughty teenager?”

Both shared a laugh. Her father had always been honest with her and knew exactly when to act as a friend or as a parent.

“She grew up.”

Marcus nodded with a proud smile on his face.

“Yeah, she did.”

A brief silence floated in the room. Dr. Howarth was about to stood up when Alana asked.

“Dad?”

He looked at Alana with a slight frown.

“I met someone”

His father’s blissful aura faded and narrowed his eyes, ready to hear the story his daughter was about to tell.

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

February 17th, 2018. London City.

Alana closed the door as soon as the last worker left the last suitcase and stood before the mess, but a genuine smile covered her face making it almost shine.

There she was in her new, and so far craziest, adventure: living alone. After enjoying a few minutes of peace, Alana began unpacking. It’d be a long night and she had to hurry.

Tomorrow was her first day at Woldingham School for Girls in Surrey, only 35 minutes away from her location; her father alleged she should study somewhere in London, but her mother decided that, if her daughter was studying in the UK, then she’d do it at the same school she once did. At least Gossip Girl’s realm didn’t get that far.

The bell rang, bringing her back to Earth; approached to the micro near the button instalment that controlled the gate.

“Who is it?”

Her favorite female voice answered.

“It’s me. Blair.”

“Come up!”

A couple of minutes later, godmother and goddaughter were embraced with big smiles.

“Goodness, you’re here!”

“Chuck’s waiting outside, I just wanted to see the place you… chose to live”, Blair Waldorf glanced with a frown every corner of the floor as if looking a horror show. “Seriously, Lana, you should stay at my house here, nobody’s living there. And I’ve heard Benedict Cumberbatch lives a couple of houses from it.”

“I’d like to give this place a try. But thank you.”

Blair hold her goddaughter’s hands and showed her a sincere encouraging smile.

“And remember, no matter if your last name is Howarth, you’ve always been a Waldorf.”

***

The subway ride hadn’t been as bad as she imagined. But living in London with less privileges than in New York felt good.

Alana was about to step outside the principal’s office.

“Here”, the principal handed her a bunch of papers. “Your first class had just begun a couple of minutes ago. ‘Art History’, you better hurry up.”

“Thank you for receiving me, Principal Martha.”

Both women shook hands and shared polite smiles.

“You’re welcome, Alana. It was a pleasure.”

Once on the aisle, she inspected the papers content and between them found a map of the whole campus.

“Not even Harry Potter’s Hogwarts map was that difficult.” Alana muttered under her breath with her eyes locked in the drawings of aisles and buildings.

Apparently, this boarding school was only for girls but was related to the boys’ boarding one next to this, and so, some classes were shared; such as Art History.

When she finally figured out where the hell her room was, it had already begun as the principal warned her. She was standing near the door with her eyes trying to see through the little windows.

“Maybe it’s almost finishing”

But before she decided to leave, a boy with wavy hair and indie aspect cleared his throat and touched her back with his finger. He had drops of sweat running around his face, he ran late too.

“Excuse me uh, are you coming inside?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Seems the class is interesting, I’ll interrupt the professor’s speech, maybe.”

“Mr. Blackwood’s? He doesn’t mind.”

“Really?”

His aura was full of electricity and calm at the same time. And his eyes made Alana’s impression to sound reasonable; both eyeballs were surrounded by a smoldering green.

“Yeah. Besides, if you come in with me, he won’t get mad. Trust me”

“Alright”, she answered doubtfully.

Though his charisma convinced her about the professor’s behavior, this was the first time she trusted someone who had just met.

“I’m Timothée, by the way.” He stretched out his hand to shake it with hers, something not commonly used among youngsters.

“Alana.”

Timothée gently smiled at her as he made a gesture with his hand to let her walk inside first.

“Nice to meet you, Alana. Shall we?”

***

April (one week before Summer) 2018. Woldingham Boarding School.

A couple of months were enough for Alana to feel like a Londoner. She might not know the city by heart but had connected to it in a way she never had with New York. And she barely remembered Gossip Girl or the Valentine’s ball incident.

Mr. Blackwood was in front of the whole class pointing something on the projector’s screen. ‘Modern Art’ era and music was the main subject of the day.

“So, as many of you may know or even have the honor of meeting, Hans Zimmer did change the way film music was recorded…”

The boarding school, despite what her mother commented her, had rich kids from several Western Europe countries. Perhaps Margot referred to the fact most were new monied instead of old monied as in Constance, her former high school in New York.

Timothée was sitting next to her in the middle row.

“He’s getting sentimental.” He turned his head and whispered near her ear.

“Shh.” Alana giggled.

“He is. Jesus, I told him to follow his dream, get his butt to Hollywood and ‘boom’ the Oscar goes to Joe Blackwood for Best Original Score”

Blackwood crossed his legs as he leaned his arms over the desk behind his back.

“Alexandre Desplat finally received his Oscar, but… Alright, back to topic, please eyes on the screen.”

Everyone did as told. Unlike other classes, this one gave them the opportunity to flirt, so in exchange they obeyed the young and cool professor Joe.

“The following video reflects what we’ve been talking these weeks; the power of music.”

Letters – Abel Korzeniowski

Lights had been turned down, leaving the room in complete darkness until two dancers appeared on screen. Their performance was so beyond perfect it almost made her wince.

Once the lights were on again, Mr. Blackwood’s excitement filled his face and voice.

“You see? Every note was sintonized with every movement. Did you feel the passion?”

A moment of silence between the students reigned in the room, until Timothée broke it and everyone’s heads turned in his direction.

“Indeed, Mr. Blackwood. The sequence of the young man reading his lover’s letter reflects pure desperation and pain. Ballet is quite misunderstood sometimes, just bodies moving doesn’t make any sense… But when music accompanies this, it’s… Art.”

His velvety voice was casting a hypnotizing shadow on his very feature. Everyone’s eyes were glued on him. However, it wasn’t interest what she saw reflected on them but a weird mix of respect and fear? She wasn’t sure.

And when he finished his comment, Mr. Blackwood cleared his throat bringing the class’ attention back to the desk where he had been without moving, also spelled by Timothée’s charm.

“That’s art, ladies and gentlemen. Your final Project is about this video, I want an essay on my desk by the end of the week.”

***

Ten minutes later, Timothée and Alana were walking down the aisle in silence.

“What are your plans for this summer?”

She glanced at him with a slight frown as she let out a chuckle. That was unexpected.

“Head back to New York, maybe.”

His eyes were fixed on her, ready to perceive any reaction on her feature while both kept walking.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

Suddenly, her face changed to a completely speechless expression. So, he decided to add more and ease her a bit.

“Yeah, road tripping all over Europe. Or at least Western Europe before senior year.”

Nothing. Her eyes were blank.

“Don’t tell me Summer at the Hamptons sounds better.”

Two blinks. And seconds later, a smile.

“No… Uhm, you know what? I’d like a road trip… Very much.”

It was true, another summer listening to her mother’s speech was the last she wanted to do. Or facing what she left.

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

May 2019. Present Day

***

Spotted: The airport handsome young man stepping into the Empire Hotel. There are only two reasons a stranger would walk in with such determination; he’s a guest in a hurry or he’s visiting our former prince Chuck Bass.

***

NYC – Bass’ penthouse.

The elevator door opened and Timothée walked into his uncle’s penthouse. He had his hands inside his pocket as he stared the whole place; it must be the biggest penthouse in New York.

Chuck Bass appeared in a blue suit, holding a glass of whisky on his right hand.

“Timmy, long time no see!”

Bass handed him the glass as he approached to his mini-bar and served a drink for himself.

“Indeed, uncle.”

“Your mother?”

“She’s fine but couldn’t come. You know, Europe is-“

“Her home. That’s what she always told me when we were kids.”

His uncle made a slight gesture for him to seat over the couch.

“And your father?”

“Business.”

“Chalamet… Guess his new empire got him pretty busy.”

Timothée nodded before drinking a sip of whisky.

“I still remember when my father learned your mother was going to marry your father Domenico, a nobody, as he called him.” A hint of a playful grin showed over his face. “He surprised us all when suddenly bought your mother a mansion at Monte Carlo and had investors everywhere.”

A naughty smile covered Timothée’s face as a memory crossed over his mind at the mention of Monte Carlo.

“Oh, that mansion… Got some cool parties over there”

Chuck joined him with the same smile.

“You got that fun sense from your mother’s family side, particularly me.” Chuck blinked as he reminded himself the main subject of that chat.“But, what can I do for you, nephew?”

