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anyoneseenadam · 3 years

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Home: Chapter Five

azriel x reader (acotar)

summary: (y/n) is a daughter of Persephone, still recovering from the trauma of her fall into Tartarus and doesn’t have time for a stupid, handsome, annoying, stunning, injured man. But now they’re stuck together in the middle of nowhere and there only chance of getting home is if she can heal him, and fast.

warnings: big spoilers for mark of Athena and house of Hades, also some for the acotar series, eventual smut, blood, PTSD, graphic descriptions of violence, injuries and torture, enemies to lovers so az is a bit of a dick to start, swearing, THIS PART HAS THE SEXC TIMES YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

word count: 4k

a/n: this is pretty much just fluff so pls enjoy :) also please comment you have no idea how much it means to me I cry when I get them lol :) also I have a playlist for this one so go listen if you would like!

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When you woke Azriel had somehow wrapped his entirety around your frame, including his wings, tucking you tight against his chest. You pulled back slightly, moving your legs, trying to regain feeling in your muscles only to be greeted with a grunt and being pulled even tighter against his chest.

“Good morning to you too,” You giggled reaching up and pecking his jaw, smiling when he tilted his head to look down at you. He had a frown on his face but a playful look in his eyes none the less.

“Morning,” The deep tones of his voice vibrated through his chest and you bit your lip at him as he chuckled at your reaction. You lay your head back down on his chest listening to the soft patter of the rain on the roof, the storm had hugely calmed down however it was still raining lightly outside. Azriel’s hand moved to your back and you tensed as his hand moved over your scars, tracing pictures, and admiring them as if they were a piece of art. You lay in silence for minutes or hours, losing track of time as his scarred hands and your scarred back became one, soft murmurs keeping you barely awake as you spoke about nothing.

You eventually had to pull away when Azriel’s stomach was too loud to ignore. A shiver went through you as you sat up, not only losing the direct body heat but also the comforting press of his shadows as they had settled over you. The feeling of their embrace was an odd one; they were cold, and their darkness was everything you had grown to despise, yet they made you feel safe, indestructible. They felt like armour passed to you by the man you were falling for and gave you the feeling that as long as he was beside you, nothing would hurt you again.

Your eyes moved to where he was pulling on his trousers, the expanse of his back rippling with restrained strength and making your mouth turn dry. He turned when he felt your gaze on him and you were once again shocked by how pretty he was. You had admired handsome celebrities before, but he was different, he had an elegance you hadn’t seen before. Every movement was planned and smooth, no stumbles or mistakes as he moved, even when he was ill he still held that perfectly poised form, you presumed centuries of training did that to a man.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to get me some food woman?” he said, grinning cheekily when you smacked his shoulder.

“I will hurt you.” You scrunched your face at him, pulling your underwear on and rolling your eyes when you picked up your ruined bra.

“I promised you wouldn’t need it didn’t I?” He smirked, climbing over you, and pressing wet kisses into your neck. You smiled leaning into his attentions, bursting out laughing when you were once again interrupted by his stomach and he looked at you with pleading eyes.

“Ask nicely,” you nudged his cheek with your nose, and he rolled his eyes.

“Oh please my darling, please do me the honour of eating your food so I may have the pleasure of devouring you on a real bed.” You laughed and sat up again, pulling your shirt over your head.

“Better.”

You were sat on the small balcony you had fashioned, leaning against Azriel’s firm chest, his arms tight around your waist. The clouds had cleared away and the forest was filled with the smell of evaporating water, you had been pointing out and naming species of lizards you saw basking in the morning sun, trying to get their internal temperatures back to a temperature they could function at. Azriel listened patiently as you spoke animatedly about the Komodo dragon you had seen the first night, he was in awe of how excited you were talking about animals, smiling as you explained how reptiles had always fascinated you.

“We once had a quest in L.A and I made everyone stop for like twenty minutes cause I wanted to take pictures of this frog I saw.” You giggled craning your head back to see him shake his head at you.

“You’re insane.”

“And what about it?” You closed your eyes, leaning back against his shoulder, letting the sun sink into your skin and imagining you could feel the individual particles wake up with the newfound energy.

“How are you feeling anyway? Do you think you could get us home today?” You asked, pulling away to sit next to him cross legged, your head resting against his bare shoulder.

“Probably, I just need more food and I don’t actually know where your house is.”

“Do you need like coordinates or something cause I don’t have that.”

“No, more like the area, it would help if I had been there. I could probably get us to the alley in that tall city again.” You laughed at his phrase.

“Okay that’s fine we can get a cab.” You stood up and climbed down the ladder, moving to a fresh patch of earth.

“A cab?” he appeared besides you, making you yelp and press a hand to your chest.

“I hate you, and yes a cab, it’s a car.” You explained, passing him an apple.

“Car?”

“Gods, an automobile. A carriage that isn’t run by horse but instead machines.” He just made a sound of agreement and you giggled.

“Oh you’re going to love it, those big ol’ wings stuffed in a metal tin.”

“Please no,” he dropped his head on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there and you debated the question that had been stirring in your head all morning. You frowned and focused on the potatoes you were growing, trying to still the thoughts gnawing at your brain. Was this a one-time thing? Gods he’s going to go back to his world and forget about me. I mean he’s immortal. But we’re acting like a couple, is that what we are now?

Azriel sensed your panic as your eyes glazed over, the vacant expression a sign that you were too deep in your own thoughts. He quickly looked around for something red, ready to get rid of it at any cost, but couldn’t see a glimpse of red in the green that surrounded the two of you, so he instead tilted your head to look at him, your eyes wary.

“What’s wrong baby?” he asked, thumb stroking your cheekbone reassuringly.

“It’s nothing, I’m just being stupid,” you tried to laugh it off, but he persisted. “I just- where do we go from here?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that, you’re immortal right? And I’m not. And you’ve probably got other girls lining up back in your other world and I,” He motioned for you to continue, eyes unbelievably soft.

“I don’t want to be alone again. I was alone when we met because I can’t socialise like I used to, but I’ve got so used to this, and I want- no I need you to be happy and I’m sure that’s home for you but. I don’t want you to go, I don’t want you to become a memory that I think of when I’m sad.” He didn’t know what to say, hadn’t even considered it really. After he realised you were mates all he could think of was a house that you would make a home, he imagined a cat and maybe chickens and you with a rounded belly and a toddler on your hip. He hadn’t thought of the reality, you were mortal, you wouldn’t have eternity with him, your body couldn’t bear Illyrian children and he would lose you before you had really even had time together.

His heart broke as you took shaky breaths, hidden in his chest, and he wrapped his wings around you. He was determined, he wasn’t going to let fate cruelly pull you away from him. The first women that had ever loved him in the same, deep, all consuming way he loved her.

“I don’t know yet, but we’ll figure it out okay. And in the meantime you could come with me?” You looked up at him with glassy eyes and smiled sadly.

“I think I’m falling for you.” You whispered into the crook of his neck and he smiled tightening his arms around you.

“I already have.”

A few hours later you were standing looking up at your makeshift hut as Azriel readied to leave behind you. You watched as a finch flew over and perched on the side of your hut, a small twig perched in its beak, bristling its feathers as it rested.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Azriel sidled up beside you, an arm wrapping securely around your waist. You turned into his embrace.

“My thoughts are much more expensive than that.” He laughed at your difficult answer and tilted his head down, pressing his forehead to yours.

You sighed, tilting your head back to the side. “I think I have to destroy it. Keep the natural world natural y’know.”

“I suppose you do.” He said, the same sadness in his eyes as he looked at the makeshift home you had created him. The one where you had coaxed him through countless sleepless nights as he was overcome with sickness. The house you had shared as he took you for the first-time last night, and then the countless other times that followed.

He frowned but watched in awe as one hand reached out towards the house, your other wrapped firmly around his neck as you grounded yourself. The walls starting to warp and flow back into their original pattern and even when you dropped your hand, a faint sheen of sweat coating your brow, the branches still moved slowly.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked softly, picking you up despite your protests, walking the two of you out of the glaring sunlight and into a shadowed area.

“As I’ll ever be,” you whispered, looking up at him with those impossible soft eyes. To think not so long ago he couldn’t read them, believing that they were emotionless and cold, only to now feel his chest grow tighter and the air escape his lungs every time he locked onto them.

As he looked over your campsite one last time, the small fire pit sitting next to a vegetable patch where you had slept. The river where he had seen your scars for the first time. The whole place was filled with countless memories and as he thought of them, holding onto you tightly, he heard your soft voice.

“I think I’m going to miss being the only person in the world with you.”

You forgot how much you fucking hated shadow-travel. At least when he first did it you were hopped up on adrenaline and traumatic memories. This time however you were mentally present for the whole experience, feeling the sickness overcome you the way it did in the early days of autumn. There was a complete lack of life in the shadows, yet somehow the dark was still grasping at you. Azriel’s shadows had a different feel to them, however. Like the difference between a domesticated and wild dog, and you felt comfort as they protected you against the dark.

Thankfully, soon you were back in the light. The onslaught of noise making you flinch as cars honked and voices filled the air. You looked at Azriel to see he had a similar disgruntled face on as he gently placed you on your feet, steadying you when you wobbled.

You surveyed your surroundings, realising he had taken you to the exact alley you had met him, and you fought away the image of his weakening body on the ground, blood flowing out of him, when you saw the dark stain. You looked at him now, colour in his cheeks and the stern expression he had when you first saw him on. His eyes visibly softened when he saw you staring at him and he grasped your hand tightly.

“Come on,” he said, walking forward briskly, still not at all accustomed to the strange world he was in. it had seemed more familiar when it was just the two of you, but now as he watched you march ahead of him, a tight grip on his hand, head up and face impassive as you stared down anyone who so much as blinked at him the wrong way, his heart tightened again and he pulled you into the next alley he saw. You blinked at him confused but he just pressed his lips to yours in a deep, fierce kiss.

“What was that for?” you asked when he finally pulled away, breathless.

“You’re so hot when you’re scaring people.” He muttered and you giggled, repeating the sentiment, and standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips again. He smiled into the kiss, confused at how naturally it bloomed across his face and gathered you up in his arms, taking off with a strong boom.

You shrieked and he laughed, holding you tight as he swooped about, before starting a steady pace and looking down to where you were huddled in his arms, eyes clenched shut.

“Open your eyes baby, you need to give me directions.” He said into your hair and smiling as you hesitantly opened your eyes, swearing as you saw the sight of New York below you.

“It’s beautiful.” You muttered, completely sincere as the view took away any sarcastic comments you had bubbling. He grinned and did another loop as you laughed loudly, hair flying about your face. He finally stopped and nudged your head with his nose, you slowly lifted a shaking hand as you released it from the death grip you held him with a pointed in the direction of your home. He took of that way, with you sometimes muttering more specific direction until he landed you on the road in front of the gate that led to your cottage.

Your legs were shaking when he let you down, but you pulled him along the small path that led to your front door, whispering to the plant that kept your spare key and smiling when it passed it to you. You pushed open your door and Azriel followed inside, smiling when he was overcome by your scent. His gaze trailed over your house as he moved through the archway that kept the entrance from the rest of the house. The kitchen was simple, wooden with old fashioned dishes kept in glass cupboards and sage green accents, a worn-down table with mismatched chairs and a simple stove with a kettle and more sage green cupboards underneath. He looked then to the living area, there was a small fireplace and a few armchairs around, the whole house filled with natural light, plants and books in a language he didn’t recognise, but he also noted the string lights you had looping around the beams in your roof, interwoven with trailing ivy.

You wandered over to him, smiling as you tugged on his hand leading him upstairs into a small bathroom. He cringed as he caught sight of himself in the mirror above your sink, before laughing as he saw even more plants on the windowsill over-looking the road.

“Now I really like you Az but I’m afraid this relationship will be over quickly if you don’t shower right now,” you laughed at him as he frowned sniffing himself before grunting in agreement. You reached into the shower and turned the nozzles letting a stream of warming water run, then peeling of your old clothes. Once you were done you stepped under the water, groaning as it hit your aching muscles and Azriel joined soon after, his hands finding residency on your hips and pulling you in for a kiss. You reached around him when you pulled away and grabbed your shampoo, rubbing it between your hands before moving to massage it into his hair, laughing when his expression became that of a blissed-out cat. Practically purring under your touch.

You pulled away allowing him to rinse off as you did your own hair. Soon after the two of you were done cleaning up he pushed you against the wall of your shower, kissing you harshly and pressing the length of his body into you, smirking when you mewled and arched your back into his wandering hands. One of his hands groped your breast as his other travelled south, gentle fingers trailing between your legs and stroking your wet folds. He moved to press kisses against your neck when you gasped for breath as he pushed two long fingers into you, the texture of the rough scars adding to the euphoria you felt as you moaned into the steamy room. His thumb moved to rub softly against your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you, your walls tightening around his fingers as you neared your orgasm. The pads of his fingers pressed into the spongy spot inside you that always made you see stars as he tugged on your nipple and rolled you clit under his thumb all at once making you fall over the edge with a silent cry.

He grinned as he pulled away from you neck, obsessed with way you fall apart from just his fingers. HIs hands usually only brought him shame and guilt but now were filling him with pride as you clenched around them. He pulled them out slowly, sucking your essence off them as you slumped back against the wall, spent. You reached a hand to his erection, but he pushed it away and turned the shower head off and stepping out of the shower, wrapping you in a fluffy towel.

“Later baby, you need some rest.”

You both slowly dried yourselves in silence and you groaned when you looked at your dull skin in the mirror and turned to Azriel biting your lip.

“What?” he laughed,

“Can we do facemasks later?” He looked at your hopeful smile and rolled his eyes, unable to say no to you.

“Later.” He muttered and you smiled before walking through to your bedroom, Azriel trailing like the lovesick puppy he was. He smiled at the sight of your room; it was so very you. The sun was glowing over the unmade bed that was covered in pillows and blankets and, upon further inspection, stuffed toys, making it look ethereal. There was even more bookshelves and a wardrobe and burnished mirror, your windowsill had soft cushions on it and a pile of stacked books next to it. And of course, plants. Everywhere. He walked further in as you fished out clean clothes and he frowned when you passed him a pair of boxers.

