#But I got to play Fire Emblem for an assignment and write a paper on how the FE fandom has impacted me so that was cool! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fallstreakfeathers · 4 years

Text

Don’t Look Down

[Ch 1 ] [Ch Rating: T ) [Word count: 4898 ) (Also posted under ‘Arkhelios’ on Ao3. https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956846/chapters/57618382 Do not repost to other sites. ) Update 9/21- grammar/etc has been edited and corrected. Should flow much better and clearer

[ If you had told Kita as she lay herself against her old pillow and pulled the scratchy wool blanket over her head that the next time she opened her eyes, she’d be trapped in a room full of attractive men who claimed to be demons, she would’ve offered to drive you to the nearest mental ward. And yet, here she was.]

Kita sighed, shifting her arms into a more comfortable position as she shoved her face deeper in her own warmth. The room’s cool air sent a light shiver up her spine. She slowly became aware of the soft buzzing of voices, muffled by the pressure of her ears against her forearms. “... -eird way to sleep,” one said. She shifted in an attempt to hear better. “Looks like the spell is wearing off,” another muttered. Where...am I? She must’ve fallen asleep at the desk again. Go figure.

She could feel the soft cotton of her pajamas, a t-shirt and sweatpants, and the small granola bar that she always kept hidden in its pockets pressed loosely against her leg.

I was sleeping… Did I leave the television on? “Welcome to the Devildom! As a human, it may take some time for you to adjust here.” What kind of name was ‘Devildom’? What the hell was playing? Some dumb new show, probably. Oh well. She could turn the television off later. For now, it would stay on and mask the sounds of vehicles and people in the streets. It was doing this remarkably well, Kita thought. “...Kita?” That was strange. Television shows rarely said her name. She blinked, raising her head from the hard surface below her and wiping at her bleary eyes before blinking as she tried to focus. She immediately sat straight, eyes wide with alarm as the fog in her mind finally cleared. In front of her was a group of men, eyeing her expectantly or with mild annoyance as she slowly glanced around the rest of the room. With a quick look down, she thanked every deity and spirit she knew of that she’d been too lazy to remove her sports bra that day. How long had she been asleep? No light fixtures hung from the ceiling. Instead, the lighting came from the moon that hovered brightly in the night skies beyond the windows of the room, and the candelabra scattered around the tables. Only a few were lit.

A large banner dangled above each of the cushioned chairs. Each had been decorated in gold, and the black silhouette of an animal stood ominously against the violet material. From left to right the emblems bore a peacock, crow, serpent, a unicorn, a scorpion, a fly, and the last held something she couldn’t quite identify. A bull, maybe? The banners could’ve used some better composition, in her opinion. The red-headed man in the center had paused for a moment for Kita to respond, frowning a bit when she watched him with wary eyes. “...Oh, pardon me. Feeling a bit shocked, are we?” Kita remained silent in her confusion, shifting slightly under the man’s golden eyes. She blinked once, and then again, before finally comprehending her small discovery with a sudden clarity. Gold, not brown or green or blue like most people. Contacts? They looked real. She took a quick look across the line of men seated in front of her. She was met with four sets of irises just as oddly colored. Black eyes watched her from under the peacock banner. She wasn’t sure if the red glow was natural or an effect from the fire. Next was a blond man with bright green-blue irises that looked not the least bit interested in her but had an intelligence she knew was far beyond her own. Beside him sat another male. He bore eyes like the colors of the rising sun and he regarded her with what seemed, to Kita, to be too much interest. The last held a grumpy expression and his violet irises stood out against his fiery orange hair. The seats that corresponded to the crow, snake, and bull were empty.

“I think the human might be broken,” the second to last murmured before the one beside him threw a warning glance.

“I suppose I should start by introducing myself.” It would appear… they kidnapped me? Kita resisted the urge to squint at the warm tone of his words. If this was real, then surely nobody who’d gone through the trouble of stealing someone from their bed...desk… home in the middle of the night would have their captives’ best interest in mind? No. She’d have to escape as soon as possible. She swallowed, her mouth dry and muscles tense, and she shook uncomfortably under the sudden hot flashes and lightheadedness traveling through her like fire. This must all be a strange dream, Kita decided. But it couldn’t be. Her anxiety was too real. The nauseating dizziness, like a ship on rough seas, was too visceral and she could feel every muscle as they cramped.

“My name is Diavolo.” So, when am I going to wake up? She considered making a break for the door, but quickly pushed the idea aside. She didn’t know what this building’s layout was, and there was sure to be people in the hallways. She’d never make it. Besides, the door was enormous and looked solid. It would take too much time and energy to open. Better to wait. “I am the ruler of all demons, and all here know me. Someday soon, I’ll be crowned the king of the Devildom.” He was the prince? Should she bow?… Maybe not. She stilled and blanched, sitting somewhat straighter in her alarm when the next word of the sentence finally registered. Demons? That was... that’s impossible. Demons weren’t any more real than werewolves or unicorns or dragons. Interesting and fun to read about or study in fiction, but completely imaginary. Why can’t I wake up?

“This is the Royal Academy of Diavolo. We just call it RAD.” Kita nearly snorted. She supposed having to go to school in Hell would make sense. She took a breath to calm herself and quiet her trembling. If these men really were demons, the last thing she wanted was to appear weak in their presence. Many monsters, she knew, fed off fear and other such negative emotions. “Why am I here?”

I’m still tired. What time is it? She clenched her jaw before she had the chance to voice the offhand thoughts.

“I will explain everything to you,” the man in front of the peacock banner stated.

“Kita, this is Lucifer,” Kita opened her mouth as if to speak but closed it just as quickly, eyeing them both with a guarded expression as her discomfort, again, rose, “He’s a demon and the Avatar of Pride.” You’ve got to be shitting me. Of course his name is Lucifer.

“He’s the vice president of the student council and my right-hand man...aside from that, he’s also my most trusted friend.” Diavolo’s laughter was loud, joyous, and startling. She gripped her thigh painfully tight to hide her flinch. She was very much awake now, and she struggled to control her breathing again, cursing herself as the severity of her situation began to set in. She was kidnapped from her small and lonely home, in her sleep, and now she was sitting in what apparently was Hell itself, in a room with not only the Prince of the realm but Lucifer himself and what was likely 4 other demons of the same strength and cruelty. “Flattery gets you nowhere, Diavolo,” Lucifer muttered. “Why am I here?” Kita couldn’t hide the fear and irritation in her voice this time, and she chastised herself. “I’m not dead yet, am I?” She earned herself a slight chuckle from the prince. “You aren’t.” “This one’s really different from Solomon.” Why did that name sound vaguely familiar, Kita wondered. Probably some book she read. It wasn’t uncommon for names to be repeated. “Diavolo believes that we demons should start strengthening our relationship with both the mortal world and Celestial Realm,” Lucifer explained. Celestial Realm? Ah...If the Devildom was Hell, then that must be Heaven. “As the first step towards this goal, we’ve instituted an exchange program. We’ve sent two of our students to the human world, and two to the Celestial Realm. I take it you’ve figured it out at this point?” Kita frowned at the barely hidden smirk on the black-haired demon’s face. There had to be an ulterior motive to this ‘exchange program’. She doubted demons would want to play nice with everyone out of the blue. “I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

She shuddered at the thought of returning to school. She’d never done well in any class back in her own world. She drew, so she took Art, but failed that (somehow drawing was less fun when you were told what to do. Who wants to spend an hour painting fruit when there’s a hundred worlds to be seen instead?). She latched on to some bits of history, but it was always the parts that were glossed over. She hardly passed math (only because the instructor had taken pity on her final exam). Why bother learning some math theorem when the whole of space held a thousand and one secrets? How could she focus on English when the ocean’s depths remained unseen? “Irregardless, you’re here now. Your period of stay is a single year. You will work on the tasks assigned to you from RAD.”

Kita grumbled to herself. What was there that she could do that would prevent this? She turned to the prince in front of her. “I am the worst possible choice for this,” she reasoned, “did you even look at my previous school grades before... selecting me?” “You truly are quite different from Solomon!” he laughed. “After one year,” Lucifer continued, “you will compose a report about your exchange here in the Devildom.” “You mean kidnapping?” She couldn’t stop herself. I could just... not write the paper. They know that, right? “If you must view it that way.” Kita bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to distract herself from the fear still pooling in her stomach, her expression dark.

“Don’t glare like that,” Lucifer smiled, condescending and borderline cruel, “you won’t be abandoned all by yourself here.” Gee, what a relief.

“You’ll need someone to look after you. I think that person should be my brother, Mammon.” Kita wasn’t sure what it was about his remark that made her think the demon in front of her was up to no good, but she quickly concluding that she did not like him in the slightest. “He’s the Avatar of Greed and... how should I put it…?” he shrugged, “well, you’ll understand soon enough.” She hadn’t thought it was possible to admire someone any less as he handed her a small device.

“This is yours for as long as you’re here. Call Mammon.” She looked between Lucifer and the phone with distaste. “Can’t I just text him?” “I believe a call would be more appropriate.” “Texts are easier, and more practical,” she countered. “Call him.” Kita sighed, thumbing through the contacts and pressing Mammon’s name. It rang twice before a raucous voice erupted from the phone. “Yoooooo.” “Uh… hey?” “Eh? Who the hell are ya? You ain’t Lucifer!” he sounded as confused as he was relieved.