“Well, I’m pretending to stay here for a while. Yale haven’t accepted me, but Columbia already did and just wanted to let you know.”

“You already found where to live?”

“Yeah, they’re sending my luggage there.”

Again, the elevator doors opened but this time Serena van der Woodsen stepped inside, announcing her hurried way.

“Chuck it’s me! Just came for something Blair left and…”

She was open-mouthed for a splice of a second, before approaching to Chuck though not taking her eyes away from the young man sitting in front of him.

“Serena, this is my nephew Timothée Hal Chalamet.” Both stretched hands politely. “Timothée, this is Serena van der Woodsen, my wife’s best friend.”

“A pleasure.” Serena, despite the years, still glowed in beauty showing him her characteristic smile. “Maybe you’d like to join us tonight. It’s at the Palace, Blair and a friend organized a party to celebrate Alana Howarth’s return.”

“Come, Tim. Blair would be delighted to see you.”

The young man raised his eyebrows in surprise at the invitation. He pretended to be speechless for a few seconds just before a big smile wrote all over his face.

“I’d love to. Thank you so much”

Well, he had to admit it. That insane egocentric philosophy ‘The Universe conspires in your favor to achieve your purposes’ proved him wrong. Thank you, New York.

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

May 2019. Present Day

***

Spotted: A prince with bewilderment written all over his face. Poor T, here’s an advice; if you need help, don’t ask Cupid nor Saint Vodka.

***

NYC – Holland’s penthouse.

Tom was under a warm shower. As soon as he arrived, he locked his door and went straight to his bathroom in an attempt to slowly regain his senses and clarity. He later changed warm for cold water, running his fingers through his hair and sniffing loudly at the freezing touch.

A couple of months ago, he would do this same thing and more, and still say he deserved this pain for what he had done. But today, his mind had changed. Now, he did it as a knight would’ve prepared his horse and his best sword before battle.

Evan was fast, his best informer in fact. Tom was quite pleased by his efficiency; he still hadn’t reached the building when already had the file on his phone. It took his informer less than an hour to get everything about Timothée Hal Chalamet and gather it onto a file.

The first pages were enough for Holland to understand what this man was doing here. He felt blood running faster than ever through his veins, his breathing sped up, clenched his jaw hard and his body was almost trembling in rage. So, he got himself into the shower.

And there he was.

“I fucked up, Alana… I fucked up everything.” He shut his eyes, trying to hold tears inside. “And now this son of a bitch appears from Nowhere…”

Tom couldn’t blame him for the main title in the first page.

“Timothée ‘The King’ Chalamet”

He had laughed when he read it; only someone stupid would name himself a king and add it to his own name. But his smile faded as he kept analyzing and reading newspaper headers.

Chalamet had earned his nickname in late years, by heart. All over Europe, people recognized him as a nice charismatic and gentle young man when regarding adults. But among youngsters, a different story surrounded his name.

Not that he was terrifying or a murderer, a psycho or whatever. Not at all. He was more like a plague. A virus that entered through your ears and eyes.

Newspapers described him in few words as a promoter of good, mainly when he attended to hospitals or charity events. They ignored completely his scandalous life. Early on, his social status had remained low-key, almost nonexistent if not for a couple events his family attended hosted by the Bass family. His debut in true high society had been at the age of 11, when his family moved to Monte Carlo and since then have enjoyed a very wealthy life.

Though, he began building his realm in an Italian boarding school when he was 14; a professor was fired. Nobody really knew the reason; some said that had been because he had seduced her, others said that she scolded him after class for not delivering his homework on time and he turned things around until she cried, and others said she sneezed very close of him.

Later, at the age of 16, when his name was known in several Western Europe countries, he offered a party in Amsterdam. Some say celebrities such as The Weeknd and Cristiano Ronaldo were there. And more parties like that were hosted by him; it’s said Ed Sheeran got inspiration for a song that later became his hit ‘Shape of You’ while he attended one.

Although, when Chalamet turned 18 and moved to London, he settled down and devoted to Art in a calm boarding school.

“Months later, just after he decided to agree a kind of armistice with his realm, Alana comes to his life… And everything because of me.”

The water had ceased falling and Tom reached a towel, drying his face first and breathing deep while blaming himself.

“But this motherfucker is not in Europe. This is New York.”

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

Summer 2018

Seventy summer nights together. Perhaps Shakespeare, Nancy Meyers, and the whole bunch of screenwriters who wrote romcoms about summer loves were right. And she’d confirm it a thousand times… She hadn’t felt better in a long long time.

Alana chuckled and bit her lower lip from time to time as she reviewed her phone gallery with all her on-the-road memories.

He had told her this was his favorite, thus he set it as his lockscreen.

This was Paradise. Although the deal was road tripping, some luxury wouldn’t do any harm. She couldn’t even believe the beauty in the view their shared suite enjoyed.

The sound of the glass door from the shower made her immediately smile as the picture of Timothée with a towel wrapped around his waist filled her eyes.

He smiled at her too and turned around to open the mirrored cabinet and look for his Hugo Boss cologne. Once he found it, he poured some over his hand and dispersed it around his neck.

“Ready for your surprise?”

Alana smirked. Her eyes had been focused on his movements she didn’t expect that.

“What? You didn’t tell me”

“Oh, it’s true. I forgot to tell you about your surprise, maybe cause that’s what surprises are. A SECRET.”

“You’re a bad bad guy for not telling me.”

He walked towards her with a mischievous smile.

“But I’m YOUR bad guy.”

Timothée approached slowly and then captured her lips with his in a long and soft kiss. He cupped her face in his hands after pulling away.

“Go, babe. Get ready.”

Now was her turn to take a shower. Life couldn’t be better.

***

“Oh God. Timothée you didn’t…”

Alana was open-mouthed as she looked through the window how the limo drove them to the front door of the auditorium. A big poster announced tonight’s event: The 1975 in concert.

He rejoiced in his success for making her that happy.

“I did, darling. I did.”

“But- wh- how?”

“Let’s just say Matty Healy owed me a favor.”

“You know Matty Healy? Oh, dear heaven…”

Once inside the complex, another surprise came for her; Matty reserved them special seats in the front row. This had to be a fucking dream, one Alana wanted to never end.

The lights were all off, only a few white shadows were visible. Some guitar chords resonated. And suddenly, a blue neon light lit up the stage. Robbers characteristic sounds shouted making the whole crowd crazy and she couldn’t help herself but joining them.

Timothée just looked at her, at the shine in her eyes reflecting those lights and felt his heart melt. When he remembered the lyrics, he also joined the crowd and the woman next to him.

The group played a lot of songs more, connected, laughed and played with their audience. Matty even mentioned them:

“A few friends of mine are here tonight. Hope you’re enjoying this. ARE YOU ENJOYING THIS PEOPLE?”

As the end of the night came closer, the illumination changed slowly until a violet-pink light colored the stage and a kind of white smoke covered the arena. One more song and it’d be over.

It was ‘Somebody Else’. Alana’s favorite song from The 1975. Her eyes went watery as a soft smile wrote over her face.

He felt it too. Countless times he had told Matty this was their best song ever, so when it began playing Healy looked at him and blinked an eye before singing.

Timothée pressed his body against hers with her back touching his chest. He wondered if she could feel his fast heartbeats. Though she did nothing, but wince at his touch that only sent shivers down her spine.

He was a few inches taller, so his breath moved some strands of her hair. His hands ran down her arms until it reached hers and hold them as both crossed their fingers; hand to hand. Slowly, he led their arms to raise them above their heads and move with the music.

And if there’s a thought, it was a lie.

Two bodies, two souls, two hearts. Dancing together. Being one.

“Let’s keep dancing, let’s do it”.

Matty said to the audience, but Timothée felt the message had been more for him because he saw the way he danced with Alana. Yeah, he perfectly knew what Healy wondered and he was right; The King fell in love.

***

Backstage, Timothée introduced Alana to The 1975 members.

“You guys enjoyed the concert?” Matty asked as he grabbed a bottle of water.

“Hell yeah. It was amazing, you guys are AWESOME.”

Her smile was infinite. Almost nothing in the world would make it fade.

“Thank you, thank you. And what are you both doing? I mean, you wanna join us at the after-party?”

The couple looked at each other’s eyes and immediately knew the answer; they wanted to spend the night together at the hotel.

“Maybe next time, Matty. But thank you.” Timothée answered as he nodded to his friend.

“The King shall rest.”

