#unreadable distant look on his face that makes him look far more mortal than is comfortable. then he mutters 'yes.' LBH hates it

[starry-bi-sky]

Okay so this is almost a direct copy-paste of my earlier reblog but only the Xin Yuan parts, because its long enough to be its own post and i want to share it! It deserves it's own post <3 typical starry stuff to write a 2k word long reblog, unfortunately.

I say almost because I went through to proof read and ended up adding more stuff.

I've been cooking on this idea for the last two days since I saw the Xin Mo!Shen Yuan post but??? I can't find anything on Xin Mo's backstory or how it came to be -- which means that's free fucking plot right there baby. That's a sandbox and im making LIFE SIZED CASTLES. I'm so excited.

The idea of Shen Yuan transmigrating centuries before the events of PIDW as Xin Mo -- but when he wakes up, he's not the sword. He wakes up in the body of a young boy named Xin Yuan. Now it makes sense for this boy to be a demon, but the drama, the intrigue, the spice of Xin Yuan being a human child.

SY wakes up as a boy below the age of ten, and the System tells him where he is, and SY is excited to meet his favorite protagonist -- only to gradually realize that he's like, a thousand years or so before the events of the novel. The rant he gives the system is legendary.

Bc what's the point of getting dropped into PIDW if he's never going to meet his favorite character??? This is a scam! BUT he settles into his new life, he's like, some orphan street rat or some other tragic airplane-esq backstory.

The system gives Shen Yuan his first mandatory quest: become a righteous cultivator. Which was like, kinda his plan/hopes anyways, except! There's like?? No official cultivator sects anywhere? The Cang Qiong Mountain Sect hasn't even been established yet, and there are pockets of cultivators running around, maybe some groups or schools popping up and then sinking back down, but nothing's really taken root!

If he asks someone how to become a cultivator, there's no straight answer. No "oh you can go to X to do that". He's pissed! How can he become a cultivator if there aren't any schools around to teach him? Deus ex machina, that's how.

Out of sheer luck, SY manages to help save a rogue cultivator, and promptly gets adopted by said rogue cultivator, who gives SY the name 'Xin Yuan'. He is ecstatic. And you know what? It's actually pretty fun!

He's getting to travel the world of PIDW in its early stages, and gets to see the building blocks for the eventual main story. He's discovering all this local flora and fauna that are foreign to his old world and unmentioned in the book, and he's learning cultivation! Granted, its unsafe, newly(ish) discovered cultivation, but it counts!

Wistfully, he thinks about perhaps he'll do something grand and get his name carved into legend. Something that would eventually help the protagonist later down the line in his quest for revenge.

The system remains silent to his thoughts.

But Xin Yuan doesn't take much stock in that daydream anyways. It's nothing more than fantasy to him; wish-fulfillment. He does discover however, that he is positively brimming with spiritual energy. Overwhelmingly so.

It's both a blessing and a curse, as it puts a strain on his meridians if he's not careful, and leaves him prone to qi deviations for the exact same reasons. He already has a heart demon or two from a few traumatic experiences in the past.

(bc hey! angst a day keeps the writer sadism at bay, and all that)

I'll say he's about... eight when he gets picked up by the rogue cultivator, who I'm calling Lin Kai bc he deserves a name. They travel around PIDW up until Xin Yuan is twelve, where he goes through a traumatic experience that results in a heart demon.

It's after that that Lin Kai decides to put a stop to his wandering, and find a place to settle down to raise Xin Yuan in. Coincidentally! They settle down in a nice mountain region that's thriving with spiritual energy. The mountains at the time were called something different, but they will be eventually known as the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect

Coincidentally, the mountain Lin Kai and Xin Yuan end up on is Qing Jing Peak. XY does not realize that the mountain he's on is Qing Jing. The System does not tell him. But he likes it there, more than he was expecting. And as much as he's traveled around, he really does enjoy being in one place.

He has a tendency to go down the mountain and help the village setting up down there, and when he's a teenager he starts venturing out more and more.

Xin Yuan forgets sometimes that he's in a novel, especially after settling down on Qing Jing peak. The system becomes remarkably quiet since there's no quests for him to do and not a ton of opportunities to get B-Points. He cultivates with Lin Kai, helps tend to the garden they're growing, goes down to the village to play with the other kids.

There's one boy he's best friends with, a boy whose not all that good with words, named Liu Zhihao. He's got potential for cultivation though, so Xin Yuan drags him up the mountain when he can so that Liu Zhihao can sit in on lessons with Lin Kai. He drags him all over the forest at the foot of the mountain to go look at bugs and animals.

(One time, when they're fourteen and Liu Zhihao has been learning cultivation for a few years now, Xin Yuan drags him out of bed late one night to go look at the stars. Xin Yuan tells Liu Zhihao about ascension -- something that still feels like a far off dream to many in this time -- that night, while they're sitting on the wet grass.)

("We should ascend together." Xin Yuan tells Liu Zhihao, jade eyes gleaming. Never let it be said that Xin Yuan doesn't love deeply, no matter what kind of love it is. He was always so lonely as Shen Yuan, Liu Zhihao is his best friend. "We'll become immortals, and then we won't ascend until the other is able to.")

(Liu Zhihao stares at him silently, his face unreadable. Then, quietly, he asks; "Promise?")

("Promise.")

When he starts adventuring outwards, further away from the mountain and the village, Liu Zhihao sticks to him like rice. Not that Xin Yuan's complaining, that's his best friend after all, and Liu Zhihao has become a formidable cultivator. He deserves to show off his skills.

He starts making something of a name for himself by the time he's, like, 18 -- although that name is in its baby steps, along with Liu Zhihao. They're slowly growing renown.

Perhaps XY uses his knowledge of PIDW and cultivation in general to help make advancements in the cultivation field. Although the system prevents him from sharing too much, it doesn't mean he can't practice it himself. Perhaps he's one of the first cultivators to develop a golden core. One of the first known immortal cultivators. One of the first to have a spirit sword.

(Although I don't know the logistics of any of this since my knowledge on xanxia/cultivation stuff in general is all still pretty new and google wasn't all that helpful lol.)

Either way, its my excuse to eventually make Xin Yuan come across as ethereal to other people. Peerless beauty SY for the win. Hs wifebeam is too strong, Xin Yuan has a line of suitors following after him and he's completely unaware of it. The rest of history is not.

Demon realm stuff has been stirring up since Xin Yuan was a kid, but at the time it was rare and in the beginning stages. Its been steadily ramping up and the system is sending him on more and more treacherous quests -- some of them mandatory, some optional. SY doesn't often take the optional ones unless it comes with a sufficient B-point reward.

for all intents and purposes though, he's a wandering rogue cultivator with Liu Zhihao, going from place to place to either help a town or village, or to discover more creatures or artifacts (although there aren't that many). Just all around living his life. He participates in a few major quest lines that are sure to get him mentioned in legend, even if it's a background character way.

(Unbeknownst to him, rather than being a side character in these legends, he's named directly. You can't become one of the first immortal cultivators and NOT get name dropped for clout.)

He has a spirit sword named Shā Mó, (杀 shā - to kill/weaken/counteract/reduce) (魔 mó - evil spirit, demon, possession). He routinely goes back to QJP to see Lin Kai, or to rest when traveling has worn down on him and he wants nothing more than to sleep somewhere he knows he'll be safe in. It becomes more frequent as Xin Yuan becomes more famous. Liu Zhihao often comes with him.

it all comes to a head though when the rifts between the demonic realm and the human realm become too great, and the balance between both realms becomes unstable. A demonic emperor's influence, wanting to merge the two realms so he could conquer both to satiate his own greed.

Typical evil king stuff. This comes to a climatic head in a great battle between every cultivator available and the demon emperor's army. Xin Yuan was one of the many who helped lead the charge.

In the end, it was Xin Yuan who ends up defeating the demonic emperor, but the rift that the emperor used to cross between worlds is destabilizing as well. Except instead of trying to close, it's getting bigger and bigger, threatening to swallow the heavens and earth and demonic realm whole.

You know how Yue Qingyuan's soul is bonded to his sword due to a qi deviation? Let's take it a step further >:)

Xin Yuan uses himself and Shā Mó to close the rift. However, it takes all of his spiritual energy to do so, as well as him filtering the demonic qi into his body to redirect it back to the demon realm.

In the end, Xin Yuan and his beloved sword Shā Mó fuse. Xin Yuan's soul becomes trapped in the sword. His physical body is unable to handle the immense amount of power it takes to close the rift, and is destroyed. He is immortalized in legend by his grieving cultivators.

(Liu Zhihao ends up ascending alone. He ascends with the hope that one day he'll see Xin Yuan again, even if it's in the face of someone else. Lin Kai does not ascend, too weighed down by the grief of losing his son.)

Xin Yuan, now Xin Mo, falls into a stasis. He's very confused and disorientated when he regains 'consciousness'. The system has been silent for most of his life, only popping up to give him mandatory quests, hints, points, or to answer any questions.

But once he wakes up, it cheerfully pops up again, congratulating him on completing the origin story of Xin Mo. SY freaks the fuck out. he'd shake the system screen if he could, but he doesn't have arms. or legs. or eyes for that matter.

He can sense his surroundings, but its all like imprints to him. He can sense the energies, but he can't see anything. It's all very disorientating and horrifying after years of being human. Like a sensory deprivation chamber.

The closing of the rift and the cycling demonic qi tainted both Sha Mo and Xin Yuan irreparably, and it did some kind of damage that resulted in SY needing to feed in order to use the spiritual powers. Kinda like how Xuan Su uses YQY's life force for it's spiritual energy, but instead of feeding on his own lifeforce, Xin Mo feeds on others.

The rest is history. Xin Mo is originally tied to the story of Xin Yuan -- believed to be all that remained of the man after he sacrificed himself to keep the realms separate. It's believed that the force of the realms closing permanently infused Sha Mo with demonic energy, turning it into Xin Mo.

But, like many stories do when faced against the tide of time, things get lost; chipped off; changed. Xin Mo is steadily separated from Xin Yuan, especially once it becomes clear how parasitic the sword really is, until they are all but separate entities themselves and the origin of Xin Mo's creation all but forgotten.

The years blur together when Xin Mo is not being wielded, and at first Xin Yuan was agonized by the fact that he stole the lives of all his wielders. He knows it's only a novel, but his decades spent in this life have softened him, and he's grown attached to the world around him.

But time erodes the mind like water erodes stone, and he becomes numb to it, then eventually anticipating of it. He forces himself to remember what he knows of PIDW's plot, and kinda fixates back on his old obsession on Luo Binghe. But while PIDW stays in his mind, his memories as Xin Yuan fall to the wayside.

Not forgotten, per se, but... tucked away. The system prevents him from forgetting fully.

Xin Mo isn't fully a demonic sword either i think, but instead harbors an ugly cocktail of both spiritual and demonic qi. Special circumstances and all that. Everyone just assumes he's a fully demonic sword because that's usually at the forefront, his spiritual qi weakened from the initial fusion and from years of not being fed spiritual qi. It's part of the reason his wielders always end up destroyed by him, other than the whole, yk, 'overwhelming qi' thing.

Nobody would recognize Xin Mo's human form as Xin Yuan other than some truly ancient demons. Of which Meng Mo might. But even that's iffy because there's a lack of surviving paintings of Xin Yuan, but also because of XM's demonic appearance and supposed lack of connection to XY.

Xin Mo has never spoken to his wielders before, not in the same way he does Luo Binghe. He tells Luo Binghe this, and he also tells Luo Binghe down the line that he is both spiritual and demonic -- something he also never told his wielders because there was no point to it.

okay okay i've got to end it here because its already gotten ridiculously long -- of which im both apologetic and unapologetic for -- but i DO think the Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan meeting (and reveal) would be fucking hilarious. Especially if SY has learned how to pop between sword form and human form by then -- although i guess it doesnt matter either way because SQH's reaction is still the same.

And that reaction is internally screaming and going "hey what the FUCK?? WHY DOES XIN MO HAVE A HUMAN FORM??? WHAT IS THIS??? SYSTEM??? EXPLAIN???"

meanwhile from his place on the sword hilt xin mo is squinting at Shang Qinghua in bewilderment and going "aren't you supposed to be dead" but doesn't pay too much mind to it because its not like its going to change anything.

...up until he catches shang qinghua going "WTF" silently from his little corner while all eyes are off him. One moment SQH is standing beside his king, and the next he's been tackled to the ground by one wild-eyed, human-shaped Xin Mo.

everyone, including SQH, thinks Xin Mo is going to kill him. It is a surprise to everyone when he does not, and instead dissolves into deranged, uncontrollable laughter after spitting out some phrase in some ancient tongue and watching SQH's eyes grow wide in recognition.

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ╭ ⿻ ･ DEATH , SEEKING

AT THE END OF THIS STORY , I WALK INTO THE SEA & IT CHOOSES NOT TO DROWN ME.

-ˋ ♡ ◞ scaramouche. genshin impact. cw : drowning quote cr : jihyun yun. reader is an angel. not meant to portray a romantic relationship. repost. tagging @pixelcafe-network

ACT I :

A FUNERAL PROCESSION DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING WHEN IT'S YOURS. THE LOWERING OF THE CASKET / THE DIRT AND DECAY THAT COVERS THE ROOT OF BEING. IT IS VOID IN EXISTENCE, & IN PLACE OF WHERE A HEART RESIDES, THERE IS AN ECHO OF WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HUMAN AND WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY.

there is supposed to be a grief that accompanies acknowledgement of loss and death, but in the open wounds of mortality, flesh torn asunder in the killing of a body, a puppet feels nothing.

he stares at the funeral, desolate. it is his, yet he does not mourn. the sight before him is somber, but it is filled with deception, he thinks, and so he reminds himself over and over that he is the one that lies in that casket, dead.

it's easy to forget it's your funeral when everyone there is someone you don't know or someone who pretended to care until it was too late. he cannot recognize half of these faces.

if he opened the casket, would he recognize himself?

"you have experienced both life and death, dearest kabukimono. which do you find to be more beautiful?"

his train of thought is disrupted, gaze shifting to the figure beside him. you have always remained at his side for reasons unknown, denied the existence of guardian angels, but he cannot find any other explanation for the everlasting presence of some supposed divinity watching over him. he could laugh, really. even if you were a guardian angel, you were far too cynical, far too perfect a companion for someone like him.

"i have no heart." the words are filled with spite and hatred and devoured by anger, but beneath it, there is a loneliness, and the ache of it all almost makes you feel something. "you can't experience both if you were made to be a vessel of nothing."

you smile, amused. you study the crowd, its mess of black umbrellas and murmurs and cries. you hear the sobs, but you are certain that there are no tears shed.

"are they mourning for you?"

he laughs, bitter.

"no. not with that pathetic acting."

"they must be very selfish, then." you hum, words spoken more to yourself than anything. "it must be tragic, knowing that your funeral is not full of love and grief. i wonder what would have been more painful for you," you glance at him, but he does not dare look at you, "the absence of the mournful or the false pretenses of sorrow from those who never cared."

you stand next to each other, watch as the crowd disperses, until all that's left is a tombstone with a name he will soon rid of.

"desolate wanderer," your voice is soft, somber, "i am sorry for you. would you like me to say a prayer?"

he does not answer.

ACT I , REVERSED :

the scene changes. the black umbrellas blur into nothing. a coldness washes over him, envelops him entirely in something known as terror. suddenly, it is still. the wretched air is quiet, profound. frightening.

he stands in a body of water, the tides calm, the shore distant. he recognizes this feeling. it is not one he can forget, even when he tries. three times he has known this sensation, the creeping dread, the breaking of something deep inside the void in his chest.

you stand before him, watch as the water drips from your fingertips. your gaze is absent, unreadable, but maybe he sees something so incredibly sorrowful in it. he watches your reflections, notes the feathers that were once part of you. how they float on the surface, lonely and listless, and in the muddled waters, the pure white twists into something black.

"do not be afraid." you tell him, and he watches the droplets trail down your skin, descend into the water from which they came, one by one, slowly.

he could laugh at the words. he wants to say it's human nature to be afraid, but he stops himself-- he is not human, after all, so why does he succumb to fear?

"i'm not."

brash words. liar, you think. but that's okay. you tilt your head ever so slightly, lips curved in a subtle smile.

"are you ready?"

he nods. the water is cold, cruel, invades his senses. there's a numbness that sinks into his skin, but maybe that's an absolution, the cleansing, the awakening. you close the little distance between your bodies, hands cupping his face, tender. there is something in your eyes-- pride, maybe, but he denies himself the possibility. who would be proud of a failed creation?

he closes his eyes. the water grows colder, but there's something warm in his chest, and he does not know whether it is fear or hope he feels the most.

"good night, kabukimono." you press a kiss to his forehead. "may you find something greater on the other side."

your hands slide down, delicate in the way they wrap around his throat, fragile, and in meaning of divinity and reincarnations and sacrifice for something better, you pull him into the waves, further and further and further down until his body loses all sensation, until he can no longer hear the violent sea, until his breath is gone and he is no more.

ACT II :

"balladeer. scaramouche. kunikuzushi. harbinger." you mumble the names to yourself, keep track of them by counting with your fingers. "have i missed any? shall i grant you another warm, endearing title?"

the balladeer scowls at you, though you find it amusing. perhaps in a previous life, you would have surely teased him, pushed it a little further. but in this life, there is a different kind of danger in his eyes, a deeper misery. you do not think you care enough to provoke him-- he could not hurt you, after all, even if he dared.

you contemplate the possibility. he could not hurt you-- not because he'd care too much about you to do so, but simply because you carry the blood of a higher being. he would most certainly try if he knew he could harm you, should you push him to the brink.

what a bitter feeling. you smile faintly at the realization and he does not like it.

"why are you here?"

"i am always here. you've just been given the impression that i'm a thorn in your side."

"are you not?"

"in your search for power and vengeance, have i failed you? was this my fault, the twists and turns in your path to greatness? i can only guide you so much, and all this time, i have watched you walk down the road to destruction." you pause, watch his expression darken with a kind of fury, some kind of hurt. "every name you are known as holds your past. you change it, try to cleanse yourself, but the truth is that you'll always carry it, unforgotten."

"so what did the sea do for me, angel? did you kill my spirit for the sake of your enjoyment?"

you tilt your head once more, smile so exhausted and worn.

"i did not kill your spirit, lonely wanderer. you already killed it long ago." your words hold a dreadful venom, bitterness on the tip of your tongue, rust lining your throat. "the sea could not save you, just as i could not."

he does not know how to respond. he hates that faint apathy you always manage to have, even when he knows it's only a facade at times. he hates that not even a higher power can help him -- but it's always been that way, hasn't it? just like everyone else, you've failed him too. that's what he'll tell himself because that's all he knows.

he turns on his heel, feels the razor edges of your brutality sink into his flesh. he walks, and he does not stop.

"we will try again." he states, command deep in his voice. "neither you or the sea are meant to help me."

you close your eyes, bow your head. somewhere in the silence, you say a prayer. you have never been a savior.

perhaps he is not meant for the saving, after all.

ACT II , REVERSED :

the scene changes once more. it's the sea again, that familiar coldness that fails to abate. it's that strange fear again, that uncertainty. and then there's you, there's always you, he thinks. he stares at the reflections once more, distorted by the ripples of motion. your feathers look darker, the harbinger notes, and there are far more than before. he rests his hand in the water, watches as one floats into his palm. his grasp is gentle as he examines it, and there's a flicker of white, then black once more. he wonders if he imagined it.

"you didn't crush it." you comment.

"you thought i would?"

"i don't know." you reply. "you are not always made of carnage." and that familiar curve of the lips. "it wouldn't have hurt in the end, but thank you for your kindness."

his eye twitches, and you laugh. he doesn't know if you're being genuine, and he's going to dwell on this moment for a bit too long, he realizes.

the air becomes heavy once more. you wonder if he is certain in this decision. it is the second time, but the fear remains stagnant, unchanging.

"do not be afraid."

there is something you cannot quite decipher in his gaze-- determination? wrath? you are unsure. you don't bother to question it. you do it all over again, this familiarity-- the ripples in the water as you move closer, hands cupping his face once more. you press your forehead against his, close your eyes just as he does.

"good night, kunikuzushi. may you find something greater on the other side."

you open your eyes. your hands trail down, fingers wrapping around his throat in yet another means of reawakening. his hands rests over yours, eyes still shut, and you feel how they tremble ever so slightly.

the sea is cold, unwelcoming. the plunge is gentle, but the sensation still frightens him nonetheless. you are merciful even for an angel, comes the bittersweet thought, and maybe he isn't worth such benevolence. he's always wondered why you chose to stay by his side, anyway.

he feels the fight leave his body, feels the way your grip tightens to end this suffering just a little faster. your hands are warm, the balladeer thinks, and it is the last thing he remembers before it all goes void.

ACT III :

maybe you truly are not a guardian angel. you have not been at his side for a long while. he thought perhaps it was just that he had forgotten, that maybe you were nearby all along. but your absence has been all too noticed, and he does not like it.

it is... lonely, here. to be forgotten by all, to carry the weight of what was.

sumeru is vast. it is beautiful, bright, radiant. all the things he is not accustomed to. he stands on the highest of heights, watches the endless landscape below him. somewhere, he hears familiar footsteps : light, graceful.

"do you remember me?"

he stills. he's not sure if he wants to see your face, see that perplexed expression, see the way you tell him that you do not. no one else does.

you hum, deep in thought, and the sound is beautiful. how he misses it so. it sends an ache in the hollows of his chest, some kind of longing.

"won't you turn around? it's been a long while since i've seen that grumpy face."

you can practically hear him roll his eyes. it is a moment or two of gathering composure and courage before the vagabond finally turns, and of course, you have that same stupid smile on your face. this time, it is more genuine, and he's not sure how to quite process that.

"i remember you." you answer. "you're far too stubborn and annoying to forget."

he almost feels something beat wildly in his chest, but he does not understand the sensation. there is nothing there, no heart, yet some kind of heartache. you speak again.

"what do you call yourself now?"

he has taken many names, few of them significant. he has not granted one to himself-- no need, he thinks, though he knows that he would not rid of it if he had one. he thinks back to the sea, recalls your many conversations.

"wanderer."

you pause, and he notes that small flicker of recognition in your eyes.