“Kita. I’m a human.” “Huuh? A human?” Was he always this obnoxiously loud? Kita held the phone off her ear, wincing. “Geez, I was gettin’ all chilly here thinkin’ it was Lucifer again. So, what business does a weak little human got with THE Mammon.” She nearly rolled her eyes. Who refers to themselves like that? “Apparently you’re in charge of me from now on.” She did not try to hide the distaste in her voice. Mammon snorted. “Hell no! There’s nothin’ in it for me. Whaddya even mean by ‘be in charge of you’?” The phone fell silent and then exploded in noise again as he yelled excitedly. “AAH! I get it now! You’re the other human exchange student! Yeah, g’luck with that. I ain’t got time to play babysitter. See ya!” “Listen here, jackass,” Kita snapped. She was tired. She was stressed, and she sure as hell didn’t need this. “I’m not happy about it either. You think I want some asshole demon telling me what to do? Lucifer called for you.” Mammon laughed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Ya think the Mammon would listen to your bull just ‘cause you’re tryin’ to scare me with that name? I ain’t stupid.” She was abruptly aware of the demon behind her as he turned her shoulder towards himself so he could speak into the phone. She jerked herself out of his grip with a grunt, but allowed him close enough that Mammon could hear him. “You’ve got ten seconds… nine… eight…” Kita held back a laugh at the sharp yelp that squeaked through the phone. “YESSIR!” The call disconnected, and Kita shut off the screen. This is who was supposed to keep her safe here? Are they joking? “Sounds like you had a pleasant chat,” Lucifer said, a patronizing smile adorning his face. She had the sudden urge to throw the device across the room. Or at him. Throwing it at him would be much more satisfying. “Yeah, he seems about as trustworthy as the rest of you.” She smiled as sweetly as she could, hoping the insult would fly past him. It didn’t, and she didn’t miss the brief laughter from the green-eyed man. “You should show us more respect, human,” Lucifer growled. Kita glared back at him, hands clenched tightly as she stood and stared at him. She was silent a moment before she spoke, imparting as much hate and rage into her words as she could. “I will never respect any of you,” her voice left her with a hiss and the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen as Lucifer tensed angrily. “Well, if you were suddenly brought to an unfamiliar place and told that a stranger would take care of you, I’m sure you’d be anxious,” Diavolo interrupted softly. The room returned to normal, although Lucifer continued to glare at her. Kita nodded once at the prince, appreciating his understanding, and recognizing how easily he diffused the situation. “Mammon won’t be the only one helping you out,” he turned to Lucifer, “we still need to introduce our new friend to your brothers. It’s probably better that you do that, wouldn’t you say?” He must mean the others sitting here.

“Yes… As much as I dread the idea of doing so, you’re right.” Kita raised her eyebrow at his words. He didn’t like his own family? Well… there was one matter they shared in common then. Not that it was an excellent thing to bond over. “Come now,” the man in front of the scorpion banner said, his hair bouncing slightly, “you should be honored that you get to introduce a sweet and charming little brother like me!” Lucifer ignored his words. “This one here is Asmodeus. He’s the fifth eldest, and the Avatar of Lust.” Kita nearly cringed. So, what? He’s horny all the time? Gross. “Wh… I can’t believe you just totally ignored what I said,” Asmodeus frowned, “And not only that, you referred to me as ‘this one’. How rude!” The demon in front of the unicorn spoke next, eyebrows pinched together, “Hmph. At least he didn’t ignore you altogether. How do you think I feel?”

“That one there is Satan,” he watched the blond with an unreadable expression, “He’s the fourth eldest of us. At first glance he may seem like a responsible demon with a good head on his shoulders, but looks can be deceiving.” Of course there’s a ‘Satan’ too. “So is insulting each other a thing with you all, or is it just you?” Satan smirked, but Lucifer let her go unanswered. “I am the Avatar of Wrath. Nice to meet you, Kita.” “Likewise.” I guess. “So what’s Avatar of Wrath even mean?” “It sums up what he’s about,” Lucifer explained,” he may flash you a pretty smile like that, but it’s all an act.” Wow, he really does like dragging his brothers.

“If you continue making claims like those, you’ll just scare her.” Satan smiled. Kita wrinkled her nose. It honestly did look forced, and she leaned back in her seat, anxiety rising, as the surrounding atmosphere grew dark again. Angry. Kita didn’t like anger. It reminded her too much of memories she’d much rather forget. She mentally shook her head to clear it. “Don’t take him seriously, Kita. Lucifer enjoys speaking ill of his brothers. He’s the Avatar of Pride, after all.” “I’ve noticed,” she said shortly. “Are you done?” the black-haired demon sighed.

“Now, the one there with the grumpy look on his face is Beelzebub. He’s the sixth oldest.” It didn’t take Kita more than a second glance to realize the size of the demon. This guy was absolutely enormous and would’ve dwarfed her had they been sitting next to each other.

“Lucifer, I’m hungry,” the orange haired man frowned. He held his stomach with one hand as it erupted in a monstrous noise loud enough to echo through the room. “That’s too bad. Behave yourself.” Beelzebub turned his head, a crestfallen look on his face as he muttered, “I’m Beelzebub, Avatar of Gluttony.” “There are seven of us siblings in all. I am the eldest.” Lucifer said. “Mammon is the second. My other brothers aren’t here at the moment.” Diavolo chuckled lightly. “They will lend you their strength during your stay in the Devildom. To keep you safe, you’re to remain with them at the House of Lamentation.” Sounds inviting. Lucifer nodded before turning to Kita. “Most agree with Diavolo, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t vulgar demons out there who would harm you,” Lucifer told her, “if anything were to happen to you, it’d be our responsibility.” His expression turned dark and Kita could feel the warning behind his words when he spoke, “I won’t betray Diavolo’s expectations.” ‘Don’t make yourself any more trouble than you already have’, was the unspoken message. His face lightened a bit. “Although we will live together, you should still have the means to reach us at any moment. All our phone numbers are already on your D.D.D, along with a messaging app.” “I’ll send you a message!” Diavolo’s cheery tone cut in. “Isn’t that nice, Kita? Now you’ll be friends with the future king of the Devildom!” Satan grinned. “Texting doesn’t make anyone friends,” Kita muttered as she looked at the screen. Diavolo: This is my account. Diavolo: Feel free to send me a text at any time.

The emoji he sent next was an odd, three footed bird creature. It was obviously angry, and oddly adorable. Have I irritated him already? She shoved the thought away when a glance at the prince revealed a face slightly twisted in concentration. Diavolo: Oh, sorry. Diavolo: I haven’t gotten used to this yet. Diavolo: You see, Lucifer is the only demon who sends me messages…

Kita supposed it would be intimidating for anyone to knowingly speak to the prince, but for Lucifer to be the only one who would text him? It made her almost feel bad for the guy. She replied with an emoji of a shivering shiba inu, confused at the random human world animal amid a hundred demonic creatures. Diavolo: Hahaha, that’s a cute dog! It took Kita a second to realize that he hadn’t laughed out loud, but he grinned at her before putting his phone away at the exact moment she heard muffled shouting from outside the room. “It seems the idiot has arrived.” A door slammed open behind her, crashing into the wall as a white-haired man stormed inside. “Hey!” Oh, God, his voice was even louder in person, “just who do the hell do you think ya are, human? You’ve got a whole lot a’ nerve summoning the Great Mammon.” “I wasn’t aware I could summon demons with a phone,” she smirked, against her better judgement, “thought all that needed a blood ritual or something? Maybe it was a goat.” Mammon glared at her. “Listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once,” he growled, “if you want to continue your pathetic existence, then hand over all your money. And anything else of value, too!” This sounds like a corny mugging. She should just keep her mouth shut. Every fibre of her being screamed at her to stay quiet. Unfortunately, she was never very good at listening to herself when she was frightened. “Do I look like I have money to you?” “Hey! I’ll wipe that stupid, happy-go-lucky look right off your face...by eatin’ you,” he barked. It was hard to take him seriously with the way he spoke, even as he leaned close to her. “Not if I eat you first,” Kita snarled, earning her another amused chuckle from Satan. “Like a weak human could ever do that.” “On second thought, I wouldn’t want to anyway,” she mused, “you look like you’d be tasteless and gristly.” “Why you-” He gripped the edge of her shirt. “Mammon, knock it off or I’ll punch you!” Lucifer snapped. Kita turned her sight to the prince in front of her as Lucifer wasted no time hitting Mammon and drawing a loud yelp from the younger demon. “This is what I’m going to have to deal with for the next year?” “Kita, Mammon here is the Avatar of Greed,” Satan interrupted from his seat, “he oversees all forms of it. Whenever he takes a liking to someone, they suddenly find themselves awash in money. From what I hear, if he breaks it off with someone, that wealth evaporates.” “He’s also a masochist,” Asmodeus snickered, “that part’s important.” Kita eyed him, no longer trying to keep her irritation and disgust hidden. There was no possible reason she could think of that she would ever need to know that.