The singer and Timothée shared a masculine hug before Alana took a picture of them with her Polaroid.

“Was a big pleasure seeing you, man. And hope to hear more from you, Alana; you gotta be The Queen.”

***

Alana stood before the mirror and started removing pins from her hair.

“What a night. I still cannot believe it.”

“Pure magic”, Timothée said standing behind her and slowly approaching to retake the same contact as in the concert.

Both looked at their reflection and stayed in silence for a minute before she turned her face to meet her lips with his in a soft kiss.

“Do you love me?”, she asked.

Instead of answering, he kissed her again but desperately this time. Her back hit the nearest wall as he deepened the kiss and unfastened her robe before kissing her neck.

But suddenly he stopped. The Killers Mr. Brightside’s chords coming from her purse interrupted the moment; her phone was ringing. She reached for it and her face paled when she saw the name flashing on the screen; Tom Holland.

She tried to collect herself, speechless as hesitance prevented her from making what her memory commanded her almost instinctively. Her thumb struggled between two choices; she answered, obeying her brain’s will.

“Alana?”

Alana winced at the sound of his voice, though she couldn’t utter a word. Timothée stood behind her as he smoothed his hair back with both hands, confused and frustrated.

“If you’re listening… Oh God, I-I-I don’t know what time is in your location, maybe it’s late or… not,” he began with jitters and hesitance cracking his voice. “Listen, it doesn’t matter if you’re a couple hundred miles from Japan… I was wondering if you have plans tonight.”

He made a pause, waiting for an answer or at least a reaction on the other line, but Alana kept frozen in her place, so he took a deep breath to encourage himself and continue.

“Maybe we could talk. Please, let me explain what-”

“Stop!” Alana exclaimed with an angry yet broken voice and hung up the phone.

She stood there for a couple of minutes more, with her eyes glued to the window view facing the darkness of the ocean at night. And when she finally faced Timothée, who had his eyes fixed on her, she swallowed hard. His eyes widened at the sight of her face, pale as ghost.

“I’d like to get some fresh air… Alone.”

He nodded with a slight worried frown. It was clear she had to make an effort to utter a word. He leaned against the couch, letting a sigh escape from his mouth.

The phone rang again. Mr. Brightside’s chords again over the bed.

Timothée answered.

“Alana? Please, listen to me. I-I-I’m so sorry.”

As soon as he heard a male voice, and even more after listening the weak apologize, his blood boiled.

Who the hell ever dared to hurt her?

He clenched his jaw when he read the name; Tom Holland.

***

When Alana crossed the door and entered their suite, a huge relief relaxed every muscle of Timothée’s body. A part of him told him not to, but he couldn’t help himself on pulling her into a tight embrace.

“Thank you.” She whispered over his shoulder before pulling away. “I’m sorry for leaving like that…”

His eyes were filled with tenderness for the woman standing face to face.

“No need to apologize, Alana.”

“Yes, I have to. We were having OUR moment and he suddenly calls with perfect timing and everything came back…”, a knot formed in her throat and her voice broke against her will.

Timothée immediately placed his hands over her shoulders, ready to pull her again and protect her. Only God knew what he was capable of if that man placed a finger on her without consent.

“What? He did something to you?”

Even though her voice was now recovered, he could tell it wasn’t easy for her to talk about it.

“Not exactly. There’s a stupid site called Gossip Girl that makes public everything that happens on the Upper E…”

Her lower lip trembled, perhaps as a sign for trying to keep the calm. So he made a decision; no more pain.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me right now if you don’t want to.” Alana fixed his eyes into his in utter silence. “This is your fresh start.”

“A fresh start.” She nodded.

“The past is on the past”, he gently grabbed her by the chin. “Don’t feel you gotta tell me everything that happened before we met… Let’s make a deal, okay? Like… Hakuna Matata.”

She chuckled. And this relieved him in more than one way.

“No worries, no bad experiences, just today. Present is all that matters.”

“That sounds promising”, she said with a soft smile spreading across her face.

His thumb caressed her chin while both stared straight into each other’s eyes.

“It does, yeah. So… deal?”

“Deal.”

Timothée holded her right hand and kissed it as he promised himself he would never let her go.

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

The Palace. Present Day.

The terrace was crowded by those distinguished guests who were, in Mrs. Howarth’s opinion, indispensable to celebrate her daughter’s return.

Tom had arrived earlier than everyone hoping she’d come with her mother. But she didn’t. People started arriving and there was no sight of her. He was sitting at the Palace hotel bar, taking a sip of scotch as he tried not to check his phone again. One hour. One hour late to her own party.

Just when he was about to believe she wouldn’t come; a waiter tinkled a glass to gain everyone’s attention and music stopped. His mother and Margot Howarth stood mid-stairs with a microphone each in their right hand.

“Good evening”, his mother said.

“Thank you for being here, it’s a pleasure for us to…”

Margot’s voice was in the background while Tom kept glancing in every direction to see if Alana was around. But the face he recognized from the pictures made him grip his scotch glass a little too tight; Timothée Chalamet. What was he doing here?

“Well, she doesn’t really need an introduction. Ladies and gentlemen, my daughter Alana Howarth.”

The words resonated in his ears as Tom instinctively turned his face at the stairs. Everyone clapped joyfully.

“Thank you, mom. And thank you, Mrs. Holland. I’m so glad for being here with all of you…”

Still not a minute went by when her voice seemed to have everyone under a spell, as always. Her charm to connect with people had always been her strongest gift.

“…hope to rejoin the Olivia Howarth Charity Foundation and serve our people as it’s meant to be”

More claps. People loved her benevolent soul.

As she walked down the stairs, Alana made eye contact with Tom, but she looked away almost immediately, paying attention to Blair Waldorf and the couple talking with her.

***

Wind wasn’t blowing in Tom’s favor.

Alana had done everything in her power to keep herself busy eating canapes and talking about the beautiful flowers or the dress of Mrs. Perkins with every guest. With this luck, the night would end before he could approach her.

The clock read 9:40 p.m; it was now or never. Tom walked towards Serena van der Woodsen who was standing with a group of people, however when she saw from the corner of her eye her godson, she excused herself and turned to meet him.

“Auntie, I need your help”, Tom said handing her a glass of champagne.

“What is it, Tommy?”

She stared at him with a worried look on her face.

“You see that guy over there?” He glanced at Timothée’s direction talking with Chuck Bass and a couple more businessman. “I need you to distract him so I can have a word with Alana.”

“Oh, I saw him today with Chuck Bass. He’s his nephew.”

“I know. Would you talk to him while I’m with her, please?”

“He’s not with Alana, why don’t you just simply ask her?”

His eyes traveled the whole room.

“It’s… complicated, auntie S.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll do it, but please Tom don’t make a scene”, Serena placed one hand over her godson’s elbow. “It’s classic of Gossip Girl haunting for something in parties like this one.”

He nodded as putting on a smile and taking a step back from her.

“Don’t worry, auntie S.”

Serena went to the canape table and grabbed two, one for Chuck and one for her, then she headed up to their direction. Timothée welcomed her.

Fortunately, Alana was with a group of women who appreciated him very much. Confident of himself, he took a deep encouraging breath and he took three long strides to stand before her.

“Good evening, ladies.”

A couple of them raised their eyebrows, but they welcomed him nicely.

“Oh Tom dear, we were just talking about high school.”

“Thank God we graduated”, he chuckled, and the group joined him in his polite laugh. His charm might not be as powerful as hers, but it worked, and he used it. After the laugh faded, he cleared his throat. “Alana may I have a word?”

He got her. Fuck. The only thing left for her was nod and force a smile.

“Excuse me.”

Tom led her to a balcony away from the party, not without looking around to make sure no one saw them. In the midst of nervousness and excitement, Tom missed a pair of green eyes watching from the other side of the terrace.

Once outside, Alana turned to face him; she wasn’t chickening out this time.

“Tom, please don’t do this.”

He raised his hands as an innocent man would do in front of a cop.

“I just have to say something, please”

Her eyes were locked on his while she shook her head as if begging him not to press his finger over the wound.

“Don’t, don’t go there.”

“You just need to hear it.” He took one step to be closer to her, and when his mouth opened his voice had a soft sound. “I’m sorry, Alana. For that night. I never wanted to disrespect you or make you feel so bad for you to leave the city and…”

“I didn’t leave because of that!”, she cut him off.

His lips parted, looking genuinely confused. She shut her eyes for a brief moment before letting go a tired sigh.

