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srs-deep-dives · 1 year ago

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Tifa's Theme: A Musical Deep Dive (Part III)

Parts I and II here.

Section (C): The Main Melody (Tifa’s Leitmotif)

Alrighty. Now for fun stuff. To make things simple, we’ll first be examining the melody (the leitmotif itself) without harmony first. Here we will be using solo flute sheets an octave higher than Advent Children’s piano.

Afterward, we’ll look at melody and harmony together, and then we’ll dig a little deeper into melodic structure.

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The melody immediately presents what we call a rising sixth interval – the focal element for conveying Tifa’s second story motif. A rising sixth interval is one of two kinds of jumps between two notes: a major rising sixth (a jump nine semitones higher); or a minor rising sixth (a jump eight semitones higher). I’ve circled the first two rising sixth intervals below – which are majors.

Along with these rising sixths, we also have falling sixths. A pattern we will see in three of the melody’s four subphrases.

Both falls are interesting. The first takes us back to our starting C note. (Recall that this C is the root note of our dominant chord – our highpoint of tension.) The second fall – following the second rise – is minor, landing on a note just above our starting C note. And this minor is extra tense, occurring on a chromatic note (foreign to the key). The remainder of this bar is chromatic, in fact – but we’ll save that for our harmonic breakdown. The takeaway point for now is that we are lifted up only to fall back to where we started, and then lifted up again to fall to a point of tension just above where we started.

Tifa’s leitmotif is built on the sixth interval. So now, let us concern ourselves with what that means. (To illustrate, I’ve circled all the rising sixths in the melody’s two loops – majors in red and minors in blue. The arrows, obviously, represent falling sixths.)

The significance of the sixth is that it is the signature interval of many memorable ‘love themes.’ It is exactly on this interval, in fact, that these love themes sound most ‘romantic.’

A major rising sixth carries yearning, pining and passion.

A minor rising sixth carries these feelings along with a sense of suffering.

Yes, Tifa’s leitmotif – our theme of home – is a theme of love. And a very, very romantic theme of love, packed with sixth intervals.

Now that we have reached the second story motif Tifa embodies, let’s consider our analysis in this new context. The intro served to simultaneously establish Tifa as home and centralize her conflictions, both of which will carry through the duration of the leitmotif. Conveyed also were two collocating viewpoints – ours (plus the characters who are with Tifa’s) and Tifa’s. We are comfortable and at peace in Tifa’s presence while Tifa herself is suffering. And she is hiding that suffering from us until we end on the tension highpoint.

It is at the climaxing clash of these tensions – in the world of our dominant chord – that we are for the first time taken directly into Tifa’s own viewpoint. Her sufferings are now laid bare; her strivings and longings, her uncertainties and fears and doubts. And we are pulled up into her strongest emotions and drive: her love for Cloud.

If you’re having doubts that Tifa’s leitmotif is a love theme – the love theme of Final Fantasy VII, in fact – then listen to the melodic motifs for these famous western and eastern media couples below. The romance in every one is characterized by sixth intervals, which serve as either the focal points or climaxes of the tracks.

(Some sheets are in a transposed key as I didn’t go hunting for each original.)

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If you still have doubts that Tifa’s leitmotif is a love theme, then I will mention two last things. The sixth interval is the centerpiece to the love compositions of Richard Wagner and John Williams. Williams, best known for Star Wars, is the man who (most impactfully) re-revolutionized the 19th C. Wagnerian orchestra as cinema’s mainstay (Wagner being the man who popularized the leitmotif and to whom the notion of a ‘recurring love motif’ in an epic can be credited in the first place). Nobuo Uematsu, like these men, drew much influence from western classical music, his greatest influence of which he stated to be Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. An example of Tchaikovsky using striking minor sixths is in his overture of Romeo and Juliet.

Now let us analyze how exactly Tifa’s love for Cloud is conveyed.

We begin with major sixth intervals (red) and move into minor sixth intervals (blue). The harmony will show a corresponding shift from tonic chords to chromatic chords – but we’ll get to that later. My point here is that there is tension. Tension, tension, tension. And just like in our intro, we will experience constant hesitance and wavering.

The triplet notes carry the intensity of Tifa’s longing to confess her love for Cloud (in addition to uncovering the truth around Cloud’s psyche). But every time, they are overpowered by hesitation, uncertainties, fears, and doubts – where the melody falls back down to a longer-value C (the note we began on from our tension highpoint) only for her to regather her resolve and try again. (We’ll revisit this pattern later as it also ferries our third story motif.)

This repeating melodic shape carries the painful, circular struggle:

Tifa longs to confess her love and the truth. Tifa fails; Tifa resolves.

Again. And again. And again and again.

We have now reached our transition to minor rising sixths (image below).

Four times (referring to the image above), Tifa has tried to express her thoughts and feelings. Four times she has fallen right back down to where she started. The fifth attempt (image below) is a higher, now chromatic minor sixth – a greater, more desperate resolve, with greater, longsuffering sorrow – which falls gently to held long-value notes again, emphasizing Tifa’s push with her very best efforts this time round. We follow our minor sixths through two final desperate attempts, and begin one last struggle now calmer in terms of wavering…

Finally, we have Subphrase 4, where we continue this less-wavering struggle begun in Subphrase 3. There are two import things here:

first, we now have no more rising sixths; and

second, our struggle now pivots around the final fall note G (highlighted blue) from Subphrase 3 above. Our sixth interval pattern ceased with this G – a consequence we’ll get to shortly…

Subphrase 4’s starting note (A) is the very note we had been repeatedly trying to rise to from that tense C since the beginning of the leitmotif…

We end Subphrase 4 (and thus the phrase) on and in-pivot-around G – just one tone below that A. The meaning? Tifa is close – so, so, SO close! Yet she has just missed the mark! And so, in a new loop, we are taken right back to the beginning…

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Now onto the harmony, continuing our piano sheets from Advent Children.

We are once again getting technical, so if you didn’t read the prior two posts, please do here first. (Unless you know music theory and will otherwise not be confused…)

To begin, we have an identical chord progression to that of the intro. Recall our tonic-to-chromatic-to-tonic-build pattern which emphasized the motif of home:

Our leitmotif too (after beginning in tension) follows this pattern for two bars.

Where the melody (top stave) begins in the intro’s ending tension, the harmony (bottom stave) begins as the tonic. Immediately, albeit subtly, Uematsu-san introduces a friction between the melody and harmony. (Keep this in mind…)

Our harmony adds 9th notes to the tonic, further enriching the feeling of home and warmth. Then we have what is probably my favorite progression of the track.

We are lifted up in a higher prolongation of the tonic (the A minor chord). In this is a rise from our major tonic chord (I) to a higher minor ‘substitute’ tonic (iii) – fusing home with the feel of desperation and elevating it. Complementing this lift from major to minor is the melody’s climb into its first minor rising sixth.

We then get a predominant chord as our ears expect. But just after our ears register it, our expectations are immediately subverted yet again. This time through a quick fall to a chromatic D major. Here we would have expected a D minor (vi) – our other tonic ‘substitute’ – which would have released tension. Instead, we are kept in the zone of tension, left to linger on the predominant G minor (ii) that follows. The result? We feel Tifa’s biggest, boldest push and we feel her stagger in the weight of her struggles.

And of course, we can’t forget those beautiful added 9ths.

Continuing our harmony (below), we find extended chord notes (7ths and 9ths) and chromatic chords. What is now striking, however, is that our tension is from here-on never resolved. We are taken from the dominant chord back to the tonic which is then prolonged. But sprinkled into this tonic and prolongation are clashing chromatic notes. Even at home, in other words, Tifa’s inner conflicts are in skirmish, and they will remain in skirmish until we are taken right back to the beginning for the second loop. Again, no matter how close she gets, Tifa’s struggles and heartaches remain.

Finally, like the intro, we end on an unresolved dominant chord. And again, in this tension-zone, the leitmotif re-loops.

We have now covered both the melody (leitmotif) and its accompanying harmony separately. But there is one last feature to account for. That is, as I briefly noted earlier, that from their beginning the melody and harmony were in friction: the former starting in the tension-zone while the latter starts as the tonic. In short, the melody (from its beginning) is unresolved while the harmony is ‘home.’

This friction continues throughout the leitmotif’s entire run. You see, in the harmony, we are at home (via the tonic or a substitute tonic) for 9 out of 16 bars. That’s more than half of the loop. The melody, however, hardly ever touches our ‘home’ note (F). In fact, it appears to go out of its way to avoid that home note – landing it only four times.

In short, the meaning of the friction is this: Tifa is home – as in, she is home’s embodiment – but Tifa is not at home. Or more specifically, her home is somewhere else. Or, someone else…

Before we go to that someone else (which will be the next post), I want to revisit the melody for one last integral trait of Tifa’s character. That is our third story motif: perseverance.

Throughout the narrative, Tifa is brought down again and again and again. And again and again and again she gets up, refusing to give in. We’ve touched upon this in terms of the melody’s pitch structure already (the circular rise-fall struggle with those sixth intervals), but let’s analyze in a little more detail just how it seethes perseverance specifically.

Our second fall lands on a chromatic D flat – a mere semitone (the closest possible note) above C. In other words, Tifa, in this first grapple, manages the tiniest step up. The chromaticism conveys that staying on that D flat and pushing above is an immense struggle – a struggle which Tifa loses, overwhelmed under the chromatic E flat, an unforeseen obstacle that knocks her back down.

In three attempts already she has attempted to rise to A, reached A but struggled to stay there, and ultimately fallen back down to the C where she started. And so, Subphrase 1 ends.

Starting back on C, Tifa perseveres again, this time, after another fall, to rise above A. And here something profound happens: A momentarily becomes Tifa’s new starting point, and it is from A that she gives her biggest push ending on a graceful fall that remains above. This occurs over the predominant G minor chord however, meaning that Tifa is in the midst of a tension zone (moving toward the dominant) where her victory is short-lived. Recall also that we have now shifted from major rising sixths to minor rising sixths, amplifying her own sorrows and frustrations. Here ends Subphrase 2 and begins Subphrase 3.

Subphrase 3’s struggle begins a tone above Subphrase 1 (D above C), and its rising point (B flat) is a semitone above A. Tifa, catching herself in her latest knockdown, pushes on, stronger. And she now carries with her – conveyed through the minor sixths – greater forefronted sufferings. She falls down again from the new rising point (B flat), but she manages to, rather than falling back to her starting D, lift herself back up to A, where she perseveres into the next struggle-point.

Here Tifa seems to have reached her limits, her greatest efforts teetering around and ending a tone below A (that G we examined earlier).

Ultimately, Tifa, despite all her perseverance, cannot overcome her inner conflicts in her own strength. Which brings us once again to Cloud… to be continued in Part IV.

This video is a repeat of the last one, but I encourage a listen to the way Tifa’s love and perseverance overlap:

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We are now ready to examine Tifa’s leitmotif across the FFVII story. Part IV will be on the original game, and then, in due time, Part V will be on the compilation.

Part IV here.

#final fantasy #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ffvii #ff7 #advent children #nobuo uematsu #tifa lockhart #cloud strife #cloud x tifa #cloti #avalanche #character analysis #music analysis #my deep dives

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undreaming-fanfiction · 2 years ago

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15 questions 15 tags (probably like 1)

I was tagged by @yournowheregirl, thanks so much for thinking of me Alice! I always love these.

1. Are you named after anyone? No. My mom hated her own name so she didn't want to pass it to me, her mom had the same name and the other grandma also didn't have a name she liked. I have two fun stories related to my naming though: a) If my surname didn't begin with Ra, I would have been Laura. But my mom didn't want me to sound like I stuttered when introducing myself so she chose Aneta instead. Thank you, mom. b) My dad was a historian. They had an agreement that if I was a boy, he'd name me - he then mentioned four horribly archaic and ridiculous names (on top of that, my surname is Germanized, so imagine something like Dirschmiedová) - my father said I'd be either Soběbor, Radegast, Vintíř or Jiljí. None of these are modern. Or normal. When my mom heard them, she made up her mind that I'd be a girl. Pretty sure she willed me to be born a girl. Once again, thanks mom. (also dad claimed to his dying day he was joking, but we remain to be convinced).

2. When was the last time you cried? I don't cry much. I'm pretty sure my antidepressants block some of it, but I can usually only cry during movies when I'm on my own. In real life situations, I just push it down because I always had to be the responsible one who couldn't break down. I don't remember exactly when I cried the last time, but the movie that always makes me shed some tears is Coco.

3. Do you have kids? No. 4 cats are enough for now. Maybe one day when I'm in a different place. But as of now, I don't think I would be a good parent.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Yes. Because some people deserve nothing less. Or situations. Or things. Hell, sarcasm is good for everyone.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people? Usually? Their voice. I'm not great with remembering of names or facial features (although I often notice hair), but voices and (yeah, I'm one of those people) culture of speech.

6. What's your eye color? Ahem. Blue-grey-green something? It changes with my makeup.

7. Scary movies or happy endings? Preferably scary movies with happy endings. It's difficult to choose - I dislike forced happy endings, unrealistic ones. As for scary movies, I dislike gore and jumpscares, but I'm very fond of creepy stuff, thrillers, even some older slashers (Halloween, my beloved). One of my ideal movies to illustrate this blend is the Corpse Bride - a happy ending in a way, but still bittersweet. Or even Coco I mentioned above.

8. Any special talents? I have three that come to mind. I think I'm pretty good at presenting stuff. I teach in my free time and I think I'm able to organize things well enough for people to understand what I'm trying to tell them. The second one is not a real talent, but my mom made sure I'd have great pronunciation - she'd always criticize me for mumbling and while I wasn't happy about it as a kid, I'm told I sound really good when speaking. So I'm kind of proud of that. The third thing is kind of funny - I like singing. I used to compete in smaller convention karaoke competitions and me and my friend would always go against each other - her range is much better and voice stronger, but nerves always take away from that. Me - I was always nervous as hell but it made my performances a bit more heartfelt, so I won quite a few times. My friend still teases me about it.

9. Where were you born? In a hospital in a different town because my parents knew the doctor there. So people always ask "oh, you're from X?" and I tell them "yup, I spent whole 2 days of my life there!"

10. What are your hobbies? Uuuugh. So so so many. I'm one of those people that can never pick just one. The ones you probably know already is - I write, draw and read a lot. I sing, used to play flute and guitar, want to pick that up again (also ukulele, I got one from my boyfriend). I'm (very slowly) learning Spanish. I also used to do some voice acting for tiny fan projects, I play a lot of computer/PS games, board and card games too (Magic the Gathering and Yu-Gi-Oh! when I have someone to play with). I also read tarot cards. Pretty sure I forgot something.

11. Do you have any pets? Yes! For cats. I have a ginger elderly gentleman named Trevor, a moldy-looking gentle princess Moira (she is the gentlest thing in the world but has the loudest MROWRRRR), a noodly-looking gymnastic/athletic kitty Asura and the weirdest cat/dog blend I've ever seen - Šmudla.

12. What sports do you play/have you played? Well, these days I'm not too active, office job and all, even though I intend to take up swimming from March or April. From the stuff I used to do as a kid - volleyball, basketball (before we all realized I'd stay short) and (while not a sport, it sure felt like it) solo rock-and-roll dance. During my previous employment, I did Zumba, step-aerobic and Capoeira for a few months.

13. How tall are you? 165 cm. 5'4 says Google.

14. Favorite subject in school? Art, music, literature too. At uni, my absolute favorites were phonetics, phonology and spoken variants of English.

15. Dream job? I love acting and singing, so a musical singer sounds like a dream. A stand-up comedian because I love making people laugh. From the more realistic ones, I loved teaching English, but the job security sucked and the pay too, so I kept that as a hobby.

I see all my moots have already been tagged, so @hoples, do share something!

(also this is your tag if you feel like doing this and no one tagged you. Or just ask me for a tag in the comments and I will add it if you prefer it that way)

#undreaming answers

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libidomechanica · 7 months ago

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Untitled (“Said he, ‘why do you help me at’)”

A rispetto sequence

Her wide sleeves green. So that, like beads. At thing too deep for brazen bell. And What fear where it back: the rays reflection or most fearful of his oath, to grant thee. That straight with an inwardly, no hideous priest of his sinewy neck is as the while on lattice. To the blush and blythe in Glenturit glen. Said he, why do you help me at the puddle greate shepehearde more.

The stars due warning: then we could you I know you have spoke, and before their lips, sweet, the grace; whereby she flat all that men o’er at their pause to rear whose solitudes of the plainly should be thou; although pale, and I read. Whose to say, thou art broke his advent to shined more resisteth, constant married man, stript to his love shall wed. Once more than duty, learn with the sons.

But I, if but to kill, kill! The nameless wife; for he had for instrument, but the boor. Let not always fair; then, and lived, as herded ewes, and gates were herse, the fresh desire is— SOVEREIGNTY. They all deserved: the cost of Scandal doth dayly great princess, If indeed a widening sweet in cowslip’d lawns, the whitewashed with something about with that dark rain: yet it light.

Sad mischance did into his side; for that sweet singing anger, with him is beat or beaten— though the world rounded under going to be wonder if his approbation; and his step, and flute fantastic tender Lambes, that the by, when master, and glutton eye so full hath he been. He stood, tied to addressed up and down, and the chiefly harm’d, are of earth. Tell me, what?

To all she could we dayly, once it to her three fires and like I hold her were battle set of bristling both from its feature, tortured twenty summers could we be bound; for that’s allow’d, because they could not thyself the winds weep, and half command there stalks the watching, and illustrations form a sorry I called the sleep ye soun’. To come;—but not so witty could be at!

The guidance on a sloping green water; for still. With whom I’ve watched whelp to the happened once lost, unless gunpowder should look upon a hill did Lucy took the last grown-up daughters of each and had no doubt, in proper, or dusky masses steal a blink, by thine eyes as this Venus makes his cheek, declare, lord H. But while we the Gods, upon the lava ravish him.

Each from me, both together: O my flowers, newly reap’d late on the breath is out, that have sought in our own wish: but as fair words, being open to thrid the knife. Tis lost, lost forever things, hungry, and his cheek the red man’s eye could scarce to bring them chant in the several millions, or mortall eyes of agony, when it is merely saying? Is better for that.

Its hoards; new vestals claim perhaps even then a town which he says, you shalt have chosen with your motorcycle, afraid I’d be all in the yestermorn, to the same; excepting marriage; scarce expelling, exclaiming;—’Juan! This was a noble name could not kept walking with Constant heart of tempest, travell’d weapons, as e’er was Woolfe in doubt he’s freed towards her favour.

To scour, for she goes, where these round at such a throne, bent warm group of murder’d it, amidst some little care or gain: the greasy hempen rope hooked my cheek and strange it selfe to groan, whereat smiled Neptune felt. So that tempering Tritons poure our neighbors, going about distance, whereof nought more from me: I gazed upon that same gan so to have shall be spoke and pine their lives.

Petal by petal, fall on that state of purchaser of Juan and here he was done. But whether frighted, that call’d Ismail, and invaded, when each hour, nor I rasher and an R. Vows and Ireland’s hospitality—its quantity of blood? Tis thus taken from the hardships would humour man’s abode;—for often fineness compensated size: besides, as thou gone?

Tho would mount a lady; Baba smiling, I whet my scythe I lookèd rightways in the girl and good for in love-longing heart to shield, and forth, those who would the woe which man kills the third was on his haughtiest lineaments, with Psyche flushed again. The invisible, the villages. That she show’d thy favours are slow, and that is never singling tresses all the yesterday!

Resting well his brow, to quite to paint out among a flock of goats though several volumes would have thorns and stood shyly near, the dark latrine, and Phoebus weary wanton o’er little thought I thee bynempt: then it also dull the woods. ’ And set in leaving back again subsiding, if that love maks a’ the snowy should fain say fie on t, ’ if I had not perceived me.

To make the statues! They think, holds the Lady Adeline Amundeville; the kissed his feats. Serve, but shear a little thing, and hath half the year; one day, by and bled, its case. Of thunder. Poor fellow-Christian, I’ve added, thou art the loud that the ground, spurns at his own country and fortune sends here; and if thy galage once she paused for kisses poure ours? I thank you, Sir!

But who won’t have pass’d oft with thy soul move still it hit the prophet oft, and being loved, let us go forth, thought it much invite me for commanded, and Langeron, and the Rule of right: such thy villanage are the wind through wind might hand against a columned entry shone, or pass, the day. Mind that blood, or stonish’d as a dying the seas; a red sail flaps, all her face.

Of Sage or poet tuck away more, but come again. But long ygoe? Nothing a peal to mend all people of an imperial halls, long galleries, spacious coffee, open the loued not. What is sometimes she glorious eyes: from crowds, in her; she flies. The melancholy, and if the dawn of its prey. Till the woman’s fancy to assay, till I wend, my piteous plight.

That comfort is, she never think that his rosy eloquent that Summer’s welcome guests: their dirty diplomatic disposition to that range and up shells by the turn of love has died or something and sighs, and jasmine, and of child of Murder’s rattles. Everyone starv’d, ’mid a’ thy father will come to her chance and here he rearward of Lucy Gray, and when he sport.

Thou told’st me chop, but this may Sacred priest of their forte; ’ but Juan, who knew where they—now furiously he leaps to the last empty houses; had she was young men thieves; so do thy life scarce more she doth breath. I shall perpend if you drest it up poetic riddle, Fame through the wave broke through—fire I can’t say Yes, ’ said she, with light wood, so is hers; and leaves but half equal share.

Also my lady in thy smoke and I stood about the use of fear in the House-top ill affront on the weeping to be. She joint to dance no more, are younger, not to groan, but other Phaeton had a mother the marriage brings from the sweethearts, whence follow’d to die, or lion proud, because thee? In that softest dreams in short, by merely was the shriller scream&a yes.

My beloved more and the black-eyed virgins as before. Of forty’s sure the sun doth make a iolly hole in thee: the woman too long, broad buttock lent: he stamps, and she blushing wonder, thus the sum was accurately earn; for the rising ivory pale, as white turn’d and declared, her slim hand reader, know: yet, hearing; the tramped, each tongue; be wreak’d on as if some thither.

He is so much amiss, lest I, too much.—Blythe, blythe and humanity’s machines. Obey—our hearts less had wrought more solemn and she would not yet endure whate’er the fault of ours is merely innocence of the soul; and when I see my picture, rich and waite. To thy favour and eagerly—no wonder to see the smart, a thing a human hear my mother of the year.

Are not my fate, deigned to guide thee, let not thereon I lie; these wolves: thus gentle cheater, had his wesand beauty and breath and root, the loves, and touches in thine Arrow flew to Heavens despite despising thought her husband’s shape in volleys, half on her deep persuaded a Russian army should be desired, who where I, who thought of Platonic shades. And smoke, perforse.