"familiar and fitting." you muse. you close the distance just as you always have in the past, but this time, there is no water, no vicious wave to overtake him. "do you wish to see the sea?"

the words are heavy in meaning, but it is different this time. in your voice there is the quiet pondering of are you happy this time? have you found the right path? did you find it, that greatness? and he understands it.

he freezes. inhale, exhale. he stares at the sight before him, recalls when you once stood with him at his funeral. things have changed now. he is the same yet different, a harbor for sorrow and anger, but a home for something virtuous. his gaze shifts to you once more. this is not the outcome he intended, desired, nor expected. but there's forgiveness somewhere out there, and maybe he'll grant it to himself one day.

"no," he answers, and in his visage, there is just the faintest trace of kindness you once remembered from memories past, "i've had enough of you drowning me."

you laugh softly, see his lips curve just the smallest bit.

"i am glad, dearest wanderer."

[voidmarkd]

❝ look, a shooting star ! did you make a wish ? ❞

The night was draped in a tapestry of deep indigo, studded with countless stars that flickered like distant embers against the void of space. Atlas stood at the edge of a secluded clearing, his tall, lean figure silhouetted against the moonlit sky. His eyes scanned the heavens above with an intensity that spoke of both reverence and calculation. His expression was a mask of detached contemplation, a stark contrast to the violent history that had birthed him anew from the void.

Once sacrificed by those he had trusted, Atlas now existed on the fringes of both life and death, resurrected by forces beyond mortal comprehension. Dark magic coursed through his veins like a second life force, a constant reminder of both his rebirth and the vengeance that simmered beneath his cold exterior. Tonight, however, his mind was far from the bitter memories of betrayal. Instead, he found a strange comfort in the endless expanse of the night sky, a universe so vast that it made even his cursed existence seem insignificant.

His focus was abruptly broken by the soft crunch of footsteps on the dried leaves behind him. He didn’t turn; his senses, sharpened by the magic within, had already detected the approach. A moment later, a voice, soft yet tinged with an unexpected boldness, cut through the quiet.

"Look, a shooting star! Did you make a wish?"

Atlas' gaze remained fixed on the sky, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk. The woman's presence was a mild curiosity, nothing more — yet her naivety in addressing a stranger out in the dark woods was almost... quaint. Slowly, he shifted his gaze to her, his expression unreadable.

She stood a few feet away, her face upturned toward the sky, her hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of shadows. She was youthful, with a lively curiosity in her eyes that seemed almost out of place in this desolate clearing. Her presence was an unexpected interruption, one that Atlas wasn’t quite sure how to categorize yet.

“A wish?” His voice was low, like a distant rumble of thunder, smooth yet laced with an undercurrent of danger. “I fear I have little use for wishes.” His eyes, cold and calculating, lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, as if weighing her worth. There was something about her, some unspoken energy, that pricked at his senses. She had approached him without hesitation, without fear. Interesting.

“So, what brings you here?” he asked, his gaze still holding hers. “Few wander these woods at night. Fewer still seek conversation with strangers in the dark.”

[adrasian]

There was the silence again, creeping into Adrasia's heart and infecting him with doubt. He gazed at Roland's unreadable expression with a hesitant look to his own, wondering if he should take his leave regardless, before the vampire leaned up again to gently take his face. Oh. Adrasia's eyes slid closed before Roland's lips even reached his, a bittersweet pang of something sounding in his chest as the master kissed him. It lingered for so long, over the span of many breaths that Roland didn't need and the celestial held regardless, his heart thudding hard and steady beneath his ribs, strangely calm in the midst of this strange intimacy. It was - inappropriate, for either of them. It was brutally tender. Adrasia inhaled deeply as Roland finally broke away, eyes darting up again just in time to catch the other's empty smile. Something very nearly made sense to him then. A goodbye kiss, a reluctant one. How much closure had the vampire gotten, in this newest heartbreak?

There was nothing more to say. Adrasia nodded slowly as Roland pulled back and made for his robe, finding his own clothing as the master was busy with his phone, the celestial's gaze already distant in the whirl of his own thoughts. There was no post-coital bashfulness now, if only because he was too busy trying to put the pieces together to remember to feel it. And besides, Roland was hardly leering from his bed at a bare and blushing slave like he had been once before. Vampires had always seemed unchangeable creatures in the angel's mind, living funerary monuments to their own sins, the triumph of ego that lived on long after the mortal body that had contained it was corrupted for good. It felt bizarre to recall that first version of Roland as Adrasia tried to contend with the one before him now. Then they were both clothed again, the slave staring at the back of that golden head as if he could intuit what was going on in Roland's mind if he only looked hard enough. It might be far more simple than he was first willing to believe. Far more human.

"I'll bid you goodnight then, councilman," Adrasia said softly before he left him, letting the matter and the strangeness lie -- at least for a little while. He would have more than enough time to try to make the pieces fit together from his bed in the Undercroft again.

END

Adrasia said he understood and it seemed he truly did, not that he was just saying it. Was the angel even capable of insincerity? It hadn't seem that way in all Roland's interactions with him. Perhaps that was why he'd been drawn into asking what he had, to sharing as much as he had because of that sincerity, that earnestness that seemed so much a part of the other man. It was dangerous, in a way, but Roland couldn't help but be grateful for it at the same time. It was rare that he opened up to people he wasn't already close to and it was only because Adrasia had caught him in such a vulnerable state...but still. It was different, even special, perhaps. Adrasia had understood on a deeper level, as well, what it was to be abandoned, he'd confirmed it. It was a link between them even if it was only shared pain. Or perhaps Roland was just so desperate for connection of any kind right now that he was grasping at straws. Still, what had happened here was hardly ordinary for him and when he had the energy, if ever he did again, he would have to think more carefully about that and what it meant.

The angel didn't argue when Roland said he should send him back, started to pull away and Roland closed his eyes but let him go, his hand sliding over his chest until Adrasia had pulled too far away and it fell to the bedding. He needed to get up and find his phone to summon the guards but he barely felt like he could sit up let alone do any of that, though he opened his eyes when the angel asked his question. Was he hesitant to go? Roland looked at him from where he lay for a long moment without answering then slowly did push himself up, moved across the small space between them slowly, cupped his face and kissed him one more time. It was slow, long and lingering, a sort of wordless farewell and maybe a last desperate bid for a moment longer of connection. He drew it out, holding him there gently before he finally pulled back and looked at him for a moment. "Just that." His lips quirked upwards in a ghost of a sad smile before he finally drew back, his hand falling away and forcing himself out of the bed, to the abandoned robe on the ground where he found his phone in the pocket. It only took a moment to send a message to one of the guards. "They'll be here in a few minutes." He didn't look at Adrasia as he spoke, having clawed back a little distance, a little numbness again as he pulled the robe back on slowly. Best to let him go. If he looked at him again he'd just keep him here and who knew what else he'd let slip out if that happened? No, Adrasia had done enough, had helped in all the ways he could, and it was best to leave it at that.

[probablytenderjourneys]

Jude and Cardan headcanons, taking place during and after Jude’s abduction part 3

• As much as Cardan wanted to think that Jude was completely recovered from her time in the Undersea, it was becoming more and more obvious that she was not. Cardan could see her hands shaking in a way they never did before; he saw her practice with her sword and her knives as she usually did but saw that her movements were slower than usual, like they caused her pain. When she watched herself in the mirror, the way she looked at herself mirrored the way she used to look at him in their earlier days as enemies- with loathing, and anger and challenge evident in her eyes.

• Jude could not stop overworking herself- she felt like she had to catch up with everything that she missed while she was away and worked until very late. Cardan started spending more and more time in her company, at first there just so she wouldn’t be alone and eventually, actually helping with all the work. Sometimes, when she fell asleep with her head on her desk, Cardan would gently wake her up so she could move to the bed. He didn’t miss how in the first second of being awake and looking at him, she always flinched, moved away from him, as if he were someone else.

• Cardan was desperate to ask Jude what happened to her, but he was also aware than Jude was not really the type to be vulnerable, especially not with him. So he didn’t ask, and he pretended he didn’t notice the changes in her.

• One night, when he was laying on her couch and she was sitting at her desk, he couldn’t bare not knowing anymore. She was going on and on about some political issue that needed to be urgently solved but his mind could not focus on anything else other than how she seemed to forget who he was sometimes, how her expression changed when he looked at him, how her eyes went glossy and unfocused, looking as if she was glamoured- it was only a couple of seconds and then she was back to being Jude, but it was enough to plant questions that he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to. Not being able to take it anymore, he simply blurted ‘What did they do to you?’.

• When Jude fixed her glance on him, he felt suddenly ashamed and wanted to avert his gaze for even thinking of making her relive her time with Orlagh. But he had to know, and he thought that it would be good for her too.

• At first, Jude didn’t want to answer. She planned on ignoring him as if he said nothing, but then she realized that she had been hoping for someone to ask, someone to care, someone to comfort her. Because she wasn’t okay and she was so tired of not being allowed to be vulnerable.

• So she took a deep breath, and started talking. She told him about Nicasia’s punch and how it left her breathless, of her drowning Jude until she was unconscious, of her threats that she could do whatever she wanted because Jude wouldn’t remember anyway. Cardan’s face was unreadable, but his tail kept whipping side to side, as it usually did when he was agitated. She told him about allowing their humiliations so they wouldn’t guess she wasn’t glamoured, how they slapped her and made her sleep in a cage, surrounded by violent currents, and how she couldn’t get the sound of the water hitting whatever charm was surrounding her cage to keep it dry; how she sometimes saw the light from above and hoped and hoped somebody was coming for her. How they kept her in clothes that barely covered her and how vulnerable she felt. How scared she was that they were going to break her. She didn’t say that she thought they might’ve.

• She did not want to tell him about Balekin. She did not want to think about what it was like to have to kiss him even though he was everything she despised. How he asked her to kiss him as if he was Cardan; how he twisted what he guessed about her hidden feelings into something ugly or how Cardan’s kisses were now associated with Balekin. How every time she thought about kissing Cardan, she was forced to remember Baleking. His voice was soft, and quiet when he found the courage to ask ‘Jude, what did he do to you? I can see how you flinch when you think it is him waking you up.’

• Jude closed her eyes and took a deep breath; ‘He asked me to kiss him’, she said and then went to explain how he seemed to be delighted with the idea that he was ruining one of his brother’s toys. He seemed delighted to have the chance to break her, the High King’s mortal. Jude did not say that Balekin guessed at their feelings for each other, and how he rejoiced in turning them into something that he could use. But she did tell Cardan that Balekin liked her kisses best when she was forced to pretend it was Cardan she was kissing.

• Cardan felt rage boiling in him. His brother took so much away from him- even when he was King, Balekin would not stop trying to take from Cardan what was dearest to his heart. He wanted to kill Balekin, carve him up and throw him in the sea for Orlagh to understand what happened when someone messed with what Cardan loved. But he couldn’t. He could not do anything; he was as powerless as he was when Balekin used to punish him. He was the King of nothing- he couldn’t even protect his people, couldn’t protect Jude, couldn’t protect his heart.

• Cardan did not know what to say, so he was quiet for a while. ‘I’m so sorry Jude,’ he said eventually. And then he apologized for not being able to protect her, and for taking so long to get her back and for the suffering Balekin caused her.

• When Cardan said ‘I understand if you do not want to be in my accompany’, Jude’s head snapped up and she fixed her eyes on his. His eyes might look similar to Balekin’s, but the look in them as they were studying Jude was completely different. Balekin’s have been hungry, a sociopathic gleam in them as he forced his mouth on Jude’s. Cardan’s were apologetic, soft, carefully taking in her features; there was nothing cruel in them, not now.

• ‘I’m glad you’re here, Cardan,’ Jude said, voice barely a whisper. ‘Your presence reminds me you’re nothing like your brother. The memories of him will fade, and they will be replaced with ones of you.’

• Cardan stood up from the couch, and walked to her side. Put a hand on shoulder, warm and secure, and for once, Jude did not overthink, did not shy away from being comforted. She leaned her head on the hand on her shoulder, while his other hand slowly came up and gently pushed the hair away from her face. ‘I won’t let it happen again,’ he said and because he couldn’t lie, Jude believed him.

• After that night in her room, Jude felt lighter. It was good to have someone you can be vulnerable with, she thought, and it was even better that Cardan behaved like his normal self- no weird awkwardness or tip-toeing around each other, no matter the vulnerability she shared with him.

• Which is why, when Jude could not sleep because of the sound of rain on her bedroom window, she felt comfortable enough to go knock at Cardan’s door. When he opened the door, she simply said ‘I can’t sleep’ and he moved out of the way to let her in. He asked no questions, and simply got back in his bed, watching her skeptically walking to the bed too. ‘Well, get in already’ he said and it was enough to make Jude roll her eyes and forget the strangeness that was starting to creep up on her.

• Cardan turned on his side, and so did Jude so they were facing each other. He raised a finger and pushed some of her hair behind her ear, tracing the curved part of it. It reminded her of a time when he wasn’t yet King, and she wasn’t his seneschal. She closed her eyes and sighed; his bed was warm and his presence comforting, the steady rhythm of his breaths reminding her that she was on land, on land, on land. She was alright. There was enough air for her to breathe freely, and a soft bed she was laying in, and a fluffy pillow under her head. Cardan next to her, not Balekin. ‘The sound of rain on the windows makes me feel as if I’m in that cage again,’ she admitted. ‘The cage was dry and I could breathe, but there was water all around me. I can’t forget the sound of it crashing all around me.’

• Cardan didn’t say anything, and she didn’t want him to. He just pulled her closer to him, and she nuzzled her head in his warm chest, one of his hands playing with her hair, and one hugging her to him. The sound of the rain was distant now, the beating of his heart the only sound that mattered. She focused on it, counting the beats, matching her own pulse to his, and gently fell asleep feeling safe and far away from the dangers of the water.

[startanewdream]

Do you know when there is something you are really happy of how it turned out but you also know that you'll never finish it? So a while ago I tried to write a fic about Harry realizing a little bit sooner that he fancied Ginny and Ginny not dating Dean at the beginning of HBP. All because, really, I wanted to give them more time together and allow Harry to be more of a teenager in love.

Well, I won't finish this, but it's too long to sit unread on my desktop, so I hope you enjoy those little moments of Hinny that could have been, with a strangely romantic Harry.

The moment that Ginny walks away from him, after telling she promised to meet her friends on the Hogwarts Express, Harry feels a strange twinge of annoyance. He watches her go, her long hair dancing behind her in a way that seems to reflect all the sunlight and he thinks he has become so used to her presence over the summer that he hadn’t stopped to think she usually did not hang out with him while at school.

He wishes he’d asked her sooner to sit with him.

It’s only when he is walking along the train with Neville and Luna, and he sees Cho Chang darting hurriedly into her compartment to avoid him, that he realizes this is not the first time he has wished he’d invited someone sooner. A shiver goes through his spine as he realizes the implications.

It’s not as if he feels for Ginny as he felt for Cho, he reasons silently. When he was near Cho, he was always nervous, like if there was a hole in his chest that was threatening to engulf him.

When he thinks of Ginny, he doesn’t feel nervous, he doesn’t feel like he is missing anything. If he thinks of Ginny in those last weeks of the summer, he remembers her being brighter than the summer sun. She is lively and fiery, and Harry had enjoyed her company, had shared her jokes, had made her laugh as much as she had made him laugh. After everything that happened – after Sirius – it had been nice to feel light and Ginny had helped him.

He feels peaceful and complete around her, which Harry tells himself it is perfectly reasonable. She is his friend after all, and if he considers Ron as his brother, then she would be like his sister, like Hermione.

Except now that Harry’s mind is grasping the effects of Ginny Weasley on his life, he realizes he doesn’t really think of her as his sister, no way. He remembers watching her imitating Fleur, her long red hair dancing around her in a way that seemed more entrancing than any veela power Harry ever met; he remembers when they got caught in the summer rain and the way her clothes were glued to her body and he had hastily looked away, feeling so embarrassed at how his stupid teenage body was reacting to that vision.

But now Harry doesn’t think it was just a normal teenage reaction. He thinks about how it would be if he were in the same situation with Hermione and the thought is unappealing just because he doesn’t really see her as anything but his friend.

It’s not the same with Ginny.

He thinks about her smile, about her long red hair, about the curves of her body he’d noticed even though he tried not to and about the freckles on her face that he was once strangely attempted to count.

He feels attracted to her.

That realization comes at the same moment that Ron enters their compartment and Harry feels suddenly guilty; Ron trusts him. He remembers hearing to Fred and George teasing her about her previous boyfriend and how her brothers are so protective of her; Ron would hate him if he knew Harry was –

What? Harry doesn’t know what he is feeling. Somehow this makes him feel less guilty. So he thinks Ginny is pretty. That’s reasonable, anyone with eyes could see she’s beautiful. So he misses her presence; that’s also fair, considering how much time they spent together over the summer.

That doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself when he attends the invitation of Slughorn and his heart skips when he sees that Ginny is already there.

It’s just a silly attraction, he insists, when his fists close after hearing Blaise Zabini commenting on how good-looking she is.

Oh, I'm screwed, he admits when Hermione is explaining how Amortentia works and Harry knows exactly whose perfume he is smelling in the potion.

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

So he has a crush on Ginny Weasley.

That’s okay, Harry tells himself, I can manage it.

Except he is really horrible at pretending he doesn’t care for her. Harry knows this is stupid; it’s not like those feelings developed overnight, he probably was falling for her during the summer, but somehow realizing these feelings exist have made him flustered around her.

He nearly drools during trials when she flies perfectly and outflows all the competition, thinking that her flying is better than any dance he’d ever seen.

He sighs watching her play with her pigmy puff, and he looks around hoping that no one saw it.

Still, he can’t help but keep stealing glances at her in the Common Room, careful only to avoid Hermione’s increasingly knowing looks, and he realizes that maybe he should stop pretending he doesn’t have feelings for Ginny when he sees her talking to a boy from her year.

They could be just friends, for all Harry knows, but that’s when he understands that if he doesn’t do anything, someone will ask her out and eventually she will say yes.

He remembers how she teased a while ago that she was going out with Dean Thomas just to pest Ron and he feels suddenly happy that Dean is not on the Quidditch Team, that he doesn’t spend much time with her. He’d heard Dean and Seamus talking in low voices about her in their dormitory when Ron is not around, and he knows Dean still fancies her.

Sometimes Harry looks at Ginny and wonders what she would say if he asks her out. He remembers Hermione telling them that Ginny used to like him but she gave up on him ages ago. Indeed, now she treats him with so much friendship that Harry wonders if she will just be offended with his invitation. That fear burns inside him, but he cannot help himself from walking back with her from training – even if Ron’s there most of the time – and he doesn’t really think when he volunteers to help her with some spells for extra points in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry soon finds out it was a terrible wonderful idea to spend a few hours with her on Friday night, just the two of them, in a closed classroom. His heart is beating faster as he watches her dodge his spells and he knows it’s not adrenaline from the duel. It’s her, it’s always her.

She is strong, he realizes, when Ginny looks fiercely as she fights him, her eyes blazing with determination and she deflects spell after spell he throws in her direction. She is gorgeous, he notices shamelessly, when her face is red and sweaty from their duel, and she is beaming at him at the end of their duel.

‘You are amazing’, he says and if his eyes are shining he thinks it could be explained by the fact that she really was very good.

But what he can’t explain is how much the energy he was spending on their duel is still running through his vein, filling him with heat and desire for her, desire to do something, anything. He wonders what she would say if he suddenly acted in his urges and just kissed her – he wonders if she would hex him if he pushed her against the wall, and his lips captured hers, his body pressed against hers, feeling her curves, their hands desperate, hearing her moan into his kiss –

‘Thanks’, she says, breaking his imagination. Harry nods, avoiding looking at her. The images are still very clear in his head and he’s glad he’s wearing a cloak. It’s much easier to hide the effects of his imagination this way. ‘I thought you were going easy on me at first’.

It’s the teasing in her voice that makes Harry turns towards her and he almost regrets it. She is still breathing hard, sweat shining on her neck, and Harry’s eyes are drawn to her neckline and then lower seeing her chest going up and down and suddenly the room becomes even hotter.

It takes real effort to look her in the eyes.

‘I would never’, he promises. ‘You’d hex me if I did’.

She giggles and Harry pretends that innocent sound doesn’t fill his chest with longing.

‘Let’s go? I need a bath after this’, she says and Harry considers seriously that she has to know the effect her comment makes on him. His imagination has been working overtime lately.

‘I need too’, he whispers more to himself than her. He doubts she needs a cold shower as much as he does.

‘So’, she begins, as they walk back to the Gryffindor Tower. ‘Excited for tomorrow?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t tell me you forgot the first trip to Hogsmeade. I’ve been waiting for ages for a day-off’.

The thing is Harry hadn’t forgotten Hogsmeade. He couldn’t, not when ideas of taking a stroll with Ginny through the village were constant on his mind; he’d thought about it ever since they announced the date of the trip, but his – that one that always got him into trouble – had faltered him for once.

‘I just lost track of time’, he says, hoping to sound distracted. ‘Got any plans?’

‘None so far’, she replies, her voice sounding as distant as his.

Harry takes a deep breath and urges himself to be brave. If he can face a basilisk, he can do this.

‘You could come with me’, he says, and when she turns to look at him, Harry discovers that looking her directly in the eyes would probably be as mortal as a basilisk eye. ‘Us, I mean, me and Ron and Hermione’. Harry forces himself to smile calmly, even though his heart is beating painfully fast now. ‘You know, if you want our company’.

He glances briefly at her. Ginny is frowning slightly.

‘I don’t want to intrude’, she says finally. Harry is glad she is not rejecting the idea.

‘You wouldn’t’. He smiled as charmingly as he can. ‘Come on, it will be like summer over again, we can tease Ron and Hermione’.

She laughs. ‘I would never miss an opportunity to tease them’, she agrees, and Harry tries not to beam as she accepts joining him – them – for Hogsmeade.

But he beams later that night when he hears Dean grumbling to Seamus that he’d asked Ginny out for Hogsmeade and she answered that she already had other plans.

Plans. They have plans together.

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

The trip to Hogsmeade is an utterly disappointment, with the bad weather and finding Mundungus Fletcher nicking Sirius’s stuff and the curse of Katie Bell. Not even Ginny’s presence is enough to save the day and Harry is left feeling miserable the whole weekend.