“Jesus! What happened was the drop that spilled the glass. One day I woke up and… I didn’t want my life to be the way it had been with Gossip Girl shouting every party I hosted or even if I sniffed.” Alana swallowed hard and prayed her courage wouldn’t let her voice fail. “I… thought it’d be enough if I just stayed at the edge, but on Valentine’s…”, a complex mixture of rage and sadness were threatening to crack her voice, but she collected herself before tears flood her eyes. “The very person I cared the most about… showed me this world wasn’t for me cause no one would be truly a friend.”

She let the words hit him as she bit her lower lip in a last attempt not to cry. It still hurt.

“And, you know the rest.”

Silence set between the two of them. Tom was shattered; she had trusted him, and he failed her. He failed. And her words explained a lot of things but one. Tom tried to swallow the knot that formed in his throat.

“So, why you came back?”

“My aunt Blair told me Gossip Girl’s gift for Upper East Side grads was a clean slate for college. That’s why I’m here. A new beginning in New York, with my family.”

“I called you a thousand times and you were mad with me.”

Alana exhaled loudly and her rage seemed to come back for a second.

“I was, right. I knew you had feelings for me, and that night I expected you’d do something. And you did, but under alcohol’s effect. In front of the whole class with their phones out.”

“And I would never forgive myself for that”

Once more, Alana shut her eyes trying to control herself. When she got it, her eyes opened with a calmer pace and saw a dark knight walking towards them. Tom had his back to him and didn’t feel him coming.

“The past is in the past, Tom. Wish you a good life.” She administered the coup de grâce.

“Alana, please…”

Tom lifted his right hand to caress her arm. But Timothée’s hand stepped in the way, pushing his hands away before he could touch her.

Alana rolled her eyes, tired of this drama. She glanced at both men and moved a strand of hair out of her face.

“My dad should be wondering where I am”, she said as she brushed past Timothée making his shoulder move.

As soon as she left, Tom pushed sharply away Timothée’s hand with pursed lips and clenched jaw.

“Who the fuck you think you are to interrupt us?”

Timothée stared at him with a quirked eyebrow, challenging him as a mocking smile threatened to set free at the corner of his lips.

“Would say it was over before I came.”

“Listen to me you…”

But his sarcastic feature changed in a blink of an eye into serious, taking a step closer to him.

“No, YOU listen to me; you got your opportunity and you lost it.”

“Use your words carefully, you’re not in Monte Carlo anymore”, Tom warned him.

“Yeah, that’s what Google Maps says”, Timothée raised his eyebrows as he nodded with a smile.

“Alana would’ve never trusted you if she knew every thing I know about you”, Holland furrowed his eyes while putting his hands inside his pocket.

“And you think she’d believe a word you say?”, Chalamet scoffed. “Wake up, Thomas. She’s not under your mercy anymore.” He enjoyed the face Holland made, speechless. “Do yourself a favor and move on.”

Though, the prince reminded himself his advantage.

“You don’t know her at all. No matter how much time you’ve spent together, the good stuff is on the details and that’s something you won’t get.”

This hit Chalamet hard.

“Are you threating me?”, the European king asked sounding annoyed.

“I’m warning you”, now Tom used Chalamet’s same attitude with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

The atmosphere got heavier as both young men stared at each other with rage overflowing from their auras. But before one could do anything else, Nate Archibald walked towards them with a drink in his right hand.

“Tom? Here you are. Serena’s been looking for you. She’s inside.”

Whether Serena was indeed looking for him or not, Nate prevented him from making a scene and so, Tom had nothing to do but walk away with Nate.

“Thanks”

Alone, Timothée stared at the amazing view.

“New York, New York”

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

The identity of the mysterious airport handsome man was revealed; Timothée Chalamet. But our prince is not delighted by his presence. Looks like Manhattan’s Elite might quake with their outstanding chemistry to light a bomb up.

Alana, you did have fun in your year out… Enjoy your clean slate. I know it won’t take much time for you to dirt them up.

You know you love me, XOXO

Gossip Girl.

TAG LIST: (tagged those who asked but feel free to let us know if you want to be removed or added)

@clairesrainbow; @noobmaster63; @claryaki; @silverscreenkid; @vogueworthy-barnes; @persefoneaurispa ; @izdevett ; @mae-petite-etoile ; @tpwkal; @meliketozier; @aliceinwhateverland; @justcallmenameless; @kathrynisadogperson; @loricwizardbluetoastedcake; @vintageroses1014516; @im-not-edgy-im-just-pretentious; @xlilmultiimaginesworld; @sunnygubler; @agentcvrters; @adorablehumanbeing; @goingwiththewind; @rachel-mc11; @candycxorn; @bruvberta; @justficsandstuff

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jtownraindancer · 5 years ago

Text

Charlie Bradbury x Reader: Season 15

She was the most brilliant person you knew.

She was sitting at her tablet, rapidly typing away on plastic keys, possibly bringing down another corporate empire, perhaps building yet another database. You were breathless, drawn in by the slight tug on her lips, but the fiery determination shining in her eyes.

She was the kindest person you knew.

She was stopping to talk with some local children, squatting down to their level, magenta blazer pulling firm across her shoulders as she offered them some candy, asking their thoughts on the weather and bumblebees. She offered laughter, warmth, soft assurances, longing look following the youngsters as they darted back to their games.

She was the most beautiful person you knew.

She was dragging you to yet another store, insisting it was time for another power suit upgrade. You begrudgingly tagged along, playfully feigning annoyance at the brightly coloured trousers she tried to recommend, secretly falling in love with each pair you were forced to try on. She was beaming in pride, fondness fading into triumph as she forced you to follow through on the purchases, her smirk at her accomplishment sending your pulse into overdrive.

She was the loneliest person you knew.

She rarely spoke of her mother, had only told you in passing of the found family she had acquired before. But it was a different life, she claimed. They were part of a world she didn't long to return to, part of a world you had both decided to flee. Sometimes, she still succumbed to wistfulness, fingers hovering over a number she had yet to delete from her phone, longing carving valleys into her crown.

She was the most playful person you knew.

The Queen of Moondoor had never truly disappeared, though she had surrendered her crown to another. But in the woods behind your cabin in Canada, she would still seek out adventure, dancing between the trees with a wooden blade in hand, parrying your every attempt to usurp her.

She was the most caring person you knew.

When you succumbed to a horrendous series of sniffles, she offered you tea and broth and quilts. When your shoulder was dislocated whilst repairing the warding around your property, she carefully guided it back into place, spending hours after delicately tracing over every inch of your back as you shared hot water, candles flickering as the bubbles slowly dissolved into oblivion.

She was the most charming person you knew.

She had won over the hearts of most of the townspeople, their newest archivist sweet and detail-oriented. She never missed a birthday, and she always made sure to check in with her closest acquaintances, securing you both a safe niche in the tight-knit community.

She was the most convincing person you knew.

When she had asked for your help to fake her demise, you had been hesitant, unsure. But she had won you over, a reminder of your mutual desire to escape the fold, to return to some semblance of normalcy. She had convinced you with the plan's simplicity and completely claimed you in her confident bravado.

She was the most affectionate person you knew.

While your relationship had never grown beyond close confidants, platonic life partners, you shared an understanding that you were the only two that could confide in each other. The second bedroom was soon abandoned in favour of shared heat, the separate wardrobes becoming one solitary unit. She was always warm caresses, solid embraces, lingering gestures of adoration.

She was the most determined person you knew.

She often would stay up for hours to finish her latest projects, sometimes missing several nights of sleep in her pursuits. She would never give up on a TV show, suffering through 15 seasons of even the most ridiculous mockumentary series you had ever seen. She would try to save every broken soul that passed your door, the collection of wayward pups and kits and birds constantly growing larger and larger.

She was the best person you knew.

You hadn't hesitated for a moment to accept her invitation, trusting in her courage, her resilience, her strength, her intelligence. She had confided in you, begging for you to abandon the only life you had truly known. But you knew- This amazing woman who had bested alternate realms, who had outwitted primordial beings and cultists and Fey and even her own mind- You knew that she deserved to retire. And you would not pass up the chance to spend your life at the side of the bravest woman you knew.

She was the most wonderful person you knew.

And this was the greatest decision you had made yet.