“Whose are these?” he asked, trying to keep his possessiveness tamed as he thought of another man living with his girl, his mate.

“Mine, they’re comfy.” You shrugged, pulling an oversized sweater on and bringing it to your nose, revelling in the clean smell. Azriel blushed bright red and quickly pulled them on, adjusting them as he watched you bend over to pull on another pair of boxers. You moved to sit in front of your mirror, fixing your hair as he ran his hand over the spine of the books, not recognising any titles, jumping when he heard music suddenly play and quickly searching for the source. He moved over to where you were looking through folders of disks.

“I lost my phone and I only have my dad’s old disks so it’s a lot of 50’s sorry,” you giggled as he stared in wonder, listening to the soft tunes. You turned to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying softly to the music, your head on his chest.

There's a place where lovers go To cry their troubles away And they call it 'Lonesome Town' Where the broken hearts stay.

You can buy a dream or two To last you all through the years And the only price you pay Is a heart full of tears.

He smiled and held you softly, dancing with you as your breathing slowed, completely relaxed. Soon the song finished and a new one started but instead of continuing to dance you looked up at him with tired eyes and a soft smile and he tugged you over to your bed, laying you down gently. Your body sank into the impossibly soft mattress and he laid down next to you, your arm waving slightly as your trailing ivy tugged your thin curtains together. His shadows settled over the two of you and you grinned up at him, as sweet as spun sugar.

“I love you,” you whispered softly, voice shy.

“I love you.” He repeated, kissing your head gently as you burrowed deeply into his arms, the two of you falling asleep as soft music played through the room.

Azriel woke alone, golden light in his eyes as he noticed the lack of your weight pressed into his side. He panicked instantly, jumping out of bed, and racing down the stairs, only calming when he saw you in your kitchen signing quietly along to a song coming out of the radio on your table. His heart rate returned to normal as he moved wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the side of your neck as he watched you flip pancakes.

“Pancakes?”

“I’m allowed to be a stereotype if I want to be, it’s my house.” He laughed and moved to where a pot of coffee sat on the table, preparing his cup. His friends always laughed at the feared shadow-singer when he put two sugars in, and he was struck with homesickness when he did it now. You turned off the stove and put the plate in front of him, pouring your own coffee and drinking it black with a longing sigh. He groaned as you laughed when he reached for the creamer.

“What was it you did for a living again?”

“Shut up.”

You giggled and took two pancakes, coating them in fruit and syrup as he followed suit. They both devoured the mountain in minutes, and he reached over, pulling you onto his lap, your kisses sticky and sweet with sugar coated tongues. He took you again right on the table, before carrying you back to your room to take you there too, addicted to the soft sounds that fell from your lips.

When you finally pulled away from each other, some hours later you reached for your laptop. “I believe I promised you movies and Tony Stark,” you said, fingers moving across your keyboard as Azriel watched over your shoulder as the screen changed before his eyes. You found the first Iron Man movie and started it as Azriel stared at the screen, blown away.

“So this is your technology?” he asked, eyes filled with childlike joy as the movie began.

“Yup, and this film had technology we don’t have in its universe.”

“Cauldron.”

“Plus I figured I should introduce you to the loves of my life that are the marvel men,” his grip on your waist tightened and you laughed, “they’re not real Az, I’m not going anywhere.” You pressed a kiss to his lips and leaned back. You brain finally at peace as you laid back in the arms of the man you loved.

You tensed when the suit first appeared, the red colour of it making you clench your hands into fists and Azriel was quick to reassure you, moving to turn the film off, but you stopped him.

“This is my comfort film, and if I don’t start somewhere I’ll not make any progress. Just- can you hold me please,” you asked him, and he kissed your temple.

“Always, my love.”

You finished the movie together and moved to watch the next, hours passing as you found yourself completely consumed by the man by your side, ignoring the pressing concerns for now and instead focusing on his steady heartbeat. Content to stay in his arms forever.

#acotar #acomaf #acosf #acowar #acofas #azriel x reader #Azriel #Heroes of Olympus

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baekhvuns · 4 years

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replacement | ten lee

( masterlist here! )

word count : 5.3k

pairing : ten x reader

song suggestion : stand by me — wayv

“i can’t do this.”

“you have too! we can’t ignore the orders of the royal family,” the man huffed, watching his daughter cross her arms over her chest.

“come on baby, we have to agree. you’ll get married to the prince!” her mother strived to lift her mood up, trying to convince her to this alliance.

“have you heard how awful the prince is? he doesn’t even speak let alone to any females, i won’t marry a man like that. no matter how rich or what title he’ll give me!”

the parents sighed, knowing the reputation of the prince. since they lived in prosperity, it was only fair for their daughter to be invited as one of the to-be brides for the prince. it’s certainly an honour, a great honour to be tagged as the future queen of weyni, to stand next to the future king with dignity.

just then the trio broke into silence, wondering what they should do. they can’t reject the king’s orders, which could result in a penalty or even death. her father twitched at the thought of dying, trailing his eyes over to the person who walked in.

“where should i keep these presents that you received from madam seo?”

“just put it right there.” the mother sighed, stroking her child’s hair lovingly.

nodding the gifts were set on the table, glowing in different coloured wrapping papers from the fanciest aristocrats. just as the father's eyes set on the figure he immediately stopped her.

“i have a solution, you.” he pointed, “you’ll be the replacement of my daughter.”

your eyes widened, “me?” watching the man’s head nod furiously.

“honey, she doesn’t even know the rules or regulations of aristocracy!” her eyes raked you head to toe, “plus she isn’t even that pretty, the prince would reject her anyway.” you bit your lip, because wow women thanks.

“that’s it!” the daughter smacked her hands on her thighs, “the prince doesn’t know how i look like, she’ll be the perfect alternative for me!”

“but miss, you played with the prince when you both were younger. i simply can’t be fitted to do this, as said by your mother,” you muttered, trying to use the nicest voice you had so that you could get out of this ambush.

“he won’t remember me anyway, i want you to go and marry the prince. that’s it, final.” you looked at her, words ready to pour but the glint her mother was giving you made you shut up and look down at your shoes.

“okay.”

the weeks of preparing had made you go insane, waking up early was never a hassle for you but since the day you were told to become choa (the original chosen one) every day felt like five years.

the constant mannerisms, how to put on face art, how to stand, wander, waltz and style yourself were making you lose sleep. all your life you’ve been a maid for them, you’ve always listened to them because they provided you with a place to stay and live at.

but being chosen as the potential bride for the prince left you wanting to pack all your stuff and run away from this house. but of course, the patrols who policed this place would not hesitate to call you out in front of the family.

“use the soup spoon!” you flinched at her yell, your confused eyes wandering over at the fancy china placed in front of you. you timidly reached out for spoon on the far edge of the table, looking at her eyes turn into slits as she smacked a wooden ruler over your knuckles.

“that one!” you nibbled on your lower lip in a try to repress the pain and reached out for the cutlery.

and then here you were, dressed in a baby blue dress that clings on your silhouette. small details of pearls were attached to the bodice, you watched choa set your hair into a half up half down updo and then reaching out for the beautiful pearl pin next to you and attaching it in your hair.

“there, now you’re all ready, the carriage will be out in a few. remember what i said to you, if they find out that you aren’t me, apologize for everything ever possible. say that i have terrible face blotch that wouldn’t suit for a queen, so they sent you.” you nodded, watching her lips lift up in the tiniest smile.

she patted your shoulder, “you’ll do fine, just make sure you don’t get yourself killed.” and with that, you walked out to the carriage that stood in front of the property. your heart hammering in your chest with every step you took, the white lacy gloves turning slightly wet at the nervousness you eluded out.

the shoes you were wearing stuck right up against your feet, hurting with every step you took. you didn’t mind wearing them, they were pretty, but you preferred not to wear them because of the discomfort they give.

“miss choa welcome, i’m the prince’s most trusted man. call me lucas,” he extended his hand out to you, you looked at him before hesitantly meeting his hands, immediately he grasped your hand and shook it violently.

“it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir lucas.” you jerked your hand away, bowing slightly just the right amount for a lady.

“i hope you don’t get tired of continuous talking but that’ll be your entire journey to the palace with me!” you smiled at his expressions, if he’s this handsome imagine how handsome the prince must be.

you stepped in the carriage with the help of lucas, leaning back on the cushioned seat you faced him, “hmm, weird? usually, parents would be crying sending their daughters but yours don’t seem to be out.”

you looked at him in panic, “ah— they’re on a trip to neyo kingdom, they won’t be back until the next day.” you brushed it off by laughing nervously as he flashed his big smile.

without a fail, lucas had managed to lighten up your mood by cracking hilarious jokes. you let out a laugh here and there at his facial expressions, “by the way ten seems intimidating, but trust me he really isn’t.”

your were a bit taken back, did he just address the by his name? he must’ve been real close to him.

“i’ve heard stories about him, are you sure?” you raised an eyebrow, recalling all the terrifying encounters people have had with him. but you never heard a rumour about him being insensitive or not adequate for a king, perhaps he’s just shy? no, that’s not what everyone said, he’s a silent and a very observant person.

he laughed loudly, “i’m a hundred and ten percent sure that those stories are fabricated! you’ll see it when we reach there if of course, you’re the chosen bride!” you swallowed the lump formed in your throat and fiddled with the hem of your dress.

hoping that lucas was right about him not killing you, but also hoping that he wouldn’t choose you at all. even if he does choose you, you’d want him to marry someone else, being a queen wasn’t on your agenda. you were nowhere near to becoming a queen, let alone stand beside the prince. you were just a maid, constructed to work for them not court them.

for what seemed like hours, you were jolted awake by lucas’s yell. “we’re here! look it’s the palace!” you shoved the curtains to the side, squinting through the sun blaring in your eyes.

in front of you was the castle of weyni, the white marble shinning against the sunshine. the huge building was ethereal, stunning to say the least. unconsciously your heart trembled against your rib cage, hands turning sweaty as the coach pulled towards the imperial entrance.

“don’t be nervous, they won’t kill you, at least everyone except maybe ten. . “ you widened your eyes, hearing him fall into fits of laughter.

“come down, milady.” you chuckled at lucas’s sudden change in etiquette, seeing him smile as he led you inside.

“this is where you’ll be living, for now, the palace has enough rooms for the whole kingdom, so you won’t have to share a room with any of the other candidates.” the two of you walked down the hall, hearing your heel click against the floor.

you nodded, ready to thank him for his niceness but unexpectedly interrupted by a random person dressed in all black walking in. “lucas come in my room right now, need some help for the war tactics—“ you felt his eyes land on you, scanning them over your body.

you at first were a bit taken aback by his facial characteristics, his piercing eyes shooting daggers at you. the sharp jaw of his, the slim nose and slightly plump lips. outfitted in an all-black, almost general like clothing. several badges hung from his pocket, you guessed he was one of the soldiers.

“and who are you? never seen you in the palace.” his voice was stern and deep, you looked at lucas who was trying to scuffle out some words from his mouth.

“i’m jung choa, one of those stupid candidates for the prince’s wife,” you spoke us mindlessly, seeing lucas’s widened eyes from your peripheral. while the man in front of you smirked.

“stupid? my lady, i think you’d like some manner classes first?” you scowled at the man’s narrowed eyes, “keep them to yourself, you might need them for the way you look at women up and down.”

lucas held back a laugh, reaching over to pat his brother’s shoulder, “that’s your defeat.” he laughed, ushering a hand over to you and motioning towards the door. you nodded and glared at the black outfitted man before walking in the room.

“she’ll be so shocked when she finds out who you are, i’m gonna tell kun about this!” he turned his back, excited to yell in the headquarters.

“nuh uh,” he reached out to grasp his shirt, “don’t tell her who i am, keep the show going.” he smirked, while lucas laughed.

***

from the way that man talked to you, you were sure he was some arrogant general who served the prince. but then you wondered, if that was his worker, then how would the prince himself be like? would he be as scary as the rotten brained man outside? you sure hope not.

lucas had knocked on the room door you were provided with, reminding you that the first ceremony of this whole alliance would be starting and to dress to impress. a sudden feeling bloomed in your stomach, would you see the prince tonight?

you glanced at yourself in the mirror, “who am i kidding, i’m just a replacement. the worst that could happen to me is that I’d get banished.” you sighed, perhaps wanting to be banished so that you could go back to where you came from and hopefully find what yearned for so long.

exiting the room you came face to face with the sane black outfitted man, you scowled immediately watching him smirk in amusement. he lifted his finger, twirling it back and forth. you stood there looking at his face, watching him sigh and drop his hand back.

“you’re really dumb aren’t you?” he said, “you’re already late for the meeting, you do know that the prince doesn’t like tardy people?” he crossed his arms and leaned on the wall, cocking his left eyebrow at you.

you let out a scoff. “look mister, I really don’t want to argue with you right now, so please step aside so that i won’t get hated by the prince.” you moved passed him, hearing him let out a chuckle.

“i’m pretty sure he already dislikes you,” he watched as the girl walked away from him.

***

as soon as you entered the room, you saw multiple women standing in their groups. many of them already conversing with one another while you stood to the side, trying not to associate with them because what if they catch onto your act? you’d be dead meat if they catch onto the tiniest flaw of yours, women are definitely more vigilant. you’d be caught in no time.

“please gather around young ladies, we’ll start with the first stage of finding our future potential queen.” the crowd around you seemed to have been excited by the number of squeals that left their mouths.

“how about we start with our very favourite, waltz.” you bit on your lower lip, the waltz was definitely not your cup of tea. unless stepping on others' shoes just like you had done to the real choa, you’d be disqualified in the first round.

