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uroboros-if · 1 year ago

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GUSHING IN THE READ MORE ❤️❤️

First of all, STUNNING visuals, the abstract, golden design is so Uroboros and Salvatore!!

Second of all, this made my heart ache so much. 💔I am over the moon and stunned that you incorporated language and metaphors that pertain to nature, a choice I deliberately make in writing Uroboros, pushing the reverence for nature so that it permeates through ever word. It just goes to show how deeply you've read and thought about Uroboros, and that is so incredibly amazing and wild to me. Your description of the surroundings are ethereal, soft and warm, much like Salvatore himself and the setting. You don't know how many times I've thought I should just hand you the files to Uroboros because Desatana, you are an amazing writer, and I envy you so much for it!! Take it from my unworthy hands, please!

Another thing I love is your characterization of Salvatore. It is so incredibly true to him, and you managed to capture their personality even with so little to work on in the first chapter. I particularly loved the way you described the differences between how Salvatore was then, to how Salvatore is now (again, nature metaphors!! so beautiful and ugh). I struggled to do that, and yet you make it look so effortless and whimsical! The childhood memory is so painfully nostalgic and peaceful that it makes my heart twinge for a memory that I never even had. I feel so utterly wistful and saddened by the childhood friend I never lost. 😭 The promise they make, their sweet innocence, and how it's contrasted sharply with Avriel awakening to a Salvatore whose light has dimmed.... I am so normal!! I cannot stand myself in my own skin!!!

I can feel the loss in the physical and emotional intimacy they once shared, and I'm... I don't know, I'm very emotional about it as well!

Thank you so much for your lovely work, Aspen; I will be reading and rereading this many times!! ❤️❤️

In the actual IF itself, I hope I will be able to explore this relationship with Salvatore as deeply as you have, capturing the same or similar emotions! As far as the intensity of it, I can only strive to make readers feel as deeply as you've moved me!

Forgot to mention so extra edit: I LOVE the callbacks and references to the main text!! Aside from when you obviously reference the IF when Avriel wakes up to Salvatore, there are some lines that are familiar to me and that sends me into pure joy 🥺

FANFICTION | @uroboros-if

Salvatore gave him a questioning look, raising his eyebrows. “What are you doing?” Avriel only gave him an excited grin in response. Wordlessly, he stretched his hand out towards him, peering into his eyes with an uncharacteristic solemnity. Confusion emerged from their amber depths, eyelashes fluttering like— Like butterflies, Avriel thought. The image had come into his mind unbidden, but he didn’t mind; Salvatore would be a pretty butterfly. Big and bright and golden, like the sun’s rays were woven into his very wings. Oh, Avriel thought. But butterflies wouldn’t be able to play with him like Salvatore did. Their wings tore far too easily: his father, Rafael, had told him so when Avriel had wanted to take some home to play with. What if he accidentally hurt him while they were playing? Avriel frowned at the thought. He had changed his mind — he didn’t want Salvatore to be a butterfly. Besides, he liked Salvatore as he was, just like this. Exuberant and cheerful and smart and kind, Avriel’s very best friend.

Salvatore was Avriel’s best friend.

They did everything together — on the days that Salvatore could come to visit, that is. Avriel knew that Salvatore was important, that he had big duties and responsibilities to fulfill. Everyone said so. But he was also his very best friend. Other than Avriel’s fathers, Salvatore was the only deity who was willing to play with him; the only one who would smile at him without looking at him oddly like the other deities did.

And as far as Avriel was concerned, that was all that mattered.

It was another wonderful day in which Salvatore could come to visit. The sun was shining, the sky a perfect cornflower blue, the rolling hills of the land as perfectly verdant as always. The wind whipped through Avriel’s hair as he careened down said hills, eyes squinting in determination. Almost there— he was almost—

“Oomph.”

Avriel tumbled onto the soft and fluffy grass with a thud, giggling madly.

Above him stood a grinning Salvatore, hair mussed and clothes slightly askew. Avriel knew that he probably didn’t look much better; divine though they may be, they could only do so much scrambling and playing before the forces that kept them neat and tidy — like how father always said whenever he fixed his hair — started waving in surrender.

“I win,” Salvatore announced, with all the pride of a job well done. He put his hands on his hips and beamed, his delight so palpable that the sunshine-y air around him seemed to trill with joy.