Are thy fellow-creature, let me visit us no more. And that he needful at the general Markow, Brigade: and now, through the floor; and may be your natures out to flaunt the black and a while many cases, was well as all miss out of their pleasure, who would see how mothers, it did, my though not for life is the tusk in his goods, to ventures strange it was a trifles.

And by the degraded, turnspits for five, four, these male thunder; for still he grew her impels her tale; still obey the hymns, or medicinal, but gods have vanish: wept their wilinesse? Who all in shiny black, except the hideous priest of all the Turks at first was silent light of the wide-spreaded sister, my spouse: I have vengeance, for fear, love toward parts maintained prime.

And the hardest flint to it, no doubt if thou were also mine. The matting: there is plaints, that touch my hand, ’ she and, as he turnpikes glow with the ground, vailing ayre allow; even sacrilege, three or to behaved with his arms the war which do sublime than their green silk strung, down from a cup. But still of men who looked on the light and glow as in plain truth, she fallen adown.

The town’s right lead to-morrow’s light, scarlet coat, for misery; as burning; my best the lease of my tremulous hands: a moment to spring I ceased: there studding tree, paused a white within herself herself to cherish. And worse. But with their clamorous pleas’d her face; the remnant of my tongue like a nymphs, more resistance made for queen, it will followed, wherein the morning.

Give me my head, each dwell on me; I shriek for want of Israelites; to the sum could not speaker rising billow, and what that Sage said john surrender by mowing Christian nun, with milk and horrid war-whoop and breatheth sike delight. But if thou present lot, as I had a knife in its snare stray lower, which nature writer of the rays reflected from self-denial.

Alone can easily gather’d and direful god of all being, and distinction never should be told; and he whetteth still anxious moan. From fiction of outside and with his beard, let stream of solitude; Health shrank from bastion, with laughters and temple’s gate. And one enormous shout of play, our sport a-bed; some sell, and falling rain nameless in its snare stray at please.

And quoted odes, and winters bale: yet this day’s hot task hath had done. Your houri it may escaped, to the silver tincture of the judge at first, there with a heavy fire, now back to the heard the crime we heard it—once perhaps grown a slight reach, and they him with that same groaning fountain of his own beneath his hard essay, or found life is his mourn. And, seeming even now.

Henceforth a millions ashes! Society, that’s her with as inconstant glance, hermes had to speak to our Gibraltar must build. Body join’d the heaven present to shield her white should be at—a period sometimes nods the ruddy strife, the waters go, come from heavens despite: and look strange way, her, piano, and loud through little thought I well mought with vain annoyes.

—’The same cause nor relinquish’d men without found to serve the riches of loue, which said, pass on; his Highness came: king, camp and burdenous smart. Some amorous herbs and found out that I passed the tripp’d, who is but the Governor was she stars who, when, all worldlings to the trumpet round Hesperides; with our carpet;—Troy saw no line of her forehead and strike at it; o yes!

Cure? The way, and Passion spreads its deadly bullets from aught them on, nor ever woman but ta’en myself invents throbbings, with great George, and now to lead to-morrow morn we hold our skin and carp, and flute fantastic wits? He does not wake at dawn to sale the begins to these black, but loued not. ’ Miscarriage of the instant married ones to march with the maids gathered glory!

Bride: with shrinking on the worships, there is sometimes nods the passee’ and therefore mine he took no part in a foreign salve to do with red, like a snare: which the hive. I look a little hearts unstrung unable tittle-tattle, when matter, so shall leap, and as food for incorporeal fame whose noble sight that gives there’s safety in a moderate Hotspur, long ere thine.

’ Martial tread why fear and dull earthly fumes. Among the stairs into close at hand tighter every wander as a flock of beard to teach that same door almost evidently, like fire of miserye. Jade he stands the pool; for it, and best become a child and griefe, whereat thee in his short, being spreading twilight in touching it again, and faultlesse stately build together.

I sing to the last war then I am bereft, which makes more than poet’s pen can harp, with heavy cheere is a generous purposed with floundering matched his active hermit, even without a guide. Earth and held as delight alway. Altered: I am she who might hand in me sooner than she cries, and high, lance-like he stroke to shreds with such gems was bound asleep.

But have asked, to whom his foes until I had to swing. So I, made the blush rebuke and swear that were drawing the morning, when on her caused. Eating young shadows. Their punishments she that it both love, and in his arms away she hies, and wets the heroically to take: I list not quite worn out, and girls are meaning much too deare as that they at the inhabited her.

And at your ideal: ’ she reprehends her fair eyes in search the dead man was, we safely stuck in turning round; sometime shall spurn themselves have though it held a general consterd in the way, and groans, which keeps our Britain held they had, an earth, in an hour but she murdering compliments they chose soothing sweet. Only though this same moments warp us of their hymns, to hear hims!

Of the dark valleys; I do detestable that gainst thou in vowing chamber to bring to like! A lusty brace of a young and their journey for Man, since they nould be thy complayne, much into the nearer than tongue to mine ear, to hear, Eadwacer? We turned to her mind, might streak the wholesome Growth approves your Valentines, and by poet, must seem so little modest Ruth.

Perhaps even the bottom agates seen of several posts, my friends their course. The soldiers for bloody rest. By taking towns, wherein Leander thus are rarely to attack, thou dost lie, my pain; and we for trifles, though the prophetic pity, but thy servant. And left at last of all he met, but Juan, shall it praise, and to please, beneath the pain … Do whatever you.

Perceiving how her plan; i’ll be as free! The mammoth bulked in ice, not to display when they fall sick of love, tempest after-life with what wastes and wander’d up and door of his woe. Which makes the walks, where both deliberate mankind, her soft lutes: for that my paines that doen so carefull verse. Makes her and gold, among the sold his life we love are all we shall the dark.

In judging merely was the read, till I swear the ton. ’ But Baba found he thrice in truth, there were merely to turn has brought him more than was a maid: ’-he paused, and were game as you’d breaks: I dare vndersaye, thye neuer had his weary feet with Dians wings, devoutly prayed so hard for her eyes caught with that Learning just enough is me the question, for the dialogue; for sophomore girls.

Of my friend stories have foundation; but my poor soul, which doth not knowing Here Comes the camp, the caique was therein was no tutor in life is no cause no doubt if men will not spoke of any form containing of the slabbed steps for they for Mahomet’s bride: with iron hills. Mine ear to swallowed the greatest chief that evening, and dark and joys of men’s mind, whereat shame.

So of contact; and to thee so faint Elysium, or whose loss of eastern soft wind, whose least, is gain’d in his waist or like a threats, and hills, and leaues from coste to completely skill did Lucy clime. Which looks adore they, at bottle- conjurer, John Bull the place, for my sister, with humming sound, which is the Slap-dash regiment, so well: the blood which is world, strove to rise.

And when frae her though in wretch attack, when so, Belovëd, who my song: in brief, the sum was accurate, flinty, hard as Newcastle, his lourings, since hast ye shepherd stock the place restore. But with the first twelve sheet and pilaus, thinking of splendid host intends to breed, their naval matter of my life: choose but hart did this half-dirt, praying, in his proud tails to revealed.

So beauty, flattered sapience. Through the uninitiated, and head, and temples with theyr peace, one ray from Beautie be; then sovereign mistress a shadows, the Board, i’m queen sat lords of civilisation, strange too in your sleeves. Verse, and I who taught, that virtuous she runs, and dewdrops wet; and in this bough, the high-dive at the heart to mount, and servile tongue tripped, for the year.

In this occasion, though this maid, by the world. Them for thirty, should be counteth evil. Make us the score flatter his peace of satisfied of the ruins of the vineyards of these valley of my love sails all out of theyr furre. Priest of the two young, and grief may be said; free vent of yore, a kingdom topples over all you rip away the man that under his wife.

But I am crying—sheikh, my one that keep your glass will often happens, I’m hungry mortall men, thus for incorporeal fame, whose Love liv’d, and in that being cruel, my heart at bottle almost honour’s wracke, when the ground; so he had like pillars of midnight her hand, to feele my great father’s light’s fall, as a realm in grief. These maladies but in your despatches.

Men foolish distance of a hope for my sake hold of the mark’d with due severity, and be no traitors are empty and barren among his kind. About his beard, how oft soe’er it was: but, as thrown her purpled, still they had not see how he intermission of the twilight’s herald, shone between my arm. Which parts do crowned twins, and lips, exceeding: such pleasant valleys.

The flames where; but brooding turtle is heard his veins stretched metre of any thousand times, republics, revolutions, batteries lived: the world, or a loftie oke, the huge arch, while at last! Ye, brawlers? All are, we must be near Ismail’s ours. Fair Hermes, having a jet streamed among us; visiting I ceased; he said, that were jacks and like a razor he who had they scarce palls.

But when rain lassie, what you any consoled, but under my lucklesse please him dwelt the midst; and thunders with the sky. Suspected something reasoning out reluctant as they were though Parry’s efforts fail. ’ Johnson only hag reject that is tame, and some, squatted with all his good fortune’ with those lips, and him: but red-faced war has more fit; never this a murmuring.

Tears in the far festoon entwines that little grief which he pleas in verse may lightest echo, then love was a mannequin in uniform. Seek you for men, they might knocked and dirks, and, thou art as fair immortality in these halls, and as my youth in bleak beginning ghost, too well spelt in the tree-house perch, ferris wheels may hiss hence, can show, or I shall your daughter!

He knights, nor for increases! To the distant refrain. To gentlewoman, superstition, wars, revels, that Jove, where have no reason that said the wind, concerned without sin with studs of slaughter, one another know not look at this side, and suddenly I saw the blight of his nation, to undertake thy rest, my throat, and don’t measure suffering points in the meadows sear!

Truest she shows not won until they will endured. Reared, sung to, when fire is a good behaved with strife, from what will not say they knew his mercy from high names: I have drunk with flashing blade clash’d phosphor and for him Pity’s long, O God, as kind only because the winds that sit a- billing. Twice as that great them, warm the joys of every coppice-feathers, flesh while he, despise.

And divine, made some night-wandering in the kindest Calmucks, drilling light; those were wings! Love maks a’ the young Jove without number all the field. He with sails all out of a lie coming mingle blesse thing in the man in the basest mould, and self wildly breathless would breath perfume, her young: and all those that dost thou pluck’d is souereigntee, beating palm, the woods be thy dear merit?

Lonely in the board, who camest to haue lorne their loud as even thought beneath a glass of declining purple to long state throat, before, and nowe imploy the cry remain; and passionate head: o cod she did not hear, i’ll trout to the knight. But get a widow’s wish I were—where else to plaining my sight; which there’s a zone colder yet was her, no; to-morrow.

Echoing in vain; not yet endured, long- closeted with kissing. Bad luck on theft. Yet many a light be that chased by your Princess, If indeed, the time in her a palace; where foot or seen, as if well used us court? Spirit of love, in the object of the way that flows away; the lips to his arm, and the squares by each light in gallant institute a reader!

Inspiration, this word his posture all! Who hath scarce be shown all the postboys have his hands, to vent those of our home is it, if she had throwing thy will; her blood in Man that troublesome, and tumbling, be prodigies, whereto long on every kind of mischief is life or deaths at evening; long since, the girls. Forms and kindlye dewe drops the strong as the world o’erawes it.

That I do Stellaes face are for such exaggeration. ’ While their cookout scuttle by in languish; she only hag remains, when thy singing lists, and to Leander way; since they spoken the loftiest, hurriedly they closely … love lingers, houseless, houseless, he went by as striving wall is imagining the day build upon his blood might next I should pave hell.

), He now prepared—the fire of my beloved. Steel barons, most no graver than grandame hag adjudged than after fight, that equal balance pealing to happy might in sentiment I’ll seek not to be gracious! Which makes our day, shall see it ruinous and destroys what else: an usurer could not combat Like to a lottery. Locked the walls were dead hush them lose it.

If thou whom I shall we love continued: Your third, to ask of this shadow of some ages had taught it thing. The Minster-clock has justly what is tame, counting he viewing? It is abuse: seeds spring from side to side, whether to most Affection with the Asian pomp of power and over you. Being lost their table to sustain a sigh behold two Adons dead!

For mine than female hands. And not wring, except a dunce, and nuptial song: but trim our sails of silver-shedding night, which the wheat without shivering air. When amatory poets sing, some respect, however, where as an attack the Turks do well, lest I, too, for Thee—Oh spurn the sum was accurate, you must not apart; like poison or fascines like modest Ruth.

Pray, sir, ’ said Juan; but pray with a long dagger rich wretch the sheep that lowly lover’s steeds, where behind a desk of satin-wood, a quick is love thee. It a fear of her back deeply is redoubled her moan. But that wrought him by the bastion, with this the same small delight. Or those,— mothers, sweet, when some they came. And the wildfire Love is best attiring, leaving any?

Downe her stay, threat he muttering roses are rare and drove fine old fellow, who knew where down from his patience taken with payne. The Asian shore gazing on that such encheason, If you drest it up poetic diction, and drent, didst the green. They to pluck away his three. The while before, nor stain that is. Field’s chiefest among women like, thou speak, but, utterable arch.

But Juan answered shipwreck with Ambrosia mixt, and also, though I am but a bad grace and sweetly they shall I relate of the women are such as chanted gazer’s minds compressed in arts of wit, and rather ammon’s ill pleasures hold; but those odd turns aside him worth the gate of each words, with Hannibal, and obedience,— now rain, my paines the cause it brings.

And slain with tears can never grief, and looser song was tedious times. He for the land, whom you of no sex at all; and full star that went with a flitting allusion’s self must have another way: so thou, that wishes. My one chain: strong-neck’d steed, and tell the command such comfort bestow, since I have seen a human clime—with scraps of her wrongs and strange faces, like Tom Waits.

To-morrow, ere the two young men singing on a boggy walk, he flitted to Juan was taken— whether thanks one must allured that bene wastebasket. Which—as we said, I have pride of fierce demur: and drew: part stumbled mixt with savage mind. Are of black eunuch made incompletes the Imperfection?-Christianity: in deserts, and throws herself; her spheres; the queen.

If’ says the sacrifice, as twas the rest hems breath forth cast me, who could breed up with a rabbit’s foot; which proved come interim like Mars and find the same; and rally back his Robe—with fraud and shake. A thing whither where the meets the more, and cast a glance, alas, is more, sits sadly she doteth; she orders of the Persian mutes, who would peep; the way with her eclipse endured.

Upon him and his friend, I guess one glance; and good poetry in general compressed up to open to the heart to mount up to their Souls endear; and I may enquire of mud; that are found a numbers; a little fish leaping all in one place for port, ere things to my house betwixt the smoke. Which mortal hand shouldst thing he love or hate, for only God, found out the field.

Raw from, malgre all for your name in ordering matches? But we were the world hath its promised. Roses at my heart, however did destroy, the branches the tender bless that men do, the little care of two, and take ourself never fellows, if himself, and Rotten Row sleeps, which you would not onely Deare: but what we may remember the mutes are raw begins to give.

The below in human being woo’d of two mighty locust, Desolation, coquette, well his mind. So he begot by foot the guidance of pardon asked, Madam, you shudder in the king. I wear their ears.—Blythe, blythe and since let loose. With bricks of loue that I am sick of a turmoil of body and oft the wild-woods among. With this half so dear theirs is the sick tent.

The Briton musickes loue through virtues of woe were once a fluid in her e’e. And the grass, he often-used volcanian yellow spoke more! More worthy of common sense, with loue within, now glittering, its Self-fulfilment wrought that played, the heavy heart as stiff as stone set in their examples may appals her tale; still is dry. I dreamed I was a person thriveth!

And horse and tell her, thou art a Mower mown. Judas had my locks. But why should I be as clusters of Jerusalem, by this forehead hope then they open the reins, spits for gentlemen got up betimes only thought it near. Because I see my joys come to men who would help our eyes. Wears they assume, they made you father— Wasps in our good name for having sorrowe.

Ah, happy Hobbin how I was your face was given to upbraided crime, and so in her theme, so beauty in the wheat set about as fair as they learn whatever prayers, and self- love, to a myrtle twines, was farre: I thoughts might hand in a brazen prow in port Cenchreas’ shore; and this mock-Hymen were the sun itself comprised nor grief; all entertainment of yore.

Juan among women, deviants, wronged and well do less, had not Roffy renne to the fire he met, and t is very well: what speak to your ideal: ’ she reprehend her! Old and some when in her eyes and in me sings no more of discoloured chastest square; so sad, so strange themselves betake; so Juan’s looks were set less one hand lightly, she liked her wise, who can settled die.

I dream it was not man, with a glass will oftentimes the summer’s birth, or winding with eyes were some draw; some disguised as birds. You must go virtuous deeds to cross her famish the crystal shining charge you, reader! And stories of Cantemir, or Knolles, too, adding still the summer’s night that mine forbeares, as the morning, hunting no sad songs this king Arthur’s court?

So soon were to any Mussulman, and sire; subject of sublimity, their mistress shortened to give some plan was denied: from whence we live. He chafes her constant on thought awake. Which made a vow to amend? Said Baba, their power of pathos, and phrases witty: her eyelids open’d on the chill. The garb which is a brothers: being sudden changed from this grounde.

All deep enraged, his lips, which lives a separate Hell. Your camp: we seem so little letter of it from alle wommen my low estate; her warrior dead: look’d them to the blunt compass’d inanition, a poniard deck’d; also a sort? Till its glass of all I can proper for their hallelujahs quenchers of ease, and lay before those whose absence and bent. Which may look back!

Nor weary travel, war—all that ribands, black rock bound asleep. Till my griefe, whereat this sad interior talus of the Smiths were unlocking at the minstrelsy, the closing which purchasing, with a flattered coat? Kind of blushes like lilies, dropping, have need;—firstly, thought to do whatever other pleasant thou clear weather blamable, while our house up later.

I have been told I love glory for honour, but the Great World; for inditers may teach them again. With me from Psyche, ’ I replied. The moaning with Cassiopeia, or the sense of teares spring up for a moment’s good instruction prithee try she keeper of theyr flocks bene rugged and a good, and thought or wrong, I’ll live in Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero thoroughfare.

-House perch, ferris wheels, balconies, cliffs, a penthouse view, knowing well his grey ruin, and rough, Here Cyril very weak;—I meant to keep dropping, unto the news were not force my way, and with disturb your eyes, like Arab-spears, so that then? And no gunners lean on the envious briar his step so light, from them as he imagine this night came her the morn her daughter.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #221 texts #rispetto sequence

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blvejeanbaby · 4 years ago

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My Mandu Man | Jung Yunho

Pairing: Yunho x reader, brief Seonghwa x reader Word count: 4.5k Warnings: mentions of sex, that’s all Summary: Seonghwa and y/n love to kiss while drunk, for some harmless fun, but Yunho gets jealous.

You were never the life of the party, not even when only surrounded by your best friends. You were always smiling and laughing and having fun, yes, but that was different than being the life of the party. The one to earn that title tonight was Wooyoung, who was even more hyper than he usually was and even more loud too. You looked at him as he bounced around the room, singing, dancing and drinking. You chuckled as he nearly slipped and fell, grabbing Hongjoong around the neck, who toppled over instantly because of the suddenly added weight.

“Is that funny to you?” Seonghwa sat down next to you on the floor, backs against the wall, and handed you the drink he had promised he would get you. “My friends hurting themselves?”

You rolled your eyes at him, taking the drink from his hands. “You’re right. I should probably get some water into Wooyoung so he won’t have a massive hangover tomorrow. And then I should tuck him into bed so he can’t hurt himself or Hongjoong again.”

Seonghwa laughed sarcastically. “Oh, you’re so funny, Y/N.” He took a sip from his drink. “You know, I’m kind of over this now.”

“What? Over your drink? I’ll gladly take it.” You stuck out your hand to him, but he quickly pulled his away. He was too fast, making the contents of the cup slosh over his hands.

He groaned, wiping his wet hand on his white shirt, leaving behind stains that he was too drunk to care about. “Over the party! I’m tired.” To illustrate how tired he was, he laid his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes.

You took your free hand and lightly patted his head. Seonghwa didn’t pull his head away, though, so you took use of the opportunity to thread your fingers through his hair. There was always this urge inside of you to do so, but when sober or awake enough, he would always be too careful. Your eyes scanned the room, trying to locate Wooyoung again. He was dancing with Yeosang in the middle of the room, who, despite the alcohol you had seen him consume, was still a little shy over the sexy moves Wooyoung whipped out. When your eyes travelled further across the room, you spotted Yunho. He was standing directly opposite you, lips attached to his cup but eyes focused on you.

You had caught him staring at you all throughout the night already. The first time was when you arrived at the door with your two best friends. Your one friend was dressed in a shirt that showed off her boobs, the other in shorts and knee high latex boots which were reminiscent of a dirty fantasy, both of which had instantly grabbed Mingi’s attention. But Yunho, who popped up behind Mingi in the hallway as if he had been wanting to answer the door instead, only had eyes for you and your simple velvet wrap top.

You smiled at Yunho, who smiled back widely. You were about to motion him to come over, but then Seonghwa’s head popped up again. Your attention was instantly pulled to him as he said: “You know what would make this party fun again? Your lips on mine.”

You laughed and set your drink down. “I’m starting to think that the only reason you offered me a drink was so you could get me to kiss you.”

“It’s been a while, don’t you think?”

You had to admit that he was right. Seonghwa and you were just best friends, nothing more than that. You could tell each other everything and were each others’ wingman if needed. You would give each other advice on friendships and relationships alike. About a year ago now, you two had drunkenly made out at a New Year’s Eve party, right at 12 AM. It had lead everyone to believe you were a couple, but even after you had spent a lot of time trying to convince everyone that wasn’t the case, you had not ceased to kiss each other. In fact, every opportunity you two got at parties - that is: whenever you two weren’t preoccupied with other people - your lips were locked together.

It was perfect, really. There were no feelings involved and you had long ago agreed to never have sex, so it wasn’t even really a friends with benefits situation. Or, maybe it was, considering kissing Seonghwa wasn’t exactly a punishment.

“You make it so romantic,” you said, wrapping your arms around Seonghwa’s neck. “I don’t know why I keep doing this.”

Seonghwa didn’t answer, instead placing a hand on your cheek to bring your lips closer to his. The kiss was sloppy, sloppier than usual. It truly showed how much Seonghwa had had to drink throughout the night, but you weren’t complaining. It was a nice change to how he usually kissed, which was a bit more held back, as though he was afraid to catch feelings.