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dobujutsu-moved · 5 years ago

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Fallen Leaves

Warning: child death, blood, violence

Tazz couldn’t help but laugh at how excited her students were, one of them even letting out a loud hoop as he hopped around. Putting a hand on his head, she ruffled his ashy blond hair to which his blushed and pouted, “Now now, Aki. Don’t let your excitement get in the way.” Aki weakly smacked her hand away before crossing his arms with a huff, “Yeah, yeah...” The other two genin, another boy named Maru and the only girl Nana, just snickered at the blushing boy while Tazz just watched with a smile.

The reason for their excitement was that it was their first mission outside of Konoha’s walls. It was a simple mission. They just had to locate another Konoha shinobi in the nearest village and retrieve a scroll with information from them to bring it back to their village. They weren’t told what the information was, but it was hinted to have been just some trivial matters.

After the lighthearted moment, Tazz clapped her hands together with a grin, “Alright! It’s time for us to go!” The three youngsters grinned at each other before giving a simultaneous response. Once they were ready, they soon went through the village’s large gates. Aki was practically bouncing ahead with excitement as the other two managed to walk calmly next to Tazz.

After a few minutes of silence, Nana looked up at Tazz with her big blue eyes, “Tazz-sensei? How long do you think this mission will take?” Tazz hummed and peered down at her with a raised brow and a playful glint in her eyes, “Why? Already wanting to go home?” Nana blushed a bit and quickly shook her head, “N-No! I was just curious is all..” The jonin chuckled as she reached down to pat the little girl’s head affectionately, “I’m just teasing you. It should take a day at most. We’ll probably be back by sunset.”

Then Maru piped up as he walked with a skip in his step, “This is my first time being so far out of the village.. Aside from the genin exam, that is..” Tazz hummed and put her hands in her pockets as the four continued walking ahead, “Is that so? Well, once you get more experience, you’ll be able to go even farther and see more places.”

Finally, Aki slowed down to let the others catch up, “Sensei, have you been to a lot of places?” With a smile, she gave a nod, “Of course. I’ve been to different Lands, too.” The three genin looked up at their sensei in amazement, their eyes sparkling with childish curiosity.

The mission went smoothly enough. They made it to their destination, retrieved the scroll, and set off back to the village. As easy as that. At least, that’s what should have happened. Tazz had been focusing on her genin, so she didn’t realize until a bit later that they were being followed. The moment she noticed, she didn’t outwardly display that she had so that their shadows wouldn’t know that she knew about them. Instead, she just continued to joke around with the genin until they got to a small resting spot off to the side of the path.

It was then that she called for the young shinobi to gather close to her as she put her hands on Maru and Aki’s shoulders respectively, her face remaining calm with a smile as she lowered her voice, “Keep calm. We’re being followed.” Nana and Maru managed to keep from showing their surprise, but Aki’s green eyes widened and her almost glanced over his shoulder before Tazz stopped him with her hand on his head, “Don’t look. They can’t know that we know yet.”

Unfortunately, Aki’s reaction had alerted the stalkers that their prey had noticed them as told by the kunai whizzing past Nana’s head. The girl let out a small shriek and crouched down, covering her head. Tazz immediately pulled out several kunai and shuriken before hurling them where she could sense some of the enemy shinobi. A couple of grunts and thuds let her know that she hit her mark with a couple of them, but there were still more to deal with.

Then there was a scream from behind and Tazz whipped around to see a strange nin with an arm around Nana and a kunai pressed to her throat. The young girl looked to Tazz with tears in her eyes, silently begging for help. Tazz froze as dread settled in her gut, her breath hitching in her throat.

This couldn’t be happening. Why did things have to turn out like this?

She needed to summon Kurohi, but she couldn’t move without running the risk of the shinobi hurting Nana. Maru and Aki stared at the scene with wide eyes, both boys trembling.

The rest of the enemies began to reveal themselves, there being twelve total. The one who held Nana, which Tazz guessed to be the leader, began to speak, “You are a Kurokami, aren’t you? You shouldn’t be alive. Your clan was supposed to have been wiped out.” Tazz shot a harsh glare to the man, her fists curling tightly, “As you can see, that’s not entirely true. I’m the last of my clan..”

The enemy leader sneered at her and pressed his kunai more against Nana’s throat, the sharp tip pricking her skin and making blood drip down. The girl whimpered and shut her eyes as tears spilled down her cheeks, “S-Sensei!”

Suddenly a yell came from her right, where Aki was, and her head snapped towards him to see him shakily brandishing a kunai as he lunged at the nin holding Nana. Tazz’s eyes widened and she reached out to stop him, but it was too late, “AKI DON’T-!”

Nana and Maru cried out their friend’s name as multiple kunai and shuriken were suddenly embedded in Aki’s body and he dropped to his knees before falling down to the ground. The jonin’s outstretched hand began to tremble as she stared at the boy’s limp body, crimson slowly seeping out around him and staining his clothes and the grass. Why wasn’t he moving? He needed to move...

The leader clicked his tongue in annoyance and nodded his head towards Maru, his lackeys taking the signal and attacking him as well. Instead of using their weapons from a distance, three of them launched towards him as he yelled in fear. One delivered a powerful kick to his gut as another slammed his head into the ground when he had bent over to hold his stomach. He didn’t even have time to yelp in pain before the last one plunged a shortsword into his back, dispatching him quickly.

Nana began to sob as she clutched at the arm that held her back, fear overwhelming her as well as grief for her teammates. All Tazz could do, however, was stare at Maru’s body. There was no movement aside from the wind ruffling his mousey brown hair. His violet eyes were stuck halfway open, staring straight through Tazz as her blood ran cold.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The sound of Nana’s sobbing coming to a sudden end made her head snap towards the leader, her knees buckling from under her when she saw the kunai buried in the girl’s neck.

She failed.

She was supposed to teach and train these young shinobi. To protect them and help them grow.

But she failed

She couldn’t even pay attention as the leader let Nana go, her body slowly sliding down until she fell with a dull thump.

She thought she heard a distance snap somewhere.

She didn’t even register biting her thumb or weaving the hand signs. All she knew was that suddenly, Kurohi was in front of her and snarling viciously. Oh, how he had cared for those children too. The jonin and her summon shared a rage that burned like an inferno. Like how she had summoned the spirit wolf, she didn’t even realize when she had used the hand signs for their merging jutsu. She just remembered seeing the look of horror on the enemies’ faces when her appearance became that of a monster. Then everything went black.

When she came to, she was sitting on her knees with her head down. She couldn’t sense Kurohi, so he must have gone back to his realm. She slowly looked around, her body aching and burning at the same time. So many bodies... There were pools of blood soaking into the ground and her heart stopped when she saw the bodies of her genin. That was when her eye stung from tears welling up. She hadn’t even noticed that she couldn’t open her right eye.

She slowly crawled towards the closest of them, which was Aki, as sobs began to wrack her chest. She carefully removed the kunai and shuriken from him before picking him up as if he were made of glass. She then stood and went over to Mura, placing Aki down next to him before she repeated this with Nana.

Once the three genin were placed together, Tazz got down on her knees and carefully moved Aki’s head onto them in the middle, then Mura on the right and Nana on the left. She placed her hands on Mura and Nana’s foreheads as her head tilted back, letting her wails and cries echo through the darkening sky.

Aside from the blood and wounds, it looked like they were just sleeping against her lap like they would when they were alive.

#Some things are best left unspoken | Writings #child death tw #child abuse tw #death tw #blood tw #//This hurt to write but I'm glad I did it :)#in case any of y'all were curious about how she lost her team #this is why she refuses to take any more

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loreweaver-universe · 5 years ago

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Since The Wishing Chamber is 99.9% never getting made, here’s some info about the (admittedly PG-13) Pokemon fan-game I plotted out ten years ago. Lots of details and accumulated art by (off the top of my head) Alanahikarichan, Mopomoko, Zaerosz, my younger sibling Vic, TeddyBara, and NightFlowerLuv:

--Centuries ago, a local trainer, the most powerful in the realm, decided to try to capture the most powerful legend the region told of: Rayquaza.

--All this did was piss it off.

--Eventually, unable to stop Rayquaza’s livid rampage through battling, she went with plan B: Underneath the tallest mountain in the region is an ancient chamber. In this chamber, Jirachi makes its home. If you make it through the crumbling ruins and survive the trip, you get one wish--but there can only be one wish at a time, and if you make a new wish, the old one gets undone. Said trainer wishes for Rayquaza to be sealed away, then takes the key to the Wishing Chamber and carves it up into eighteen pieces, which are slowly distributed amongst what would become the region’s Gym Leaders.

--Set in a heavily forested region with a massive lake to the west, rocky mountains to the east, and snowy ruins to the far north from when Rayquaza went on that rampage.

