#they give him the small mercy of waiting to bestow their gift

[discordiansamba]

The first clear thought Zuko has after his father burns his face is that he has no idea where he is.

He sits up. His head is still groggy, but at least he can think straight. He's not delirious from the pain anymore. He lightly touches his face where his father burned him and finds that it's swathed in bandages. His hair has been shorn- probably to treat the burn. He's not in the medical wing of the Caldera, or in his room. He has no idea where he is. It looks like a room one would find in a fine manor, but it's not the palace. There's no windows for him to look out of.

He gets out of the bed, and walks towards the door. He half expects it to be locked, but it opens without a problem. It leads into a long hallway- one that is also unfamiliar. Zuko frowns. Did father have him taken somewhere else for treatment? He doesn't remember anything, but he knows some time must have passed- he's just not sure how much.

He doesn't know what else to do, so he heads down the hallway.

It's strange. There's no windows. No other doors. No sign of anyone. Just when he's starting to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, he sees the end of the hall. There's a great door before him, etched with designs of the moon and the sun- the ocean and the earth, and the four winds that blow across the world. He suddenly feels like he shouldn't be here.

The door opens at the slightest touch.

Zuko suddenly realizes he's in the company of spirits.

The door shuts behind him.

Agni- he is sure that it is Agni- is the one who speaks to him first. He tells him that the Avatar has disappeared- leaving the world without a bridge between the two worlds. Zuko frowns at his choice of words. Disappeared? Not killed? Zuko's stomach twists as he thinks of his friend Aang. Has father already raided the air temples? Has the comet come and gone?

...is his friend alive or dead?

The spirits won't give him an answer. They say they've brought him before them for a reason. They've chosen him to fill the Avatar's duty while they are gone- not their worldly duty, to mortal men. But their duty to the spirits- the bridge between worlds. In order to resolve this, they have chosen another human to fill that role.

They've chosen Zuko.

He doesn't understand. Why him?

But they don't give him an answer. They have given him a gift, they say- a blessing. He does not have the power of the Avatar- and they cannot give him that. But they can give him an undying body and an unchanging face. Zuko doesn't understand what they mean at first.

He will eventually.

He cannot die. He cannot age. Time passes and he will not change. The rest of the world will move on without him- until the day the Avatar returns, and they release him from his service. He is bound to the spirits- what they ask of him, he must fulfill- no matter what it is.

He cannot refuse. The spirits have chosen.

[another-lost-mc]

the prince's gift

candy prompts: mephistopheles + spooky

you are bestowed as a gift to one of the vampire prince's most loyal subjects, mephistopheles.

pairing: mephistopheles x gn!reader

content: nsfw. dark vampire au. mentions of canon-typical vampire behaviour (mind control, blood-drinking, murder of humans); abduction and non-consensual touching/bathing; derogatory language used to describe reader/humans; suggestive thoughts towards reader; non-con mentioned/threatened but not carried out.

word count: 1.9k don't ask

a/n: takes place sometime after my vampire!diavolo fic (recommended but not required reading).

Mephisto could hardly believe it, but according to his very rigid standards, you were perfect—for a human, anyway.

He received a letter that was delivered to his ancestral home earlier that evening. His lord wanted to reward his unwavering loyalty and friendship and summoned him to the Vampire Lord's Castle to claim it. When he entered the room where he was told his special gift was waiting for him, he found you.

The young prince was known for hosting the finest hunts and parties in the realm, and the selection of humans for both events were sublime in appearance and taste. However, Mephisto had never seen anyone—human, vampire, or otherwise—as lovely as you before. It's as though his lord searched the world for the single human that suited all of Mephisto's very specific preferences as a blood donor and a lover. Hunger and lust warred within him, a rare feeling that made him giddy with sinful anticipation. As his eyes roamed your body hungrily, he realized he wanted to use you to satisfy all his desires tonight.

Before you were brought to him, Mephisto realized you had been prepared for his use; he could faintly detect the lingering scent of herbal soap and body oils used to soften your skin. You were dressed in a simple black robe, fastened loosely with a belt at your waist for easy access to your naked body underneath. Like the linens that covered the bed, the dark clothes you wore would mask the stains of blood and whatever else he might smear across your skin before the night was through.

Mephisto's mouth watered despite the slightly pungent hint of fear that radiated off you in waves. Your eyes widened fearfully under his scrutiny but as he dared to step closer, you didn't move. He realized you were immobilized with magic, and it was up to him to decide when—or if—you would be free of your invisible shackles tonight.

The vampire servants that bathed you earlier giggled as they scrubbed your skin with soap and massaged the lather onto your scalp. They spoke about you like you weren't even there, as if you couldn't hear every scathing word about your plain looks and repulsive stench. They washed away the evidence of your struggle when your abductors captured you; you scraped your hands and knees on the ground when they subdued you in a grungy alley near your work.

The servants also cooed about Prince Diavolo's kindness and how lucky Lord Mephistopheles was to have such a generous benefactor. You shivered despite the scalding water in the tub. These were nothing like the vampires in the cheesy romance novels you used to read. You didn't want to imagine the purpose a monstrous prince or one of his lords would have for you.

Another vampire observed quietly while you were being prepared, blending into the shadows of the room and giving soft-spoken commands to the servants. You never heard his name, but he seemed to be someone of great importance; the servants were quick to obey him.

You burned with shame when you were finally pulled out of the bathwater and dried off with a large, soft towel. The vampire's pale face and dark eyes were no less intimidating when he stepped from the darkness to scrutinize your appearance. His mouth twitched with amusement when you cowered under his gaze and tried uselessly to hide your nakedness from him.

It was a small mercy when one of the servants slipped a drab robe onto your shoulders and cinched it tightly at the waist. The cruel vampire finally nodded his approval and commended the others doing their prince's bidding with speed and efficiency. He commented that you were now an appropriate gift, worthy enough for the noble demon lord. His praising tone, the way one might compliment a finely cooked piece of meat, made your blood run cold; you realized at that moment that you were probably going to die tonight.

Before you could stammer a useless plea for mercy, he snapped his fingers. You were suddenly gagged with a thick strip of cloth that seemed to appear out of thin air and tied tightly behind your head. Your arms and legs were immobilized as if they were suddenly bound in chains. You couldn't speak and you couldn't move—you were powerless to fight back.

The vampire lifted you easily in his arms and carried you to another room. It was sparsely furnished except for a large bed, and you knew a terrible fate worse than death awaited you there. Tears welled in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks, soaking into the fabric that muffled your cries. Salty tears dried your skin and chapped your lips. The vampire prince's butler was immune to your grief and bowed primly at the waist, an elegant but spiteful gesture, before leaving the room and locking the door behind him.

You were left alone with no chance of escape, shrouded in near-darkness. A single lighted sconce flickered so that flames danced along the walls, teasing you with comfort but providing none. It felt like an eternity when the sound of heavy boots approached the door. You closed your eyes when a key turned in the lock with a metallic click. You were afraid to look at the vampire lord who stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Mephisto circled you slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation of tonight's feast simmer deep in his belly. He could practically hear the warm blood that pumped erratically in your veins with each moment that passed in tense silence. His eyes lingered on the unmarked column of your throat and your body beneath the flimsy robe you wore. He imagined sinking his fangs into you while he buried himself in the tight heat between your thighs and it made his cock twitch.

He finally stopped in front of you and leaned close to scent you properly. The strength of his spicy cologne overwhelmed you. His leather gloves tracing over the dried trail of tears on your cheeks and you shivered.

"You are remarkably beautiful, even in despair," he murmured. The barbed compliment left you speechless like an icy wind on a dark winter's night; the arm that circled your waist didn't offer any warmth. He slipped two of his gloved fingers underneath the scarf still tied between your lips. You tasted earthy leather when he slipped his fingers into your mouth and brushed them over the tip of your tongue. He finally pulled his fingers away when you gagged, tugging the silky material over your chin so it laid loose and damp around your neck.

"Sleep," he commanded softly, eyes glowing gently in the dark room. His voice was deep and gritty from hunger and desire, but you blinked at him fearfully when nothing happened.

His brows furrowed in confusion. "Sleep," he urged again, putting more magic behind the command; his voice was sharper and louder than before. His face darkened when that simple magic failed him again, and the heat in his eyes hardened like steel. His body thrummed with frustration and you shook your head pitifully, but your helplessness seemed to enrage him further.

The world spun when he suddenly pushed you chest-down onto the bed. His body was a heavy weight laid against your back, and he caged you underneath him even though you had no possible chance of escape. His hot breath fanned across your nape and you jolted in his arms when the outline of his erection twitched against your lower back.

Later he would wonder why such a perfectly insignificant creature like you was immune to his magic. For now, all he felt was embarrassment that soured his temper and made his anger soar.

I'll remind you of your place, he thought to himself bitterly, incensed by your mind’s stubborn refusal to submit to him. He grabbed your chin roughly and tilted your head to the side so he could sniff where your heartbeat was strongest. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest and then you felt searing hot pain when he sank his fangs into your neck without remorse.

His bite was deep and fierce in his frustration and hunger. He drank noisily and messily, gnawing at the wounds he made so your blood spilled freely. His lips slurped at the deep crimson rivulets that ran down your throat and dripped onto the bed. His hips moved on their own accord, seeking friction for his aching cock against your warm and pliant body while he nursed his wounded pride with the blood in your veins.

The toxic secretion from his fangs was supposed to fill your mind and body with euphoria, but whatever pleasure he gave you was outweighed by the carelessness of his feeding. Your body jerked against him, but the urge to fight him dwindled quickly as exhaustion from blood loss fell over you like a heavy fog. You were perilously close to death, and you succumbed to your hopeless fate. Your heartbeat grew faint with each pulse of blood that poured from your wound and into his greedy mouth.

Even in his frenzy, Mephisto felt the moment you lost consciousness underneath him. He wondered why he cared. Why should he care? You were his gift to use and discard at his leisure. He could drain you dry and leave your wilted corpse on the bed for the servants to dispose of later. He would thank his lord for his generosity.

His memory of you, like your very existence, would eventually be forgotten.

Unless...?

He pulled away from your neck with a gasp. His mouth was slick with syrupy blood that coated his lips and trickled down his chin. He swallowed hastily and leaned forward to inspect your wounds. He touched his tongue to your neck and laved over the jagged tears he bit into your flesh. He silently urged his healing magic to close the wounds and stop the bleeding.

He didn't want to think too much about the overwhelming relief he felt when the marks closed and faded away. Later he would wonder why this magic worked when his charms earlier did not; for now, he had to ensure you were cared for.

When he lifted himself off you and stood next to the bed, he inspected the damage he'd done to your body and the bed. The linens and the top of your robe were soaked through with your blood. He slipped his hands beneath you so he could roll you onto your back. Despite the deathly pallor that tinted your complexion, your face was completely relaxed. He leaned over you and rubbed his thumb along your bottom lip. A bit of blood left on his gloves spread across your lips, and he thought red was a fetching colour on you.

Perhaps later you'd wake up with the taste of blood on your tongue. He wondered what your bloody kiss might taste like if he pressed his mouth to yours. Only when his nose brushed against your cheek did he notice how close he came to kissing you, like some invisible power drew him to you against his will.

He pulled away quickly like he had been burned and only spared you a fleeting glance before gathering his coat and rushing from the room. You were a mystery to solve, and he would pry the answers from you one way or another. But first, he had arrangements to make: you were his now.

read more: halloween 2023 masterlist || obey me masterlist

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for September 18

Morning

“In the hidden part thou shalt make me to know wisdom.”

Luke 11:37-54

Luke 11:37

If he meant the invitation kindly, our Lord accepted of it in kindness to him; and if he intended it as a means of watching him, the Lord showed that he was not afraid of his keenest glances. Truth baffles spies, and therefore fears them not.

Luke 11:38

The merely outward ceremony of bathing their hands before eating was made so much of by the Pharisees that our Lord purposely abstained from it. He came to teach the religion which cleanses the heart, not that which begins and ends with the body. It is the duty of the followers of Jesus to discourage in all possible ways the superstitious observances of modern Ritualists, who are the Pharisees of the period.

Luke 11:41

When benevolence offers a portion of her substance to the poor, she sanctifies the rest. To wash ones hands of greediness is better than a hundred washings in water.

Luke 11:42

Only a hypocrite will exalt trifles above important duties, and he only does so to be thought exceedingly strict. The tithe of small herbs could not amount to much, and was only paid in order to make men say, “How scrupulous the Pharisees are!”

Luke 11:44

Their hearts were full of wickedness, and yet they bore a high repute; and so were like graves which are green above ground, but are full of rottenness within, where the eye of man cannot see.

Luke 11:45

lawyers or teachers of the law

Luke 11:45

It touched his conscience as the Lord intended it should.

Luke 11:46-48

They pretended to honour the prophets by erecting memorials to them; but inasmuch as they continued in the sins of their persecuting sires, he accuses them of perpetrating and perfecting their parents acts; the fathers killed and buried the saints, and the sons built their sepulchres.

Luke 11:51

Read the story of the siege of Jerusalem, and the just vengeance of God upon the Jews will be before you.

Luke 11:52-54

Burkitt, in his Commentary, here writes, “When any lie in wait to catch something out of our mouth that they may ensnare us, give us thy prudence and thy patience, O Lord, that we may not give occasion to those who seek occasion against us.”

Evening

“There is nothing covered that shall not be revealed.”

Luke 12:1-21

Luke 12:1 , Luke 12:2

How vain, then, is it to play the hypocrite! If God did not see, and nothing more were known of us than what our fellow men can detect, hypocrisy might answer its purpose; but what folly it is to try to deceive when everything is observed by the Lord, and will in due time be published before all men.

Luke 12:3

Therefore it becomes us to behave in our private life just as we would do if all men were gazing upon us. Since we cannot conceal our true character, let us not be so foolish as to seem to be what we are not.

Luke 12:7

The doctrine of a special providence is here plainly taught. It is full of richest comfort.

Luke 12:8-10

He will be left to impenitence and therefore be lost. Those who can and do repent have not committed this sin.

Luke 12:14

He kept to his own work, and did not interfere with the duty of the magistrate. Christian ministers should in this imitate their Lord and mind their own proper business.

Luke 12:15-17

Why not give the overplus to the poor? There were twenty good ways of disposing of his superfluous wealth.

Luke 12:18 , Luke 12:19

It was all self. He talked only of “I,” and “My goods.” Alas, such language is common enough when covetous men talk to themselves.

Luke 12:20 , Luke 12:21

He is a fool too. He puts the body before the soul, he hopes to find ease on the thorny bed of wealth, and makes sure of a long life in a dying world. O Lord, keep all of us from being so foolish.

Almighty Father of mankind!

On thee my hopes remain;

And when the day of trouble comes,

I shall not trust in vain.

In all thy mercies, may my soul

A Father’s bounty see;

Nor let the gifts thy hand bestows

Estrange my heart from thee.

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[sweettifalockhart-archived]

"After everything we've been through together..."

A shiver caresses her spine. Hope is ignited. Anticipation catches her breath and she is frozen in wait. But like a small flame in the wind, it is quickly gone. Oh, such beautiful words, dripping with the potential to fix all of this... How can they be uttered with such disappointment and blame?

Ah, she understands. The realisation, a painful punch to the gut. How dare she hope that her words; her prayer would be accepted by the heavens, or the man she thought she knew? Of course the prophecy would be fulfilled. Any utterance from Tifa Lockhart in that moment would've doomed her. Why did she bother?

Silence. There is it again, an old friend, a haunting curse that awakens every fear in her mind. Painful it may be, silence has been her only constant; the only thing she feels Cloud has been able to give her so consistently. Save for a few short conversations, ice cold silence has been his gift to her, something she had grown so accustomed to.

Silence, would have been a merciful gift. Silence, would have been enough to remind her of her place in his life; an untrustworthy shadow from his past, left behind for greater things.

But he had to keep going. His tone is now imbued with anger and annoyance. The cadence of his voice is a whip, and each word, another lash on her raw and beating heart. There is no strength left in her. She had used it all to pry open her heart to him, after all.

The next few seconds would bestow upon her a pain tenfold that of which she felt in the reactor. Sadness' indigo hue is now tinged green with resentment. Eyes burn in the heat of it all, and lashes are momentarily stained with the essence of her pain. Tifa blinks it all away. What's the point? Why pray, when no god would listen? Why cry, when no one would care?

Sucking in a long, needed breath, Tifa gnaws on the edge of her tongue. Brows furrow. Her gaze, now tainted by the hurt he had so generously gifted, scan his expression. Should it hurt more, or less that Sephiroth's influence is nowhere to be found?

His glare is branded in her mind; a look she will likely never forget. He looks at her as if he hates her. As if she caused all of this to happen to him. As if she is ungrateful for the faux 'bond' they seem to share. Take away that childish promise and what do they have?

The temptation is there, to wash her hands of this all and remove herself from his presence; his life. That would be easier than thrashing to find hope when clearly there is none. Though she wants to savour this pain and let pride turn her heel, Tifa remains where she is, her gaze never wavering.

"I gave you my honesty." Her voice is quiet, almost empty yet void of anger or resentment. "But maybe it's my fault you're not used to that."

@azure-steel

Difficult exactly to pinpoint where it all began to unravel - where it all began to go so horribly wrong; such a dangerous game - tugging at threads, and here he was, wrenching that proverbial string for all it was worth until it remained as little more than an incomprehensible pile at his feet.

This was not a question he'd asked. Regardless, he was certainly justified in his fear of the answer.

The words, the sentiment, the anger frustration and sorrow; Cloud could read them all now, as clear as it was bleeding out from beneath her feet, vaporising, shifting like some living thing; he swore he could see it, feel it touching him, filling his lungs and invading his senses. An unadulterated desperation to take a step away from it splintered down the entire length of Cloud's spine, to just run away and never look back - just to not hear here anymore, to stop it from hurting - an impossible feat, his body rooted there to that very spot, forced to inhale the bile Tifa spewed forth just then.

So focused on those words, weaved like bird song on her tongue, Cloud failed to even notice the pain of her injury flaring afresh within the expression of her face, all the while feeling the world around him begin to crumble, the inner gates to carefully constructed walls he'd once held open for her, and only her, sunk into the deepest darkest parts of him crashing shut.

This wasn't just about Gongaga, not Kalm... this... this was about him, all of him, as an entity in his own right, about his motives - though failed in execution they had all been just, had all been in the name of AVALANCHE, to take down the evil behind the veil of steel known as ShinRa.

The hunt for Sephiroth...

To protect her! It had all been for her!!

She was the one who dragged him into this in the first place. She was the one who commanded he stay and fight the good fight. And now he was the one under the spotlight, accused again of being somebody else.