“please select your partners that are standing on the blue line, you’ll be assessed on your posture and how gracefully you dance.” you looked over at the men standing on the blue line, others had already started to stand in front of them so you made your way towards them quickly.

but to your dismay, it looked as if everyone had a companion, except you. the spokesman seemed to have noticed that and assured you to stand on the side until one of the men comes in, you nodded with a smile and stood by the corner watching everyone start to mingle.

you tapped your shoe on the floor along with the beat of the music, sighing you leaned backwards, “i’ll be out quicker than possible,” you looked out the window. “perhaps then i can finally go where i’ve been wanting too.” you mumbled.

“where do you want to go?” you jumped back at the sudden voice that arose from behind you, you spun on your heels to see the same man outfitted in black clothes near to your face.

taking a step back you sighed, “none of your business.” he nodded and leaned on the wall beside you. you scooted as far away from him as you could, “aren’t you going to dance, miss candidate?”

you rolled your eyes and pointed at the lack of partners, “i’ll just have to wait for someone to come in and dance with me.” hearing a hum escape his lips you faced him.

“what are you doing here? shouldn’t you be the prince or what not?” you inquired, for someone who bumps into you consistently you’d wonder if he actually does anything.

“well it’s my home too, i can do whatever i want.” you scoffed and crossed your arms.

“your highn—“

“yes! what would you like?” you looked at the spokesman and the blond, watching the two in confusion before speaking up.

“um, there isn’t enough partners, so i’d like to sign of—“

“i’ll dance with you.” you shot your eyes up at the blond, “you what?” he merely shrugged before taking your wrist and pulling you to the floor, draping his arm around your waist and jerking you closer.

“what do you think you’re doing?” you looked around at the expression of the others, some gaping or some whispering. while your heart took a speed of a motorcycle engine.

“dancing.” you grit you teeth at the man before hearing him yelp, “sorry, i’m not exactly the best at this.” you looked down at the print of sole on his black shiny shoe.

“why are they all looking at you like you’re a well-known person or something?” you looked around to meet the eyes of the spokesman who gave you a sly smile.

“let’s just say, i’m fairly very loved.” you rolled your eyes, seeing him smile slightly before twirling you.

after a few more conversations of the blond being an absolute delusional ignorant man, you were finally free from him and his hands that were constantly positioned on your waist. the evaluation tallies were taped on a wall, the slinky white sheet of paper trying to hold on to its best.

you squinted you’re eyes to make out the names that were on the loose-leaf, roaming your eyes up and down to find your name on it. you internally grunted, “great, i’m stuck for another one of this crap.”

you walked outside the room instantly being hit by the cool air that swirled through your hair, you smiled and looked around. “thank god i survived, god knows what happens to those who don’t make it.”

you looked at the two girls walking out to the porch, “what happens to the girls who don’t make it?” you didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but your instinct told you to go and hide behind the tall wooden stump.

“i heard they go to the some manners classes, held by madame choi.” you shuddered at the name, everyone knew who she was. the infamous teacher in weyni, so strict that if you breathe the wrong way, you’re automatically considered dead.

you thanked the god that you made it, you made a praying gesture to the sky before you ur eyes caught the blond-haired man’s back. you bit your lower lip if it weren’t for him to waltz in at the last minute. you would have been shipped away to madame choi’s wrath, so you started taking slow steps towards the man.

forgetting how he treated you, you were, in fact, very grateful for his actions. you needed to thank him for saving your ass last minute, “hey!” you yelled at the man, jogging towards him.

“hey! blondie!” the man spun on his heels to see you running down the hallways like a damsel in distress, a smirk adorning his lips and tilted his head in amusement.

you halted to catch your breath, hands on your knees as you inhaled and exhaled. “you. . . thank you, for saving me back there.” you tucked the wisps of your hair at the back of your ear, his eyes trailed over your face.

“no sweat, ms. candidate.” he smiled and turned around but you stopped him just in time.

“wait! aren’t you going to tell me your name? or do you want to be called as a blondie?” you looked at his back, he turned to look right a smile never leaving his face.

“lee, call me lee.”

it had been around a week since you came here, surprisingly not being caught at all. but to your fathom, you had been seeing lee almost every day. sometimes him being outside your room, or at the evaluation, chambers standing next to the spokesman, or even how he had joined you on a walk.

“why would they name you lee? isn’t that a weird name?” you asked, wriggling your feet that hovered above the ground.

he laughed, “isn’t it a cool warrior name?” you shook your head in disbelief.

“you sound more like the town shoemaker rather than a warrior.” you looked at him and tsked, he looked at you, scrunching his nose a tiny bit. cute

“don’t tell me you don’t know what a shoemaker is.” you dropped your jaw when he looked at you with a blank expression.

“i know what a shoemaker is, but. . “ you furrow your eyebrows.

“but, what?”

“i’ve never been to the town.” your mouth hung open, “y-you’ve never been to the town?” you clarified.

“i don’t have that much freedom when it comes to this, you know being stuck here and doing roy— war duties and all.” you nodded, overlooking at the sun setting on the horizon.

“let’s go.” he turned his face to you, “what?”

you hopped of the ledge, “let’s go, i’m taking you to the town.”

***

“here! they sell the best bread in weyni, do you wanna try some?” you reached over to pick the hot loaf of bread and shove it in lee’s hands.

he flinched at the hotness and chucked the bread at you, you gasped but caught the food before it hit the ground. you slapped his shoulder, “what do you think you’re doing? this stuffs expensive!”

“yea, but you can afford it!” he retorted and you paused in your stance, “it’s not easy too.” you mumbled underneath your breath.

he seemed to have barely caught onto that but shrugged anyway and yanked your wrist that held the piece of bread and shoved the bread in his mouth, “oh my god, this is heaven.” you looked at him, ignoring the blush coating your cheeks.

“told you,” you said before taking a bite, feeling his eyes on you.

“you know i’ve been paying for everything, i thought you were a gentleman,” you spoke, now the two of you walking down the night streets.

he chuckled, “when you find out who i am, you’ll get everything for free.” you shot him a quizzical look, hearing him clear his throat, “i mean when you marry the prince. you won’t be paying a single penny.”

you scoffed, “if i do, the prince seems like a stuck up, putting his wealth on me won’t make me happier.”

“you think the prince is a stuck up?” he inquired and you nodded.

“hm, that’s what everyone says. that he’s the brooding and dark prince, super observant and time conscious.” you dramatized as he fell into fits of laughter.

“what if the prince is good looking?” you said and he smirked, “i work with the prince, he’s breathtakingly handsome, girls just drool over him.” you chuckled dryly, sharing a bit of silence.

“the other day, when you said you wanted to go somewhere. . where did you want to go?” he looked at your side profile, eyes falling over your face.

“hmm, i wanted to go to the neyo kingdom. there’s someone i desperately want to meet.” he nodded but couldn’t help but feel the tugging at his heart.

you weren’t lying, these days made you feel more nostalgic. if you ended up winning this whole competition to become the wife of the prince, you’d need your family beside you to have your back as you walked down the aisle.

you looked at lee, grabbing the chance to acknowledge his facial characteristics. seeing the way his blond hair falls over his eyes, his sharp jawline to the bridge of his nose. his pinky lips and dark eyes that sent a foreign feeling in your stomach.

maybe if you weren’t forced in this, you could have tried to make a move on lee. because look at him, he’s just so attractive! yea, his personality is very snobby and self-absorbed but you could work with that.

“what if i win this?” you asked, looking at his face.

“you’ll be married to the prince, future queen of weyni.” you sighed running a hand through your hair and glimpsing at the perimeter.

“i—i don’t want this. . “ he whipped his head at you, “what?” the drumming of his heart increasing.

“i’m not who you think i am.” you shut your eyes, nibbling on your lower lip. “promise me you won’t tell anyone about this.” you looked at his anxious eyes.

extending your pinky finger at him and watching him gradually connect with yours, “i won’t.” you smiled, maybe this was the time to come clean. by any chance, if you did end up winning this (as you kept on passing the classes) you’re not sure how you’ll handle it.

“i’m not choa,” you spoke. “my name isn’t choa, but instead y/n. i’m just a mere maid who worked for the jung’s, i—i was forced into this because choa didn’t want to marry the prince.”

you watched his expression turn darker and you panicked, “i’m sorry about this whole thing but i couldn’t do anything about it, it was either to accept this or get forced.”

taking in a sharp breathe you continued, “i thought that maybe if i fail this whole competition thing, i’d be free and run away to neyo. that’s why the day you walked in, i wasn’t in the best mood because i could finally leave and get away from this place.”

you heard him inhale sharply, “please don’t think of like i’m bad, i was put in such a situation tha— lee!” you watched him leap off the ledge and start striding the other way.

“lee! please i’m sorry!” you cried out in frustration, watching his body slowly get farther and farther away. you raised your hands to rub over your face, “great, i lost the only friend i ever had.” the crack in your voice was the final threshold as tears poured out.

***

you stood motionlessly in a line next to three other women, you had somehow with luck made it to the top four. the last two weeks went by a blur, you didn’t see lee anymore. not even lucas, your everyday routine only consisted of the competition, food and sleep.

you had seen lee the day after you told him everything, you chased him down but he wouldn’t even spare a glance at you.

but instead you kind of deserved this, you hid such a big part of your identity. the restless feeling in your stomach would increase every day because what if he told everyone about who you were, you aren’t sure if you’re glad or not but he hasn’t told anyone.

or that’s what you think, you’ve never missed being at the jung mansion so much as the past weeks. you just wanted to leave everything and disappear, heck you even tried too but failed as someone caught you.

you snapped away from your thoughts when you heard the pope speak, “today is the last day, you’ll be meeting the prince as he’ll make his final decisions. may the odds forever be in your favour.” you sit down on the white wooden chair next to the other two while one of them strode inside.

you placed your hands on your lap, eyes never leaving the small ring decorating your index finger. you sighed, eyes trailing to the girl next to you. her dress was way more bright and beautiful than yours, you didn’t really care, you hoped she’d get chosen and become the spouse of prince ten and rule the kingdom fairly.

the door squeaked open and you saw a girl walk out, dread filling her eyes as she exited. you gulped watching the next one go in through the white door, your heart thumped against your rib cage. hands trembling slightly as you thought about every single outcome that could ensue.

you made your mind to tell the prince who you actually were, you couldn’t care less about the punishment or going to madame choi’s mannerism lessons. you wanted to tell him the truth, you couldn’t possibly marry him because— because you fell for lee, the stupid arrogant general who made your life miserable the first two weeks.

you didn’t even know how you came up with that, but you were sure you liked lee. you couldn’t possibly deny your attraction towards him and wed the prince. how could you marry someone who you don’t love?

“miss choa? please come in, the prince is waiting.” you hesitantly stood and nodded to the man who stood there opening the door for you. you gave him a small smile of appreciation and footed inside the room.

you stopped when the door closed, taking a deep breath you looked around the room. adorned in pure white marble, the high ceilings made you dizzy as you walked forward towards the body sitting facing the front.

prince ten definitely had a presence, although his body faced the other way you could feel his aura pour through. you furrowed your eyebrows slightly when you saw a familiar blond coloured hair, instantly reminded you of lee. but you brushed it and walked behind the prince,

“it’s nice to meet you, your majesty.” you stopped in front of him, but your eyes widened at what you saw— who you saw.

“lee?” you spoke lowly, his head lifts up to meet your eyes. your jaw dropped at him, what was he doing here? doesn’t he work for the p— oh my god, he’s the prince?

your eyes toured over his whole body, the black tux somehow looking even more expensive than how you’d seen him in. the white shirt inside clearly clung on to his body, the badges and chains that dangled from his pocket glistened.

“you’re prince t-ten?” you gaped, “why didn’t you tell me? why-y did you hide it?” you bombarded him with questions but he sat still, and then it finally hit you.

you hid your identity from him too, you shut your eyes and inhaled sharply. automatically your feet took you outside the room, you ignored the class from the guard and made your way towards the room you were given.

you hastily packed all your clothes, hands shaking in a rush as you flung your clothes in the bag— not caring about the way they were placed, you picked up the luggage and walked out.

since you walked around the castle grounds often with le—prince ten, he had shown you some hidden places. you laughed dryly, “never thought i’d be using them.” you brushed past the vines that drooped over you, seeing the bright light of the other side you smiled.

this was it, you’ll officially escape this. leave the life you had here so you could go visit your family in neyo, as soon as you stepped forward you were immediately yanked back onto a hard chest.

you squealed in surprise and looked up to see ten? “what are you doing?” you asked, his hand gripping on your wrist loosely. “leave my wrist, i could be punished for touching the prince.”

you heard him sigh, “i’m sorry,” you stared at your shoes.

“i didn’t tell you because you treated the way no one has ever done, the snarky remark you made you first saw me.” he laughed, “i didn’t want you to change and be that feared women, so i wanted to see you— see you become more comfortable around me,”

“i wo—“

“but if i told you who i was, you wouldn’t have dared to look at me.” you smiled, finding it funny that you wouldn’t be able to throw your sarcasm at him if he told you he was the prince.

the two of you stood in silence before you decided to speak up, "it’s alright,” you lifted your head, “we both hid our identities for different reasons. i think we’ve owned up to that.” you tapped his chest, escaping his hold on your wrist.

“but i’d have to go,” you raised your eyes to meet his.

“i didn’t exactly make it though the examination of yours. so it only makes sense that i leave, i hope the next time i see you, you’d have your wife standing beside you.” you smiled bitterly, clasping on your bag strap tighter before turning back to walk away.

“how would she stand beside me when she’s leaving me?” you stopped dead in your tracks, hearing him step towards you, so close that your back comes in contact with his chest. your heart picking up the velocity when you felt his breath linger down your neck.

you looked to the side, “what do you mean?” he smirked placing his hands on your waist and spun you around.

“won’t you marry me?” you met his eyes, smiling slightly at the tinge of playfulness I’m his voice. you looked at him in shock, mouth hanging low enough to hit the floor.

“nope.”

he pulled you away and slammed you against the wall behind, “what? why?”

“i like someone else.” you bit your lower lip, biting back the smile.

“who is it? is it someone in neyo? haw i knew it, i’ll kill him right now!” you burst out laughing, his eyes staring at you in confusion.

“why are you laughing? you’re leaving the prince of weyni to marry a random dude?” you tucked a stray piece of hair behind you ear.