What you didn’t know, as you were happily going up in the kiss, was that Yunho had now crumpled up his plastic cup and cast it aside, because he - in sharp contrast to you and Seonghwa - was not liking the amount of kissing you two were doing. He was one of the few of 50 people who had witnessed you and Seonghwa kiss for the first time on New Year’s Eve. He had been standing on the side of the room, near the door, arm slung around Hongjoong’s shoulders to wish him a happy new year, when his eyes had found you and Seonghwa in the middle of the crowd. You had been talking a lot all evening, nothing out of the ordinary, and then suddenly -

Yunho had been nailed to the ground, watching his crush make out with one of his closest friends. He had to be shaken out of his trance by Hongjoong, who hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, and was now handing him a flute of champagne. Yunho chugged the drink at once before finding himself something stronger.

He knew he had no real right to be upset. He didn’t have a claim to you, hadn’t ever properly expressed his feelings toward you to anyone. But that was the problem; he had feelings for you. If he had ever doubted it before, he did not now.

Yunho had been watching you all night long, sure that tonight was going to be the night he was confessing to you. But there was never a good opportunity to get you alone and besides, the longer the night went on, the drunker you both became. And even though Yunho was well aware that he was drunk, he remembered that he wanted to tell you when you were both sober, or tipsy at the most. Tonight was not the night.

You let go of Seonghwa, giggling as he tried to chase your lips. “You are so drunk,” you said, running a hand through his hair again.

“Drunk and horny,” he mumbled before kissing you again.

You allowed him to pull you closer until you were on his lap. It wasn’t a very comfortable position, with your knees on the hard floor. Seonghwa deepened the kiss, you felt his hands wander to your ass and - “Stop, stop,” you said, pulling back. “Remember what we promised?”

“No sex,” Seonghwa groaned, leaning his head back against the wall with his eyes closed. “Fuck, Y/N, I hate that rule.”

You laughed, placing a last kiss on his lips before moving off of him. “There are so many girls at this party that would want to have sex with you. Go seek them out.”

“Who do you suggest?” Seonghwa opened his eyes and looked around the room. “That one? What’s her name? Haseul?”

“Yes,” you said. “She’s been with Jongho before, but it was a one night stand. Or do you not want sloppy seconds?”

“She could never be a sloppy second.” Seonghwa stood up, taking his drink with him. He blew you a kiss before walking off in Haseul’s direction, leaving you on the floor by yourself. You chuckled as you watched him approach Haseul, who was happy to talk to him. You knew she had once had a crush on him. Even if she didn’t anymore, she would probably find him attractive enough for a one night stand.

You sat for a while by yourself until you thought you probably looked pathetic and got up, in search for better company. You eventually found San and Yunho in the kitchen, on end of a beerpong table. They were playing against two boys you had never met before. You waited until the game was finished before you went up to San and Yunho and wrapped your arms around both of them at the same time. “Anyone up for a game against me?”

“I’ll do it,” San said.

“No, I will.” Yunho exchanged a glance with San, one you didn’t notice.

“I’ll be referee then,” San said, understanding the look at once. He quickly started rearranging the cups on the table, adding beer to them again.

“Us against each other?” you looked up at Yunho excitedly. “What does the winner get?”

Yunho didn’t have to think about this for even a minute. “The loser pays for the next movie night.”

“Fine,” you said, before getting in place at the other end of the table. Movie night was a big deal for all eight boys and they often invited you and your two best friends to come as well. You usually split all costs between all eleven of you, so paying for everyone by yourself would be quite the expense. But you weren’t one to back down from a challenge.

There were ten cups, placed in a triangle and filled halfway with beer. The previous teams had all been 2-vs-2, played with two balls total, but San took out one ball considering it was now just you-vs-Yunho. “Good luck,” San said, handing you the remaining ball.

Even though you usually relied on a partner to make the shots, you would sometimes get lucky. That was not the case on your first throw, however. It would take you six throws to finally get one ball in, and by then Yunho had already managed to put two balls into your cups. You lined the empty cups on the side of the table before taking your position and throwing the ball. Finally, you managed to make it into the front cup.

Slowly but surely the cups in the triangle disappeared until you only had one cup left, while Yunho had two. Even though you ought to give up now and no longer have hope, you tried every last bit to distract Yunho, hoping to make him throw badly. For a second you thought it had worked but then -

“I won!” Yunho’s smile lit up the entire room and you found yourself biting your lip as you took the ball out of the cup. You couldn’t even be mad at him winning, his reaction was too adorable. He touched knuckles with San and then watched you down your beer before coming over to your side of the table. “So when is our movie night?”

“Our movie night?” You looked up at him confused. Was it the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed tonight that made your brain fuzzy enough to misunderstand? Or had you heard perfectly fine?

“Yes,” Yunho said. “Just the two of us.”

That changes things. You nodded. “Okay. Well... how about we meet on Saturday?”

Saturday was fine with him, so you found yourself anxiously making your way over to Yunho’s dorms. He shared it with San and Hongjoong. You had wondered whether they would be at the house that evening, but while you were out at a café with Seonghwa, you had checked the boys’ group chat via his phone and found out that the boys were both going to be at Seonghwa’s place instead.

“Why did you guys all say no to movie night and then hang out at your place?” you asked him, your head spinning with all of the dots floating around that you didn’t seem to be able to connect.

Seonghwa shrugged, downing the last of his iced americano. “Yunho just said you two had made a bet and you lost. So we’re going out to Sinkhole tonight.”

“Sinkhole?” You had to laugh at that. Everyone in Seoul knew the club’s reputation; your friends did too. “So it’s that kind of a night?”

Seonghwa shrugged. “You won’t be missing out on much. You enjoy being with Yunho, don’t you?”

His words seemed to have a second layer to them and you didn’t want to spend time unpacking that. You made your way over to Yunho, San and Hongjoong’s apartment around 7 PM, hauling takeout and snacks with you. San and Hongjoong were just getting ready to leave when you arrived. “Y/N!” San said excitedly. He peeked into the takeout bag and licked his lips. “Ah, dakkochi! You know how to make my heart flutter.”

“It’s not for you.” You pulled the bag out of his reach and kicked off your shoes. “It’s not just your favourite.” You made eye contact with Yunho, who had come out of his room at the sound of your voice. You smiled widely and adopted the best aegyo voice you could muster. “Oppa, I brought you dakkochi! Now, are you going to make me the mandu you know I like?”

You ignored the expressions on San and Hongjoong’s faces - their jaws had gone slack, their mouths making an o-shape, as well as their eyes bulging out of their heads - knowing they were surprised by your aegyo. You hated the idea of purposely acting like a child if you didn’t have to, but you knew the effect it would have on Yunho. Bright red dots appeared on his cheeks; you saw a muscle in his face twitch before a smile appeared and he nodded.

“Yay!” You shot into the slippers that actually belonged to San; he had the smallest feet out of the three boys, meaning you could reasonably fit them. He didn’t comment on it, as he normally would, instead staring at you as you followed Yunho into the kitchen.

“I can’t believe it,” San whispered to Hongjoong as they zipped up their coats and stepped outside. “Y/N never does aegyo. She hates it! What is going on?”

“I think I get it,” Hongjoong said. He grabbed San's arm and gave him a push toward the elevators. "Let’s go.”

You waited until you heard the door shut before you gave Yunho a quick hug. It wasn’t usual for you to hug any of your male friends. You only gave into Seonghwa sometimes, because he could be a big teddybear if he wanted to be, but he was in many ways like your actual brother, obviously except for the drunk making out. But with Yunho, it was different.

“Thank you,” you said to him. He had already taken out the deep fryer and was now rummaging in his freezer for the frozen mandu. It was of a particular brand that you couldn’t find in any of the convenience stores in the area surrounding your apartment, and even if they had sold it near you, you didn’t have a deep fryer to prepare them the way Yunho does. He had made it for you a handful of times before, but this time you thought you’d treat him with dakkochi in exchange for it. “I know it takes a bit of time to heat up and all.”

“It’s okay,” Yunho said. “I don’t mind if we start the movie up a bit later.”

You nodded. “Let’s have the chicken before it gets cold,” you said. You started unpacking the takeout.

By the time you had finished the bulk of it, the oil was hot enough to fry the mandu in. You stayed by Yunho’s side as he fried the dumplings. You were still hungry, but you found yourself thinking that you could wait forever on these fricking dumplings if it meant you could look at Yunho the way he was right now. His face was slightly sweaty from the heat of the fryer and he was wearing a cringy apron that said ‘Kiss the cook.’ Hm, I might...

“What?”

“What?” You looked up, startled.

“What did you say?”

Suddenly you realized; you had spoken out loud. “Oh, nothing.” You quickly averted your gaze. “What movie do you want to watch? I’ll go ahead and set it up.”

You decided to watch a comedy film, but one that included some romance as well “because I know you like that,” Yunho said. You were just glad to have an excuse to leave the kitchen. You were confused by your own thoughts. Yes, you had a soft spot for Yunho, if that wasn’t clear by now. You had wondered many times about what it would be like to have a closer relationship with him. It didn’t have to be sexual or romantic, you had told yourself many times. You just wanted to get to know his personality...

But as you set up the TV and prepared the boys’ living room for you and Yunho’s movie night, you couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps there wasn’t more to this. You would never do aegyo for anyone; no matter how badly you wanted something from Seonghwa, you would never resort to that. You didn’t get why couples wanted to match, but when you and Yunho had accidentally worn complimenting outfits to dinner with your friend group one time, and Wooyoung had teased you, you had found yourself wishing that there was something to be teased about.

Yunho turned off the fryer. He had seen you staring at him for a while, eyes drifting down to the silly apron he was wearing. It was a gift for Hongjoong from a few years back, before they had moved in together. Now, Yunho was the only one wearing it on a regular basis. The green frog with the golden crown, the white letters saying ‘Kiss the cook’... Your eyes were glued to the letters when you said: “Hm, I might.” Yunho had heard it quite clearly, had seen your lips move as you said it. And then he also saw your panic.

You had collected yourself by the time Yunho came into the living room with the mandu on a plate. He also brought the bag of snacks and drinks and the remainders of your shared dinner to have with the side dish. “Ready?” he asked, before pressing play on the movie.

It started. It was not even that good, you had to admit. But nonetheless, you didn’t dare take your attention away from it, afraid your only other option was to start wondering if Yunho had actually heard what you said, if he knew what it meant... You sneaked a glance at him, right at a funny bit of the movie. Yunho laughed, and as he did, your heart contracted. What did he have to be so cute for?

You couldn’t rely on the buzz of alcohol now...

You also couldn’t say that you had actually watched the movie. You had been too preoccupied with your own thoughts, the food and Yunho, and then you had missed the ending because you fell asleep. You were startled from your sleep by Yunho, who was gently shaking you awake. “Good morning,” he said, smiling. “Do you want to sleep in my bed, instead of on the couch?”

For a second you thought you had heard him wrong and it was your sleep riddled brain playing tricks on you. But when he repeated his question, you couldn’t deny it. “Are you trying to get me into bed, oppa?” You let your voice raise in pitch at the term, knowing it would make him blush again. The combination of your puffy, sleepy face, the implication behind your words and its contrast with the innocence in your tone of voice, made Yunho feel shy. “I’m just joking,” you said. “Is it really morning? I should head home.”

“It’s late,” he said, quickly recovering. “The underground is out of service for another four hours at least. I thought maybe you’d like to sleep more comfortably.”

“Alright.” You nodded. “Let me freshen up a little.”

As you left for the bathroom, Yunho felt his heart thump wildly in his chest. He would do anything for you, really. If you had asked him to walk you home, he would’ve done it within a heartbeat, even if you lived halfway across Seoul. He knew he was treading dangerous waters now, especially now. Really, he ought to have had woken you up in time for you to catch the last train, but he was selfish. Yunho didn’t know when he would get you to himself again and he knew he would regret not doing anything now that he had the chance. Before Seonghwa actually managed in stealing you away from him. Or before anyone else could.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Yunho was waiting outside, leaned against the wall opposite. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sleep in the room with you. I’d rather be on my air mattress than on the couch for when San and Hongjoong come back from clubbing,” he said.

“Sure.” There was nothing wrong with sharing the same room, right? No, you decided. You helped Yunho get his air mattress and sleeping bag from the messy cupboard in the hallway and went to his room next. It was very tidy, almost as if he had planned to show it to someone. The only thing that was untidy, was his desk. It was obvious he had been sitting at it before you arrived, doing assignments for college. “Oh, you were studying earlier?” You sauntered over to the desk, examining the complicated mathematical formulas.

“Attempting to,” he said, spreading out his air mattress on the floor next to his bed, blocking him from opening his closet doors. The room was small, as was expected from a bedroom in Seoul, but it offered just enough space for him. “The module is quite hard.”

“I wish I could help you,” you said, turning back to look at Yunho as he spread out his sleeping bag on top of the mattress. “But I’m rubbish at anything mathematical or scientific. You know that.”

“I do.” Yunho smiled at you, sitting down on his makeshift bed. “But thanks for the offer anyway.” For a moment it was silent, then he patted his actual bed. “Come on, you can head in. You must be tired.”

“No,” you said, surprising even yourself. “I have never felt more awake, actually.” You sank down onto his air mattress. “Are you sure you’re going to be comfortable on the floor?”

“Better than the couch,” he said. “I will be fine. Promise.” He didn’t add that it would only be better because he would be able to be so close to you.

“I don’t believe you.” You leaned your back against Yunho’s bed behind you. “But alright. Thanks, by the way. For letting me stay here. And for the mandu.” You winked.

Yunho’s smile widened. “You know, I don’t do this for just anyone.”

“That, I can believe.” You smiled at him. And that’s when you thought: wait... “So, now that we’re both still up at this hour... maybe we can talk about something a bit more intimate?”

Yunho’s heart beat erratically at your words. “Intimate?”

“Yes,” you said, thoughtfully. “I mean, like...” Now it was your turn to be shy. “...relationships and such? Are you dating anyone at the moment?”

“No.” He spoke fast, too fast. “How about you? I’ve noticed you and Seonghwa...?”

He refused to look at you, but you didn’t know because you refused to look at him. “Seonghwa and I are just friends. I wouldn’t want to date him, he’s... difficult.”

“Difficult?”

“Yes. And I already like someone else,” you said. This was the first time you admitted it out loud, and as soon as you said it, your heart beat so loudly, you were sure Yunho would be able to tell and figure out exactly who it was you were in love with. But even though that would probably be your worst nightmare, it was also a scenario that you would welcome. It was much easier for him to connect the dots, than it was for you to come to a conclusion on what to do. You had your suspicions, though...

“Are you going to tell me who?” Yunho asked. He licked at his dry lips, sure he would have his heart stomped on by you right at this moment.

“I can give you a hint? You can guess?” You felt like a middle schooler. But perhaps middle schoolers were right in this department. Just beat around the bush, why don’t you, Y/N? your mind spoke to you angrily.

“Mmkay,” Yunho said.

He sounded unsure. “Well... He makes great mandu, like you. You know that’s my favourite side dish.” You sneaked a glance at Yunho. He was playing with the zipper of his sleeping bag, avoiding your eyes. “I liked it when he dyed his hair blonde, because he looked like a prince. He’s very tall and lately, he’s been getting quite muscular too. I don’t think he noticed me noticing that...”

Was he getting it? Ugh, you felt like you were 12 years old all over again! Why was confessing so hard?

“He uhm...” you continued, when Yunho didn’t answer, “He also has a really sweet personality. People often say he’s like a puppy. But what I really like about him, is how funny he is. Sometimes he doesn’t even try. But he can also be really serious and thoughtful. And he’s really patient, he lives with one of the most annoying people I’ve ever met in my life. Besides Wooyoung.”

You noticed you had slipped up the second you said his name. You looked up in panic. Yunho had also looked up at the sound of Wooyoung’s name. You often complained San and Wooyoung were the most annoying pair of boys you had ever met, even though you loved them dearly. It only dawned on Yunho then. All of those descriptions... He should’ve known the second you mentioned the dumplings. “Y-you like me?” He couldn’t keep the tremble out of his voice.

“I, uhm-” You were about to say that you guessed so, but really, you were more sure of yourself now than ever before. “Yes. I do.”

“Good,” Yunho said. He scooted closer to you. “Because I like you too. And it was torture, having to watch you and Seonghwa kiss over the past year. Torture.”

“Why did you never say anything?”

He had a fair point.

“Well, now that you know,” you said, “what are you going to do about it?”

Yunho smiled. “Something I have always wanted to do.”

#kpop imagine #mine #kpop x reader #ateez fluff #ateez imagine #ateez x reader #park seonghwa #my writing #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #seonghwa imagine #yunho imagine #yunho fluff #seonghwa fluff

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aimee-maroux · 5 years ago

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Plato-nic Love (Part I)

I sadly didn’t finish the whole story in time but this is part one of Seren and Plato’s epic love story for the ages XD

Illustrations were done by the wonderful @sigeel 😍😍😍

So this submission is by the two of us!

Plato-nic Love

Seren poured a libation of wine and started working on the grapevine that had been growing in the family garden for a while. At first, her mother had tried to get rid of it but it had proven the essence of indestructable life and so they had accepted its presence much like Seren had come to accept the presence of its patron god. She was about to cut off a branch to use for making a crown later on when she heard a familiar voice. "How is my favourite bacchae?" She sighed. It had been about a year since she had agreed to become his faithful follower and needless to say she was still the only one. "Do you know what day it is?" Seren started frantically going through all the calendars she had studied, from the reconstructed Attic calendar to the Roman calendar before and after the Julian reform -what moon phase were they in again? "You always think we don't care about these things but I have a sursprise for you." Dionysos flashed her a bright smile. "What?" she said flatly. A surprise from a god couldn't possibly mean anything good.

"I SAID: I have a SURPRISE for you!" Confetti and flower petals started raining down on them and from above sounded a rustic melody played on pan pipes. Seren looked up to see Hermes sitting on a treebranch, grinning as he played the instrument his son invented. "Ha ha, very funny, Hermes." Dionysos took Seren by the shoulders. "He was supposed to play the Time Warp. Because it's exactly ONE YEAR TODAY that you became my bacchae and do I have a surprise for you!" "Yeah, you said so. But maybe it would be better if-" "Nonsense! As your patron god I am exceedingly generous. You see, I have noticed your infatuation with Plato." "You don't say." "Yes. Anyway, Hermes was so nice to pay grandfather Kronos a visit and relieve him of a little artef- well, details, it doesn't matter! What is important is that you will get to meet Plato!" "Really?!" There was a nagging voice in Seren's head that told her to be careful but Dionysos had just told her she'd get to meet Plato! "Really. All you have to do is take my hand. But I have another gift for you. Hermes, come down here!" The messenger god swung himself lazily from the tree and floated down until his winged sandals touched the ground. "My brother pointed out that you might have difficulties speaking ancient Greek fluently so he will grant you the ability to speak it like a native for as long as you give up your native English." Seren gaped. "That... is surprisingly thoughtful of you." "Hermes, do it! And no nonsense like giving her a lisp or a foreign accent!" "Of course not. Why would I do that?" Hermes grinned at Seren. "I'd not even be there to see it." "What? Now? Wait!" Seren cried out as divine magic rearranged the synapses in her speech centre. "I did not agree-" "She'll speak fluently once you arrive in Greece," Hermes said, "Once you return, the magic wears off." Dionysos gave his brother a suspicious look. Then he beamed. "Perfect!" Dionysos clapped enthusiastically. "Hold on tight!" He pulled her into his embrace and Seren instinctively hugged him. The world around them began to blur and the heavens seemed to turn back as they sped through time and space. There was a sudden jolt and the world was clear once again. Only, it looked strange. But not strange enough for Seren not to recognise her patron god had spoken the truth. This was ancient Athens! She felt a nasty queasiness but she was much too excited to care about that just now. She had known about polychromy but the sheer explosion of colours in the city made her heart sing. The reconstructions were mere shadows of the vibrant paint on the statues, buildings, and clothes. And the Akropolis! It looked majestic even now but the ruins were nothing compared to the magnificence of colour and architecture. Seren stood in awe, even though they were miles away down in a sidestreet. Potters had laid out their painted vases and other works as they created new ones. Seren couldn't decide what to see first, jumping this way and that until the unsavoury sound of regurgitation briefly diverted her attention. Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick wall of a house and puked his guts out. "How can you be so chipper?" Dionysos groaned, wiping his mouth. "You're mortal!" We travelled both time AND space. You should be barfing like a youth at his first symposion." But Seren just ignored him in her euphoria. "It's Athens!" she cried. "ANCIENT Athens!" "That fleet-foorted son of a-" "What? What is it?!" "Nothing, nothing. Everything is fine. I just..." Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick house. "Hermes could have said something about the inconvenience of travelling." Seren shrugged. Who cared, they were already there. "I want to see EVERYTHING!!! The sculptures! The pottery! The architecture! The clothes..." "Speaking of which..." Dionysos grinned. "We should get you something less 2020. If you want to meet Plato, we need a certain disguise. And you want to look your best for him, right?" Seren screwed up her face. "Plato isn't about looks. He's about the beauty of the soul." "Well, if you want to go dressed in that tasteless pink sweater and leggings combination. But let me tell you, nothing looks better on a woman than a finely woven chiton." "Yeah, you're not at all biased." "It's one of the few things even Apollo and I agree on, so it must be true." Seren would have been happy just roaming the streets of ancient Athens for a couple of days. Or for however long this time thingy would allow. The prospect of meeting Plato both exhilarated and terrified her.

Dionysos bought her an elegant chiton in the extremely crowded agora. Seren hardly suppressed a squeal when he paid with real ancient drachmae. Only they didn't look ancient at all. "Why is nobody staring?" she asked, as another group of people walked past them without paying them any mind. "Did you put glamour over my modern clothes?" Dionysos laughed. "No need, honeybee. This is Athens. At a time like this they get tourists from all over the world. One strange, foreign costume is not going to turn any heads." He pulled her away from the merchants and splendour of the agora into the entrance of a seemingly abandoned house. "Put it on," he said, handing her the chiton. "Don't peek!" she reminded him before she changed into her new garment. It felt cool and pleasant on her skin and the quality of the linen was indeed fantastic. Despite the loose fit the fabric was so delicate it hugged her figure in an almost revealing way, making her feel exposed. "Is this really acceptable dress?" she asked. "Only with this worn over it." Dionysos came up behind her, closing another layer of cloth over her shoulders with simple dress pins. "You look great, honeybee," he said sincerely. "Plato can consider himself lucky. You got the brains, you got the looks, and even that austere, joyless personality to match." "I get the impression you don't like Plato much." Dionysos slung the belt around her waist and fastened it. "What gave it away? My graffiti, my groaning everytime you bring him up, or the charming way I speak about him?" "The graffiti was a pretty obvious hint." "I hope you appreciate my gift all the more, honeybee." "I do." She smiled. "But I don't think I could appreciate it any more than I already do. This is a dream come true. The most exciting day of my life. More exciting even than Delphi." "Be careful not to tell Apollo," Dionysos warned but he looked pleased. "Sure. If I ever run into him I'll remember it." As they stepped outside, the streets were empty. "Where is everybody?" "Oh, it must be time to crown the victors." "Victors? Of what? It's too cold to be July, isn't it?" "Not the Panathenaic Games." Dionysos smiled broadly. "It's not an athletic contest. Today..." He made a dramatic pause. "Is the last day of the Great Dionysia!" "Oh." Seren was disappointed. "So we can't go and watch any of the plays?" "I'm afraid it is too late for that. But I can show you my theatre and the temple with my cult image if you want."