Hadn't they already had this argument? Wasn't it Tifa who demanded they put it to bed and never speak of it again?

So why was she throwing this in his face for a second time?

A hard blow to the chest; surely it would have hurt less had she reached inside of him, torn out his heart and shown it to him still beating in her hands.

Whatever closure Tifa had hoped to gain from this... given the way Cloud would stare back, expression blank - seemingly disinterested to anyone on the outside looking in, and quietly seething beneath the surface... it didn't land.

Had it always been like this and he'd been too blind to see it? There was no justification here, not for him, only the ice-cold shards of humiliation crystalising in his blood, and a bone-shattering betrayal he should have seen coming.

Deliberately slow did Strife turn his head, away from her, a moment or two mentally scrabbling to gather whatever was left of his bearings, scattered to the wind.

"After everything we've been through together..." Cloud's tone, calm and eerily even, quiet against the general echo of the chamber they occupied. One could hear a pin drop the second he stalled, if not for the rapid thrum of his pulse reverberating in his head and the violent churning of his stomach. Only his eyes would shift then, after a long and uncomfortable moment of deafening silence, his glare, sharp, defensive offering the insight of the disquiet within, of all the things he wanted to say, to cry, scream at her right then.

But the will to do so along with the words would crash and burn in the bowels of his throat.

"... the hell did you just say to me?"

@sweettifalockhart

[sexysilverstrider]

Burning Ambition (Teppeilumi)

  Everything was dark.

  Stench of spit and blood filled the room. His vision was terrible blur, he could only make out faded images of the ceiling above. A gulp was attempted. A painful cringe was obtained. Breathing grew harsher, weaker. Heartbeat became slower, quieter.

  How amusing.

  As one lone figure lay breathless on the cot, a sudden smoke of black and deep red loomed next to him.

  Huh, was all the smoke hummed. Two slits formed on the entity, colours a demonic crimson. It witnessed the pitiful being. The other patients around it were fighting for their lives as well, completely unaware of the existence that had solidified next to the aging soldier.

  It had no mouth, yet a smile formed inside the flickering smoke.

  The poor soldier was on his last seconds. Once he drew out his fifth breath, all that would be left was a disgusting corpse.

  One breath.

  You are nothing but a pitiful mortal… A silent echo whirred into the soldier’s ears. The shadow hovered closer, looking down at the dying man.

  Two breaths.

  You lack motivation. The two slits widened, crazed as it glared at him. You lack perseverance. And for that, you do not deserve my attention. The darker line below the slits shook, cracked to what one could guess was an eerie smile.

  Three breaths.

  However, It’s ‘smile’ widened, you attract the traveler’s interest. The shadow tilted slightly. The man wheezed weakly.

  Four breaths.

  And I—The shadow reached out for his right hand—am interested in the traveler.

  Five—

----------

  This couldn’t be possible.

  “O-Oi!” Paimoun shouted, body floating as fast as it can to catch up. “Wait—Wait up!” she wheezed, one tiny hand reaching for her fast friend. And yet Lumine didn’t hear her. She couldn’t. For her mind was wholly clouded by the shocking news that was brought up by Gorou.

  “Her Excellency saw it with her own eyes and even did a full check-up on him.” Gorou’s words shrilled clear like a siren. “She even used her healing abilities to ensure that…you know…he’s not an undead or possessed.” His statement only made her run faster and faster.

  Minutes felt eternal, and when Lumine finally arrived at the headquarters in Sangonomiya, she wasted no time and slammed the doors open.

  The scene she made caused shock and confusion to both soldiers and locals alike. All eyes were on her, but a pair of dazzling golden starlight were on the man at the far end of the headquarters.

  Him.

  “Teppei!”

  Once his name escaped her lips. Once those warm brown eyes met her own. Lumine could feel her legs give out and her body flashing forward.

  Even with a gift bestowed upon him, never would he have anticipated the traveler’s tackle.

  “Oof!” His body was thrown aback, yet awareness and newfound strength allowed him to stand his ground instead of falling on his butt. Arms spread open. Eyes widened immediately. Legs shaking still from the impact, Teppei quickly tried to straighten his back with someone hugging him for dear life.

  “You’re alive…”

  Her voice was muffled, breathing brushed against the material of his shirt. “I—what?” Bafflement still bursting in his mind, he tilted his head downwards. All he saw was a sight of golden blonde. All he smelled was a scent of warmth and wind.

  “You’re alive!” Without warning, Lumine snapped her head upwards, meeting his shocked gaze. “You’re alive!” Statement now booming with baffled laughter, Lumine once more nuzzled her face into his chest.

  The scent was tickling his nose. Burning red in his cheeks.

  “I uh—” Realization kicked in; they were very, very close. “I-I am!” Words sputtered into a stutter, Teppei gave two thumbs up with arms still spread to the side.

  Laughter bubbled within her chest, tickling his own.

  He prayed that she didn’t hear his manic heartbeat.

  “I’m so glad…”

  The laughter was short-lived, however, as her voice lulled to a whisper. “Traveler?”

  “So…so glad…” Her hug tightened. Voice now broken to a slow, woeful murmur. “I’m glad…” A strain scraped through gritted teeth. Golden eyes were squeezed shut to prevent a fearful sight.

  A short gasp popped her lips to feel his embrace.

  “I’m glad too…” His voice was a gentle whisper, meek and shaky. “Very, very glad…”

  Cheek rested against his chest, Lumine pursed her lips and released a heavy sigh. “Mmm…” His arms felt hesitant around her petite body at first, but fear dissolved into relief once she felt his hug tighten.

  “Aww!”

  Relief, however, exploded into wild embarrassment once they realized they weren’t alone.

  Immediately both broke their hug, faces now flushed red and hearts thumping wildly against their ribcages. A pair of golden and brown targeted towards the two people standing before them. One had his face covered and body shaking in silent amusement. The other had her hands clapped and positioned adorably next to her cheek.

  “I’m so happy to see that smile back on your face, traveler!” Kokomi gleamed, her smile sincere yet laced with a hint of mirth. Gorou still had his face covered, though it seemed that his fit of giggles had ceased—for now.

  Ah, what a fool she made herself to be.

  “W-Well,” Trying her best to dig out of her hole she had made, Lumine straightened her posture and cocked her head upwards. “Why wouldn’t I be? To know that my friend is alive is more than enough to make me—”

  “How dare you left Paimon at the back!”

  “Ack!”

  Alas, before Lumine could save face, she wasn’t able to realize and stop Paimon from crashing into her.

----------

  In all honesty, Teppei still thought that he had died and gone to heaven.

  “It’s…real.” Tap, tap. One finger gently tapped onto the glass of the Vision case. A simmering shape of fire burned brilliantly inside the object. The longer he held it, the more he could feel warmth sipping into his body. One hand holding the Vision, he flipped his other hand left and right.

  There were no wrinkles. No drained colours of deathly blue. The same warmth could be felt into his palm. The same pulse could be felt inside his veins.

  “Still reeling it in?”

  Her voice was a brilliant beacon that lit him up. “Uh—yeah!” The answer stuttered sheepishly, Teppei looked at the traveler. Her smile was ever present. Her eyes gleamed gloriously like stars that he often basked in awe.

  Those stars now shined closely to him.

  “I just…” It’s been an hour since their reunion. After witnessing a scolding from Paimon to Lumine and apologizing endlessly to Lady Kokomi and General Gorou, both he and the traveler decided to rest by the lake near the headquarters. Peace wasn’t an option yet, however, as the tiny, floating being started shooting endless questions that he still found no answers to.

  “You have a Vision now!? You’re a Pyro user?! Holy moly you can control fire! You got blessed by the Gods! How? When? And you look like you’re back to your real age! You’re no longer a withering, dying old man!”

  It was truthfully amazing how Lumine handled Paimon on a daily basis.

  After trying his best to give an explanation that might work, Paimon finally reached an understanding and let him breathe.

  That, or she was hungry which made her fly off to the kitchen to recharge herself for more questions later.

  Either way, Teppei was grateful for the silence.

  Now all that’s left were him and the traveler. And while he knew she had just as many questions as her small friend, he was just glad that she allowed him to recollect his thoughts first.

  It had been a good 20 minutes. Reality still hadn’t set in.

  “This is mine…right?” Once again he looked at her, eyes clouded in hope and fear. Will it disappear? Am I actually dreaming or dead and this is just my mind giving me one last mercy? These questions bounced in his mind from the moment he woke up from the agonizing slumber. “It’s—I’m not holding someone’s missing Vision, right…?”

  “Teppei.”

  His body shivered briefly to hear such a gentle tone.

  Pupils dilated to see her hand, small yet callous, cupping his left hand. Quickly he looked at her again, not realizing that he had dropped his gaze back at the Pyro Vision.

  Her smile was radiant as the sun.

  “That is yours.” Reassurance sang melodiously into his ears. Her fingers curled his own, cupping the warm Vision closer. “You have a Vision.” Distance became a mere hindrance to her, so Lumine scooted closer. It was then that she saw his hair, dark as the day she first met him. His cheeks were rosy. His eyes shined brightly. No wrinkles cursed his skin. No fades of pale blue scrapped his face.

  He looked back to how he was before. Better even.

  Giddiness bubbled within her again. Though caution and confusion loomed inside her brain at the possible impossible, Lumine decided to gulp those fears down first and rejoiced at his living.

  Living. Alive.

  “You’ve received favours from the Gods.”

  It took a while for Teppei to get used to his new powers.

  While those words stung her tongue, clawed through her throat, what matters to her right now was that he was alive.

----------

  One couldn’t hone it so magnificently in a span of a day after receiving a Vision. Though Lumine wouldn’t know; she technically never gotten one.

  But as a month rolled by, and after rejoicing with his friends and teammates, Teppei easily bounced back as Captain of Herring I. Excitement fuelled his veins once he finally got the chance to wear his new uniform. A small logo in shape of a herring was stitched at the back, bare and open so proudly for everyone to see. His teammates now somewhat revered him as a miracle who came back from the jaws of death. And while a part of him felt bashful and slightly proud of the statement, Teppei knew he couldn’t gloat—at least, not too much.

  This was a gift by the Gods, after all. He was grateful. Truly. Whether or not the Vision he received granted him what was once stolen by the Delusion, Teppei knew this was something that shouldn’t be taken so lightly. Or rudely.

  A few more weeks flew by, and as a Vision bearer, he was now given a special task to train and hone his powers. And while that didn’t seem like a problem—in fact, Teppei was more than excited to train with General Gorou and Kazuha—he did feel the nerves kicking in when Lumine volunteered to join in the practice as well.

  “Alright!” Her right hand reached forward; immediately, her sword appeared seemingly out of nothing. “Show me what you got, partner!”

  Ba-dump!

  He really needed to have a talk with his heart later about the traveler calling him that.

  “Right!” Enthusiasm and anxiety spiralled together, Teppei hovered hands close to each other. Slowly, he tried to manifest the weapon into his hands. Apparently, according to General Gorou, Vision bearers were able to dissolve their weapons with their powers, enabling an easy access to it especially when they’re in a pinch. When Teppei heard of this fun fact, he was over the moon; what a very coincidentally accessible way!

  However, it was easier said than done.

  It took many, many, many tries. And finally, after a…few failed attempts, he was able to conjure up his lance.

  It took a few seconds—better than a few minutes, Teppei figured—the weapon finally materialized in his hands. “Got it!” Like a puppy, he beamed. Flickers of flame swerved around the lane, yet Teppei felt no pain.

  If anything, he felt elated.

  Never one to give up or step down, he concentrated again. This time, patience and practice showed its results as ribbons of fire wrapped around the lance. They decorated every so prettily, tickling his arm. Careful as to not position his lance near anyone besides his opponent, he posed a battle stance.

  “Ready when you are—” Brown eyes stared at her. His battle posture ready. His heartbeat sang madly. “—partner!”

----------

  Sometimes, he needed to remind himself that his own flames couldn’t technically hurt him.

  It was amazing. Jaw-dropping. Stunning even that he could stare at it for days. The tiny flicker of flames danced on his palms, hypnotizing him with such a sight. He curled one finger. Then another and another. His fingers went thru the fire. It gave such a tickling warmth, soothing both his palms and heart.

  “Heh…” A quiet chuckle peeped through smiling lips. Sitting alone by the lake, he slowly curled his fists, extinguishing the flames within. It tickled, he thought. Once again, he opened his hands, revealing clear skin that bore flesh, not bones.

  His heartbeat raced. Excitement. Fear. All whirled in his mind. Silently, he took a deep breath, then exhaled carefully as if relishing on each breath that coursed through his throat.

  He was alive. Living.

  Everything could change in a blink.

  Bringing that reminder close to his heart, Teppei nodded once. A new resolution formed firm. Stronger. Clearer. If this truly was a gift by the Gods. If this was truly a test he needed to fulfil and succeed, then he must carry on.

  Yes. One fist raised in the air. A smile curled confidently under the shine of the moonlight. I can do this!

  As one man basked on his goal, one woman stood from afar, hiding behind a tree and gazing at him with eyes a woeful glow and lips a tight purse.

  “Gift by the Gods.”

  The words sent a shiver down her spine. Burned fire in her chest.

  Gratitude burst brightly every time she saw him. But Lumine knew: not everything came without a price.

  The Archons she had met so far were nice, welcoming—although Ei had a rough start when they first met, both were slowly moving forward together to fix the future. But that was the thing that concerned Lumine the most.

  Not everyone would be sensible and sweet like Venti and Zhongli. And even with them, after having met Dainsleif and the unfortunate reunion with her dear brother, Lumine had to keep her guard up.

  He looked so happy. So alive.

  Ba-dump…

  One hand placed where her heart ached.

----------

  Some Vision bearers honed their powers until they were able to conjure up new skills. Some were able to form powerful shields. Some were able to heal and cure. Some even had the power to freeze even the mightiest of hilichurl chieftains.

  In Teppei’s case, he would soon find out that skills were sometimes found or created when one was put in a desperate situation.

  “Watch out!”

  All happened too fast. The moment he saw a samurai plunging his way towards her, Teppei could feel the wind and rain against his face. He saw Lumine turning around to face the enemy. He saw Lumine swinging her sword in hopes that it slices the samurai before his own could slice her.

  While he was not as fast as the traveler, he was quick enough to reach out for her.

  Quickly he tugged her left arm. Taken aback by the sudden force, Lumine felt her body being pulled backwards. Everything happened in mere blinks. Panic sinking in, Teppei stomped one foot forward—

  FWOOM!

  CLANG! CRASH!!

  A burst of fire shaped around them. The ringing clash of steel against solid fire reverberated amidst the heavy rain.

  The impact clearly took the samurai by surprise. The newly-formed shield ironically took Teppei’s and Lumine;s breaths away.

  Golden met brown. Stupor froze their body still. The shield was still active, still enveloped around them like a dome of flames. Lumine gawked at the tall captain, awe and bewilderment being her method of communication. It seemed Teppei understood her language, for both now shared their speechless conversation under the brilliant dome.

  “Um…” he gulped. “You alright?”

  She blinked once. Twice. “Yeah!” Laughter burst out amidst the stupor. “I’m fine!” One to easily register reality quickly around her, Lumine readied her battle stance again. The shield around them burned brighter. As eyes inspected the area around her, she realized that the same samurai that attacked just now started to stagger and stumble. His sword sheathed into the ground. Though donned in a helmet, Lumine could see him crouch slightly as if he was trying to catch his breath.

  He didn’t get hit by anything else after that. And the impact wasn’t as severe. If Lumine remembered correctly, the samurai only crashed against Teppei’s shield—

  Another realization jolted in. And her guess was swiftly proven correct as she felt an aura of strength pumping into her veins.

  It would seem Teppei would be excited to learn his newfound ability.

  For now, as both captains locked eyes and nodded, Lumine decided to break the great news later after they finished this battle.

----------

  Sangonomiya was truly a breath-taking place.

  Giant shells that stood proudly in the center of the land. Waterfalls that shined and gleamed every time it hit the surface. Even the lake was a like a beautiful mirror, revealing clear images of those who look upon it.

  However, as beautiful as the place was, it did have one flaw when it came to nightly weather.

  Maybe Ei was feeling at peace after their little tour, which would explain the soothing wind that blew past her. And while Lumine was happy to know that that might be case, unfortunately, her body would say otherwise.

  “Hey there, traveler!”

  Her head turned at the voice. Golden eyes caught the sight of the lone soldier who kept dancing in her mind lately. “Hi,” was her reply, short and sweet, yet enough to ring a bell of joy at his presence.

  Her bliss was a reflection to his.

  “May I join in?” His directed his hand at the empty spot next to her. A giggle was heard. A shaken head was seen. Smile curling swirls at the corners, Teppei took a seat on the bench. “Where’s your flying friend?”

  “Sleeping.” Another short reply, but not curt. Her head turned to one of the tents in the camp. “She had a big dinner so decided to call it a night.”

  “I see.” Brown eyes glanced at the tent, then back at her. “Why are you still up, though?” Curiosity led him to the question, but he didn’t realize how rude he might have sounded before he could stop himself. Teppei then flustered to see her eyes widen, probably offended, probably hurt that he thought she was some sort of child.

  “W-Wait, no I mean—” Both hands raised and waved. “I was just curious since we kinda had a long day and—”

  Laughter ceased him from making a further fool of himself.

  “It’s okay, Teppei.” One hand that stayed near her mouth slowly lowered down to her lap. “I understand. I just don’t feel sleepy yet.” The smile on her face grew genuine. It always seemed to be whenever he was around. “I just want to enjoy the night a little longer. I have a lot of energy compared to Paimon, anyways.”

  The joke got through him. A laughter was given as a response.

  “If she heard you, she would be mad.”

  “Which is why I’m saying it to you.”

  How light her chest felt whenever she talked to him.

  The conversation came smoothly. Teppei talked about his daily task as captain. Lumine responded with topics of her commissions and part-time role as captain as well. While the matter with Raiden Shogun had been resolved, there were still some internal conflicts that required attention. Lumine knew it would take some time to figure out a way to get to Sumeru, so she figured she might as well stay in Inazuma for a while. Who knows? Maybe she would find more information about her brother—

  “Achoo!”

  “Traveler?”

  A sneeze broke their conversation and her thoughts. “O-Oh,” she sniffed, “sorry. It just gets a bit cold in Sangonomiya that I kinda forgot to bring a coat.” Hands rubbed her prickling arms. Yet she didn’t feel like getting up. Not now. Lumine enjoyed talking to Teppei. The stress in Inazuma sometimes got to a point where it was unbearable, and the Herring I captain was one of the people who was able to lighten the burden in her chest.

  It seemed Teppei had the same idea about her as well.