Avriel gawped indignantly. “What! No! I was one second faster than you.” He held up his thumb and index finger for emphasis, still sprawled gracelessly on the grass.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Salvatore giggled, sun-brown eyes shining with delighted mischief. “Besides, you fell — that doesn’t count!”

Avriel’s eyes turned round with betrayal, at that. He rolled over onto his belly with a dramatic thump under the other god’s laughing gaze. “Wha– I’ve never heard of that rule before!” He eyed him suspiciously. Salvatore did his best to look as innocent as possible in response. “You… you just made that rule up!”

Salvatore puffed himself up. “Did not,” he said with mock austerity, trying to channel his mother’s usual demeanor as he was wont to do on occasion.

Avriel was unconvinced. “Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Then show me the rule book!”

“There is no rule book! We made the game up, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Avriel deflated. Then, he perked up. “Then I can unmake the rule—”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Salvatore said happily, swaying from side to side. “You can’t just take back the rules once you’ve broken them!”

Avriel doggedly persisted, not to be defeated. “And how do you know that?”

“My studies!” Salvatore said importantly, finally flopping onto the grass beside him. Avriel half heartedly poked at his side; Salvatore batted him away with a giggle. “Mother has been teaching me more and more about law and diplomacy, lately.”

“Ooh,” Avriel sat back on his elbows and looked at him with curious eyes, breezing past their earlier bickering like a duck shaking its feathers free of water. “Is it interesting?”

Salvatore puckered his brows in thought, considering the question. “I think so,” he said earnestly. “My favorite is learning about all the different lives the mortals lead — so many things affect them all! The harvests, the seasons, the nobility, the trade; they’re all so different. What may be right for Central Galaio may not be what’s good for Southwestern Galaio. It’s all so fascinating!”

Avriel sighed, wistfully. “I wish I could go down to the mortal world. It all sounds so wonderful.” They both knew the possibility was slim, but it was nice to dream.

Salvatore sighed as well, a slight smile on his face. “Perhaps one day, we could go down together. We could hear their stories, eat their food — they have these marvelous things called street food. Street food! — and maybe see the sights together.”

“And we could stay up and watch the night sky!” Avriel piped up, eagerly adding on to Salvatore’s daydreams. He flopped back, staring up at the boundless sky above. His hand reached out, as if he could touch that endless blanket of blue if he reached far enough — if he tried hard enough.

“Father says that it’s beautiful: canvases of pitch dark shadow given life by endless speckles of light. Dots of light so dense that it’s as if you could leap to the sky and swim amongst them.” He laughed, at that, eyes flitting to Salvatore. The god was staring at him with shining eyes, enthralled by his tales. His grin turned a bit bashful. “Wouldn’t it be funny if there were little creatures in the sky? Fish that swam amongst the stars, darting in and out of the clouds to say hello?”

“If they were to exist,” Salvatore said, suddenly blinking very quickly, “I think I would like to ride on them. Though I’d ask first, of course.”

“That’s a great idea!” Avriel beamed. A gentle breeze blew through his hair, causing a few stray locks to fall before his face — he carelessly pushed them away, heaving himself up to a sitting position and maneuvering so that he was sitting directly in front of Salvatore.

Salvatore gave him a questioning look, raising his eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

Avriel only gave him an excited grin in response. Wordlessly, he stretched his hand out towards him, peering into his eyes with an uncharacteristic solemnity. Confusion emerged from their amber depths, eyelashes fluttering like—

Like butterflies, Avriel thought. The image had come into his mind unbidden, but he didn’t mind; Salvatore would be a pretty butterfly. Big and bright and golden, like the sun’s rays were woven into his very wings.

Oh, Avriel thought. But butterflies wouldn’t be able to play with him like Salvatore did. Their wings tore far too easily: his father, Rafael, had told him so when Avriel had wanted to take some home to play with. What if he accidentally hurt him while they were playing?

Avriel frowned at the thought. He had changed his mind — he didn’t want Salvatore to be a butterfly.

Besides, he liked Salvatore as he was, just like this. Exuberant and cheerful and smart and kind, Avriel’s very best friend.

Perhaps he had been staring too long, for when Salvatore spoke, it was in a tone of hesitation — of uncertainty. His hands fidgeted on his golden robes. “Avriel?”