--I’ll talk about the plot another time, since this turned into a character design post.

--There are eighteen Gym Leaders, which can largely be fought in any order; the region is laid out like a web, with the starting city in the center. You have to beat eight gyms to reach the endgame plot, and gym leaders have nine teams depending on whether you have 0-8+ badges.

--Gym Leadership in the region is something of a line of succession; the key fragments are passed on to the person that leader most trusts to take up the mantle.

--The Water leader (and this post was inspired by seeing the Galar Water leader, so we’re starting with her) was a self-made hostess who brought herself up from waitressing all the way to being the most famous, uh...what’s the word for rich party-throwing person? I can’t remember. Anyways, her name was Marina, she owned an underwater ballroom at the bottom of the lake, and she wore a Milotic dress:

--The Rock, Bug, and Grass leaders were a mother and two daughters, scientists all of them; the mother, the Rock leader, ran a preserve where revived fossil pokemon were studied in an environment replicated to the best of their ability. She was the Gym Leader Posse’s team mom, even to the leaders that were significantly older than her:

--The Bug and Grass leaders were sisters and rivals, out studying the biology of the pokemon in the southern jungles. The Grass leader was the older sister, a cheerful earthy type with vine tattoos and a bandana styled after...some Berry or other, I think it was Sitrus?... whose back ties stuck up to look like leaves:

--The Bug leader was the younger of the two, and more grumpy and pretentious. I mean, just look at her:

--That’ the Ice gym leader, who’s a goofy old janitor at a fancy ski resort in the north. He’s on par with the two other strongest trainers in the region. He just likes things quiet.

--The other two top leaders are Dragon and Fire. I don’t have a picture of the Dragon leader that wasn’t drawn by a really horrible former friend, and so I won’t be sharing them here, but she’s a philosopher who wanders the eastern mountain ranges--in fact, you’d have to actually track her down in order to even talk to her, let alone have your battle.

--She and the Fire leader had a bit of a free will/determinism split that twenty-year-old Loreweaver thought was quite clever, as twenty-year-old Loreweaver often did, that would play into a binary choice you had to make at the end of the game that would determine which final boss you faced and which of the pair would die saving the other from Rayquaza. The Fire leader, who’d have been the region’s Champion if the region was structured that way, is a professional explorer who’s the leader of a large adventurer camp in the snowy ruins of the north; they keep Fire pokemon around for warmth and heating and general quality-of-life, and he finances expeditions into the centuries-old ruins to uncover the weird, warped results of the battle and the wish. When you fight the Fire gym, he actually is the door guide, and he wanders with you through the battles, eventually taking you to a stuffy older fellow with a mustache; when you beat the older guy, he turns to the actual Fire leader in exasperation and asks him to quit pretending, and after a short exchange (which, as he was somewhat a response to the crappy Fire rep in Diamond/Pearl, includes the final lines “What were you expecting, fire puns and a red afro? These are the big leagues, kid! Show me what you’ve got!”) you fight the real deal. You may recognize him as the pathological narcissist writing this post:

--He and the Ghost leader are both descendants of that original, powerful trainer, and are based on myself and my sister Jade. The Ghost leader, as opposed to Fire’s outgoing, adventurous, burn-myself-at-both-ends lifestyle, has secluded herself in a small cabin in the mid-east forests, because she has the ability to see and speak with departed Pokemon spirits above and beyond the ones strong enough to manifest as Ghost-types...and she’s got a cult following her because of it, who are clustered around her home and act as her “Gym”. She’s got a ghost Pikachu following her, and she looks like this:

--The Electric and Fairy leaders were a pair of circus performers. The Fairy leader is a classical circus strongman, who likes to make people feel good about partnering with the pokemon they like rather than what they think others will like:

--Meanwhile, the Electric leader was a stage magician who used his pokemon for magic tricks and was visually based on Ray Narvaez Jr, because I’m a huge fan:

--The inside of his cape is a starfield-pattern, and I’m still really proud of that design decision.

--The Fighting gym leader runs a physical therapy center that caters to both humans and pokemon:

--The Poison leader likewise doesn’t have any art of her that wasn’t from that awful ex-friend, but she runs a chemical processing plant in the starting town that doubles as a home for abandoned Poison-types, who help reprocess dangerous chemical waste into stuff that can be recycled and reused rather than left to gunk things up.

--The Flying leader doesn’t have any art of her at all, but she’s a late-fifties gray-haired recluse who lives in a half-mansion-half-eyrie halfway up one of the eastern mountains. She hates people, and will make you do increasingly convoluted and pointless fetch quests for her until you get one of the other leaders you’ve beaten to come give her a talking-to.

--The Steel gym is a three-person family, a band; a twelve-year-old girl as the guitarist, the heavily-tattooed mom as the drummer, and a tall, lanky, nordic-metal dad with long blond hair and a Metagross aesthetic as the lead singer. They also run an orphanage. I don’t have any art of his final design, but here he is back when he was beefier:

--The Ground leader doesn’t have any art of him, either, but he’s a Bill-Nye-esque children’s scientist who works in the swamps in the western side of the region.

--The Dark gym leader in a Chinese man, a self-made entrepreneur who finances small businesses in one of the region’s larger cities. Part of the application process is having a battle with him; you don’t have to win, but he decides if you’re trustworthy based on your bond with your pokemon. His color scheme is specifically based on Umbreon:

--The Psychic leader was a college professor who used his pokemon to help figure out when his students were struggling and what they weren’t getting about the material:

--And the Normal leader was just. Joey. Youngster Joey. He moved here from Johto. He’s a pokemon breeder now.

ANYWAYS IT’S AN OLD IDEA I’LL PROBABLY NEVER GET TO MAKE I HOPE THIS WAS INTERESTING

#bloggin #inbetween #pokemon #fangame #pokebloggin #lore writes #the wishing chamber #sisweaver

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crusherthedoctor · 6 years ago

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Sonic Villains: Sweet or Shite? - Part 10: INFINITE

There are some villains I like. And there are some villains I don’t like. But why do I feel about them the way I do? That’s where this comes in.

This is a series of mine in which I go into slightly more detail about my thoughts on the villains in the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, and why I think they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). I’ll be giving my stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves in the game(s) they featured in. Keep in mind that these are just my own personal thoughts. Whether you agree or disagree, feel free to share your own thoughts and opinions! I don’t bite. :>

Anyhow, for today’s installment, we’ll be sharpening our blades and resisting the pain as we discuss what it takes to be the right-hand henchman of Sonic Forces: Infinite.

The Gist: Dr. Eggman was minding his evildoing business when one day, from thin air emerged a particularly strange jewel that seemed to be drawn to him. Realising this was no mere Chaos Emerald, due to both its peculiar shape and its bizarre reality-distorting effects, Eggman immediately contemplated how he could effectively utilise this new gemstone for his purposes.

Suddenly, jackals!

“Go forth, Red Shirts!”

Eggman's base was under attack by the imaginatively titled Jackal Squad, a group of thieving mercenaries who figured they could profit from the theft of the doctor's equipment. Unfortunately for them, Eggman had Main Character Immunity, so their efforts to kill him send him to the Shadow Realm fell flat. Despite nearly getting killed by them, Eggman knew an opportunity when he saw one, and he offered the role of apprenticeship to the squad's heterochromia-inflicted leader. His fellow jackals insisted not to take up the offer, because even they knew the risks, but the leader signed up immediately, because he's not all right in the head if you know what I'm saying.

In a cruel twist of fate, Eggman's first request for his new stooges was for them to take care of Shadow the Hedgehog. That Shadow the Hedgehog. Ultimate Lifeform Shadow the Hedgehog. Fast, immortal, capable of stopping time, drops his bracelets to grow even stronger Shadow the Hedgehog. They had to defeat that Shadow the Hedgehog.

They did not succeed.

BOOOONESAAAAAW’S READYYYYYYYY

After metaphorically and literally murdering the rest of the already forgotten squad, Shadow gave some parting words to their defeated leader, and those parting words were responsible for what happened next, and everything after. As someone who prided himself on being the ultimate mercenary, Mr. Jackal was bloody well peeved off about coming to terms with his physical shortcomings, and thus decided to give himself an upgrade in the form of sticking a gem on his chest, putting on a mask worthy of a heavy metal cover, and rechristening himself as... Infinite. Infinite power. Infinite possibilities. Infinite memes.