  “Oh…” Thoughts whirled in his mind. Suddenly, an idea flickered in seconds. “I can go get a coat for you if you like! Don’t want my partner to be sick now, huh.” He laughed, cheerful and honest. Hands pressed on the bench, he started to get up. “I’ll be right back—”

  “Wait.”

  His body froze at the feel of her hand around his fingers.

  Brown and gold looked at their hands. Brown and gold then looked at each other.

  “Ah!”

  In unison, they gasped. Lumine immediately retracted her hand while Teppei dumbly plopped himself back onto the bench.

  “You don’t have to!” Heat kissed her cheeks as their roles were now reversed. “I’m not that cold. And besides, ever since you started sitting down, it actually feels warmer—”

  Foolish was an act that bounced back between the two.

  Realization kicked in. Fast. It was obvious in the blown pupils of his eyes. It was clear in the beautiful burst of red in her face.

  Sadly, Teppei was quite quick to catch up on things too. “R-Really?”

  Slim fingers curled slowly. Hands were still raised near eye-level. “Well…” Ah fuck it, she thought. “Really.” She figured there was no harm in being honest. Maybe some shame. “Maybe it’s because of your Vision, but you feel a bit…warmer than normal people.” Thankfully, she had seen and faced this sort of phenomenon with Amber and Xiangling. Although she technically had never hugged Diluc, the man did once offer her his jacket. And wearing it felt warm and toasty, so that was good enough research for her.

  His short laughter brought her attention back to him.

  “I do feel warmer than usual ever since I woke up from that long sleep.” A sheepish reply accompanied the growing red in his cheeks. “But I make sure this time that it wasn’t anything dangerous. Her Excellency said that it’s normal for a Pyro user like me to have some extra body heat.” White teeth gleamed beneath the moon’s glow. “You can say that I’m like a walking heater.”

  More laughter joined in, but it was one-sided this time.

  “Then…may I sit closer?”

  The laughter died down immediately, bafflingly.

  He couldn’t believe what she said. She couldn’t believe what she said.

  “If that’s alright with you…?” The question was timid, sheepish, bursting with shame. Lumine was ready to bolt off the bench and excuse herself for the night. Why would she ask him that, she wondered? The man was of pure heart ever since she met him. He was an honest friend, an enthusiastic one at that. Like most of the people she had met, Teppei’s intentions were true and genuine which became the very reason she was getting close to him—

  “I…don’t mind.”

  The wild tornado of feelings in her mind died down once she heard his reply.

  Those golden eyes were no match for the stars above. “Really?”

  Excitement was real in her tone. The sight of pure joy made his heart burst anew. “Really…” He sounded sheepish, bashful, yearning. One breath. Maybe two. Once he reassured himself that he was calm and collected, Teppei scooted closer. “It’s the least I can do for my partner.”

  She always hated how her heart cracked to hear that term.

  Sorrow was short-lived, hidden behind layers and layers of relief that she practiced over the centuries. “Thank you.”

  He always loved how his heart skipped a beat to see her smile.

  Slowly, the distance between then shrunk. Only an inch teased between their pinkie fingers. In seconds, Lumine could feel the warmth—his warmth. It truly felt soothing. Calming. Yet it also gave her a tiny surge of strength that tickled her stomach. She loved it. She adored it.

  She only wished she had more time to cherish it.

  “Thank you, Teppei…” Her voice mellowed. “For showing me around the Resistance. For helping me out in battles.” Silence was his response. A welcome for her to say further. “For pushing me to end this terrible Vision Hunt Decree.”

  His left fingers clenched rigidly next to her.

  “For coming back alive and well…” Her voice started to get slower. “For inspiring me…” Her eyes started to get heavier. “For cheering me up when I feel…down…” Her head bobbed forward. “For…” A yawn broke out, “being there…”

  Body acting out of reflex, Lumine leaned her head against his left arm.

  Her actions stunned him back to reality. As she talked to him—as if she was talking to herself—Teppei felt hypnotized. Brown eyes were fixed on her like trance. Healthy heartbeat skipped at the sound of her melodious voice. It wasn’t until he felt her body so close to him that Teppei almost jumped with face full of red.

  Silence hummed around them.

  The captain looked at her, entranced and bewitched by such a sight. “That’s a lot of thanks, partner…” Voice a shy murmur, he brought his free hand up to his face. A long sigh escaped his lungs. His right hand remained on half of his face as he stared forward.

  His whole body felt as if he was burning.

  Brown eyes glanced at the sleeping traveler next to him.

  But honestly, His left fingers twitched, stretched until his hand held her right hand, it doesn’t feel bad.

  The mad drumming of his heart echoed in his ears. The soothing sound of her voice kissed heat in his cheeks and neck.

  It doesn’t feel bad at all.

  “Sweet dreams, Lumine…” His left hand gently squeezed her right hand. His face slowly leaned closer to her to memorize every detail, to cherish every moment he had with this fated encounter.

  Ah, he thought, smile soft and shaky, I’m in trouble…

END

[c-swirlz]

Pure Imagination

Summary: Thomas has never really questioned the existence of humanoid fragments of his personality, but when strange dreams start worming their way into his sleeping hours, he decides it’s time to get some answers. Meanwhile, Logic, Creativity and Morality are dealing with a few of their own problems.

Relationship(s): None

Warning(s): Panic attack, swearing

[AO3 link]

This was written for the TSS Fanworks Collective’s April Reverse Mini Bang challenge. The rules of the challenge were simple: claim a piece of submitted art and write fic inspired by it. The art I chose was drawn by @amayakumiko, and it can be found here.

Everyone has an imagination. From the elderly to the newborns, everyone is capable of warping reality within their own head. Some imaginations are tame. Others are wild. Some people imagine life in another country and the adventures they could have. Others imagine life in a fantasy world where society’s rules don’t apply. Everyone’s imagination is different. That’s what makes it such a special thing.

There are a handful of people who are more imaginative than the rest of humanity. They’re a rare breed, and it is said only three are born across a ten-year period. Of course, such powerful imaginations can’t go to waste, so it has been decided that a gift shall be bestowed upon every individual who possesses it. The first to receive this gift shall be a boy named Thomas Sanders.

*****

In an ordinary house on an ordinary street, a shadow looms over the small crib five month old Thomas is sleeping in. A leather pouch is opened, revealing many different colours of shimmering glitter. The dark blue and indigo glitter is retrieved, and with unnatural precision, it is sprinkled onto Thomas.

The glitter glows brightly. Thomas is surrounded by an aura that glows both dark blue and indigo. The glitter dissolves, and the aura fades along with it.

Red glitter is retrieved from the pouch. It’s sprinkled onto Thomas, causing him to stir but not wake. The aura that momentarily surrounds him glows a bright imperial red.

More glitter is retrieved. This time, it’s light blue and cyan. Once again, Thomas’ aura adopts the colours as he’s showered by the magical substance. The aura glows dark blue, indigo, imperial red, light blue and cyan all at once before it fades again.

Thomas stirs again. His bottom lip trembles and he whimpers. Unlike before, he doesn’t relax. Several other colours of glitter are sprinkled onto him, and his face twitches as it falls onto the delicate skin of his cheeks and forehead. His restlessness grows as his aura appears once again. It glows a variety of different colours. 

Thomas’ lips part and a quiet, distressed noise escapes. His tiny eyes blink open, and they well up with unshed tears.

His aura fades. He sobs loudly. His parents wake up and scurry out of their shared bed frantically to check on him, and on the ground near his crib, they find an empty leather pouch.

They’ve never seen it before.

*****

Logic /ˈlɒdʒɪk/ NOUN Reasoning conducted or assessed according to strict principles of validity.

Logan has no idea how he — or his fellow Sides, for that matter — came to be. He knows they haven’t always had physical forms. He knows they haven’t always been able to speak to Thomas face-to-face. He knows there’s no logical explanation, yet he’s always searching for one.

Fragments of an individual’s personality shouldn’t have an independent conscience. They shouldn’t have physical forms. They shouldn’t be able to do things no other human can.

Logan knows everything Thomas does. Or, more accurately, he knows everything Thomas has learned over the years, and he retains that knowledge even after Thomas has forgotten it. Science is something Thomas seems to remember the most about, but math… oh, math. The amount of mathematical formulas Thomas has forgotten frustrates Logan to no end.

Thomas and Logan share a mind. They share their knowledge, and that knowledge helps them grow. Thomas asks questions, and most of the time, Logan is the one who answers them. He’s an intellectual, but he doesn’t know everything.

He wishes he did.

*****

“Logic?”

Thomas’ tentative call tugs gently in Logan’s chest. When Logan rises up, he finds his Whole sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, his head in his hands.

“What can I do for you, Thomas?”

Thomas lowers his hands and sighs. He gestures to the sheet of paper on the desk and picks up the pencil sitting beside it. “Homework.”

Logan’s head tilts. “You… require assistance?”

Thomas nods.

“Have you not asked your teachers for help?”

Thomas averts his gaze, bites his lip and shakes his head. “I would, but I don’t want it to seem like I wasn’t paying attention to the lectures. Plus, I... feel like I ask them for help a little too often.”

Logan’s expression softens. He approaches Thomas, careful not to get too close. They still don’t know what will happen if they make physical contact with their Whole, and Logan doesn’t plan on being the one to find out.

“What are you having trouble with?”

Thomas moves to point out what question he’s stuck on, but stops. There’s silence for a beat, then a quiet clatter breaks it when Thomas puts the pencil down.

“Y’know what, nevermind. I have plenty of time to finish this, it’s fine.”

Logan’s brow furrows. Thomas stands and moves to his bed. Logan follows, but chooses to stand nearby as Thomas drapes himself across the blanket, effectively wrinkling it.

“Is something the matter, Thomas?”

Thomas sits up and his gaze snaps up to meet Logan’s eyes. “No,” he says, far too quickly.

“Are you sure?” Logan asks. He takes a seat beside Thomas, and he pushes down the odd urge to place a hand on his Whole’s shoulder. “You seem distressed. If something is bothering you, talking about it may help.”

Thomas sighs and lowers his head. His bangs flop down, partially hiding his face.

“I’ve been having… dreams. Weird ones.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “It’s not uncommon for someone to have strange dreams every now and again—“

“That’s the thing,” Thomas interrupts. He lifts his head and turns it to lock eyes with Logan. “Logic, I’ve been having these dreams for days now, and they won’t stop.”

Logan blinks. “Ah. That is… rather concerning. Can you remember any of your dreams?”

Thomas’ brow furrows in thought. “Well, I remember I almost drowned in glitter Monday night.” He laughs. “That was weird.”

Logan summons a notepad and jots something down. Thomas waits patiently for him to stop scribbling before he speaks again.

“Wednesday night was pretty freaky. I was in some really dark room, and I could hear whispering. I remember seeing weird flashes of colour, but I wasn’t able to get a proper look before they disappeared.”

Logan nods and jots another note down. “You didn’t experience any odd dreams on Tuesday?”

Thomas shakes his head, then pauses. “Wait, shouldn’t you know all this? You’re part of me.”

Logan tucks the pen in his grasp behind his ear. “Dreams are generally Creativity’s department. Unlike him, the rest of us are not automatically made aware of them.”

“Huh.”

The room falls into an awkward silence, save for the tapping of Thomas’ forefinger on the desk. Logan fixes his tie and cleans the lenses of his glasses, just to give him something to do.

“Why am I having these dreams, Logic?”

Logan blinks. “What?”

Thomas looks down at his bare feet, which are hovering just above the carpet. “I wanna know why I’m having these dreams. There has to be a reason, and I guess I just assumed you’d know.”

There’s a lump in Logan’s throat. He swallows, but it doesn’t dislodge.

“I…”

Thomas glances up at Logan. Logan puts on a brave face and looks his Whole in the eye.

“As I said before, dreams are not my department. It would be best to consult Creativity if your concern grows.”

The way Thomas’ expectant face falls makes Logan’s heart sink. He wishes he had an answer, he really does, but nothing is coming to mind. He doesn’t know what’s going on, nor why Thomas is having such strange dreams.

Knowledge is his entire existence. He has to know.

He sinks out. For the rest of the evening, he stays in his room, conducting research and jotting down notes.

He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t sleep.

He has to know.

*****

Creativity /ˌkriːeɪˈtɪvɪti/ NOUN The use of imagination or original ideas to create something; inventiveness.

Roman is a dreamer. He’s a performer; an artist. He’s the one who’s always ready to slay any monsters lurking in the shadows. He’s the hero of the story, and any villains who dare to cross his path will be shown no mercy.

Thomas is an actor. Saying he’s a good one would be an understatement. Both he and Roman are well rehearsed in putting on a mask and performing for an audience, and they’ve gotten rather good at it over the years.

Thomas loves theatre. So does Roman.

Thomas loves Disney. So does Roman.

Thomas has dreams. So does Roman. Not the sort of dreams you have when you’re asleep, but rather aspirations, ambitions and ideals.

Roman shouldn’t have them. Dreams, he means. He’s a facet of a person’s personality. He isn’t an individual. Thomas’ dreams are the ones that matter; his are irrelevant.

It’s one of the many problems Roman has with his existence.

He doesn’t like talking about it.

*****

“Prince?”

Roman greets Thomas with an exaggerated regal bow as he rises up. “Good afternoon, Thomas! What can I do for you on this fine day?”

Thomas puts his phone aside and starts fiddling with his fingers. After a moment, he places his hands on either side of him, and his fingers curl around the soft material of the blanket underneath him.

“I talked to Logic yesterday.” Thomas pauses, but only for a beat. “I told him about the weird dreams I’ve been having.”

Roman sighs. “Yes, I heard about that. Your dreams these past few nights have been quite strange, and oddly enough, they all seem to be connected. Logic’s been trying to figure out what they mean, but I don’t think he’s had much luck so far.”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

Roman shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. Picking out the symbolism of the dreams I oversee isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

Thomas looks away. “Oh.”

Roman smiles warmly. “Don’t fret, Thomas. We’ll figure this out together, okay? These questions won’t go unanswered.”

Thomas glances at Roman, and the corner of his lips curl upward.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Roman grins and starts to sink out.

“Hey, wait.”

Half-submerged in the floor, Roman stops. He rises back up and raises an eyebrow.

Thomas stands and starts fiddling with his fingers again. “I, uh… sorry about Thursday. I know you wanted me to go for the lead in the play.”

Roman waves a dismissive hand, ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest. “Don’t sweat it, Tommy Salami. It’s just a school play, no big deal. They’re practically the same as the ones you participated in back in high school, anyway.”

Thomas giggles. “Tommy Salami? That’s a new one.”

“I have plenty more; I’ve been brainstorming all week.”

Roman and Thomas laugh, and just for a moment, Roman’s tight chest loosens. As their laughter dies down, Roman feels the tightness return.

He ignores it.

*****

Morality [məˈralɪti] NOUN Principles concerning the distinction between right and wrong or good and bad behaviour.

Patton’s job is simple. He determines what’s right and wrong. He makes sure Thomas is honest and encourages him to put others before himself. When Thomas was younger, Patton would repeat the same mantra over and over again.

“Don’t kill, don’t steal. Be honest. Help others and put them first. Be a good person, kiddo.”

When Thomas was younger, his sense of morality was fairly streamlined. Now, slowly but surely, things are becoming more complicated.

Patton hates that. He shouldn’t, but he does.

The moral dilemmas Thomas faces on a daily basis are growing more complex. Though Patton will never admit it, he’s struggling to keep up. It’s getting more and more difficult to determine what the ‘right thing’ to do is, and the pressure is always on Patton to make the call. He’s supposed to know, but sometimes…

Sometimes he doesn’t.

*****

“I’ve figured it out!”

Logan rises up in Patton’s room, grinning from ear to ear. His glasses are slightly askew and he has a large pile of notebooks and stray pieces of paper stacked precariously in his arms. Patton scrambles over to help Logan by taking some of his load, but then has to quickly dump them onto his bed as his arms begin to shake under the weight he was unprepared to carry.

Patton turns around to face Logan and laughs. “Wow, Logan, I haven’t seen you this happy in… well, ever! But, uh… what did you figure out, exactly?”

Logan rolls his eyes and places his load on the ground at his feet. He fixes his glasses, straightens his tie and runs a hand through his hair a few times before clearing his throat. Patton’s heart sinks at the way Logan’s expression quickly settles back into one of cold indifference.

“I think I’ve finally managed to figure out why we exist in this particular form,” Logan gestures to himself, “and why Thomas is able to summon us to his side at will.”

“This is about all those weird dreams Thomas keeps having, right? Roman mentioned it the other day.”

Logan nods. “It is.” He pauses. “Well, partially. I believe the dreams are a result of an event that occurred during an earlier stage of Thomas’ life. I'm thinking it’s either a result of some kind of genetic mutation, or a genetic alteration.”

Patton blinks.

“...What about the glitter?”

Logan stills.

“What.”

Patton’s brow furrows. “Wasn’t there glitter in one of Thomas’ dreams? I could’ve sworn Roman mentioned it…”

Logan blinks. Slowly, a realisation dawns on him.

“Oh, of course, the glitter.” Logan gently hits the side of his head with his palm. “I completely forgot that was a factor.” He sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose. “Now I’ll have to revise everything,” he mutters.

Patton frowns. “Maybe you should take a break, Logan. You’ve been working on this,” he gestures to the stacks of notebooks, “for a really long time.”

“I’ve taken plenty of breaks, Patton.”

Patton crosses his arms. “I mean a proper one.”

Logan huffs. “Patton, I’m not a child. You do not have to… monitor me.”

Patton’s eyes go wide. “Monitor—“ He stops, squeezes his eyes shut and massages his temples. He releases a slow, steady breath before he opens his eyes and lowers his arms. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

Logan scoffs and looks away.

“Logan, what’s gotten into you?”

Logan chooses to ignore the question as he retrieves his notebooks.

“I really should’ve expected this.”

“Wha — What—“ Patton splutters. “Expected what?”

“You are the heart. I am the mind. It’s common for us to be at odds, especially when you’d always rather Thomas spend time with friends rather than study.”

When Logan looks at Patton, there’s fire in his eyes. He’s glaring daggers, and Patton has to force himself not to flinch away.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Patton’s voice is loud, and he’s very close to yelling. He hopes he won’t have to resort to such an extreme.

Logan shakes his head. “Nothing.”

He sinks out, and Patton is left alone in Nostalgia Nirvana as guilt settles in his chest like a pebble.

*****

Anxiety /aŋˈzʌɪəti/ NOUN A feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease about something with an uncertain outcome.

A nervous disorder marked by excessive uneasiness and apprehension, typically with compulsive behaviour or panic attacks.