Avriel blinked, coming back to himself. He looked down at his hand, still held out to Salvatore in offering, then looked back at the other god. He tried to nod reassuringly, a bright smile coming to his face. “It’s okay! Take my hand.”

“Oh!” Salvatore reached his hand out, at that. His movements were a bit stilted, a bit hesitant. Avriel frowned in concern. Was he nervous? Why? Deciding to take matters into his own hands, he leaned forward and grasped the other god’s hand in his own. It jerked, as if surprised, then instinctively held him back.

Once their hands were firmly clasped together, Avriel nodded, satisfied. This was nothing new for either of them: they had often tussled together, holding hands and flinging arms around each other’s shoulders with the carefree joy of creatures yet to see the world in all its hardship. Still, to Avriel — and perhaps even Salvatore — this felt different. Monumental, somehow.

“Let’s make a promise,” Avriel declared. He looked straight into Salvatore’s eyes, eyes that were watching him with curiosity, confusion, and anticipation — both radiant sun and gentle ray at the same time.

“We’ll be — we’ll always be friends, no matter what. And one day, if we ever get the chance, we’ll go out to see the night sky together.”

Salvatore’s lips quirked into a smile at that. “And the fishes?” He asked, a hint of playful teasing in his tone. “What about the fish in the stars? Will we go to see them, too?”

“Of course,” Avriel grinned. “Why not, if we get the chance?”

The other god laughed, and Avriel’s smile widened. He liked making Salvatore laugh. “So, what do you think?”

Salvatore eyed him thoughtfully… then broke out into a beaming smile.

“Okay.”

Avriel beamed — he suddenly felt very happy, unbearably so. He leapt to his feet, still holding fast to the other’s hand. “Yes!” He swung their clasped hands back and forth in delight, prompting Salvatore to burst into laughter

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing! I’m just — very happy.” He grinned down at Salvatore, suddenly feeling very, very grateful that the universe had given him a friend like him. He didn’t know what would happen in the future, but — no matter what, he knew that Salvatore would always be his dearest, best friend.

“Salvatore?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad we’re friends.”

Salvatore smiled. Bright and delighted, a burning sun. No cloud could ever hope to contain such a smile.

“Me too, Avriel.”

Silence. Amorphous shapes mingling before his eyes, lurking in the darkness. The sensation of swimming through a river of molasses, sluggish and lethargic. Then a voice, softly calling his name.

“Avriel?”

Avriel woke up with a start.

The first thing he saw was their eyes.

Brown eyes, swimming with sun-gold pools — like tree bark caught in warm sunlight, soft in their radiance. Avriel squinted, trying to focus on their face — and found himself blinded again. His breath caught.

A sigh. “Avriel, you’re finally awake.”

Salvatore. He leaned over him, his smile brightening his features. Avriel opened his mouth — then closed it again. It seemed he had yet to fully come to at the moment. His brain was curiously blank, no matter how much he scrambled for words.

He barely saw Salvatore these days.

The god in question rose from his seat, approaching him where he lay. Despite the reassuring smile on his face, his eyes raked over his form — searching, worrying.

“You passed out,” he said, almost whispering. Avriel found that he hated it — though the intensity of the emotion came as a surprise to him. He didn’t like it, that Salvatore was being so careful with him. As if he hadn’t known him better than anyone in the world, once.

His chest twinged.

Suddenly, Salvatore’s stare shifted from his limbs to him. Avriel blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog in his mind. “Do you remember what happened?”

Avriel tried to open his mouth, but found it glued shut. His mind was groggy, weighed down by fog; the vestiges of a dream still clinging to his senses. He could only nod. The other god hummed in response.

“I’ve always known you to be the picture of health,” Salvatore said, then frowned. “I’ve rarely heard of a deity fall ill… at all.”

Avriel blinked in reply. When Salvatore reached for his hand, he offered no resistance.

He took his hand gently in his. If Avriel hadn’t been so out of it, his fingers would’ve curled instinctively around the other god’s.

An inviting warmth enveloped his core. Soft, balming, a healing force that didn’t soothe his mortal body, but rather his very divine being. Avriel sank further into the bed, melting in relief as the warmth coursed through him.

Dazed, his mind recalled a promise, one that seemed to come from a long, long dream: uttered in sunlit days, in a time that had long slipped by like a river carrying a drifting leaf far out of reach.