“no, in fact he lives here, in the palace.” he tapped your chin for you to continue on.

“as a snobby man who always dresses in a black and has pride that’s bigger than the solar system, sound familiar?” you tilted your head to the side, his face lit in a smile and pulled you into his embrace.

you squealed in surprise when he nuzzled in your neck, “god, you’re going to be the death of me.”

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min-youngis · 4 years

Text

rock, paper, scissors

gif not mine

~ Pairing : Johnny Suh x Reader

~ Genre : Fluff

~ Summary : It's the little things. Dramatic boyfriends, difficult face masks and terrifyingly vulnerable hearts.

Established Relationship

~ Word Count : 1,287

~ Warnings : None, just fluff.

~ A/N : feeling mighty exposed with my playlist titles just out here for the world to see. disclaimer : i do not know how to make a face mask, all descriptions in this fic are pulled half out of my ass and half from a wikihow article. johnny funny and a1 boyfriend confirmed.

i'd love to hear feedback! spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

~~~

You look up from your Spotify library on your charging phone as you hear Johnny pad into the room, engrossed in the instructions at the back of the face pack cover. He sits down next to your cross-legged frame, a quizzical look on his face.

“We need a brush? And a toner? Do you have a toner? I don’t have a toner,” he rattles off, while he continues perusing the back of the packet.

You wrack your brain, trying to remember what a toner is. Either way, you don’t have it.

“I can supply a paint brush, but that’s about it,” you say, patting his knee comfortingly.

He dramatically falls backwards on the bed, randomly flinging away the offending cover as he whines, “Why did we decide to do a pack and not a sheet mask this time?”

You turn your attention back to the task at hand (choosing a playlist) and distractedly hum, “It was your idea, if I remember right.”

He lets out a groan as he says, “I didn’t think it would be this complicated. I want my SK-II back.”

“Maybe you should’ve read the instructions before buying the packet then, you big diva,” you noncommittally reply, as you try to pick between Hmm Haw #1 and LMAOPQRST.

You’ve almost settled on closing your eyes and randomly letting your finger hit a playlist when you begin to feel a repetitive, insistent tug at the back of your t-shirt. You place your phone on the side table, resigned to the backward tumble and with one last pull, you’re falling onto Johnny's body.

His hands snake behind your back, to prevent escape, and he lets out a contented sigh.

Bracing your palms on his chest, you lift your head to meet his eyes and say, “We don’t have to do this tonight, you know? We can just go to sleep.”

With a quick shake of his head, he replies, “No, I want to try, though. It’s okay. It says toner's optional anyway.”

That isn’t the point but you murmur a conceding “Okay" anyway and make your way to get up, but he doesn’t let you, jerking you back down and pulling your head into his neck.

It’s so warm and comfortable, even with your glasses knocking into his jaw and the nose pads pressing into the side of your nose, and it takes nearly all your mental strength to mutter against his skin, “I fail to see how we’re going to get anything done in this position.”

Johnny emits another one of those sighs that make him sound like he hasn’t lied down in ten years when really, the two of you just spent the entire day sleeping and eating and watching television.

“Just for a couple of minutes, then you can go get that brush and I’ll find us some music,” he says.

That makes you wriggle out of your cozy little neck-crook and fix him with an annoyed look. “It’s my turn to pick a playlist,” you assert.

“And how’s that going?” he conversationally asks with a teasing pinch to the side of your waist.

You push yourself off of him with an offended gasp, his arms no match for your affront. Sitting up so you’re straddling his stomach, you cross your arms and indignantly pout. “I was almost there. Maybe if somebody hadn’t distracted me...,” you trail off, looking at him over the top of your glasses pointedly.

Undeterred by your stern glare, his hands trail up until they’re resting lightly on your hips, thumbs slipping under the cotton of your t-shirt and tracing circles on the skin there.

“Rock, paper, scissors for who gets to pick the music?” he asks with a cheeky smile.

It’s really a testament to how simultaneously competitive and enamoured you are when you agree and uncross your arms, stick a tight fist out towards his face and give him a firm nod.

You know you’re going to lose before you even throw your scissors out, watching dispassionately as his fist remains closed and gently bonks over your two outstretched fingers.

Moving off of him wordlessly, you ungracefully stumble out of the bed, catching sight of his smug grin in the low light as he sits back up and lifts your phone from the side table.

You flip him off on your way out of the room, getting an amused chuckle and a “Don't be a sore loser!” in response.

It’s easy enough, finding the paintbrush that you keep in the pen stand on your desk, more for the aesthetic than any real proclivity towards art, and you re-enter your room that’s now filled with Pomme's voice spilling sentimental French out of your phone speakers, soft enough to not make you too sad but still loud enough to make you feel. LMAOPQRST it is.

He’s sat on the floor, looking so indescribably soft in his white t-shirt and plaid pyjama pants, pouring the contents of the packet into a bowl with a mug of water next to him. You sit down on the other side of the container, facing him, paintbrush in hand, ready to start mixing at his signal.

You think, maybe, you should’ve tired yourselves out a bit during the day as he starts exaggeratedly screaming, “Now! Now! Y/N, just do it! Make it quick! Mix! MIX IT!” like a dying man when he begins adding the water. With an uncontrollable roll of your eyes, you put the paintbrush inside and swirl it around, watching as the mixture becomes a shade of murky brown that looks absolutely nothing like the pretty lavender colour on the packet.

The two of you make eye contact over the bowl in silent conversation and with a quick, decisive nod, you’re both standing and making your way straight to the washroom, bowl in your arms. You pour the now-clumpy, decidedly incorrectly prepared substance down the drain as he opens the tap and watches it flow down.

Your eyes meet in the mirror again and he says, quite shamelessly really, with a teasing grin playing on his lips, “Rock, paper, scissors for who has to replace the paintbrush?”

With a faux-annoyed grunt, you roughly push the dirty bowl against his chest and walk out of the washroom, grabbing the brush off of the floor and plodding out of the room.

You can hear laughter and running water as he shouts, “But we didn’t even play! You might have won!”

You return the paintbrush to the desk and trek back to your room for the second time that night, too proud to admit that you might also be giggling a fair bit. But there’s no point. He knows. He always does.

Johnny walks out of the bathroom, clean, empty bowl in hand. He looks up at your quiet frame standing at the doorway, gives you a soft smile as he carefully places the container on the vanity next to the empty face mask packet and extends his left hand towards you, bowing slightly, intentions evident.

Half-exasperated, half-gleeful, but so very easily, you place your palm in his, and now he’s tugging until you’re nose to neck, fingers intertwined and other arm wrapped around each other’s waist.

You feel a pair of lips on the top of your head and hear a whispered, “Thank you for putting up with me,” mumbled against your hair.

You want to scream that no, it’s a pleasure, an honour, and that you’re the one who should be thanking him for dealing with your overthinking and your emotional constipation and all your suppressed feelings that need days to be wheedled out of you.

Settling for a kiss against his neck, you can only hope he understands what you can’t verbalise just yet.

178 notes · View notes

homenum-revelio-hq · 4 years

Photo

Welcome (back) to the Order of the Phoenix, Ky!

You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character ADONIS CARROWwith the faceclaim of Ben Barnes! We’re so excited to watch you explore the darker side of the game! We especially liked you explanations for Adonis’s motivations and beliefs, and how he’s fit himself into a world where by all rights he shouldn’t...yet does.

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Ky

AGE: 28

TIMEZONE: PST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Daily-ish! I can’t predict my on call schedule, but I’m usually available by Discord for plotting, at least!

ANYTHING ELSE: Nothing you don’t already know!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Adonis Carrow

AGE: 33

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cisgender male, he, bisexual

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood? Halfblood? Who knows!

ORDER RANK: Affiliated

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

ANY CHANGES: N/A

CHARACTER BACKGROUND: CONTENT WARNINGS FOR MENTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE AND DEATH.

PERSONALITY:

Charismatic, refined, perceptive, adaptable, and largely lacking such impediments as any sense of honour or loyalty, Adonis Carrow knows that nothing is forever. Not lineages, fortunes, masterworks, or wars. You only get so much in the world that’s actually yours. As such, the only thing he’s truly dedicated to is himself.

That’s not to say he’s cold. Far from it. He’s an artist, after all; not merely a liar, but a romantic one. Donnie knows how to pay attention, with such a warmth that it’s hard to resist basking in the glow. Is there always an ulterior motive, hiding behind that shine? Well, yes. He’d say so. (And the answer would never have a thing to do with loneliness. Not a thing.) It’s simply in his interests to entrench himself in as many corners of magical high society as possible. Networking, you know. Does that mean he doesn’t genuinely care about all those friendships and torrid dalliances and lingering affairs? No, no. At the very least, there’s base sentiments involved. Maybe some real fondness, even. The best lies have a bit of truth to them, don’t they? Just enough. Just enough that it wouldn’t hurt too terribly badly to cut it all loose the moment circumstances demand. That it won’t sting too much to remember that the most he’ll ever really be to these people is a taste of scandal - and the pitiable once-pureblood who tidies up their heirlooms.

In short, as much as he might enjoy their company or their bed, nobody’s likely to convince Donnie to rearrange his near-entirely selfish priorities. He’s not out to be a hero. He’s in it to survive, and thrive where he can. Donnie knows that’s he’s standing on dangerous, shifting ground, and he’s quick to adjust his footing when things start to slip one way or another. If he has to step on a few necks in the process, so be it.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

The Carrows were many things, back when they were anything; respected, feared, opulent, aspired to. Bearers of that fine, fine name sat the Wizengamot, riddled the Ministry, rose through the ranks of Aurors, had their professorial portraits hung on the walls of Hogwarts. Certainly, they had had their… missteps. Some say the family’s been as close to the Dark Arts as ivy to towers, ever since their far-flung beginnings. That might be a stretch, but it’s a matter of record, certainly, that several Carrows were interrogated at length in relation to their alleged involvement in the many crimes of Gellert Grindelwald. Nothing came of it, of course. In certain circles, their supposed nearness to such a notorious Dark wizard was quite the feather in their cap. Certain circles that continue to welcome them, despite their recent disgrace…

Yes, were, past tense. Now? Apolline stalks the mildewed halls of the family estate at the foot of the Cambrian Mountains, wrapped in her furious disdain and mouldering furs. Her eldest children, Amycus and Alecto - well, they’ve done nothing notable, have they? Except start a few ugly duels. And, apparently, take up service with the Dark Lord. Older than their baby brother by six years, and a difficult pregnancy, the twins had fallen from their parents’ good graces before they even arrived. When Adonis did, a beautiful boy with a beautiful name, cooed over and coddled and shown off as they never were, Amycus and Alecto found an easy target for their collective viciousness. They weren’t pranksters, to be clear. Bullies is hardly sufficient. The twins were torturers, dabbling in Unforgivables before they even wrote their O.W.L.S. - and testing them out, gleefully, on their baby brother. So long as their parents weren’t watching. Wouldn’t stand to see their favourite battered about, would they? Not when they had galas to dress him up for.

Apolline and Argus were never entirely sure where they’d went wrong with the twins. The derision and dismissal of their little childhood achievements? The unkind, constant comparisons? Who could say! An unpleasant feeling. So, they wholly neglected their oldest children, as much as possible - which was a great deal, when any wix would give their left arm to be so trusted by the Carrows as to nanny their apparent heirs. And so Adonis grew up with the benefit of the very best tutors and opportunities, and always striving to meet his parents’ exacting expectations - lest they change their minds, and abandon him to Alecto and Amycus.

He was doing rather a good job of it, it seemed, until everything came apart. Until the strength of their blood, the cornerstone of all they were and had, began to quake and crack. Until his father was found dead. Until his mother, never a sweet creature, soured in the face of owls unreturned and invitations dismissed. Until the twins became even quicker to lash out. At Adonis, most often. Now, Apolline didn’t stand in the way. They could fight for what remained of it all. Kill each other, if murder was what it came to. As her marriage had.

Adonis was out of that crumbling manor before his seventeenth birthday. He’s never been back; there’s nothing there for him, after all. The closest he’s come to his siblings is encouraging the Order to add them to that list of potential Death Eaters. Not that he had evidence, per se. But he wasn’t wrong, was he?

OCCUPATION: Appraiser/restorer of magical artifacts

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

It’s for spite, really. That’s what Donnie would insist, when it comes to his connection to the Order of the Phoenix. Spite, for the pureblood-mad society that cannibalized his family, that’s denied him the comfort and certainty and opportunities he was born for. If their Rome burns, he’ll take up the fucking fiddle for the occasion.

Too bad the Order’s rather less… fiery than he’d anticipated. He doesn’t enjoy the company of raving idealists, especially ones who, so far, seem rather bad at getting shit done. He’s also well aware that most of them don’t trust him, and doesn’t expect that to change; after all, what revolutionary bent on battling Dark sorcery would pick a Carrow to keep faith with? Everyone knows what Carrows are capable of. (Or think they do, anyway. Few know the half of it. Those grandparents who dallied with Grindelwald were hardly serving tea and hosting benefit balls.)

That’s not to say that his involvement should be seen as any sort of atonement on his family’s behalf. Goodness, no. There’s nothing of duty to any of this. Yes, it was a pleasure to see Professor McGonagall again, and he is rather fond of her, appreciative, genuinely, of her mentorship. But he doesn’t owe her, either. Or Dumbledore. Or any of them - these children, for the most part, out there playing partisan. Honestly, he thinks they’re woefully delusional. Too few. Too messy. Too hopelessly outmatched.

In fact, it’s rather risky of him to be helping them at all, and they should be bloody grateful, given that they’re certainly doing him no favours. The outcome of the war itself feels rather immaterial to Donnie; Carrows don’t matter anymore. He won’t be on anybody’s list, Ministry or Death Eater, at the end of all this. And if he doesn’t like how things evolve, from there, he’ll leave. Not as if there’s anything anchoring him where he is. There’s a whole world to see about, full of places (and people) he could settle into, all over again. His skills are, as they say, transferable.