“Indeed,” Lucifer said, “and it just so happens that I have a job for my masochist of a brother.” “Y’all, stop telling lies!” Mammon groaned, “I ain’t asked for that punch, and I ain’t a masochist!” “Mammon, you will be in charge of seeing to this human’s needs during the entire exchange. I expect your full cooperation.” “What?! Why me?!” Kita tried not to wince at the volume of his indignant shout. It really wasn’t as if she wanted the white-haired demon to tag along with her, and he was obviously about as fond of the idea as she was. That is to say, not at all. “You’re lucky, Mammon... I’m so jealous,” Asmodeus whined. “Then why don’t you do it?” Kita froze. Somehow, she trusted and liked Asmodeus even less than her current assigned sitter. Besides, Kita and flirting went together as well as oil and water. “Hell no, too lazy.” Thank my lucky stars. “Just give up, Mammon,” Satan sighed, “there’s no getting out of this. You cannot refuse a direct command from Lucifer.” “But why does it have to be me?!” Mammon grumbled, “what about Beel? Why can’t he do it?” “We might as well ask him to eat this human,” Asmodeus said. “Mm. Yeah, I can’t promise I wouldn’t.” Kita wasn’t sure if it was the nonchalant way the man spoke that amused her, but it took all her concentration not to laugh. Maybe it was the absurdity of it all. At least he was honest? “You’re useless, you know that?” “Mammon?” Lucifer spoke softly, his eyes darkened and dangerous. “..Wh-What?” “Surely you’re not telling me you object to this arrangement?” The room darkened again as the flames of the candelabras flickered, and Kita shivered as a sudden chill ran up her spine. Mammon was silent for a moment. The room was quiet enough that Kita was certain she could hear a pin dropping from the hallway. “Ugh… I hate you guys, every last one of ya!” he growled, “fine... Fine, I’ll do it, okay?” Drama queens. She was going to have to spend a year dealing with the seven demons who quickly were becoming the biggest drama queens she knew. Great. Perfect. She placed her index and thumb between her eyes, rubbing in an attempt to quell her growing headache. This was all just too much. Her exhaustion had long since quelled the anxiety and fear she’d felt, and even her anger was slowly slithering back to the confines of her unconscious thoughts. Now, she simply wanted to go back to bed and pretend this hadn’t happened. “All right, human,” he spat the word like it disgusted him, “listen up. As much as I don’t want to look after your worthless ass, I’ve got no choice. It’s an enormous pain, and I’m too important for this kind of thing, but Lucifer told me to do it, so I will. You better make sure you don’t cause me any trouble, got it?” Kita crossed her arms, frowning. “...” “Man, there really is something wrong with this one…”

≿————-　❈　————-≾

It had taken another two hours to wrap up Lucifer’s basic explanation of what was expected of her and by the time it he finished, after countless insults and complaints thrown by her new ‘guardian’, Kita wanted nothing more than to scream and disappear into the void. Her anxiety was back with a vengeance and seemed hellbent on making her suffer. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but the tremoring of her leg as she bounced it off the floor to keep herself awake. “To sum it up for you, you will be an exchange student here at RAD for one year and you must do your tasks,” Lucifer said, “your tasks consist mainly of dance battles, and as you have no magic power, we will lend you a hand.” Ah. Right. Dance battles. These demons are fighting over my soul… by shitty dance competitions, apparently. “Why?” she had asked Diavolo. “Ordinarily, many demons would settle disputes via physical or psychological battles. I believe this is a much more peaceful solution that puts us in a better light,” he had grinned at her, “we aren’t savages.” They could’ve fooled her. She shifted against the intense heat wave that clutched her spine like a vice, tightening and choking her until she could hardly breathe against the lump in her throat and her burning eyes. She was so, so incredibly close to breaking.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. Don’t you dare show any more weakness in front of these things.

“I wanna make one thing clear right now: don’t blame me if someone gets eaten,” Mammon spoke, as if she wasn’t in the room, “‘cause it ain’t my fault.” “Lucifer, I’m hungry…” Beelzebub grumbled. So I am... “That’s too bad. Now behave yourself.”

Beelzebub, again, turned his head away and his frown deepened. It was at least the third time the demon had mentioned his empty stomach, and he seemed increasingly upset each time. Oh, Kita’s shoulders relaxed in sudden amusement and understanding. Do demons get hangry? Poor guy. Kita rummaged through her pajamas pocket, pulling out the granola bar she’d forgotten about in the midst of all the chaos. “H-Hey… I don’t know if you’ll like this, but you can have it if you want?” Kita offered the large demon. She nearly snorted at how quickly his face lit up as he nodded. She pulled her arm back to toss the small bar to him and, despite missing her mark by at least two feet, he caught it effortlessly. “Thanks!” His smile seemed to brighten the room as he tore open the wrapper. Oh… it should not be legal for a demon to look that sweet. He looks sorta like a puppy, smiling like that. An enormous, really dangerous puppy… What am I doing thinking about him like that? Kita shook her head to clear her thoughts. Thank God it didn’t seem like they could read minds.

Diavolo seemed enthralled with her actions and she avoided his intense look by awkwardly staring at the ceiling, and then the table. “I have no more food, so don’t ask,” she told the prince, only partly joking.

Kita yawned, eyes beginning to droop in her exhaustion. It had been well past midnight when she’d gone to bed, and she wanted nothing more than to return to one, soon. “Are we done here yet?” she asked, trying to mask her irritation behind yet another yawn. “Yes!” Diavolo said,” as stated earlier, you’ll be staying in the House of Lamentation with Lucifer and his six younger brothers. They’ll escort you there now.” Wonderful.

“Humans, angels, and demons… I imagine a universe where each accepts the other. Where we are brought together as friends.” Kita rose from her chair as the others did, slowly trailing after the group as they moved through the hallway. So much for escaping as soon as possible. They surrounded her on all sides, and she was ready to collapse, anyway. “One year,” Diavolo called after them, “that’s all I ask of you. Good luck, Kita.”

#obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #arkwrites #Dont Look Down #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me diavolo #obey me shall we date #im very excited about this fic LMAO #q #what do you do when a demon threatens to eat you? threaten to eat them first

9 notes · View notes

royaltyjunk · 7 years

Text

Still My Guitar Gently Weeps [T, Levin/Deet’var]

Summary:

“We loved each other,” Levin murmurs. “I swore a long time ago, I’d never cry. Still, my guitar gently weeps for me…” 50 drabbles in Levin/Deet'var, or how it ended.

Author’s Ideas: Written for @loptyrofjugdral’s birthday

MY DUUUUUDE HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Since this is like the only thing I’m good at, I present to you: angst about your favorite crackship turned OTP

Have fun :>

Also this was supposed to be just a regular 3k+ word one-shot, but I got too hyped about the OTP and it accidentally became like 10k+

Whoops

Anyways, as always, readable on FF.net and AO3.

Disclaimer: Again, I don’t own Fire Emblem or anything you recognize in here.

1. The love that you give

“Deet'var. Her name is Deet'var.”

She’s always been told that’s all her parents said about her before leaving her in the hands of the military academy.

“Where are my parents?” She’d always ask, when the day family visits were allowed came, and no one swept her into a hug or pressed kisses on her cheeks.

Each time, her instructor would shake her head sadly and walk away.

It wasn’t until she turned five that she received her first and last gift from her parents.

It’s her fifth year at the academy, and she’s been there long enough to know that no one is coming for her. No one will come to see her, and she’ll spend another lonely day in the barracks.

A hand presses against her shoulder, and she forces herself to not jump and turns around. Her instructor kneels in front of her, a letter in her hand.

“…This is for you.”

With trembling hands, she takes the letter and nods gratefully. Slowly, she walks to the empty barracks, and then opens the envelope hesitantly.

The things she learns from the words on the letter don’t startle her.

The letter is written by her parents, tells her that they were writing this minutes before they were going to give her to the Academy. They say they just couldn’t afford to have a child. They love her, they truly do, they just don’t have that sort of gold to ensure she stays healthy, has a happy childhood, and a good education. They’d rather she live in the Academy than with them. They’d rather distance themselves than know her. They say it was for the best.

Deet'var thinks so too. She doesn’t want to know her parents after all that. She doesn’t want to believe they cared for her. She doesn’t believe the numerous “we love you"s peppered through the letter, smeared in what looks like teardrops, or just water.

Yet, every time she skims those words, her eyes grow hot.

The love that a parent would give to their child was something she’d always known.

2. Life is a journey

Rahna’s fingers trace the mark along the back of Levin’s left shoulder. Levin squirms away from her touch.

"That tickles, Mother!”

“Sorry…” the black-haired woman soothes, ruffling Levin’s hair.

The door to their chambers opens, and Levin’s father walks in, an envelope sealed in wax in his hands.

“Rahna? A letter came in for you, from your sister.”

“Read it aloud,” Rahna says, her hands full with the squirming toddler in her lap. Her husband peels the wax seal off and unfolds the papers inside.

“Dearest Rahna, how has life been?” Levin’s father reads the words written on the letter. Levin looks up.