The meeting with Dumbledore helps to ease his tension – never mind that they are discussing Voldemort’s past – but it’s in the next morning that Harry feels hopeful again.

First, Hermione tells him of Slughorn’s Christmas party and Harry’s mind, already exceptionally good at creating scenarios involving him and Ginny (he’s been so creative lately that he thinks he could provide ideas for Fred and George’s Patented Daydream Charm), immediately wants this opportunity to ask Ginny out. And second, Hermione invites Ron to go with her, and Ron’s subsequently bliss is enough for Harry to feel that his best friend wouldn’t mind if he asks Ginny out.

Harry tries to say to himself that it’s still early – they’ve just entered November and the party is a month away, but an unforeseen complication arrives the moment that Harry asks Dean to join the team.

He’d thought that Dean would have given up on Ginny already, but from what he collects – and Harry is becoming really good at overhearing conversations -, Dean considered that Ginny denying his invitation was not because she already had a date, just because she was going with her brother. He sees Dean is more invested than ever, and when he gives her a very nice drawing of her face, Harry feels suddenly useless.

Dean can draw. What can Harry do? Sure, he flies well, but it’s not like he could impress Ginny with that when she probably flies better than him. And it’s not like being the Chosen One is a talent – it’s more of a burden, really, and Ginny already knows him enough to see he is not a hero.

He’s feeling really dismayed after the training and for once, when he realizes he and Ginny are alone in the changing room, he doesn’t feel excited.

‘Spit it out’, she says, standing in front of him with her arms crossed, as soon as the door closes after Ron.

‘What?’

‘What’s been bothering you’. She frows at him. ‘You’ve been quiet all training. You didn’t say anything when I called Ron a prat. You didn’t say anything when Ron punched Demelza and he really deserved a call. So tell me, what’s wrong?’

‘Do you ever feel like a failure?’

She blinks, clearly not expecting that question.

‘Hum. Yeah. I once opened a secret chamber, you know’.

‘That was Voldemort, not you’.

‘Well -’, she takes a step back, but she relaxes her arms. ‘But before it was his fault, it was mine. I only let him get to me because I was feeling so insecure’.

‘You were eleven’.

‘When you were eleven you were stopping You-Know-Who’, notes Ginny, rolling her eyes. ‘But what I meant is that I still question myself sometimes. And when I do, I remember that the last time I really doubted myself, I let someone control me’. Her gaze burns into his eyes and Harry thinks she never looked so fierce than now. ‘No fear will ever control me again’.

Oh, God, he feels so smitten by her.

‘Thanks’, he says instead of pulling her closer to him, which is everything his body screams for him to do. She smiles.

‘No problem, Captain. And you are not a failure. How could you be when you have me in the team?’

He laughs easily.

As they walk the grounds, Harry asks her in the most meaningless voice he can manage: ‘I saw Dean giving you a present early. You and him –‘

She sighs and Harry tries to understand if it’s a happy or sad sigh.

‘Yeah, he is – and that’s his words, not mine – courting me’.

She doesn’t sound pleased and Harry’s heart nearly bursts then, satisfied.

‘It was a nice drawing’, he says nonchalantly. She just nods. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Really? We wouldn’t work out together’.

‘How do you know?’, asks Harry, but he is not really thinking about Dean.

‘Well, for starters, he uses the term courting’, she says, making Harry chuckle without meaning to. ‘It’s just – well, I had one relationship so I’m not an expert but – he is the kind of guy who runs to open doors and I am the kind of girl who likes to open doors for herself. We just wouldn’t click’.

‘Oh!’, Harry bits his lips but the question is his mind slips through his mouth anyway. ‘And what kind of guy am I?’

She stops to look at him. They are a few steps away from the Entrance Hall and Harry almost lost his track when he sees her illuminated by the light of the castle. It feels like a vision from the heavens.

‘The kind who would let a girl open the door if she were closer’, she says warmly, but before Harry can answer, she turns away from him, entering the castle.

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

The minute the door closes on the changing room, Harry lets out a dismayed sigh. His plan was supposed to help Ron get his confidence again, to let himself back into that bliss that had accompanied him in the days after Hermione asked him out for Slughorn’s party. Now, he doesn’t even know if Ron and Hermione will remain friends.

When he leaves the changing room, there is a crowd, many of whom are congratulating him. He just nods without really listening and when someone pulls him away from the crowd, he reacts until he realizes it’s Ginny.

‘Come on’, she says and instead of taking the shortcut that every other Gryffindor is using, they use the normal stairs to go up. ‘What happened?’, Ginny asks, when the sound of the crowd vanishes behind them.

He tells the story in a low voice, not wanting to look at her as he recalls his plan, wondering now how he didn’t think Hermione would assume the worst –

‘It was a good plan’, Ginny mumbleswhen he finishes the story. They are in the seventh-floor corridor now, and she stops by a window, crossing her arms as she lays her back against the wall. The wind makes her hair flow like flames around her; this distracts Harry for a few seconds until he sighs.

‘It backfired completely’.

‘Well, yes, but only after the game’. She bits her lips, thoroughly. ‘But for your plan of helping Ron, it worked. He is a good keeper when he can keep his head in the right place’.

‘Yeah’. He sighs again, taking a step closer to her and looking at the window, trying to ignore how her scent of flowers threatens to overwhelm him. ‘Except now he is mad at Hermione and she is feeling hurt and –‘

‘They are bickering, Harry’, she notes. ‘That’s what they do’.

‘Yeah, but –‘, he remembers that day in the greenhouses. ‘- but for once they were closer to be over that phase, you know? They were going together to Slughorn’s party’.

‘They still will’, Ginny says calmly. ‘It’s just another fight for them. You could call it foreplay even’.

‘Ew, thanks for the image’, he complains, but there is a smile on his face that reveals his amusement. It’s easy to let her quiet words wash over him, drawing away the apprehension.

That’s Ginny’s power over him, he thinks. There is a lightness in her, something that makes him feel as if he had just eaten a chocolate after encountering a dementor, or as if he is as protected as if he just casted the Patronus Charm.

‘You know, I can’t still believe Hermione invited Ron’, she says almost absently.

When Harry thinks about it, he considers that maybe Hermione just lost the patience that Ron would ever ask her out; but right now, he feels envy for her courage, for her stepping over any fear and asking out someone who is one of her closest friends. If Hermione could do it, then he can too.

‘I take you are nervous about it?’, she asks, and Harry turns to her, confused to what she means. ‘About Ron and Hermione, you know, dating’.

Harry shrugs, trying to look nonchalant.

‘As long as I don’t have to see it’, he says. She raises her eyebrows, not believing his indifference. ‘Okay, I worry a bit. If they split up, I don’t know how things would be’.

‘No one knows. But that’s their problem, Harry, not yours’.

‘Our friendship –‘

‘- will survive’, she finishes for him.

‘How do you know?’

‘With the things you’ve faced together, you just can’t stop being friends’. She stares at him for a few seconds, then adds gently: ‘And they won’t ever leave you’.

He blinks, losing himself in the warm brown of her eyes, marvelous at how she always seems to read his mind. He wonders if there is more she can see through him.

If she knows how he feels for her.

‘And if they do split up, at least they will know. Not knowing is the worst sometimes’.

Harry agrees. Sometimes at night when he wonders how it would be Ginny’s reaction to him asking her out, he thinks that the agony of unknowing is worse than any rejection he could face.

‘So it’s good they have a date’, Ginny is saying, seeming to not notice any of Harry’s internal discussion. ‘Slughorn’s party looks nice’, she glances at him rather amusedly. ‘You would know if you had gone into any of his dinners’.

‘I wish I’d gone’, Harry says rather fervidly, thinking he’d enjoy that extra time with Ginny. Then he takes a deep breath. It doesn’t make sense to wish for more time and do nothing about it. ‘Are you going with someone?’

She blinks slowly.

‘Dean’s been giving me some hints he’d like to go with me, but, you know –‘

‘- you are not interested in being courted’, he remembers, with a smile that is calmer than he really feels. His heart is beating so loud in his chest that he wonders if she can hear it. ‘So if you don’t have any plans, would you like to come with me?’

The words are said so naturally that something inside him is almost applauding him, elated that he could really ask her without tumbling the words; he can still remember that Wangoballwime fiasco. But now, as time seems to stop as he waits for her answer, he thinks it’s obvious he would be better asking Ginny out.

Whatever he felt for Cho is in no way comparable to what he feels now.

Ginny is still looking at him, without blinking, and he thinks it’s the first time in a long time he sees her so quiet.

‘Just to be clear –‘, she begins, then she shakes her head. He sees her taking a short breath. ‘We could go together, yes’. There is a smile on her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘I imagine this way Romilda Vane and all those other girls will stop pestering you about’.

He could just nod. He could accept her perfect reasonable explanation for them going together to the party and that way there will be no chance of things being weird between them.

But for her, he is willing to take a chance.

‘They would, but that’s not because I am asking you’, he says, his voice low. 'I really -'

There is a high shriek on the end of the corridor. They turn around together to see the portrait of the Fat Lady opening and Hermione is leaving the Common Room. There is a cloud of birds around her head and as they watch, the birds suddenly fly directly to the Common Room; there is a scream of pain.

Harry and Ginny look at each other.

'I'll see Hermione', she says, just as Harry nods.

'I'll go check Ron', and they split.

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

There are many things Harry could've foreseen, but Ron dating Lavender Brown is not one of them.

Things between Ron and Hermione are rocky, and as he plays the middle man between them, he finds out there is not much room for telling either of them that he has invited Ginny to go with him to Slughorn's party.

He supposes Ron wouldn't be mad at him, but he only supposes because his friend is always occupied with Lavender these days - or rather their mouths are. At least Harry feels any protectiveness of Ron would be rather hypocrite considering how much Harry has unfortunately seen his best friend snogging.

And Hermione looks so heartbroken and furious these days that he doesn't have the heart to tell her about his plans with Ginny.

He couldn't stop beaming if he told her and that's not very tactful.

Sometimes he feels like the worst friend – his best friends aren't talking to each other, Ron has lost himself in a relationship and Hermione is so upset – but the truth is that the idea of going on a date with Ginny fills his heart with glee and makes him want to sing.

And if Ginny mentioned to anyone that they will go together, Harry wouldn't know. He thinks not, because he doesn't hear anyone talking about it – and between Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane, he would've heard; even Ron would return to the surface to say something, he thinks.

It's just one of these things that somehow feels weird to announce after not announcing it immediately, so he considers that people will just notice when they go together.

And it's not like there is anything different between him and Ginny. She treats him as normal as before he'd asked her out, and if their eyes meet randomly through the day – and she smiles at him – it's still normal.

But he waits more anxiously than before to Slughorn's party, imagining candle lights and romantic songs, maybe a slow dance.

He can’t dance for his life, but for Ginny he thinks he could learn ballet.

Romilda Vane keeps hinting that she’d like to go to the party with him and Hermione advices that he should ask someone else so people can stop pestering him.

‘I have’, he says finally, and the smile is already in the corner of his mouth, as much as he wants to pretend it's no big deal. ‘I’m going with Ginny’.

His attempt at apathy is pathetic and even though Hermione has not been herself lately, she is still smart enough to see right past him.

‘Oh. Finally, then’.

Harry pretends to not understand.

‘Why are you keeping it a secret?’

They aren’t, not really, so Harry just shrugs. He has dealt with the effects that being related to him have caused before, and he doesn’t want for it to happen again - not so soon, not before he and Ginny even… What?

He doesn’t know what he is waiting to happen first, but, still, it seems important to wait.

‘You better tell…’, Hermione is suddenly quiet. ‘Well, you don’t want people to know second-hand’.

Harry sighs, but he nods in agreement. Hermione is probably right, as always.

‘For what matters, Harry, I’m happy for you. I hope things go well’. They exchange a short smile, before Hermione is serious again. ‘Now, I really think you need to be careful with love potions...’

Hermione’s advice - both about love potions and telling Ron – stays in Harry’s mind. He doesn’t get the chance to tell Ron that night – Ron’s too much occupied with Lavender to notice Harry – and he promises that he will tell Ron the next day, hoping his friend won’t notice that he is telling just hours before the party.

The next morning, he waits until Ron finishes his breakfast – his humour is always better when his stomach is full – before telling him bluntly just outside the Transfiguration classroom.

‘There’s something I need to tell you. Slughorn’s party tonight. I’m going with Ginny’.

The fact that Ron doesn’t immediately draw his wand encourages Harry.

‘Ginny? As in my sister Ginny?’

Harry nods in silence, careful not to give any provocative answer. Sarcasm has always been his best defence, but he doesn't think Ron would appreciate it right now.

‘As friends?’

‘Hmmm, not exactly, we - we will see’.

‘Oh’.

And then Ron stays silent, but Harry sees him throwing glances at Hermione for the first time in weeks and when Lavender approaches him, he looks less thrilled than before.

‘Don’t mess this up’, is all Ron says quietly to him, just before the class begins, and Harry wonders if Ron is sorry for all the things he has messed up with his own love life.

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

The thing is Harry doesn’t get many moments in his life where he can feel like something has changed; well, at least not many good moments. When he found out he was a wizard is one. The first time he flew on a broomstick. When he and Ron saved Hermione and they became friends.

But he likes to think he’s in one of these moments now, as he watches Ginny coming down the stairs.

He knows she is beautiful and he knows he has been smitten with her for a while now, but still his heart skips a beat as he takes in her figure: the shining red hair, which instead of being in the usual practical ponytail is falling in delicate curls; the way her eyes are glinting, with a soft make-up that he rarely sees her wearing; and the dark green robes she wears, hightlighting her figure and showing her curves much more than the school robes.

'Hi', she says brightly, and Harry appreciates the fact that she doesn't comment on how he is blushing (he must be, his face seems to be on flames) or how he's staring open-mouthed at her. 'You look nice'.

Harry couldn't describe for his life the clothes he is wearing. He could be naked and he wouldn't notice it.

'You look amazing', he insists, and there is so much sincerity in her voice that a light pinkness arises in her face.

But all she says is: 'Shall we go?'

He nods quietly, and then he wonders if he should offer his hand - or his arm? His arm would be the respectable option, but if he took her hand, then -

Ginny decides it for him. As they walk through the portrait, in a gesture that seems more natural than breathing, she takes his hand.

Her hand is soft and warm and as their fingers interlace, it takes all of Harry's effort not to kiss her now and then, even before their date really begins.

'Who do you think Slughorn invited?', she asks, her voice casual.

Harry smiles to himself. Of course Ginny wouldn't let things get strange between them.

They talk normally as they descend the stairs to Slughorn's office, and Harry is feeling silly for all the times he has feared that something could go wrong this night. It's Ginny whom he is with.

So he talks with Slughorn and accepts being presented to anyone because with Ginny by his side, he thinks he can face anything. She makes funny comments – and Harry chokes more than once when she passes ironic comments with the most innocent face he's ever seen – and after a while he notes that even when the people they are talking to were originally interested in Harry, it's Ginny that draws the attention. She is so lively that he can't blame others for noticing it.

They talk and they laugh and they save Hermione from Cormac McLaggen.

''She'll come back in a minute, Cormac', Ginny says with a straight face when McLaggen asks them if they saw Hermione. 'Why don't you try these custard creams while you wait?, and she apparently takes a biscuit from the nearest tray, offering him one. 'Let's get some air, Harry?'

Harry nods with a smile, already awaiting. He and Ginny are already on the other side of the room when there is a sudden pop and they turn to watch a canary appearing in the middle of Slughorn's office, in the place McLaggen was.

They laugh together, but as his eyes meet hers, Harry feels the reason for his amusement changing.

Or maybe not. In any case it is Ginny that makes him happy.

But now instead of feeling joy for a prank, he feels a quiet warmth spreading through his body and when their laugh dies, the silence that fills them is not heavy; it's a silence that questions Harry and it's a silence that there is only one answer he could give.

His eyes drift to her lips for a brief second – they are pink and shiny and they look so soft – and when he looks at her again, there is a blazing look in her face that Harry wants to see forever.

Her hand is still connected with his – he realizes now that they never once broke apart during the party – so it's the easiest thing to pull her through a curtain, to a nice desert balcony and take a step closer to her.

For a moment, they stand together, looking at each other, then Harry presses his lips softly to hers.

The softness lasts two seconds as if neither believes the kiss is really happening. Then Ginny places her free hand on his neck and Harry holds her by the waist and then suddenly they are closer, their bodies together and their lips urgently. Her lips part and he can taste her - really feel the taste of the butterbeer she drank and the other flavor that is spicy and sweet and intoxicating that screams of Ginny. Her hand playing in his hair causes shivers that have nothing to do with the cold air of December.

A part of Harry wonders if maybe there are fireworks in the party, because he can hear them exploding, he can see all the colours even though his eyes are closed. He doesn't know where he is, what day it is,how long they've been kissing each other on that balcony; all he knows is that she is the only real thing in the world and he promises he won't ever stop kissing her –

Unfortunately Harry breaks this promise a second later. There is a distraction back in the room and the loud noise is enough to break them apart. Still, Harry doesn't really move, breathing hard – they hadn't stopped for something as silly as breathing –, his heart pumping fast in his chest, all his senses still concentrated on Ginny, until he recognises the voices.

Snape. Malfoy. Their voices break through his bubble of happiness and blissfulness.

His distress must be evident on his face, because Ginny takes a step back, with a knowing smile, and pulls him back to Slughorn's office.

He watches the discussion and when Snape and Malfoy are leaving, he hesitates, looking back at Ginny.

For one second his eyes drift to her lips – their lipstick is gone and he remembers his promise, wants to taste her again, wants to be lost in the feeling of having her in his arms –, but when their eyes meet, she unclasps their hands.

'Go', she says in a quiet voice. 'I'll come up with something'. When he still doesn't move, she smiles slightly. 'We'll have all winter holiday, Harry'.

It's that promise – and the ideas of being together with her for two weeks – that makes him leave her side for the night.

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

He doesn't meet Ginny again until the next morning, when he arrives to get the Floo for the Burrow.

Ginny smiles brightly at him. His body reacts as always – warmth spreads through every part, a grin comes to his face and his heart beats faster –, but it's a welcome feeling after all the worry he had been with Unbreakable Vows or whatever.

He will worry about it later; now his only concern is being with Ginny and –

His eyes fall on Ron, at her side. His best friend has his eyebrows raised, and he looks to Harry rather questioningly, but he stays strangely quiet. Then Lavender is there, kissing him as if Ron's going to war, rather than being away from her for two weeks, and Ginny rolls her eyes in disgust, but doesn't say anything.

'Happy Holidays, Harry, Ginny', he hears Hermione saying by his side, her eyes suddenly red and she enters the fireplace hurriedly.

Ginny scowls at this and throws an annoyed look at Ron – Harry sees her hand twitching to brag ger wand –, but she presses her lips firmly.

Harry feels like he's missing something.

'Hi', he begins tentatively, and Ginny turns to him with a softer expression.

'Hi. Ready to go?'

'Always. Ah - about the end of the party –'

Her smile falters for a short second.

'No harm done. I got back in time to save Hermione one last time from McLaggen, so everything worked out perfectly'.

Harry sighs.

'That is not how I imagined the night ending'.

'So you were imagining things?', she asks teasingly and Harry feels his cheek burning, but he nods, taking a careful step closer to her.

'I've been imagining them for a while now', he whispers, for once happy with all the kissing noise of Ron and Lavender behind them. There is a sparkle in Ginny's eyes now.

'Perhaps we can turn those imaginations into reality'.

He raises his hand, putting a lost strand of her hair behind her ear, and he thinks her smile is warmer than the fireplace in the room. He wonders if he'd dare kiss her now – there is certainly a challenge in her eyes – but before he can move, McGonagall is calling them for taking the Floo.

'Later then', whispers Ginny, winking at him, and Harry's heart beats faster.

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

The Christmas Holiday is anything but frosty for Harry, even though he has his fair share of stressful moments - werewolves, discussing Unbreakable Vows, unexpected visits from the Minister of Magic.

Still, if Harry had to summarize those two weeks in one word, he would say Ginny.

Not that anyone asks him about. There is some mutual agreement between Ron and Ginny, so no one knows they went out together to Slughorn's party just as Fred and George are left without knowing about Ron's new girlfriend and their activities.

That means no one – except Ron but he is turning a blind eye, albeit a slight judgemental blind eye – really understand why Harry is grinning through the holidays, why he always wakes up smiling, why he offers to help Ginny set the decorations, why he and Ginny tries to cook apple pie closed together in the kitchen (the pie ends up quite tasty if a little bit burnt).

Sometimes Harry thinks people should know – they can't be really keeping a secret from Fred and George, and Mrs. Weasley always seemed to know things –, but most of the time his thoughts are occupied somewhere else.

Or rather in someone else.

Harry is patient on the first day of the holidays. He lets Mrs. Weasley take care of him – complaining that he is still too thin, asking how things are in school – until he drops his things on Ron's bedroom and says something about needing to take some air. Ron is not convinced, but Harry can't really care right now. Thirty seconds after leaving Ron he is already out of the house; ten seconds later, Ginny is in his arms, her body pressed against his as they kiss under an apple tree in the garden.

It's hidden there, with only the moonlight as witness, and Harry loses himself gladly in the feeling of her lips, her hands in his neck, the softness of her skin as he finds an opening in her jumper and touches her back, marvelling at the fact that she trembles upon his touch.

It's a routine they will share for the next few days. Hidden stolen moments in the garden, in the attic (ignoring the sleeping ghoul there), their lips exploring each other, discovering the best angle to kiss, until they are both left gasping for air, their lips swollen from the kisses and with that smile that Harry feels like an outdoor for ‘hey, I’ve been snogging’.

Still, no one asks him anything and for once Harry prefers it that way. They will tell people later, it’s just that for now it’s good to keep a secret that has nothing to do with Dark Arts or Voldemort, and it’s good to avoid any teasing or older brother-talking or – as Ginny says with a shudder – Mrs. Weasley’s delightful approval.

Maybe people think they are just good friends. In fact, every time he can’t be alone with Ginny without arousing suspicion, they are together, talking and discussing anything. It’s not much different from what they did during summer holidays, but Harry now thoroughly appreciates how Ginny is a good company, how he can talk to her about any subject.