Speaking of those skills. His professional capacities are occasionally of use to the Order, certainly; he’s a master of a niche craft, a field which demands mastery of transfiguration and cursebreaking both. However, it’s the inroads his career - and charms - provide that are most regularly valuable. Whether he’s quietly restoring the gables on the Greengrass summer estate or not-so-quietly seducing an Avery in some back room at the Ganymede, Donnie is well-positioned to notice things of interest to Dumbledore and his army. What, precisely, he passes their way really depends on his assessment. Is it believable? Can it be corroborated? Most importantly, is it likely to get him caught? His safety always comes first. But after that, sure - he’ll drop them a line, see what they make of his news. That’s about the extent of his involvement in the conflict, thus far. And honestly, he’s happy to keep it that way. He doubts the Order will win, but. He won’t lose, and he’s pleased to participate second-hand in the harassment and (ideally) destruction of Death Eaters. His brother and sister, specifically, if you don’t mind…

SURVIVAL:

Whether he’s delivering word to the inner circle or rubbing elbows (among other things) with Malfoys, Lestranges, Notts, and the like, Donnie is quick to assess the people around him, to gauge their values, to pick the right words and the best moments to smile and nod. Some might say he’s only so uncannily talented at all that fakery because he’s got no convictions of his own, nothing at all that matters to him. Untrue. It’s just that uncompromising ideals are an expensive thing to keep, and Donnie doesn’t have any he’s about to die for. Including the Order’s. Especially when they’re losing, which they unquestionably are. Disappointing, really.

When it comes to fight or flight, flight has always stood him in good stead - there wasn’t much else he could hope to do, as a child, facing the combined horror of the twins. This instinct became rather literal when he followed his precocious talents for transfiguration all the way to attempting to become an Animagus, and, with the help of Professor McGonagall, discovered his form to be a striking black barn owl. In truth, his Animagus is rather on the nose in several respects; growing up around the halls and manors of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Donnie learned young that staying silent and listening to the whispers were vital survival skills for anyone who couldn’t - or wouldn’t - rely on wicked wandwork to attain all their ends.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Donnie does rather a lot of relating. Invitations to all manner of extravagant social events, from that disastrous Ministry masquerade to solstice banquets at so-and-so’s country house to the extravagant fêtes of magical London, land on his desk quite regularly. Who’s he to say no? It’s an honour. Hardly arduous, either - he was raised to weather waltzes and hours of idle small talk. Such a schedule creates ample opportunities to refresh and extend that intricate web of connections that keeps him in silk shirts and Châteauneuf-du-Pape - and, yes, information for the Order. He has quite the tangle of fascinating acquaintances and dear, dear friends out there in the darker, purer corners of British wizardry. The things you can overhear…

From the moment he left the ancestral manor, Donnie’s been sidling from bed to bed, castle to penthouse, making his way on the largesse of wealthy lovers. His string of secretive romances wind on; there’s moneyed dowagers and miserable husbands a-plenty who’d happily welcome him back, open-armed and pining. One might think this could lead to some awkward run-ins and jealousies, but the convenient thing about being untouchable is that nobody will admit to having had their hands on you. So, in a way, his secrets keep themselves from each other. Unsurprising, given that those wix all stand to lose so much more than he does.

In addition to the general stuff above, here’s a few specific connections (any with existing characters have been discussed with and cleared by their players).

ALECTO & AMYCUS CARROW

The twins. The monsters he grew up hiding from, when he could. While Donnie can see that the cruelty of his siblings was rooted deep in that of their parents, he’d also say that the point at which they couldn’t fairly be held responsible for the things they did to him passed a long, long time ago. That toxic favoritism wasn’t his fault, either. But what’s done is done, what they’ve become, they’ve become, and Donnie’s not about to forgive or forget. He was quick to add the twins to the Order’s list of near-certain Death Eaters, and, to be fair, he had concrete reason to believe they were - and he wasn’t wrong. Besides that, all he knows of them, these days, is second hand. It’s been a while; he hasn’t seen either Amycus or Alecto since he left the family estate, seventeen years ago. And he’s not about to go looking.

EMMA VANITY

A cousin of some degree - it all gets so tangled, in pureblood families - Emma is someone Donnie is aware of, but only distantly. They haven’t properly met, but travel the same circles. Just, you know, in different ways. And as different people than they used to be. Both are well-familiar with the best and worst of pureblood society, and, so far, at least, they’ve managed to survive it, even turn their place in the world into an asset - for themselves, and the Order. Not without cost. If they were ever to come across one another, they might find they have rather a lot to talk about…

AINSLEY ABBOTT

A professional acquaintance and something of a personal amusement. It’s just oddly entertaining to see Ainsley all aflutter over whatever antique he’s brought her way. And why would he do that, anyway? Well, see, Donnie’s busy. His genius is in the remaking of things, and that’s fine, finicky spellwork, tricky, challenging, fascinating. The story behind an object, the provenance? He doesn’t find all that especially interesting, honestly. That’s the chore of the job. One which Ainsley is ecstatic to do on his behalf, when called. Saves him time and trouble, so he’s happy to take the help.

EDGAR BONES

It’s not often that Donnie gets called in to sort out a whole bloody house, and for halfbloods, at that, but the money spends. It was Edgar who approached him with the job of seeing to the Bones place. Quite the task, but Donnie’s been enjoying himself - and that elder Bones, Rigby, and his husband - rather more than he’d expected. Lovely family. Shame about the baby and all that, but they deserve a bit of fun before decaying into domestic mediocrity, or whatever.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I always run with chemistry. That’s it, that’s all!

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

As a Carrow, Adonis was raised to be every bit a pureblood - privileges and prejudices included. People like him, like his family, were both the paragons and protectors of the best wizarding society had to offer, and rightfully in charge of shaping and governing the magical world. They had helped build it, and, obviously, had created something that would provide for them in return. Their wealth seemed endless, their social credit unlimited. Secure in every sense, the Carrows remained watchful, ever-ready to defend and shore up what they saw as theirs by right - and prepared to decry any possible stain on the society they’d tried to shape in their image. Muggles were a nasty nuisance, rather like rats, you know; plentiful and meaningless. Mudbloods? Repulsive. A sullying of magic itself. Halfbloods? Suspect, debased, common, not to be entrusted with anything too significant. Halfbreeds? Utterly vile, unnatural. The Carrows understood themselves, broadly, as part of a natural alliance of gracious stewards, the great and powerful and precious, standing against the meagre, weak, and mobbish. The Sacred Twenty-Eight existed to set a gloriously high standard, and maintain it, for the good of all of wizardkind. Nothing less would do.

The family’s messy, awfully public, and rather precipitous fall didn’t challenge those assumptions so much as render them fairly hollow, from Donnie’s perspective.

By the time he arrived at Hogwarts, his father was in the mausoleum and the rumors were at their thickest; school was no refuge from the scorn, and it certainly wasn’t just the purebloods of Slytherin house who participated. Halfbloods and muggleborns could be every bit as cruel, and, it seemed, enjoyed punching down just as much as any Flint or Bulstrode. Which meant that he would have to learn to take the hexes and hits - something he’d had too much of, growing up with the twins - or rise, somehow, at any cost. Amycus and Alecto had taken a third option, and brawled their way through the shame, incandescent with hate. Donnie rose. Even if those social scripts had turned on him, he still knew the plot, the roles. Could still play along, to get where he needed to go. Biting his tongue. Smiling at the spite. The price paid was nothing much, really. Integrity’s just a pretty word for putting other people and their principles and schemes before yourself and your own interests, isn’t it? Why would he ever do that? He can always pretend, anyway. That’s all it is. A game of pretend.

These days, Donnie’s playacting - and that pretty face - have won him a peculiar set of privileges. He can navigate the upper echelons of the wizarding world with ease, well-versed in its arcane etiquettes, close enough to power to hear its rumblings and bend ears, but comfortably far from any real responsibility, or the stifling expectations and strictures of being a proper member of high society. Rather liberating, in a sense. Limiting, in others.

Along the way, he’s developed a bizarrely practical perspective on the prejudices of his childhood and class. Donnie’s come to understand that few of the tenets he grew up knowing as givens truly are that. Call it sour grapes if you like, but… really, the whole notion of purebloodedness is just unsustainable, once you reach a certain point. And it’s rather apparent that the Sacred Twenty-Eight hit that a few centuries ago. So if the Order’s fighting a losing battle, so is Voldemort and his lot, aren’t they? Not to mention how many muggles there are, out there. He has to laugh at the notion that the Death Eaters could ever manage to rule much of anything, if that’s the idea. Those blood purists will breed themselves extinct, he figures, sooner than later. Magic will remain. All that ancient and noble shite will wither away, be sold off, melted down. Or wind up with him, perhaps. Delicious, isn’t it? The thought of such relics, the legacy of the high and mighty sorts he should have been, left in his hands. Dusted off and put on display in some chintzy gallery. Bought up to decorate the new muggleborn Minister’s office. Nobody giving a toss for their great, illustrious histories. Just pretty things. He’d enjoy that.

So… does that mean he’s any kind of egalitarian? Hardly. For the most part, Donnie enjoys paintings rather more than people. His formative years gave him no real reason to seek affection and affirmation from others. As for his regard for them, that’s largely dependent on how much you matter, as in, how useful you are to know. Beyond that, well - halfbreeds are simply disturbing, we can all agree. Squibs are miserable things, but he’s never been one to shed tears for strangers. Muggleborns are unfortunate, really, just… hamstrung, in terms of becoming as fully immersed in magical society as a wix ought to be. That’s hardly any concern of his, though. If they’re going to finally get on with it and guillotine some Gaunts and Fawleys or whatever, as those hysterical purebloods suspect, he’d be happy to sit back and enjoy the show. There’s halfbloods everywhere; any battle being waged against their ascendancy is long lost. Donnie isn’t bothered - he’s one of them now, apparently. Though, it does get tiresome, doesn’t it, when they get all up on their middling high horses, acting like the bearers of some new moral standard for wizardkind. Really.

If he truly despises anyone, with a proper passion, it’s those purebloods who are so entirely up their own arses as to presume that they’re better than him for being more reliably inbred. That, he fully acknowledges, is simply his share of the hereditary Carrow malice showing through. He’s been wronged, and he holds a grudge. At least he’s not delusional. Obviously, he’s not going to stop palling around with purebloodists. That wouldn’t be professionally feasible. Besides, there isn’t a swath of society that makes more sense to him than they do; he used to be them, after all. He was raised to withstand some odious company for the sake of appearances, so he can - for the sake of their galleons, now. And the occasional opportunity to cause some vexation through a well-placed whisper. Vicariously, of course. That’s what the Order’s for. He has paintings to finish.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I guess I’m just excited to perpetrate a new character on all you lovely people, and explore some “ends” the group that I haven’t been able to yet! Seriously though, you’re all great.

PLOT DROP IDEAS (OPTIONAL)

Not exactly a drop so much as a connection, but I’m thinking it would be pretty neat and apropos for Donnie to have been involved in the mission to retrieve the orb from the Nott place - not directly, goodness no. Perhaps in tipping the Order off to the orb existing in the first place and where it would be? Or just appraising the orb they found, and determining it was a fake? Or both! Just a notion, seems like a natural way to tie him in.

Donnie also lends himself well to plots involving infiltration, theft, rumour-spreading, and distraction, and, obviously, anything related to magical artifacts. All pretty workable!

Maybe Donnie isn’t a true believer in the Order or its cause, and maybe he tends to see other people primarily as means to his ends, but… hey, he’s not entirely heartless. I’d be curious to see what might move him to take a more active role in the Order’s affairs, but I don’t at this point know what that might be. It’ll depend on the connections he makes!

ANYTHING ELSE? Not really!

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST:

Adonis was ten when the whispering began. His mother told the children not to mind such talk. That’s all it was. Baseless gossip that dared to imply that their pure, pure blood had been watered down by ambitious, filthy liars, that some branches of their sprawling family had not maintained their lineages so neatly as the others. The chatterings of jealousy; nothing, nothing at all, to a family that counted itself so loudly and proudly among the Sacred Twenty Eight. Nonsense. But that talk spread, and spread. Every rumour rang a little louder. The smiles at those galas took on a snide, superior glisten. Or, worse, to Apolline Carrow’s eyes - worse, those former friends and confidantes began to reek of pity. The sort that turned to laughter when you looked away. The snickers died when Argus Carrow did, suddenly, awfully. An error in his workshop, they said. Nobody looked to closely. Because nobody wanted to cross Apolline, even, perhaps especially, in the vicious throes of her house’s spiral into ruin. And, maybe most importantly… nobody much cared. The Carrows were respected, feared - not liked, by any means. If anything it was just another titillating chapter in an already sordid story. As for Adonis’ part in all that, well. His tale had never been so pretty as his face. He’d been the favoured son of a favoured family, and as the Carrows crumbled, so too had his parents’ doting affection, and with it, their willingness to protect him from his monstrous siblings. After Argus’ murder, Apolline and the twins burned through bridges and the fortune in vain, furious attempts to shore up what was theirs. By the time Adonis started at Hogwarts, he knew he couldn’t rely on much of anything - not his name, his blood, his money, his horror of a family. He’d have to make himself matter, on his own merits. Something a Carrow hadn’t had to do since the bloody middle ages.

PRESENT:

Thankfully, Donnie’s as talented as he is handsome. Which is saying something, isn’t it? His surpassing skills as a transfigurationist and cursebreaker, combined with his artistic gifts, led him quite naturally to a thoroughly respectable career in magical restoration. A prestigious career, given its intricacy. A career, nonetheless; something he’d never have needed to bother with, in the life that was taken from him. His days are comfortable, nonetheless, especially when ensconced in the generous arms of some new, wealthy darling or two. It’s still not much, coming from the opulence of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But it’s far from the depths his family’s sunk to, and the life he has is his own. He’s even managed to charm his way back into those circles he was raised in, the circles of power, politics, and wealth. Perhaps there’s only so far he can go, now, only so much he can aspire to. That doesn’t mean he isn’t looking and listening for opportunities to reach higher, as he makes his way around those familiar parties and dinners. Which is how he found out old Professor McGonagall wanted to see him. Which turned out to mean that Albus Dumbledore wanted to see him. Which, it seems, meant that the Order of the Phoenix needed him. And, perhaps to his own surprise, Donnie… acquiesced, at least. Cautiously. It was the part about the Order being out to thwart themselves some Death Eaters that got to him. Thwarting pureblood fanatics, like his sister, his brother. That sounded rather promising. Not that he’d be out there flinging hexes in the streets. No, he’d be much more useful right where he was. Where he can notice things. Useful things. Whispers, as every Carrow knows from brutal experience, can unmake not only men, but dynasties. So you have to keep yours close, and those of your enemies, even closer. Which are the Order’s? Hard to say, sometimes…

FC CHOICES: Ben Barnes, Gaspard Ulliel, Harry Shum Jr.

#homenumaccepted

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exquisitelyeco · 6 years

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The self made man...the unmade God.

Pucifer did am amazing song called ‘Humbling river.’ The song is about a man who has done everything on his own. Faced the earth, wind and fire. And he has fought and crushed them, all by himself. But faced with the river, he cannot cross. He cried out ‘ Angel, Why? I have done everything else by my own strength and will! How can I not cross this silly river myself?’ After saying this for sometime, He hears Angels. They tell him this river cannot be crossed the way he has lived his life. By rage and muscle. The He must open his heart and his hands to others. And it is together with them, doing this, that he will be able to cross.

And it got me thinking. As humans we insist we can do it alone. We do not want help. I know for me, the more angry I get, the more determined I am to win. I get impatient waiting for help. So injure myself doing it alone. I am proud, and rightly so, at times of my successes. But in that pride, is also an Arrogance. ‘I did this ALONE. Sod the world! Me! Myself! MY strength. My will. I need NOTHING and NO ONE.’ By living like this, we choose to be our own Messiah, and declare we need no other, Thankyou very much.

But do you know the Creator of the whole universe is NOT like this? HE is vulnerable. He does NOTHING alone. But meekly submits to one or another of the God head. In fact, one part of the Godhead, will do NOTHING alone! Nothing! Don’t believe me? Check out John 5v19! Jesus obeys the Papa. He said Himself, I do ONLY what my Father tells me. (John 5v19, John 5v30) In fact, in John 5v19, He goes so much further in how meek and humble He is in submitting ONLY to what His father said. And it’s mind blowing. He states, ‘ The son can do NOTHING by Himself!’ He ONLY does and says what the Papa tells Him too! Even though He knows He has the right to judge and say things about His enemies. (John 5v22, John 5v30)

This is profound. Do you get that? The GOD OF the ENTIRE UNIVERSE WILL NOT DO ANYTHING ALONE! Because if one did, insist that they would do it alone, without the rest, then God would no longer be God! Because God consists of THREE persons, all in complete UNITY. And all honour and submit to each other. Alone they would be torn apart. And become like Satan. Each vying for attention and domination. How completely ridiculously confusingly mind blowing is that?? But why? What makes each of the Godhead do nothing alone?

Relationship. That is WHO God is. He IS relationship. Why? Because someone alone is just that. Alone. Even with three of them, God still did not want to be alone! So He created us. Because God is always MORE. Alone is always LESS. Reciprocity reproduces. It gets bigger. Why? Cos it brings more LIFE. Alone brings nothing. Basically speaking a woman cannot have a child without the sperm of a man. And a man cannot have a child without the egg of a woman. Science had made it possible for test tube babies. But still the egg and sperm both are needed to create MORE. Alone they die. DIE. Because they do not reproduce. Get it? Alone we are nothing. Together we are EVERYTHING. Nearly as powerful as God Himself! And God Himself had to change the whole of our language and scatter us, when we joined together, because He SAID how powerful we were together! Don’t believe me? Check out Genesis 11v5-8!

We need each other. Because we are all different! Some are teachers, some scientists, some nurses. All of us have different abilities and capabilities. It is true with non Christians and Christians. As Christians, we CANNOT show Christ alone! We are His body, together! 1Corinthians 12v25-27 So much are we to be joined, that if one of us hurts, Paul said we ALL hurt! Total unity. Just like the Godhead. Because that is who we are created to be. Just like that. (1 Corinthians 12v12 Ephesians 4v4) if we are all only gifted to be nurses, who would teach us? Who would put out fires? Who would Mother us? Who would clear away rubbish? What would happen to Art, entertainment, the list is endless! We NEED each other!

So the self made man will fall. In fact has already fallen. Because that is what we chose in the garden of Eden. To become alone. Divorced from God. Because we decided our way was better. And because of that we became smaller. We became less. Losing our son and daughtership of God and becoming orphans. Lamentations 5v3, John 14v18, Romans 8v15, 2Corinthians 6v18.

By submitting unto death, Christ clearly showed relationship is key. Philippians 2v8. If Christ, had acted singularly, WITHOUT the rest of the Godhead, and had done it alone, He would have stayed dead! Not physically, but the split from the Godhead, would have been divorced and so died, in their relationship. If He had have insisted ‘ I don’t need you two, I can do this by myself, I’m God!’ He would have split the Godhead apart. As I said before, against each other they are no more than Satan. No different from us. But they are not. The ARE Love. And love wants and insists on unity. Indeed they do not know or comprehend alone. (Apart from knowing it divides, and hurts us. Which is why They divised the plan to come and bring us BACK into Unity, with Them, if we chose!) They INSIST on the Trinity in Unity. All of them working TOGETHER, each with their OWN authority, raised Him to life. It was because of the RELATIONSHIP of the Godhead. 1 Corinthians 8v6. They are ONE IN Three! Each ONE, But IN three! An example of this, the fingers on your hands! All your fingers are on one hand, yet work together. Each with its own authority and place. Or another example. The brain needs the heart the heart needs the liver and lungs, to survive. Each are dependant on each other. Your brain gives commands, but your BODY carries them out! Together they live. Apart they die.

God KNOWS a house divided against itself will fall. Mark 3 v 24-25,Matthew 12v25, Luke 1v17. Satan divides. His act of pride, in doing it alone, separated and divided him from God. And us, without God, are separated and divided forever. Alone. God is One. Unity, not division. Never, ever, division.

So it’s all about relationship. Together we cross the river. Christ IN us! Then, WE are ONE with Him! 1Corinthians 6v17. Without Him we are dead. Colossians 2v13, Ephesians 2v5. The difference is, God does NOT need us! He has unity in Himself. But He wants us. John 3v15-16, John 1v12. He restored our self made human choice to do it alone, without Him, and so to die alone. He did this so we can be in RELATIONSHIP with Him. Dependant on Him, as He chooses to be with the Father.

Doing it alone may seem amazing. But think on it like this. Alone, you are like George the Galapagos tortoise. The very last of your species, alone, on your OWN. And when you die you will be extinct. Lonely, horridly lonely, and, believe it or not, weak. Because you chose to do it alone. Your strength became weakness. You are made smaller. Because you are SEPARATE. Pride tells us we can do it alone. God tells us we can do it together. Like Pucifer say, it is not by rage and muscle. Note the river is called the ‘Humbling’ river.

Pride is alone. Satan fell because He thought he could do it without God. Alone. He wanted worship for himself, ALONE. God the Papa wanted Glory for Jesus, Jesus wanted Glory for the Father, the Spirit wanted glory for them, and they all wanted Glory for us. John 3v 32, John 17v1-5, Romans 8v16-17. So a strong person will humble themselves. Jesus Himself did. Philippians 2 v 8 . So doing it in our strength alone, our rage alone, or our own independence, all these things pass. We age and grow tired. We end up depending on others anyway! Doctors, carers, etc. But together we hold hands and help each other. Supporting each other’s weaknesses. And by doing so, they support ours.

The world loves the one hero. And loves division. Division is everywhere. In government, education, family. Politicians, slagging the other party off, rather than learning from each other, together making a better nation, no matter who won! Teachers and TA not working together. Silently pulling and backstabbing. Prideful of themselves and their position. People disagreeing, but not accepting another’s right to their point of view. Accepting that we can agree to disagree. Cutting themselves off. Families refusing to talk or have relationship because of a slight. Or something that has happened. Sure, sometimes we do, work well together. Must mostly we don’t! We seem to take a perverse pleasure in dividing! Pointing the finger! Staying and preserving our own ‘little group’ Until that goes wrong! Or the all American hero. Tough, alone. Clint Eastwood. Sylvester Stallone. But the hero, if you watch carefully, always needs help! And is actually NOT alone! Clint beaten, left for dead, gets saved by the undertaker! Paulie helps Rocky!

And we are no better. Which is tragic. The world needs to see we are different! United! We are the body of Christ. But we think we can do it alone. Denominations set against each other. Even in individual churches, people in silent or open strife with one another. Until we join up, with Christ as our head, and truly work together and love each other, as Paul said, (1 Corinthians 12v12, Romans Romans 12v5) we are alone. We must learn to love and honour each other, in spite of our differences! There are so many facets of God, and He is more than capable, if we are truly willing, to show us how and who we are. Protecting us and helping us discern real deception. But we must be willing. To want to be one together. One complete, whole body.

And TOGETHER we cross the river.

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limejuicer1862 · 5 years

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Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Lydia Unsworth

is the author of two collections of poetry: Certain Manoeuvres (Knives Forks & Spoons, 2018) and Nostalgia for Bodies (Winner, 2018 Erbacce Poetry Prize). She has two pamphlets forthcoming in 2019 from above / ground press and Ghost City Press. Recent work can be found in Ambit, Litro, Tears in the Fence, Banshee, Ink Sweat and Tears, and others. Manchester / Amsterdam. Twitter@lydiowanie

The Interview

1. When and why did you start writing poetry?

I think I was always trying to. I would spend time anagramming, writing ‘lyrics’ to songs, reading, copying down sentences I liked, playing any kind of board game with words in it, watching improv comedy. Since I was a young adult, I was always more interested in the book at sentence level than the narrative as a whole. I liked novels full of tangents, and I was (still am) a big fan of underlining parts. I suppose I just didn’t know what poetry was properly, beyond the very traditional, or what it could be until much later. I think I was writing poetry on my art degree, although even at such a late stage, I still didn’t really know it was poetry. I knew I liked poetic language, poetic prose, form as concept, but actual Poetry, I think I still thought of that as quite an old, dead thing. I wasn’t around other writers in my real life, and the writers I was reading (prose writers or visual artists), when they did reference poetry, likely only confirmed that ‘old, dead’ belief. When I was 14 or so I found The Desiderata as the epigram in a series of Dean Koontz novels: I liked that. I printed it out and put it on my wall. Learnt the word ‘perennial’ from that piece.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

I drifted towards it via visual art. Though I was writing throughout my art degree in sorts, but it was probably another ten years before I realised that the writing was the crux of the matter and before I found a path in to actually reading poetry proper. My prose reading habits were getting poemier and poemier. Years passed. Then I moved to Poland and wrote to someone whose blog I found funny (Socrates Adams) and he sent me his novel-in-progress in increments. It was the first time I’d had dialogue with another writer and I started writing again there, in my chilly attic bedroom, properly, long after the visual distractions had fallen away. I was writing poetic-prose or experimental prose or something: I had a few pieces published and a novel shortlisted, then it fell away again, and again. It was always there, but I was always waiting until later, trying to accumulate knowledge (not realising how much of that knowledge was ephemeral and slips away completely unless you do something with it in the moment – which is one thing I love about writing poetry now, just slapping the fleeting, contorted-to-fit, down on a page). Anyway, after some more years passed, and I was writing on and off (by now some actual poems, although I still wasn’t reading any), I was given a sum of money that allowed me to do a Masters degree in Creative Writing, and I knew I was at risk of losing much more time unless someone ‘in the know’ actually verified me, so I did it, and they (Scott Thurston) did, and what I wrote at the end of that year became my first published collection of prose poetry. It was a ten-year voyage from the land of art to poetry on a small lump of driftwood with an intermittent internet connection and a changeable breeze.

2.1. What do you mean by “My prose reading habits were getting poemier and poemier”?

I was reading for the language, not the plot.

2.2. Why did the language become more important?

I think it always was, it just takes a while for a chain of reading to lead you to certain places. I was always looking for sentences I liked. And I guess the more I read, the more I grew tired of some of the rest: the same shapes of novels, certain cliches, techniques, wrapping-up of narratives, representations of women, predictable metaphors. It takes more to be surprised, I suppose. Or a different way of viewing something to find what is, or can be, surprising about it.

3. How aware are and were you of the dominating presence of older writers traditional and contemporary?

I think I’m more aware of the what-seems-like-class of a lot of writers than the age. I don’t mind people being older per se, they might have worked for it.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

As much as possible in any possible sliver of a gap! I often pinch lines overheard from my environment as a starting clay, or some image from something I’m reading, whether that be a book or simply a strangely worded sign, so I try and store all these fragments until I have a fifteen-minute or more gap, and then I write. I do my longer bouts of refining and building and editing in the evenings at least a few times a week, preferably when everyone else is asleep.

5. What motivates you to write?

A desire to communicate everything that is interior and, by the very nature of its interiority, alone. It’s a reaching toward. And it’s the same thing that motivates my reading: knowing the strangenesses and possibilities of ‘the other’. That, and the ability to sculpt a piece of language-music from the environment you find yourself in, whether that be internally /externally /in real time /via memory.

6. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

They altered my outlook on life and have given me the foundations for my ongoing philosophy. It’s unshakable really. I think of Kafka and Beckett in particular, and I do still look for that melodrama and highfalutin despair everywhere in art, and when I find it, that very specific kind of comedy, then I do feel so terribly comforted. I’m reading The Milkman by Anna Burns in between questions here, and she’s also doing it in a way – it’s very funny, but serious-funny, bleak-funny. Like Catch 22 or Stewart Lee, just make the joke (or, following the same rule, take the emotion) and keep making it. I like that. The joy of repetition.