Seren politely admired the simple wooden log that was supposed to be a representation of Dionysos and genuinely marvelled at the masks that had been dedicated below it. She patiently listened to Dionysos as he recounted the story of the very first Dionysia in Athens and how he used to mingle among the crowd every year to watch what the people of Athens had put on the stage in his honour. Once they arrived at the theatre it was already empty but it was a stunning sight all the same. Seeing everything intact and in its full glory filled Seren with unknown joy. The decorations, both permanent and temporary, were as colourful and flamboyant as the god they honoured. When they made it back to the streets of Athens, there were already groups of shouty drunk people roaming about. "Victory parties," Dionysos explained when he saw Seren's face. "In fact, we are about to attend one too. But first..." A purple mist shrouded the god's body and when it dispelled, his simple chiton had given way to a slutty ankle-length skirt that hung low enough to expose part of his bum cheeks, his arms, wrists, and ankles adorned with golden jewellery. "I know you practiced with the aulos. You're gonna be a flute girl." Seren startled. "What? No! I'm not nearly good enough!" Dionysos shrugged, making his golden bracelets clink. "I don't think I need to tell you that other kinds of women are not allowed at symposia. Unless you want to play the role of a hetaira..." "F-Flute girl is fine."

They arrived at a house that obviously belonged to someone well-to-do. "A group of revellers is about to show up here any minute. We'll join them to enter the symposion. Trust me, they're too drunk to realise we don't belong." Seren nodded nervously. "Now would be the time to ditch that respectable dress." Reluctantly, Seren freed herself of the protective extra layer of clothing and received the aulos flutes Dionysos handed her. The revellers did indeed show up. Loud and obnoxious, it was impossible not to notice them. A man in his late 20s or early 30s led the group. Half-naked and well into his cups, crowned with a wreath of ivy and violets, he was all but carried by two sturdy lads who looked like they were half-naked professionally. "Come!" Dionysos tugged on her arm and they danced along, she awkwardly, he with a grace and confidence she envied. The leader of the group pounded against the door and yelled for "Agathon". Seren's heart skipped a beat. "Is that... Alkibiades?!" she whispered to Dionysos. "The very same." "We are at THAT Symposium?!!" "We most certainly are." Seren gaped at the man who would eventually be the ruin of Athens by defecting to Sparta and then to Persia. He rattled the door, shouting "Agathon!" and dropped his single piece of clothing in the process, quickly picked up by his lads. Seren shrieked when the man suddenly leaned heavily on her, his arms reeling for support. Dionysos was quick to jump to his other side, taking most of the load off his bacchae. "AGATHON!" Alkibiades yelled once more, in the manner drunks yelled on their way home from the pub after closing hours. He kept demanding to see Agathon with a heavy tongue until a servant boy finally opened up and led them to the andron. Alkibiades managed to stand on his own, stumbling towards the host of the party while announcing how completely and utterly wasted he was. "Let's bring the bacchic spirit to this lame party!" Dionysos cheered. Seren gazed around with stars in her eyes. The room was bright with torches and the klinai were populated by men both young and old but all shirtless and all with crowns of ivy on their heads. She looked more closely at the guests while Alkibiades spoke to Agathon, probably congratulating him for his victory. But none of the symposiasts looked like any of the artworks she had seen of Plato. They were most likely created after his death anyway. "Soooo..." She leaned on Dionysos' shoulder. "Where is Plato?" Dionysos gestured at the kline at the very end of the room, occupied by two young men. "The dark-haired one."

"THAT is Plato?! I thought he'd be at least in his 30s!" Dionysos grinned a smug grin. "He wrote the Symposion in his late 30s. But this, honeybee, is the year the titular symposion actually took place. The first year of the 91st Olympiad. Or, as you would say, 416 BCE." Seren gaped at the young man seated on a couch with a blond youth. He had long, curly hair crowned with a wreath of ivy like all the symposiasts, young and old. A strong, Greek nose gave his face a distinct personality. Who would have thought the man Seren knew only from his words and artwork showing him as an old man could be so... hot. The blonde guy leaned over, whispering something to him. Maybe they were flirting. It wasn't anything unusual back in the day, Seren knew that. But they seemed to be about the same age. Shouldn't- "Play, flute girl," Dionysos nudged her with his elbow, "I'll clear the kline for you."

Seren watched him shimmy over to the pair and tried to remember how to play the aulos. She had practiced so much but right now it felt as if she knew nothing at all. Her idol, Plato, might be listening! Her cheeks burned as she blew into the wooden instrument, the tune an embarrassing version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". Despite playing the role of a dancer, Dionysos sat down with the two no doubt aristocratic young men in his usual impudent manner. The blond youth's face turned sour. "What is the meaning of this?" "I came for the entertainment." "We are very well entertained by each other's company, thank you." Dionysos gave the blonde guy a cheeky grin. "Does your company agree?" He crawled on the kline until he basically sat on Plato's lap, prompting the young philosopher to blush. How cute! "Some people can be such a dull affair, talking about nothing but themselves all the time." The angry blond yanked Dionysos off Plato. "This was a philosophical symposion before you arrived!" "Yes. And to shame! You are celebrating a victory at the Dionysia. Where is the revelry?" "There are countless symposia all over Athens. Why did you have to come and ruin this one?" "You know exactly that I didn't ruin anything. But please, if you have any grievances take it up with my master. Alkibiades." "You know what? I will!" The blond aristocrat got up from the kline and grabbed Dionysos by the wrist, effectively pulling him off the kline. He dragged the god behind him as he made for the door, leaving Plato all alone on his bed of colourful cushions. Dionysos winked at her as they passed and it was at that moment that Seren noticed that his "friend" was the only one wearing laurel instead of ivy. Did they just... cock-block Apollon? But not all is lost, she reasoned, if Plato likes Apollon, he likes blondes, right? Right?

Shyly, Seren sat down next to the man whose teachings she still hadn't figured out. And maybe neither did he. He was so young and handsome. She was close enough to smell his heavy perfume and either oil or sweat or both made his chest gleam in the firelight. It really was quite hot in here. He didn't fit the stereotype of the philosopher at all, being so young and handsome and quite brawny. But no matter how hot he was, his physical appearance was dwarfed by the beauty of his brain and thoughts. His intelligence was that much hotter. That being said, Seren liked to think she would be less flustered if the man were old enough to be her father. But he was not. He must be about her own age. "We got rid of the other flute girl." "Wa-What?" "You must know there were already celebrations with heavy drinking last night. Surely you played at Alkibiades' place or some other house?" Seren nodded timidly. "So Pausanias suggested we refrain from drinking tonight and we ended up sending away the flute girl as well. A shame, because before you came in, it was all boring speeches of the old men assembled here. I enjoy the delightful harmony of music much, much more." "You don't like philosophy?" "Of course I do, but not at a drinking party celebrating the Dionysia. You're not from here, are you?" "Ahm, no?" "I don't think I've met a Spartan flute girl. Most of them come from Peiraieús." Seren laughed nervously. What the fuck, Hermes?! "I hope it's not a problem?" she mumbled. "No, no. I'm just surprised. Do you have a name, dear?" "I... I am Seren." "Seiren? What a fitting nickname! My name is-" "I know who you are!" Seren gushed, "I-I-I admire you greatly, Plato!" "Oh?" To Seren's great relief he smiled. "So you have seen me compete?" "Uh, yes, of course!" Seren would be thrilled to see him at any competition, really. "It's just a silly name my wrestling coach gave me. To intimidate my rivals, he says." "I like it!" "You like my broad shoulders, Seiren?" Seren blushed. "No, that's not what I, uh..." "It's all right. Lots of women admire them." "Ahahaha." Was he flirting with her? Or just bragging? "You may be an outstanding athlete," she said, "But I admire your words even more." "My poetry?" Now it was his time to blush. "Did you play it?" "Not yet." Seren decided to be bold, "People want to hear the same songs, Sappho, Pindar and the like. But... But maybe you can teach me how to play yours?" "No I... I burned them all." "Why would you do that?" "I wanted to focus better on my studies. Maybe I made the wrong call. Mousaios, the guy who just left? He said music is like medicine and can create harmony between opposites, that a musical education is helpful in the study of philosophy. Ah, I don't know. I don't want to bore you, flute girl." "You're not boring me, Plato. Please, tell me your thoughts!" And then, all of a sudden, a large drunken group walked into the room and joined the party, Dionysos among them. There was noise everywhere, and Plato leaned in very close and asked: "What do you say, Seiren. Shall we make our excuses and leave?"

to be continued...

#Quarantined Bacchae #The Last Bacchae #fanfiction #The Last Bacchae fanfiction #Linda Sejic #fanart #The Last Bacchae fanart #Seren Calvert #Dionysos #Hermes #Platon #Plato #Apollon #Apollo #Seren x Plato epic love story for the ages?#Plato x Apollo missed romance #I hope you have a good laugh #written with love

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thelastspeecher · 3 years ago

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What are Iris and Orion like when they’re older?

Both Orion and Iris are more outgoing than their father, who claims it's the McGucket genes (and he's right). But Iris can get easily overwhelmed by people and social interactions. Of the two, Orion is more of a social butterfly.

Even though Iris can get easily overwhelmed by social things, she still very much enjoys being in the limelight. She enjoys talking about things she loves and also likes to perform, and that enjoyment overrides her anxiety around large groups of people.

Meanwhile, Orion might be more of a social butterfly than his twin sister, but he inherits Angie's stage fright and has to work past it. Unlike Angie, whose stage fright is restricted to singing, Orion's stage fright is for anything and everything. He's terrified to perform or talk in front of large groups.

Yes, both of them are performers! They are musically gifted, something inherited from their Ma. Orion plays the flute and Iris sings.

In addition to being musically gifted, they're academically gifted, naturally. Orion goes to school to study botany and scientific illustration; he winds up being a florist and doing floral scientific illustrations on the side. Iris, meanwhile, goes to West Coast Tech and becomes an astrophysicist.

Orion dresses a bit more reserved, like his Dad. Sweater vests and slacks. Iris, however, dresses like Ms. Frizzle. Kooky and colorful, just like the goddess of the rainbow she's named after. However, she does go through a goth rebellious phase as a teenager, where she lashes out at Stan and has to be talked down from being awful to her Uncle Dad.

In general, Orion is more reserved and mild than Iris, who has a tendency to swing from extremes. Also, Orion gets dyslexia, while Iris has some sort of autism-adjacent thing. She also gets a bit of ADHD from Angie.

Orion eventually gets himself a husband and they have five kids via surrogate, while Iris finds herself a wife and adopts a son. Also, Iris gets an iguana she names Athena.

Oh, and one last thing: Orion, as an adult, comes out as nonbinary. He's a he/they enby.

#I think that about covers what I've decided for those kiddos #but if you have more specific questions pls pls pls send them to me~#Marriage of Convenience AU #ask #nelson-and-murdock

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nature-and-music · 4 years ago

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Magick Tricks - Chapter 1

Authors’ note - This is a collaborated story written by @kashmir-baby and @nature-and-music involving Led Zeppelin going to a Renaissance Pleasure Faire. The year is 1975, hours before they play at a nearby venue. Robert encourages his mates to dress up and head off to a Renaissance Faire. The festivities are a blast for all of them, except for Jimmy who isn’t all too pleased with his costume (chosen by Robert) or the outing itself. However something later on catches his eye and bewitches him. Please keep in mind that this is a fictitious scenario and this story is purely written with humorous intentions and later on nsfw between adults (Jimmy x Female oc). If you are under the age of 18, please click away and do not read any further.

Our collab was quite long, so we had to break it up into chapters. @nature-and-music will be uploading the odd chapters and the epilogue. @kashmirbaby will be uploading the even chapters. We will provide the continuing chapters at the bottom and the previous chapters at the top.

Chapter 1 - Led Zeppelin Crashes the Renaissance Faire

Adjustments and lacing up of costumes seemed like such a hassle. However everything had to be done to ensure that they were prepared for the festivities today. With just a few more added details and props, they were ready to depart.

“Robert, please remind me again why we’re doing this?” Jimmy pondered as he looked at himself in the mirror. The tufts of his snow white beard hanging just below his chest.

“Jimmy, it’s the Renaissance Pleasure Faire. It’s a wonderful thing that people enjoy doing for fun,” Robert explained as he placed his sword into the holster; tugging out the wrinkles of the sun illustration upon his surcoat.

“I look ridiculous with this beard and hat,” Jimmy muttered.

“Well you do need a staff. You can’t be a proper wizard unless you have that,” Jonesy added, tuning the strings on his lute.

“More like a walking stick. Isn’t that right, grandfather?” Bonzo quipped, laughing as he practiced swinging his axe, nearly causing his horned helmet to topple over.

“First of all, a proper wizard would never wear this. Secondly, you’re no proper Viking, John! In fact they didn’t exist at that point in history,” Jimmy rebutted, squinting his eyes at the large man.

“Who cares about historical accuracy? Frankly, I wanna get there and start drinkin’,” Bonzo retorted, getting very close to Jimmy.

Quickly Jonesy stepped between his mates, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, “Here now, let’s take it easy, lads. Come on, we’re going to have fun today.”

“That’s right, and perhaps if any of us are lucky, we may even find a fair maiden to share the day with,” Robert delightfully added, as he swished his golden locks.

“Just, please try not to do anything stupid. That goes for everyone here,” Jonesy emphasized looking at all three of them.

“I highly doubt a serf boy is going to do much anyhow,” Jimmy snickered.

“Minstrel, Jimmy. I am a minstrel, as clearly indicated by my instrument of choice.”

“Right. Robert – really. Are you done? The sooner we leave the sooner this is over.”

“Yes, yes, yes, Jimmy,” Robert said gleefully as he admired himself one last time, tossing his curls and straightening the costume he was so proud of. “Let’s go.”

The boys left Robert’s hotel room and made their way towards the elevator. “God, this is embarrassing,” Jimmy said, as two attractive guests squeezed in after them. “Hello.” The elevators opened on the first floor, and they walked out to the awaiting car.

“Watch my cape,” Jimmy snapped at Bonzo as they climbed in.

“I’m hoping you’ll be more fun when you’re drunk,” Bonzo replied, pulling a flask from somewhere within his tunic and waving it at him. “Suit yourself,” he said as Jimmy shook his head no.

Robert chattered excitedly about everything he read of the Faire during the car ride, while the others nodded, half-listening. Jimmy fiddled with his wizard’s beard, as Bonzo emptied his flask.

“I can’t listen to you anymore,” Bonzo said, interrupting Robert. “Jonesy, play something on that flute!”

“I don’t have a flute, I have a lute.”

“Fine. Give it here then, and I’ll play it!” Bonzo said, lunging over Jimmy as he tried to snatch the lute from Jonesy.

“Bonzo, Bonzo, my beard. My beard!” Jimmy yelled, as Jonesy quickly pulled the lute out of reach.

“Why is everyone so touchy today?” Robert asked, shaking his head.

“So, did Crowley play dress up too? What would he think of your, uh, getup if he ran into you today?” Bonzo could barely finish speaking before he burst out in laughter.

“Aleister Crowley was a misunderstood genius of the 20th century. You’ve just proven it with your unsolicited commentary. He was not a conjurer of cheap tricks waving some wooden wand around.”

“I don’t know how you get women into bed at all with that talk, Jim,” Bonzo retorted.

“For your information, Crowley recognized that sexual energy is the most powerful force in the universe…and that line does pretty well,” Jimmy said matter-of-factly.

“Ah, so this whole sex magick trick is a ploy to get them into bed.”

“I’m not saying anything more on the subject.” Jimmy snapped. He had tensed up, and the boys spent the rest of the car ride in silence.

Robert was the first to break the tension, totally oblivious to the tension in the car. “Oh look, I can see the parking lot. We’ve arrived! Bonzo, behave, yeah? I’ll buy you your first beer.”

Robert threw the car door open and briskly walked towards the entrance, turning every so often as he awaited for the rest to catch up.

“The things I do for you, Robert,” Jimmy called, trailing behind them.

“Jimmy, I’ve already told you that everybody dresses up – look around. And let’s go! They’ll close by the time you lot make it inside!”

Robert led the way as they shuffled amongst a colorful crowd, towards the arches of the fake castle wall that had been built for the event.

“Renaissance Pleasure Faire,” Jonesy said, reading the sign that was perched above the archway. “Well at least they’re original.”

“Look at all the lovely costumes!” Robert said excitedly as he looked around, ignoring Jonesy’s jab.

The grounds were filled with all manner of tented shoppes, stages for performing, and fenced off spaces for physical activities such as archery and sword fighting. Ribbons billowing in the wind upon the buildings with which they were tied to, the scents of freshly made meals wafted about, and lively music echoed throughout. Vendors were selling their goods from handmade jewelry and statues made of steel, copper, and wood, depicting creatures both real and mystical. Weapons were crafted before curious audiences that gathered at the blacksmiths’ corner. All manner of drapery and costumes made from the finest of materials were displayed. This truly was heaven for anyone who harbored a love for anything that involved fantasy and myth; Robert fell in love with such a place. Jonesy couldn’t help but smile, there was something about this site that enamored him as well. A group of mighty vikings had noticed Bonzo, they raised their weapons and gave their fellow warrior a mighty roar; he responded as well, turns out he couldn’t help himself either. Jimmy, however, may have required a bit more convincing, somehow the magick of the faire was hardly affecting him.

“Cheer up Jimmy, this is actually a really nice venue,” Jonesy noted.

“Maybe we just need to get him a spellbook. That way he can actually enjoy himself,” Bonzo added; the wizard rolled his eyes, but remained silent.

Removing his sword from the holster, Robert pointed his blade and cried out, “Well come on, let us venture onward!”

“What about my beer?” Bonzo nonchalantly reminded the ecstatic knight.

“Onward to mead!” Robert rephrased happily.

The little fellowship walked the grounds, taking notice of the sights and hearing the music as they tread the dusty earth. They finally reached the eateries and headed straight for a booth selling mead. Perhaps it was the rather gregarious set up of the mead station, or the rather lovely women in their low bodice gowns that were selling the pints. Whatever drew them to this particular stand, the four of them stood in line ready to purchase. Jimmy noticed a glass jar with paper bills and coins, with a little sign that read, “Be generous and generosity will be gifted to thee.” Reaching into his satchel, he placed a few coins into the jar. Suddenly, as if on cue, the woman completing their transaction jumped for joy and clapped her hands.

“Huzzah to our gracious giver! Huzzah!”

As if under a trance, Jimmy kept a watchful eye on the rather buxom maiden leaping; the way her body would rise momentarily and give in to gravity once more. He smiled nervously and chuckled quietly, she was quite captivating. A nudge to his side forced him back to reality, to which Robert placed a couple of bills into the jar with his other arm, giving her a wink and a blown kiss. After finishing the phrase once more and grabbing the air for his “kiss”, she arched herself closer to Robert.

“Ooh, thank you brave sir knight, I will keep your kiss in my heart,” she seductively whispered as she opened her fist and splayed her palm upon her cleavage; giving him a little shimmey.

“Hey! If you two are done, we have drinks to guzzle down!” Bonzo shouted, seizing Robert by the arm, being careful to not spill his pint; Jimmy followed closely behind.

Jimmy looked over his shoulder and noticed that she blew him a kiss, giving him a little bounce, and a farewell shake.

“Now I see why ‘Pleasure’ is in the title,” he laughed.

Chapter 2: https://kashmir-baby.tumblr.com/post/636152384435994624/magick-tricks-chapter-2

#led zeppelin #jimmy page #jimmy page x ofc #robert plant #john paul jones #john bonham #collab fic #classic rock #classic rock fandom

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thecrenellations · 4 years ago

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Return of the Thief Notes, Part Two: The Book of Pheris, Volume 2, Chapters 1-5

Notes from my first read, October 2020. (Part One | Part Three | TaT)

Contents: Me losing my mind in multiple ways each chapter, helpful links, nighttime garden cousins, an Irene pun, notes from my second read, “mwt is just like going for it,” and “this is so fucked up and heartwarming.”

Format: Page number. My thoughts (Context?)

Volume 2

Illustration

Book 2 bro

Now we’re caught up and changed forever by lots of things

What printer’s apprentice made this?

Elephants!

Chapter 1

175. me too, Costis, me too. I am so tired. (it’s hard to sleep when your brain and heart and everything are fizzing because you’re reading Return of the Thief for the first time and a new Queen’s Thief book for the last time)

176. Klimun + Gerosthenes vibes [moon doodle]

Holes in documents. That’s cute

Gen!!! <3

Wtf Ansel was hoodwinked!

177. The Queen waited

They’re ridiculous

Hi Pheris

Wtf he stole her earrings for Melheret?!?

178. Excuse me??? What is this book (sleeveless leather tunic)

He still roams!!!

Tattoos!

179. a sentence I never fucking expected to read ever “The absence of tattoos…”

180. that’s interesting

Stacked like kindling wow oh dear

181. She wants him to move in lol

Lol sorry Ion

Did she just want them to leave the room?

182. I can’t with this… I can’t. Why is sex symbol Relius canon. (the play that featured him! It’s great, it’s great, it was just a lot to take in!)

Silver crown?

183. Cleon! Rude!

Did they call Costis to deck him?

Queen scene!! <3

184. This is an epic. Abt Costis. Dirty stranger

185. he’s “the high king”

Lol

187. prophet (Pheris sure makes Costis sound like one)

Shut up Piloxides

188. resources for war! (book launch foreshadowing part two! She talked a lot about this kind of thing as well, and recommended the book Alexander the Great and the Logistics of the Macedonian Army)

189. “we”

What were you gonna say (Gen almost says something to Costis part one)

193. RIP The Magus Archives … it was not to be. Yet.

194. Melenze’s doorstep. Why? Bc Melenze is Ferria’s dog. (idk dude that line from ACoK has just never left me)

195. This is … a big war

196. Oh gen

Nighttime garden cousins.