Thomas is floating. Around him is a pitch-black void. Above him, a hand comes into view, sparkling glitter pinched between its fingers.

The glitter falls. It’s a variety of different colours, and it almost looks like a rainbow.

Thomas reaches for the glitter, wanting to feel it between his fingertips. The moment the glitter makes contact with his hand, it turns a deep purple — or is it violet? Thomas barely has any time to process the change before he finds himself falling. As he falls, he swears he can hear a voice, but it’s extremely muffled, as if he’s hearing it from underwater. Slowly, however, the voice grows louder, and Thomas can almost hear what it’s saying—

“Thomas!”

Thomas’ anxiety spikes. His eyes fly open and he sits up, barely aware enough to recognise where he is. He’s faintly aware of his chest heaving and the uneven breaths he’s taking, but that’s about it.

Someone nearby mutters a swear, and the next thing Thomas knows, he’s being guided off the bed — his bed, he was in his bed — and onto the carpeted floor. He really should be more concerned about the stranger in his bedroom, but oddly enough, he feels like he can trust them.

“Breathe, Thomas. Four-seven-eight, remember?”

Yes, Thomas remembers. Unfortunately, his chest feels like it’s crushing itself with every breath he takes.

The stranger gathers Thomas’ hands into their own and places them against their chest. Thomas can feel their heart pounding.

“You feel that?”

Thomas nods.

“Cool. Now, I want you to focus on that and copy my breathing, okay?”

Thomas nods again. Despite his aching chest, he allows the stranger to guide him through the exercise. As he breathes, he can hear the stranger murmuring words of encouragement.

“Keep it up, Thomas. That’s good, keep going.”

Eventually, after what seems like hours but is really only a few minutes, Thomas is able to breathe normally, and his chest no longer aches with every breath. The haze of panic is fading, and Thomas is finally able to get a good look at the stranger who helped him. They’re wearing an unzipped black plaid jacket with the hood up, and Thomas can see they’re wearing a black shirt underneath. The hood plus their bangs makes it very difficult to see their face, though Thomas is pretty sure he can see eyeshadow smudged underneath their eyes.

The only word that comes to mind to describe them is ‘edgy’.

The stranger mutters something under their breath before reaching up and pulling the hood off their head. They run a hand through their hair, and Thomas can’t help but notice it looks almost identical to his own.

Just like that, everything clicks.

“You’re a Side.”

The Side smiles wryly in Thomas’ direction. “Sure am.”

“I have more than three?!”

“Clearly.” The Side’s voice is monotone, and Thomas can’t help but think he’s being mocked. “Oh, and I’m Anxiety, by the way, thanks for asking.”

Thomas very quickly decides he does not like this new Side.

Anxiety sits back on his heels. “That was one heck of a dream you were having, huh? Though I guess that’s nothing compared to all the others you’ve been having.”

“You know about those?”

“Well, duh.” Anxiety stands and stretches. Thomas does the same. “I kinda have to be able to monitor your dreams so I can wake you up if shit gets real.”

“Do you know anything about them?”

Anxiety raises an eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, kid.”

Thomas’ internal groan is very loud, and he’s glad only he can hear it. “Well, we’ve been trying to figure out what they mean for weeks now, but—“

“Magic.”

Thomas blinks. “What?”

Anxiety perches himself on the end of Thomas’ bed. “These dreams are a result of you being exposed to magic as a baby.”

Thomas’ brow furrows. “Are you messing with me?”

“Nope,” Anxiety responds, popping the ‘p’. “I know it sounds absurd, like something Princey would come up with, but I’m serious. How else do you think we exist?”

“You expect me to believe the reason I have Sides is because of magic?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, no. Hate to break it to you, bud, but magic doesn’t exist.”

Anxiety pulls his jacket tighter around himself. “That’s Logic talking. If magic didn’t exist, then nor would we.”

“You’re making absolutely no sense.”

“I’d like to think I’m making perfect sense.”

Thomas’ teeth grind. “I’d like you to know that you’re really starting to get on my nerves.”

Anxiety smirks. Thomas glares. For a moment, the two of them are locked in a staring contest.

Thomas loses.

Anxiety cackles. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna take my leave before my presence attracts… unwanted attention. Well, unwanted for me, not so much for you.”

Anxiety stands up and prepares to sink out, but pauses. He snaps his fingers as if he’s just remembered something, then turns to face Thomas.

“Hey, by the way, you might wanna check in with those three. I hear they’re not doing so hot.”

Anxiety sinks out, but not before shooting Thomas a lazy two-fingered salute. Once he’s gone, Thomas’ face falls and he flops back onto his bed, not bothering to fix the blankets. He grabs his pillow and shoves his face into it, allowing it to muffle the extremely loud groan he can finally release.

“Why is my personality so complicated?”

[autumnalfallingleaves]

After several months, I finally wrote a thing because Wizards hit me in the feels.

~~~

Remembering.

Or,

There are consequences to changing the timeline.

~~~

Blinkous Galadrigal has, for nine-hundred years, known that there would one day be a Trollhunter with piercing blue eyes that shine like hope. Hope for victory. Hope for the next day. Hope for the future. 

He has met this Trollhunter. His name was Jim (an odd name), and his blue eyes had shone as he rallied the citizens of Dwoza to arms. Something had stirred within his breast, then, along with the utter fear that threatened to overtake him. His brother felt the same, he could tell, but he, Blinkous Galadrigal, would not give in to the terror, not when this literal whelp could stand before them and tell them they’d win, despite what they may think. He had lived a much longer life than this child. Surely, he could fight a war?

And they fought. And they won, all because of this child with hope-blue eyes and the ability to look at him and tell him he could do so much more. 

Much later, the Trollhunter approached him, after the fighting had ceased and Jim and his companions had returned to whence they came. 

Deya the Deliverer, once Callista the Calamity, stood before him and told him who this child had been: a Trollhunter, like herself, but from the distant future. Jim had told her, she said, that a day would come where Blinkous himself would be a close companion of his, and one whom Jim trusted with his life. 

He would need to know Jim, she said, but do not tell him that you know him. Let him forge his own path, but do not let him do it alone. Guide him to be the child of hope that he knew from Dwoza. 

Hope for the future, Blinkous, the Deliverer told him, and teach Jim to hope, as well.

~~~ 

AAARRRGGHH!!! has, for nine-hundred years, known that there would one day be a Trollhunter with a toothy, knowing smile that looks like mercy. Mercy for the disillusioned. Mercy for ones who do not know better. Mercy for those who deserve second chances. 

He knows this because it was this whelp who showed him a better path. Under Gunmar, AAARRGGHH!!! was always watching his back, always frightened, always waiting for the fatal blow. In the Skullcrusher’s horde, there was always a chance that you would be killed by one looking for power, no matter what your rank was. This… Jim had looked at him, smiled, and offered a hand not to strike him, but to offer a chance to start again. A chance to live a life without fear.

AAARRRGGHH!!! was reluctant to take it. What did this child know of him? Of war? Didn’t he know that there was no mercy for a killer like him? 

Kill him! The citizens of Dwoza yelled, and AAARRRGGHH!!! agreed. He was guilty of so many things. The only thing he deserved was death. 

But no. He never got what he wanted, did he? Not a chance to have a peaceful life like these Trolls, not a chance to have a family like the small, four-armed Troll and his brother, both of whom were clearly terrified by him. 

The Jim had scowled at the other Trolls and told them no, they would not kill him. Then he smiled at AAARRRGGHH!!!, and it shone like mercy, the kind where you could try again and again, and no matter how many times you slipped, you would not be punished for it. 

The boy was merciful. The general was not used to this feeling… this… this… kindness. When had he ever been kind to another? He couldn’t remember. And…

…When had he ever been merciful?

But the Jim was filled with it, and it was this mercy that allowed him to meet Blinkous. Or Blinky, because Blinkous was hard to say and that was what the Jim had called him. Blinky was skittish and anxious, but he was also empathetic and kind. He did not hit AAARRRGGHH!!! when he made a mistake. He corrected him with a smile, and not once did he ever judge him. 

It was nice. 

After the Battle of Killahead, on their way to the New World and a new Heartstone, as the Dwoza stone had died in the blast of magic that shook the heavens, Blinky told him who the Jim had been: a Trollhunter like Deya, but from the future. He and AAARRRGGHH!!! would know the boy, he told him, and they would be his teachers. 

AAARRRGGHH!!! was glad. The boy had been his savior, and he would have a chance to repay him. He would teach him mercy, AAARRRGGHH!!! decided, like Blinky would teach him hope. The mercy to be able to spare a former GummGumm like him.

~~~

Deya has, for nine-hundred years, known that there would one day be a Trollhunter with a soft-yet-strong voice that rings like justice. Justice for those unfairly slain. Justice for the generations yet to come. Justice for oneself. 

This Trollhunter was the one who gave her her purpose, her name. Before, she had been Callista the Calamity, doomed to put all she loved in danger. She was an outcast, she was bad luck, she was someone no one wanted around. She was tainted by humans, after all, and carried a human name. But she couldn’t help it. Her memories of her old life were gone. Where was the justice in that?

But Jim hadn’t cared. He saw Callista, not the Calamity. He didn’t have the history needed to judge her. He’d met her in the dungeons beneath Camelot and decided she was someone who was worth saving. He spoke of hope and mercy and justice, and Callista couldn’t help but swept away by the tide of it all. It had been a while since someone had cared enough to talk to her, and more importantly, to listen to her. 

And he listened. He listened as she told him about her story: her village destroyed, being captured by humans, given one of their names, and deemed an outcast by her kind. She lamented to him about how she wished she could avenge her village, her family, to enact justice for them.

She listened, too, and learned of how Jim was not of her time. He was from the future, and held the position of Trollhunter, a mantel granted by Merlin to protect Trolls from evil, such as Gunmar and his horde. Merlin? Protecting Trolls? A preposterous thought. 

But here was this half-human, half-Troll boy from the future, with a suit of ebony and crimson armor, and she had no choice but to believe. Maybe she, Callista, would be Trollhunter one day, and she would finally be able to bring about the justice she so desired.

And little by little, as the days went on, Jim gave her the tools to bring her justice. He gave her the courage to speak up as he pleaded with Dwoza to help them in the coming war. He gave her status she needed as she helped win the fight against the GummGumm general. He gave her hope as she sat in a crevasse, Amulet in hand, unsure if she was worthy to wield his mantel. 

It’s Jim’s, not mine, she thinks, but Jim tells her no, that the mantel is hers. He may be Trollhunter, but he is the future’s Trollhunter. The people back where he comes from need him. She, Callista, is this era’s Trollhunter, and the people of this time need her. 

She listens, and he leaves, and before she goes as well, her village gives her one last gift in the form of a carved totem.

She is Deya, and she is the Deliverer, but it was someone else who delivered her, who did her village justice as he gave her her purpose. 

So she fights. 

After all is said and done, she is visited by a specter of Merlin. He tells her that she, his champion, will have a legacy spanning centuries. Her name will be celebrated by thousands, and she will be remembered by countless others. He tells her that, when she dies, her spirit will live on in a Void Between Worlds. She will serve as a teacher for those who come after, and eventually, for Jim, the boy with eyes like hope, a smile like mercy, and a voice like justice. 

So she waits. She fights for justice, and eventually, she is killed by Bular’s sword. It’s morbidly poetic, in a way: she locked away the father, so the son takes her life in retaliation.

The Amulet leaves, and she is reborn in a world of spirits and magic, all cloaked in a blue haze.

Later, she is joined by others: a lean Trollhunter with the affinity for cloning themself to get the edge on enemies, a pacifist Trollhunter with gentle eyes and words, a Trollhunter whose son sought only to make him proud, and many more. 

Deya does not tell them about Jim. It’s too soon for them. They know the stories, of course, where a whelp from a distant land inspired the mighty Deya to take up arms against Gunmar and his injustices, but they do not know the true nature of the boy. That is knowledge for her and her alone. 

Finally, nine centuries after the great Battle of Killahead, a human is Chosen as Trollhunter for the first time. His eyes shine like a hope not seen in years, his smile bestows mercy upon whomever he graces it with, and his voice rings like a chance for justice. 

His name is Jim Lake, Jr., and as he fights, as he wins, Deya watches with a proud gaze. Her title might be “the Deliverer”, but it is he, this human child with the resilience of a Troll, who truly deserves the moniker. 

He delivered her, and in turn, she delivered the world.  

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// the poet. sugawara koushi //

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.1K

Notes:  The second installment of my mini-collection entitled “Soldier, Poet, and King” inspired by the song of the same name by The Oh Hellos, featuring my questionable poetry skills

Picture this,

A world in which

There was no fear

Where you and I

Could sing and strum

And have our fun

Without the threat

Of the King shouting,

“Off with their heads!”

The cheers of a small crowd were met with a hearty laugh and small words of thanks as coins were tossed into the troubadour’s cap.  His silver locks kept being tossed gently in the breeze, a near perfect physical representation of the ease with which he carried himself as he hopped down from the stone wall that had been used as the stage for his brief performance.  An easy smile was plastered on his face, a grin so wide that you were sure his cheeks were hurting, but no matter how long you watched him from the edge of the crowd, that smile never faded.  

You had heard about him, the way that his words never failed to draw a mass of people to listen to his tales, his poems, his songs.  He frequently told of his hopes and his dreams, wrote lyrics of his disapproval of the current kingdom affairs, and made his audience smile with beautifully framed words.  

He was every bit as charming as the words that danced off of that silver tongue of his.  He was swarmed by ladies and gentlemen alike, each looking to get to know the ethereal poet a little better, wishing to bestow their good graces upon him, showering him in trinkets of their affections, handkerchiefs, pins, small envelopes that enclosed the profession of their love.  Each gift and flirtatious word was met with a smile and a gentle, “Thank you, my sweet.”  

But, none of it mattered to him.  Those wide brown eyes had settled on the enchanting gaze of the hooded figure who always stood at the far edge of his audience, almost melting into the shadows, the troubadour was afraid that if he dared to look away, those twinkling eyes would disappear, never to return again.  You never approached him.  You only ever applauded at the end of his performance, disappearing as quickly as you had arrived.  

Come one, come all

To listen to my daunting tale

Of unrequited affection

Of a darling long gone.

Elegance and mystery

Shrouding over my love,

Eyes bright with passion

For another that is

Not I.

And just like always, the end of another performance had your form retreating away, tugging at the edges of your hood to make sure that it shrouded your identity.  Sugawara Koushi was left only to stare at the edge of your cloak billowing in the gentle summer breeze as you weaved your way through the crowds of the market.  No matter how high he stood on his toes or how wide he wished he could spread his wings, you were always so far away.  To speak to you once, to see that teasing smile that always danced on your lips whenever he uttered a line against the kingdom, to be able to kiss your hands.  They were all dreams that were yet to be fulfilled.

He was left to write endless poems and songs in hopes that you would understand, in hopes that you would see this as your sign to stay, even for a moment.  Your presence every week lit a new fire in his stomach, one that had been starting to grow dim as the time passed by.  It was like the gods had gifted him with a new outlook on the world and it had a bright light shining down on you, his brand new muse, drawing inspiration from each and every little thing about you.   He would write an entire epic just about the way your necklace caught the light from the sun and caused small rainbows to dance across your skin if you asked him to.  

If only he could see the way that blush crawled up your cheeks with each passing stanza, eyes shifting from his smiling face to the cobblestone pathway, only to return your attention to the sweet words spilling from his lips with each passing moment.  He had you clutching at your chest, feeling your heart pound and your head race as feelings overwhelmed you.  

You had heard rumors of a troubadour, an appearance unlike any other, who spilled words against your home, berating it, tearing it apart.  You couldn’t keep yourself away, you wanted to see it all for yourself.  And Sugawara failed to disappoint you.  He was witty and charismatic, his opinions voiced in a tone too sweet to be slaying such mighty dragons with nothing but a quill to aid him.  It was exciting, watching him have to cut his performances short at the sight of soldiers approaching, ready to take him into custody for spewing words of treason, but even if he was stressed, he never showed it.  His contagious smile never fell from his lips.  

What must it be like,

You ask,

To fall in love with a soul

Who has no eyes for you?

It is a feeling

Similar to that of

Hot coals grazing your skin.

It hurts and it continues to sting

For days and days until

It all goes away

And you are healed.

But then

You burn yourself

All over again.

And it hurts less

As you’re used to the pain

But the sting is still

A painful reminder

Of a love 

Unknown.

It was a burn that existed every single week as he watched you disappear without so much as a farewell, the sting carrying until he could sink his hand back into the hot coals all over again, never once complaining, because if it meant that he could fix his eyes on you for another week, he would do it over and over again.  He should’ve moved on by now, taken his tales to another city in the kingdom, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the capital with its shining castle walls rising towards the sky, the large open markets, and the girl in the cloak with amusing eyes. 

So, he stayed and for weeks upon weeks, he couldn’t find the desire to leave, not when you were there to watch each and every performance.  He kept wishing to see you around the market or in the pubs once evening hit, but no matter where he went or how hard he looked, there was never any sign of his muse.  

The kingdom has a princess, but she’s a princess with a secret, because each week she dons her cloak of midnight and sneaks out through the garden gates, checking over her shoulder in fear of being caught by the royal guards. She runs down the well-trodden path towards the city in hopes to hear the tales of the angelic troubadour with words of longing meant for her ears.  But, no matter how much she yearns to stay, yearns to melt into his touch as they finally greet each other for the first time, she dashes back to the castle as each performance comes to an end to rest her crown back on her head to take her place in royalty once again.  

These words of mine

Are tales of woe

As I long for the love

Of the one untold.

The cape of darkness

That adorns her form,

Shields her identity

From my eager stare.

But I yearn for the day

When at last

I am no longer, 

viewing fro-

“Arrest him!”

The words of troubadour were interrupted by the shuffling of guards and slow sheenk of swords being drawn from their scabbards.  Those kind, laughing eyes that you had watched for weeks were now run over by fear and panic, his silver hair bouncing back and forth as he wildly searched for any exit, but each side road was cut off by a royal guard, menacing glares on their faces as their eyes locked on their target.  Sugawara quickly hopped down from his makeshift stage, trying to weave through the growing crowd in an attempt to escape.  

The tip of the sword aimed at his chest as he emerged from the other side had him faltering back, eyes shifting for another means of exit.  But, the guards had started to form a small circle around him, grabbing his arms to keep him from running away.  

“You are under arrest for treason against the kingdom in the form of public speech going against His Majesty.”

“Wait!  Please, let me go!  I’ll leave the kingdom and never come back, just please don’t arrest me,” he pleaded, struggling against their strong grasp.  Sugawara could’ve babbled on in apologies and pleas of mercy for hours, but the tip of sword that had once been aimed at his heart was now pressed lightly against his pale neck, hard enough to get a point across, but not quite breaking skin.  The wide brown eyes that you always looked forward to seeing were now clenched tightly shut, a short whimper escaping his lips.  