And I guess the writers you read at a certain age sort of raise you. So it’s good to stay fond of them. Helps you understand yourself.

7. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

Anyone writing in a void, without a support system, or in scraps of stolen time, who manages to tread water long enough to burst through the surface. Anyone who doesn’t give up.

8. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

Write. Write without thinking. Write until your body hurts. Change position. Do it again. Keep writing until you end up some place that surprises you. Edit.

9. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

I’m working on a full collection, which seems to be spilling over into two collections. I have a pamphlet I’m trying to make ready, based on a bunch of poems I wrote as part of the Tupelo Press 30/30 project back in June. And I am nearly finished preparing another pamphlet (‘I Have Not Led a Serious Life’) that will be coming out with above / ground press later in the year. I’m mainly trying to keep momentum up around work and child-raising and physical exercise; it’s easy enough to write a poem, but harder to see which ones belong where without spreading out a hundred pieces of paper on the floor of a large empty room. I am grateful for my writing friends and our ad-hoc collaborative editing relays.

Thank you for these questions, Paul. It’s been a pleasure!

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Lydia Unsworth Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

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cassandroid-blog1 · 7 years

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5: Leonard Chen

The world clicked into gear, the people and their machines waking up together. The sky projectors flickered on, producing a great and distant hum, while the stars beyond the glass surrounding Prosperity Vista were slowly obscured by a blue mimicry of daylight. It was morning, and it was Monday.

Leonard watched out the front window, the sea of shuttlecars rolling down the MacKenzie. He sat in one of the communal cars that drifted from user to user based on need, his current ride a little under the weather, the upholstery torn and the diamond-patterned wallpaper fading. Leonard had never opted for fancy trinkets of his own, least of all in the form of private transport.

He sat simply, meditating on the day ahead: Felix’s report. The new economist. Briefing with the Scintilla rep. He knew well how quickly that small list would grow.

The Res Now box pulsed with a red indicator light and a synthesized tone, indicating that their morning edition had been published. “It’s about time,” Leonard muttered, placing his res card into the feed. Once he’d been charged, liquid began pouring from the slot, drying into a transparent plastic newspaper within seconds of air exposure, sitting in the receptacle. He shook the plastic paper to activate the ink inside and accelerate the drying process.

NEW TOKYO DELAYED INDEFINITELY, read the headline. Leonard scoffed. Every other day the paper bristled with articles and op-eds on New Tokyo; Alexander Chapman’s failed, or so-assessed, expansion project to the city of Utopia Scientia. Leonard scanned the article for key words, and landed on the President’s name.

“In Geoff Park’s opinion from last night’s broadcast on Liberty Suspended, moderate president Balder Isaksson is at the heart of issue,” he read aloud. “No representative from Infinity Tower was available for comment. Park went on to say that this is the first sign of his assessment coming true, that Isaksson’s running platform consisted of vague...” he stopped there.

Leonard figured it was Geoff Park’s negative opinion of the newly elected president that had won Balder the election. Park was no credible threat. Still, he would have Kuljot watch the broadcast and prepare a statement for the press corps, if he hadn’t already.

CONGRESSMAN FITZGERALD FOUND DEAD AT HOME FROM ACCIDENT filled the top of the next page.

“What a shame,” Leonard said to himself. The rest of the paper was trivial: NEW BLOOD IN THE ANTIQUES INDUSTRY, PARTY OF 6 ARRESTED FOR DRUNKEN INDECENCY, CHAPMAN SON MARRIED, DIRECTORY CORDONS OFF COOPER HALL FOR SECRET INVESTIGATION, and so on.

The lighting in the shuttlecar turned green, and a recorded voice told Leonard that he’d arrived at his destination. With Infinity Tower looming in the distance, he hardly needed to be told. The glass tower’s upper levels pierced the sky layer, its top floor merged to the hull of the ship itself, skylights on that level looking up and out into space. Not the projected variety, but the real deal. Leonard considered holding on to his plastic paper, but opted instead to place it back into the receptacle, so the material could be regenerated for the next traveller. The plastic liquidized on contact, draining back into the reservoir beneath.

The shuttlecar pulled up to the corner of Sawatsky Parkway, its doors raising. Leonard stood, feeling the age in his joints. No shuttlecars could traverse the parkway between here and the tower, leaving him with two options: to use a mobility vehicle or to walk. Despite the pain in his legs, he was too proud to be seen relying on machinery for this.

Exiting the car, Leonard saw a familiar face walking from a neighbouring vehicle. The face belonged to Avery Beckett, and while the two hadn’t met, Leonard already knew much about the young man, but not nearly as much as he suspected Beckett knew about him. He was kissed on the cheek by who Leonard could only assume was his wife Miranda, a prominent figure in her own right.

By the time Leonard reached Avery, Miranda had returned to her shuttlecar. Leonard took note that theirs was of the private variety, inspecting it as it drove off. Beckett was looking over his suit too finely to notice Leonard approach, but did a double take when he did.

“Mr. Chen!” said Beckett, smiling. “A pleasure!”

“Likewise, Mr. Beckett. Shall we go to work, then?”

“Absolutely,” said the young man. The two began crossing the Sawatsky Parkway. “I’ve met your brother, actually.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Yes. At a conference two weeks ago at the Agricultural Center. Upper level, of course. I so wanted to see the farmland, but I was told firmly that it was workers only. Anyways, it was a real honour to meet Resurrection’s leader of agriculture!”

“My brother, you mean?” Leonard chuckled. “He’d be glad to hear that, but it’s Valerie that runs the show. John is the PR. The eye candy, as he puts it.”

“Oh,” said Beckett, a little nervously, “When I said—,” he hesitated, “I didn’t mean—, when I said it was a real honour to meet him, obviously it’s as big, if not a much bigger honour to meet you.”

“I didn’t take that as your meaning, you can rest assured of that.”

Beckett nodded. “Well, I’m very excited to work with you.” The man blushed. “For you, I mean.”

Leonard tried to see through the pressure the new hire was facing, and smiled calmly. “Yes, indeed. You haven’t been graduated very long, I take it?”

“A year now. I was working for Lee & Choy Solicitors, up two levels, that’s when I got the call to come here.”

“Up two levels? That’s law for the elite. You’re not a lawyer, though. What were your responsibilities up there?” Leonard knew full well what Beckett’s responsibilities had been, but found that there was always information to be gleaned, even from an answer he already knew. There was always another perspective.

“Same thing I’m to do here. Econ advising.” A fine example: Beckett had revealed how he viewed his new assignment inadvertently.

“Officially, yes, you’re to advise on economic policy, but we’ll be expecting your input on all matters.” The two had arrived at the steps that reached up to Infinity Tower’s main entrance. On those steps, Presidents and public servants had given historical speeches since the dawn of the Collective Cities government. Stone, steel, and marble, harvested back on Earth, rose above them dizzyingly. Infinity Tower had once been the seat of the original military government, abolished in PL20 in favour of a democratic system.

Leonard stopped them.

“I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Beckett,” said Leonard. “You’re going to encounter opposition once we get in. I don’t know how, and I don’t know who, but I know it will happen. As you know, you’re in a unique political position.”

Beckett nodded. “I assumed that President Isaksson wishes to keep his enemies close. I’m no enemy, though. I may not agree with one hundred percent of his party platform, but he’s sure as hell better for us in the long run than BaltiCorp.”

“I’ll warn you, much of the congeniality in my tone and demeanour will disappear once we’re up those steps. Firstly as a result of my aged body fighting so hard to climb so high, secondly because, as the expression goes, we run a tight ship.”

“I’ve never heard that. A tight ship. Tight, as in, constricted?”

Leonard furrowed his brow. “A lot of 20th century terrestrial clichés lose something in the translation. Walk with me, Mr. Beckett,” he said.

At the top of the steps, which had even knocked the wind out of the young man next to him, the two entered the front steps into the welcoming hall, complete with fountains, uniformed doormen, and art from previous centuries.

“Certainly there are accessibility entrances?” said Avery, panting.

“There are other ways, yes, but a man in my position must be seen making the effort.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but that doesn’t make sense to me.”

“That’s alright,” said Leonard, “it’s just the way I live my life.”

For the rest of their journey to the top of the tower, Leonard and Avery were graced by the presence of a glass lift, which carried them up the side of the building, their view of the surrounding level of Prosperity Vista improving with every meter. Soon, they were higher than all but the train system, which too disappeared into the sky, to transport citizens to the next sky level.

The two emerged from the lift into the bustling corridor of the government’s secondary offices. Leonard walked Avery to the front desk, where Naomi sat.

“Signing in, Naomi,” he said.

“Good morning, Leonard. Would you be so kind as to hand me your printout schedule from yesterday.” He reached into his breast pocket to find the folded paper, then handed it to her.

“You don’t have your own?” he asked. Without missing a beat, she slipped his copy right into the paper shredder. “That kind of day, I see. Thank you, Naomi.”

“Not a problem, sir, and you’ll find your updated schedule at your desk. And you are?” she turned to Avery, who answered her meekly.

“Good, good, here’s your identification. Help yourself to a chocolate,” she pointed him in the direction of the bowl on her desk, full of chocolates wrapped in foil. He thanked her and removed one.

“Will I be meeting with the President?” Avery asked.

“In good time. For now, follow me. We have a week’s worth of work to get through by the end of the day. We’ve got someone coming in from Transportation, and the commander of the Bluenose has someone in for an urgent report to the Presidential Council. You’re on that council, as you know. And Setsuko Hisakawa also has a report, apparently.”

Leonard kept a brisk pace down the hall. Avery struggled to keep up. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Avery was sweating more profusely. He’d get over that in time.

“You’ll be shadowing Miguel Peres today, try not to catch his cold. Lizzy, ahem, pardon me, Elizabeth Tattersall is your immediate superior. You report to her and her alone. You’ll be expected at all meetings labeled general, econ, or presidential council and otherwise you’re taking up much-needed oxygen, so try to avoid other gatherings. Did we get you a schedule?”

“Just the one from last night,” said Avery, starting to dig through his briefcase to find it.

“As you saw, that was a preliminary, and I suspect by Naomi’s actions that absolutely none of it applies anymore, besides the wrap-up at ten. And that’s very important. Nobody works past ten, unless there’s a crisis at nine thirty. For the updated schedule, go back to the front desk, because as of yet you don’t have an office of your own. Naomi Waldvogel, the charming individual who signed us in, is the only reason we’re coordinated around here. I prefer what she offers us to an automated system, and I’m sure that in time you’ll see why.”

Leonard sighed as they rounded a corner.

“That there is Felix, and as he’ll be immensely disappointed to hear, I haven’t got around to reading his report.”

Felix DuBois, representative of the Guild of Shipboard Engineers, jogged up to them and joined their frantic walk down the hall.

“Mornin’, Felix,” said Waters.

“Howdy. You read it yet?”

“When I get to my desk I will give it a look. You know how it is.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Let me tell you, Leonard, the budget has got to be adjusted for engine repairs. I don’t know where you’re gonna get the money, but you gotta get it. The main propulsion system is basically toast. It’s faith alone keeping ‘er lit up, at this point, and it’s not even the real problem. Power distribution is a pretty unsexy term until you realize it’s something everybody relies on to survive.”

“One of many dire situations I’m sure to encounter today. I will give your report my full attention, I promise. Do your best to keep us all safe.”

“It’s getting harder. I do my best, you know that, but the President has got to realize what he’s doing to me. The Guild can’t be taken for granted for a whole ‘nother term. Anyways, I gotta run over to the aft runners before lunch, I think I’ll head early. One of my guys tells me we’ve got electrical issues down there and we are not gonna have a power outage on my watch.”

“Godspeed.”

DuBois split off and jogged away. Leonard noticed that Avery was still following.

“I’ll leave you now, Mr. Beckett. Please report to Naomi for a schedule. Then find Mr. Peres,” said Leonard, “I’ll try to get you an office of your own if you last the week. The president will see you at the council meeting this afternoon.”

Kuljot Anand approached in a green pinstripe 3-piece, matching dastar, and gold pocket watch.

“Kuljot. Good morning. The President wants a presentation ready for the Scintilla rep,” Leonard said, leaving the newcomer behind and leading Kuljot to the communications offices.

“President Isaksson has provided me with two words total, and just saying education reform doesn’t cut it as a presentation.” Kuljot said. “When is it happening?”

“5:15. PM. I’m not asking you to guess the finer details of his election promises. I’ll get you some more information once I’ve had a chance to meet with him.” The two descended a flight of stairs to the tertiary offices. “You’re ready for the press briefing?”

“I was more ready before Congressman Fitzgerald died in a shuttlecar accident last night.”

“Fitzgerald, right. I swear I read the paper.” They stopped a moment.

“Yes, a tragedy. Blood alcohol content way past the limit.”

Leonard paused a moment. “He was a good man, and unfortunately our only hope of repealing the Third Child Act. That’s a huge boon for BaltiCorp unless we can turn it around.”

“We could always groom Shepherd. She’s a likely replacement candidate.”

“Dinner and drinks?” Leonard asked, resuming their walk.

“I’ve heard worse excuses for dinner and drinks,” Kuljot smiled.

After a second of consideration, Leonard nodded. “Yes. Yes, we’ll do it. Give it some time, though, a day or two at least out of respect for Fitzgerald. More than that, though, and we’ll look like we’re sitting on our asses. There’s no time for mourning in politics, besides the pomp and circumstance, smoke-and-mirrors game show we throw for dignitaries, visionaries, and popstars.”

“I’ll split off here, Leonard. Speech for the Scintilla rep.”

“Got it. Wait! Geoff Park. Liberty Suspended.”

Kuljot halted and turned back. “I saw.”

“What do you think we should say?”

“The truth. Park is a respected journalist in his own right, but respected only by a fringe revival movement that was already out of touch the first time around. The moment we begin to please him should be a red flag to our supporters. Something like that. We get a chuckle and move on.” A chuckle was as good as a dismissal of the entire story from the press corps.

“Yeah, I like the sound of that.” Leonard left Kuljot in the communications offices, descending another flight of stairs to the conference centre.