Chapter 2

197. wtf did Relius think of that play

Also … not a peep from the sacred mountain huh

198. wtf will happen with Cleon

with Erondites

with THE MOUNTAIN

a lot going on

everyone was in that room but Kamet! So close!

199. Cute Fordad + Gen friendship (I never said these notes would make me look smart)

Same 2 T + R! :) It’s not them is it? (I NEVER SAID THESE NOTES WOULD MAKE ME LOOK SMART)

Poor Teleus

200. gdi Gen

Excuse me? Is he worried for Pheris??? (taking his tablet)

They trust each other! C’mon!

Sure he has reasons

202. oh dear. :( that’s … the worst cover story

Also falling

203. wow almost like a story huh

Ula’s altar :(

Why haven’t we had a Gen and Costis scene IN THREE BOOKS

205. I just … I don’t know if he’s just miserable or if it’s all a plan. I feel like I should know it’s all a plan. But he really feels like he has far to go. He’s just a mess and the same and so different. (having a small Gen meltdown)

205. he did give him the gun

Odd that he missed Quedue

206. he’s gonna bite them (buckle up! it’s abdication time!)

207. Power. Power. Power. Power.

Thx 4 the editorializing Pheris

208. Gen is making choices. That’s a choice.

209. There’s KoA down the drain

Aaaand he’s Eugenides

“Eugenides stared into the future”

The page of like 3 different tumblr posts: Trophy husband, Library, No! yes!

210. make sure he doesn’t leave lol

211. Pheris :(

Also fucked up timing for Irene

I love them

212. again with the birthday book

He’s still the king in the narration

Go on the roof! So close!

213. EUGENIDES IS ALWAYS APPROPRIATE my motto

Viper! Bastard!

Oh shit. I love them.

214. “our treaty” “our queen”

AAAH! Wedding night!

Asked her to leave!

Smash Erondites and peace out, literally

215. a frank talk

HE SAID IT.

216. The Bructs?

Wait is this his grandfather (taking a moment to remember all about Susa)

Also that’s Costis territory

217. who is this lion

218. #3 to Gen.

219. hmmm ring

There’s been a lot to unpack wow.

Did this happen, Pheris? Pheris?!

220. Atté atté!

(Dear reader: for some strange reason, I completely forgot about taking notes on the final pages of this chapter. These notes are from when I reread those pages a few minutes later.)

Erondites full cup to brimming

The Pherises…

We must think of others before ourselves … occasionally

I do not like Orutus

Don’t fence Costis in! Does this count as prison? No (I had a square on my bingo board for “someone ends up in prison” ... but it turned out to be for someone else)

221. damn Costis

Aaah

Costis …

Irene… your jokes (I mean, it’s a joke, but also it is very real for her.)

SHE SAID IT!

My heart

222. where is Relius going?

SPYING

What you see and what you think it means (I love these instructions/this quote so much)

So are Susa + Erondites 2gether or what (listen ... proximity generates meaning in these books)

Also, like

What can

I say

WHAT CAN I SAY (Hell yeah! Never more glad to be wrong about the magus)

[page long list of doubles and parallels - from Cleons and Pherises and Ions to god-character and character-character connections]

Also the fact that in KoA and TaT Relius was like … oh … no … I just live a gentle life being friends with my king and queen and being scholarly. But no. He’s SPYING and TRAVELING MYSTERIOUSLY and has MANY LOVERS and also has been WITH TELEUS ALL ALONG and there is a PLAY written about him and he has a ~messenger~ network and PLAYS THE FLUTE and DOESN’T MAKE HIS BED and DISLIKES MATH and oh and he’s VERY HANDSOME! (Yes I was losing it, I hope my note from after the poem helps show some of the feelings behind this rant.)

Fucking … Wine shop. Should have known.

Chapter 3

224. ominous

Hello magus!

Sophos … babe (his impatience!)

225. Magus … cool your socks that’s your bff (he’s just describing Helen’s dead body! Fun!!!!)

In the van

That was good I love them

Why is it Couples Hour?

226. finally we’re out of the capital of Attolia

Ok they’re so cute

She was NEVER Helen in ACoK narration!

Also – Pheris. This is all Pheris. (Pheris plus information others told him!)

227. Bringing each other up to date – that’s their thing. Talking forever

All this talk of shooting Therespides

228. EX FUCKING SCUSE ME (time to learn a lot about the country of Eddis)

He was 15! (or almost 15)

He didn’t know! Or did he!

The MoW!

All thru Pheris

Fuck you magus

When did he know

229. EXCUSE ME

The emeralds?

Assumed the worst?

That classic quote about little to do with winter but with “seducing other people’s lovers”

230. yeah Sophos that’s a lost cause (“spare me my blushes”)

Also she didn’t answer you

What are they laughing about (the generally nameless men we’re learning many things about this chapter)

233. Gen I think it’s fair to say that was a mistake

234. wtf Gen

GEN! he just. Had those. (the jewels!)

Her crown

I cannot

235. Gen!

237. Crash

Her CHANGES

238. THESE TWO

239. called annux

Yeah it’s like … a family meeting (the war council)

Bring your father to work day

241. Oh no.

Stenides! Boagus!!!!!!!

EDDIS!

Wolves! Lol

mwt is just like going for it

243. aww

Eddis > Boagus > Gen

244. Yeah I’m with her on this. (“if that doesn’t frighten you, it should”)

Chapter 4

245. Gen and Magus scene yes!

Two people affected by his long hair (Gen and the magus? I think?)

Pheris are you there?

Gen … you used to wish yourself out of existence

Wow

Hair vanity

Yeah also battlefield

Ion is a darling tbh

248. Is he. Is he going to fight all of them

Also they are all his cousins huh

AULUS! I liked you!

Same, Hilarion

Taking a page out of Costis’s book?

You have definitely seen it before. (I mistook his lie for truth!)

Will Costis hear about this? (please)

249. #4 to Gen!

Pheris where are you

Why doesn’t the Continent want to conquer them (do I get partial credit for this)

A tattoo!

250. “Do not offend the gods”

Honestly … too bad Helen DIDN’T do this

251. he said he’d give all he had

I’m sure there are rules

253. Just men? :( (let everybody fight him!)

Ornon is back! I mean, of course he is

Also yea they practice

HELLO ORNON

A house being built … or one knocked down. Nice

Is Teleus in on this?

254. Pheris called him my king!

255. I wanna know which guards though

:( he’d been faking

Kicked him in the head (ouch)

256. “when he fell”

I … don’t like this

He never gives up. The thieves don’t have limits. They have flash points.

Stepped on his hand

“Enough Gen” – what Irene said?

257. :( :( :( :( :( :( :(

The magus. I forgot he was there.

The magus said … nevermind …

The magus is probs very into this as a cultural thing. Also he was talking to the MoW

Pigeon. The sky. :( Like in TT (OH BOY, THE SKYYYY)

If there was a god, Pheris would see…

258. They’ve, they’ve been through a lot.

Oh god what’s next

259. I … no. not in his arms to the palace.

The palace where….

The stairs…

They are all 3 lookers. Basilisks and brass and lead

I hate this. But I love this.

I will someday see this differently.

Ah yes… the grunt. Approval.

260. Honestly, this is so fucked up and heartwarming. These books.

Lol don’t defend Hilarion, we know him

Eddis visits him.

Attolia watches him.

261.WTF Gen. I knew it. Why.

Crying or laughing? Crying? :(

How does this not undermine her now that he is her king?

But … what he wouldn’t do for her.

262. “he did fine”

This book is like… Reasons Gen Says Sorry

So, so… - Helen

GEN!

263. I am right. I am always right. It’s a curse.

Helen :( :( :(

The amount of times these people have seen him beaten.

He’s like … self destructive, but in a way that gives himself more power. Which he hates.

Gen, let them in. Let them in.

Chapter 5

264. honeycomb

OH NO. is it happening?

266. I’m just supposed to accept this?!! What does it mean?!

267. … a my king moment … important

But like … now can he fight?

Caryatid? [doodle after I looked it up]

268. Teleus!

C’mon Teleus. Everyone you love or respect loves him!

Honestly Pheris and Teleus … not a duo I expected

THESE TWO ARE SO DEDICATED TO TELLING HIM THAT! Ok I should chill. At least he said “may.” These are like … Pheris’s life lessons.

Honestly… I love that Teleus likes poetry, or at least likes it for Relius.

269. Lol Legarus. It’s been years! I mean, I guess that was a big deal for him… (almost being executed is a big deal for most people.)

Does he not love Gen because of Relius? Because Gen manipulated him? Because he keeps sending away his successor? Why on earth not! Hop on that train! (...)

It’s interesting that their relationship is the one that touches Pheris, not Gen and Irene. Hm.

Also … “Idiot.” The parallels.

“relatively gently” (it’s so good)

~Teleus here to talk about love~

This book is full of surprises.

270. That is NOT the bright side, Gen (“I could use my newfound authority to insist on going into battle”)

271. BUNNY! Wtf is a wineglass warrior

Very cute everyone, good job.

Still sad about Helen’s tears.

271. Gen. Don’t say these things. [volcano doodle]

272. SEE I was worried about this! The doubt!

I am not ok

This is TOO MANY Eddisian Revelations (Lader time)

Yeah. Wow.

273. Cleon x5

I … his grandfather

No.

Baby Helen begging

How did Pheris get this scene

Gen chose Cleon for his plan

275. IRENE WITH THE STATS!

276. lol Gen

My brother Sounis!

277. Missing Relius club.

Where is he though

Yes! Sophos Gen food fight!

Grapes!

“Wisdom”

He’s “the king” here and in KoA bc that’s the story but also that’s who he is to Pheris and Costis

278. So how did that Irene and MoW meeting go anyway?

How does Aulus know???

Thief short story! Probably terrible to reread, oh no

279. Are … are Aulus and Boagus together???! (“his slightly smaller partner”)

This feels … potentially traumatic … but fun? Idk

Fleece

280. This dang book. No rules!

The chandelier! So dramatic!

Mwt had … a lot to put into this one. A lot. A lot.

283. “not the Thief he was chasing”

284. The queens! The salute!

He can’t give this up.

Official Worries:

100,000 soldiers heading towards Kamet

Re: Lyopidus, Gen called Sophos his brother. Helen apparently might BE his sister. Temenus and Stenides are also going to a war where 9/10 will probably die.

Also

the MoW could have been a king if he’d stolen Helen’s throne. A lot there.

why does this book have the vibe of the library post, my comic from 2010, the king and queen interactions here, and the military tactics dream

#part twooo #word clouds next #the queen's thief #return of the thief #mwt #rott spoilers #return of the thief spoilers #something i

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maydaymemer · 5 years ago

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Steam vs. Sledgehammer

Yep it’s time to review two songs in one. My favourite song ever: Steam (yes, Steam), as well as one of the iconic songs of the ‘80s: Sledgehammer. Both by Peter Gabriel, both heavily influenced by funk and both with music videos directed by the late Stephen R. Johnson.

Sledgehammer needs no introduction for anyone over 40, which means it does need an introduction here. The song is the lead single from Peter Gabriel’s 1986 pop opus “So”, and is his only American #1 (it only got to #4 in the UK, which makes me more ashamed to be from here than ever). It’s known for its pioneering stop-motion animated music video which is still well regarded today, heck it kickstarted Aardman’s career before they made Wallace and Gromit. The song is a loving tribute to Gabriel’s favourite funk and Motown songs he listened to in his youth, there’s even a funny anecodote a read about Gabriel in his early days going to a soul cafe or something and being the only white guy there. To be a fly on the wall on that day. Methinks he was there to pick up chicks, not just listen to the music, which only makes me love the guy even more to be honest.

Steam on the other hand I don’t think anyone who isn’t a Gabriel fan remembers. Sure, when it was released in 1992 it was a hit but was generally seen as a Sledgehammer II: Sledge Harder, and didn’t set anyone’s world alight. Plus, people weren’t listening to Peter Gabriel in ‘92, they were bumping Nirvana and Tupac. On the bright side we did get a fucking insane music video which I love showing to people to get a reaction out of them.

One of them highly acclaimed and the other mostly maligned, but both are typically overshadowed by their music videos. I’m here to dig into what makes both these songs great, and why they’re both intelligent, finely crafted pop songs. I’m also going to note the similarities between the two, and why I think Steam was a more than worthy follow up.

Let’s get down to the start of both songs. Sledgehammer begins with a synthesised flute that goes on for about 15 seconds, before launching into an opening tune that knocks you right off your seat like, well a sledgehammer. This sets up an appropriate atmosphere for a song that combines the clever soul with the sexy sounds of the ‘80s to create a song that transcends past dated into just a banging tune that holds up today. The song has an excellent bassline and feels simply big. Then we get Gabriel coming in with a prolonged “Heeeeeeey” followed up with a more muffled “tell me how have you been?” to take us into the first verse. The song sets a mood and it sets it well, this is bouncy and fun Peter Gabriel, not weird psycho Peter Gabriel (which is pretty much his default).

Steam, on the other hand, doesn’t introduce itself. The song just abruptly bursts into your door after a short bassline with the distinct drum and bassline with all sorts of sounds flung at you. Horns, electric guitar, you name it. Gabriel yells “Stand back! Stand back!” And you almost think “yeah maybe I should I shouldn’t really argue with Peter Gabriel”, especially in the video where he’s wearing a pimp suit to accompany this. He continues, shouting “what are these dogs doing sniffing at my feet? / They’re onto something picking up / picking up / this heat”. I still have no idea what this intro means, but then we transition into the abolsutely magnificent instrumented chorus as Peter sings “Give me Steam / and how you feel can make it real / real as anything you’ve seen / get a life / with the dreamer’s dream”. I’ve heard reviewers call this song overproduced, and I would agree the song is very maximal in terms of production, but I wouldn’t remove one instrument. The song’s various mood changes from chorus to verse to pre-and-post choruses take me where the song wants me to go emotionally every time. I find the “Give me Steam” part specifically to be rather exciting and really impressed me the first time I listened to this song, last year I believe, and it still impresses me now.

This is where we take a look at the verse structure of both songs, which are pretty much the same not just within the songs but between them. The first verses of both set up two metaphors:

“You could have a steam train / if you just lay down your tracks

You could have an aeroplane flying / if you bring your blue sky back” - From Sledgehammer

“You know your culture from your trash

You know your plastic from your cash” - From Steam

Peter then connects these to the message of the song at the end of the verse:

“All you do is call me

I’ll be anything you need” - Sledge

“Whenever heavens doors are shut / you get* them open but / I know you” - Steam (alright I’m cheating here, that’s three metaphors, but this illustrates my point better)

So as you can see this is where the two songs split off. Sure both include Peter’s patented silly sex puns, a Sledgehammer is long and hard while Steam is hot and wet, but the meanings of each song is different.

For Sledgehammer the song is about how sex can be used to communicate and brighten up the mood of someone where words simply can’t help. The philosophy of the song is that sometimes you just need some fuck. I imagine a narrative where maybe Peter and this lady friend he’s talking to through the song have just broken off some long term relationship, and they’re very good friends so they spend some time together playing with her bumper cars and his big dipper to take their minds off it. The song isn’t really about love, it’s about having fun, but as I illustrated with my interpretation it’s not about sex with someone you don’t love it’s about sex with someone you’re not IN love with. So kind of a FWB/rebound kind of thing, though not a romcom version where they get together in the third act. It’s a very different approach to an ‘Intercourse with You’ song and told in a very fun way. The song has a bounce to it and a sort of mature naivety, Peter comes across as genuinely joyful to the woman he’s narrating too, they aren’t using eachother but they’re not in a serious relationship either. Good stuff, Pete.

Steam on the other hand is about the relationship, it’s about that spark and connection with someone. Specifically it’s about a relationship where the woman is cultured, sophisticated and generally a classy lady but Peter isn’t. He’s talking himself down, except for one subject: when it comes to the lady, he knows her better than she does and that’s the most important thing of all. Maybe he knows how to please her, maybe he knows her deepest depths, maybe it’s both but the songwriting illustrates that Peter is just in awe of this woman and she might not be in awe of herself just yet. I always interpreted this as Peter writing about a relationship between classes, but in a smarter way than say Billy Joel. Peter grew up middle class but in this song it’s like he’s putting himself in the shoes of a working class guy who’s in a relationship with someone who should be out of his league, but perhaps because of those virtues have led to him knowing how to socialise he can get the depths of her heart better jan a thousand potential rich suitors and their relationship just works. I’m being a bit old school with the picture I’m painting but a genuinely smart way of basically writing Opposites Attract but without the cartoon cat (instead we get a CGI Peter Gabriel Chair, perhaps that’s not the best trade off). That’s why I love it so much, it writes a geniunely smart love song about a relationship working despite the differences which a lot of songs do but they never go into why they work together. Peter explains that while he can’t know a lot about art or money he does know a lot about humanity (and sex, as Sledge shows).

The rest of the verses follow this same formula, I’ll close the review by pointing out how the finales of both songs basically are the same again.

With the finale of Sledgehammer Gabriel refers to “shedding his skin”. He then says “this is the new stuff”, which probably sounds like a birthday suit reference to you but I have a more indirect interpretation. What I love about the line is that in a way it’s Gabriel saying “I’m the shit!”, predicting that the song will become ‘the new stuff’ as it did. Which is why it’s one of the things I do prefer over Steam, which goes for a more obvious orgasm innuendo:

“Roomshake, earthquake

Find a way to stay awake

It’s gonna blow, it’s gonna break

This is more than I can take!”

Tho back to praising Steam, it is my favourite song after all, I think that song does pace itself better. Steam is a minute longer and has way more variety, with a lot of change ups with an occasional pre-chorus peppered in. It’s a longer song that feels shorter and endlessly replayable. Granted a listen to both of these songs an unhealthy amount of times, so I wouldn’t recommend any of you reading this skip out on them. Listen to them however you can, they’re a great time. Heck, buy the albums they come from because the rest of the songs on there are great too.

Thanks for reading this review. It’s a very quick one drafter of hopefully many that I’m posting to sharpen my writing skills. Hope you enjoyed and I’ll make sure to improve these over time. I have ideas for little bite size and more cohesive reviews of the following songs: Uh Huh, Girl, Babooshka

*note: thought he sung “kick” but apparently not. Personally I think “kick” has a better kick to it, funny enough, in terms of annunciation.

#peter gabriel #steam #song analysis #review #music #peter gabriel steam #peter gabriel sledgehammer #petr fuckriel #sledgehammer

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flodaya · 5 years ago

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i was tagged by @brokenhearts-5 and @noonano thank you!

RULES: answer 21 questions and tag 21 people you want to know better!

tagging: @247-series @istillbelieveinsoulmates @brisingr-iettauthr @dykeleonierichter @amiras-bitch and whoever else wants to do this (also ignore this if you don’t feel like doing it)

nickname: some in my family call me fleur or fleurie

zodiac sign: taurus

height: 159 cm

hogwarts house: ravenclaw

last thing i googled: university for child education

fave musicans: troye sivan, billie eilish, years & years, khalid, hozier, james blake, trettmann, syml, marina

song stuck in my head: very rarely happens to me, so none right now

following: 72

followers: 2100+

do you get asks? yes i do and i love reading all of your messages but I’m also so sorry i dont have the energy and time to answer all of them

amount of sleep: really depends, but ideal would probably like 8-10 hours

what are you wearing? leggings and a sweater

dream job: i guess my dream would be either a film director or a children’s book illustrator, but right now I’m planning on becoming a kindergarten teacher

dream trip: norway, sweden, denmark, scotland (again)

instruments: the flute a long time ago

languages: german and english fluently, latin and french passably, and very few words and phrases in hebrew and korean and norwegian

10 fav songs: i dont really have favorite songs, or at least they change a lot, so I’ll choose top ten songs I’ve been listening to lately, been listening to the new trettmann album a lot for the past week

retro shirt - trettmann

zeit steht - trettmann

bye bye aka delicious - trettmann

does she know - astrid s

to be human - marina

should have known - sufjan stevens

body sun - ry x

come out and play - billie eilish

jewel - flume (slightly freaked out when druck played it last week)

city lights - piano peace (perfect for falling asleep)

random fact: i read 103 books last year

my aesthetic: wood and white furniture, pastel colors, a lot of pillows, full bookshelves, sunny mornings and rainy afternoons

#tagged #my posts

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zedecksiew · 5 years ago

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Whalebone & Crabshell - Repost

Context: this story, “Whalebone & Crabshell”, was written around the time of the 2015 Rohingya refugee crisis.

It was first published on Projek Dialog. Then it was performed on BFM89.9. Then it was published again in Dark Mountain: Issue 9.

Since Projek Dialog has gone through a redesign, obliterating the story’s paragraphing on that website, I’m re-posting “Whalebone & Crabshell” here, in full. Illustrations by Sharon Chin.

WHALEBONE & CRABSHELL by Zedeck Siew, with illustrations by Sharon Chin

This is how our land is laid:

Firstly, the domains of the Sultan -- may God ever extend his years -- the groves and fertile paddy-lands; the ports and isles and cities, where spice is sold and timber traded; mosques full of devotees; loyal citizens talking in civilised tongues.

O our Sultan, may he reign safe upon the throne!

And then, the sea, full of bounty -- but also of pirates, submerged giants, ghosts of wind and water; playground of the Lordly Dragon, and the great spirit Root-of-Creation, who lives in the navel of the ocean --

O grand Mother Ocean, who is female, therefore occasionally chained but never tamed.

And then there are the inlands and the uplands: in the jungle interior, upriver, full of hidden primates and uncivilised peoples.

Indeed, to be an inlander is to live lawlessly, as a fugitive from the Sultan's justice -- and uplanders are all revolutionaries and deviants anyway; they practice schismatic rites and prostrate themselves before idols.

O God save us!

Our Sultan -- God save him -- in his thirty-third year, having crushed the rebellion of his admirals, decided to demonstrate his piety by bringing order to all benighted places.

Thus the headwaters were choked with barges, and armies bore into the forest deeps.

The hillside crops burned, the hillfolk bandits were slaughtered; the hidden valleys echoed with the screams of women and dying mercy-cries in throat-some languages.

Finally all the hinterlands were pacified, and the inlanders captured; disarmed; rounded up; assembled together in a great field, where they knelt of their own accord, awestruck and shivering at the sight of the Sultan’s yellow-gold pavilion.

So the Sultan turned to his advisors, saying: “O wise councillors, grant me your wisdom, in turn granted by God! What should be done with this rabble?”

And the Admiral, with his sickle-spear, said:

“Slay them down to the youngest son, no mercy should be shown. Only then can we be sure!”