“Traitors of the kingdom are not taken lightly,” the guard said, staring down at Sugawara.  

“Please, I beg you.  I-I’ll pay you! You can have all of my earnings.  Please, just let me go.”

He’s shoved roughly to the ground, the guards looming over him as one of them takes a pair of handcuffs from his belt to bind his wrists.

“Let him go!”   Heads of the crowd turned towards the new voice that escaped the figure shrouded in the cape of darkness as the hood came down.  “And that’s an order from your princess.”

The hush that fell over the crowd left an eerie feeling in the air as people fell to their knees to bow in your presence.  The guards wrestled Sugawara onto his knees to pay his respects to you as you approached the situation, your head held high, a certain darkness in your eyes that was new to the young poet.  

“Your highness, he’s committed acts of treason-”

“I told you to let him go.  Are you disobeying my orders?”

“No, ma’am,” the guard stuttered, bowing his head.  “You heard the princess, men.  Uncuff him.”

There was a jangle of metal as the cuffs were shifted off of Sugawara’s wrists, giving him an opportunity to try to ease the pain from the tight restraints, but he looked up at you in wonder, his muse finally being revealed to him.

The soft smile was a stark contrast from the steely expression on your face only moments prior, but you knelt down in front of him, rubbing small comforting circles on his wrists.  

He wanted to laugh, to be truthful.  Never in a thousand years would he have suspected that the young woman that he admired from afar would be the daughter of the man he had grown to loathe so much for all of the pain and destruction that had been caused to the people of the kingdom.  But, he just shook his head, a small puff of hair leaving his lips as he laughed in disbelief.  “You’re a princess.  I can’t believe that I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with the princess.”  Your hands reached up to cup his cheeks, letting him push his face into your touch.  His beautiful eyes never left yours and that smile that had been engraved into your memory was now only for you.  “My name is Sugawara Koushi, your highness.  I may just be a travelling poet, but I have admired you for a long while now.  You caught my attention and I would like to thank you for lighting a fire within me and being my new muse.  If I could be so honored, I wish to keep writing to keep watching you smile for many years to come.  Even if I cannot be the one that you love, I will not leave this kingdom in hopes that, one day, you will see me in the same light that I see you.”

It was a sight really, watching the way his already wide eyes, grew even wider as his face was tilted towards yours and your lips melted over his, the way his body relaxed as if the weight of the entire kingdom had been lifted from his shoulders, lashes slowly fluttering closed as his own hands moved to meet yours.  Gentle smiles washed over the crowd of onlookers as the poet finally united with the lover of his tales and he had no more woes to share.

[justfandomwritings]

The Soul Stone (Part 1 - Loki)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: None right now

Summary: The Soul Stone had a soul all its own, and she was destined for power and greatness that only one man every truly understood.

Notes: This is more introduction than actual chapter.... It’s a bit, how to put it, it’s a bit more “Marvel Mythology” than most Marvel fanfiction is, but I think it’s kind of a fun take on it. (P.S. For fans of my blog, this is not the Loyalty spinoff).

Soul holds a special place among the infinity stones. You might say it has a certain wisdom.

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

Not many living had witnessed the power of an infinity stone. Fewer still had wielded one and lived to tell the tale. If more had, they might have seen the difference. They might have known.

Philosophers might have waxed poetic about the essence of each stone’s purpose. Historians might have cited stories and myths of their power and its consequences. Humanitarians might have argued about the ethicacy of using such weapons on other beings. Generals might have deterred their use for fear of the recoiling effects on the man or woman who wielded such a thing.

As it was, no one knew, and no one saw it coming. 

The infinity stones bestowed great power on those strong enough to wield them and destroyed those too weak but bold enough to try. Between them, they controlled the six singularities of life and the universe: Space, Mind, Power, Reality, Time, and, of course, Soul. 

Since the dawn of time, since the cosmos divided these concentrated entities from each other, only two had found their way back together: Space and Soul.

How Odin found them, no one ever knew. He left Asgard and his pregnant queen one day with two eyes and empty hands and returned with one eye and two stones to a baby nursing at her breast. 

The Fates, he thought, had blessed him. A beautiful baby girl and enough power to conquer all the realms. Perhaps the Norns had gone soft. 

Urdr seemed old even then, and though she had lived just as long as her sister, Verdandi had never aged a day in body or mind. Perhaps the older sister’s memory had let something slip and the ageless sister’s mind was not wise enough to catch her mistake. 

It seemed, to Odin, a likely thought. The Norns were never so kind if they could help it. They showed up at the birth of every child and judged them for their worth, on their family’s past and the world at present. It was not in their nature to be so giving. 

Odin didn’t know, and how could he have, that the stones lived a life all their own, that one of them also judged him. There was no one to ask about the power the Fates had laid at his feet. There was only Odin and his thoughts. 

Looking down on the two stones, he kept the blue for himself and gifted the yellow to his daughter. 

Space was Odin’s to command, and the souls belonged to Hela. Though it would be wrong to say she commanded it. More accurate to say that it commanded her.

The stones bestowed great power on all those who wielded them, and the Asgardians were no exception. But that power came at a cost. 

A cost Odin only realized too late, when he looked out from his throne and saw his daughter, realms away in Jotunheim, slaughtering men, women, and children by the millions with no remorse. She wasn’t his daughter anymore. She was a monster of his own creation, of the soul stone’s creation

If the philosophers, historians, humanitarians, or generals had gotten to see the stones at work before he laid one around his daughter’s neck, they might have been able to tell Odin what the Fates had truly ‘blessed’ him with. 

Space, Mind, Power, Reality, and Time. These were all parts of the universe which existed around the wielder of their stones, things that someone could manipulate and control. But the soul was a different story. To command the stone was to have a soul, and to have a soul was to be at the mercy of the Soul. No one ever used the stone, the stone used them for its own purpose. 

Souls were dynamic, fickle things; and their stone was no different. It let souls go and called them back on a whim, tumultuous and violent. 

Anyone who held it long enough would know that, but it allowed few to live long enough to learn. 

Hela was one of those, and in her it created a bloodlust unmatched across the millennia. In her, it created a goddess of death. 

Odin sent the Valkyrie against her, but by the time they arrived they were no match for her cruelty. 

It took the Space Stone and Odin himself riding against her, drawing her out to the edge of the universe and trapping her beyond the boundaries of it with his own infinity stone, before her murderous rampage finally came to its end. 

And there, where his daughter had once stood, where Odin had consumed her with a blue portal of his own making, was the Soul Stone. Floating in the nothingness, waiting to be claimed.

He thought of leaving it there. He thought of running from his pain, from his failure, from his mistake. 

In his youth, he had thought it was the key to his ascent. Now, he saw only his demise, for there was no truer demise than turning his back on his own blood.

It was only the knowledge of the monster that lay within the seemingly innocent yellow gem that kept Odin from walking away. 

He didn’t make the same mistake twice.

Out on the edge of the known, and creeping beyond it into what lay yet undiscovered, Odin crafted a new portal and followed the Soul Stone through it. He touched down on the planet above whose surface he had fought his daughter. A planet which would one day bear the name Vormir. 

He buried it there, at the base of a mountain and spent months casting over it a spell which, by the end, he was sure even the Norns themselves could not break.

The stone would never see the light again, he was sure of it. To use the stone would be to sacrifice what one loved most, and he could think of no one who would do such a thing but a monster, and monsters could not love. 

As he whispered the last words of his incantations, sealing the stone beneath the surface, a pulse of golden light echoed through the air, not of Odin’s doing.

Just as the Space Stone was present with a doorway to all creation, the Soul Stone was alive with a soul all its own. It knew what was being done to it, and its bloodlust, its longing for more souls, would never allow for such a thing willingly. 

In its dying moments before it was consumed in the earth for millennia to come, the Soul Stone went against its nature. It released a soul, a piece of itself to see to its purpose.

A baby, falling from the heavens and into Odin’s arms.  

“At last.”

Odin didn’t know what sorcery this was, but his instincts clutched the babe to his chest as he whirled his spear on the voice behind him.

“Urdr, Verdandi,” Odin greeted coldly. “You knew what would happen when you took my eye. You knew what would come of this.” 

“We knew nothing.” Urdr rejected. “Only that it was your fate to end up here.”

“And to bring us her,” Verdandi finished her sister’s sentence.

They had a way of doing that. Urdr was the past, finished by Verdandi, the present. 

Verdandi nodded, “and completed by her.” She spoke as though she could hear Odin’s thoughts, as though she could see into his mind and body, could know what he was thinking, feeling, doing, at any moment. And perhaps she could.

“The future,” Urdr took a sloshing step through the water in which the three figures stood, “is in her hands now. She is one of us.” 

Odin looked down at the sleeping, innocent face of the baby girl in his arms. She had come out of nowhere. Fallen from the sky as he finished sealing the stone away from the universe forever. A blinding golden light and then a baby, falling through fog and smoke. 

She was in his arms before he could of who she was or the consequences she might bring. She was, after all, just a child, only a child. Too small to understand where she was, too small to know who he was, too small to comprehend what he’d done. 

It was impossible to believe. This child, a Norn. Urdr had been older than anything in existence for longer than anything had existed. Verdandi had been present longer than the presence of the Aesir or any other living thing could remember. Now they thought to add a child to their midst. A child who rested in his arms. 

“She completes us.” Verdandi took a step forward. “It was always your destiny to bring her to us, though we could not see it until she was here to show that to us.” 

“You would take the child from my arms.”

It wasn’t protectiveness that made Odin protest her removal. He felt no affection for her. In fact, when he looked down on her, he felt nothing at all. She was, seemingly, this whole in his vision for which he could not attribute a single emotion. 

He protested in defiance of Urdr and Verdandi. They had known, in some part of their minds, what would come of him and his daughter, what she would do to the universe and what he would have to do to stop her. 

“We take nothing for which you will not be repaid twice over.” Verdandi promised. “She has shown us that.” 

Twice over. Two children. Odin didn’t have the heart, not after Hela. 

“Go home, Borrson.” Urdr urged. “Go home to your wife and your son. We are not done with you yet, but there will be many blessings in your kingdom before we meet again in strife. Enjoy them while you can.” 

Odin was powerful, with the Space Stone in his pocket even more so, but even he dare not stand up to Fate made flesh. 

He handed the baby over to Verdandi as he walked past with his head hung under the weight of his pain. 

As promised, he returned home to find Frigga with his son in her arms.

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

Loki. One of the priestesses of the temple had given Odin the baby’s name. 

For the third time in as many weeks Odin found himself with a baby in his arms. 

The first belonged to Fate. The second belonged to him. The third belonged to Laufey. 

Abandoned by the King of Jotunheim as Hela launched her attack, Loki was too small for the Frost Giant to give him even a passing glance. A war was being waged on their soil and only the strongest were worthy of the King’s time. 

Two weeks he had sat on the steps of the temple waiting to die, as all around him Hela slaughtered armies by the thousands. Two weeks he had survived every knife and sword that went flying over his head, every crumbling icicle and stone from the columns of his final sanctuary, every blast and bolt of the battle taking place around him. Not to mention the hunger, the thirst, the chill.

Laufey had abandoned his son for being small, but Odin could see the boy was strong. 

He wasn’t waiting to be rescued; he wasn’t waiting to die. He was surviving on his own, as best any child could. 

Something in him made Odin stoop to pick up the baby. Pity, impulse, or something else entirely, Odin dropped to one knee and reached for Loki.

Blue skin turned white as Jotunn touched Aesir, and only the weight of his tiny body in Odin’s arms kept the King from drawing back in shock.

A child, this child, was his enemy, as true as any other in the universe. It was Jotunheim whose defiance had brought his daughter to madness, Jotunheim who had forced him to turn against his own family, Jotunheim who defied his will and rule even now. 

And Laufey was their king. This was, by all counts, Laufey’s son. Odin should, by all rules of war, kill the boy now as a message to his father. But then, hadn’t Laufey already done as much.

He’d abandoned his son to the snow and frost with no intention of bringing him back in from the cold. He hadn’t checked on the boy during the fighting, hadn’t lifted his eyes toward the temple, hadn’t protected his son in any way. Laufey had been content to let him die, by blade or by weather, during the fighting. Loki was as good as dead, and killing him wouldn’t make that any more true.

Something in Odin whispered to him. Whispered that Hela was the Goddess of Death, not Odin. Whispered that the boy didn’t have to die. Whispered that if death was his Fate then the Norns would have taken him before Odin arrived. Something whispered that he should take the boy,  whispered that no one would miss him, whispered that his place didn’t have to be here, whispered to bring him to Asgard.

And Odin, for once, listened. Not because he wanted to, but because somewhere, on the other end of the galaxy, realms away, the future of a little girl with more power than she realized willed it. 

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Next Time on Part Two.... Coming Soon

Taglist

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse /  @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit​ / @spilltheearlgrey / @ryanbarnesrogers /

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Please do not message me to be added to the tag list. If you want on the taglist, send me an ask or reblog/reply to this post. 

[wrinkledparchment]

phantom; | [n.s.]

Summary: You had an opportunity to save Nick. You missed it. You will do whatever it takes to make up for it. 

Word Count: 3,204

A/N: MY FIRST FIC of 2020!!! This series has two of my most popular fics and it’s only fitting that I conclude this series in the new year :) Hopefully, you all enjoy this part! I already have the next few parts planned out, ending with part 6, and an epilogue. Enjoy!!

Warnings: Angst, what’s new?

Taglist: @ohmypreciousgavinyeet​ @bi-mama​ @wittysidecharacter​ @iknowrocknroll567​ @serpiente-s​ @janoskiansecondsofdirection​ @helen-of-troi @perseny-blog​ @vannalovesyou​ @coureurs-de-bois9​ @losers-club6​

ghost; - one | specter; two | phantom; three | [coming soon] - four | [coming soon] - five | [coming soon] - six | [coming soon] - epilogue

Your first moments with him--beautiful, blue sky, and two young children bathed in the afternoon glow of the sun; childish grins, naivety, and a blooming relationship. Meeting on a small playground, he’d stopped you from falling off a slide. 

You had offered your signature bubbly giggle, and he, a kind smile, something the other children had withheld from you. In the malleable mind of a child, you saw him as a friend and playmate. You’d hadn’t wondered about the future. 

You hadn’t thought about what it would be like to lose him until much later. You recalled the butterflies in your stomach as you saw him laugh after you’d thrown sand at him. It was a warm day, and you, at eleven-years-old, had made your first friend. 

Nicholas Scratch had offered you a childhood; presenting himself on a warm day where you were playing without supervision, without friends, without care. Within two hours, you had decided you had a crush on him. 

By the time he began school at the Academy of Unseen Arts, you had seen him as the potential for more; handing him a handmade card scribbled in your best cursive, reading: You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. Happy Lupercalia, Nicholas.

You meant it without a doubt--he had stood up for you against the other young witches and warlocks, attending school dances with you if you weren’t asked, and you would celebrate every holiday together; riding your small bikes to stores to buy each other gifts. 

Nicholas Scratch was the first person to care, the first person you’d befriended, the first crush you’d had, and the first person you’d ever loved. He was mischevious, and only a part-time criminal, but you’d never expected him to steal your heart. Most definitely not your entire life. 

Nobody ever made you feel as happy as Nick did, and nobody ever will. 

Memories you shared, delicate snapshots of youth and innocence were playing in your mind, watching him give you a flower each morning, watching him help you cast charms. You began to catch up to more recent times. 

Feeling numb, feeling nothing, you desperately wanted to break free, knowing where it was going. You were limp, barely conscious as you watched it all. Him beginning to slowly slip into Sabrina’s life, and you watched as she began to slip into his heart. 

And suddenly, it was the night before he had sacrificed himself, and you watched his face, contorted in fear, ask you for his forgiveness. Tell you that he was going to do something dangerous, that he knew it would go right, but that he might not come back. 

“I might not come back, [name]. It’s dangerous but-- I have to.”

“You better come back to me, Nick. I don’t know where I would be without you. Promise me. Please.” 

“I can’t promise you anything. You know that.” 

Flashing to you apparating to Nick, after you had almost felt your world crack underneath your feet. And in a flash, you were standing in a ballroom, watching as Nick entrapped the devil inside of himself. 

Your screams echoed in your own mind like you were stuck in a glass cage, replaying the time, watching yourself miss the opportunity over, and over, to save the one thing in this universe that you loved.

You laid limp, on your bedroom floor, fighting a battle in your own mind. Begging yourself for mercy, pleading for yourself to please, please just release you from this hell, from this torture. 

Feeling the weight your own body was carrying, feeling the numbness seep through your veins, you wanted to scream. There was nothing physical about this--everything you saw was tied to your own regrets. 

You had an opportunity to save Nick. You missed it.

And oh god--  it replayed, over and over again. Replayed like a record stuck on a loop, scratching and aching against its holder. 

There was only a sharp reminder of him with you now-- not his words, or his first, kind smile or the bubbly, childish laugh he’d bestowed upon your memory. There was the feeling of him-- warm and enrapturing. 

It had an aura of its own-- covering you like a blanket and of course, you bathed in it. Like a warm bath on a winter’s day, an old friend’s hug after a particularly tiring situation. It felt like clouds and sunshine-- smelled like a fresh summer’s day and tasted--on the tip of your tongue--like childhood innocence.

It left you, along with him, over and over and over again. The same memory, the same words, the same missed opportunity drilling itself into your skull and etching itself into the fabrics of your being. 

Twisting like a serpent through your stomach, the guilt burrowed itself into the pit of your abdomen and waited--sharp and vengeful-- for your wake. It would stay, it would manifest until consciousness was regained to torture you, while in turn, you would be awake to remember it all. To digest, fully this time. 

. . . 

You opened your eyes quickly, ears ringing over every other sound as you struggled to get your body off the ground. You found your lungs aching, gasping for air and you felt even more suffocated than you had the first night he’d disappeared. 

The weight of your regrets, of the opportunity you had missed that cost your best friend his very own freedom, sunk deep into the pits of your stomach. He had offered you everything--saved you--and the one chance you had to save him, you missed it.

Nothing felt worse than how bloodied your hands felt, how all the ichor was stained like it was your fault that he was in hell. 

The dream floated through your head again, flashes of something much more innocent, a time when you felt safe. Giggles echoed in your mind and you yearned to see his smile just one more time. 

When they passed, along with your numbness as blood flew through your veins, pumping through as if high on adrenaline, you felt lighter. The pit in your stomach, the guilt, it was all there, but for the first time, you didn’t feel exhausted.