Well, almost any subject. She doesn’t ask what he found out following Malfoy and Snape on the night of Slughorn’s party, and Harry doesn’t want to share with her – not because he doesn’t trust her, but because telling her it would somehow involve in that mystery and it would be too close to the fact that he is the Chosen One, and when he is with her, he just wants to forget it and be a normal teenager.

She seems to understand it. That's the thing he most likes about her, more even than the physical things he feels when he is with her; she never presses him for anything.

They kiss under the mistletoe she has left on the porch (and Harry can't help but think it's really an improvement from his first kiss), they kiss in the kitchen when they happen to meet late in the night for a hot chocolate (that he can taste in her lips).

It's the best holiday Harry ever had.

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

The night before they return to Hogwarts, Ron asks Harry nervously:

'What's going on between you and Ginny? Are you going out?'

Harry hesitates for a second.

'I don't know', he answers truthfully, but now that Ron has asked, this uncertainty bothers him. Ron frowns, his disapproval evident, and Harry hurries to add: 'I'm not messing her around. I really like her'.

At this, Ron seems to relax a little.

'Just - just talk to her, ok? I don't want people saying that my sister - well - just decide what's going on with you two'.

Harry nods in silence.

He lays in his bed for a while, hearing Ron’s soft snores in the bed next to his, before he quietly slips out of the bed. He’s careful to avoid any of the steps that always seems to resonate in the house, and before he can lose his courage, he knocks on her door.

After five seconds that seem to last longer, she opens her door.

‘Harry?’, she asks, blinking and confused. Harry doesn’t think she was asleep, but she was obviously preparing to; she’s wearing a robe, her hair wet, and he sees her holding a towel that she was using to dry her hair. When she sees him staring, a faint blush comes to her face. ‘I take a shower when I can’t sleep’, she admits.

That’s not where Harry’s mind was. He must have kissed her a hundred times by now, must have seen her blushing and teasingly and confident and daring, but seeing her fresh from a shower, with her floral scent heavier in the air, the only thing he was considering is how much he wants her, how much he is falling for her.

‘Do you want to go out with me?’, asks Harry. She blinks, surprised, and looks around quickly.

‘Come on’, she says, pushing him inside her bedroom and closing the door.

Harry had never ever seen her room before, so he is distracted for a moment, taking in the small bedroom, her decoration. Then his eyes fall on the bed and he feels suddenly very hot.

He tries to ignore the flush creeping over his neck as he turns back to her, but he can’t really meet her eyes – Ginny always seemed to read him very well…

‘Why are you asking me out, Harry?’

That stops his creative mind that was still fixed on her bed.

‘Well - because I want to go out with you?’

‘I figured that out, you know, considering how much we’ve been snogging’, Ginny points out. ‘But that doesn’t answer my question’.

‘It’s just – Ron said -’, at this, Ginny furrows her brows and Harry considers that maybe Ron is in danger. ‘I just don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage of you or –’

‘I believe I was having as much “advantage” as you’, she says with a grin that Harry can’t help but share too. Then he shakes his head.

‘I want to do things right’, he says firmly.

‘You mostly definitive are’, Ginny assures him, winking. ‘I just don’t know if you really want to date me’.

‘Of course I –’

‘I mean, we sort of never told anyone we were going together for Slughorn’s party and I thought you wanted to keep things private’. Harry bits his lips. She takes a step closer to him, grabbing his hand gently. ‘I know you don’t like getting attention and if we’ve dated, people would talk about. I can handle people – that’s why I learnt the Bat-Bogey Hex, but I thought you’d be stressed’.

Harry raises his free hand, touching her face, the wet locks of her copper hair.

‘I don’t like people talking about my life’, he whispers. ‘But for once people would talk about something that’s making me happier than I remember being in a while, so that would be a change. Still – if we could keep just between us – I just don’t want to seem like I’m ashamed of you or that I want to keep you a secret -’

She smiles.

‘Keeping this low was my idea as much as yours’, she remembers. ‘And we don’t need to keep it a secret forever, just, you know, until people find out. Until then –’, she approaches him, raising on her tiptoes to press her lips softly in this neck. The goosebumps erupt all over Harry. ‘– we can have some fun’.

[inthishousewestanpercyjackson]

The End, Sort Of

So I don’t often write fics, I just have other original WIPs to work on, but as much as I loved the Tower of Nero, I though it needed a little of this.

       Percy Jackson arrived at camp that afternoon with Annabeth Chase and Estelle Blofis. I saluted his choice of companions, even if one of them scared me. I’ll let you decide which.

       Campers swarmed the trio - old-timers to greet them, newbies to fawn over the baby. Meg was vanished from my side shadow-travel-style and reappeared at the head of the newbie group. Estelle seemed to like the attention. She squealed with joy at the chorus of baby-talk.

       As soon as the crowd dispersed, Annabeth raced off toward the Big House without explanation. Meg, persistent as ever, lingered by the baby. Soon, she and Percy started up the hill to the pavilion.

       “You’re looking very Lester,” Percy observed as he sat down at the Poseidon table, presumably out of habit. When Meg sat down next to him (ahem, Estelle), I moved to join them.

       “I assure you, I am very Apollo,” I replied. “Where did Annabeth go?”

       “She needed to talk to Chiron.” Percy sat back against the table with a satisfied sigh. “It’s good to be back.”

       “Bad road trip?”

       His eyes brightened. “No, it was great. But...Camp Half-Blood, you know?”

       I nodded my agreement.

       “So.” Percy squished Estelle’s belly a few times to make her giggle, much to our collective delight. “What’s the story? How did the quest go?”

       How did the quest go. Meg and I exchanged a look that included everything from stumbling into camp six months ago to watching the last of the Triumvirate shrivel to ashes in the tower of Nero.

       We told him the story. Sometime around the battle of the Waystation, Annabeth Chase entered the pavilion. She joined Percy soundlessly, sliding onto the bench next to him. Meg, who had never met Annabeth, tipped her head so far to the side I thought it might topple off. Annabeth struck the perfect balance between a smile and a threat, which seemed to satisfy Meg. She went back to playing with Estelle, rocking back and forth cross-legged on the bench.

       Meg let me tell most of the tale. I suspected she was waiting to chime in with the embarrassing parts I “forgot” but I disappointed her. I “forgot” nothing; I was humble that way.

       The difficult part was Jason Grace. From their time at Camp Jupiter, I suspected the two demigods already knew, but Percy’s face turned stony as I described that worst of nights. Annabeth turned away until I finished. Perhaps she didn’t want us to see her tears.

       “I should’ve been there,” Percy said quietly. “I said no. I should’ve come with you.”

       “Percy.” Annabeth put her hand on his shoulder, her eyes red.

       “It wouldn’t have made a difference,” I assured him. “Jason was as strong as they come. Caligula was as evil as they come. They were evenly matched. You would only have gotten yourself killed as well.”

       Percy didn’t respond. Estelle seemed to notice her brother’s grief. She reached for his face, cooing. Percy smiled faintly and lifted her to eye-level. “I did get to meet you.”

       “And Jason would’ve wanted that,” Annabeth said. She leaned against his shoulder and Percy leaned back, an ever-so-slight agreement to put the matter of guilt to rest. But I wondered if it would truly be that easy.

       Tentatively, I continued onto our time at Camp Jupiter and the emperors’ defeat at the hands of Frank Zhang. At last, I spoke of the tower of Nero and Python’s fall into Chaos.

       When I finished, Percy whistled. “That’s a hard fall.”

       “Very,” I agreed.

       He looked at Meg. “Meg? You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

       Meg blushed and responded typically. “Had to do it.”

       “Doesn’t make it any less brave.”

       Annabeth considered both of us, her expression unreadable. Finally, she asked, “What now, Apollo? Now that you’re a god again…”

       She stopped, but her tone implied, Will things be better?

       Better because a trio of evil Roman emperors no longer ruled the world? Yes. Better because prophetic power had been restored? Yes. But I got the feeling that wasn’t what she meant. She wanted to know how I intended to keep my promise to Jason.

       “Being human is hard,” I declared.

       Meg snorted and kicked her red high-tops off the bench, narrowly missing Estelle’s head. Estelle groped after the red shoes with her little fists. Meg apologized for that near-decapitation by sticking her tongue out side-to-side, which made Estelle burst into a new fit of giggles. “Being a demigod is harder.”

       “Let’s say both,” I concurred.

       Percy laughed. He adjusted Estelle on his lap, letting her take hold of his index finger and promptly stick it in her mouth. Percy looked at Meg and I with some measure of solemnity, despite his finger’s current status as a chew-toy.

       “Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood,” he said. “But…”

       His eyes trailed over the distant Long Island Sound, the cabin green, the Athena Parthenos holding vigil beside Thalia’s pine tree on Half-Blood Hill. From the pavilion, we could see the camp in motion: swords flashing in the sunlight, the moaning of monsters in the forest, demigods training and horsing around like any regular summer campers.

       Percy’s gaze finally landed on Annabeth. He kissed her cheek and smiled. “But it’s worth it.”

       I appraised my young friend in a new light. In a brief flash, I remembered how, at the end of the Titan War, my father had offered immortality to the son of Poseidon. I myself had not paid much attention to all the good-feeling, gift-giving that took place, but I did remember clearly the determination on Percy Jackson’s face when he said no. Instead, he wanted to live out his short mortal life, and he wanted us gods to pay more attention to our demigod children. He made us promise to change.

       Now I wondered how well we had kept that oath in the two years since we made it. Perhaps Styx held us all under her thumb.

       And Jackson’s choice - at the time I couldn’t have begun to understand it. Now, though, after witnessing the goodness and heroism mortality had to offer...I could comprehend that the suffering was worth it.

       “Yes,” I said softly. I sighed. “To answer your question, Annabeth, I’m not sure how much will change. I will do my best - which, I have to say, isn’t very much, but it’s certainly better than it once was. I will remember. And I will attempt to help my fellow Olympians.”

       Meg punched my shoulder. “And me? Piano lessons, remember?”

       “Of course,” I replied, rubbing my side. Unfortunately, I could not spare the world from the horrors of Meg McCaffery at the keyboard, but I said I would do my best. That’s all I could do. My time as a mortal had taught me nothing if not that.

       Percy’s grin vanished at the sound of Estelle’s sudden fussing and squirming. Percy deftly checked her diaper and threw his head back. “Woah. That’s a problem.”

       He and Annabeth looked at each other. “Not it,” they said at the same time.

       Percy sighed heavily in surrender. Oh, the woes of being a big brother. Of course, gratefully, I never had to change my sister’s diaper.

       Percy cast another sweeping gaze at the whole of Camp Half-Blood. Then he stood, laying Estelle over his shoulder. “It seems like this place is in good hands.”

       He gave me a fist bump. Dare I say, I thought I saw something akin to pride in his eyes, similar to the look Rachel had worn when she saw how I cared about others. Oh, these hero types. There was much we could learn from them. I was humbled.

       Annabeth nodded respectfully to me. Meg hugged her, which seemed like a jump from the brief stand-off earlier, but what did I know? Meg was nothing if not unpredictable.

       Percy ruffled Meg’s dark hair, which left it only slightly messier than it had been before. Meg didn’t seem to mind. She waved bye-bye at baby Estelle.

       Then the three of them started down the hill. They didn’t look back.

Tower of Nero fic @inthishousewestanpercyjackson

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Goku Black x Reader: Forbidden Fruit (Chapter 21: The Ritual [SMUT] )

Hey guys! Sorry for not posting for so long as I've been busy with my job and college applications that I'm still not done with. It's the moment you've all been waiting for! This is the first smut I've written and all my experience comes from reading fanfiction alone in my room, but hopefully it's not that bad. The smut starts and ends at *** so skip if you don't want to read. There are quite a few more chapters to come! Thanks for all your love and support!

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“Alright Black,” you murmured shakily into his chest. “I-I’ll do it. I’ll become a God.” Your hands clenched the soft fabric of his shirt, a churning wave of emotion threatening to bowl you over as the gravity of the situation began to solidify. You were abandoning the human race, all for the man who was responsible for their downfall. But for some reason, the thought of losing him was much worse than anything you could possibly imagine. And to think that you had once hated everything about him. Human hearts really were a fickle thing.

“Thank you.” He lowered his lips into your hair, and you could feel the waves of heat transmitting from his warm body.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, bathing in the warmth of his embrace and nothing in the world had ever felt so perfect to you before. It was just you and him, and that was all that mattered. If you could pause this moment forever, you would have done so without hesitation. It just further confirmed that you saw no future without him in your life, and you were willing to sacrifice anything in order to do it, even your humanity. The only thing you could do was hope that Trunks wouldn’t hate you for the rest of his life, and that Mai and the others wouldn’t see you as a traitor. Even forfeiting your birth as a fellow human did not mean that you would just let them die, no, in fact it gave you a better bargaining chip. You couldn’t bear to lose any more.  

“We need to go now,” Black rubbed your back soothingly, finally breaking the trance. “We have not a moment to waste.”

“What about Trunks?”

At the mention of the boy’s name, you could see his shoulders tense but to your surprise he didn’t utter a single word. Black wasn’t going to waste any more breath on that monkey when there were more pressing matters at hand.

“Just leave him, for now.”

“But I want to say goodbye.”

“You’re lucky I’m even sparing his life,” Black growled gutturally, his mood suddenly darkening. “I will only repeat myself one more time; we are departing.” A harsh shadow fell across his face and your jaw snapped shut, biting your tongue to hold back your protests. At this rate, arguing with him would only make matters worse, and his grip was becoming unbearable.

“Fine,” you managed to breathe out, nearly choking from his bruising hand upon your bicep. You weren’t sure if he was purposefully doing it or if he simply didn’t know his own strength.

“But please let go, you’re hurting me,” you whimpered, lips trembling at the verge of tears, straining your arm against him. The pressure immediately released and his entire demeanor seemed to change, as it did quite often. You still weren’t quite used to it after all this time. Guilt flashed across his eyes but he turned away before you could see, brushing a hand questioningly over his chest. It was that feeling again.

Black’s old feelings range consisted of entirely of spite, indifference, and disgust, but since that fateful encounter with you his entire emotional spectrum seemed to expand against his will, for better or for worse. The only salvation he had managed to convince himself of was that it only expanded as far as to encompass you, and only you. To his intense relief, his goal and hatred towards the human race in particular refused to stray from its path. That was the one thing you could never change about him, and he was sure that deep down you were aware of it.

That’s alright. Patience is key. The gloriousness of my justice will always prevail, even you must see that one day, Y/n. Black reassured himself confidently. Yes, the Zero Mortal Plan will succeed, with you by his side.

With a whoosh, you felt your body disappear. When you opened your eyes again, the scenery had changed. The dazzling light was blinding, so different from the ashen, ruined world you were used to. When was the last time you had seen a clear sky? Compared to the earth even before the duo’s arrival, it was break taking and completely ethereal.

Black seemed to sense your amazement, a small smirk gracing his lips. “Welcome to the world of the Gods. You are and will be the only mortal to ever step foot here; you should count yourself lucky.”

Mortal.

That word resonated inside your chest, and your wonder was quickly overtaken by guilt and apprehension. They were still back there, completely at the mercy of Zamasu, and forsaken by you. And what about this planet? There was no way Black took you here for sightseeing. And the ritual? What the hell was going on? All he had told you about it was that it required another God and a combining of the essences, which definitely sounded suspicious to you. To be honest, after he said that part you were barely listening but had only heard snatches of the more complicated explanation of joining the souls and whatnot.

“Well, no time to waste,” Black’s voice jolted you out of your thoughts, his eyes glinting in a way as if he knew exactly what you were thinking and enjoyed your confusion. “Let’s go.”

Large hands slid under your armpit and gripped you tightly as you descended into the sky, and you swallowed a shriek as you went from ground level to a few hundred feet into the clouds within a second.

“Black!” You clung onto his arms and thrashed. “What the hell?!”

He merely grunted and loosened his grip, obviously entertained by your struggles.

“Fine fine!” Your knuckles turned pale from clutching his arm so hard. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going before you kill me?”

“You’ll see.”

“But-”

“Just shut up.” His tone left no room for argument and you had no choice but to oblige, trying not to trigger him into another mood swing. Lush trees and crystal lakes blurred behind you as you flew, though the stunning, rolling landscapes weren’t nearly enough to keep you from praying that the journey wouldn’t take much longer as your hands began to go numb from the cold of traveling so high. The warmth radiating from Black wasn’t nearly enough to keep you cozy, but it was better than nothing. Just as your eyes slumped shut and your stomach dropped, a rush of cold air battered your exhausted body, alerting you to your descension.

The unreadable Saiyan didn’t utter a word as he touched down in front of a massive, sparkling cave, its gaping maw welcoming you in. Despite the sheer blackness of the inside, you couldn’t sense any sort of darkness emitting from the depths. It was the world of Gods, after all. You could feel the dense, ancient magic shrouding the rocky surface, comforting yet powerful. You were interrupted from your spell when you felt a sturdy hand against your back, urging you forward.

Black overtook you at the entrance, and you inched forward cautiously, watching as your feet were completely engulfed by the lightless air. Vision gone, you groped blindly along the walls as you shuffled forward, listening carefully for Black’s footsteps, which were muffled on the condensed carpet of cushioned moss. You lost track of time as you pressed forward, the darkness beginning to seep into your mind, occasionally being guided by the silent God through intersections in the passageways.

After what had to be thirty minutes of wandering, a calming, turquoise light began to illuminate the barren cave, and you could just barely see Black’s silhouette through the dimness.

“Black!” You rushed to his side, huffing slightly from the pressure of the venture.

“We’re here.” He stately flatly, ignoring your grip on his arm.

A few more steps and the narrow tunnel opened up into a wide, natural chamber, in which situated a small, clear pool that seemed to radiate brightness, fed by a steady, miniature waterfall. A giant hole was situated in the rock framing the starlit night sky, the mellow light shining in a white beam onto a crystal bowl carved into a block of what appeared to be quartz.  The entire space was painted a calming azure by the reflection of the water. An air of enchantment settled heavily upon the clearing, and it was the most gorgeous thing you ever had the fortune to lay your eyes on. It easily made Earth look like a filthy, vacant rock with its beauty, and yet at the same time, it seemed so distant, so far away. A stab of anguish squeezed your heart, knowing that no other human would ever see it, and that you could never view it again in with the same eyes. Mortal eyes.

You would pay a price for this sight, your mortality, some might even argue morality, but on Earth you were already the closest thing to a God with your immortality. No, it wasn’t mortality that you were shedding. It was humanity, all because a God decided to spare you. Black hadn’t meant anything more to you than any other villain that assaulted the universe, he was just a being you had to defeat after all, or at the minimum, he was part of life. A prolonged lifespan had desensitized you to the aches and pains of a normal man, but you could never have foreseen he would have come to mean to you. How much you would give up for him, the man who ended up stalking and kidnapping you. Even now you could barely believe it, but it was the truth from every angle.

You loved him.

And he did too, if it could be called love. Obsession, hunger, maybe love, Black didn’t know either. Like you, it was still hard to fathom exactly why he gravitated towards you, why he chose to find someone to complete him now despite all his years alive. He blamed it on Son Goku, and that was the only lie he ever believed.

All that was certain was that your destinies were inexplicably entwined, for better or for worse. If you were to fall, you would do so together.

Black observed your face, lost in thought, unconsciously memorizing every subtle curve and edge of you, engrossed in nothing but the mortal that he refused to live without. And though he had doubted many things in his life, he did not doubt you. Not that he would ever tell you of course. Sighing, he kept walking with you at his tail, an unfamiliar heat stirring in his body.

Your fluctuating heartbeat crescendoed into a deafening roar as Black led you forward, approaching the glittering altar. This was it…..

“Give me your hand,” Black commanded, his voice echoing around the chamber.

“W-what? Why?”

The look Black gave you was enough to compel you to shakily offer him your trembling hand, and you didn’t say any more.

Without warning, a searing blaze of pain ripped through your palm, startling a yelp out of your mouth. You felt his hand squeeze your wrist and watched in shock as a spray of blood splattered into the bowl.

“Black?!”

Fast as lightning, a stream of crimson gushed out from his own hand, his blood mingling with yours as it swirled to the bottom. You hadn’t even seen him move, but knowing him, you honestly shouldn’t be surprised anymore. Black grabbed your bloody hand with his, holding it over the bowl as the pale, argent light suddenly seemed to grow stronger in brightness and warmth. He raised his head and closed his eyes, and began chanting in some ancient language that you couldn’t understand. It occurred to you how beautiful he looked, head crowned in silver locks, the starlight dancing on the tips of his long, thick eyelashes. You could almost imagine him an angel, but deep in your heart you knew he was anything but that. And yet you still loved him. Your younger self would have laughed at the absurdity of it all, but you didn’t care anymore.

You watched in rapt fascination as he continued chanting, his Adam’s apple bobbing mesmerizingly in his neck, silently engraving the details of his face and the texture of his hand into your memory to cherish forever.

You didn’t even notice that he had stopped cantillating until he let go of your hand, your wrist knocking against the edge of the altar.

“Come,” Black voice was nearly a whisper, beckoning you towards the sapphire springs, apprehension building in your stomach along with something else that you hadn’t felt for the longest time.

“There’s only one last thing we need to do for this ritual to work. Take off your clothes and get in.”

“W-what?” Your face flushed a deep red color, and your entire body grew hot enough to rival that of the hottest fires. You forgot the twinging agony in your hand and almost thought he was joking if it hadn’t been for the look on his face.

“Just do it before I lose my patience,” he snarled threateningly, or so it seemed to you.

In reality, it was anything but that. Many nights he cursed this borrowed body that he made his, not believing that a God such as him could ever fall to the vices of lust like a mere human. Black had held back his instincts for so long that he was more than ready to ravish you. He would make sure that by the end of the night you would be his and his alone, so dominatingly his that you wouldn’t ever think of any other man other than him. Not that anyone else other than him deserved you anyways.

You had a vague suspicion where this was heading, well, not that vague anymore, but you couldn’t care less. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him as much as he wanted you, because you too had been holding back. Letting out a shaky breath, you hesitantly began to undress, feeling him boring holes into you the entire time.

If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that you were teasing him with the way you were tantalizingly slowly peeling off you tattered clothing. Every inch of skin that you exposed made it harder and harder to keep his composure and he nearly roared in frustration. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you finished and began stepping into the pool, trying not to reveal too much to his prying eyes.

Could he have made it any more obvious?