“Mother? Father? What’s life?” he asks innocently. She smiles back.

“Life is a journey, dear Levin.”

3. Rustling leaves

She blinks, her wide eyes staring up at the leaves that brush against each other, rustling noisily.

“Deet'var?” The new recruit and her roommate - Pamela, tilts her head. “Are you okay?”

She starts, then nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“You were spacing out there. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” Deet'var grumbles, and the slightly annoyed pitch in Deet'var’s voice shuts Pamela up quickly. Pamela looks back at the instructor, where she’s demonstrating how swordplay, something Deet'var mastered moons ago.

She stares back up at the trees framing their training ground, a strange expression in her eyes.

She never could figure out why the sound of rustling leaves her calmed her, until she met a boy whose voice sounded just like that.

4. The clank of glassware

He fidgets in his seat, twiddling his thumbs under the tablecloth. He forces himself to keep looking at unfamiliar faces who stare judgmentally back.

“How have you been lately, brother?” Uncle Maios asks, and Levin’s father smiles.

“It’s been hard, but I’ve been doing well.”

“And how have you been, Lord Maois?” one of the nobles asks.

“Theodore, it is nice to see you again,” Maios smiles. “I’ve been well.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” the nobleman smiles.

“Thank you, Theodore,” Maios raises his glass to the nobleman.

He stares at the two lords, who tap their glasses together in a toast and smile. Levin lowers his gaze to his plate of food, focusing on cutting his steak.

He wishes he had a friend, or even someone, to keep him company.

5. Memories

“Mahnya! Fury!” Deet'var cries happily, rushing down the hallway towards the two sisters. Pamela follows uncertainly.

“Deet'var!” The older sister sweeps the young girl into a hug. “It’s so good to see you again!”

“Uh huh!” Deet'var pulls away and hugs Fury, who seems startled, but smiles, leaning into the hug. “How is Silessia?”

“We met the prince!” Fury cries excitedly, then returns to her calm tone of voice. “We’re his best friends, he says. Oh, but Mahnya…” The young girl casts a mischevious look at her sister, and Mahnya huffs.

“What? What happened?” Deet'var asks, an interested look in her eyes.

“It’s nothing… It’s nothing, really,” Mahnya flushes red, and Pamela scuffles closer, a small smile on her face.

“The prince says he likes her.”

“He only meant that as a friend!” Mahnya insists. Pamela lets out a laugh, but as the two girls stare at her, she squirms uncomfortably, glancing at Deet'var.

“This is Pamela. She’s my roommate, and new, but she’s a goddess with a lance,” Deet'var beams, and Pamela flushes red.

“No, no, I’m not, Deet'var,” the young girl insists, shaking her head. Fury smiles.

“If Deet'var says so, I think it’s true. I’m Fury. It’s nice to meet you, Pamela.”

“You too,” she smiles, and accepts Fury’s embrace.

“I’m Mahnya,” the older sister introduces herself, “Fury’s older sister.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mahnya,” Pamela extends her hand. Mahnya smiles.

“You don’t have to be so formal just because I’m older and higher in rank.” Mahnya pulls Pamela into a hug, and she reciprocates, her face a little red.

They spend the rest of the day together, telling stories and sharing memories of their times together.

“Are you guys going back to Silessia soon?” Deet'var asks.

“We’re leaving two days from now.”

“Oh…” Pamela murmurs, a disappointed look on her face. Mahnya tilts her head.

“Why do you look so sad? Don’t you two know?”

“What?” Deet'var inquires, a sparkle in her eyes.

“You two are coming to the capital with us. You’re getting your station assignments.”

6. Homage

His father dies one day, with nary a word or a warning.

“I see…” Rahna murmurs when she receives the message. He’d gone out during the night time to practice magic, and dropped dead as soon as he’d come back into the castle.

“The healers do believe it’s an illness he’s had for some time, but there is little we know.”

“Thank you, Tia,” the queen smiles at the Angelic Knight, and Tia curtises before leaving. She shuts the door behind her, and Rahna’s face falls. “Oh…”

“Mother?” Levin murmurs. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay, Mother?”

“Levin… would you let your mother play the flute? Just for once…”

“Yeah. If it makes you feel better.” Levin nods. Even though he hates the flute, he doesn’t wish to defy his mother of her only way of relief.

“Thanks, Levin.” Rahna smiles, walking over to her closet. She ruffles Levin’s hair on the way, and then pulls out a wooden case holding the metal instrument.

His mother holds the flute to her lips, and plays the chords to “Dance in the Skies”, a homage to her dead husband and Levin’s lost father.

7. When we met

“This is the castle?” Deet'var asks, her mouth wide in awe.

“Yes,” Mahnya pauses, but shakes her head. “Come on. You should meet some people. You never know if you’re going to be stationed here or not.”

“Mahnya needs to lighten up,” Pamela whispers, and Deet'var giggles. Mahnya glares at them playfully, and they salute mockingly to her.

Unhurriedly, Mahnya leads them into the castle. The two girls look around in excitement.

“Mahnya! You’re back!” A boy’s excited yells alert them, and Mahnya only has time to open her arms before the boy with green hair jumps into her open arms, hugging her tight.

“Prince Levin, please!” Mahnya is giggling, and Pamela raises an eyebrow.

“Is that the prince?” she whispers to Deet'var, and Deet'var can only nod, her mouth open in awe.

“Prince Levin, you should meet my friends. This is Pamela and this is Deet'var.” The two girls remember their manners, and fall to their knees.

“Stand up, stand up. You don’t have to be so formal around me, even if I am the prince!” he smiles. His voice reminds Deet'var of the rustling leaves of Silessian trees.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Prince Levin,” Pamela murmurs as she stands, and Deet'var quickly follows, bowing.

“It is a true honor to be able to serve you,” Deet'var says.

“Deet'var, right?”

She nods. Levin tilts his head, then splits into a grin.

“Okay! You’re going to be my new friend!”

“What?” she blinks in surprise, and Levin grabs her by the hand.

“Mother! Mother, I found a friend!”

“Did you?” Rahna’s voice drifts through the castle, and Levin pulls Deet'var into the throne room, where his mother is. “Oh… Aren’t you?”

“Deet'var, Your Majesty. My name is Deet'var,” she breathes, falling to her knees and bowing. Levin pulls her back up.

“It’s okay, Deets! Mother doesn’t care much about formality anyways!”

“Levin, please don’t be that forceful.” Levin looks to the side guiltily, and Rahna laughs. “It is true, however. Please, do not be so formal with me.”

“Prince Levin, please don’t run off like that!” Mahnya calls as she enters the throne room, and Pamela follows her.

“Oh, sorry, Mahnya! Mother, can you station Deet'var somewhere we always visit? Like Thove, put her at Thove!”

“Hush, Levin. I decide. You do not.” Rahna holds her chin between her fingers. “Pamela and Deet'var… I will keep you two together then. They are going to be stationed in Thove,” Rahna states, glaring at her son who is practically jumping with excitement. “I’m sending them there so they can protect Maios. Not to play with you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she nods. Pamela echoes her words. Deet'var looks at Levin.

They exchange a swift glance, and Levin grins.

8. Reasons

“Levin?” Deet'var asks one day while they’re sprawled out on her bed in the castle of Thove.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you want to be my friend?”

He blinks, then breaks into a chuckle. “I don’t have many friends. Mahnya and Fury are usually too busy to drop by and visit now. Plus, you looked like you wanted a friend.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

Deet'var shoves him off the bed, pouting.

In her heart, she’s touched beyond words.

9. Bad timing

Levin grumbles, an angry look in his eyes. Mahnya raises an eyebrow at his behavior.

“Is something wrong?” she inquires.

“Mother wouldn’t let me go to Thove. She said I have duties, whatever that means.”

Mahnya smiles. “I’m sure Deet'var misses you.”

“I even told her I was coming!” he groans. “What bad timing Mother has!” Mahnya just laughs.

10. Doing what has to be done

Her fingers tremble, and she buries her face in her hands. Levin strokes her hair gently, a sorrowful look in his eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he soothes.

“Yes, it was,” Deet'var chokes out. “I had a choice, and I… I…”

“Sierra told you to save Meriah, didn’t she? It’s not your fault. Sierra sacrificed herself, and you were simply following her orders.”

“But…”

“Mahnya gets to be an Angelic Knight now, too. Deet'var, listen to me. It had to be done. Sierra knew that. You were just doing what had to be done. I promise you, it’s not your fault.”

“Levin… thanks…” she trails off. “I think I just need to calm down…”

“Want me to braid your hair? Mother likes it when I braid her hair. She says it’s soothing.”

“Sure,” she murmurs.

She leans against him, her shoulder against his bicep. He softly pulls her hair separate, working a small braid with the hair behind her ear.

“It… feels nice,” Deet'var murmurs, and Levin smiles, continuing to braid her hair.

11. Forever

“Pamela?” Levin pokes his head through the doorway, and she bites back a scream. She slams the book shit, glaring up at the prince.

“What are you doing here!? I thought you were coming tomorrow! That’s when family visits start!”

“I know, but… I thought I’d come by a day earlier. I want to talk to you.”

“Why me?” Pamela tilts her head, and Levin steps inside the room.