You didn’t feel like you were powering a whole other spiritual being in your body. You felt . . . light. Your heart was full of wide smiles and the feeling of sun on your skin, and you felt whole again. 

Your stomach was filled with warmth, filled with your much-sought-after youth, blue skies, and lemonade. You felt ready to save someone you loved. 

--

Another tear slipped down his cheek, “I’ve got to go,” he whispered. A moment of reflection, of debate, passed and you knew that if you held on for much longer he’d kill you.

The cold was slowly diminishing, fading, and so was he. He was leaving, you might not ever see him again, you would regret it forever if you didn’t speak up now.

Your hovering hand suddenly moved to cradle his frigid cheek, the temperature crawling and nipping throughout your whole body. You felt frozen, trapped underwater with ice above you, it felt suffocating.

You forced yourself to stay present, to ground yourself in his eyes, in the sorrowful look he gave you and you memorized his face. You could feel him slipping away underneath your fingertips.

“I love you, Nicholas Scratch,” you whispered before fainting, falling onto the ground with a loud thump, your heartbeat erratic but weak.

--

Sabrina’s wooden front porch squeaked underneath your feet, and you rapped your knuckles on her front door. With a few sounds behind the door, Sabrina pulled open the door, giving you a curious look. 

“Are you alright?” You nodded, and she gestured for you to come in. You’d been in her home once before, but before it was impeccably neat. You’d suspected that one of her aunts had done a lot of cleaning beforehand, and it was clear now that it was them who picked up. 

Books were in disarray all over her kitchen table along with a bowl of fruit. The room smelled of old books and dust like she’d gotten all of them from an untouched library. In one pile, she even had a bible, something you’d never see in a witch’s house. “What are you researching?” 

Sabrina’s downcast face shook sideways, and she stayed quiet. Her watery eyes danced everywhere around the room but avoided you, and as the sun peeked through the glass windows of her home, they cast shadows in the hollows of her face. Underneath her eyes were dark, tired circles, and you understood, but this time, you could help too.  

“I came to help you get Nick back,” you stated quickly, and for the first time since you’d entered her house, she looked you in the eye. It had a hint of either curiosity or suspicion--you weren’t sure which--and you knew you’d have to explain. 

“I did have his ghost attached to me, and I nearly died, trying to supply him all that energy. I think-- I think he wanted to apologize for having to leave you so soon. He misses all of us. He misses you.”

The sight of Sabrina’s eyes welled up with tears, flashed through your mind. The only other time you’d seen her like this was when he got carried into hell in the arms of Lilith, but this--it was different this time around. She was gazing at you, a plea in her eyes, begging you, begging anyone to bring her lover back to her.

Her eyes were a watery red, and you wanted so desperately to hug her, to let her sob into your shoulder, but Nick- he’d been the only one you’d ever held like that. Your heart--once full of all the warmth of a sun--felt broken. Like every day apart from Nick had been slowly chipping away at it, slowly whisking away until there would be nothing left. 

“I realized-- at that moment--that I love Nick. Not in the same way you do, of course, but I really do love him. Sabrina, you have my full support. I will do whatever it takes to get him back to us--to you. Just, please, let me help you.”

Sabrina, with a heavy heart and mind, put her palm out to you, face up. Your sight slowly shifted upwards, scanning through her own, teary eyes. Even with your hands violently shaking, you placed them in her own. 

Your skin met hers, soft, warm and comforting--though much smaller than Nick’s were, and less calloused, too. It was tender, like Nick’s old hugs when he would wrap his arms around you ever so tightly. His laughter rung through your ears, and putting all your trust in Sabrina, you gave her hand a squeeze. 

Despite your frequent jealousy, despite you barely trusting her until this very moment--she squeezed back. The gesture felt so similar to something Nick would do that your heart ached, and just like it used to when Nick would hold your hand, the feeling of being cared for, of being loved, washed over you like a wave.

Looking deep into Sabrina’s honey eyes, you smiled. It was meek, and barely there, being too damp with sadness to give warmth. And she-- she smiled back. Without a word, you sat down, and you knew now what she was looking for. 

. . .  

After a half an hour of scanning through various pages of the bible, you’d set your eyes on a familiar name. “Longinus,” you murmured underneath your breath, and Sabrina looked up. 

“What about him?” she asked, and her mind flashed through her previous attempt to actually kill Lucifer. Though in the heat of the moment she’d barely thought twice about his words, but after certain events, she felt like an idiot. 

“Nick--” you paused for a moment, feeling a pang in your heart at the mere mention of his name, “--he had mentioned before all of this that you’d already tried to fight Lucifer. Did he mention anything about Longinus’ lance?”

Sabrina felt her heartbeat against her sternum, feeling the steady thump as blood coursed through her veins, high on adrenaline. Suddenly, everything felt clearer. “Yeah, he said it was the only thing that could kill him. Why- why would that kill him?”

You looked over the bible passage once more, digesting every bit of information that could be useful before you answered. “Longinus is the Roman soldier that pierced Jesus’ side during his crucifixion. And that lance--the Holy Lance to be specific--is what he did it with. It was stained with holy blood.”

“I’m assuming he’s dead,” you concluded very knowledgeably, “do you think anyone knows where it is?” 

Sabrina bit her lip, wondering where in the hell you would find an old spear from the 1st century. She wondered if it would be in a museum, but suddenly and very conveniently, Ambrose wandered into the kitchen. 

“Hello cousin,” Ambrose greeted, pausing for a moment as he found you in the chair beside her, and Sabrina immediately began to ask him for advice. 

“Ambrose, you wouldn’t happen to know where the Spear of Longinus is, would you?” Sabrina leaned forward onto the table, propping herself up with her elbows just a few inches away from the open, dusty book that lay in front of her. 

Her cousin grabbed an apple from a fruit basket on their counter and took a generous bite, and even though most cousins, as far as you were concerned, would have to rewind for a double-take, he just nodded. 

“It’s in some mausoleum in Jerusalem that only high-ranking witches know the location of. They tried to hide it from children of the light so they can’t kill Lucifer or something. Why are you asking?” 

“[Name] and I need it to kill Satan,” Sabrina says nonchalantly, and you sharply turn towards her and furrow your brows, but Ambrose cut her off first. 

“There are so many flaws in that plan--”

And before he could finish, you spoke over him just as fast. “Firstly, you’d have to be--you know--not a witch to touch something called the Holy Lance. Second of all, how are we even going to find Satan? Are we just gonna saunter right into Hell and be like, ‘What’s up y’all, where’s the Dark Lord?’”

Sabrina struggled to hide her smile despite you trying to shoot her plan down, and she found herself understanding very well why Nick had become friends with you. Even in the most stressful, heavy-weighted situations, you still managed to be humorous and light-hearted, still managed to make people smile.

“Firstly,” she started, mimicking your tone, “I’ve been baptized because I’m a half-blood. And secondly, I already discussed where she was keeping them, obviously in the very center of the underworld, Hell’s Palace.”

Ambrose nearly spit out a chunk of his apple, “You do know that wandering through hell, even as a witch but especially as someone who was baptized is incredibly dangerous, yes?” 

“We have to try,” you reasoned, “Nicholas would have done the same for us. He would have gone to the ends of the Earth to save us, and we are going even further for him, even if it kills us.”

-- 

Aunt Zelda was sat at the table, across from the two of you, scouring over a few books she’d inherited from the barely-saved Blackwell Academy. “Why do you want to find this ‘Holy Lance’ anyways?”

Sabrina muttered something under her breath and Aunt Zelda raised an eyebrow, but at this point, she seemed so worn down by her niece’s antics to even try and stop her. 

“Very well,” she muttered, writing down coordinates and a small corner of wrinkled parchment before ripping it off and handing it to you. “Take Ambrose with you, just in case anything goes wrong. Sabrina, do you know any spells to cure burns?” 

Sabrina furrowed her brows, and without missing a beat, you supplied some information. “Touching a holy object would give you a third-degree burn if you’re not baptized or if you’re detected to be a witch. Just in case. Besides, I know a spell. We should be all good, Mrs. Spellman, thank you.”

Guiding you through her house to the top floor, Sabrina began to call out her cousin’s name. Surprisingly, a door opened quickly and her cousin, now not only in pajamas but also a silk robe, rushed back into his space. 

“Are you guys ready?” he asked, pulling out his wand, pointing it at the parchment in between your fingers, and beginning an incantation. You wanted to question exactly why he’d go to a mausoleum covered in dust and bones with a very expensive robe on, but you didn’t have time. 

The world spun underneath your feet, and wind whipped around your hair. You could hear Sabrina groaning, obviously off-put by traveling via teleportation, but this felt like nothing compared to having Nick’s ghost attached to you. 

Nothing compared to the seeking emptiness that swept through your abdomen, or the exhaustion that had seeped under your skin and burrowed itself in your bones. 

You finally landed, somewhere underground which was extremely dark, musty, and dirty. You lit up your wand and began to wander through the catacombs, with the two Spellmans following behind you. 

You could swear that Nick’s voice echoed through the dim, long hallways. Words that were coated with sugar, so soft and so sweet yet so far away. Every word swept a new piece of your heart away, and you just wanted to get out of here. 

Turning back, Sabrina had a similar, heartbroken and tear-struck look to her, as did Ambrose. This hallway, these catacombs, had obviously been tampered with to keep the lighthearted out. 

Nick’s voice, you felt it, planted phantom kisses on your skin. They were warm, and overpowering, the overwhelming feeling of I shouldn’t have this, I shouldn’t have this, I’ll never have this, drilled into your skull. 

But there was something in the core of your being that told you that a world without Nick was worse than your guilty conscience. That this torture of faux love, of being reminded of your scorching jealousy, was better than the emptiness of him being dead. 

And so you turned back around, and when the pelting of words into your ears got harder, you knew you were closer. Sabrina was close behind you, and unknowingly, you reached out and grabbed her hand like it was instinct. 

You finally trusted someone other than Nick. You could finally rely on a person that wasn’t him, and you felt free. Even with the warmth of his touch on your neck, and the prison that was never getting the real thing, you felt light. 

Something began to get lighter, and lighter, and soon, the inky hallways turned to flaxen-lit old brick, and you smiled. You’d found it. So Sabrina reached out her hand and grabbed onto something, and the light began to fade. 

There was no gasp, no scream, only diminished light, and a triumphant smile.

taglist/people who asked for a sequel:  @carostar2020, @wittysidecharacter, @grey-junior, @ohmypreciousgavinyeet, @palepaperfan, @marcelitachiquita, @onl-you, @cassidyiscool, @bi-mama​, @iknowrocknroll567​, @serpiente-s, @janoskiansecondsofdirection,​ @helen-of-troi, @perseny-blog,​@vannalovesyou​, @coureurs-de-bois9,​ @losers-club6​.

[vieroeclipse]

Ludus Regnorum

Pairing: Ardynoct

Genre: Angst/tragedy

Tags: Alternate Universe

A/N: horrible grammar and strange words (since english isnt my native language and I dont have any beta reader to correct it) Inspired by game of thrones.

=======

"He isn't our king anymore, he is a monster."

Noctis tried to hold back his sobs. He knew how true that words was. His king is no longer here. His caring, loving man who always stand side by side with him is no longer the man he knew. Not anymore.

But his heart denied that truth.

“B-But he is our true king. I… vowed to protect him. Stand side by side with him. To always serve him…” he is my king.

“You’re the chosen one, Noctis. The true king of kings. Chosen by the crystal. Not him. Not anymore. And you know it.” Ignis glaring to him feels so painful.

“The moment Ardyn slaughtered those innocent people with the starscourge, he is no longer chosen by the crystal. Unworthy of the throne.”

“And… he will become the threat to the world.”

Noctis clenched his fist. His beloved king is already succumbed too far to the darkness. The moment he killed his own brother king Somnus and slaughtered so many innocent people for that goal alone, he is no longer the true king of kings. Those dark power making him blind. No longer the wise king he is.

“I tried to warn him before. To not slay those innocent people. But… he won’t listen...” Noctis gritted his teeth. Feeling pain in his heart when those amber eyes didn't look at him the same loving way anymore. There is insanity in those eyes. The madness that changed his king. His beloved lover and soon to be his husband.

Ardyn Lucis Caelum is no longer there.

And how shocked he was when Ardyn really kill all those people. The people who he vowed to save. To save from cruel way his brother Somnus had. Ardyn is too blinded with his revenge. He is no longer the healer of the people. The healer who save countless people from cruel kings and always protecting their lives.

He is a cruel tyrant now. No different from his brother Somnus.

“He will plague the world with eternal darkness. When the crystal throne finally rejected his ascension, he will succumb more to his darkness and all of hopes will lose, Noctis.”

Ignis grabs Noctis shoulder and staring hard with hint of sadness at the prince. “He will conjure the world and slaughtered those who opposed him. No matter how innocent that people is. No matter how desperate that people beg for his mercy. He will slaughter them all.”

“And… We can’t let that happen, Noct.”

Tears is forming from the prince’s blue eyes. He can’t let Ardyn become the monster. He still remember how kind hearted his lover was. His devotion to his people that make Noctis fall in love with him. Those kind smile that always warm his heart. And those amber eyes filled with so much love for Noctis.

He is no longer there.

When his brother Somnus killed so many of his people, Ardyn’s heart filled with rage and seek the power to destroy Somnus. He tried to gain that power from blessing by the Astral. Ifrit the Infernian blessed him with the starscourge. The most powerful dark power which can eliminate everything and turn human into daemon.

Those dark power that Ardyn posses begin to corrupt his mind as well and twisted his kind heart. He only want to get his revenge no matter how wrong his way is.

Noctis can no longer save his lover. Ardyn didn’t listen to him anymore and the prince can only watch in horror of those people who cried, scream in pain, beg for their life to be safe only unmercyful death that bestow upon them. With Ardyn twisted laughter at the sight of Somnus dead body.

After Ardyn’s victory of the war, he will become the true King of Kings who shall ascend to the crystal throne. Noctis must stop Ardyn before his lover get rejected by the crystal and becoming more insane than he is now.

The prince can only stare hard at the beautiful dagger in his side. A gift from Ardyn which always accompanied Noctis in all of his mission. He closes his eyes. Ignis watch in silence as the lucis prince cries with so much painful tears in both eyes.

“If you really love him, Free him. Don’t let him become the slave of darkness, Noctis.”

===========

The king of Lucis walk toward the crystal throne. The throne which he always dreamed that he will sit in there and rule the whole world one day as the chosen of the crystal. Ardyn’s finger caressing the light of its throne. Sighed from his long journey.

“It's finally here… the place I belong to. The crystal awaits me.”

Noctis watched his beloved from afar as he walked slowly behind him. Ardyn then turned toward the prince. Smiling at the sight of his beautiful fiance.

“The time is drawing near, my love. The whole world will be ruled by one king. The king of kings. Chosen by the crystal. To give hopes for the people.”

“Hope?” Noctis whispered, his blue eyes looks with sadness. “You killed all those innocent people, Ardyn…”

“Their sacrifice is needed for the better future, dear Noctis.” those amber eyes gleamed with a small smile. “A great sacrifice comes with greater hopes.”

“They screamed beg for your mercy! You burn them all alive in the darkness, they have right to live. They don’t deserve to be killed like that…” Noctis’s body is shaking. He tried to hold back his raging emotion and his tears.

“I tried to make peace with Somnus.” Ardyn sighed and then standing in front of Noctis. “But it didn’t work. He killed my people too. He got what he deserved.”

“B-But… you’re a healer of the people, Ardyn.” whispered Noctis. “A King with mercy and kindness…”

“We can’t rule with just kindness and mercy, Noctis.” Ardyn’s tone sharped “They are toying with my heart and stab me in the back. They made fun of my kindness. I already have enough with their game.”

“This isn’t you, Ardyn…” Noctis gritted his teeth. His body is shaking painfully, try to be reasonable with his king.

“That dark power of yours. It’s corrupting your mind. Filling your heart with pure hatred and rage. Please, Ardyn. Release that power, unbind from it. Free your soul. You can rule as a king without that cursed power!”

Tears escaping from his blue eyes. Noctis cupped the king face, begged him. Hope that he can light his beloved cold heart with kindness and forgiveness. Before it’s too late.

“Please… don’t be slave to the darkness…”

“I can’t.”

Noctis shut his eyes with those answer. His heart aches for his lover. Tears is flowing down from those sorrowful blue eyes.

“This power is a blessing for me, Noctis. I can’t rule the whole world without this power.” Ardyn then cupped Noctis’s chin and gently wipe the tears from his prince eyes. He hold his lover body close to him.

“Be with me, my love. Rule together with me. Be the light of my darkness. We shall conjure the whole world.”

“This whole world is for you…”

Noctis sobbing uncontrollably when Ardyn slipped a ring into his finger. A reminder of promise that Ardyn will marry him. A reminder of who Noctis belonged to. His heart is aching that those beautiful future will not gonna happen. Not with the current condition of his beloved.

“You are my King, Ardyn Lucis Caelum. Now… and always…”

Their lips meets in desperate kiss. A kiss like their life depended on it. Noctis slowly increase the pressure to deepen the kiss, want to feel his beloved king one last time. Want to feel his love once more. His warmth. His kindness.

And then Ardyn amber eyes widen in shock. Blood pouring from his lips as a dagger stabbed right in his heart. A beautiful dagger that he gave to Noctis as a gift. A tears escaping from his amber eyes. Feeling betrayed by his love ones.

“...Why?”

“I’m sorry… I… love you...” Noctis cries painfully as he embrace his lover body close to him. He buried his face in those red hair and sobbing violently. His heart crushed. He feel numb. He killed his love. He killed his purpose to life.

Those beautiful amber eyes is no more.

As the king of darkness lays dead, the daemons began rampaging the crystal throne. They burn the throne and those fire began to engulf Noctis and Ardyn.

The prince then lay his head on Ardyn chest and shut his eyes, still embraced his lover cold body. Small smile tugged on his lips before those fire burned them both.

‘I’m freeing you from the darkness, my love. Wait for me. I’ll join you… soon.’

[thenovelartist]

Hiding the Queen

AU August - Day 12 - Royalty AU

His father was the Noblest Knight in the Dupain Kingdom. That granted him many privileges that most knights would not receive. However, the king favored his father greatly and Adrien by extension. That granted him many luxuries that some royals did not receive, the greatest of all being the friendship that was allowed to forge with the princess.

She was a year younger, but that hardly mattered to two children as small as themselves. King Tom and Queen Sabine were cautious of their only daughter, but they decided that no harm could come by allowing her to play with the son of their favored knight.