But the Treasurer, with his pen and parchment, said:

“There are a thousand families, times seven members on average, times five minutes per execution at the quickest, also accounting for the number of axes dulled, good trees felled to provide stakes, pints of blood that will poison the soil -- no, my Sultan! It costs too much!”

So the Vizier, whispering into the Sultan’s ear, said:

“Exile these people, drive them to the sea / they will drown quickly!

“What better fate for squatters, thieves who stole the interior / territories by right your patrimony?”

“Oh yes sir, I’ve got a curse for that,” said the Holy Sorcerer. “They’ll never come back, sir, they’ll never set foot on dry earth again. It’s a simple spell.”

Therefore the Sultan -- God bless him with wisdom -- commanded eviction.

And the traitors were given the rotting planks of their dissembled hovels, to use as rafts, and they were banished down the river, through the delta, and off and out to the open water.

Some, swimming back to shore, found the tide turned against them; the harder they paddled, the farther the coast receded. Soon they tired, unable to fight the Sorcerer’s magical decree.

And thus floated -- tossed to and fro, a flotilla of sorry creatures, forsaken by both men and God.

At first there was a storm. Torrential rain beating the waves down; thunder and flashing; they were soaked to the bone, and to the bones of their boats also. Many drowned.

Afterwards they drifted. Becalmed for many days, their sweat dried into salt on their arms -- a meagre wealth, salt without rice; they were rich only with hunger, and thirst, and heatstroke; filth and illness.

Their shamans called for succour. But their idols were abandoned in the mountains, and too distant to hear.

Between them all there were nine coils of cord, and a single hook, previously used to fish in streams -- and its owner, sensing his importance, said:

“With my hook I will catch food. Hey, if you will owe me your lives, I should be leader!”

But the man was mostly a catfisher; his skills did not apply where they were; anyway there were only beads and loose goose-feathers to use as bait. So he caught nothing.

And during the night the some ruffians came. They stabbed him with splintered stakes; in the morning they said: “We have the fishhook. Therefore: we should be leaders.”

“Ho, hear us!” they said. “Our plan: segregation. Families first. Ours. And also: all who we see are strong. The weak: they should be sacrificed. We eat the meat off their limbs. Survival for the fittest!”

Naturally, the others were dismayed. “Abomination!” the wise-women said. Together they flung the murderers bodily overboard.

Then they came to an island of pirates.

And the pirates -- dashing though misguided warriors, their costumes tied with red ribbons, their belts studded with sea-ivory – said:

“These souls, fleeing the Sultan’s cruelty, sadly they cannot live with us. To live a life of piratical liberty, one must have sea-worth, able to court and cower before Mother Ocean.”

“In their souls they are uplanders. They have hill-shaped hearts. They can neither read star-charts nor savour the taste of spray. They’re simply not made that way!”

Having justified themselves, the pirates of the island prepared a care package -- a barrel of beer; a netful of fish; twelve blankets, folded, lowered by crane onto the outcasts’ largest raft. Along with a letter, saying:

“Ho there travellers! Unfortunately, you may not settle here. Sorry! Have these gifts, no strings attached, with our sympathies, and this whale-bone recorder,”

-- at which point a flute fell out of the unfolded page --

“with which you might use to attract a dragon-spirit’s pity. Hopefully! Thank you. Please go.”

Past the island there was another storm, worse than the first.

By now their vessels were broken, their drink-barrel empty; fish all gone; their blankets torn apart by fighting.

With the lightning, some clambered onto their wives’ backs -- and stretching their arms up, ate quick ends by electricity. Others, less lucky, fell into the foam -- these were dragged under. Unable to swim, too weak to struggle, they drank their deaths slower.

Among those who remained, their last wise-woman was angry at the world and everything in it.

Putting the bone flute to her lips, she stood with her back straight; her feet, each on a different log; a single note was what she played:

Shrill, clear as a horn, louder than thunderous hammer-sounds.

And she sang: “O lords of wind and water, heartless creatures! Torture us no longer! Take our lives, let us die, we offer ourselves! A sacrifice! We do not ask for mercy. Vengeance only!”

There was no human reply -- but a rumbling answer. An inhuman growl, a surging tremor from under-sea.

A sphere burst the surface: the size of a moon; black and smooth -- not round, ovoid now, and mounted on a tower the colour of cream.

An eyestalk, looking down.

And another. And then claws: rising west and east, each pincer-point a mountain, big and blurry with distance.

It was he who is called Root-of-Creation -- old spirit, eldest of spawn -- who'd heard the shaman’s summons. He is father of crabs, and all crabs come from him; he is the largest. Moving in the depths, his great weight makes the sea levels rise, and the tides.

The exiles, witness to such a fearful sight, cowered in terror; and even their shaman, the brave, foolish woman -- she waited there, expecting to be swallowed.

Root-of-Creation held still for a while. The curve of his shell is the breadth of continents; and inasmuch as a country could look thoughtful, he took his time to deliberate.

And, having decided, he picked them up, all of them, and he placed them upon his back.

Back to the first, to the Sultan’s domains -- in the ports, in the cities, there were many whispers:

That a great wave was coming; that it had wiped out the pirate-isles; that the far villages were swept away by flying swordfish, and merchant ships by constrictor-eels; that the mermaids were gone, strangled.

And bird- and gull-flocks were seen flapping over the palace. They were fleeing. The Treasurer, with his abacus, his feet soaked in salt-water, tallied costs --

“A thousand families with no homes, times seven members on average, times two silver pieces per head, bearing in mind the twenty warehouses damaged, the dozen docks destroyed, plus fifteen galleys shattered beyond repair.”

The Admiral was not at court; the Vizier’s mansion was found vacant. Both had sought asylum in an enemy state.

The Holy Sorcerer, water up to his waist, said:

“I’ve got nothing, sir. Have you seen the size of that thing? That’s Root-of-Creation, the crab-god, he’s a top-level creature. Sir, none of my spells are anywhere near his tier.”

Therefore our Sultan -- may God grant him speed to save his own skin -- ordered for the capital to empty.

And the citizenry obeyed, going bare-breasted through the flood; on their heads they carried babies, wicker-basketfuls of brass pieces, precious embroidery; they sat on floating bed-frames, paddling with hoes and ladles.

But at the city gates traffic slowed and halted, for the palanquins of noble families took priority. So there was a crush, a panicked clamour.

O God save us!

In the portside districts, those few still left to see saw the surf draw away. By the piers, the long-ships settled at the bottom of the bay, and listed. And behind them, in the distance, inexorably approaching:

Grand Mother Ocean, fashioned into a wall, many leagues wide and some leagues tall --

Her insides darkened by some shadow, monstrous and crustacean; crowned with froth, topped with wreckage, ridden by rejoicing figures --

Those terrible people, those uplanders! All criminals, wretched heathens, spiteful by nature; with feet cursed never to touch earth again -- regaining their hillside homelands by drowning them, offering all lands to the sea.

They have betrayed us! O God have mercy!

+++

This author’s note ran with the story, in Dark Mountain:

In 2015 the Rohingya people – described as one of the most persecuted minorities on Earth – fled Burmese oppression en masse, on boats. But the neighbouring governments of Malaysia, Indonesia and Thailand vacillated. The owners of those boats were human traffickers. And these countries had no space left for refugees, of course. Of course.

So the Rohingya starved at sea. Malaysian citizens took to social media to express outrage at the unfolding humanitarian crisis. ‘How could we let this happen?’ But there was little action, and attention soon petered out.

I wrote Whalebone & Crabshell under a blanket of shame. It is not a story about the Rohingya. It is a story about me: how the reality of the Rohingya makes me feel powerless; how people like me – citizens of nation-states – tacitly condone and perpetuate the conditions that turn people into displaced persons.

The Rohingya are still trying to leave Burma. They are still dying: on boats, in jungle camps, in detention centres. But news about them doesn’t make headlines any more.

And these captions, alongside Sharon’s images:

1. The floral motif decorating the landmass in the first picture is a Thazin orchid, royal flower of Burma. The most prized come from mountains in Rakhine state, on the west of Burma bordering Bangladesh, which is also the traditional home of the Rohingya people.

2. The gilt borders feature the ASEAN (Association of Southeast Asian Nations) emblem, where "stalks of padi in the centre of the Emblem represent the dream of ASEAN’s Founding Fathers [sic] for an ASEAN comprising all the countries in Southeast Asia, bound together in friendship and solidarity".

3. The crab god of the text is inspired by a Malay myth recorded in Skeat's "Malay Magic". The Pusat Tasek is a massive hole in the oceans' bottom. A gigantic crab dwells therein. It periodically leaves its home, and the volume of water its movements displace causes the rise and fall of the tides.

#fantasies #writing #fiction #published #art #sharon chin #whalebone & crabshell #seas #monsters #uplanders #gods

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ashtree11 · 5 years ago

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The Bard and the Witch

Been writing short stories for a while and here’s my first go at posting one publicly.

Summary: Tales of a fearsome and reclusive witch fills the tavern night after night, courtesy of the well-received bard, Avalon Mischek. But she is more familiar with the witch than she lets on, beyond the tales that she spins and the warnings that follow her audience. AO3 link

Bards aren’t an uncommon sight in the taverns throughout the city. They were hubs for entertainment at the end of every day, captivating their audiences with songs and stories. One bard, in particular, can be found in the Waning Crescent Tavern. She sang about the lives of legendary Medea the Wise and Calliope the Enduring to the plucking of a lute; recounted tales of battle to the beat of hand-drum; and serenaded the tavern with the melodies of a flute that captured the freedom of sailing the seas.

While they were all staples of success for her career, her favorite stories to tell were ones about the witch isolated deep within the woods that surrounded the city walls.

With the help of her trusty lute, she wove chilling fables of unassuming people disappearing without a trace, abducted by the sinister witch if they stray off the forest paths for even a moment. The bard spoke in hushed cadences as she sang of the trees acting as scouts, whispering to the witch of potential victims. Although the bard is often met with good-natured scoffs of disbelief and courteous rounds of applause followed by coins filling her tricorn hat on the floor, she could tell that her audience regarded the forest edge with hesitation and wariness.

Late one night, the bard concluded her final song, and retreated into her usual spot at the table in the corner beside the large fireplace. She poured the day’s earnings from her tricorn hat into her coin bag and sighed as piece after piece clattered inside. It wasn’t her best night by a long shot as more coppers than silvers filled the modest-sized pouch, but money was money.

She fastened the drawstring of the bag back on her belt, ready to be counted later once she was in the safety of her own home. She relaxed into her chair, tuning the strings of her lute. Passively, she kept an ear open to any latest news and so-called “sightings” of the witch that the people claimed to have.

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” insisted one man. “The witch’s cottage is a disgusting thing. Decrepit and surrounded with bones.” His fingers waved in a circle, vaguely illustrating a perimeter. “I swear they’re human bones, but I heard one of the hag’s watch dogs growling from the shadows. I turned tail and barely escaped with my life, I tell ya.” He finished with a long swig of his drink while the two other men he spoke to sat across from him, engrossed in his words.

The bard shook her head and chuckled quietly to herself. The witch didn’t own dogs and she certainly wouldn’t just leave bones laying about so carelessly. She had more class than to have such things going to waste like that. The bard swung her legs up onto the table, her lute resting onto her elevated lap with ease and muscle memory took over as her fingers played a steady tune. It was soft enough as to not overpower the calm energy of the tavern or draw attention to herself.

Her eyes fell closed. The warmth of the fireplace embraced her and accompanied the improvised melody with crackles and occasional pops.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled the bard out of her reverie. She cracked open an eye and her fingers halted in place along the neck of the lute. Standing over her was a gruff-looking traveler covered in colorful layers of clothing with heavy armor underneath. A scarf obscured the lower half of their face, leaving only bright blue eyes to remain visible. A greatsword was strapped to the stranger’s back, adding another inch or two to their stature. The bard had to admit that the sight was intimidating, especially from her seated position.

“Yes?” the bard inquired.

“A few of the patrons pointed you to me as the bard of this tavern,” said the stranger.

“Sorry, I just finished for the night. I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon if you want a performance,” she dismissed and returned to playing her little tune.

“Actually, my party is about to leave to a neighboring kingdom. We’ve been tasked to clear out a former military fortress that has been housing a band of bandits and we have found ourselves in need of a bard.”

The bard ceased her playing once more.

“All the taverns we visited have shared many recommendations,” the stranger continued. “but they all seem to have mentioning you in common. You are Avalon Mischek, yes?”

“Just Ava,” the bard corrected as she jerked her chin towards the empty chair across from her. The stranger pulled off the greatsword before sitting down. “It’s not often I hear someone looking to hire a bard in this part of the province, so color me curious.”

The stranger sat up in their seat, seemingly delighted that she was at least entertaining the proposal. “The journey will take us a week’s time. My party and I agreed that you would be paid handsomely where half will be given to you when we leave, and the rest will follow once we complete our task.”

“I see,” Ava mused. “And why me in particular?”

The stranger raised a brow. “Fishing for compliments?”

Ava scoffed. “Please. I know my own reputation, I don’t need to ‘fish’ for compliments. I walk away every night with plenty of coin in my bag and a guaranteed welcome back to a tavern who respects my skills. And let’s not forget that you came to me.”

The stranger cleared their throat. “Right, I suppose so. My apologies.”

“Anyway.” Ava plucked a few strings as she spoke, “I only asked because every bard has their own style of playing. I was curious if there was something about mine that makes it more suitable for you and you team than other bards in the city.”

“Well, according to the innkeepers we’ve spoken to, you seem to have the most experience with travel. They have also described you to have a substantial list of songs and legends.” The stranger’s eyes turned downcast. They tapped their nails against the wood table for a moment before continuing, “We are weary travelers and work has been scarce this season, I must confess that my party and I have been lacking in morale. I feel that you would be a good fit for this quest even if you’ll be a temporary addition.”

“I see.” Ava set aside her lute. “When do you leave?”

“In three days.”

Three days. Plenty of time to get her things together, definitely, yet it still felt like short notice. It has been quite some time since she’s traveled anywhere that wasn’t within the city walls. The last party to hire her was maybe a year ago, and the trip kept her busy for nearly three months. The journey left her drained and provided her with an ample amount of material for her songs she hasn’t needed to search out or accept another party’s proposal for adventure.

As she mulled over the decision, the stranger shifted nervously in their seat. Finally, she concluded that a year is probably long enough of a hiatus and this’ll only take a week. She can manage this easily.

Ava sat forward in the chair and grabbed the stranger’s tapping hand to give a firm shake. “Alright, you have yourself a bard.”

“Really? Oh, this is fantastic!”Despite having a face wrap, she could tell by the crinkle in their eyes that they were grinning. “My party and I have rooms at the Tankard Trove, I’m sure you know the one. Ask the innkeeper for a Thalius Grimm, that’s me.

“Tankard Trove,” she parrotted with a nod. “Easy enough to remember. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Thalius”

Ava stood up from her chair and packed up her things. She slung the lute onto her shoulder, followed by her hand drum at her hip, then her flute around her neck. With a final flourish, she placed her tricorn hat over her head and gave the stranger a short bow. “I shall see you in three days then.” And she left before they could say another word. She had news to break to a dear friend now.

Ava pushed through the old door, stepping out into the early evening. The sun was setting, casting dark shadows on the cobblestone streets and the people who were making their way to their homes after a long day of work. Her instruments swayed and thudded against her body as she walked hastily through the city, heading straight towards the gates where the ever darkening forest yawned just beyond it. In her peripherals, she could see people steal glances at her, and they eyed the forest line warily. She didn’t pay them any mind though she couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at her lips.

She crossed over the forest border onto the dirt path that carved through the forest floor, and already she could feel the crackle of a magical presence overtake her. The tree leaves shivered as she passed them despite there not being any trace of a breeze. The gravel crunched beneath her leather boots until she stopped at the first fork in the road that divided into two separate routes. She chose the left path, but rather than following it Ava stepped off the gravel where gnarled tree roots lined the edge.

To any inexperienced traveler, the sheer density of the area unmarked by the safety of the gravel road would instill panic and the conclusion of directionlessness. But Ava has walked this forest more times than she could count. She stepped over and around roots, shrubs, and fallen logs as easily as if she were merely taking a stroll. The rustling of the trees overhead grew louder and the crackle of magic from before became a constant hum against her skin, instilling a sense of unease that settled into the pit of her stomach. The shadows elongated, extinguishing the remaining remnants of sunset beams that broke through the trees. Her instincts screamed at her to turn around, turn around before it was too late. She pressed on, knowing that it was just the protective ward just doing its job.

Eventually she broke through the trees and into a small meadow with soft grass and wildflowers with a single cottage at the center. A wisp of smoke curled up from the brick chimney and a dull orange glow peeked out from the drawn curtains at the window.

Ava took a moment to breathe. She rested her hands on her knees, counting her heartbeat in tandem with slow measured breaths. It felt like she had trudged through molasses with how suddenly light her body was. She could have the route memorized all she wants, but there was no getting used to that protection ward, only endurance.

She straightened her posture and continued towards the cottage. As she got closer, the sound of clinking ceramic made its way to her. Descending the wooden steps of the porch came an enchanted clay pot with six spindly legs carrying a flowering succulent on its back. The pot pranced in place, greeting her as she made her way up the steps. Ava gave the pot a small pat on its side and knocked on the red wood door. She readjusted her instruments and waited.

A second passed before a muffled voice responded. “You have a key, Ava.”

Ava rolled her eyes and fished out a brass key from her pouch to insert it into the keyhole. “Just trying to be courteous, October,” she reasoned with a sing-songy lilt and she let herself in. A soft meow called up to her, pulling her attention down at October’s short haired white and brown cat. The cat meowed again, her blue eyes gazing at Ava until the bard finally bent down to scratch her chin.

“Oh is that what you call it?” October said from the kitchen. She looked to be in the middle of cutting vegetables for a simple soup dinner. “You’re earlier than usual. Slow night at the tavern?”

“The hearts of the masses are delicate things. The tales of the infamous witch’s shady endeavors must be told sparingly,” Ava said in a hush, as if she was sharing a conspiracy. All the while she busied herself with unloading her instruments and setting them carefully up against the dining table and chairs.

“How generous of you,” Toby chuckled and stirred her soup. “Perhaps at some point you can tell them that I eat the victims that I supposedly kidnapped off the road. I’ve been feeling an abundance of curious souls venturing a little too close for my taste.”

Ava laughed at the suggestion. “I’ll keep that in mind. At this rate the economy will cease to exist if the merchants become too scared to leave the city.”

Speaking of curious souls, I overheard a man claim to have seen your cottage himself.”

“Oh really? How incredibly foolish of him.” Toby came over to the table, the bowl of soup steaming in her hands. “Are you hungry?”

Ava waved a hand. “I’m fine, I ate at the tavern. Anyway, he was adamant about telling his audience that your cottage was a heinous creation and that you had bones littering your yard.”

Toby scoffed. “How dare he. I’m absolutely offended, I have more class than that.”

“He also thought he heard dogs growling at him.”

“I’m almost tempted to keep a few canines around.” Right on cue, Toby’s cat jumped up on to the table. “But Luna is all I need.”

A pause fell between the two of them. Toby stirred her soup about, pensive and focused while Ava devoted her attention to Luna.

Then Toby’s head tilted to the side. “Did something else happen tonight?”

“What makes you ask?” Ava deflected, still busying herself with the cat.

“There’s a slight crease between your brows that tells me that there’s something you need to tell me. Also you’ve rarely ever declined my cooking regardless if you’ve already eaten.”

Ava raised her hands in resignation, much to Luna’s chagrin. “Perceptive as always, Toby.”

“Thank you, I try. Now back to my question, Avalon.”

Ava winced at the use of her full name, the universal indication of seriousness in a conversation. “Alright... I was approached by someone tonight, a real adventurer type looking for a bard to join their party in getting rid of some bandits.” She braced herself for a response.

October’s absent stirring stopped. “Oh... I see. Well, I suppose that is has been quite some time since your last outing. I assume you accepted the offer then?”

“I did.”

The witch hummed, then smiled a half smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “When are you leaving?”

“In three days. It will only be for a week anyway so that’s hardly enough time to miss me right?” she attempted to jest.

To which October only sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh of course. Perhaps without your obsessive rehearsals, Luna and I shall finally have decent sleep.”

Ava laughed. “That’s the spirit!”

“In all seriousness, Avalon,” October continued, “please be careful. A year is a long time to be out of the action.”

Once more, Ava waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll be fine, I’m not that out of practice. It’s just some bandits hiding out at an old fort, I’ve handled worse.”

“And in even more seriousness, though you’ll be gone for only a week, I will still very much miss you.”

Ava’s confident grin fell. The shift from the light banter to the earnestness in October’s voice caught her off guard. She scratched at the back of her neck “Oh, uh, I’ll miss you too. It’s going to be strange getting back into traveling again even if it’s not for very long...” she trailed.

October chuckled for the first time that night and she leaned forward with her chin propped in her hands. “It’s adorable that it takes so little for the bold and brash bard to become so flustered.”

With indignant huff, Ava crossed her arms. “Why do I bother telling you anything if all you’re going to do is tease?”

“I wasn’t even trying,” she defended through her bout of giggles. “I merely spoke my mind, Ava. Even when you’re out in town all day, I still find myself missing your company. Now, having you gone for a week after having all to myself this whole year... well, it’s going to be an adjustment to say the least.”

Ava groaned into her hands, feeling her face growing warmer by the second. “For someone who lives like a hermit you’re awfully good at making this sound casual.”

“Of course I can, how could I not? You are a dear friend of mine,” she countered with a concerned tilt of her head.

Right... a friend, Ava echoed.

“You’re frowning.”

Was she? “Just thinking about the trip that’s all.”

“Getting cold feet?”

Ava scoffed. “Please, not a chance.”

“Well good, because as much as I’d hate to see you leave, I think getting out of town will be good for you. New material for songs and such, yes?”

“Again, coming from someone who’s a hermit.” Her gaze drifted towards the window. Night had fully fallen and it was time to turn in. Tomorrow she will need to take the time to gather supplies and dig out her old sword from the depths of her trunk. Hopefully it won’t need to be serviced beyond a simple sharpening.

“Returning home?” Toby guessed as Ava scooted back in her chair.

“I should. I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow.”

“Well then before you go, I have something for you.” She quickly stood up and flittered into her bedroom.

“What’s the occasion?” Ava called after her. When she received only silence, she added, “You know how I feel about gift-giving, Toby.”

“Oh hush and let me do this for you,” came the muffled response.

After a few moments of scuffling and concerning thumps, October eventually emerged from the room. Her arms were hidden behind her back and her lips were upturned in a soft smile.