“About Deet'var… do you know how she feels about me?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Pamela teases, and Levin rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, Pamela. What do you think?”

“I think…” she pauses, “she views you as forever.”

“What?” he makes a confused face.

Pamela just grins and flips open her book. “Figure it out yourself.”

12. The stars above

“Levin, I got you something,” Deet'var smiles.

“Really?” He asks, tilting his head as he looks up from the tome in his hand.

“My friend made it for me, but I want you to have it.” Deet'var holds out a pendant attached to a leather cord.

“That’s a necklace,” Levin murmurs, raising an eyebrow at her.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes it is, Levin. Don’t be a wimp.”

“I never said I would be a wimp,” Levin retorts, taking the necklace from her. He glances briefly at the pendant. “Are these stars?”

“What else?”

He nudges her and slips it over his head. “Cheeky.”

She sticks her tongue out at him.

13. Instrument

“Have you seen Deet'var?” he asks his uncle in the fall of the next year.

“Have you checked the castle?” he asks, reciting the question like he’s done it a million times before.

“Yes.”

“Then she’s most likely in her room.”

“But her door was closed. She only does that if she’s sleeping or nobody’s in the room.”

“Then go check inside it,” Maios grumbles. Levin trudges away, making for her room on the second floor.

Haltingly, he turns the doorknob and looks inside. There’s a whimper from the other side of the room, and Levin makes out a curled up figure next to the dresser through the darkness of the closed curtains.

“Deet'var?” he questions softly. “Deet'var, is that you?”

“Levin…” she coughs. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I just came. Are you sick?”

“No, I…” a stifled sob escapes her, and Levin shuts the door behind him, making to sit beside her. She’s holding in her lap, hands on the strings as tears stain the instrument.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs.

“It’s nothing… no, really, it’s nothing. It just…” she swallows. “It happens sometimes… I’ll think about my parents and it just…”

“Deet'var…”

“It’s probably nothing compared to your problems, but still…”

“It’s okay. I… I didn’t cry, and I think I’m strange because of that. I’m glad that you can cry, Deet'var, but I don’t want to see you sad.”

“Levin…”

“Don’t cry. I promise… I won’t cry either.”

“I know,” she murmurs, hastily wiping her eyes. “I just… it happens.”

“I understand,” Levin reassures, pressing against her.

“But, do you really promise? You won’t cry?”

“If you want me to,” Levin says, then looks at her funnily. “Why?”

“No, it’s- I don’t want to see you sad either,” Deet'var mumbles, running her fingers along the strings of her guitar.

Levin grins. “Okay. I promise. What about you?”

“Yeah,” she smirks back, and plucks the beginning chords to “Dance in the Skies”.

14. Copper

A sparkle on the ground of Deet'var’s room catches his eye, and Levin squints. Deet'var groans as he moves to the edge of the bed and leans down.

“What are you doing?” she hisses, stretching.

“Did you actually fall asleep?” he asks, snatching up the glistening item on the carpet. It turns out to be a copper charm, and he frowns.

“Of course,” she laughs. “Now what the hell are you doing?”

Levin falls onto his back, holding the trinket above his face.

“Wha…?” Deet'var questions sleepily, and then moans, covering her face and rolling onto her side. “Oh gods.”

“What?” Levin smirks. “Did some secret admirer give it to you?”

“…Maybe.”

Levin barks out a laugh. “Look at you,” he grins at her, “Miss Popular.” She punches him on the shoulder and rolls to the other end of the bed.

The next morning, there’s a carefully wrapped box with a copper-colored pendant inside it sitting outside of her door.

15. Scarf

“Isn’t it a little cold for that?” Deet'var eyes the frozen treat in Levin’s hands, rubbing her hands together and tucking them into the pockets of her longcoat. He rolls his eyes.

“No. If I wanted something cold, I’d go find Uncle Maios’s cold, dead heart. I’m sure it’s buried somewhere in Thove,” he deadpans.

Deet'var tries to hold in her laughter, biting back a grin. “You shouldn’t say that. One of these days, some noble is going to hear you say that and you’re going to get into a fight with them that ends in you being exiled from the royal family.”

“And then you can back me up. We will defeat them and save the whole of Jugdral from Uncle Maios’s strict, dull will.”

She snorts, letting out a short laugh. He grins, digging his spoon into the treat and slowly eating it. Sluggishly, they walk down the streets.

“Do you want some?” he asks. She hesitates before shaking her head.

“No, it’s okay. It’s strawberry and vanilla, your favorite, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s also your favorite.” He offers the spoon to her, and she takes it hesitantly, polishing off the clump of the frozen treat on the spoon.

“Thanks,” she smiles.

Levin grins back, huddling deeper into his scarf. “Where to now?”

Deet'var shrugs, and her smile grows bigger, snaking the scarf off of Levin’s neck and throwing it around hers. He chuckles as she slips the spoon back into his hands and darts down the streets, the scarf tight around her neck as laughter spills from her lips, and he follows her, a warm feeling in his heart.

16. You, too.

There’s something tugging at her gut when she goes to Silessia. The awkward tenseness that seems irremovable from Levin only serves to fuel her worries, but she pushes them aside.

They spill out on the final day, when Levin asks her a simple question.

“Deet'var?”

“Hm?” she hums, running her brush along her white mount’s fur.

“What would you do if I disappeared one day?”

“I…” she purses her lips. “Why are you asking me this?”

“What?”

“You’ve been so distant… and acting so strange. And what’s with this strange question now?” Deet'var brushes a little more harshly, and her pegasus twitches, snorting.

“I… I wish I could tell you, Deet'var.”

Deet'var sighs. “Well… I’d probably be mad. Really mad. If you had a good reason, though, I’d wait for you. I’d want to go find you, but if circumstance forces us apart, I’ll wait.”

“…Thanks, Deet'var. I feel better now.” He grins, and she rolls her eyes.

“No problem, I guess.” She takes the reins of her pegasus and leads it out of the stable. Deet'var mounts her pegasus at a sluggish speed, and turns to look at him.

“Levin?”

He tilts his head, looking at her sideways. “Yeah?”

“…Nothing,” she shakes her head, tucking a strand of green hair behind her ear. “Just… stay safe, okay?”

“Where’s this coming from?” he asks teasingly, but lets it fade from his voice when he sees the serious look on Deet'var’s face.

“I don’t know. I just feel that…” she tries to explain, but shakes her head. “Just, make sure you stay safe.”

“You, too.”

He watches her fly off, and clenches his fingers tight around the pendant resting against his chest.

17. Dream

That nagging feeling in her gut doesn’t go away. She can’t help but grow even more agitated.

He shows up in her dreams, something that’s never happened before. He holds her hand, hugs her, presses close against her, tells her he won’t go.

Then he’s gone. One minute he’s there, the next he’s gone.

Every dream repeats itself like that, and ends with her screaming, falling to her knees when she’s presented with Levin’s corpse, and then she wakes up in a cold sweat and Pamela’s glaring at her from across the room for waking her up.

She knows those dreams will continue to haunt her. Somehow, she just knows.

18. Gaze

He casts one last look over his shoulder at the castle behind him.

He’ll miss it - his home for the last fourteen, going on fifteen, years.

Levin pauses for a moment, thinking about his home, this home he’s about to abandon. He’ll miss his mother, his teachers and all the people in the castle.

He knows he’ll miss her, too. She knew something was going to happen to him. The last time he’d seen her, she’d gazed at him with such worry that he’d almost turned away from the idea of running away. He hesitated even now.

Yet, this was a choice he had to make on his own. And he’d decide his future, not her.

He turns and walks away from Silessia, his feet leaving footsteps in the snow behind him.

19. Agreement

“Deet'var, get up!” Her roommate hisses, shaking her aggressively.

“What the hell? What do you want?” She growls, prying Pamela’s hands off of her.

“Prince Levin… he ran away,” Pamela purses her lips, and starts when Deet'var kicks her blankets to the foot of the bed and sits up, her eyes filled with a mysterious expression that Pamela can’t quite put a finger on.

“He what?” Her voice is dangerously low.

“He left, and his letter is all we have to go by.”

“Levin… you ass! So that’s what you were talking about!” She growls angrily, swearing as she pulls on her tunic and brushes past Pamela.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Her roommate cries, hurrying after her.

“Silessia. Isn’t it obvious?” Deet'var replies, walking down the dormitories towards the barracks. She shoulders her way through the bumbling girls whispering gossip about the latest news.

“Deet'var! Stop and think!” Pamela yells, grabbing Deet'var by the hand. “That news is weeks old. Even if you tried, you wouldn’t be able to find him!”

Deet'var pauses, her face growing grim and angry. She snatches her hand from Pamela’s grasp and runs down the stairs.

“What the hell!?” Pamela darts after her, throwing herself forward and tackling Deet'var to the ground. Deet'var lands on her back and Pamela straddles her, her hands clamped tight around Deet'var’s throat.

“Let go,” Deet'var’s voice is strained and Pamela loosens her grip, but keeps her hands around Deet'var’s neck. The sound of approaching footsteps doesn’t bother either of them.

“What’s going on here?” Mahnya demands.