The duo quickly became inseparable. By the age of six, he was her self-proclaimed knight-in-training. But King Tom wouldn’t let that title become official until he was twelve and had begun battle training. When he was knighted at eighteen, Marinette had been the one who had preformed the ceremony. He had happily bowed before her as she tapped his shoulders with the blade and titled him her Noblest Knight.

He bore that title proudly and with great honor. He swore to her his unending loyalty and devotion to the crown, but considering the smile she’d given him once the ceremony was over, she knew full well the meaning behind his words. His unending loyalty and devotion was to her. And he would gladly do anything for her. Especially when she granted him such priceless gifts such as a kiss to his forehead or a smile paired with a thank you. Or those terrible, forbidden, heart-wrenching words of “I love you, too, my precious knight,” whispered hidden among the rose bushes on the night of a full moon.

He’d give up the world just for one of those things. Because, in those wonderful seventeen years he’d known her, he’d gown far more attached than what was remotely acceptable. He’d fallen in love with the brave and powerful and righteous soul that was hidden under layers of beauty. How such a large, tender heart fit inside her slim body, he had no idea, but the greedy side of him wanted it all. However, it was the more rational side of him that reminded him that such a thing would never happen, and that all he could do was protect her. If that was the way he had to show his love, then so be it. It was more than he had right to ask for.

As was the title she’d bestowed on him. And the devotion she’d given to him.

She was the most precious soul on the earth, and Adrien dared anyone to deny that of his princess.

So when he heard the word “invaders” he had run immediately to her side.

“Princess!” he shouted, pounding on her door. “Princess!”

She opened it up in a haste, her hair down around her shoulders instead of tied up with ribbons.

“Invaders,” he said, grabbing her hand and yanking her down the hallway. “Hurry.”

She picked up the skirt of her dress. Thankfully, a casual one, one that was light for the summer and didn’t carry burdensome fabric trains or sleeves. He had to slow down so she could keep up with him, but she still was quick. She didn’t ask a single question. Her hand only tightened on his as she followed behind, proving the trust she had in him.

He would not let her down.

The kingdom was a small one, but it was strong. It was known for the exotic food and spices it supplied as well as keeping peace with its neighbors very well. The kingdom never expected to be a target for an invasion, but the people knew better than to not have a plan should it happen.

Guards stormed up the stairwell, but Adrien didn’t know who they were. He pulled Marinette down another corridor, aiming for the secret stairwell that they had played in as children. Marinette helped him find the stone—for the life of him, he could never find the right one for this corridor—and they slipped inside just as the guards ran past.

It was pitch black, but he knew where the stairs were and where the corridors lead to. He felt Mariette loop her hand around his elbow. He curled his arm, allowing her hand to settle in the crook of his elbow as he gently tugged her close. Together, they descended the stairs in silence. She didn’t ask a single question. She didn’t fret or twitter in fear. She wasn’t even clinging to him. No, she was a strong, level-headed sort of girl who knew now was not the time for such things; now was a time for action. It was another reason he loved her so.

Maybe that was why he had been so riled at the thought of suitors arriving. They didn’t deserve her. She didn’t deserve to have them forced upon her. She needed someone who would cherish these parts of her, not her title.

They found the exit door, the one that lead out towards the stables. Carefully, slowly, he cracked the door, looking around for anyone who might see. But the stretch between the wall and the stables was empty.

He shoved the door open, pulling Marinette along and towards the stables. She kept his pace, until she froze with a gasp.

Adrien whipped around to see the upstairs room had already been torched, light pouring out of them proving the rooms were engulfed in flames. Including hers.

“Come on, princess,” he said, his mind kicking back into gear as he pulled her into the stables. “We can’t stay here.”

She relented, following him into the stables and immediately running to the tack room. She grabbed a saddle then rushed to her horse’s stall.

Adrien followed suit. His horse was housed here, as well. Thankfully. He quickly hoisted the saddle up on his fidgeting horse, tightening the cinch before grabbing the bridle to pull over the horse’s face. He felt bad about being so rough; it was likely the reason why his horse was so anxious. But he could care less. He was a good rider. He could handle a jumpy horse. And they had to go quickly.

Marinette was already leading her mare to the other side of the stable, where the pathways leading away from the castle started. He pulled his horse along after her. Once outside, Adrien grabbed Marinette by the waist and hoisted her up on the saddle. “You’re good?”

“Yeah.”

He quickly hopped up on his own, and the duo was off, slipping away into the night undetected. Their horse’s hooves pounded against the dirt, rushing through the dark like they knew the way by heart.

“Where are we going?” Marinette cried.

“The church. We can hide there.”

They bolted all the way to town, weaving through the sparse buildings and abundance of trees until they reached the steepled building on the edge, the one that overlooked the harbor of the seaside down the hill. A beacon of hope in the terror of the night.

Adrien dismounted just as his horse slid to a stop. He looped the reins over the tie post before catching Marinette as she slid off her own horse. They quickly scrambled inside, Adrien kicking the door shut behind him. And that was when Adrien grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her so that she faced him. “Are you okay?”

She took a large breath before nodding an answer. “I’m okay.”

He pulled her in, flush against his chest. His hand curled up around her head, bringing it against his shoulder. Her arms wrapped around his torso, squeezing him tightly as she nuzzled his shoulder.

“What is going on here?”

They stepped out of their embrace to see the priest holding a lamp.

“Invasion,” Adrien answered, grabbing hold of Marinette’s hand and squeezing tight.

The man’s eyes widened. “Lord have mercy.”

“We have to wait here a while longer and hopefully others will appear.”

“We can hope.”

Adrien stood by the front windows, looking out into the dark, hoping and praying that whoever showed up would be a friendly, but after a few minutes, still no one.

“Sit down, my dear,” the priest said from behind him.

Adrien turned around to see Marinette collapsing onto a wood pew.

“Marinette?”

She didn’t answer.

He glanced out the window one last time before abandoning the lookout post and rushing to her side. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, but he could see her quivering.

He grabbed her hands, holding them tightly. “What’s wrong?” he repeated, his voice tender with worry.

“I’m scared.”

He pulled her forehead close to rest on his. “But you’re so brave,” he encouraged. “It will be all right. You’ll see. I promise you.”

“I know,” she said, resting her hands on his shoulders. “I trust you.”

“That’s my brave girl.” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”

She squeezed his hands, and he knew she’d be okay.

He forced himself to return to his post just in time so see a man ride up. One he quickly identified by the ever-present red cap as Nino.

Adrien opened the door for him. “What’s the news.”

And that’s when he noticed Nino covered with blood. Scars littered his face and soot his shirt. Immediately, Nino pushed Adrien inside and shut the door. “Is Princess Marinette with you?”

“Here,” she said, grabbing hold of Adrien’s arm.

But Adrien’s stomach twisted as he took in his best friend, who was panting heavily and barely standing. He forced Nino to sit. “What happened.”

“Slaughterhouse.”

His stomach dropped. With one word, the world felt like it was slipping away.

“No.”

He turned to Marinette, her head shaking and backing away. “No, no, no.”

He grabbed her, holding her close.

“NO!” she cried into his shoulder.

He wasn’t going to say a word because this wasn’t okay. Things weren’t going to be all right. Her parents were gone, and likely so was his father. They were on their own.

“Marinette,” he said. “Marinette, we have to get out of here.”

“No.” Tears caused her voice to crack.

“Marinette.” He took her cheeks in his hands. “I need you to be brave right now. Can you do that for me? Can you be my brave girl?”

She just stared at him for a long moment before grabbing hold of his wrists. Her eyes drifted shut, but she nodded.

“Just for now,” he promised, swiping her tears away. “Just for now.”

“We have to move,” Nino said, panting heavily. “They’ll be upon us at any time. I don’t know if they noticed I gave them the slip.”

“We just need to get out of here,” Adrien said. “Where doesn’t matter. Just away from here.” He swallowed thickly. “We have to protect the queen.”

With that, both men truly realized the gravity of the situation.

“It’ll be hard to protect her,” Nino said. “They know the princess is missing. They aren’t going to let her go so easily.”

“I have a hiding spot for her,” the priest said.

All three turned towards him.

“And what’s your suggestion?” Adrien asked, willing to do anything for this girl.

“A homemaker,” the man said. He retreated to the back room, shuffling through things until he returned to center stage. “Marriage union bands,” he said, opening his hand to reveal two gold rings. “To make your story legitimate.”

Adrien looked down to Marinette, who looked back up at him. This wasn’t anything they should have taken lightly. Yet, here they were, ready to make a hasty decision in the name of protection.

“If it’s the best way,” Marinette said, taking his hand.

“If it’s the best way,” Adrien agreed, giving her hand a squeeze.

He had to hand it to the priest, he was quick. Within a moment, they shared vows of protection and devotion, placed on the rings, and signed the paper with the priest and Nino as witnesses. Marinette Dupain of the Dupain Kingdom was now Marinette Agreste, hidden away in the plainest of sight.

Document in hand, the priest then handed them a satchel. A very heavy satchel.

“I have no doubt they will come here to raid this place next. They will not get any money.”

With a grin, he tossed the satchel over his shoulder and thanked the man. “God Bless.”

“God be with you.”

“We gotta go.” Nino shut the door to the priest quarters. “They’re here.”

“Out the back.”

Adrien took Marinette’s hand in his and pulled her along. They scrambled out the back, weaving through the cemetery behind the church and towards the dock on the hill down below.

“Clipper,” Nino pointed out.

Adrien saw it first. It was a small ship, one he and Nino could captain themselves. “Let’s go.”

From the looks of it, the boxes on the deck proved that it was stocked just not stored.

“It will get us to the next town,” Nino said, hopping on board.

“Good enough.” Adrien leapt onto the boat, then turned to reach for Marinette’s hand.

She grabbed on tightly and jumped, allowing him to pull her onto the boat deck.

“Hide below,” Adrien directed. “I don’t want you on top.”

“What if there’s someone below?”

He hadn’t even thought of that. “Fine. Middle of the ship there. Hold tight to the wheel. Clear?”

With a nod, she did as asked, allowing him and Nino to quickly untie the boat and hoist the sails.

“Got it,” Nino said, grabbing the wheel. “Check be…low…”

Adrien looked up to where Nino’s attention had been directed, only for his jaw to hit the deck. The church now stood like a beacon of fire, lighting the night above the harbor.

Marinette grabbed hold of his arm, hand slipping down into his. He could feel the wedding band on her finger, loose enough to slide easily off her hand. He pushed it back up to rest against her knuckle, reminding himself of what had transpired within that burning building not a few moments ago. It was his sweetest dreams come true, to be married to this woman. He loved her so, had confessed so many times, recalled the many times she’d returned those affections.

But she was now the queen.

He sighed. He was her knight. That was all. While he meant every one of those vows to her form the depths of his heart, he knew that the union was only for her protection. This was a wish that he never wished would have come true had he known how it had to play out. He loved Marinette far too much to wish such suffering upon her. Not even all the selfishness in his body could counter that.

“I swear I will protect you,” he said, watching as the church steeple crumbled into the hungry flames. He was her knight, after all. And she was his queen.

His wife.

And he would cherish this woman as such.

The hand he wasn’t holding wrapped up around his bicep, and she stepped close enough to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “I trust you… my husband.”

[orthodoxydaily]

Homelie of Palm Sunday 2019

By Archpriest Father Basil Rhodes

Photo: Maria Rhodes-Labrecque

Dear Brothers and sisters! Today our spiritual and physical atmosphere has changed, hasn’t it? We are standing in a new reality, a new location. We are standing on the Mount of Olives. It is warm, it is Springtime. The winter darkness, the clouds, and the rain of the Great Fast are behind us. The time for repentance, ascesis, and self-reflection is over. If we are prepared, good! It means that we have become disciples, good and faithful servants, and we are invited to be with Christ and to accompany Him down the mountain, into the Holy City, and into the Temple. If we are not prepared, then we will find ourselves outside of the bridal chamber of Holy Week and Pascha. The Bridegroom will be there, inside, but we will not. The Bride, the Church, will be there, but we will remain outside, by our own choice, by our own inattention, bereft of the oil of the virtues, and bereft of grace. The past six weeks we have called “Lent.” It’s an old Anglo-Saxon word meaning “to lengthen” or “to make longer.” The days of Spring, the days of Lent, grow longer, and the sun grows warmer. On the Feast of the Forty Holy Martyrs we remembered that the skylarks return to Russia at this time because the earth grows warmer, and in Northern California the lizards emerge from their winter repose. Nature awakens from its cold sleep, and hopefully our hearts, too, have thawed and come back to life. We need to be alive, awake, and alert, full of the warmth of faith and full of the Holy Spirit because now we go to be with Christ, to drink from the cup that He drinks from, and to be baptized in the baptism with which He will be baptized; the cup of suffering and the baptism into death (See Mark 10:38).

Yesterday and this morning we sang, "Like the children with the palms of victory, we cry out to Thee O vanquisher of death: Hosanna in the Highest, blessed is He that comes in the Name of the Lord!” What are these palms? What are these branches, these pussy willows? They are symbols, they are signs. Signs of what? Signs of victory. What victory? The victory of Life over death, of resurrection over corruption, of Christ over the grave. The palms symbolize the People of God, and the pussy willows symbolize Spring and the rebirth of Creation. We wave them because we believe in the promises that they symbolize. I pray that all of us, young and old, rich and poor, great and small, become childlike in innocence, that God may empower us also to make such a bold demonstration of our faith!

The Feast of the Lord’s entry into Jerusalem, Palm Sunday, is a feast of joy – joy in the Promises of God, as I said before. But it is the joy that comes just before the most fearsome tribulations – the Betrayal, the arrest, the fake trial, the mocking, spitting and scourging. It comes before the scattering of the disciples, the jabbing crown of thorns (the relic of which was recently and courageously rescued from the burning Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris), the excruciating pain of the nails, more humiliations, and eventual voluntary death. But do you know what? These were God’s promises too, weren’t they? Jesus predicted everything that would happen to Him, much of it already alluded to in the Prophets. In many ways, Palm Sunday, Passion Week, and Pascha are a reflection of the life of every Christian.

Are we up to the task of walking with Christ this Holy Week? Fr. Theophan Whitfield has suggested Ten Things for us to do, in order to fully acquire the great grace that is there for the taking in Holy Week. You can read the full text on the OCA website, but here they are in brief: (1) Go to as many services as you can. If you can’t go to every service, set aside time to read prayerfully through through the ones you cannot attend.  Holy Week is a single, unbroken Liturgy that invites us to participate in the saving love of Jesus Christ, not just to remember some events from long ago.  The love which Jesus shows is real, it is now, and we are invited through worship to receive it. (2) Intensify your fasting.  During Holy Week, each of us should increase the intensity of our fasting, to the best of our ability.  (3) Create silence. Disconnect entirely from your cell phone, e-mail, internet usage and especially social media. Avoid TV, and the radio.  Cancel all lessons, sports, and social activities.  It’s only for one week.  The world will still be there after Pascha.  When we create silence in this way, we give ourselves the space and opportunity to be drawn by Christ more deeply into His words and actions during Holy Week. (4) Create an atmosphere of prayer at home.  Turn on some church music.  Light some incense. In particular, listen to the hymns of Holy Week.  Doing so, we allow the prayer of the Church to envelope us, embrace us, filling the hours of our ‘everyday life’ and sanctifying them.

(5) Be still.  Set aside time each day to sit quietly in front of your icon corner or an icon of Christ, about 20-30 minutes if you can.  Light a candle, say a short prayer, and then simply wait in silence for the Lord to speak a word, or to bestow a deeper sense of His presence.  (6) Always be with Christ.  No matter where you are or what you’re doing, occupy your mind as often as you can with a short prayer.  If you do not already have the habit of praying the Jesus Prayer, Holy Week is a great time to begin: “O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me.”  This prayer increases our awareness of the nearness of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  It reminds us that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God. (7) Read the Gospel.  Set aside time each day to read several chapters from either Matthew, Mark, or Luke.  (We’ll save John for after Pascha!)  And remember that in the Gospels, we do not find words about Christ, we find words from Christ.  Each verse of Holy Scripture is a word spoken directly to you by the raised and glorified Lord.  Each word is a word for now, each word is a new word that you have never received before.  Enjoy the gift!  Jesus wants to give it to you! (8) Seek forgiveness and healing.  Chances are, each of us still has at least a small handful of relationships in need of healing.  During Holy Week, work for that healing. (9) Call someone who is sick or lonely.  Visit them if you can.  Share yourself with someone who needs you.  Our world is filled with people who are dying of loneliness and isolation.  Extend yourself and give them the gift of your presence.  One of the great themes of Holy Week is abandonment — how our Lord was abandoned by just about everyone.  As we seek to unite ourselves to Christ through prayer and worship during Holy Week, let’s do our best not to abandon those who need us. And finally, (10) Think about Bright Week and beyond!  With Pascha comes the true light that enlightens and sanctifies the whole world and each person in it.  As we unite ourselves to Christ, the radiance of the Resurrection changes everything.  Pascha Week is truly a Bright Week — the Resurrection colors everything and everyone with brilliance and beauty.  Nothing should ever be the same.  Let this Holy Week be a launching pad into the rest of our year, and indeed, the rest of our life.  Amen.

[faegents]

The Sleeping Beauty AU

Written with the help of @agent-annabelle, this fic is based on and utilizes much of a thread we wrote together on Discord.

Kieran had always considered himself to be an ally of the realm. Raised alongside his lord as a ward of the palace, he was practically groomed to become an advisor the day the prince was crowned king.

It started out well enough.  The queen seemed to enjoy Kieran’s company, and there were no troubles until the king took on a new advisor. Ser Thomas made it more than clear that he wanted Kieran’s place in the court and that he was willing to do anything to make it happen. And slowly, he did. Kieran found himself more and more disliked by other members of the court, and before he knew exactly what had happened, he was thrown out.

Enraged, Kieran retreated to his mountain keep, deep behind the shadow of the forest. And he waited. He supposed he felt betrayed. The King was the closest thing he had to a brother, and his brother had cast him aside. So Kieran waited.

Nearly 7 years after being removed from the court, Kieran’s spies told him that the queen had recently given birth to a daughter, and the christening was in three days. He took the news as well as he could be expected to, which meant not very well at all. He pulled a plan together; the king had ruined his life and happiness, and now he would do the same.

He made the journey to the kingdom, traveling only by night, fueled by his hatred for his former friend and the new princess. His spies informed her that the new princess had been named Alessia.  The day of the princess’s presentation to the court arrived quickly. Royalty, nobility, even the gentry were invited. A grand party would be held in her honor. The king, in order to spite his old friend, had even invited three of the most well-known fae mages of the realm. They had promised to bestow gifts upon her, and a fae’s blessing would prove useful to the infant princess as she grew. The king wasn’t so foolish as to refuse boons when they could be granted.