“We’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

There had been no argument. No sudden onslaught of coldness. There had been no point when Avriel could look back and say: Ah. This was when it started. This was what caused it all. No; rather, it was as if they had been treading down their paths, eyes fixed on their futures, their duties, their endless responsibilities — until one day, they looked back, and found that their paths had diverged to an unreachable chasm.

A twinge shot through his chest again, stubbornly lingering despite the healing force that was softly spreading through him, determined to soothe his spirit. No, this was an ache that the divine couldn’t make disappear, not like this.

Lost in wholly uncharacteristic somberness, Avriel found himself intensely examining the other god.

It was undeniable that Salvatore had changed.

The Salvatore in his memories had been bright, carefree, brashly so. He had been a force of nature, barreling into Avriel’s life like a sun chasing away lingering clouds, unapologetic and unabashed in his determination to get closer to him. Nothing could have held him back, that Salvatore — no clouds could ever have hoped to contain the light with which he had burned.

Yet it seemed that even the sun was not immune to the changing streams of time. Avriel had seen it, over the years: the way Salvatore’s temperament had mellowed into something… warm. Pleasant, in the way that flowers were pleasant when arranged into specific bunches. He was no longer a clash of vibrant wildflowers and sunlight gathered into a lovely yet haphazard bouquet, but… something else. Something more quiet, somehow, though Avriel wasn’t sure if that was the right word. Something soft and golden and pleasant.

Others had called it maturation, but Avriel alone wasn’t so sure. It sometimes frustrated him, his inability to name his feelings; how he struggled to put his instincts into distinct images. But he missed it. There was something from Salvatore that he missed, though he didn’t know what—

After all, no matter how much Salvatore changed, he had always remained as blindingly unignorable as he was before.

Then, Salvatore leaned away. Avriel was broken out of his thoughts, dropping his scrutiny of the other god as he tiredly rubbed a hand across his eyes. His thoughtful look lingered on Avriel for a beat longer before dropping away, morphing into something more relaxed.

“I am certain you will recover your strength soon,” he said. “I’ve been observing you, and nothing appears to plague your body.” He paused, meeting Avriel’s eyes for a beat, before continuing, “Your father worried incessantly over you. You… were unconscious for a while.”

Oh. Avriel paused, blinking. Right. The universe — it had been in pain.

As the story often goes, Salvatore didn’t stay for long till he was called away.

Avriel had been attempting to regale him with tales of his excursions at Lucidio in an attempt to make him laugh — it had been a foolproof plan, he had thought. Surely Salvatore would find such tales amusing.

Salvatore hadn’t.

In fact, he had looked quite morose for his sake.

Desatana. Avriel nearly banged his head against the wall. That plan had backfired spectacularly. You’d think that after a century or so of living, he would be better at… this.

Salvatore hadn’t believed him when he said that the universe was in pain, of course. Avriel couldn’t bring himself to be surprised. It was a bold claim to make, after all; the claim that anything could ever make something as grand as the universe feel such pain, and that it would be Avriel of all people who would feel something so important — it was an idea wrought in skepticism.

Yet, a part of him couldn’t help but think that if it had been before, Salvatore would have believed him. Salvatore would have known that he would never make such a statement so lightly, despite how careless he could be at times. He would have known—

Avriel cut himself off. Closed his eyes. Took a deep, fortifying breath. Then he leapt out of bed, legs wobbling slightly at the sudden movement after staying prone for so long, then reached for his sword. Once he had safely affixed it to his belt, he strode out of the infirmary, a jaunty spring slowly coming back to his steps.

There was no use thinking such things. Avriel looked up at the skies of Lucidio: a perfect, cornflower blue. The sun shone softly on his skin. The bustling sounds of mortal life reached his ears. Avriel slowed down to a stop, taking it all in.

This was Lucidio. This was his life, now. And he– he enjoyed it. He liked helping mortals, liked seeing the lives they led even past the bounds of death. He liked mingling amongst them — seeing their triumphs and pitfalls, virtues and irritations.

Whatever past he had with Salvatore… it could only remain as naught but a memory, a ghost that lingered on the rare occasions that they saw each other face to face.

Avriel raised his head to the sky and smiled. Bright. Sunny. Another cloudless day.

“And one day, if we ever get the chance, we’ll go out to see the night sky together.”

As things are, as things will be.

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