The upgrade paid off. With the aid of the gem, known to us as the Phantom Ruby, Eggman's latest minion was able to distort the environment, summon past foes, and do what no other villain not retconned out of existence had ever managed to achieve: defeat Sonic the Hedgehog.

Eggman was delighted. The past foes were delighted too, as evidenced by how they stood there to take it all in.

This is a very sentimental moment for them.

With Sonic out of the way, Eggman was able to take over 99% of the planet, because Sonic's friends were tragically all on holiday at the same time. During the subsequent six months of suffering and strife, Infinite relished in the doctor's conquest, but not as much as he relished in killing and terrorizing innocents. One incident in particular involved him leaving behind a scared youngster for the sake of letting them know fear. This would turn out to be a big mistake on his part, when - with the ever reliable power of friendship - said youngster would go on to oppose him as part of the Resistance. (This franchise isn't known for creative group names.)

“L’Oreal: Because I’m not weak.”

The formerly incapacitated Sonic also managed to eventually break free from his captivity, and proceeded to do what he does best alongside his new friend. Infinite was having none of this, and so he made absolutely certain to... leave him alive. Despite Eggman's insistence that a freed Sonic could cause as much trouble as a freed Sonic could in every other situation since 1991, Infinite remained confident that he couldn't be beaten. Three guesses for how that turned out. The first two don't count.

He was serious about crushing the Resistance though, and together with Eggman, not only did they summon a whole army of clones, they also summoned an artificial sun that, upon reaching the ground, would ensure the Resistance would meet a terrible fate. Good always triumphs however, and the clones were fought, the sun was vanquished, and Infinite himself was defeated once and for all.

It was at this point that Eggman decided to reveal that Infinite was a sham, a distraction, a red herring. For all his power, Infinite was little more than a glorified mook the whole time. Infinite was never the doctor's endgame. He was. Infinite didn't even have true mastery over the Phantom Ruby... but he did.

Death Chad Robot.

In just a few minutes, Eggman tapped into the power of the Ruby more than Infinite ever did, and overclocked it to turn his Doc Ock-looking mech into a beast. But through thick and thin (and a second Nega-Wisp Armor), Sonic and his ambiguously named friend teamed up to take the madman down, because we're Sonic Heroes.

The world was saved from further tyranny, and Eggman went on to either lose his memory or shrug it off to take part in racing spinoffs depending on the continuity. But Infinite - or rather, the jackal who called himself Infinite - remains absent. He could be alive. He could be dead. He could finally get a haircut. His fate is a mystery that we may never know the answer to. Maybe he's spending his retirement climbing the tallest of mountains.

The Design: Careful you don't cut yourself with all this edge.

You could have gotten yourself an eyepatch for half the price.

Demonic eyes, dark colours, anime hair... he's a villain alright. Infinite's design is unashamed of itself. It knows it's ridiculous, and it goes all out with it, which - let's be frank - matches the character in general pretty reasonably. Funnily enough, I don't have much else to say about it. It's not my favourite character design in the world, but I can credit them for pioneering loudspeaker ears. And at least he's not a hedgehog. Or an echidna.

If you listen carefully, you can hear Shadow sighing in relief under the knowledge that he's no longer the edgiest guy in the room.

The Personality: What's an easy way to make a villain a villain? By making them pointlessly sadistic, of course.

"You may call this the Sonic Chronicles soundtrack... in the brief moments that remain to your eardrums."

And I don't speak lightly when I say pointless. Infinite's penchant for sadism is actually treated as a character flaw, as it contributes heavily to his ultimate downfall. He wastes time by drawing out his kills, and his decision to leave his greatest foes alive because they're supposedly "not worth killing" bites him in the ass on more than one occasion. Even Eggman calls him out on his shitty decisions.

"Don't get cocky with me, son. This ain't the Adventure Era anymore.”

And this ties in with how he is in general. Infinite, for all his delusions of grandeur and nihilistic waxing, is a bit of a fuck up. Him and his squad combined couldn't even take on Eggman on his own (albeit with a Phantom Ruby in his possession), and when the mask comes on, it becomes clear that he only defeated Sonic through the element of unfamiliarity. Once Sonic starts to know about him and fights him for real, Infinite doesn't rely on the Phantom Ruby nearly as well as he could. He has a jewel that can do all sorts of distortions, and all he can think to do with it is use basic lasers and blasts for the most part. He's a thug at the end of the day. A powerful thug, but a thug all the same.

Despite this, though it's only hinted here and there, it seems that he has an Inferiority Superiority Complex. His passionate response to Shadow calling him pathetic (ironically, he never actually said he was weak) goes without saying, but then there's his dramatic speeches about having no hope, and how you can't count on anyone, and blah blah blah eat a Snickers already.

The Execution: Much like Erazor Djinn, you may have gathered that this character has a lot in common with everyone's favourite Ice Age antique, Mephiles the Dark. Like Erazor, Infinite is a better (albeit flawed) take on Mephiles' schtick, but whereas Erazor better emulates the success that Mephiles tried to go for, Infinite better represents the failure that Mephiles actually is... right down to showing how Silver would react if he had actual brain cells.

Above: Character development.

Hell, they both share the fate of getting swatted by Omega.

Not bitter at all.

Anyway, to explain this requires some elaboration. I'm aware that a lot of what I've said about Infinite sounds negative, and that's not entirely untrue, since I'll be the first to admit that he could have been handled a little better, and fleshed out a bit more, especially with all the pre-release hype and attention he was given. At the same time however, he's still leagues above the likes of Mephiles, for one simple reason that we discussed previously: his incompetence is intentional.

Maybe not fully - the pre-Infinite breakdown probably wasn't meant to be as comedic as it ended up being - but you can't tell me his setbacks weren't there on purpose. Eggman lost the war because Infinite left his enemies alive and free. Eggman lost the war because Infinite clumsily left a Phantom Ruby replica behind. Eggman lost the war because Infinite kept messing around when he had better things to do, didn't know what to do other than blindly attack when the chips were down, and got disposed of with little fanfare by the doctor after having failed him enough times. Compare all this to Eggman himself in the same game, who despite being known for his childishness and occasional shortsightedness, had a lot of genuine foresight to share around, and went from backup plan to backup plan like it was nothing.

In other words, Infinite could be seen as a well-needed deconstruction of villains like Mephiles, and why they're not as great as they look at first glance. And in that respect, he's kind of a genius concept.

“Ugh, MORE shitty friends...”

Infinite is a very divisive character, and I can see why. Alongside his far from perfect execution, many fans were expecting and hoping for a straight example of late 00's Sonic villains, in part because that's what the marketing and his infamous theme song set him up as and partly because '06 is now considered better than everything afterwards because Baldy McNosehair is literally oppressing all Sonic fans across the world. If you're like me on the other hand, and don't have the slightest unironic interest in those kind of villains, you can probably respect Infinite a little more for addressing the elephant in the room. And even though he is indeed flawed, I think most of that has to do with the wasted potential of the plot itself rather than anything inherently to do with Infinite's own character.

He's no Eggman, Erazor, Metal Sonic, or Hard-Boiled Heavies. But he's above Mephiles, Black Doom, Eggman Nega, and so many others who blend together after a while. Still, maybe someone should assist Shadow the next time he decides to insult somebody.

Crusher Gives Infinite a: Thumbs Sideways!

#Sonic Villains: Sweet or Shite?#Opinion #Sonic the Hedgehog #Infinite #Sonic Forces

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intoxicatingimmediacy · 5 years ago

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Big Ups: Clipping Pick Their Bandcamp Favorites

“Right from the beginning, we always wanted to make a horror-themed record,” says Jonathan Snipes, a producer in the Los Angeles-based progressive noise-rap trio Clipping, alongside MC Daveed Diggs and fellow beatsmith Bill Hutson. The group’s third project for Sub Pop, There Existed an Addiction to Blood, updates the cult horrorcore hip-hop trend of the mid ‘90s in a thrilling and forward-thinking fashion. It’s a striking and deeply atmospheric record, powered by synth-based sonic experimentalism and grisly concept-focused writing that exudes a sinister and shadowy feel.

There Existed an Addiction to Blood adds to a stellar canon of work that kicked off with Clipping’s introductory midcity mixtape in 2013. “That one was really us learning how to be Clipping, and what we sounded like,” says Hutson, who helped mastermind the project’s metallic, glitch-afflicted beats. On the following year’s debut album, CLPPNG, the crew moved further towards what Hutson calls “dark and noise-tinged instrumentals.” The omission of the letter I in the album title represents the way Diggs avoids rhyming in the first person. Hutson maintains that if much of hip-hop involves MCs rapping about their own lives, Clipping’s music strives to be “a novel, not a memoir.” Case in point: 2016’s Splendor & Misery took shape as an Afrofuturist sci-fi adventure that explored an artificial intelligence world; 2017’s single “The Deep” inspired the author Rivers Solomon to expand the song’s environment into a novella of the same name.