Everything was going smoothly. The guests were allowed to come forward one by one to greet their future queen, and as far as anyone could judge, the party was successful.  Once the guests had all greeted the Princess Alessia, the time came for the fairies to bestow their gifts.

First, the gift of beauty, and then a heart that sought peace. But right as the third fae-witch was about to give her gift, the torches and chandeliers flickered in a sudden breeze. Kieran's fury, while justified, might've seemed harsh as he stormed into the great hall. A chill steals through the crowd, and the candles and torches go out completely. Resplendent in black, silver and green, he cut an imposing figure next to the fae-witches who had been presenting their gifts. His teeth glinted sharp in the dim light as he chuckled.

"Quite the assembly, Your Majesty. The nobility, the gentry..." he glances over to the other fairies, visibly annoyed by their presence. "...and the riff-raff. I hope for your sake and the sake of your precious child that my invitation to this momentous occasion simply got lost..."

The king stood as he gestured for his men to stand down. "You are not welcome here, Fae. Why would I invite you? For the past years all you've done is meddle in my court, and cause my people to gossip about myself and my queen." Everyone was silent as the two faced each other. "Leave. At once."

"Are these women not fae? What have they done to aid you that they have such standing, except fawn over you and perhaps provided you comfort when your queen was indisposed? I have been your friend, your counselor, your confidant since we were but children." He said, mockingly aghast. "You will regret this day, my liege. For I too have a gift to give!"

"Please! Please..." The queen had stood up and placed herself beside her husband, and between Kieran and the cradle. "She's only a baby... Don't hurt her, please." Her eyes were begging him to be merciful.

Kieran regarded the queen coldly. "The princess will indeed grow up beautiful, gentle, and mild, but it all will be in vain. On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, she will prick her hand on the spindle of a spinning wheel, and perish." He declares. Both parents went white.

"No, please no, don't do this to her!" the queen tried to rush forward but her husband held her back.

"Leave!" His voice rang through the air of the great hall. "I will not have you in my sight any longer. If you even so much as try to take one step into my kingdom after today, I will not hesitate to see you iron-bound and executed like the criminal you are."

Kieran laughed softly. "You foolish man. We were brothers in all but blood. You could have mended this rift between us. Fae-women, take note. From this day forth there will be enmity between him and me. He casts me from his presence; it's only a matter of time before you are treated the same." He shouts, spitting at the king's feet before turning on his heel and striding away his cloak billowing behind him.

Patricia collapsed in Frank's arms, utterly distraught.

"It is all right, my darling. She will not be taken from us. Not if I have anything to do about it." He looks out over to his guards. "I want every last spinning wheel collected and burned. No matter the consequence."

The three fae-witches looked at each other. "My liege, I have yet to give my gift... I cannot undo what he has spoken, but I can ease it."

"Please, please anything for my daughter..." Patricia pled.

She took a deep breath before approaching the baby princess's cradle. "On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, she will prick her hand on the spindle of a spinning wheel, yes. But, she will not die. She will fall into a death-like sleep, only to be awaken by true love's kiss." The queen watched as her daughter, her sweet Alessia, stirred in her sleep, unperturbed by the goings on. And the was for the best. Frank leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“We will keep you safe, my little one.”

In the days after her christening, the kingdom was in a frenzy. All of the spinning wheels were gathered and burned in the town square.

"I will not have him curse my daughter." he said, when the town’s textile guild approached him, voicing their concerns.

Meanwhile, Kieran had returned to his lair in the woods, a small outpost built into the side of a cliff, where none of the king's men dared venture. And there he stayed, watching, waiting.From the mountains, Kieran could see the fires blazing throughout the villages and in the major city. But that would not stop his curse. He had his own spindle that he was saving for that day, he was just that angry and just that driven when it came to exacting his vengeance.

But Frank knew that his daughter would not be safe. He couldn't keep her here. Deciding that she would be safer away from the kingdom, he sent her to live with the three fae women who gave her gifts. "When she is eighteen, you will bring her back to us. Everything will be perfectly fine." The king and queen kissed their daughter goodbye. They wouldn't see her for eighteen years.

It didn't take Kieran long to discover who took over that old woodcutter's cottage he’s been meaning to destroy.

Those three fairies.

And while he appreciated the effort the king and queen put into ensuring their daughter survived past 18, he felt that without his interference, the child wouldn't live long enough to reach 10 years, much less 18.

[kaiasinclair]

An Aura of Tiara/ Chapter 3 of Drag Tales

Yvie Oddly crashed the party and wreaked some havoc. What will happen to Plastique? What will King Andrew and Queen Akeria do to protect their child?

It was a day of Celebration, little Plastique Tiara’s christening as the fairies will bless her with amazing magical gifts to help her throughout her life. The King and Queen have invited everyone in the kingdom to participate, dance, drink, and just indulge and enjoy themselves. They looked at their baby girl in her crib, giggling and playing with a rattle that her betrothed had gifted her. He sat beside her, looking at her with wonder because she was so tiny and looking up periodically at his parents to make sure it was okay to touch her hands.

His name was Troye Sivan and he was a very gentle lad, he had the kindest smile and gentle eyes. He was a few years older than Plastique and at the time, looked at her as more of a younger friend. He didn’t know what betrothed meant at the age of three. The King and Queen kissed softly, and then the King in a voice that was powerful but gentle.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, now we will be asking the fairies to bestow their gifts on my beautiful baby girl,” King Andrew said with a loving smile as he beckoned the fairies forward. One was blue with curly brown hair, thick, and had a very powerful voice. Her name was Silky Ganache

“I bestow upon you my child, the gift of Song, may you use the gift to bring joy to you and others around you,” Silky said as she twirled in her blue gown and cast blue and gold glitter over the baby’s crib and the baby laughed. “Such a beautiful child.” The next fairy stepped forward, named Brooke Lynn, wearing a green pants suit with a black blazer, she wore sunglasses and had peach colored skin, blonde hair and light colored eyes. She smiled down at the child.

“My dearest Plastique, I am gifting you the gift of pure Beauty, may you forever feel beautiful and look beautiful,” Brooke Lynn spoke in a soft voice as she twirled around in a ballet-style dance and opened her hands, it was a butterfly in her palm, and the butterfly flew to Plastique’s nose as bestowed the gift. The fairy also kissed the baby’s forehead softly. The last fairy, who was the lover of Brooke Lynn, came forward. Her name was Vanessa but she goes by Vanjie too. She wore red all the time and she looked real good in it with the back dragging the floor. She came to the baby’s crib and was about to speak when the ballroom there were in got dark all of a sudden.

A green mist formed around the room and lightning shattered the ceiling. A being flew in from the ceiling, dark, shrouded in black with horns. They had inhumane green eyes, like a serpent and their nails were long and sharp. Prince Troye was still beside Plastique like a protector but his parents took him away to bring him into their protective arms. The fairies looked in dismay and shock and the King and Queen ran to their baby’s side just in case.

“Oh so no one thought to invite me bitches?” The dark one said in a loud voice. Then she removed her hood and showed her face, she was caramel colored, with green shimmering eyes and an evil expression on her face. She had a staff made of bog wood that was as dark as her with an emerald at the top of it.

“You weren’t invited here!” The King said in a huff, approaching the being and trying to usher them out through the guards. The guards pointed their swords at the being but the being waved their hand and through their swords to the ground. The King’s face went white and he saw the magic in her eyes, the pure malevolence.

“Bitch, get your ass out-” Vanessa’s mouth was sewn shut by the snap of the woman’s hand. Was she a witch? A fairy? Brooke Lynn ran to Vanjie’s side to try to undo the spell while Silky tried to protect the baby to no avail because the woman made her get tangled in her own dress.

“What is my name, King?” The woman looked up at him as she approached the baby. The king shuddered under the power and looked at her in the eyes, as she waited for an answer, which wouldn’t be long.

“Y-Yvie…” The King said in a whisper. The woman looked up.

“Louder,” She said in a voice that shook his core. The King’s fist balled into a fist.

“Your name is Yvie Oddly!” King Andrew shouted and everyone gasped. It’s been at least 40 years since anyone has seen or heard of her. She is the most powerful fairy in the continent and oh, was she pissed. She didn’t get invited and now seeks to punish them after everything she has done for them. What a shame.

“Yvie please, don’t hurt my baby girl,” The King pleaded as Yvie looked at the child. She put a hand up to silence him. The Queen quirked an eyebrow at them.

“I don’t think I have ever met you, and yet my husband has,” Queen Akeria said, looking from The King to Yvie, but then growing silent as Yvie waved her fingers and began to speak.

“Heed these words, whores, I have done much for this kingdom and this is how you treat me, you have damaged me beyond repair and I am going to do the same,” Yvie spoke with malice, the room grew green and black again as the magic formed in her finger tips, “I will bestow a curse on her that will make her fall into a sleep-like death on her 16th birthday when she pricks her finger on a spinning wheel or any sharp object honestly because who still has those. So I would be careful.” And with those words it sealed the curse and she got up to begin walking to the exit.

“She can never wake up?” The King asked in a small voice. Yvie stopped in her tracks and turned her head.

“Did you give me the same mercy when you cut my wings off?” Yvie asked, looking him directly in the eyes and then turned back around and walked away. She flew up and out the ceiling within a blink of an eye, her evil laugh echoing through the castle walls.

“Andrew what do we do?” Akeria asked, touching his face softly. Andrew kissed her hand.

“I don’t know,” He looked at the ground, wanting to weep, but remained strong in front of his people.

“Well if you don’t mind, I still need to give my gift,” Vanessa spoke up. Brooke Lynn finally undid the spell to free her mouth and gave her a kiss for comfort. The King beckoned her too go ahead and do what she must. Vanessa went to Plastique’s side and leaned down.

“She will be able to wake again but only when she has formed a bond of unconditional love with someone, it has to be mutual. I don’t think that will be hard, she is a cutie already.” Vanessa smiled up at the King and the king’s expression changed a little. He smiled tiredly as he looked at his patrons.

“Let us continue with the party!” The King shouted as everyone shouted in a Hurrah. Prince Troye came over to Plastique with a worried expression and she smiled at him. Brooke Lynn placed a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her.

“It’ll be okay...I hope,” She said as she rejoined the other fairies to drink some spirits. SIlky ended up ripping her gown but just made another dress out of it. She was mad though.

The King and Queen both tried their best to enjoy the remainder of the party but they knew they would have to do something soon.

[grand-alter]

Overture of Terror

My submission for the Disgaea Halloween Gift Exchange. This one goes out to Neko Lyra, a.k.a lyra2love/neko-lyra of Twitter/DeviantArt respectively.

Just a little one-shot for Zeroken and Usalia which takes place in my technically 1000 year time-skip series of fanfictions known as Fading Retribution.

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Hm…

Ethereal wisps, check.

Screeching pumpkins, check.

Frightful decorum, check.

A set of azure candle lights had been flickering along the edge of the foyer, piercing through the calm night from outside of the castle. As a cavalcade of wererabbit maids had been making the finishing touches to various decorations within the room, Usalia had been marking off the last of many spaces on a list in her dainty grasp.

…and done.

The young overlord hands off her checklist to the maid at her side, “Preparations have come along very well. Splendid work, Elie. Your company is dismissed for the night.”

Elie retrieves the completed list from Usalia, and she gives her a respectful bow in response, “Of course, Mistress. We will make sure to contact our Prinnies for an update on the sweets.”

When the overlord nodded her head in affirmation to her vassal, the maid circles back through the foyer of the castle, filing her ensemble into its hallways.

A period of silence had then ensued around the lone wererabbit upon her vassals having departed, making the air run still in her domain.

Usalia sets her keen eyes back on the center of the room, and she lets out a calm sigh as she pressed her fingers together. When she gave a quick snap of said fingers, the numerous chandelier lights above her go out in an instant, leaving her in a quiet darkness.

As the eerie candle flames burned through the interior shade of the building, the overlord gives a final once over to the foyer and all of the colorful ornaments placed in it.

Hm, not a single ribbon out of line or decoration out of place there. The venue was all nice and orderly, just perfect for the festive gathering in mind by her.

As the wererabbit had stood composed before the scene for some kind of occasion, a quick shadow had been slipping through the darkness without a singular trace.

Usalia adjusts her short dress as she looked herself over as well, a small quirk to her lips, “Can’t wait for the others to see…”

In spite of her stoic disposition, a warm smile almost belaying excitement had made its way onto her expression. At that moment though, the shadowy figure had landed from above, intent on approaching her from behind, and he…

He shifts her rabbit ears apart in a rather gentle manner. She then feels a chin plop itself onto her head, going wide-eyed from the sudden contact.

“Can’t wait for us to see what?”

Huh…

Usalia flinches from the sly gesture of the visitor, and she almost trips forward as she spun back toward him, “P-plip?!”

Ugh… damn habit. How did…?

As the wererabbit steadied herself from all of that, the figure just looks on in befuddlement from her reaction, “Uh… hey, Usalia. You good?”

The overlord then almost freezes upon noticing who was before her. Even as he stood there in the room, his orange irises gleam in the ominous shade around them.

Zeroken… it was just Zeroken.

She gets her demeanor straightened out, “Oh… Hello to you too, Zeroken. What brings you back on such short notice… or no notice at all for that matter?”

As she adjusted her fluffy ears for a bit, he gives her a short wave in greeting, “Yo, caught wind of a little detail in the grapevine that you were planning some big event.”

She raises an eyebrow at that explanation from him, “Hm, you learned of that from a leak? What of the messenger Prinny I had sent out to you?”

In light of that question for the werewolf… a quiet beat passes.

He just tilts his head at her in apparent confusion, “Huh… what messenger Prinny?”

She could only pinch the bridge of her nose in disappointment. Note to self… continue doubting viability of the Hades Prinny Mail Service.

As he gave a cursory glance to the rest of the foyer, she shakes that lingering thought out of her mind, “Nevertheless, I planned for everyone to arrive on the same day.”

He wraps his arms behind his head as he looked back down at her, “Heh, guess I took the initiative then. So that’s what this whole setup was for.”

She nods her head in response to him on that, and she begins strolling back toward the windows of the room, “Hm, would you happen to have heard of Halloween by any chance?”

He looks off to the side in a moment of thought as he followed beside her, and he gives a casual shrug to her question, “Kinda, isn’t it one of those little human holidays?”

She gestures him toward the distinct ornaments arranged within her family castle, “Indeed, you could say I’m paying tribute to it this month.”

He raises an eyebrow at that assured statement from her, “Really now? But… it does seem a bit kiddy though, even with all this fancy decor being up.”

She clasps her small hand over her chest, “It is meant to be a respectful celebration. A time when they regard the importance of our kind by donning costumes and adopting a frightful atmosphere like those of the Netherworlds. Even bestowing sweets all the while.”

He almosts chuckles at her reasoning, “Oh, so they wear outfits and give out candy? Definitely seems kiddy to me.”

As the pair approached the view of the royal courtyard, she gives him a coy look, “Then it should be perfect for someone like you.”

He rolls his sharp eyes at her retort, “Eh, you’re not wrong there.”

She directs her sight up to the countless glimmers which dotted the night sky, “Mhm, but it could be fun for the likes of us. Everyone would be able to see each other after so long.”

He lets a smirk come to his face as he also looked up at the stars, “Heh… that does sound like something. Has been quite awhile…”

When he looked down over at her, his smirk loosening back into a smile, she returns the smile in kind, “It really has been.”

The werewolf had begun stretching out his lean form, enjoying the starlight from outside. As a quaint smile remained on the wererabbit, she wraps her arms behind her soft jacket.

Zeroken does perk up at a particular thought in mind though, so he begins looking around more of the foyer, “Speaking of… what about Majorita? Much with her?”

“Over here, mutt!”

Zeroken spins back toward the source of the exclamation, and he just raises an eyebrow upon seeing a certain necromancer come into view, “Uh…”

Mop in hand, the other woman just grimaces to herself as she wiped at the floor, clad in the same uniform as the maids from earlier, “Don’t… ask. I’m doing just peachy.”

As Majorita returned to her duties now in the foyer, Zeroken glances back down at Usalia, a sweatdrop to his brow, “Huh… guess that answers my question.”

Usalia returns the glance as she also turned back toward Majorita, letting the tiniest of smirks creep onto her lips, “Indeed, same circumstance as always with her.”

Zeroken sighes out in exasperation from that, “Geez, still no mercy for the wicked it seems. You just gonna be leaving her in the dust for the whole party?”

Usalia lets out a coy gasp as she glanced away from the werewolf, “Why, of course not, Zero. I will permit her some autonomy during it. I am a demon after all, not a monster.”

Zeroken almost sweatdrops again from catching a glimpse of the malicious side of his wererabbit friend, “Some, huh? Whatever you say, Lil’ Usa.”

As Majorita almost gagged from the conversation in earshot, Usalia holds back a little giggle from her former rebel partner, “Oh, do not forget how you were the one who decided to sneak inside here like some kind of street urchin.”

Zeroken flinches from that apt point being given, “Uh… not sure I made the best impression on your new guards. Figured I just take a different entry for tonight. Besides, seems like I got the drop on you pretty good back there.”

When he gave her a smug grin, she waves away that bout of confidence, “Feh, please. If it were anyone else, some blood would have most likely been shed by now.”

He raises an eyebrow at that cutthroat remark of hers, so he checks over his rugged garbs, “How considerate then. You weren’t really threatened by my presence at all, huh?”

As he continued grinning down at her, she trails her placid sight away from him, a light blush sneaking onto her features, “Hm… perhaps.”

In the meanwhile, Majorita was inching toward the pair of werebeasts in the process of her mopping work. She could only let out a silent groan upon seeing Usalia act bashful.

The necromancer halts herself when she reached the two, “Uh… ‘Mistress’, could you please quit your flirting and move along?”

The wererabbit shots a quick look over toward her servant, the slight pink on her cheeks fading away, “Why, of course.”

When Usalia pressed her fingers back together, raising them up for Majorita, the necromancer freezes up on the spot from the gesture. Zeroken tilts his head out of perplexity at that, noticing Majorita almost break out into a nervous sweat.

As Usalia did end up snapping her fingers from there, making the chandeliers light back up throughout the spacious room, Majorita winces at that instant. The impromptu maid just holds a shaky hand over her heart, turning somewhat pale from utter dread.

Hehehe… oh, how splendid.

Even as Zeroken raised a curious eyebrow at that reaction from Majorita, Usalia feels her smirk only grow wider, and she pulls her rebel compatriot aside, leading him into the hallways of the castle for the remainder of their little chat.

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A sincere thanks goes to @cosmicapproachart for suggesting the opportunity to me and everyone in the Disgaea Netherworlds Amino.