***

The sound of what could only be clothes violently ripped off halted your progress, only waist-deep in the water, but you didn’t even have time to turn around before you were nearly tackled into the pool, a noisy splash resounding through the space. You didn’t even care that there was an enormous opening in the ceiling as hungry lips clashed against yours, teeth clashing painfully as a roaming tongue forced itself into your mouth. Hell, if there had even been anyone there to watch, you’d be sure to give them a show. You felt his hands wandering all over your body as he greedily devoured your mouth. Black obviously didn’t understand what taking it slow meant, but really, who would have expected anything less.

Couldn’t let him have all the fun now, could you?

In a surge of aggressiveness that Black was unfamiliar with, you yanked on his hair, pressing your naked, wet bodies hard against each other drawing out a delicious growl from his plump lips. All shame and inhibition were discarded. A feverish heat ignited in your nether regions and it took all of your self-control not to beg him to hurry up.

“Oh I’m going to enjoy this,” Black purred huskily in your ear, and you subtly wondered if it was even legal to be so attractive. But damn, you were ready to be a criminal. Anything and everything for him. Evidence of his arousal weighed hot and heavy against your thigh, and you couldn’t contain bucking your hips up into his.

“Black please….” You mewled against his chest, nearly in tears with wanton desire.

To your complete irritation he ignored you, instead settling to pepper open-mouthed kisses and bites to your neck and lips, one calloused hand massaging your breast before switching over to the other one. His robust, battle-hardened fingers danced dexterously over your nipples, and for a moment you thought you had died and gone to heaven.

Well, guess you could wait a little bit…..

Black swooped back to your lips, shoving his wet appendage back in your mouth and your tongues entwined in a fight for dominance, though you would inevitably lose. Panting loudly, you tugged at his bottom lip as he squeezed your ass, reveling in his pleased hum. He needed more, so much more of you. Every inch of you had to be his, and he yearned to taste it all. Dampness matted his long, black tresses to his forehead and gleaming droplets slid down his chest, and in a fleeting moment you briefly humored yourself with the idea that Black could have been a supermodel.

“What’s so funny?” Black rumbled, tilting his head questioningly at the tiny smirk on your face as you imagined him posing in front of a camera. What a time to let your imagination cut loose.

“Nothing.” You stammered, blushing even harder if that was possible.

“Oh really? Then I’ll give you something to smile about.” He didn’t give a warning as you felt a thick finger suddenly penetrate your soaking folds, making you squeal.

“Give me a signal next time!”

“I don’t really hear you complaining,” he grinned gloatingly as he began to pump his finger inside you while his thumb circled your clit.

You immediately forgot your retort and bit back a moan, his self-satisfied smirk growing wider as he watched you writhe. When he added in two more fingers, you really did let out a cry, the sound of your voice like music to his ears.

He couldn’t hold back anymore.

Black retracted his fingers only to be met with your whine, his dick pulsing and swollen with need. He led you backwards towards the side of the holy springs, ironically the place where you were indulging in your lust, and pushed your back against the soft moss and lifted your legs up, positioning his hips. Licking his lips, he gazed down at the sight of you, spread out just for him, your entire body aching with unmitigated eagerness.

“Black,” you whimpered, dragging him forward until the head of his leaking dick pressed against your vagina. “I need you.”

That was all he wanted to hear. In one violent thrust, he shoved the entirety of his huge member inside you, your walls stretching painfully to accommodate his girth. You dug your nails into his arm, legs quivering against his waist as you gritted your teeth to prevent a sob. He stayed still as you adjusted, impatiently waiting until you gave a small nod to signal that you were okay. A small, experimental thrust was enough to send you reeling and soon you were begging for more. The pain gradually lessened until it was overtaken by absolute pleasure. He angled his hips and hit the one spot deep inside you that made your vision go white, head dizzy from the feeling.

“More, Black, please more!” You almost sobbed into his neck, clenching your legs tighter around his hips, feeling his solid muscles flexing against your body.

“Only if you think you can take it.”

“I can! Please Black harder!”

“That’s a good girl.” His pace increased to inhuman speeds and he rammed into you even harder as you screamed in ecstasy. Every thrust managed to hit its mark, his head dipping to suck on your nipples while you clawed at his back, spurring him on.

The taut coil in your lower stomach was about to become undone, and by the jerking of his hips, he was about to too.

“Cum for me.” That simple sentence demolished the little control you had left and you let go, bliss hazing over your eyes and causing your silky walls to contract around him. Merely seconds afterwards he spilled inside you, letting out a throaty groan into your neck as you weakly caressed his back through it.

Shuddering, Black pulled out and you felt an uncomfortable sense of loss, as if a part of you had been torn away. You let out a complaining whine, reaching your arms out to touch him. He clambered out of the pool, turning back to haul you out onto the cloudlike moss as you promptly collapsed on top of him.

“That was amazing,” you smiled weakly, all the energy draining out of your body. You could feel thick liquid dripping down your quivering thighs, but at the moment you couldn’t care less.

“Mmm,” Black responded, tucking your head into his neck possessively and you didn’t have enough stamina left to try to coax anything else out of him. Even then, his grip was so secure, not that you would ever try to break out of it.

***

“Your mine Y/n,” Black murmured into your ear, and you could hear the triumph in his voice. “And you always will be. Now no one will ever be able to take you away from me.”

Your eyes began to droop and you were too tired to say anything else, but you knew that he was already aware of what you would have said. The rest of the world dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the two of you, entangled in the delicate web of what was called love. You listened to his heartbeat, focusing your rapidly fading attention on the thumping within his chest as the water cooled on your bodies, yet you felt no cold. And for the first time in a long time, you forgot about all your sorrows, all your shame and anger and fears and whatever else the world had burdened you with. For once, you could just be content, knowing that you were in his arms. They weren’t the arms that had brutally killed billions, no, to you they were something so much more. And if you were labeled a sinner for it, then you would gladly call him your greatest sin.

[whitefoxed]

Form Contract!

Send “Form Contract!” for our muses to form a magical contract bonding them together! — @algrimthestrong​, sent April 12th 2019, 3:16:42 am Chapter 1

P.S. Alternate verse where Vuhs never met Malekith and he’s speaking a dialect of Alltongue.

Vuhs flinched. He could sense the summoning coming from a distant place, with enough power to bring him there. A frown furrowed his brows. He was in no mood to play such games, he had an organisation to run.

The summons came stronger, striking an impulse for him to heed the call and accept it. Someone, somewhere, was offering deep magic for his services. Why him? There are other foxes… Vuhs froze, recalling his bloodline. A sacred one.

Looking at the blueprints of a new artillery engine on his table, he sighed. Blood was being offered. Tempting things were being offered, he could feel it in his bones. A different kind of hunger had him licking his lip and swallowing.

Fine.

Vuhs disappeared from his office on Earth and reappeared in the sigil, dressed sharply in his full black suit. “What is it, Älgrim Valgoth of Svartalfheim?”

The air was thick with the smell of blood by the time Algrim sat back to survey his work. The symbol had to be drawn precisely as shown in the book, or else the ritual would fail. Pressing a piece of cloth to the wound in his arm to staunch the bleeding, he compared the sigil he’d painted on the stone floor with the original illustration.

Algrim had found the grimoire tucked away in the Library of Sins, its pages stiff and brittle with age. It told of spirits, of demons, of powerful beings bound to do the summoner’s bidding - if one knew how to bind them to his or her will.

Clad in only a pair of loose linen trousers, Algrim gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm. The wound was deep - it had to be, to yield the amount of blood required to draw the magical symbol. He felt lightheaded, weak from the loss of blood, yet determined to see the ritual through to its end, driven by the burning need for justice - for vengeance.

Taking a slow, deep breath to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand, he began to recite the incantation. There was no immediate result, no flickering of candles, no whispers, no drop in temperature, nothing that indicated that his summoning had been successful. For several moments, only the sound of his own laboured breathing filled his ears, until—

The being that appeared in the centre of the sigil looked nothing like Algrim had imagined. A male, human in appearance, dressed in the fashion that was common on Midgard and looking absurdly out of place in a Svartalfheim dungeon.

Trembling with both exertion and excitement, Algrim climbed to his feet. When he spoke, his voice was raw with relief. “You came. You really came.”

He took several cautious steps towards the “man”, but took care not to cross the magical barrier. “I wish to employ your services, lord. I want you to help me kill someone - King Thryme of Jotunheim.” He spat the name like a curse, full of bitter hatred. “In exchange, I offer you wealth—” He nodded at a small wooden chest filled to the brim with rubies, “—the throne of Jotunheim, and—” Carefully, so as not to spill a single drop, Algrim picked up a silver chalice filled with blood - his blood - from the floor and offered it to the fox, “—myself, in any way I may be of use to you.”

The dark elf staring back at him was quite the sight. Sleek and strong, with cheekbones haunted by vengeance and a burning gaze of obsidian. Wafting around him was that alluring scent of offered blood which formed the sigil and dripped still from the elf’s arm. Vuhs licked his lips subtly. There was a difference between normal blood and that which is offered through magic. There was power in belief, one belonging to faith and the realm of ‘gods’. As per his bloodline.

Hunger. This was new to Vuhs, a sensation unlike any other. Of course, it was also his first time being summoned upon. He didn’t think anyone would have, in his time. And from what he heard from his mother… before they separated- it had not been done for generations. Vuhs waited silently with arms folded for the elf to finish exclaiming his appearance and get on with it.

Tilting his head to the left, Vuhs narrowed his eyes at the name. A king- naturally a Jotun from the sound of it- as such, a frost giant from the records he read in HYDRA. They have magic too, he supposed. What he wasn’t sure was if his own strength could compare to said king. Frost giants live much longer than humans- his own age aside, the mortal memories implanted in him were just that. Mortal.

And while he was considering such, the elf was already offering other things, which he merely gave a cursory glance at. Rubies- he could afford himself a chest if he wanted to. Though gems of such size would be hard pressed to find on Earth. He wasn’t very interested. The throne- why would he want to rule somewhere cold and unfamiliar? It wasn’t very alluring either. What did catch his attention though, was the chalice the elf was offering, inciting him to meet that careful gaze. Hm.

Silent moments ticked by as he considered, his silver blue eyes wandering between the chalice and the elf, with nary an expression on his face. Then all the sudden a burst of blue flames roared within the sigil, enveloping the area behind the barrier as Vuhs hair turned white, drifting with nonexistent wind. Ears and tails flared into view, as blue flames lighted up in mercury eyes and an opal claw tapped lightly on the barrier at the chalice.

“For that, and your true name, I can lend you my strength. You will be able to heal any wound in minutes as I guard you. You will have my speed and senses. You will be able to bear the deathly frost of Jotunheim. You can control the elements in your surroundings as I can. You will have my aide in illusion and glamour in your quest. ‘Tis what I will lend you.” He countered.

When neither riches nor the offer of a kingdom to rule over elicited the expected enthusiastic response from his visitor, Algrim was hard-pressed to fight off an encroaching sense of despair. Clearly, his offerings did not suffice. Only the chalice filled with his life blood seemed to be worthy of consideration, though the man’s expression remained unreadable, giving no indication as to whether or not he deemed the offer acceptable.              

Holding the other’s appraising gaze, Algrim waited in tense silence for the fox to reach a decision. The answer to his unspoken question came not in words but in actions, and he barely managed to stifle a gasp when the fox dropped his disguise and shifted into his true form.

As plain as his human appearance had been, as splendid was the fox that hid beneath.

While he had expected his potential ally to smite King Thryme on Algrim’s behalf, the fox’s offer to lend his strength to the elf so he may carry out the deed himself was more than Algrim had dared hope for.

He inclined his head to the fox. “Your offer is more than generous…” Algrim’s tone was one of apology. He was desperate, but not so foolhardy as to blindly accept the deal and place himself at an obvious disadvantage. His own life mattered little to him after losing his wife and children, but if he was to meet his doom, it would be on his own terms. Foxes were sly, mischievous creatures, serving only their own ends. There was no telling what he would get himself tangled up in.

Blood, Algrim would gladly give, but to give out his true name would mean to eviscerate his very being, to give the fox power over him and make himself a tool of his whims. It was a bargain he was not prepared to strike. “Not my true name.” His voice was hard with resolve. “I am afraid, my lord, but this is a price I can and will not pay.” He offered the goblet to the fox, urging him to take it and sample its content. “I offer you wealth, power, and blood from my own veins. Is this not yet enough?”

He was desperate, longing for a chance to avenge his family, but even in his grief Algrim was no fool. Making himself a slave to the fox was not the path to salvation, but to eternal damnation. “Surely there is something else I may offer you instead, some other way this humble elf may be of service to you?”

Polite the elf may be, his tone had Vuhs narrowing mercurial eyes at him. Then at the suspected rejection, the fox huffed lightly, lifting his chin in displeasure. Ears which were angled forwards swivelled to the side with much disinterest, expressing every bit of it as he turned away to pace in a circle within the sigil. “You offer wealth I do not want, a throne which is not yours to give, you think a mere chalice of blood is sincere enough an offering?” Vuhs shook his head haughtily.

Testing and sensing the barrier of magic, he could return forcefully to where he was on Midgard if he wanted. After all, it was only meant to summon him here and keep him from leaving the barrier without permission. Its purpose was met. The blood offering may be the only thing he was remaining in the sigil for. Redolent of power, along with the rest of the blood spilled about the room, was tempting him to stay. But it wasn’t enough for what Algrim wanted.

Algrim wanted Thryme dead, and while Vuhs wasn’t certain enough if he could kill the king and hence offered his abilities instead, imbuing the other with his power meant he also had to keep company for the magic to work. The chalice of blood was worth buying his time, but it was far from sufficient for the risk on his own life even if he went alone to assassinate Thryme. Hence, as much as he lusted after the elf’s offered blood, he could only turn his nose away from it. A bound contract was not to be taken lightly.

Mild frustration frizzled his tails a little. Curling them before him, he preened and smoothed out the fur delicately with his fingers. Vuhs glanced back up at the elf who was so desperately trying to bind him. “There isn’t much I desire. A loyal servant I can fully trust thereafter would be an acceptable offering, but you wouldn’t even give me your name.” Highlighting again his displeasure, the fox remained aloof as he stated what he wanted. For that was the only reason why he demanded it. It was obvious he did not trust the elf’s simple pledge of loyalty and service.

Contractors had a history of trying to cheat their way out of the contract once they got what they wanted.

As expected, Algrim’s refusal to yield to the fox’s demands was met with irritation. The fox’s spurning of Algrim’s offerings, in turn, put the elf in a predicament he had not foreseen. He needed the power the fox had offered him to avenge his family, and though he refused to reveal his true name, there had to be something with which he could persuade the other into consenting.

“One can never be wealthy enough, powerful enough, or wise enough,” Algrim argued. “I offer you both wealth and power - and I will gladly lend my knowledge to you as well. You are correct in pointing out that the throne of Jotunheim is not mine to offer,” he admitted, “but once Thryme is dead, the throne will fall to the one who killed him. You could appoint a regent if you do not wish to rule the realm yourself. Jotunheim may seem like a bleak and barren world, but it has plenty to offer. Ore from the mountains, forests teeming with game, and the Casket of Ancient Winters, one of the most powerful relics you may ever encounter.”

Algrim’s offer would have satisfied even the most capricious business partner. Still, he felt it was not quite enough to tip the scales in his favour. His shoulders were tight with tension and his eyes bright with despair as he watched the fox pace within the painted sigil. “You may call me Algrim,” he added, offering a long-due introduction, though not his true name. “What name do you go by, lord?” That the fox had not yet left was a good sign. It meant there was at least a modicum of interest present, despite his apparent reluctance.

“If you do not want to do business with me, then why not trade a favour for a favour?” Algrim suggested, trying a different approach. “A favour, for which I will be indebted to you until I  can repay it. You help me bring a monster to justice, and I offer you a safe place in exchange - a place here in Svartalfheim to which you can retreat should you ever find yourself in need of a refuge. I will be bound by my word, as is the law of my people,” he added, seeking to reassure the fox.

“What else could you possibly desire, my lord?” Algrim asked, his voice close to cracking as he felt his only chance at vengeance dwindling. “Would you have me disgrace myself, to fall at your feet like a common serf?”

Running his sharp claws through his fur, Vuhs listened to the elf’s appeal. Jotunheim was being sold like potential land. The Casket did draw a twitch from the pointed white ear, but the fox soon recalled what little he knew of it. A powerful relic, nevertheless. But it served his own purposes little. Vuhs continued grooming his tails. He had nine of them, after all.

The introduction of a ‘name’ lifted the fox’s silver gaze from its hooded focus, expressionless. Another offering was brought onto the table. A refuge. A way out. Vuhs’ gaze fell once more on the bright white of his own tails. “I need not a common serf.” He spoke once more after he sensed the other’s whittling confidence. “I need not, a throne that would be contested.” He continued, pausing in between. “I need not, a power that is not mine, however powerful it is.” Looking up again, his combing hand settled atop a tail, lightly resting on the fluffy cushion.

“I need not wealth I cannot spend. Nor a refuge I cannot allow myself to have.” Holding his gaze right with the elf’s, Vuhs gave him time for his words to sink in. “Because like you, I understand vengeance. However, unlike you, your enemy is one and final. Mine is not.” Silver eyes fell on the ancient sigil that the elf before him had found out of desperation, and in it laid all their skill and knowledge possible. Magic was never easy, a sigil was not simply a symbol drawn. It was also obvious the elf before him was not of a sorcerer’s grounding. Time, discipline, calculation and resourcefulness, Vuhs saw that in his summoning.

“You suggest a trade in favour, and offer your knowledge as well. Then, I aid you in the completion of your vengeance, and you, offer your time, skills and service, according to my wishes, till the completion of mine. My abilities as this favour, and the chalice for my time.” The fox lifted his chin with a certain finality, knowing the elf had offered all they could in their beseeching earlier. Vuhs ignored the request for an address.

There was no need to give a name when the deal was not finalised.

The fox bid his time. Silently, Algrim watched him as he stood grooming his tails, as if the action held so much more interest for him than what Algrim had just offered. Frustration coiled in his stomach, adding to the misery he felt deep in his heart, and the crushing sense of despair at seeing the deal he sought to strike slip through his fingers. The wound on his arm, too, had begun to bleed again, warm trickles of blood sliding over his skin and dripping onto the stone floor, but he barely registered it.

The fox’s taking apart every advantage Algrim had cited, squashing it into insignificance with shocking ease, almost shattered what was left of the elf’s composure. Each word had the bite of a knife to it as it sank in deep, shredding his hope to pieces until—

The fox’s mention of an enemy had Algrim perking up his ears. It was only natural that a powerful creature like him had made a few enemies of his own throughout the years, but the fox’s disclosure was still enough to surprise Algrim, as was his confession that he, too, was driven by a desire for vengeance.

Algrim was silent for long moments as he considered the fox’s counter offer. What did he have to lose? Nothing. Everything he loved had been taken from him. If he pledged allegiance to the fox, he would be granted a chance at revenge at least. There was no telling if he would survive such a dangerous quest, even with his strength and abilities enhanced. If he did, though, Algrim would hold up his end of the bargain. A favour for a favour.

“I accept.” His voice was oddly calm, as chill as winter mist. Stepping forward, Algrim went down on one knee, bowing his head in supplication as he lifted the chalice to offer his blood to the fox, urging him to drink.

Vuhs knew he wouldn’t have to wait long, watching as the elf considered his counter offer. Since they were not willing to give their true name, this was as close to a loyal contract he could get. And though he would not admit it, there were times when he felt too drained and exhausted to carry on his plan. He needed someone, someone who wasn’t a doll, a manufactured marionette, someone with brains that could pick up the pieces he missed, so he wouldn’t have to constantly watch his back. When the elf agreed, he would have smiled if it was his old self.

Instead the relief was minimal and he simply nodded, more than aware the probability of success ahead of them. Releasing his tails and walking back to where their barrier met, his hand reached out and allowed out of the barrier, to grasp the chalice. “Let it be so.” Sealing the deal, blood red runes rolled out from where their hands touched, running along their skin and spiralling like constricting snakes towards their hearts. Such was the effect of this ancient sigil and contract. Bearing the discomfort of a weight settling on his frame and sinking in, Vuhs helped himself to the fragrant blood that touched his lips.

Power surged through his veins.

Spreading from his abdomen to the tips of his limbs, it was a novel sensation that had his silver irises shrink to pinpricks. Different from the raw strength of magical power, what he expected to be warm was cold as biting winter, yet rushing like ice shards through the ravine of his veins. Oddly, what should have been painful felt refreshingly right. Like it was something he should have had, since he was born. A power that was originally his.

The barrier fell away. Vuhs swished his tails before they faded from view, the lowered chalice clean as if it never contained blood. His appearance returned to how he was when he first arrived. With a brush of his hand on the elf’s shoulder, Algrim’s wounds disappeared.

“Now, let’s get started. You may call me Vuhs.”

When at last the fox accepted the proffered chalice, Algrim’s shoulders sagged with relief and he let out a long exhale, but the moment was short-lived. From where their fingers touched, a burning sensation started spreading upward, needle pricks that travelled along his arm, into his shoulder, and towards his heart, causing his chest to constrict with pain. Resisting the urge to pull away, Algrim pressed his lips together tightly to let no sound of complaint escape him as he bore the sting of magical runes. Having read about this part of the summoning in the grimoire, he recognised it as the final stage of the ritual. Their deal was binding now, a contract sealed with magic and blood that could not be broken.

By the time it was over, a fresh sheen of sweat had formed on his skin. Algrim rose to his feet, watching silently as the fox consumed his blood. The effect it had on him was instantaneous. The fox seemed invigorated, revitalised, brimming with energy. Though he had made it a point to state his disinterest in Algrim’s offer, Algrim could tell the other was already benefitting from their deal.

His gaze dipped to where claw-tipped fingers curled around the empty chalice, a shiver crawling down his spine at the notion that a part of himself was now inside the fox. When the other touched his shoulder, Algrim felt his pain and exhaustion abate as new strength washed over him in cool, soothing waves. As it would seem, Vuhs had not been exaggerating when he had touted his abilities to Algrim. The deep, bleeding cut on his arm had disappeared, leaving only smooth, healed skin in its place.