“Why are you here?” Deet'var asks, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.

“I came to give the news and see my friends, but instead I see Pamela trying to strangle you!”

“Let them fight,” Fury murmurs from behind her sister. “Sometimes it’s the only way.”

Mahnya looks at her, bewildered, but steps back as she follows Fury’s gaze, sees the emotions in her eyes.

Deet'var clenches her hand around Pamela’s wrist. “You don’t understand, Pamela.”

“Who says I don’t?” Pamela snarls. Her eyes flicker to the side, and she grits her teeth. Deet'var’s eyes widen with realization.

“Pamela… you…”

“It is only her. No one else. But I can’t stand to lose another friend,” her voice is soft and breathy. Pamela looks Deet'var in the eyes. “So don’t you do that ever again, you selfish prick!”

“…I’m sorry,” Deet'var murmurs. “I won’t.”

“So we’ve reached an understanding now, yes?”

“Yeah,” Deet'var pauses, then smiles. “Thanks, Pamela.”

She removes her hands from Deet'var’s neck. There’s a bright red mark where her hands used to be. Pamela stands and brushes herself off, offering a hand to Deet'var.

“Is your neck okay?”

“Yeah.” Yet, she rubs the side of her neck though, grimacing. “I’m fine,” Deet'var smiles, “Thanks for doing that. I needed it.”

Pamela smirks. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

20. Prayer

He first hears the news when he stops at a church at Sailane to pray.

His hands are pressed together, and he keeps his head low, a white veil wrapped around his head. He recites the prayer he’s been taught as a child, and keeps an ear open to the prayers of other monks and clerics who stop by.

“May Forseti look over the prince’s heart and guide his spirit… May he be happy on his journey.”

“Excuse me, miss?” He whispers as the sister stands to leave. “What do you mean by the prince?” In the dimly lit church, his hair looked black. “I am traveling from Thracia, and overheard your prayer.”

“Ah, I see. The prince’s disappearance was announced to the country around noontime yesterday. It appears he went on a journey, of sorts.”

“I see… thank you, dear sister.”

“Of course, brother,” she smiles and gives him a slight curtsy. He sighs as she leaves.

“So it’s become public, has it? I’m sorry… everyone…”

21. Parchment

Deet'var dips her quill in the well of ink. Slowly, she puts the end of it to the parchment and begins to write.

Dear Levin,

How have you been? I wish you could be here.

Tia stepped down from her station as an Angelic Knight. Pamela was promoted in her position, and I’m happy for her. I do wish I could have been promoted, but Pamela deserved it more.

Her hands tremble as she writes the next three words.

I miss you.

She folds the paper, seals it, and tucks it into her desk.

22. Longing

There’s a thudding in his blood as he sails away from Silesse, and he leans against the railing of the boat, staring off at the lonely land of Silesse, wrapped in fog from the early morning.

“Why’re you off to Agustria, little boy?” One of the crew members asks suspiciously.

“Just a bad family life,” he cracks a grin. “Thought I’d get away.”

“Really now?”

“Yup,” he pops the ‘p’, tilting his head. “It’s a hard time back at home.”

“Hm,” the crewmate hums. “What’s your name?”

“Levin,” he says, then curses himself for his carelessness.

“Levin? You mean, like the prince?”

“…Yeah. Like the prince.”

23. Promotion

“I hereby proclaim you an Angelic Knight of Silesse,” Rahna lifts the golden sword from Deet'var’s left shoulder, touching it to her right shoulder, and then murmurs an incantation-laced prayer. A burst of wind sweeps through the castle hallway, and cheers explode around her as she stands.

If only Levin could see her now.

She’s grown. She wasn’t a helpless girl now.

Raquel smiles at the foot of the stairs as Deet'var descends down them, and Deet'var grins back.

“I know you’ll do wonderful,” the former Angelic Knight reassures, and Deet'var bows to her.

“Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity.”

“Of course,” the woman nods, then looks over her shoulder at the sound of loud screaming. “I do believe you have some friends to greet.”

Deet'var cranes her head over Raquel’s shoulder, then dashes forward as she spots three green-haired women pushing their way through the crowd towards her. She stops in front of the first one.

“I’m so happy for you,” Mahnya murmurs, and pulls her into a hug.

“Thank you…” Deet'var hugs the woman back, and as she pulls away, Pamela and Fury are walking up to her.

“Congratulations,” Fury smiles.

“You know you’re next,” Pamela nudges the girl beside her, and she stutters.

“No, no I’m not,” Fury laughs nervously, but the three women beside her stare at her, and she buries her face in her hands. “Oh gods, I am next, aren’t I?”

Mahnya bursts into laughter, and Pamela joins her. Deet'var just ruffles Fury’s hair.

“Get ready for that promotion, kiddo. It’s gonna kick you in the rear,” Pamela glances at Deet'var. Deet'var nods.

��I just got promoted, but I can tell this is going to be a hard time.”

Mahnya just laughs again, and eventually, they all join in.

24. Shattered

Levin ducks under the axe, blasting the bandit away with one hand of wind magic. A sword cuts at his scarf, and he swears, turning quickly and pushing the swordsman back with an Elwind spell.

The two enemies charge at him, and he flips away deftly, ignoring the fact that his pendant is now hanging out of his tunic. He calls down a Thunder spell, striking at the axeman. His fingers still sparking, he hurls Elwind at the dazed enemy.

The swordsman rushes forward, swinging at the prince with his silver blade. Levin yelps, jumping back to dodge the sword’s long range. The tip of the sword crashes through the glass raindrop-shaped pendant at the end of his necklace, and it shatters into pieces.

Levin swears, lobbing a Fire spell at the man and calling down another Thunder spell. The man’s charred body falls at Levin’s feet, cradled by the broken shards of colored glass. Levin falls to the ground, hissing in anger.

“Damn it all…” he curses, staring at the sparkling shards of glass. He pulls the cord holding the broken end of the pendant off of his neck, gently fishing the pendant from the cord. He leaves the end of the pendant with the shards of glass on the ground and pulls the black cord into his fist, intent on throwing the cord away.

Yet, there’s a strange feeling in his gut, and he can’t help but reach for his neck, touching the side of his neck. He’s grown used to the feel of leather pressed against his neck, the feel of cool glass resting between his collarbones.

Slowly, he unravels the tangled cord and pulls it over his head. It’ll take time to get used to the absence of the pendant, but that’s how it has to be. He whispers an apology to her and walks away from the battlefield, his boots trampling shattered shards of glass.

25. Shout

“So, you’re leaving then?” Deet'var asks. Pamela nods.

“It seems the number of guards is down in Zaxon, and it’s not wise to keep two Angelic Knights at the same station,” Pamela explains as she rummages through the dresser, pulling out her tunics and shoving them into her bag. She grins up at Deet'var. “Hey, at least you get the room to yourself now.”

“A bigger bed, finally.” Deet'var looks over her shoulder at the tiny bed. She’s long outgrown it, and her constant turning in her sleep often leads her to fall onto the floor, or hit her head against the bedframe. She has to sleep with her feet propped on top of the end of the bed, or she can’t fit on the bed.

Pamela laughs. “At least I won’t have to wake up to the sound of you falling onto the floor or hitting your head.” She pulls open the last drawer on the dresser, then slams it shut, a somber look on her face.

Deet'var winces, and her roommate glances up at her.

“That guitar still too painful?” Pamela’s voice is little more than a whisper.

Deet'var can only nod, and Pamela stands.

“What about your nightmares?”

“They're… better, but still happening.”

Pamela squeezes Deet'var’s hand, then slings her bag over her shoulder. “I have to go now.”

“I’ll go with you,” Deet'var murmurs, and Pamela smiles gratefully at her.

As they exit the room, they spot several men dragging a large bed down the hallway, a less than happy Maios behind them. Pamela lets out a boisterous laugh.

“I guess that bed came earlier than expected,” Pamela nudges her friend, and Deet'var grins.

Slowly, they make for the stables, joined along the way by many of Pamela’s subordinates who will be moving with her. A few are already in the stables.

Deet'var watches somberly as Pamela saddles up her pegasus and slowly follows her out of the stables.

Before mounting the flying horse, Pamela leans over, pulling Deet'var into a hug.

“Stay strong,” Pamela murmurs encouragingly. “Maybe some day both of us will be happy.”

Deet'var smiles, hugging back. “Yes…”

Lightly, Pamela pulls away, giving Deet'var a beaming smile before mounting her pegasus. Her subordinates follow her, and Pamela digs her heels into the side of her mount. They fly off in a blur of white.

“Deet'var!” Pamela shouts as she flies away, and Deet'var looks up. “Your boyfriend’s an asshole!”

She just laughs.

26. Climb

He sighs, his fingers scraping against the bark of the tree as he clambers up.

“Can you see anything!?” Sylvia calls.

“Shut up! They’re going to hear us!” Levin hisses back, then climbs higher. He squints his eyes, peeking through the patches of leaves that swath his vision.

“Well?” The dancer asks as he slides to the ground. Levin claps his hands together, dusting off bits of bark.

“Ready to fight some bandits?”

27. Magic

Deet'var sighs, lowering her staff. “Did that work?”