Basing There Existed an Addiction to Blood around horrorcore and gory movies is a natural representation of Clipping’s influences and the way the trio approach writing songs. “Horrorcore is this forgotten and maligned subgenre of hip-hop that we’ve always had a tremendous amount of affection for,” says Hutson. “So much of Clipping is about referencing styles of hip-hop—almost all our songs were conceived as our take on a certain type of rap song—so this horror album was always going to happen.” Snipes adds, “We think of each of these songs as self-contained movie scores of vignettes in a specific genre.”

The original horrorcore movement that inspired Clipping’s latest album was spearheaded by RZA and Prince Paul’s Gravediggaz project, plus artists including Houston’s Ganksta N-I-P, Detroit’s Esham, and New York City’s Flatlinerz. ‘90s horrorcore lyrics were packed with macabre imagery and references to psychological disorders, satanism, and cannibalism; the gruesome verses were often relayed over willfully dank and grimey production. Clipping’s resurrection of the subgenre taps into the same lyrical themes—but this time Digg’s intense verses are backed by marauding waves of monstrous synths, sharp abrasive stabs of discordant noise, and snatches of field recordings that bring a chilling realism to There Existed an Addiction to Blood.

Key song “Run For Your Life” plays out like a frantic short movie. It co-stars Memphis MC La Chat, who used to roll with Three 6 Mafia and the Hypnotize Minds roster back in the ‘90s. “She’s hunting down Daveed and approaching and moving behind him in a car,” says Snipes. “Then in the third verse, we’re fully in the car with her.” To drum up the effect of the protagonist being chased to a bloody demise, Digg’s lyrics are surrounded by constantly shifting ambient noise: The sound of passing cars blasting music and dogs barking literally pulls the listener into the chilling scenario.

The same blend of adventurous production techniques and concept-heavy writing present on Clipping’s latest album also runs through Hutson and Snipes’s Bandcamp recommendations. Blasts of abstract hip-hop lyricism mix with innovative thematic albums and avant-garde film scores, adding up to a smart representation of Clipping’s advanced-level musical DNA.

Bill Hutson

Dax Pierson - Live In Oakland

I first saw Dax Pierson play around 2003, when he was in a group called Subtle that was an Anticon side project with Dose One and Jel. Dax was also the secret weapon of the Themselves project, which was also Dose and Jel, and on tour he’d play keys and finger drum on MPCs. Dax is this compelling, creative performer and composer. This tape came out on Ratskin and it’s from a more recent show—I might have even been at the show! His music is fascinating, almost uncategorizable left-field dance stuff that’s blending all these ideas.

John Wall - Hylic

I was really enamored of improvised music in the early ‘00s, and it’s a lot of what fueled my ravenous collector habit, which came from having to track down these obscure records that came from Japan and Germany and Switzerland and England, where they were only pressing a couple of hundred copies. John Wall is very careful as a computer music composer, and he’d spend years and years cutting up tiny pieces of improvised sounds and turning them into these totally austere and totally alien compositions. I was fascinated by the disparity between how much intention there was behind it and how alien the result sounds. Hylic almost sounds like there’s no human brain making logical choices that would compose this music—it feels like it’s naturally occurring in some way, like you’re listening to the background radiation of the solar system—but there’s also the most extreme version of authorship going into it.

billy woods - Hiding Places

I think billy woods is a fantastic example of this very abstract and angular and strange rapper but with these really strong connections to the history of New York rap. It’s almost like he’s from a different timeline where southern hip-hop didn’t take over the mainstream in the ‘00s and we kept going with Nas and Wu-Tang, and it’s developed into this new form. [Producer] Kenny Segal is a buddy—we’ve toured with him—and he would have been a youngster in the Project Blowed days but came out of the experimental L.A. hip-hop scene that produced Abstract Rude and Freestyle Fellowship and, later with the beatmakers, birthed the whole Low End Theory and Brainfeeder movement. This album is a New York and L.A. collab record that seems to perfectly synthesize two different types of left of center aesthetics, but feels completely natural in a way we wouldn’t have expected maybe 20 years ago.

Kevin Drumm - 09082001 gtr/synth ‘solo’

I included this not because anyone needs me to tell them Kevin Drumm is a fuckin’ noise hero, but I wanted to include Drumm because I think what he’s doing is a really unique thing that Bandcamp can provide: A couple of months ago I bought Drumm’s entire discography for like $22, which was like a hundred or so releases! He puts out so much, and it’s all of such high quality. This specific recording is from my favorite period of his work in the early-2000s, but it wasn’t available [back then] until he started bypassing labels and physical copies and started putting everything up himself direct to the fans.

DEBBY FRIDAY - DEATH DRIVE

[The label] Deathbomb Arc put out some of the first Clipping stuff. I think of [founder] Brian Miller as A&Ring my listening habits because he’s out there finding new artists I wouldn’t come across and putting out their records. DEBBY FRIDAY completely blew me away—this release seems both out of nowhere and so fully formed. It’s just brilliant and sort of industrial hip-hop. It’s really like the best Skinny Puppy album we never got but with way better lyrics and content and performance. It’s so smart and dark—she’s a really great lyricist.

Jonathan Snipes

Missincinatti - remove not the ancient landmarks

Missincinatti was Jeremy Drake, Jessica Catron, and Corey Fogel, and they had this band for a short time in L.A. where they played these contemporary arrangements of sea shanties. They’re all incredible musicians, and their arrangements were always so off-kilter and smart. This album is only on Bandcamp, and it’s like a little monument to this band that I loved so much for a short time. One of my favorite things is arrangements of folk music that almost feel like critical theory about folk music and this project feels like it’s in this realm. I wish they were still around playing shows so I could go to them.

François-Eudes Chanfrault - Inside

I discovered François-Eudes Chanfrault when I saw the movie for which this is the score. Then, when I started looking into François’s music, I realized that I’d run across him in online nerdy computer music circles. He became one of my favorite composers, and I became obsessed with tracking his music down. The development of the Inside score is really slow and tasteful, and that’s hard to accomplish when working with film. I also score movies, and film music always feels like if the music’s following a picture. It wants to be fast and have abrupt changes—but François is someone who is somehow able to make these really long elegant cues that actually play against the action of the film in this really striking way. It’s probably the last score I’d expect anybody to write for that movie, and it hits exactly the right tone. His use of electronics and computers and his use of a chamber ensemble are perfectly matched.

Lauren Bousfield - Fire Songs

Lauren’s a really good friend, and this album’s only available on Bandcamp. She’s an incredible musician—an absolute genius. This is the album she released shortly after her house burned down and she lost all her possessions in the fire. It feels very personal. It’s easy to think of electronic and breakcore as just splattered breakbeats that feel mechanical and machine-based. But this one, with the context [of the backstory], feels very emotional, and almost makes me tear up when I hear it.

Bryce Miller - W A S P

Bryce Miller is someone I found through some Bandcamp journalism, which I read regularly. This album, which is based on the Stieg Larsson Millennium books, is elegant and precise. There’s a lot of this retro ’80s synthwave stuff flying around—I’ve made a fair bit of it myself—but somehow this really nailed the tone of feeling very contemporary, but also very ancient. It’s like what I wanted synth records in the ’80s to sound like at the time, but they never quite did. The sense of melody and structure and tension and release is really spot on. Bryce feels like a real composer in that realm.

Max Tundra - With Love To Mummy

I first heard Max Tundra on the double disc compilation Tigerbeat6 Inc. from like 2001. I was really into Aphex Twin and Squarepusher and Kid606 and Matmos, and I was trying to figure out who was doing weird electronic music and that comp came out and it ended up being a huge window into bands I’d never heard of. Max Tundra’s track [“The Bill”] sounded like a general MIDI soundtrack to a spy show that he’d recorded into his answering machine! I’ve been a lifelong fan of his since then, and this collection is, like, his teenage recordings—it’s really interesting to hear his old music. It’s charming and fun to listen to as a fan, and to note where his music took him after that. I suppose other people feel the same way about that Radiohead release.

#clipping.#clipping #bill hutson #jonathan snipes #daveed diggs

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