Nicole von Getz came into Leonard’s office with a tray of coffees. The young woman was Setsuko Hisakawa’s niece. Nepotism was at least reliable for creating a trustworthy, close-knit staff, and the girl had proven smart and efficient. Leonard’s hiring policy did, admittedly, result in some odd characters populating the secondary and tertiary offices, but he considered it to be an accurate cross-section of the ship’s population.

“Back from your pilgrimage to Little Italy?” Leonard asked from his desk, where he stood, finally taking in Felix’s report. He gladly received his high-grade cappuccino.

Nicole smiled awkwardly. When she spoke, which she rarely did, save to ask a question necessary to her job, it was with an endearing stutter. Her demeanour clearly showcased that her relationship to Setsuko was not by blood.

“So I guess you’re going to sit in this desk one day. Is that the plan?”

“Uh... I--” she started. Leonard held up his hand.

“It’s alright, Nicole. You’ll do the job well. It may not seem that way when you’re twenty-two years old, but we’ll get a few degrees in you from Bradley and some lessons in public speaking.”

“I’d enjoy working here, sir,” she said, “but it’s only a dream.”

Leonard sipped his coffee. Delicious. “Ambition goes a long way in this building. Heck, it’s the reason we’re out here, isn’t it? Some might call it arrogance, but I dunno. Who you know is pretty important, too. I like to think that what you know is just as important as who you know, but that’s wishful thinking. Would you tell Naomi I need five minutes with the President?”

“She’ll say no, sir,” Nicole said, “Sorry.”

“Third time’s the charm with her, young lady, but we need to get past times one through two first.”

Nicole nodded and bowed herself out of the room. Leonard looked back down to Felix’s report.

“The proposed budget plan allows only for peripheral repairs to Engine Control and the Oxygen reprocessors, leaving nothing for the urgent upgrades necessary for Power Distribution,” the report read, “If the budget goes through, the Guild of Shipboard Engineers will be forced to lay off five workers before the year’s end. The power may have to be cut off for the Stretch, or for some other sections, depending on guild vote. We will not be able to continue servicing the Sky Projector Systems by October, and will have to shut them down.”

There was exaggeration there, to be sure. There always was. Leonard sipped his coffee and sat down, stowing the report in his briefcase. He considered his options.

Intelligence and BaltiCorp were both powerful enough entities to take on control of the ship’s critical systems. And they would jump at the prospect without hesitation. All they needed to do was absorb a few more government-provided services, in addition to their already acquired shipboard healthcare facilities and the Ark, and they would have a case for running the ship. At that point, any democracy onboard would be thrown out the airlock, at least until some new revolution. Leonard wondered if handing over the sky projectors would be too symbolic of governmental collapse. INFINITY TOWER OUTSOURCES THE SUN, he could imagine on the front of Res Now, among other, equally cringeworthy headlines.

What department could be compromised in order to prop up the engineers? The Directory was similarly overworked and underfunded, and with crime levels on the rise in the lower-income areas of Res, they needed all the money they could get. The Collective City Forces had been operating with a skeleton crew for as long as Leonard had sat in office, which was days away from sixteen years. They were sending over one of their people to discuss something of urgency, which he guessed was related to their own budget. A fax would have sufficed, but maybe things on the Bluenose were worse than he knew.

Administration could cut costs, but nothing like what was needed. There was only so much to be saved from switching to generic pencils, or selling the older computer terminals at auction. All the other departments were either too small or too underfunded already to take a cut that would make any sort of difference. No, he’d have to talk to Balder about this. The tax cuts were a noble idea, but not born of a realistic assessment of the environment.

A knock at the door alerted him to Naomi’s presence.

“The President needs you for five before the meeting,” she said, pleasant as always, “he’s waiting in the council chamber.”

“Very good, I’ll be right with him,” he replied, smiling back. “Unusual that I can get through to you like that. Nicole must have been persuasive!”

“The President asked first, my dear,” Naomi said.

She left the doorway. Leonard took a final sip of his cappuccino, which was really quite satisfying, and left for the chambers.

“Mr. President,” he said as he entered the vast, darkened room. Egon Beauman’s throne still stood along one wall, though long since retired. Some even said it had never been sat in.

“Leonard, how are you feeling?” asked the President, spinning his chair around. It struck him just how old his friend looked. Older, even, than he had seemed two weeks earlier on the campaign trail, while it was Richard Bradley still sat as President. The election had taken it’s toll on everyone.

“Fine, sir, fine.”

“You’re as miserable as you’ve ever been.” The President smiled wearily. “So am I to understand that the New Tokyo project has been—, what were the words? Delayed indefinitely?”

“Res Now is a tabloid,” said Leonard.

“A tabloid with six million readers, including, I must point out, the President of the Collective Cities and his most trusted advisor.”

“Kuljot is making a statement. Beyond that I advise we meet with Chapman as soon as possible. Before Launch Day, if we can swing it. You let the people know that you’re serious about New Tokyo, and about overpopulation, and that we’re bringing a new clarity to the negotiation table. Say what you will about Richard but he was no diplomat.”

“No,” Balder nodded. “Still, he was right. Overpopulation is not the term we should be using. It’s sensationalist. Elizabeth tells me we have a hundred thousand vacant lots; good homes, and that’s in Prosperity alone. We reclaim those properties and fix them up, sell them off to the underprivileged at a discount rate. Look at me with a straight face and tell me New Tokyo isn’t just BaltiCorp’s political tool.”

“It is, but Chapman knows that if he builds a brand new city, the Third Child Act slips right off its foundation. He reaps the benefit of something you and I have been campaigning for our entire careers. There’s a slim hope we can pass the new bill if we find a replacement for Fitzgerald, but, not in time. What we need to remember is that, of the Chapmans, Alexander has been one of the most reasonable. He won’t live forever, and his heirs will want to establish their own roll in the BaltiCorp legacy. They have the money, and hell, they have the brute force to do it with or without our support. Alexander has played along with us so far, but Andrea and Arthur will not. We need to send a message right now that says we are completely onboard. We play their game, and tell the world that BaltiCorp has our blessing to carry on.”

The President shook his head wearily. “I swear to God, Leonard, we’ve become politicians.”

“Yes, sir.” He wandered around the table and sat across from his old friend. Gone were the days of their late night drinking, singing out of tune at the university parties, experimenting with substances and lifestyles they both regretted. God, he couldn’t even remember those years anymore. There were days even farther gone, too, that he barely recalled at all. A different life, before Balder, before politics, before his hair had gone grey and even before that.

The President turned solemn, and flexed his fingers.

“You’re going to tell me the tax cuts are impossible” he said. Leonard nodded.

“The power distribution matrix is failing, and there’s nothing there to fund it’s repair. We cut taxes, we’re done.”

“Yeah, I figured. I knew it was crazy. Can’t a man be an idealist just once and win?”

“Sir, you’ll make a capable President yet.”

Balder turned away, looking at the statues at the far side of the room. Statues of an ordinary man and an ordinary woman, both nude, ten feet tall. They were surrounded by ferns and an apple tree of stone.To everyone Leonard asked the statues represented something different. To him, they represented the living people onboard, and the long-forgotten original mission that had earned the ship its name, the point of it all. It was for the people; the mission volunteers and their descendants, that he came into work every day, and for them that he suffered all their hatreds. There was a nobility to what they were doing, whether or not anyone recognized it anymore.

Nobody but Balder knew what Balder thought when he looked at the scene, but it seemed enough to fill him with some sort of spirit. He turned back to Leonard, and spoke: “I suppose I’ve got to keep myself together for the next four years.”

There was no response to give. Leonard’s calm showed no weakness.

“And the council won’t tell me anything different?”

“I won’t speak for them, sir. There may be solutions neither of us has considered.”

“Well then,” said the President, “let’s have this meeting. Would you assemble everyone?”

And so he did. A young officer of the CCF waited outside, in full regalia and freshly-polished boots. She seemed more nervous than either Avery Beckett or Nicole Von Getz. Leonard greeted her with a nod of his head as he went to fetch the waiting council.

One by one, they poured into the chamber. Felix DuBois, Elizabeth Tattersall, Setsuko Hisakawa, Lisa Nguyen, Kuljot Anand, Miguel Peres, and the lanky new economist Avery Beckett. Each greeted the President as they sat at the round table. Balder returned their greetings with a firm politician’s smile, a smile like a handshake, and said nothing. Nicole entered the room and stood at the door, to serve as page.

“Tax cuts,” said the President. “Spill your minds.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “If I may, I’d ask Mr. Beckett to repeat what he said to me earlier.”

All eyes turned to Beckett, whose own eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Go ahead,” said Balder, “When I say spill your minds it doesn’t mean bottle up. You might be new here, Avery, but you’re here.”

Beckett cleared his throat. “If we want the support of the people, we need to offer them something better than the lowest bidder,” Avery said quickly, tentatively. He gauged the room’s reactions, then continued, “Scintilla offers an education and the Agricultural Centre offers work. Intelligence, BaltiCorp, Loggins, Alternet; the list goes on. The Directory and the Guild don’t report to you directly, and even if they did, BaltiCorp offers competition for each of their services. No offence.” Avery acknowledged Felix and Setsuko’s presence. “The CCG gave up everything—, I mean, gave up every power it had, and now we’re surprised that public opinion is that government is no longer a necessity for a civilized culture.”

“Is that a threat?” blurted Felix. Setsuko and Balder’s attention snapped to him.

“Not at all,” said Avery.

“Because, I mean, this is the son-in-law to Alexander Chapman coming into the den of the enemy to tell us how we should be doing things. Mr. President, doesn’t that take some sort of nerve?”

“I’ve met my so-called father-in-law twice, and I’m fairly sure my wife doesn’t know him much better than I do. I have no agenda here besides a weekly paycheque.”

Leonard looked to the President. He was laughing behind his stoic output. “Thank you for your input, gentlemen. We’ll discuss the ramifications of Mr. Beckett’s hire at a later date, perhaps after I’m retired. What’s next?”

Leonard glanced at his updated agenda. “We have a visitor,” said Leonard. “Courtesy of Admiral Nussenbaum, C.P.I., who has invoked Article 25 of the Res Military Code, as pertains to classified exchanges. There’s a reason she’s not talking to us via camera. The penalty for any leaks is the charge of treason. Please, Nicole, would you escort our guest into the chambers.”

She nodded and left the room, returning shortly with the officer from outside.

“Mr. President, chief of staff, executive council,” she said. She was sweating.

“Your name?” asked Balder.

“Captain Sam Calloway, sir,” she replied.

“At ease, please. I appreciate the formality, but we’re not military. Enlighten us, if you will.”

Calloway cleared her throat, then broke through her nerves, “The severity of this situation is at the President’s discretion. A fighter—, well, a scout ship. We call them fighters. A pilot of ours by the name of Stanley Baker picked up an odd signal aboard the scout ship Magellan. The scout was docked manually, and the ship’s systems appeared to have gone offline. Baker was found injured and unconscious inside.”

Balder Isaksson bowed his head regretfully.

“At first it started out as a strange coded message, at least, that’s what we thought. Instruments had been damaged by unknown forces and, inexplicably, were repairing themselves physically, right in front of us,” Calloway continued. “The scout has continued to... change since then. Its physical attributes, its paint scheme, have been altered from the inside out. It is transforming itself, seemingly via intelligence or at very least the illusion thereof, with abilities beyond description.”

Felix let out a laugh, “This is a practical joke,” he said. Leonard sent a look of scrutiny his way.

“No sir,” said Calloway, “we have not approached the scout since it began to alter itself. Frankly, it could be extremely dangerous. We don’t know what’s wrong with our injured officer, but he’s been transferred to shipboard hospital. His situation is unique, and the doctor who’s examined him has no idea what to make of it. There are more details about both him and the Magellan in a digital report that I have been instructed to leave in the room.”

All present were quiet.

“I’d maybe be terrified if it sounded remotely possible,” began Felix, “I suspect that if it’s not a bad joke, it’s just an ordinary malfunction that’s been blown out of proportion. Do you have anyone on the Bluenose qualified to inspect the thing?”

“We have duty officers trained in routine maintenance,” said Calloway, “but not for anything like this, no.”

Leonard had to speak up. “An officer has been injured, Mr. DuBois, and you doubt the official story. Do you suspect foul play?”

The engineer was taken aback. “Of course not,” he said.

“Then, since they have nobody qualified to investigate the scout onboard, perhaps you’re the best person for the job.”

“Leonard, you know how busy I am,” he said, turning from Calloway, “There’s no funding for a special transport to Bluenose. That means it won’t be ‘til Saturday that I can get back.”

“That’s perfect. You��ll have something to do while you wait for the finalized budget.”

The President gave Leonard a knowing smile, then turned to Felix, and asked, “Do you think Nussenbaum would lie?”

“With all due respect, I suspect she may be mistaken. My people can’t do without me right now. We just removed the cafeteria at our headquarters thanks to the budget cuts; how much money are we going to waste on this distraction? Besides, we have a lot of work to do these days, if you want to keep working under a blue sky.” the engineer motioned his arm dramatically towards the open window, where the sky projectors hummed. His face was red.

“Your people are the best, as you routinely tell me,” said Leonard. “I’m sure they won’t be flummoxed by your absence.” Felix said nothing more. The president returned his attention to the young officer.

“Captain Calloway, do you have any ideas? Even a suspicion?”

“Mr. President, The Admiral and I agree that there are two potentials. The first is that it is some sort of secret technology or weapon that was used by a rogue party or otherwise. The second is that the signal, if that’s what it is, comes from beings of extraterrestrial origin. We have no ships out ahead of the periphery at the moment, unless one was sent from Earth that could overtake us, but then you’d think we’d have been contacted by means other than this. I think that what’s happening to the fighter is the first activity we’ve ever seen of—,” Calloway looked to her feet, hesitating. “Of alien life.”

Hey all, just a note from the author. If you’re terribly confused, this is just a spot that I’m putting my poorly-written novel up online to show it to friends. And though I don’t think anyone would want to steal this, I’d like to make it clear that I am ideologically opposed to the idea of intellectual property and copyright. The story is as much yours as it is mine (and therefore, you’re also to blame for it being so awful).

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