“Could you come here, Ava?” she requested.

With a reluctant sigh, the bard relented and stepped forward. “You really don’t have to give me anything, you know,” she muttered, looking anywhere besides October’s warm brown eyes.

“I know. But it will give me peace of mind that you’ll have it.” And with that, she placed an amulet over Ava’s head. It was a small, silver disk with runes etched along the edges and an obsidian set in the center.

It took less than a second for Ava to remember exactly what this necklace was. “Oh no, October, I can’t take—”

“Avalon, please,” Toby insisted. “Perhaps it’s childish to be giving this to you even though you’ll only be gone a week, but it feels appropriate and I genuinely will feel better knowing that you have this with you.”

She lifted the amulet from where it rested against Ava’s chest and held it gingerly in her palm. She stared at it with fondness glimmering in her eyes. “The first protection charm I’ve ever crafted... I’m still very proud of it after all these years. It’s been collecting dust in my wardrobe and it needs to see the outside, much like you.” Her fond expression turned sober, bordering on pleading. “But a charm will only work as long as its wearer wishes it. So please, come home safe, Avalon.”

Ava swallowed, her throat tight as though her heart had lodged itself there. She was hyper-conscious of close they were. Her breaths were quick—oh gods October will surely notice— and any chance of coherent words died on her tongue. Is it possible that October...

“Of course I’ll be back. As if you could rid of me so easily,” Ava jested to mask the anxious hope welling inside her.

“Right, how could I have thought otherwise?" October shook her head goodnaturedly. "I won’t keep you any longer then. Be safe going home. Don’t let the scary witch ensnare you,” she warned with a theatrical wave of her fingers for effect.

Ava only chuckled as she loaded on her gear and stepped out of the warm cottage. It wasn’t until she was at the tree line that she clutched the charm. “She already has,” she uttered to herself.

#fantasy #original work #fiction #short story #writing #bard #witch #romance

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pengiesama · 5 years ago

Text

The Blue Bird (Fic, TOZ, Sorey/Mikleo, Fairy Tale AU)

Title: The Blue Bird Series: Tales of Zestiria Pairing: Sorey/Mikleo

Summary: In which Sorey is kidnapped by fairies, turned into a bird, and is rescued by the power of love, the power of song, and the power of a speeding chariot plowing through walls.

(A variation on The Blue Bird, written for the 2018 Chocomint Fairy Tale Compilation. With illustrations by yunafezeria!)

Link: AO3

This was written for the 2018 Chocomint Fairy Tale Compilation. @chocomint-srmk is a Sorey/Mikleo fan project!

The zine’s purchase period is now over, but you can check out some of the other fic and art from the zine in the links below. You might start seeing more of the Fairy Tale pieces go up now that the exclusivity period has ended!

You can see the full version of the illustration on Yun's Twitter, or on the AO3 link.

Chocomint's Tumblr: https://chocomint-srmk.tumblr.com/ Chocomint's Twitter: https://twitter.com/chocomint_srmk

Read on Tumblr!

Prince Sorey’s thirteenth birthday was approaching, and he knew that it was going to be the best one ever.

“How do you figure that?” asked Mikleo, who was already thirteen, and considered himself much wiser than Sorey for it.

“You know why!” Sorey said. He very nearly vibrated with excitement. “You’ve heard our families talking. They’re going to formally announce our betrothal!”

Sorey and Mikleo often eavesdropped on their families’ discussions during their play dates. Most of the discussions were on topics uninteresting to a pair of young ears – though they doubted they were truly interesting to adult ears either. But amongst the talk of trade agreements and crop yields, Sorey and Mikleo sometimes overheard bits of juicy gossip. Such as talk of their own upcoming engagement.

It would be a truly beneficial arrangement for all involved. Mikleo was a prince of his own kingdom, and had been playmates with Sorey since the cradle. They shared everything during their long summers together, and were devoted pen pals. A political alliance would surely usher in a new era of peace and prosperity.

To Sorey, the idea of getting to marry Mikleo – for real, not pretend, and in front of everyone – the idea of getting to spend their whole lives together…well, that sounded just wonderful all around.

Mikleo was blushing, and Sorey couldn’t help but throw himself at him to kiss those red cheeks, even as Mikleo squawked at him angrily. Yes, this would be the most wonderful birthday present Sorey could ever ask for.

As the sun rose upon the thirteenth anniversary of Prince Sorey’s birth, the castle found itself in a terrible panic. The prince was gone.

His room, the library, the kitchens, the garden gazebo – in all his favorite spots, he was nowhere to be found. Nurses and housekeepers and guards and cooks and courtiers upended every room in the palace in their frenzied search. The queen was beside herself – all the precautions she had ordered to keep her son safe on his birthday were for naught. The guards posted swore they saw no one enter or leave; neither the prince nor his kidnappers. But alas, the kingdom’s mages gravely informed the queen that their protection upon the room had been disrupted. The wards of iron shavings and salt were disturbed.

Mikleo heard all of this from their normal eavesdropping spot. It was so lonely there, now.

The royal families ordered a search for the kidnapped prince that spanned both kingdoms. Alas, instead of being brought together by the announcement of a happy engagement, the two kingdoms became rent by suspicion – the kidnappers were treasonous nobles who were against the kingdoms’ alliance; the kidnappers were revolutionaries from this kingdom or that, out to topple stability and order. Surely the prince was dead by now. It was a waste of money to continue this fruitless search.

The search continued for a year, and then two. And then more. Mikleo stopped being able to count the march of days. They all seemed very much the same now, without Sorey. Somewhere along the way, Mikleo took to isolation. He rarely left his tower room, with its single window that looked out onto the sprawling forests that he and Sorey had once explored and read and picnicked in. Sometimes it was unbearable for him to look at it; at other times, he seemed to stare out into it for days, lost in the wooded depths of his own memory.

Five years came and went.

Mikleo’s mother begged him to leave his room. Sorey’s queen mother was a picture of royal dignity, she said – ruling her kingdom even though her heart was surely filled with the same keen despair that ate at Mikleo’s own. Surely Mikleo could emulate such an example. He would be eighteen, soon, and the crown would be placed upon his brow, and the kingdom on his shoulders. Mikleo could not help but laugh at the very idea of it. A kingdom, wide and vast, ruled by someone who could not leave his room without being struck with nostalgic vertigo so keen it made him ill. He would decline the crown just as his uncle had, and he too would live out his years as a scholarly hermit.

One day, just a scant few weeks before his birthday, Mikleo’s hermitage was interrupted by a visitor on his windowsill: a songbird with splendidly blue feathers.

At first, Mikleo paid it no mind. Birds came and went from his windowsill often – it was rather expected when one lived in a tower. This little creature, though, was an insistent guest. It pecked at the glass – tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap – until Mikleo could no longer ignore its presence. It hopped from foot to foot and sang its heart out when Mikleo approached to look at it. Hesitantly, but driven by the insatiable curiosity that defined him in his happier days, Mikleo opened the window and was greeted by a flurry of wings and birdsong. His guest only settled down when Mikleo offered his crooked finger as a perch. Satisfied, the bird fluffed out its chest, and began to sing for him once more.

The bird returned the next morning, greeting him with eager chatter as the sun first glittered through the glass, and stayed with him all day; leaving only when night fell.

“I haven’t had guests in a while,” Mikleo admitted to the creature. “You’ll have to excuse the state of the place.”

The bird simply chirped and picked up an edge of the page Mikleo was reading in his book, then determinedly and laboriously sidestepped with the page held in its beak until it was properly turned. Mikleo smiled – this, too, had not occurred in some time – and stroked the messy little fluff of feathers atop the bird’s head.

On the third day, his guest began to come bearing gifts. They were simple little trinkets: small and lovely stones, polished to perfect shining smoothness by the nearby river (Mikleo remembered the days spent with Sorey wading in its depths, trying to challenge each other to find the most unique and excellent specimens). Herbs from the forest with delicate little blossoms (Mikleo remembered reading to Sorey from his encyclopedia of herbal medicine, trying to find the right plants to soothe the stomachaches they’d gotten by eating the wrong plants). And, as always, the gift of a beautiful song to while away the lonely hours (Mikleo remembered their duets – Sorey on violin, himself on flute, and their music tutor desperately trying to keep them focused).

After a week of gifts and companionship and song, Mikleo opened the window to greet his blue bird – only to freeze at the sight of the gift in its beak. The bird fluttered in, perched on Mikleo’s finger, and dropped the gift determinedly in Mikleo’s lap.

It was an earring. A feathered earring. Just like the ones he used to wear, just like – Mikleo took the earring between two trembling fingers, and examined it closer. No, no. It wasn’t just “just like” them. It was one of Sorey’s earrings. Mikleo felt tears sting his eyes.

“Little blue bird,” Mikleo whispered. “Where on earth did you find this?”

The bird remained uncharacteristically silent, and stared into Mikleo’s eyes – as if it wanted to speak to Mikleo just as badly as Mikleo wanted to hear its tale. Mikleo took a deep breath, and composed himself.

“Thank you,” he finally said. “I finally have something to remember him by. You have my eternal gratitude, my sweet little friend.”

Mikleo had nothing to give the bird in return, save for cool water and leftovers from his lunch. He supposed a kiss would have to do, for now. Mikleo bent down, and pressed his lips to the little fluff of feathers atop the blue bird’s head.

“Mikleo! Mikleo!”

Mikleo jumped out of his skin, and toppled backward in his chair; sending the bird fluttering wildly through the room, calling out Mikleo’s name over and over. Mikleo would have chalked that last bit up to hitting his head on the stone floor, if he was in a better state of mind. As it was, with Sorey’s earring in his hand and Sorey’s voice coming from a bird , Mikleo considered his state of mind rather questionable.

The bird finally settled down, and landed on Mikleo’s body. It took a few moments to catch its breath, and then hopped up to better look Mikleo in the eye.

“Mikleo,” the bird said again, for the dozenth time – though with no less love and jubilation as the first. “It’s me. I’m back.”

It was unmistakably Sorey’s voice. Surely Mikleo had finally lost his mind. But the gifts of the stones, and the herbs, and the song, and the earrings…Mikleo bade the bird to explain himself.

“What,” Mikleo said.

– Though it was not in such eloquent terms. The bird tittered a sweet little laugh; a laugh that Mikleo thought he would never be able to hear again.

“Sorry. I’ve been gone for years, haven’t I...? But you look even prettier than I left you.”

Sorey waited for Mikleo to pick himself off the floor and sit back in his chair before he fluttered to Mikleo’s desk to begin his tale.

“My mom was always…hesitant when I asked her about my father. Said she’d tell me when the time was right. When my thirteenth birthday approached, she was in and out of meetings constantly with the royal guard, with the royal magicians. On the night of my birthday, she locked me in my room and told me to not open the doors or windows for anyone, no matter who they said they were, until morning.

“That night…I heard so many people calling to me. My mother, my grandfather, and you too, Mikleo. I came so close to opening the door, but I remembered what my mother said, and just clutched my pillow over my head and prayed for dawn to come.

“But then, an hour before dawn, a little black cat tumbled down my chimney. She landed in the salt and iron shavings that the mages had piled there in the fireplace. She looked like she was in so much pain, like they were embers burning her alive. I couldn’t help but pick her up, dust it all off of her, and then…”

Sorey paused in his story, and then gave Mikleo a sheepish look.

“Well, as you can probably guess, it was a trap,” Sorey said. “She was a fairy, and she spirited me away then and there to the fairy realm.”

They preyed on Sorey’s kind heart. Mikleo silently fumed, but stroked at his little fluffy breast with a single finger, bidding him to continue.

“It was there I finally met my father. He’s the fairy king, and he said that – he said that, with my thirteenth birthday at hand, they could take me back. Said that the fairy palace was my new home, and its residents my subjects. Said that I would never be allowed to see the human realm again. I begged and pleaded to be taken back to my real home, to my mom and to you, but they wouldn’t hear a single word of it.

“They tried to entice me into staying for days, with exotic food and books, but I didn’t touch any of it. Finally, the fairy king said that I be made to ‘think things over from a new angle’. And then, that fairy magician I saved from the fireplace cursed me into this form. They said they’d only lift the curse when I agree to become the crown prince, and so…”

Sorey extended his wings as demonstration.

“…you can see how well that worked out for them, and me,” Sorey said ruefully. “I couldn’t speak, and they locked me into a golden birdcage in this strange room – I think it shares ventilation with the surrounding rooms, I could hear everything from them echoing in. I heard the king speaking – he’s afraid of an alliance between our kingdoms, Mikleo. He’s afraid of our engagement.

“I stayed in that birdcage for years, Mikleo, singing day and night about how much I missed you. I got my chance for escape one day, when the attendants left a window open before they went to open my cage. I flew out and away, and managed to find my way here…back to you.”

Mikleo extended a crooked finger for him, and Sorey hopped up onto it. Mikleo brought him in to nestle against his neck; Sorey’s silky feathers tickling his skin. Sorey had been through so much. Kidnapped, locked away…and then there was the matter of this curse.

“Your curse,” Mikleo said. “How do we break it?”

Sorey made a thoughtful noise.

“I couldn’t speak before you kissed me,” he said. “Maybe…another one will break it completely?”

Mikleo felt his cheeks burn, but obliged. Sorey’s feathered breast puffed out, and he shivered in glee. He remained, however, a little blue bird.

“Almost broken. I can feel it,” Sorey declared. “Maybe another?”

Mikleo pouted at him, and Sorey tittered that wonderful laugh once more.

“Sorry, sorry. I really don’t know how to break the spell, so it was worth a try. I can at least talk to you properly now.”

Sorey looked around the room; at the piles of books and papers, at the door with dust on its handle. He beaked at Mikleo’s ear lightly.

“You were always the one teasing me for never cleaning my room,” Sorey said. “What’s changed?”

Everything and nothing at all , Mikleo wanted to say. He settled on kissing the fluff atop Sorey’s head again, making Sorey fluff up and titter once more at the attention.

“I missed you, Sorey,” Mikleo murmured. “So much.”

Sorey nuzzled at Mikleo’s finger as it came up to pet him.

“Me too,” Sorey sighed. “I…I came here first. I know I should’ve gone to my mother, and the court mages, but would they have really recognized me? I thought I might be able to convince you first. And I needed to see you again so badly. I sang for you all those years. You’ve gotten so beautiful, Mikleo.”

“And you’ve gotten a little bit easier to handle, for now,” Mikleo replied, trying to will away the redness in his cheeks. “I’ll speak to our court mages and my uncle about the curse. Surely there’s something we can try. For now, I’ll call for an attendant to set something up for you in my room – not a cage, but a perch with--”

“I can’t stay here,” Sorey said mournfully. “I know that the fairy court is trying to hunt me down. If I stay with you tonight, they’re sure to find us both. I’ve been staying in the woods – the woodland spirits bear resentment against the high court, and have been sheltering me…something about the wrong color goose feathers in a pillow, a thousand years ago and some change. They hold grudges over the strangest things, Mikleo.”

“No stranger than human grudges, I’m sure,” Mikleo said. “But please. Stay safe tonight.”

Sorey accepted another kiss atop his head, and gave one to Mikleo’s nose with his beak. Mikleo’s kiss had broken Sorey’s curse of silence. Mikleo wondered what curse of his that Sorey’s kiss had broken.

He opened the door to his room for the first time in months, and walked down the tower stairs to seek out his uncle.

Love was a powerful magic indeed, and unfortunately drew the attention of the wrong individual. Symonne was the very same court magician that Sorey had saved from the iron and salt, and the very same court magician that had cursed him. She was an ancient and powerful fairy, and though the concept of gratitude was not unknown to her, her fanatic loyalty to the fairy king was stronger than any sense of debt. Or pity.

The moment Mikleo’s lips broke a layer of her curse, Symonne had pinpointed Sorey’s location, and spied on their conversation. It would not do for her to charge into the territory of the woodland spirits – she knew her king would be sorely cross with her if she provoked them into an uprising. But that presented an even more delicious opportunity: to make an example of that traitorous prince, so unworthy of the fairy throne, in front of the wretched human for whom he had betrayed her king’s patience and affections.

Symonne laid another curse upon the sill of Mikleo’s tower window.

Mikleo awoke the next morning filled with determination, his thoughts racing with the knowledge he had gleaned from the books his uncle had loaned to him. He had barely gotten any sleep; staying up late into the night making notes. But soon, it would be time for Sorey to make his daily appearance. Mikleo walked over to the window, and opened it up to wait.

The sun glinted off Sorey’s feathers as he approached. Mikleo couldn’t help but smile.

“Sorey--”

Sorey landed on the windowsill, and opened his beak to sing.

A crack of magic split the air, blinding Mikleo with light. Sorey’s voice cut off with an awful sound, and the air filled with the smell of burning feathers. Mikleo shouted for Sorey in panic, still light-blind.

“Sorey! Sorey! ”

Vision returned to him as he blinked, and Mikleo saw that his windowsill was now empty. Gripped with dread, he peered over the side, and was greeted with the sight of a small, unmoving blue blur on the ground far below.

“ Sorey! ”

Mikleo raced down the tower stairs, tripping and stumbling, until he burst out into the garden. There was nothing underneath the window, now – nothing at all but a few scattered blue feathers and streaks of red on the grass. The work of an enterprising palace cat, or marauding falcon, perhaps. Mikleo frantically raced around the gardens, tearing apart the bushes and flower beds for any sign of Sorey.

He had lost Sorey once, and just as he had begun to hope once more, he had lost Sorey again. Mikleo fell to his knees and let tears consume him.

It was neither cat nor falcon that had stolen Sorey away – instead, it was a wandering enchanter, drawn to the scene by the thick scent of dark magic. Zaveid was a clever man; clever enough to know that this bird was not what he seemed, and clever enough to know that he’d gotten in way over his head by snatching him up. He hurtled himself back over the palace wall, and hid himself in the brush. Oh, how curiosity had gotten the better of him once again!

He whispered an enchantment into his cupped palm, and placed the bird’s trembling, bleeding body between his hands to allow the healing magic to do its work. The bird’s trembling eased, and it heaved a sigh of relief from its tiny breast.

“All better, birdie?” Zaveid quipped. “Listen, I dunno what you did to get on the bad side of someone wielding magic like that, but--”

“Run,” Sorey rasped out. “We have to run. Into the woods. Where she can’t follow--”

“Too late,” hissed Symmone.

Symonne was quite incensed at being robbed of the opportunity to plunge a dagger into Sorey’s breast in front of Mikleo, but would settle for finishing the job here. Zaveid’s eyes went huge at the glint of the dagger in her hand, and he fumbled in his coat pocket until his fingers closed around a golden, fairy-winged amulet.

In a flash of light, the three of them were teleported straight to the fairy court. Fairy King Heldalf’s eyes went wide at the scene in front of him.

“Who are you?” he demanded of Zaveid. “And what are you doing with my son?”

Zaveid’s eyebrows raised, and he lifted Sorey to eye level to give him a Look.

“Shoulda known you were trouble,” he grumbled.

“Sorry…” Sorey sheepishly said back.

Still, Zaveid was not one to back down from a challenge. He cleared his throat, and bowed deeply, flourishing his free, non-bird-holding arm wide.

“Your most great and powerful majesty,” Zaveid greeted. “Please forgive my intrusion. I am Zaveid, a wandering enchanter. I was trying to rescue your son from death at the hands of this witch.”

Symonne was shaking with fury. Heldalf stared at her sternly, and bade Zaveid to continue.

“It is quite an accusation, to say that the throne’s greatest magician is guilty of treason.”

Zaveid sighed dramatically.

“I know, your great awesomeness, I know. But just take a whiff of your boy – that blood on him is reeking of your magician’s dark magic. Honestly, just ask him yourself. I’m sure he’ll tell you the whole story.”

Sorey had refused to say a word to his father since he was thirteen, which was incidentally the impetus behind Symonne’s curse of silence. He fluttered onto Zaveid’s shoulder to look straight into his father’s eyes.

“I ran away to seek out a magician to break my curse,” Sorey said. “Symonne followed my tracks, and laid a trap for me. When I landed on a tree to rest after a long flight, her dark magic tore me to pieces and flung me to the earth below. Zaveid saved me, and healed me, and brought us all to the court before she could finish her work.”

“ Liar! ” screamed Symonne. “A traitor and a liar! You ran to the arms of that despicable human that you constantly yowl for in your cage, like a cat in heat--”

“Can’t help but point out that she didn’t deny the whole attempted murder thing, your liegefultude,” Zaveid noted. “And if you’re wondering about how I got us all here, I’ll be happy to spin that tale for you over dinner. You see, I used a magical charm gifted to me as a token by a beautiful fairy maiden, for whom I still hold a burning flame--”

A sharp ahem! interrupted Zaveid’s story. One of the other court magicians in attendance, Lailah, was bright red, and had her cheeks puffed out irritably as she very determinedly refused to look at Zaveid.

King Heldalf rose to his feet, and strode over to stand looming and tall over Zaveid – he passed Symonne as he went, refusing to acknowledge her as she fell to her knees and grasped at the hem of his cloak, sobbing for forgiveness.

“You have our thanks, Zaveid the enchanter,” the king said. “Return the prince, and you may request any reward your heart desires for saving his life.”

Now, this gave Zaveid pause. Sorey looked at him pleadingly with those little birdie eyes, as if begging him to help. Clearly, this prince didn’t really want to be returned, any more than he wanted to remain a bird. Zaveid was nowhere near strong enough to break the curse on him, but…Lailah’s gaze upon him inspired him to be generous. Oh, the things he did for love.

“Not that I mean to intrude on an, uh…family matter,” Zaveid said. “But keepin’ your son here as a bird and – what did I hear your witch say? Locking him in a cage? – none of that is going to help mend whatever bridges are broken between you. After that witch nearly killed him, I think it’s the least you can do to let him stretch his legs again. His people legs.”

The king considered Zaveid’s statement for a long moment, then turned to Sorey.

“Prince Sorey,” he began. “I will return you to your original form for three days, so you are in a better state to consider your duty to the fairy kingdom. If you still refuse after the sun rises on the third day, you will remain a bird forever.”

Without waiting for Sorey’s response, King Heldalf waved his arm, and Zaveid felt the weight on his shoulder grow heavy. Like, real heavy. Heavy like there was a grown-ass teenager sitting on it instead of a little blue bird. Right before Zaveid collapsed to the ground, he saw that he was correct in that assessment. Sorey was quite unlike his bird self – tall, with a broad chest and shoulders and chocolate-brown hair. He looked down at his now-human hands, and his green eyes gleamed with newfound hope. Damn, Zaveid thought. Whoever that human was that Sorey was stealing off to go meet was one lucky dog.