“Lord Vuhs.” Algrim bowed his head in gratitude. “How are we to proceed from here?” Was there another ritual that had to be completed in order for the fox to transfer his powers to Algrim? While he was desperate to leave for Jotunheim, rushing into action was not the way to move forward. A quest such as the one that lay ahead of them required thorough planning. Maps had to be consulted, supplies gathered, and precautions taken to ensure the success of their journey. This was his only chance. Algrim would not fail. He could not fail.

“I would be honoured to host you for the night, so we may devise a plan of action.”

Tapping his foot lightly along one of the sigil’s lines, Vuhs lingered in the room where it still attracted him so. “There’s no need to call me Lord now you know my name.” He said upon hearing the address, pointing it out first before continuing methodically, nodding to accept the offer. “I would assume you have maps of Jotunheim and possibly Thrym’s lair, as well as some idea on travelling there from here. If not, we’d have to at least start from there.” Gesturing for the elf to lead the way, Vuhs calmly followed after.

Looking at his summoner, the fox’s features gradually changed, using glamour to mask his appearance once more. Fair skin took on a blueish sheen, gradually shading towards an almost metallic silver hue, while his short hair returned to its white flair, lengthening down loose to his waist. His ears too, tapered longer. Sliding his gaze from the elf to his own hand, Vuhs adjusted the shade of his skin further to his satisfaction. Within mere minutes, the fox was every bit a dark elf apart from his Midgardian garb.

“Tell me more about this Thrym, such as his personality and combat style. Until we have a few executable plans of action, then we can work on coordinating our combat style and get you used to having my senses and strengths. As for illusions and healing, they are techniques which require too long to learn. Therefore as long as I am around, I will perform as you dictate.”

It can’t be said that Vuhs was not rushing for time either. The summoning was sudden, and he still had a lot of work to do. Though he trusted his operations would not fail in the near future, and would even keep his disappearance a secret, he would not wish to risk all his plans and preparations from not returning soon enough. But he accepted this deal with the elf, and would see to it that Algrim finds the result satisfactory. It was his first contract of such sort after all…

“After that however, you have to rest.” Giving the elf a once over, Vuhs pursed his lips. Though his power - especially the new strength he had just absorbed - healed and replenished the elf’s stamina, evoking such magic and the effort to do so must have likely strained his summoner’s mind. Algrim needed rest, of a different kind. “It’s been this long, your revenge can wait another day.” Or a few, depending on how much they had to plan and train. Mildly concerned that the deal’s success would spur the elf to carry on, persuasion slipped from his lips.

As a former general and recently appointed advisor of the Accursed, Algrim was used to wielding authority. Giving orders and directing subordinates had become second nature to him during his many years of service. In Vuhs’ presence, though, he felt almost docile, ready to yield to the fox’s supervision. Vuhs was every bit his senior, perhaps not in years, but certainly in abilities. With Vuhs’ powers to call upon, Algrim was hopeful that the fiend who had made his life a living nightmare could be brought to belated justice.

“Of course we have maps.” Now that he was presented with a task to focus on, he was back in his element. “Jotunheim is a huge realm, a vast world of countless dangers and very few amenities. That the Jotuns have managed to thrive in such a harsh environment should be proof enough of their… superiority,” Algrim admitted bitterly. “As for Thryme’s lair, it is not so much a lair or a cave, but rather a well-guarded citadel. He is a brutal and cunning leader, with his nephew Laufey set to follow in his footsteps.”

Watching Vuhs out of the corner of his eye, Algrim could not help but marvel at the fox’s disguise. He did make a very convincing dark elf – no, not just convincing. Striking. His Midgardian attire, though, was very different from the clothes worn by the natives of Svartalfheim, drawing many a curious glance as Algrim led him though the castle’s twisting hallways. “They are called frost giants for a reason. Their kind relies mostly on their colossal strength,” he explained when Vuhs requested information about Thryme’s preferred style of combat. “The weapons they use are of the primitive variety. War clubs, spears, rocks, fists,” he spilled forth, eager to provide the fox with the information he needed to begin their training. “Stealth and speed will be our best bet for success. A poisoned blade may do the trick, but getting close enough to pierce that thick skin of theirs will be a challenge of its own.”

When they arrived at Algrim’s quarters, he held the door for the other man, waiting for him to enter first before following him inside. “May I suggest you change into something a little less conspicuous, Lo—Vuhs?” Masking his slip-up behind a practised smile, Algrim left Vuhs waiting by the door while he went to retrieve a set of clothes from his wardrobe. He held out a moss-green tunic, a pair of brown leather trousers, and well-worn boots to the fox. “If you are going to stay here with me until we are ready to depart, it is imperative that you try to blend in.” What they were about to do had to be done in secret. The king would not take kindly to Algrim going behind his back, which was why the advisor intended to have Vuhs stay with him instead of giving him a room of his own. It was safer to have Vuhs pose as a friend or lover than risk raising suspicions as to his identity.

“I will rest after we agree on how to move forward,” Algrim promised. Vuhs’ concerns were justified. At the moment, Vuhs’ energy still lingered in Algrim’s system, but that borrowed strength would wear off soon enough.

He pulled a folded map from a shelf and spread it out on his desk. “I know a witch who might be persuaded to help us travel to Jotunheim.” If Vuhs did not want the rubies Algrim had offered him, they might just as well use them to buy passage to Jotunheim for the two of them. “From there, it will be a journey of perhaps three or four days to Thryme’s fortress.” He indicated the route on the map, tracing it with a finger.

For all the dangers Jotunheim represented, Vuhs had an innate sense of superiority to a realm he had never been to. Ever wary of his inner workings, the fox reminded himself to take more caution and heed the elf’s advice. From Algrim’s words alone, he could visualise a sly ruler safely shielded within layers of ancient walls of medieval brute force. All the more cracks to slip through. “Do they have magic?” He found himself asking, another factor to be concerned about, though the frost giants seemed to prefer physical combat.

Entering the rooms without hesitation— the elf had no reason to harm him after all that effort to summon him here— Vuhs raised his brow slightly at the elf’s suggestion. He did not mind having to change outfits, doing as Romans do was standard practice. Taking the clothes, he opened them infront of the elf to double check if he knew how to appropriately wear them before putting them to a side. “I will change later when you rest.” Time was of the essence, and it would be better to finish their initial discussions while Algrim was still present.

Moving to the elf’s side, he studied the map unfurled before them. A swift glance to the side of it showed the map’s legend and scale. Unfortunately, it was not a script he could read. “Explain this. Also, are there other maps? Of our route to the witch, as well as the citadel? If we don’t have the latter, is there someone or somewhere we can buy such information from?” Used to such arrangements, Vuhs’s mind was listing out what he needed to know before Algrim could rest. He fully intended to continue planning while the elf slept. “If possible, I’d like a sample of Jotun hide as well, or at least something similar.”

Times like this, he missed human technology. Spying devices, temperature and bio scans all minimise mission risks. Though he doubted they could maintain functioning condition in Jotunheim climate. He also wanted to know the jotun guards’ shifts and routes. But that would have to come later. The fox did not expect Algrim to have all the details, considering he was but a one man mission before their alliance. If he did, he doubted the elf would even need him around at all.

As for now, he considered the option of poisoning their target that Algrim proposed. The elf who was so focused on revenge would have considered other options already before settling on such a suggestion. Rather than poisoning a blade, wouldn’t poisoning their food be much easier? “As for the poison you suggested, what is it? Or do you not yet have one in mind?” If anything Vuhs was frustrated about, it was the language gap. If he could read, he would simply ask for relevant materials and send the elf to bed.

[edeneben]

Melted Hearts

My take on the classic Icarus myth, in which Icarus fell in love with a god who was out of his reach.

(Part one of the story under the cut)

I walked through one of the many cobble roads in Athens, my eyes scanning the dull scenery around me. The people who passed by, holding the hands of their children or traded goods. The wildflowers that I could no longer bare to see. The sound of chatter and laughter rang through the air as  I walked, drifting away from the boring city. 

I hiked up a hill, over looking the town and my many worshipers.

Why must everything the universe has to offer be so dull? Whether I’m stilling upon my throne, ridding my chariot, or even down here, I can’t seem to stay entertained for long. 

While I may find distractions in the arms of my mistresses or paramour, they never last long. Our affections will fade with time; as there always comes a time whesn the truth shines its light upon us, reminding us that one of us will turn to ash in due time. It never happened before I had met Hyacinth. The mortal boy who stole my heart. The tears threaten to sting my eyes whenever I think of my lost love.

Though, I came here to forget of all of that. It was time to move on.

Perhaps not today, but maybe on the marrow. 

My thoughts faded away when I spotted a boy sitting on the edge of the steep cliff of the hill.

His dark, curly hair stopping barely above his eyes. His golden eyes burned brighter than any sun chariot I have drove. His sharp features where highlighted by the setting golden sun. He has this care free smirk on his face as he watched the sky. 

I could see it written all over his face, the longing for the freedom I had. The freedom to fly high above it all. 

Without thinking, I started to walk towards him. 

He turned his head at the sound of my steps, and his smirk widened into a smile as he said, “Are you here to see the sunset?” 

My heart nearly skipped a thousand beats. Mortals like him shouldn’t make me nervous, but for some reason, he has. “Yes, actually.” 

He scooted over and patted the ground next to him. I gladly sat next to him, tired of standing. Our knees barely brushed as I sat with him.

He was beautiful up close. He can’t be a mortal. It wouldn’t be fair if he was, everything would go up in flames before he experienced true happiness.

We talked for hours, barely noticing the sun setting and the stars that started to glow.

 His eyes stared off into the distant sky as he declared, “Some day, I’m going to fly. Maybe even high enough to reach the sun.”

But he already had, I was right next to him. “You dream wildly. What is your name?” 

He chuckled, even his laugh was like music to my ears. “Icarus.”

•••••••••••••

After our first meeting, it became normal for us to meet on that hill. Tonight, we had decided to meet later than usual. The stars were out, and my twin sister was hunting.

 You would have never found a pair of siblings more different, nor closer than we were. The air was cool and crisp. The dew on the grass shone brightly under the moon’s pale silver glow. 

When I peeled my eyes away from the view, I turned to Icarus. He seemed hung up in his thoughts. His mouth was a straight line, and the defiant sparkle in his eyes was gone. 

Needless to say I grew worried about my dear friend.

I gently placed my hand on his shoulder and asked, “What’s bothering you, Icarus?” 

He sighed and turned to me. His eyes were overflowing with pain filled anger.  “Can gods truly love?” 

His question had me stunned for a few seconds. 

“Of course we can.” I replied, concern making my heart grow weary.

He shook his head, making his hair fall into his eyes. I reached over to move it, but he brushed my hand aside. 

“Apollo, I mean real love. Not some meaningless affair with some mortal you won’t even care about if they were gone!” 

This was so sudden I almost didn’t know how to react. He had never been this upset with me. Yes, I have annoyed him, but this was much worse than that. He seemed deeply wounded.

“We can feel love. I know the difference between love and attraction.” 

He laughed bitterly. “Really? When have you ever been willing to loose everything for a mortal?” He asked as if I would have no retort to his taunts. 

“Twice.”

He stared at me with wide eyes. “What- What do you mean?” His voice was quiet and small. The bitterness in his eyes had faded and he looked so fragile. Like one wrong word and he’d shatter into a million pieces. 

“The first time, it was a mortal boy. The wind’s jealously stole his life from me.”

He brushed his hand against mine, as if he was too nervous to hold it. “I knew not of that.”

I chuckled without humor, “Not many do.”

He hesitated before asking, “When was the second time?”

“Truthfully?” I looked up at him. “Right now.”

He froze for a split second, his face hardening as he forced his guard up. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not jesting.”

“You can’t truly mean that.”

I smiled softly at him. “I do.”

I placed my hand on his cheek, my finger tips tangling into his curls. I ran my thumb over his bottom lip. His cheeks burned a deep reddish color. 

“I love you. I would risk everything to be with you.” 

I wasn’t lying. In fact, telling him that risked everything. I broke my father’s first law. I no longer cared what they thought of me. 

I leaned forward and kissed him. It was long, and loving.  He wrapped his arms around my neck. 

When we finally pulled away, he embraced me as he breathlessly said, “I love you too.”

•••••••••••••

He was almost here. He truly did keep his promise to fly to me. 

He refused to let go of me, even if it meant risking his life. 

I had flown lower in my chariot to reach out to him, to pull him back in, but as I hit closer, the air around him grew too hot. 

As his fingertips brushed my own he slipped away. 

I was screaming, I flew as low as I possibly could, I wanted to grab him, pull him close and keep him safe. I wanted to stop him from plunging into my uncle’s waters. I tried, I swear on the styx, but my father, Zeus, has grabbed me and pulled me back to Olympus. 

I punched and kicked. I screamed and cried out to Icarus. 

I wanted him to know that I was sorry. That this was all my doing. 

That I loved him. 

I just hope he heard me before he hit the water. 

I never deserved him.

•••••••••••••

“Oh, Apollo. I thought you would have learned your lesson by now.” Cupid taunted as he sat in front of me. 

I ignored him, or atleast tried to.

My hands were wrapped around the golden locket that shone the same color as Icarus’s eyes. I’ve only opened it once since I lost him. 

It contained a wax feather he flew with. It was scorched an melted, but still strangely beautiful. 

He was so close to doing what he always wanted to do, but never quiet reached it. All he was left with was beautiful melted gold.

My uncle, Poseidon, had obtained it for me. He and Hades were both very kind to me since that day. They seemed to understand, even though my own father couldn’t. 

This was all Cupid’s fault. He had tipped off my father about our love. 

He is responsible.

“What do you mean Cupid?” I asked, harshness finding its way into my voice. “What ‘lesson’ have you tried to teach me? Loss? Heartbreak? I have been through both many times before you don’t have to ‘teach’ me-“

He snapped and I fell silent. Silver dust danced through the air. His words were like the music that guided them along, listening and obeying him like note to music.

“Loss? No, that’s quite far from what I’m teaching you, but since you seem to keen to talk about him, why don’t we?” As soon as the words left his lips,  the dust turned into pictures. No- not pictures; memories. 

I was playing discus with Hyacinth. 

His ginger hair was tied back with haste, with curls falling out. His lips curved into a smile as he reached up to grab the disc. 

I felt my heart drop. I looked away and swallowed. 

I knew what happened next.

“Stop.” I protested, my eyes stinging.

“Fine, why don’t we talk about heart break then.”

I stood up quickly and yelled, “Stop toying with me! Just tell me what you want and leave me alone!” 

My hands were shaking, and an all too familiar feeling crept up on me. 

My throat felt like it trying to stop me from talking forever, and my eyes felt like they were on fire. Searing hot tears started running down my face.

He just sighed and shook his head, “How thick is your skull Apollo?” He leaned foreword towering over me, “We are gods. Do you not comprehend that? We can not have mortals. They are beneath us. Why do you think they worship us? We cannot love them. They can love us, but we’ll never, ever love them.”

I stared at him. I started to laugh in between my tears, “How stupid can you be for the god of love?! I love Icarus. I have truly loved. And now, because of you, I’ve lost it. You don’t have the right to tell me about love! You don’t even grasp its concept!” I screamed the last part.

He would never know what it’s like.

He will never understand, when you love someone, they matter more to you than the whole universe.

So much more.

•••••••••••••

“You must never tell your father you were here. Under any circumstances.” My uncle said as he lead me through his dark and eerily quiet palace. 

“Of course I won’t. If you wouldn’t mind me asking, why are you doing this?” I asked following him down a freezing corridor. 

He placed the key inside of the lock and slowly turned it. 

“I know what it’s like to love someone you shouldn’t.” His eyes filled with an unreadable emotion. 

I had forgot about Persephone, it was springtime, she wouldn’t return for months. I felt a pang of sympathy. He and Persephone truly loved each other, and if it were up to her, she would stay down here forever, but her mother would never allow it. Much like my father. 

As different as we may appear, my uncle and I were one in the same.

My uncle pushed open the door and said, “Just tell Thanatos when you would like to return, nephew.” And with that he left and allowed me to escape into Elsyium to look for him. 

My eyes glossed over every inch of land, and every blade of grass I could see. I ran as fast as I possibly could as I frantically searched for my lost love.

My eyes landed on a hill, not very different from the one I had met him on. 

I missed those days, when all I would have to do is ride down to Earth to see him. 

I ran up the steep hill until I finally reached him. 

He was sitting with his knees to his chest hugging himself. His care free smirk was replaced with a lonely and heart broken frown, he looked as if he hasn’t smiled since he arrived. I wouldn’t be surprised to know he hadn’t. He had a carefree and ambitious spirit, he never would think about his impending demise. 

I shook myself out of my thoughts and sat next to the golden eyed boy.

“Come to watch the sunset?” I asked. 

He looked at me with disbelief.

His eyes brimmed with tears as he threw his arms around me, with such a force we started rolling down the hill. 

By the time we reached the bottom we were both laughing and crying at the same time. He pressed a soft and loving kiss against my lips as he held me tighter. 

I never wanted to leave his embrace ever again for the rest of eternity.

[population-of-me]

‘Guardians of the Steeds’

‘Wings and Things’

Fandom :: ‘Guardians of the Steeds’  Fic-let ::  ‘Wings and Things’ Characters :: Estrella Kissed - Sun Kissed - Rain Fallen  Setting :: Kissed family’s home, Summer , Realm of Faerie  Warnings / Triggers ::  Child’s pov - Parental separation.  Word-count :: 1663 Author(s) :: Danny Darke 

In this brief glimpse into Sun Kissed’s early years, Estrella Kissed, Sun’s mother, breaks the news to her then 7 year old son that his father, Rain Fallen has ‘gone away for a while’. A poignant and sweet short story, evocative of childhood, with the golden magic of Faerie winding its way though the words.     

‘Wings and Things’

"Your father," Estrella said to Sun, as she tucked him into bed, and flicked a hand at the glow-balls, to set them moving in slow intricate patterns above the young child's bed. “Has gone away for a while.”

She looked different, Sun thought. Her eyes were stained red on the white bits, and there were dark marks beneath them against her creamy skin, making them look as if they were set deep in her face, and her face looked strange too, as though it had become all sharp angles. Sun didn't like to see her that way, but he didn't point it out, didn't say so. He watched the glow-balls as they changed colours and he tried to blame it on them, on the strange and beautiful light they cast, but somewhere inside he knew he was fooling himself, and that there was something upsetting his mother a very lot, and that his dad had disappeared.

“Will we see him again soon?” He asked her.  

"I don't know, darling," Estrella answered, "maybe, but maybe not." She always told Sun the truth, even back then she'd always been honest with him, and not just because she was Fae and she couldn't lie. Fae might not be able to speak outright untruth, but that didn't mean they couldn't imply, deceive, mislead, confuse, and generally twist words until you were telling them the black sky was white, and the blue sky red, because they had made you believe it so, and never a false word spoken.

"I will try to get word to him," she told him, "but beyond that I cannot say." That was enough for Sun. If his mother couldn't do it, it couldn't be done. "So?" She asked, calling his attention back to her earlier words, to before he'd interrupted. "Where was I?"

"You were talking about Daddy." Sun told her, pleased because he knew the answer was correct. “And saying that he had gone away.”  

"That's right." Estrella answered, forcing a smile for him. "Your father, Rain, was one of the Host of Heaven, the beings that are also called Angels. Angels have many different purposes; like fighters, and healers, and there are lots of others, but Daddy was a messenger, taking the word of Heaven to the world of Man, and occasionally to other worlds, on other planes, in other realms."

"Like here?" Sun asked, snuggling deeper beneath the covers, and half closing his eyes as she stroked his hair.

"Yes darling." His mother told him. "Not often, but sometimes Heaven has reason to talk to those in Faerie. And this time, it was Daddy who brought the message, and that was how it all started."

"That's how all the trouble started?" Sun asked, because he'd heard the phrase, and he felt kind of grown up using it.

But Estrella laughed, and it was a musical sound, like the chiming of bells, gentle and flowing as though it was carried to him on running water, like the little stream that went past their house. It went over the mossy rocks that were slippery to touch and impossible to walk on, and were the most beautiful shades of green and blue and purple, and it formed lots of bubbling, fast flowing waterfalls.

That laugh made Sun remember a day a few months previous when the three of them, she and Dad and Sun, had made paper boats and she had shown him how to sail the delicate little craft down the stream and over the falls, using magic to steer them into the current and stop them running aground in the little shallow pools at either side of the fast flowing water, or in the reeds that rippled like long green fingers, and snagged the tiny boats if they went off course and got caught and tangled in the long tendrils.

Dad's boats had been the most beautiful; intricate and lovely, layer after layer of paper sails that looked like dragons when the tiny breeze lifted them, their decks festooned with banners and flags that swirled around them as they sailed, but his magic didn't work here, Mum had explained afterwards when his boats had got caught time and again and in the end he had got up and walked away, standing alone and staring out into the valley the stream flowed down the centre of.

Mum had packed the boats away and she and Sun had gone indoors but Dad had stayed out there and it was much, much later when she'd gone out to him and they had spoken for a long time, voices too quiet for Sun to make out the words, but when they came in he had looked a lot like Mum did now, Sun thought, and he had been quiet and distant for days after.

"Well," Estrella said, her laughter dying away, "you could say that, though whether or not you'd call it 'trouble', depends upon your point of view, really. It was how Daddy and I met, and we ended up with you, so it definitely wasn't all trouble, because you are the best gift that Heaven has ever given anyone, or at least, I believe you are." She leaned down and kissed his forehead and when she straightened back up she was smiling again, less forced this time, and her golden eyes caught the light of the glow-balls and gleamed colour after colour with them, and for a little while Sun watched, entranced, while he listened to her tell the story.

"But you are right in some ways, darling. Daddy did get into trouble," she said, and her voice changed a little, became sad, and soft, and as far away as Dad's eyes had been that day, and even though she was right there Sun wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her back to him, in case she too disappeared as Dad had done. "Heaven doesn't like its angels to fall in love," she said, and her golden eyes glittered colour, and it was not until he was older and had looked back upon this moment that he realised she'd been crying silently, her tears catching the colours of the glow-balls even more brightly than her eyes had done. "And they punished him, and they took his wings away, and they threw him out of Heaven and took away his magic, and he was no longer Rain, but Rain Fallen."

"Oh." Sun said quietly. "Why that name?" He had always liked his dad's name a lot, just as he had always liked the falling rain, and the feel of it on his skin, the sound of it as it hit his window, and the way it dripped from the trees long after it had stopped falling from the sky.