There’s a pause, and then Mahnya speaks. “Almost.”

Deet'var opens her eyes, groaning at the sight of the half-healed wound on Mahnya’s shoulder.

“Why can’t I get this gods damned thing to work!?”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Mahnya smiles. “Go ahead and try again.”

Deet'var raises the staff, closing her eyes. Her fingers tighten around it, and she feels the staff heating up. She reaches for the magic hidden deep within her that Levin had whispered about, grasping for the power she knows she has.

There’s a burst of something in her heart, and she shivers. Mahnya gasps.

“Deet'var…”

Deet'var opens her eyes, blinking in surprise as she sees the sealed wound on Mahnya’s shoulder. “Did I do something?”

“I could’ve sworn… you were glowing…” Mahnya shakes her head. “Never mind. I didn’t know you were so deft with a staff, Deet'var.”

“I… so that was magic, wasn’t it?” she whispers to herself.

“Pardon?”

“No, nothing. Thanks for letting me practice on you, Mahnya.”

“Of course,” the woman smiles, dusting off her tunic. “I should gather my squadron and leave now. Queen Rahna is waiting for me.”

“I’ll see you then,” Deet'var waves, and stares at her gloved hands. “Magic… so this is the power you held, huh…”

28. Sickness

He’s overcome with a sense of homesickness every time he sees Fury in the dining hall of Agusty Castle. Her familiar face sends him back in time, and he can’t help but remember the girl he left behind - that woman he had left behind.

“She’s no different,” Fury had murmured when he’d asked. “She works hard, in hopes that she’ll be able to find you one day.”

He feels sick to his stomach just remembering those words.

Levin wished he’d been able to see her again, at least before he’d been found. He knows she’ll be upset, and there’s nothing he can do to comfort her. All he can do is pray for her happiness.

There’s a gentle tugging against him, like a child pulling at his hand, wishing for him to go home. Pulling him towards that homeland of snow and pegasi.

He forces it down, his fingers clenching into a tight fist. His nails leave crescent-shaped marks along his palm, and he gulps.

“Levin?”

He shakes his head, smiling. “It’s nothing, Sylvia.”

Yet, the sense of homesickness doesn’t go away.

29. Trinkets

She throws the wooden charms to the ground, and sealed letters she never sent are ripped in half, tossed carelessly across her strewn bedsheets.

The news had come in just a few hours ago - Fury had found Prince Levin. He’d been in Agustria, and he’d refused to come home. Fury’s letter had sent his exact words home when she’d tried to persuade him: “Silesse isn’t my home anymore. I’d rather stay here.”

Such was the cause of the rage building up in Deet'var, and she buries her face in her pillow, gritting her teeth.

Fine, then. If he didn’t want to come back, he didn’t have to. She’d never see him, and he’d never see her.

Her heart aches just at the thought of that.

“You damned idiot…” Deet'var curses under her breath. “What do you think you’re doing?”

30. Family

“Your mother misses you,” Fury murmurs over her stew.

They’re in Orgahill, eating an anxious dinner as the Grannvalian army in the south draws ever closer.

Levin pauses mid-bite. “…I know. I miss her too,” he murmurs.

“Then shouldn’t we go back to Silesse?”

The prince shakes his head violently. “I can’t leave now. Sigurd needs my help.”

“…I thought so,” Fury smiles.

“Thanks,” he grins back.

“Levin!” Sigurd bursts into the dining hall. “Fury!”

They’re on their feet instantly, their utensils clattering onto the table.

“What happened?” Levin asks, just before Fury gasps as a familiar woman steps out from behind Sigurd.

“Mahnya?” she whispers, and the first Angelic Knight smiles, holding her arms open.

“It’s me,” Mahnya confirms, and a grin spreads across Fury’s face as she throws herself into her sister’s open arms.

“Sister! What are you doing here?”

“Queen Rahna sent me. We’re bringing you to Silesse with us.”

“What!? Really…” Levin exclaims, then trails off as Mahnya shifts her attention to him. He purses his lips, cursing himself for drawing attention to himself.

“Prince Levin.”

“Yes?” he murmurs.

“Please, come home.”

He has no other choice. He ought to feel cornered, but instead, he’s overwhelmed with joy.

“Yes. Let’s go home.”

31. “For as long as you live.”

“What is it, Lord Maios?”

“My brother and that friend of yours… Pamela, was it? They’ve started a rebellion, in Zaxon.”

“…Pardon?” Deet'var shakes her head, blinking. “A… rebellion?”

“Yes,” Maios nods. “It appears it was started because Queen Rahna had Mahnya go to Agustria and help that Grannvalian traitor, Sigurd.”

“What of Prince Levin?”

“He’s somewhere with Fury, somewhere in Jugdral. I can only hope he doesn’t come back soon. You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, Lord Maios,” Deet'var bows. She leaves the throne room of Thove and holds her hand to her heart, staring up at the blue sky through the glass on the ceiling.

“Levin… For as long as you live, I’ll be waiting…”

She shakes her head, forcing herself to walk onwards. She has duties, and she can’t be distracted.

32. Whispers

When Levin steps onboard the ship, there’s a collective silence from the women standing beside their flying mounts - Silesse’s Pegasus Knights, and the first squadron under command of General Captain Mahnya.

“Is that…” he hears one of the women whisper to her companion.

“I think so. Look, he has the hair and the eyes… Oh my gods.”

“What?” A third eager soldier joins in the gossip.

“There, where his tunic is ripped on his back… you can see it! That’s the mark of Sety!” Their voices are soft, but they can no longer be called whispers.

“First wing, to your positions!” Mahnya’s voice luckily cuts off all the loud whispers, and the women scramble to mount their pegasi and take off into the sky. She flies to Lewyn’s side. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” he smiles, his voice nothing more than a whisper in the wind.

33. Stairs

Deet'var stumbles up the stairs, her hands trembling.

“Levin… a traitor?” she shakes her head. “No, I can’t believe it… and we are joining the rebellion… I…”

She presses herself against the wall next to the staircase, focusing on taking deep breaths. Deet'var slides to the ground, a groan escaping her lips.

“What a mess I’ve gotten myself into…”

“Seems so,” Pamela’s voice cuts through Deet'var’s thoughts. She looks up, seeing her friend walking down the hallway. “I’m here to fetch you. We’re going to Zaxon.”

“What?”

“We have to plan. For the rebellion.”

“I… okay,” she nods, standing up. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault,” Pamela reassures, clambering down the stairs. Deet'var follows her, an uneasy look on her face.

“I suppose,” Deet'var murmurs.

“Deet'var,” Pamela looks back at her, “I promise this isn’t your fault.”

“Thank you, Pamela.” Deet'var clears her throat. “I’m better now.”

Pamela smiles, looking forward. “Are you ready to change history?”

“Yes. But, what about…” Deet'var trails off, but Pamela knows what she’s hinting at.

“I will never stop loving Mahnya,” she grinds out. “Never. Even so…” Pamela looks over at Deet'var. “You’ve been a good friend.”

“Sorry, I don’t swing that way,” she murmurs weakly. Pamela grins.

“Good. Now come on. We have a rebellion to lead.”

Deet'var smiles back, ignoring the sense of regret wringing out her heart like a towel.

34. Armor

“Sailane… it’s been a while,” Levin mutters.

Fury smiles. “It has, hasn’t it.”

“Fury… I’m sorry you went through all this trouble to track me down and stay by my side.”

“Prince Levin?”

“I just… thought I should say that,” he grins. Fury chuckles.

“I’m just doing as I’m commanded. There is someone else you should thank.”

“…Yeah,” he grins, staring up at the sky. His eyes catch a small speck in the sky. It’s white and unbridled, a wild pegasus flying through the clouds. “I’ll have to thank her. For waiting so long.”

“…You missed her much, didn’t you?” Fury questions gently.

“Of course. I barely stopped myself from going back on multiple occasions. But I knew my return wouldn’t do anything. So I waited. Five agonizing years… I’ll finally see her again.”

“I’m happy for you, Prince Levin,” she smiles.

“Don’t be happy for me. Be happy for her.”

“Deet'var… I hope I get to see her soon.”

“I’m sure you will. She always did like dramatic entrances… like a knight in shining armor. My knight in shining armor.”

35. Shining

“Urgh…” she groans, pressing her hand against her forehead. She’s had a splitting headache the entire day, and the intense training she’d just done didn’t help much.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” One of her subordinates questions worriedly.

“Do I look like I’m okay?” she snaps. “Get me more water, and then we’ll see.”

“Yes!” The pegasus knight scurries off, and Deet'var buries her face in her hands.

“Gods so help me now, I will murder someone if this continues…”

“Captain Deet'var!”

“Where the hell is my water!?” she growls irritably, rubbing her temple.

“Prince… Prince Levin! He’s come to Silesse with Sir Sigurd! Captain Fury is with them too!”

“Levin…?” she asks, then stumbles out of her chair and brushes past the woman giving the report. She rushes downstairs, her headache forgotten. Pamela, Daccar, and Maios look up at the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. Pamela nods.

“So, you’ve heard the news, have you?”

Finally, a shining light of hope at the end of the tunnel.