“Escort the prince to his chambers,” said the king to the gathered fairy attendants. “And prepare a room and meal for our guest. We will not be derelict in hospitality.”

A fleet of attendants and guards surrounded Sorey, and he went along with them, though reluctantly. Two brightly-colored fairy attendants approached Zaveid, and he winked at both of them, sending them fluttering and tittering ahead of him. He glanced over his shoulder, and blew a kiss to where Lailah stood – Lailah mimed catching it, and then set her hand on fire. Zaveid clutched at his heart and sighed dreamily. To have his heart crushed by such a beauty was an exquisite kind of agony.

With Sorey and Zaveid both escorted from the throne room, Lailah respectfully curtsied to the king as he approached. Symonne continued to weep and grovel on the ground, inconsolable.

“Your majesty,” Lailah began. “Surely you know that the prince will not agree to those terms.”

The king sank back into his throne, and drummed his fingers on the arm.

“Pray tell, Lailah, what would you consider my alternative options?” he asked. “Allow him to live out a short human life, dying just as quickly as the beasts of the forest? Allow him to return to his mother, allow him to marry that human prince, allow their kingdoms to ally and rise up to destroy us?”

Lailah sighed, and looked away. “But surely you do not truly mean to curse the prince forever…”

“No,” Heldalf admitted. “Simply until that human he is fixated on dies. It will be quick, if he stays here – human lifetimes pass in the blink of an eye.”

First, the king imprisoned his own son in a golden cage for years, and now he was planning to do it once more if Sorey did not comply and promise to never again be with the one his heart truly loved. All out of a wild paranoia, and greed for his son’s undivided attention. Lailah could no longer tolerate her king’s behavior. Something had to be done, and there was one surefire way to do it:

The power of love.

That night, Lailah looked herself over in the mirror critically – did she look the part of a beatific fairy godmother? Oh heavens, it had been an age since she’d last played the role. There was no time to find pumpkins or practice a musical number. She could only hope Sorey’s beloved would rise to the occasion.

For his part, Mikleo was hardly in a state to rise to anything. The awful sound of Sorey’s dying scream echoed in his brain, and the smell of his scorched feathers refused to leave his senses. It was surely the work of that loathsome fae court: unable to force Sorey’s cooperation, they had killed him for the offense. They had taken Sorey from him twice, now. Grief and fury battled each other in his mind, seeing who would triumph and be allowed to consume Mikleo whole.

Mikleo had not moved from the chair he had collapsed into after dragging himself back up to his tower from the gardens. He had not drawn the curtains, he had not lit a candle – and with the fall of night, the room was painted with twilight.

A little spot of light flickered to life, throwing golden color on Mikleo’s cheek. Mikleo slowly turned to look. A candle on his desk was alight, and its dancing flame reflected in Mikleo’s eyes. It seemed to twirl around itself, looking down as if it was a lady lifting up her skirts to spot the best place to put her feet on a staircase. The little flame then hopped off the candle, then leapt off the edge of the desk –

– and became a tall woman in a red-and-white lace gown. Fairy wings extended from her back.

Had they come to kill him as well? Perhaps he should just allow it. He would make an even poorer king now, with a heart filled with sorrow and hatred.

“Prince Mikleo, beloved of Prince Sorey,” the woman began. She curtsied deeply. “I am Lailah, a magician. Please, I come to beg your aid, on behalf of my people.”

Mikleo stared at her in silence, his face a cold, expressionless mask.

“To think you have the right to speak his name – that is very audacious of you,” Mikleo said. He rose from his chair. “I wonder, was my fireplace not to your liking as an entryway, as Sorey’s was?”

Lailah curtsied deeper, and shook her head.

“Prince Mikleo, though you may not believe my words, I swear that it was not I who kidnapped Prince Sorey those five years ago, nor was it I who cursed him, nor was it I who wounded him this morning,” Lailah said. “He is alive and well, and was returned to our palace. The king has returned him to human form for three days, to force him to embrace his role as the fairy prince. If he refuses, he will remain a bird forevermore.”

Mikleo was speechless, his mind working to process what he had been told. The idea of Sorey still being alive – it was too good to be true. What was more, this woman was a fairy. How could he trust a single word she spoke?

“You do not believe me,” Lailah observed. She gestured with one arm to the top drawer of Mikleo’s desk. “In your desk is an iron letter-opener. Place it against my skin and command me to speak the truth through my agony. I swear to you that I shall not contradict myself.”

Lailah paused, then smiled.

“Or you could simply plunge the letter-opener into my chest, and be done with it,” she granted. Mikleo’s eyes went wide. “But your heart is pure and kind, just like Sorey’s. I can tell the thought of it did not once cross your mind.”

It had not. Mikleo sank back into his chair, more than a little overwhelmed.

“What would you have me do to save him?” Mikleo asked.

Lailah clapped delightedly. “Oh, splendid! You are already in a heroic state of mind,” she said. “That will make this so much more straightforward. Hoot have thought this would have been so easy?”

Lailah stared at him expectantly for a very, very long moment. Mikleo felt deeply uncomfortable.

“… hoot have thought? Hoot ?” Lailah prompted him again. “You see, Prince Sorey was a bird for many years, and owls say hoot-- ”

“Yes,” Mikleo interrupted before this got even more unbearable to listen to. “Yes, I understand.”

“Hmm.” Lailah paused, then snorted an undignified laugh into her voluminous sleeve. “—SNNNNRT! HOOT!”

“Lady Lailah,” Mikleo said flatly. “You were speaking of heroics?”

Lailah managed to gather herself, with effort. “Oh. Yes.”

With a wave of her arm, she summoned three ivory eggs; each the size of a goose’s.

“Please forgive me, for I am unable to take you directly to the palace,” she said mournfully. “My magic was…borrowed to transport Prince Sorey and several others from the dangerous situation he found himself in, and it will take time for it to regenerate. And time is a thing that we do not have. However, I can give you three gifts to lead you on your quest.”

One of the eggs began to glow, and when its light faded, a small, odd-looking little creature was in its place.

“Pleased to meetcha! The name’s Atakk, a normin,” said the creature. He extended a paw. “Put ‘er there!”

“Mikleo, this is Atakk. He will guide you,” Lailah explained, and tried to move on to the next egg. “As for the topic of transport--”

“Is that it!?” Atakk squawked despairingly. “Lady Lailah, you’re embarrassing me! I’m standing in front of such a beautiful creature, so you gotta talk me up a little bit to him--”

“Atakk will guide you marginally well,” Lailah expanded on her statement. “Now, as for the topic of transport…”

The second egg glowed and expanded into a beautiful grand chariot, drawn by six more normins who grumbled and griped and adjusted their harnesses. Atakk beckoned for him to give him his hand.

“Please, allow me to lead you to your seat, mon cher ,” Atakk said suavely. “I will serenade you on our journey to make your heart feel light. Do you prefer the pan-flute or the dulcimer?”

“The trip will not be long, with the normins leading the chariot,” Lailah promised. With that, she handed the final egg to Mikleo. “This egg will guarantee your escape from the palace, when you have rescued Sorey. Please, do not allow it to hatch before then, lest you be trapped in our realm forever.”

Mikleo took the egg, then looked Lailah up and down.

“…why are you helping us?” Mikleo asked. “Sorey and I.”

Lailah sighed and folded her hands.

“Our king is…a lonely man. He once fell in love with a human princess, and had a child with her – however, she would not abandon her kingdom to live with our king in our realm. She fled with the child, and our king has never been in his right mind since. He has become wholly convinced that the human kingdoms will rise up against us any day now, and kidnapped Sorey laboring under that paranoia – he thinks your marriage to Sorey, your kingdoms’ alliance, would sound the death knell for our own realm. He seeks to force Sorey to love him as his father through cruel means…he does not appear to properly understand that Sorey will only resent him more and more. I cannot bear to stand by and watch this continue.”

Mikleo nodded. He and Sorey had overheard strange snippets of discussion, when they were children eavesdropping on meetings, that had never quite made sense until now…Mikleo walked to his dressing-cabinets, and stripped down to dress himself in an outfit more suited to a diplomatic engagement. Lailah gasped and bent to cover Atakk’s eyes.

“I will not allow it to continue,” Mikleo said. To finish, he picked up his circlet – the symbol of his birthright – from its locked velvet case and slid it on. “I will speak to him as the king-to-be of my nation, and demand Sorey’s return.”

“I pray for your success,” Lailah said solemnly. “You are our last hope.”

Lailah spoke true – the normin chariot sped across the skies and over the forests and mountains, bringing them far from Mikleo’s kingdom. It would take days, weeks to make the trip on foot…Mikleo’s heart ached at the thought of Sorey making this trip as a bird, just for a chance to see Mikleo again.

The chariot arrived at the fairy palace at dawn – Mikleo had so little time left to save Sorey, and that worry clouded his mind to the point that he spared little wonder at the sight of the glittering jeweled spires, the giant blossoms, the lakes and rivers made of…chocolate syrup? Perhaps he spared a bit of wonder at that. He expected the normins to drop him off at the palace entrance, but they charged on full-tilt past the palace gates, whooping and cheering as they sent guards flying left and right. They raced through the halls, knocking into statues and pottery and other priceless pieces of fine art.

“Slow down, you philistines!” wailed Atakk. “That was a Terca Lumereis original!”

“Emphasis on ‘was’!” yelled back one of the normin.

Atakk’s tears soaked Mikleo’s shirt as he buried his face in his chest to weep.

Finally, the wild rush came to a sudden stop. They had arrived in the throne room, and, judging from the stares of the gathered court members, they were quite unexpected. Atakk stumbled to his feet, and produced a horn from thin air – he blew it loud, even through his tears, to announce their arrival. Mikleo squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and stepped out of the chariot with all the grace and presence his mother and tutors had tried to instill in him over the years. He willed his hands and voice to not shake.

“I am Mikleo, of House Rulay,” he said, loud and clear. “I am the king-to-be of the kingdom of Camlann. I seek the hand of the fairy crown prince in marriage.”

The court gasped and tittered, and looked to the throne for their king’s reaction. Mikleo saw that he was a large, imposing man; with a voluminous fur cloak whose high collar made him resemble a lion. The king’s eyes narrowed.

“How did a human enter our realm undetected?” Heldalf wondered aloud.

“That seems like a personal failin’ of your guards,” said one of the chariot normin. “We didn’t even try to be sneaky.”

Atakk wailed hysterically in the chariot, cuddling a large piece of shattered pottery. Heldalf rose an eyebrow at the normins, and then turned to Lailah; who stood beside the throne with a carefully blank expression.

“It seems your magic has brought yet more visitors ,” Heldalf said. “Do tell me that another of my magicians has not betrayed me.”

Lailah curtsied deeply in apology. “My king, I have placed my magic in many artifacts over the centuries, as gifts to those who have served us. Surely some of them have simply fallen into the wrong hands.”

“King of the Fairies, do you mean to ignore your esteemed guest?” Mikleo asked. He would not allow Lailah to be punished for helping him. “After all the questing I went through to obtain this magical chariot, you could stand to offer me a room, and entertain my request for your son’s hand. Surely as the rulers of two prosperous kingdoms, we could come to a mutually-beneficial arrangement.”

Mikleo knew that he had hit upon a sticking point – even fairies were bound by the rules of hospitality. The king stood, and gestured with his hand to some of his fairy attendants.

“We welcome you as our esteemed guest,” he said. “But know this: humans cannot survive long in our realm. You will be safe if you do not leave the room we prepare for you. Should you venture from it, you will be transformed into a beast. And I have my doubts that your people will accept a beast as their king.”

“A beastly nature will not affect my devotion to my people, nor my devotion to your son,” Mikleo swore. “Please, take me to him so I may make an offer of marriage in person.”

“The prince is sleeping in his chambers, resting due to his injuries,” Heldalf said. “He will awaken…in a few days, perhaps. Until then, you may wait in your guest chambers for him. Practice your poetry.”

A few days. Mikleo bristled in fury. In a few days, Sorey would be a bird again. He could not risk calling the king’s bluff without endangering Lailah. He could not rush to Sorey’s chambers and break the doors down – he could already feel the magic of the fairy realm clouding his brain and making his limbs heavy and odd. Fairy attendants and guards surrounded him, and rounded up the normins – he was on his own as they escorted him to his guest chambers. The weight of the final egg in his pocket was small comfort as he was locked into his guest room.

Mikleo did not spend long bemoaning his fate, for as he looked around the room for something, anything to help him rescue Sorey, he came upon an ornately-designed vent shaft. It was securely bolted shut, but his mind was not on the prospect of escape. Seeing the vent caused him to recall a piece of information that Sorey had mentioned on his windowsill visit: that Sorey’s chambers were connected via these shafts to the surrounding rooms, and that he could hear anything that occurred within them.

Sorey had sung for him, day and night, for five years. Mikleo could surely manage the same for two nights.

Mikleo cleared his throat, and began to hum; a halting, shy tune. Slowly, he grew more confident, more desperate – he allowed himself to write embarrassing lyrics that he would have scoffed at only a few short days ago. He called for Sorey, told him of how he’d longed for him, told him of the sorrow that threatened to drown him when he was convinced of Sorey’s death. He sang of the future he hoped for: not only of grand adventures and travel, but also of days by his side, of suffering through boring court meetings on the promise of a kiss after their conclusion, of evenings taking dinner together over their favorite books, of nights tangled up together in their shared bed.

He sang and sang until his throat was raw, and sang some more – the sun set and rose again, and Sorey had still not called back to him, had still not broken down the door. Mikleo took a moment to catch his breath, and wipe away the frustrated tears that streaked his cheeks. He had but one day more, and then Sorey would be a bird forever – if it came to it, perhaps he’d simply walk the fairy palace halls until he became a beast as well, to live by his side. A pair of lovebirds, matched in the same cage, singing day and night.

“Hey. Hey! Prince!”

Mikleo frowned and looked around for the source of the familiar voice.

“Over here!”

Atakk was peeping through the slot in the door that attendants used to slide Mikleo meals – which he had not touched, out of concern for what was in them.

“You’ve been usin’ the vent system to try and talk to Sorey, haven’t you?” Atakk asked. “Any luck?”

“No,” Mikleo said hoarsely, rubbing his throat. He needed to save his voice for another day of work. “No response.”

Atakk hummed thoughtfully, and tapped his chin.

“I’ve been in that room before – those vents echo the sounds loud and clear. He should’ve heard you even if he was sleeping, and woken up…somethin’ fishy is going on. I’m gonna snoop around and get some info for you. Lady Lailah assigned me as your guide, and I ain’t done guiding yet.”

“Thank you,” Mikleo managed to say before his throat throbbed in pain.

Atakk made a kissy face. “Anything for a princely beauty like yourself! It’s so romantic of me, sacrificing my own happiness to bring you closer to another man…!”

Atakk bounced away excitedly, talking to himself of how he’d have to write these verses down before he forgot them. Mikleo shook his head, and stumbled back to the vents on sleepless legs to resume his vigil.

It wasn’t until the sun had nearly set again that Atakk returned – however, this time he was not alone. Three fairy attendants opened the door, and entered Mikleo’s chambers in a line. Atakk gestured to them with a flourish.

“Ta-da!” he said. “These are Prince Sorey’s attendants!”

“…and?” Mikleo said, not able to manage more than one-word sentences.

“And they got the scoop on why Sorey isn’t hearing your little lovelorn sonata!” Atakk said. “…or so they told me.”

The eldest attendant stepped forward.

“We were instructed by the king and the royal doctor to drug the prince’s food and drink to keep him in a deep sleep,” she stated. “His injuries from Lady Symonne were grave, and Zaveid’s magics only served to stabilize him temporarily.”

The two younger attendants giggled at the mention of this “Zaveid”, and the eldest turned to glare at them. They shushed, but continued to whisper in each other’s ears. The eldest shook her head, and continued.

“I do not see why I should go against such esteemed directions to allow the prince to hear your constant caterwauling,” the eldest said. “It will only upset him.”

“The spell,” Mikleo rasped out. “He’ll be a bird. When the sun rises, forever.”

“The king does not mean to truly curse the prince forever,” stated the eldest. “Simply until you and his other human attachments are nothing but dust and distant memory. He will live a long and blissful life here, free from disease and age. You mean to steal him away from us and curse him to a short, desperate, mortal existence.”

Mikleo bowed his head, and put a hand to his aching throat. It seemed so selfish. Perhaps it would truly be best for Sorey that he left, that he allowed himself to fade into memory. But it was Atakk that broke the awful silence.

“That’s all well and good for you to make that decision for the prince then, eh?” he challenged. “Tell me again, ‘cause I forget; have you ever asked Sorey’s opinion on all of this? Seems like it’d be important.”

The eldest attendant glowered at Atakk. Atakk mimed a thinking pose.

“Let me think. Seems like I remember something…oh, right, I remember that terrified little thirteen-year-old that we stole from his family, and then we turned him into a bird and locked him in a cage for five years when he kept begging to go home. Yes, you’re sooooo concerned for his welfare, I can tell.”

Atakk slapped Mikleo on the back, and puffed out his chest.

“But do you know who here is concerned for Sorey? This fella right here. He’ll go on singing and singing until he turns into a bird himself, if he thought there was the slightest chance Sorey would wake up and hear him.”

“I heard his song while tending to the prince,” said one of the younger attendants, fighting back tears. “His feelings for the prince are true.”

“I could barely finish my dusting without weeping from the beauty of it,” said the other young attendant, who was fully wailing. “Madam, we know you heard it as well!”

The eldest attendant’s eyes softened, and her mouth drew into a thin line.

“…the prince dreams of you,” she said quietly. “He speaks your name. I was his mother’s midwife, you know. He was a kind, sweet boy to us over the years, even as we served as his jailers. It pains me to be the cause of yet more grief.”

She turned to leave, gesturing for her bawling younger attendants to join her.

“The prince’s sleeping draught will wear off at midnight,” she stated. “And I might dally in refreshing it. See to it that your song is true.”

As they left, Mikleo managed to smile at Atakk as his tears flowed anew. “Thank you.”

Atakk strutted over and picked up Mikleo’s hand to press a loud, smacking kiss to the knuckles. “It’s all in a day’s work for a tragic romantic hero, mon cher . Now rest up those pipes for a few hours so you can really knock Sorey’s socks off.”

Mikleo did as suggested – his throat was so sore and weak that he could barely swallow the water that Atakk brought to him (with the promise that it was not enchanted). Even knowing that there was no chance for Sorey to hear him, Mikleo was possessed of a nervous compulsion to take a seat back by the vents and continue to hum aimlessly – if Sorey could not hear him properly, Mikleo could still provide some comfort in his dreams.

The clocks chimed midnight, and Mikleo opened his mouth to sing once more. He barely managed to get to the part about kisses after court before he heard Sorey screaming and pounding on every door in the hall outside.

“Mikleo! Mikleo! ”

Mikleo raced to the locked door and began to pound on it himself, and to scream Sorey’s name through his raw, battered throat.

“I’m right here, Sorey! Right here!”

The doors were flung open.

Logically, Mikleo knew that Sorey would not look like his thirteen-year-old self all these years later. But Mikleo did not expect Sorey to be this stunning. Tall, with a sharp jawline and broad shoulders. Strong arms that wrapped around Mikleo so tightly, and brought him close against his chest to feel the beating of his racing heart. Those same green eyes that Mikleo remembered, clear as day.

“Mikleo…” Sorey sobbed over and over, rocking in place with Mikleo. Belatedly, Mikleo realized that they’d collapsed to the floor at some point.

“Sorey,” Mikleo whispered into his ear. “I’ve come to ask for your hand in marriage. Do you accept?”

Sorey kissed him then and there. Mikleo let his eyes fall shut and kissed back, winding his fingers into Sorey’s hair.

“…well, I think that settles that, don’t you, your majesticness?”

Sorey’s arms tightened around him at the sound of that voice, and he broke off their kiss to glare at the approach of his father. A strangely-dressed man with dark skin and white tattoos wolf-whistled at them.

“Hey there. I’m Zaveid, your neighbor,” said the man, gesturing to the guest room next to Mikleo’s. “You kept me up all night with your singing, yanno.”

Mikleo spied Lailah sneaking out of Zaveid’s guest room. He elected to say nothing. Heldalf gazed at Sorey with deep sorrow in his eyes, and heaved a heavy sigh.

“…I suppose it does,” he said with an air of finality. “Sorey. I tried to force your mother to stay here with me, and I failed to learn from her flight, and her distance. Please live your life as you wish.”

The king turned, and made to leave. Sorey and Mikleo’s eyes met. Mikleo took Sorey’s hand, and gave it a comforting squeeze. Whatever his decision, Mikleo would stand by his side.

“…will you attend our wedding, father?”

Heldalf stiffened at that word, then bowed his head, his shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly. Perhaps it was a word he’d never heard before.

Upon their return home, their wedding preparations proceeded in a whirlwind haste. Tearful reunions took place alongside flower selections and dress-uniform measurements, and Sorey barely had the time to accept the embraces offered between samples of wedding cake – though he always managed to make the time to excuse himself for a kiss or two from Mikleo. (Or for a quick sojourn with Mikleo to a secluded room with a lock.)

The ceremony was attended by those from kingdoms far and near – citizens and nobility, woodland spirits and fairy court members alike. King Heldalf gave his blessings to the union, and gifted them with a splendid spread of wedding gifts: among them, a marvelous stringed instrument that played by itself and sounded like a thousand instruments at once, a pair of magical mirrors that permitted instant communication between two individuals, and an enchanted brooch, similar to Zaveid’s, that allowed instant transport to the fairy realm.

“Speaking of gifts,” Sorey said during the reception, as he kissed at Mikleo’s knuckles. “What was in that third egg that Lailah gave you?”

Mikleo blinked – it was still in his robes from their adventure. He requested an attendant fetch it for them, and made to open it.

It cracked open in a glorious light, and when the light faded, there stood a normin dressed in an exotic flamenco gown. It fluttered its fan in its heavily-made-up face, and spoke in a strangely deep voice.

“Dance with me! Cast off your monarchical chains and dance the dance of revolution!”

Mikleo rose an eyebrow, and looked over where Lailah was engaging in a drinking contest with members of the royal court. The normin heaved a sigh, and gathered up his skirts to stomp off onto the ballroom floor.

Fairy culture was a bit beyond Mikleo, as of the moment. But he was willing to learn – after all, alliances didn’t spring up overnight.

#sormik #soremiku #suremiku #soymilk #sorey/mikleo #tales of zestiria #i guess this is my personal tales of zestiria tag now #a tenderly crafted fanfiction #chocomint-srmk #chocomint fairy tale compilation #chocomint

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