"Because when angels are thrown out of Heaven it is called a Fall." Estrella explained. He hadn't had to take the 'Fallen' bit as name, but he had chosen to, finding some small solace in the irony, but she did not tell Sun that just then, did not wish to give him too much information to process in one go.

Sun hadn't known that before, about the name, or about the wings. He hadn't thought that his dad had once had wings, and that was why he did, too. It made sense to him now, the way it made sense that he had often felt his dad's eyes on him and when he turned Rain had been staring at his wings, his expression unreadable.

"Could he share my wings with me?" Sun asked, and Estrella put her hand to her mouth, and made a strange choked sound. "No darling." She said, her voice a whisper, "wings don't work that way, I'm afraid, but it is sweet of you to want that." Her hand faltered for a moment, and her fingers caught in his pale hair instead of running smoothly through it, but a moment later they were moving again as gentle as she always was. "I knew that he had Fallen, but I did not know where to look for him." She said, "and it was years before he found me again."

She did not say that after years and years of searching she had found him, in the mortal realm, barefoot, lost and broken, nor that he had tried again and again to end his own life, that his arms and his body were still scarred from his attempts, nor did she say that it was only after years more of living with her that he had become anything like sane again, because Sun was too young to understand. Those things Sun found out later, much later, from her and from others, when he was old enough that they made sense to him. But on that night he knew none of that.

"Oh," Sun had said again. Estrella had gone quiet, her hand steady as her fingers carded through his pale hair. "Has Daddy gone to find his wings, then?" He asked her.

"Not exactly." She told him. "He's gone to find how to live without them."

"And his magic?"

"Yes, darling, and his magic." She said more, but Sun was falling asleep and if he heard it, he didn't remember when he woke again the next day. He supposed that his dad never had found the things that he was looking for, because he never did come home again, and on the day that Estrella married Tamarin, Sun realised that he never would.

Sometimes Sun thought he felt his dad's eyes on him, or on his wings, but when he turned to look there was never anybody there and he thought he must have imagined it, but on those days he felt strangely comforted, as though even though Rain wasn't there with them, he was close by, and he would come if Sun ever really needed him.

Sun didn't know how to say that he really needed him every day.

[cry-stars]

For the au short fic meme, can I request #25? :o Because library goodness. X3 *squee* (I wonder what sort of books Envy would be interested in, too.)

Hey, this is late and terrible, but I finally got the time to finish writing this! Thank you for humouring me and sending me a prompt! I sort of veered away from library/book reading idea because I got horribly stuck with that route, and went for a more general storytelling idea instead. Also, it’s still pretty Kimvy-ish but I also wound up focusing a lot on Envy’s family (so there’s not as much Kimblee in it… I hope that the parts that he���s in are still satisfactory though!)

Memory’s Mystic Band

“And then what happened?”

Envy’s voice, quiet as it was, broke the spell of silence. Kimblee closed the book, setting it beside him. He got up from his chair, stretching, and stood before the fire. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow night to find out,” he said, smiling down towards the couch.

The nerve. “There isn’t going to be a tomorrow night,” said Envy, smugly enunciating into the couch cushion. “You have a job to do, Crimson Lotus. I hope that–”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Kimblee said lightly. He paced across the narrow apartment, around the coffee table and behind the couch. “I assure you that I won’t be able to rest until the job is done.”

“Then what do you call this, huh?” Envy gestured vaguely towards the book resting on the chairside table. “‘Storytime?’”

“You wanted to be entertained.” Kimblee leaned over the back of the couch, smiling fondly. “Or, at least, I thought you did. Perhaps I was mistaken. You might as well leave right now, so that I can get to work–”

“Wait, wait, hold the phone!” Envy flipped onto their back, looking up. “I never said that I didn’t want to be entertained. Not much work that you can do at night, anyway.”

“My point exactly.” Kimblee sat back down, crossing his legs. “Well then. In what way do you want to be entertained?”

Envy scowled up from the pillow. “You know how. Keep reading, Crimson.” “Ah, but I thought that you didn’t like this sort of thing,” said Kimblee, picking up the dog-eared book. “I thought that human works of art were worthless.”

“That was seven years ago,” said Envy carelessly. “A lot has changed.”

They weren’t going to say exactly what had; it was hard them to put a finger on the reason, actually. But Kimblee knew better than to push Envy further– at least, that’s what they hoped.

Kimblee only chuckled. “So mysterious,” he said. “But it is funny that you would find fairy tales so enjoyable.”

Fairy tales… was that what they were?

Lust hadn’t said what kinds of stories they were. But she had always known so many…

Those were some of the memories that Envy liked best: when Lust would come home from one of her liaisons, and somehow, she and Envy and Greed and, for those last couple of years, Gluttony too, would all pile together and listen to her stories. Things that she’d read in human libraries… she’d always loved to read…

“Read, now,” Envy snapped, flipping back onto their stomach. “I don’t see why I have to tell you twice.”

“No need to be so harsh.” Kimblee raised an eyebrow, but picked up the book nonetheless, leafing through the pages. “There had better be no interruptions, in any case.”

It had always been sort of funny, hearing about mermaids and fairies and things in these stories. After all, they were mythical creatures, full of mystery and magic, and Envy was something like that. They’d always listened to Lust’s lilting voice with what they imagined was a sort of distance, imagining what it would be like to be a simple-minded human, hearing these stories that were far beyond mortal understanding. They’d listened with a sense of superiority– after all, there was no siren more beautiful than Lust. There was no dreadful end for naughty children that was more terrifying than Pride’s shadowy arms choking the life-breath out of you. There was no old hag that was more horrifying than–

***

“Would you just stop, Greed.” It wasn’t even a question at this point, just a quiet statement of defeat.

Greed shrugged casually, leaning back against the wall. “Don’t try to paint me as the bad guy, kid. I’m just trying to help you. There’s lots of ways for you to be a little more–”

“I am well aware that there’s things that you don’t like about me.” Envy drew out the words with a sigh, arms hugging their own body as tightly as possible. “But you don’t always have to point them–”

“Guys.” Greed and Envy looked up from where they sat on the concrete floor. It was Lust, her skirt swishing gracefully around her legs as she walked towards them. “Do you have to make so much noise?” She sat between them, forcing an end to their quarrel. “I managed to make it to the library again today,” she said conversationally, withdrawing a small tome from within her jacket. “If you two will quiet down, I’ll consider reading this to you.”

They knew how to read, the both of them, but there was really nothing like hearing Lust’s quiet, smooth voice reading those pages. Envy looked questioningly towards Greed– they had no desire to continue the fight anyway. Greed’s eyes were unreadable for one moment, and then he shrugged. “Well, why not? But it had better be a new one.”

It was quiet for one moment, as Lust opened the book. “All in the golden afternoon,” she began softly, turning the delicate pages, “Full leisurely we glide…”

As she continued, Envy slowly leaned, bit by bit, against Lust, head against her shoulder. They… wouldn’t do that with anybody else (no one else would accept something like that) but they liked the feeling of her regular breaths, her shoulders rising and falling slowly.

“For both our oars, with little skill, by little arms are plied.”

Greed was quiet too; Envy peered discreetly over Lust to see what he was doing. Their brother rested against the wall, eyes distant. He looked remarkably handsome that way, Envy thought, without his mouth twisted in a sneer and his eyes full of taunting arrogance.

“While little hands make vain pretense our wanderings to guide.”

This was nice.

It was nice to have peace, and quiet, and a warm feeling, ever so rarely.

***

But Lust was gone now; she’d never read to them again; she was a cold pile of ash on the floor of Lab 3. Greed lived, but he was different in all of the wrong ways, and any memories of the few good times that they had had together were lost in the void, gone forever.

But the warm feeling hadn’t quite vanished, and the voice continued, but it wasn’t the same. It was somewhat unsure, hesitant,

“Alice! A childish story take, and with a gentle hand, lay it where Childhood’s dreams are twined in Memory’s mystic band.”

They… were somehow beside him now, head against his shoulder (sharp and angular, nothing like her soft shoulder), and his words pressed forward, lacking in feeling or emotion, other than an audible insistence on getting the words just right.

How had they…

Disgusting, it was disgusting, and Envy wanted to leap up and run away, but they couldn’t, because the poem wasn’t over yet.

Kimblee could sense their stiffness, it seemed, and pressed on, more mechanically than before. “Like pilgrim’s wither’d wreath of flowers pluck’d in a far-off land.” And then he was silent.

Envy jerked up off of the couch, landing unsteadily on their feet. “I’ve had enough entertainment,” they said, staring towards him.

“Alright,” said Kimblee, face blank. He closed the book. “But I don’t see what I did wrong. I was only reading. You were the one who decided to come and sit beside me.” He shrugged. “It’s, of course, all well and good, to dislike physical contact– I’m not all that fond of it myself– but to seek it out and then get upset at me…”

He just had sounded so much like her, just for a little while…

“I’m not upset,” said Envy, refusing to look him in the eye. “Stop saying that I’m upset, because I’m not.”

“Alright,” said Kimblee. They were both quiet for a long moment. Finally, Kimblee coughed, breaking the silence. “I… didn’t get all that much read, actually; that was only the prologue. So if you would like, I can start the first chapter.” He smiled. “And you can sit wherever you’d like to.”

They wanted to leave– it wasn’t acceptable, really it wasn’t acceptable to have shown such weakness. But home was so cold and lonely right now. It was only Gluttony, who Envy tried to watch out for in the same way that Lust had but they just couldn’t measure up to her, and it was only Greed, who Envy had already failed to make a good new impression on, and it was only Pride, who never had a positive word to say and was absent more often than not. And Father, who… Envy wasn’t sure about.

At least with Kimblee they were admired, appreciated. Not like at home.

Envy shrugged casually, purposefully sitting down on the couch across from Kimblee. “Well, why not. I have nothing else to do. But just a little more.”

Kimblee nodded, cracking the book open once again, flipping a few pages in to begin the first chapter.

Kimblee’s voice, reading the pages of Alice, was more enjoyable to listen to now than it had been before; it wasn’t so similar to Lust’s now, and carried a different tone of its own. The nonsensical human “art” that he read almost sounded profound.

Envy stared up at the ceiling, and decided that, if Kimblee wanted to, they’d let him read all night. There was no sense in rushing off before the story was told, after all.

[mystery-moose]

TAZ FIC: The Queen's Command (2,000 words)

Post-Canon. [AO3 link]

Kravitz receives an unusually urgent summons – his Queen wishes to speak with him, and she seems less than pleased.

The grim reaper receives a reprimand. The god of death always gets what she wants.

Kravitz knew when his Queen wished to speak with him, because She would make it known. Sometimes it would be through the small medallion with Her crest that never left his neck, other times through another emissary – the birds were Her favorite, heralds of Her will – but, on rare occasions, She eschewed any such formality.

Sometimes Kravitz simply felt Her pull. Aggressive and insistent. She was, after all, a part of him – or, more accurately, he of Her. Kravitz could not resist Her command, just as his own hand could not resist his. Not that he had any desire to.

(Kravitz did wonder, at times, what precisely he was to his Queen. When She looked at him, did She see a person? A being? Or was it simply another aspect of Herself, like looking into a microscope and regarding one of the millions of cells that made up a mortal creature?)

Now was not the time for wonder or introspection, however. Kravitz tore open a portal, stepped through, and found himself in his Queen’s chambers.

The Raven Queen lived apart from the realm She held dominion over. Kravitz always felt a strange sensation pass through him whenever he entered Her presence. He guessed they were at some mid-point between the Astral and Celestial planes, a space between spaces in which the Raven Queen conducted Her business.

He stepped forward, looking around. The room appeared the same as it always did: an endless sea of stone columns, lit by torches of blue fire and the delicate wisps of pyreflies. The columns stretched in all directions, each marked by the same unending pattern of runic symbols – the names of all those who had ever lived, their births and deaths, carved into the stone in an artful and wholly incomprehensible script.

Kravitz turned in a slow circle. The Raven Queen was not present to greet him. Odd. He cleared his throat.

“My Queen,” he said respectfully, voice echoing into the distant darkness. “You summoned me?”

“Yes.”

Kravitz startled, but didn’t jump. He turned to face Her.

When he had first crossed over to the Astral plane, the Raven Queen had appeared to him. She took the form of a woman in black, a dozen feet tall, hooded and veiled with a feathery cloak the color of midnight. Kravitz threw himself on the ground before Her, said the words he’d repeated in Her temple all his life, done the sort of things one supposed they should before a god. The Raven Queen had conducted Herself with the dignity and gravity befitting Her position, and when She had bent Her knee and lifted his head, his Queen had offered him the job that would come to define his new, unearthly existence.

How different things were now, he thought, as he saw Her now; not a woman at all, no, nothing so simple. He had learned later, from others in his line of work, that whenever She appeared to mortals, She took a simpler form for their benefit, something they could parse and comprehend. It made the initial job offer go smoother. As time had gone by (in as much as any time truly passed in the Astral plane) his Queen had revealed more of herself to Kravitz, a sort of familiarity growing between them, until She appeared as She did now.

The Raven Queen filled his vision. A barely-comprehensible assemblage of pitch black feathers, strong wings, sharp beaks, gleaming talons, and shining eyes, all in a multitude of shapes and sizes. There was a vague shape to Her, an outline that seemed to shimmer and warp, as if space itself struggled to capture what She was. When She moved, it was in indistinct billowing clouds of shadow that formed as She needed them and disappeared when She didn’t.

Kravitz bowed, deeply and respectfully. “My Queen.”

“Kravitz,” She said, in a voice that was many. “How good of you to come.”

He was glad he hadn’t bothered to put on his skin for this; it made it easier to hide his frown. What was that tone She took? And why did She say that? Of course he came.

“I exist at your pleasure, my Queen,” he said, hoping that was enough to convey his meaning.

The Raven Queen drew closer to him, large taloned feet clicking against the stone floor while great wings stretched and flapped behind her. Sometimes She didn’t bother defining a specific head for Kravitz to look at or speak to, and he would end up keeping his eyes low to the ground, or staring somewhere in the center of Her mass. Kravitz found this frustrating and uncomfortable. Initially, he had wondered if his feelings were simply so far beneath Her concern that they didn’t register. These days, he was certain She simply enjoyed making him squirm.

“That is true,” the Raven Queen said, one of her great feathered heads briefly looming over him. “You exist at my pleasure. You serve my will. You do only as I wish. Is that not so?”

Kravitz would have swallowed, had he a throat to do so in that moment. He looked up to meet one set of Her eyes. “Yes, Your Highness. That is so.”

“You are a part of me,” She said, Her voice growing somehow larger as the head he’d been addressing shifted lower, down towards the center of Her. “As I am a part of you. Intrinsic, and inseparable. Like all mortal things. Is that not so?”

Now he would be sweating, if he had the capability; his Queen had not spoken so formally to him since the breakout from the Eternal Stockade, some years ago. It had been a reprimand, then. So what did that make this?

“That is so, my Queen,” he said solemnly, lowering his gaze.

She lowered one of Her many heads to his eye level. Its dark eyes blinked as it tilted.

“So, then,” She said slowly, an edge of regal menace in Her echoing voice, “if you truly understand that all this is true…”

Kravitz braced himself, though he didn’t know why – it wasn’t as though the Raven Queen had to physically strike him to destroy him. What had he done that had displeased Her so? What sin had he committed that deserved this scorn?

“My Queen,” he ventured cautiously, “I–”

One of Her massive feet slammed on the ground and She loomed closer. Kravitz fell silent. He didn’t move, his hands still held behind his back, his head still bowed respectfully.

“Kravitz,” She said, her words dripping with disappointment. “Of all my emissaries, I had thought you better than this. So many faithful years of service, so much shared between us…”

Kravitz ground his teeth in his skull. He squeezed his hands tightly and heard the bones creak.

“…and you don’t even invite me to your wedding?”

He jerked his head up instantly. The head in front of him, as grim and unreadable as any common raven, seemed to grin somehow. It tilted its head and its feathers ruffled as it clicked its beak.

“I – you – that is–”

The Raven Queen’s laughter filled the chamber. The pyreflies danced, bright blue lights flickering in the dark.

“Dear boy,” She drawled, Her size shrinking considerably, “forgive me, but you are such a stiff, sometimes.”

Kravitz sighed, pinching the bone above his nose as She laughed at Her own terrible joke. This, he was far more familiar with. “Forgive me, my Queen, but is that what this is about?”

“Of course!” She said lightly, now only around ten feet tall, a thin sliver of the massive presence She had taken before. “Birthdays, I understand. Time is looser in my realm, and they stop having meaning after a while. But weddings? Kravitz, I should think I merit a wedding.”

“Of course you do, my Queen. I merely–”

“I mean, really, what the hell do I have to do? Ask to come?” She huffed, and all of her feathers ruffled at once. The sole raven’s head atop what passed for Her shoulders turned away in disgust. “And here I thought we were more than employer and employee.”

“Your Highness, please–”

“Now, I know that I haven’t been able to offer you a retirement package, or allow you to use your accrued vacation time,” She said clinically, “but that is simply the way things are. We’re swamped! What am I to do, let the laws of life and death slip a bit here and there because one of my employees went on honeymoon? We’re not a stationary store, we’re the guardians of mortality itself, you know that–”

“I’m well aware,” Kravitz said loudly, taking the risk of interrupting Her. “I’m not ungrateful for the time I’ve been given, I can promise you that.”

The Raven Queen bent and peered at him. “Well, then?”

Kravitz made a noise in the back of his throat and scratched at his cheek with a bony finger. “I… merely thought you had more important things to do.”

“Do I seem busy to you, my boy?” She said sardonically, sounding simultaneously old and young, petulant and aloof.

“Not at the moment, my Queen, no.”

Her head tilted, peering at him with one large black eye. “Well, then?” She repeated.

Kravitz sighed and settled his shoulders. “Would you do me the honor of attending my wedding,” he said flatly.

His Queen gasped, rearing back to Her ten-foot height. “Why, Kravitz, what a lovely thing to be asked by a friend! The honor would be mine!”

Again, he was glad he had no skin, that She could not see his sneer. “Many thanks, my Queen.”

“Shall I give you away as well?”

“I–” Kravitz froze. “Pardon?”

Her head seemed to grin again.

“That won’t be necessary, Your Highness,” he said wearily.

“Oh, please?”

“No, I’m quite alright, thank you.”

She tutted. It sounded like a caw. “You’re no fun.”

“Yes, my Queen,” he said rotely. “The wedding is–”

“July the 27th, one o'clock, just north of the village of Greendale, with a reception to follow.”

Kravitz stared at Her. Her many wings flexed, out and in. He imagined She thought this made Her look innocent, somehow.

“Shall I bring a hot dish?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly. “My husband will be minding the catering himself.”

“Ah, yes. Of course he will.” The Raven Queen tittered, and it sounded like a schoolgirls’ choir. “And no need to worry about my appearance, I’m sure I can find something unassuming to slip into.”

“I’m sure,” Kravitz drawled. “If that’s all?”

“Yes, my boy, that’s all for now.” She dismissed him with a wave of Her wing, sweeping as She turned away. “I won’t keep you from your family any longer.”

Kravitz bowed, as deeply and respectfully as he had when he entered. “Thank you, my Queen.”

“Thank you, Kravitz. Give my best to your fiancée,” She replied seriously, Her head turning towards him in profile. “I’ve not forgotten what all of you did. I never will.”

Kravitz had no response to this, no words that could adequately express what it meant. He merely nodded and turned away, cleaved a hole into the Astral plane, and left without another word.

He was already rehearsing how he’d explain this to Taako. He’d probably find it deeply amusing. Probably.

The day of the wedding, all the invited guests arrived, save one. It was only when he stood waiting at the altar that Kravitz noticed the raven perched in the oak tree behind the audience. A fair bit larger than average, it regarded him with a thoroughly imperious stare.

When Taako finally made his appearance – strutting down the aisle with his arms thrown wide, glittering pyrotechnics and fountains of sparks shooting up behind him as he walked – Kravitz was certain he saw the bird grin.

And as the ceremony concluded, and Kravitz dipped Taako down for a passionate kiss, he was equally certain he heard a raven’s caw intermingled with the cheers and applause.

[blackwatersbonefish]

#svsss au#svsss#scum villain au#scum villain#scum villain self saving system#shen yuan#shen qingqiu#luo binghe#liu zhihao is indeed based off liu qingge. i am a multishipper at heart and liushen is a delicious ship. XY and LZ i think were very devote#to each other regardless of if it was romantic or platonic. they're besties! and im a sucker for devotion in all aspects. its neat :)#XM eventually tells LBH about how he used to be human once and he tells him about his Xiao Zhi. and that he hopes Xiao Zhi was able to reac#ascension in his absence. LBH silently seethes with jealousy and abandonment issues a mile wide. he asks XM if he misses him. XM gets this#unreadable distant look on his face that makes him look far more mortal than is comfortable. then he mutters 'yes.' LBH hates it#Cang Qiong sect gets miraculously spared by Luo Binghe on account of 'my demonic sword grew up here and he'd be upset if i ruined it'#does LZH look like LQG? ...i want to say yes bc itd be crime to derive SY of LQG's beauty even if he never knows what LQG looks like#imagine XM as human coming to clash with YQY. he takes one look at YQY. then at Xuan Su. before going 'we're alike. you and i.'#rip SQH. executed for the crime of *checks scroll* making XM laugh before Binghe could. making XM laugh at all actually#XM is usually very reserved and restrained but for the first time in a thousand years he's met someone just like him. the emotional rush#is intense. SQH asks him later how long he's been Xin Mo. expecting like. at LEAST a few years now or after him but then XM blinks at him#and then mutters something about how he's lost track of time. oh hey btw what year it is??? he forgot to ask. SQH tells him and Xin Mo says#'oh! about a thousand years now' 'WHAT' and XM tells him about being Xin Yuan which SQH was not expecting. whether thats because#he genuinely wasnt expecting it or it was part of his outline or an idea he messed around with and didnt expect to make it into the world#SQH tells him about the legend of Xin Yuan. XM is stunned. he asks about Liu Zhihao. LZH made it into legend too. which XM is very#pleased by. 'good. he deserves it for all the hard work he put in.'

Okay so this is almost a direct copy-paste of my earlier reblog but only the Xin Yuan parts, because its long enough to be its own post and i want to share it! It deserves it's own post <3 typical starry stuff to write a 2k word long reblog, unfortunately.

I say almost because I went through to proof read and ended up adding more stuff.

I've been cooking on this idea for the last two days since I saw the Xin Mo!Shen Yuan post but??? I can't find anything on Xin Mo's backstory or how it came to be -- which means that's free fucking plot right there baby. That's a sandbox and im making LIFE SIZED CASTLES. I'm so excited.

The idea of Shen Yuan transmigrating centuries before the events of PIDW as Xin Mo -- but when he wakes up, he's not the sword. He wakes up in the body of a young boy named Xin Yuan. Now it makes sense for this boy to be a demon, but the drama, the intrigue, the spice of Xin Yuan being a human child.

SY wakes up as a boy below the age of ten, and the System tells him where he is, and SY is excited to meet his favorite protagonist -- only to gradually realize that he's like, a thousand years or so before the events of the novel. The rant he gives the system is legendary.

Bc what's the point of getting dropped into PIDW if he's never going to meet his favorite character??? This is a scam! BUT he settles into his new life, he's like, some orphan street rat or some other tragic airplane-esq backstory.

The system gives Shen Yuan his first mandatory quest: become a righteous cultivator. Which was like, kinda his plan/hopes anyways, except! There's like?? No official cultivator sects anywhere? The Cang Qiong Mountain Sect hasn't even been established yet, and there are pockets of cultivators running around, maybe some groups or schools popping up and then sinking back down, but nothing's really taken root!

If he asks someone how to become a cultivator, there's no straight answer. No "oh you can go to X to do that". He's pissed! How can he become a cultivator if there aren't any schools around to teach him? Deus ex machina, that's how.

Out of sheer luck, SY manages to help save a rogue cultivator, and promptly gets adopted by said rogue cultivator, who gives SY the name 'Xin Yuan'. He is ecstatic. And you know what? It's actually pretty fun!

He's getting to travel the world of PIDW in its early stages, and gets to see the building blocks for the eventual main story. He's discovering all this local flora and fauna that are foreign to his old world and unmentioned in the book, and he's learning cultivation! Granted, its unsafe, newly(ish) discovered cultivation, but it counts!

Wistfully, he thinks about perhaps he'll do something grand and get his name carved into legend. Something that would eventually help the protagonist later down the line in his quest for revenge.

The system remains silent to his thoughts.

But Xin Yuan doesn't take much stock in that daydream anyways. It's nothing more than fantasy to him; wish-fulfillment. He does discover however, that he is positively brimming with spiritual energy. Overwhelmingly so.

It's both a blessing and a curse, as it puts a strain on his meridians if he's not careful, and leaves him prone to qi deviations for the exact same reasons. He already has a heart demon or two from a few traumatic experiences in the past.

(bc hey! angst a day keeps the writer sadism at bay, and all that)

I'll say he's about... eight when he gets picked up by the rogue cultivator, who I'm calling Lin Kai bc he deserves a name. They travel around PIDW up until Xin Yuan is twelve, where he goes through a traumatic experience that results in a heart demon.

It's after that that Lin Kai decides to put a stop to his wandering, and find a place to settle down to raise Xin Yuan in. Coincidentally! They settle down in a nice mountain region that's thriving with spiritual energy. The mountains at the time were called something different, but they will be eventually known as the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect

Coincidentally, the mountain Lin Kai and Xin Yuan end up on is Qing Jing Peak. XY does not realize that the mountain he's on is Qing Jing. The System does not tell him. But he likes it there, more than he was expecting. And as much as he's traveled around, he really does enjoy being in one place.

He has a tendency to go down the mountain and help the village setting up down there, and when he's a teenager he starts venturing out more and more.

Xin Yuan forgets sometimes that he's in a novel, especially after settling down on Qing Jing peak. The system becomes remarkably quiet since there's no quests for him to do and not a ton of opportunities to get B-Points. He cultivates with Lin Kai, helps tend to the garden they're growing, goes down to the village to play with the other kids.

There's one boy he's best friends with, a boy whose not all that good with words, named Liu Zhihao. He's got potential for cultivation though, so Xin Yuan drags him up the mountain when he can so that Liu Zhihao can sit in on lessons with Lin Kai. He drags him all over the forest at the foot of the mountain to go look at bugs and animals.

(One time, when they're fourteen and Liu Zhihao has been learning cultivation for a few years now, Xin Yuan drags him out of bed late one night to go look at the stars. Xin Yuan tells Liu Zhihao about ascension -- something that still feels like a far off dream to many in this time -- that night, while they're sitting on the wet grass.)

("We should ascend together." Xin Yuan tells Liu Zhihao, jade eyes gleaming. Never let it be said that Xin Yuan doesn't love deeply, no matter what kind of love it is. He was always so lonely as Shen Yuan, Liu Zhihao is his best friend. "We'll become immortals, and then we won't ascend until the other is able to.")

(Liu Zhihao stares at him silently, his face unreadable. Then, quietly, he asks; "Promise?")

("Promise.")

When he starts adventuring outwards, further away from the mountain and the village, Liu Zhihao sticks to him like rice. Not that Xin Yuan's complaining, that's his best friend after all, and Liu Zhihao has become a formidable cultivator. He deserves to show off his skills.

He starts making something of a name for himself by the time he's, like, 18 -- although that name is in its baby steps, along with Liu Zhihao. They're slowly growing renown.

Perhaps XY uses his knowledge of PIDW and cultivation in general to help make advancements in the cultivation field. Although the system prevents him from sharing too much, it doesn't mean he can't practice it himself. Perhaps he's one of the first cultivators to develop a golden core. One of the first known immortal cultivators. One of the first to have a spirit sword.

(Although I don't know the logistics of any of this since my knowledge on xanxia/cultivation stuff in general is all still pretty new and google wasn't all that helpful lol.)

Either way, its my excuse to eventually make Xin Yuan come across as ethereal to other people. Peerless beauty SY for the win. Hs wifebeam is too strong, Xin Yuan has a line of suitors following after him and he's completely unaware of it. The rest of history is not.

Demon realm stuff has been stirring up since Xin Yuan was a kid, but at the time it was rare and in the beginning stages. Its been steadily ramping up and the system is sending him on more and more treacherous quests -- some of them mandatory, some optional. SY doesn't often take the optional ones unless it comes with a sufficient B-point reward.

for all intents and purposes though, he's a wandering rogue cultivator with Liu Zhihao, going from place to place to either help a town or village, or to discover more creatures or artifacts (although there aren't that many). Just all around living his life. He participates in a few major quest lines that are sure to get him mentioned in legend, even if it's a background character way.

(Unbeknownst to him, rather than being a side character in these legends, he's named directly. You can't become one of the first immortal cultivators and NOT get name dropped for clout.)

He has a spirit sword named Shā Mó, (杀 shā - to kill/weaken/counteract/reduce) (魔 mó - evil spirit, demon, possession). He routinely goes back to QJP to see Lin Kai, or to rest when traveling has worn down on him and he wants nothing more than to sleep somewhere he knows he'll be safe in. It becomes more frequent as Xin Yuan becomes more famous. Liu Zhihao often comes with him.

it all comes to a head though when the rifts between the demonic realm and the human realm become too great, and the balance between both realms becomes unstable. A demonic emperor's influence, wanting to merge the two realms so he could conquer both to satiate his own greed.

Typical evil king stuff. This comes to a climatic head in a great battle between every cultivator available and the demon emperor's army. Xin Yuan was one of the many who helped lead the charge.

In the end, it was Xin Yuan who ends up defeating the demonic emperor, but the rift that the emperor used to cross between worlds is destabilizing as well. Except instead of trying to close, it's getting bigger and bigger, threatening to swallow the heavens and earth and demonic realm whole.

You know how Yue Qingyuan's soul is bonded to his sword due to a qi deviation? Let's take it a step further >:)

Xin Yuan uses himself and Shā Mó to close the rift. However, it takes all of his spiritual energy to do so, as well as him filtering the demonic qi into his body to redirect it back to the demon realm.

In the end, Xin Yuan and his beloved sword Shā Mó fuse. Xin Yuan's soul becomes trapped in the sword. His physical body is unable to handle the immense amount of power it takes to close the rift, and is destroyed. He is immortalized in legend by his grieving cultivators.

(Liu Zhihao ends up ascending alone. He ascends with the hope that one day he'll see Xin Yuan again, even if it's in the face of someone else. Lin Kai does not ascend, too weighed down by the grief of losing his son.)

Xin Yuan, now Xin Mo, falls into a stasis. He's very confused and disorientated when he regains 'consciousness'. The system has been silent for most of his life, only popping up to give him mandatory quests, hints, points, or to answer any questions.

But once he wakes up, it cheerfully pops up again, congratulating him on completing the origin story of Xin Mo. SY freaks the fuck out. he'd shake the system screen if he could, but he doesn't have arms. or legs. or eyes for that matter.

He can sense his surroundings, but its all like imprints to him. He can sense the energies, but he can't see anything. It's all very disorientating and horrifying after years of being human. Like a sensory deprivation chamber.

The closing of the rift and the cycling demonic qi tainted both Sha Mo and Xin Yuan irreparably, and it did some kind of damage that resulted in SY needing to feed in order to use the spiritual powers. Kinda like how Xuan Su uses YQY's life force for it's spiritual energy, but instead of feeding on his own lifeforce, Xin Mo feeds on others.

The rest is history. Xin Mo is originally tied to the story of Xin Yuan -- believed to be all that remained of the man after he sacrificed himself to keep the realms separate. It's believed that the force of the realms closing permanently infused Sha Mo with demonic energy, turning it into Xin Mo.

But, like many stories do when faced against the tide of time, things get lost; chipped off; changed. Xin Mo is steadily separated from Xin Yuan, especially once it becomes clear how parasitic the sword really is, until they are all but separate entities themselves and the origin of Xin Mo's creation all but forgotten.

The years blur together when Xin Mo is not being wielded, and at first Xin Yuan was agonized by the fact that he stole the lives of all his wielders. He knows it's only a novel, but his decades spent in this life have softened him, and he's grown attached to the world around him.

But time erodes the mind like water erodes stone, and he becomes numb to it, then eventually anticipating of it. He forces himself to remember what he knows of PIDW's plot, and kinda fixates back on his old obsession on Luo Binghe. But while PIDW stays in his mind, his memories as Xin Yuan fall to the wayside.

Not forgotten, per se, but... tucked away. The system prevents him from forgetting fully.

Xin Mo isn't fully a demonic sword either i think, but instead harbors an ugly cocktail of both spiritual and demonic qi. Special circumstances and all that. Everyone just assumes he's a fully demonic sword because that's usually at the forefront, his spiritual qi weakened from the initial fusion and from years of not being fed spiritual qi. It's part of the reason his wielders always end up destroyed by him, other than the whole, yk, 'overwhelming qi' thing.

Nobody would recognize Xin Mo's human form as Xin Yuan other than some truly ancient demons. Of which Meng Mo might. But even that's iffy because there's a lack of surviving paintings of Xin Yuan, but also because of XM's demonic appearance and supposed lack of connection to XY.

Xin Mo has never spoken to his wielders before, not in the same way he does Luo Binghe. He tells Luo Binghe this, and he also tells Luo Binghe down the line that he is both spiritual and demonic -- something he also never told his wielders because there was no point to it.

okay okay i've got to end it here because its already gotten ridiculously long -- of which im both apologetic and unapologetic for -- but i DO think the Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan meeting (and reveal) would be fucking hilarious. Especially if SY has learned how to pop between sword form and human form by then -- although i guess it doesnt matter either way because SQH's reaction is still the same.

And that reaction is internally screaming and going "hey what the FUCK?? WHY DOES XIN MO HAVE A HUMAN FORM??? WHAT IS THIS??? SYSTEM??? EXPLAIN???"

meanwhile from his place on the sword hilt xin mo is squinting at Shang Qinghua in bewilderment and going "aren't you supposed to be dead" but doesn't pay too much mind to it because its not like its going to change anything.

...up until he catches shang qinghua going "WTF" silently from his little corner while all eyes are off him. One moment SQH is standing beside his king, and the next he's been tackled to the ground by one wild-eyed, human-shaped Xin Mo.

everyone, including SQH, thinks Xin Mo is going to kill him. It is a surprise to everyone when he does not, and instead dissolves into deranged, uncontrollable laughter after spitting out some phrase in some ancient tongue and watching SQH's eyes grow wide in recognition.

[edeneben]

Melted Hearts (Part 1)

I walked through one of the many cobble roads in Athens, my eyes scanning the dull scenery around me. The people who passed by, holding the hands of their children or traded goods. The wildflowers that I could no longer bare to see. The sound of chatter and laughter rang through the air as  I walked, drifting away from the boring city. I hiked up a hill, over looking the town and my many worshipers. Why must everything the universe has to offer be so dull? Whether I’m stilling upon my throne, ridding my chariot, or even down here, I can’t seem to stay entertained for long. While I may find distractions in the arms of my mistresses or paramour, they never last long. Our affections will fade with time; as there always comes a time whesn the truth shines its light upon us, reminding us that one of us will turn to ash in due time. It never happened before I had met Hyacinth. The mortal boy who stole my heart. The tears threaten to sting my eyes whenever I think of my lost love. Though, I came here to forget of all of that. It was time to move on. Perhaps not today, but maybe on the marrow. My thoughts faded away when I spotted a boy sitting on the edge of the steep cliff of the hill. His dark, curly hair stopping barely above his eyes. His golden eyes burned brighter than any sun chariot I have drove. His sharp features where highlighted by the setting golden sun. He has this care free smirk on his face as he watched the sky. I could see it written all over his face, the longing for the freedom I had. The freedom to fly high above it all. Without thinking, I started to walk towards him. He turned his head at the sound of my steps, and his smirk widened into a smile as he said, “Are you here to see the sunset?” My heart nearly skipped a thousand beats. Mortals like him shouldn’t make me nervous, but for some reason, he has. “Yes, actually.” He scooted over and patted the ground next to him. I gladly sat next to him, tired of standing. Our knees barely brushed as I sat with him. He was beautiful up close. He can’t be a mortal. It wouldn’t be fair if he was, everything would go up in flames before he experienced true happiness. We talked for hours, barely noticing the sun setting and the stars that started to glow. His eyes stared off into the distant sky as he declared, “Some day, I’m going to fly. Maybe even high enough to reach the sun.” But he already had, I was right next to him. “You dream wildly. What is your name?” He chuckled, even his laugh was like music to my ears. “Icarus.” ••••••••••••• After our first meeting, it became normal for us to meet on that hill. Tonight, we had decided to meet later than usual. The stars were out, and my twin sister was hunting. You would have never found a pair of siblings more different, nor closer than we were. The air was cool and crisp. The dew on the grass shone brightly under the moon’s pale silver glow. When I peeled my eyes away from the view, I turned to Icarus. He seemed hung up in his thoughts. His mouth was a straight line, and the defiant sparkle in his eyes was gone. Needless to say I grew worried about my dear friend. I gently placed my hand on his shoulder and asked, “What’s bothering you, Icarus?” He sighed and turned to me. His eyes were overflowing with pain filled anger.  “Can gods truly love?” His question had me stunned for a few seconds. “Of course we can.” I replied, concern making my heart grow weary. He shook his head, making his hair fall into his eyes. I reached over to move it, but he brushed my hand aside. “Apollo, I mean real love. Not some meaningless affair with some mortal you won’t even care about if they were gone!” This was so sudden I almost didn’t know how to react. He had never been this upset with me. Yes, I have annoyed him, but this was much worse than that. He seemed deeply wounded. “We can feel love. I know the difference between love and attraction.” He laughed bitterly. “Really? When have you ever been willing to loose everything for a mortal?” He asked as if I would have no retort to his taunts. “Twice.” He stared at me with wide eyes. “What- What do you mean?” His voice was quiet and small. The bitterness in his eyes had faded and he looked so fragile. Like one wrong word and he’d shatter into a million pieces. “The first time, it was a mortal boy. The wind’s jealously stole his life from me.” He brushed his hand against mine, as if he was too nervous to hold it. “I knew not of that.” I chuckled without humor, “Not many do.” He hesitated before asking, “When was the second time?” “Truthfully?” I looked up at him. “Right now.” He froze for a split second, his face hardening as he forced his guard up. “This isn’t a joke.” “I’m not jesting.” “You can’t truly mean that.” I smiled softly at him. “I do.” I placed my hand on his cheek, my finger tips tangling into his curls. I ran my thumb over his bottom lip. His cheeks burned a deep reddish color. “I love you. I would risk everything to be with you.” I wasn’t lying. In fact, telling him that risked everything. I broke my father’s first law. I no longer cared what they thought of me. I leaned forward and kissed him. It was long, and loving.  He wrapped his arms around my neck. When we finally pulled away, he embraced me as he breathlessly said, “I love you too.” ••••••••••••• He was almost here. He truly did keep his promise to fly to me. He refused to let go of me, even if it meant risking his life. I had flown lower in my chariot to reach out to him, to pull him back in, but as I hit closer, the air around him grew too hot. As his fingertips brushed my own he slipped away. I was screaming, I flew as low as I possibly could, I wanted to grab him, pull him close and keep him safe. I wanted to stop him from plunging into my uncle’s waters. I tried, I swear on the styx, but my father, Zeus, has grabbed me and pulled me back to Olympus. I punched and kicked. I screamed and cried out to Icarus. I wanted him to know that I was sorry. That this was all my doing. That I loved him. I just hope he heard me before he hit the water. I never deserved him. ••••••••••••• “Oh, Apollo. I thought you would have learned your lesson by now.” Cupid taunted as he sat in front of me. I ignored him, or atleast tried to. My hands were wrapped around the golden locket that shone the same color as Icarus’s eyes. I’ve only opened it once since I lost him. It contained a wax feather he flew with. It was scorched an melted, but still strangely beautiful. He was so close to doing what he always wanted to do, but never quiet reached it. All he was left with was beautiful melted gold. My uncle, Poseidon, had obtained it for me. He and Hades were both very kind to me since that day. They seemed to understand, even though my own father couldn’t. This was all Cupid’s fault. He had tipped off my father about our love. He is responsible. “What do you mean Cupid?” I asked, harshness finding its way into my voice. “What ‘lesson’ have you tried to teach me? Loss? Heartbreak? I have been through both many times before you don’t have to ‘teach’ me-“ He snapped and I fell silent. Silver dust danced through the air. His words were like the music that guided them along, listening and obeying him like note to music. “Loss? No, that’s quite far from what I’m teaching you, but since you seem to keen to talk about him, why don’t we?” As soon as the words left his lips,  the dust turned into pictures. No- not pictures; memories. I was playing discus with Hyacinth. His ginger hair was tied back with haste, with curls falling out. His lips curved into a smile as he reached up to grab the disc. I felt my heart drop. I looked away and swallowed. I knew what happened next. “Stop.” I protested, my eyes stinging. “Fine, why don’t we talk about heart break then.” I stood up quickly and yelled, “Stop toying with me! Just tell me what you want and leave me alone!” My hands were shaking, and an all too familiar feeling crept up on me. My throat felt like it trying to stop me from talking forever, and my eyes felt like they were on fire. Searing hot tears started running down my face. He just sighed and shook his head, “How thick is your skull Apollo?” He leaned foreword towering over me, “We are gods. Do you not comprehend that? We can not have mortals. They are beneath us. Why do you think they worship us? We cannot love them. They can love us, but we’ll never, ever love them.” I stared at him. I started to laugh in between my tears, “How stupid can you be for the god of love?! I love Icarus. I have truly loved. And now, because of you, I’ve lost it. You don’t have the right to tell me about love! You don’t even grasp its concept!” I screamed the last part. He would never know what it’s like. He will never understand, when you love someone, they matter more to you than the whole universe. So much more. ••••••••••••• “You must never tell your father you were here. Under any circumstances.” My uncle said as he lead me through his dark and eerily quiet palace. “Of course I won’t. If you wouldn’t mind me asking, why are you doing this?” I asked following him down a freezing corridor. He placed the key inside of the lock and slowly turned it. “I know what it’s like to love someone you shouldn’t.” His eyes filled with an unreadable emotion. I had forgot about Persephone, it was springtime, she wouldn’t return for months. I felt a pang of sympathy. He and Persephone truly loved each other, and if it were up to her, she would stay down here forever, but her mother would never allow it. Much like my father. As different as we may appear, my uncle and I were one in the same. My uncle pushed open the door and said, “Just tell Thanatos when you would like to return, nephew.” And with that he left and allowed me to escape into Elsyium to look for him. My eyes glossed over every inch of land, and every blade of grass I could see. I ran as fast as I possibly could as I frantically searched for my lost love. My eyes landed on a hill, not very different from the one I had met him on. I missed those days, when all I would have to do is ride down to Earth to see him. I ran up the steep hill until I finally reached him. He was sitting with his knees to his chest hugging himself. His care free smirk was replaced with a lonely and heart broken frown, he looked as if he hasn’t smiled since he arrived. I wouldn’t be surprised to know he hadn’t. He had a carefree and ambitious spirit, he never would think about his impending demise. I shook myself out of my thoughts and sat next to the golden eyed boy. “Come to watch the sunset?” I asked. He looked at me with disbelief. His eyes brimmed with tears as he threw his arms around me, with such a force we started rolling down the hill. By the time we reached the bottom we were both laughing and crying at the same time. He pressed a soft and loving kiss against my lips as he held me tighter. I never wanted to leave his embrace ever again for the rest of eternity. ••••••••••••• “Do you ever think you will reincarnate?” He looked at me with a funny expression. “Where is this coming from?” “You always searched for new adventures, always looking for new challenges and well...” I sighed. “While you’re stuck here, none of that is possible anymore. You can’t keep a lion in a cage for very long, otherwise he’ll fight his way out.” He looked away from me, staring at the meadow that stretched on for miles. “It has crossed my mind, but, my love, I will be forced to forget about you if I were to be reborn.” My heart broke a little in my chest. “I know that...” He turned to me, peering at me through his brown locks. “Then why do you ponder it?” “I want you to be happy, and I’m aware of the reality you won’t be while you’re here.” He furrowed his brows as he frowned at me. He leaned into my chest and tucked his face to my neck. “I am for the time being...” “My love-“ “Please... Let me cherish you while I still have the chance...”