36. Cord

“Hey, Levin?” Sylvia asks one day, and he blinks, looking up.

“What is it, Sylvia?”

“What’s with that cord around your neck?”

“Oh, this?” he lifts the tattered black leather cord up. “It's… well, it was a gift.”

“Someone gave you a leather cord? Seems inconsiderate of them,” Sylvia comments.

“No, it had a pendant. It was rather beautiful, with glass colored to represent stars in the night sky. Unfortunately, it shattered a few years ago in the middle of a skirmish.”

“Why don’t you just toss out that cord then?”

Levin chuckles at that question. “I’m afraid I’ve grown so used to the damn thing around my neck, I found I couldn’t bear going on without it.”

Sylvia eyes the cord suspiciously. “Must have been some special gift.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “it sure was.”

He doesn’t want to think about how she had left him for the wrong side of history, how she had broken that unspoken promise behind that cord around his neck.

37. Cup

She looks into her cup, staring at her reflection shown in the alcohol inside the cup.

“Deet'var?” Pamela asks, and she starts.

“Sorry,” Deet'var murmurs, taking a sip. The drink burns her throat, but she pays it no heed. “What were you saying?”

“…Prince Levin. In Sailane.”

Deet'var fingers clench around the wooden cup of rum in her hand. “Yes. I know.”

Pamela narrows her eyes, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Deet'var,” she asks cautiously. “Are you certain you will stay on this side of the rebellion? I am not one to judge for cutting loose and running. Especially not you.”

“I am certain,” Deet'var murmurs, but she knows she hasn’t convinced Pamela, from the way Pamela’s eyes are slitted and the stiff posture she holds while sitting.

“I hate to do this, but…” Pamela stands, unsheathing her sword despite the cries of protest from the people around them. Deet'var watches blankly, knowing what will happen.

The blunt of Pamela’s blade touches her chin, the edge of the sword dangerously close to her neck.

“Now that I’ve made an oath, I will stick by it,” Deet'var vows, gripping her hand around the blade. She ignores the hissing pain where her hands accidentally slip against the blade, drawing blood.

“Good,” Pamela nods, and Deet'var removes her hand. Pamela sheathes her sword and sits back down. “Now, let’s get back to our discussion…”

By the time they leave the bar, there’s an empty wooden cup stained with Deet'var’s blood.

38. Touch

“Thanks!” Tiltyu runs her hands along her braid. “Wow, I didn’t know you were good at this kinda stuff, Levin!”

“I didn’t know either. I thought I’d forgotten it all,” he grins, humming as he reaches for the hair ornaments on the table beside him.

“Tiltyu!” Aideen appears in the open doorway, sighing with relief as she sees Tiltyu. “Thank you, Levin. You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem,” he smiles, then frowns as Tiltyu squirms. “Hold still. I’m not done yet.”

Tiltyu groans, but sits still. With a steady hand, Levin loops the braid into a tight bun, securing it with a white hairnet and a flower.

“There. How does it feel?” Levin asks.

“Better than when Aideen did it,” Tiltyu huffs, and Aideen sputters, her face red with embarrassment. Levin laughs.

“These kinds of things take practice, Tiltyu.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Tiltyu rolls her eyes. Aideen sighs, grabbing Tiltyu by the hand.

“Come on, now. We ought to do your makeup now.”

“What? Why?” Tiltyu complains as Aideen drags her out of her room.

“Why? It’s your wedding! You have to look pretty!”

“Oh, come on!” Tiltyu’s complaints drift away as she’s pulled away. Levin watches them fade away, running through the halls of Sailane. A sense of nostalgia overcomes him, and he looks down at his open hand.

He clenches his fist and misses the feeling of her pressed up beside him, the feel of her shoulder jammed into his tricep and her hair, entangled around his fingers as he combs through it.

39. Pouring rain

“It almost never rains in Silesse,” one of the women in her squadron notes, and Deet'var nods.

“Yes. We’re lucky to get rain instead of snow, especially considering the weather recently.”

“Well, it’s pouring outside, which is probably worse than snow, considering it’s going to freeze over,” another woman states, and there’s a collective groan. Deet'var chuckles, reaching for the buckles in her armor.

“Just stay inside. And whatever Pamela says when she comes over, do not go outside with her. She will push you into a snowbank and strap icicles to your armor.”

“Will Captain Pamela really do that?”

“Trust me,” Deet'var smiles, shedding her shoulder pads and shrugging off her breastplate. She sets them onto the shelves and tucks her lance against the weapon racks. Bidding her subordinates good night, she hurries up the stairs to her own room, where she slips off her boots and gets dressed for bed.

Lightly, she pulls the curtains open just a peak, pressing her hand against the window. The cold seeps against her hand, and she smiles, remembering the last time it rained.

“Good night, Levin,” she whispers, shutting the curtains behind her and slipping onto her bed.

It’s only when she’s drifting in and out of sleep, only then does she realize that today was her birthday.

40. Candlesticks

He’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling and watching the rain splash against his window, when he realizes it’s her birthday.

Levin jolts upwards immediately, running his hands through his hair. There was no way he could get anything to her, not in the few hours of night he has left. He groans, racking his brain to try and remember.

“Think, you idiot. How did we celebrate her birthday…”

His eyes drift to the lit candlestick on his bedside table, and his mind lights up. She’d always asked for a candle, no matter what she was getting. She’d blow it out, and smile at him, telling him her wish was always a secret.

With a trembling hand, he picks up the candlestick by the golden saucer and walks over to the window, standing in front of it.

He has no doubt she’s doing the same thing somewhere.

“For you, Deet'var…” he murmurs, staring up at the sky before blowing out the small candlestick in the golden saucer.

41. Cottage

“Thank you, Prince Levin!”

He flashes them a smile over his shoulder and hurries down the road. Sigurd turns at the sound of his footsteps.

“How did it go?”

“They seem to believe me. I can only hope they really do.” Levin chuckles, and Sigurd claps him on the shoulder.

“You’re their true prince. I’m sure you’re getting through to them,” Sigurd reassures, smiling.

The green-haired prince smiles back. “Thanks, Sigurd.”

“Of course. Go on, now. I’ll go to the houses in the town square. Why don’t you try the cottage over there?”

“Yeah. I’ll meet you in the town square then.”

“Alright.” Sigurd nods, and Levin rolls his shoulders, sighing as he sets his eyes on the cottage. Slowly but steadily, he walks forward, raising his knuckles to hit the door. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again.

He knocks on the door. “Sir? Miss? Anyone there? Please, you have to listen to me!”

The door creaks open, and a woman with a cloak and hood wrapped around her head and a cloth over her mouth peeks out. Her eyes widen as she spots Levin.

“You…” her voice is soft.

“Miss, please, listen to me. I’m-”

“Shut up, Levin,” she hisses, and her voice is somehow familiar. She reaches up, pulling the cloth from her mouth and pushing the hood off of her head. Familiar locks of green frame her high cheekbones and sharp jawline.

“Wha…” He’s struck speechless and shakes his head. “Is it really…”

“It’s me,” she smiles mischievously. Anger flares up in his chest, and he growls.

“What the hell?” Levin whispers angrily. “I thought you were siding with my uncle. What are you doing here!?”

“Is that how you respond when I risk my life to come see you?” Deet'var raises an eyebrow at the prince.

“You…” he flings his arms around her, and she stumbles backwards. “You idiot…”

“Levin…” she murmurs, and pries him off of her, holding him by his shoulders. She grins at the dumbstruck look on his face. “Let’s take this inside.”

42. Times are Changing

“I got reports that the troops in Thove are preparing to march. They’ll probably be here in a few weeks,” Sigurd says, and Levin nods.

“I’ve heard things like that from the villagers. I think it’d be best if we had stricter guarding policies. Perhaps have our soldiers guard alongside the pegasus knights.”

“Yes. I’ll make the announcement, then, and guard this afternoon.”

“Find two people to guard during the night. One until midnight, and then another to dawn.” Levin advises.

“Good idea.”

“Hey, Sigurd?”

“What is it?”

“Don’t you miss your home? We’ve been here for a year now. How haven’t you gotten homesick already? And… don’t you want to find Deirdre?”

Sigurd smiles bitterly. “I do. My whole heart is screaming for me to go back home, to find her and never let her go. But I know I must stay here, until I can resolve this mess.”

Levin offers him a smile and his fist. “Good on you, Sigurd.”

“Thank you,” Sigurd chuckles, bumping his fist against Levin’s. “Where are you going now?”

“I’m going to take the morning shift. I’ll be out on the watchtower if you need me.”

“Alright. I’ll see you, then.” Sigurd waves, and Levin grins as the blue-haired man leaves his side, making for the dining hall.

Levin trudges up the stairs, hurrying for the tallest spire of the castle. He enters the room, pulling the chair up behind him and sitting in it, pressing his hands against the binoculars on the windowsill. Slowly, he lets his mind drift away.

It’s been nine months. Nine months since he’d last seen her, and no word from her otherwise.

He sighs, holding his free hand in front of him and letting fire swirl to his palms.

A thump against the roof jolts him out of his thoughts, and he stands abruptly. He clenches his fist, extinguishing the flame and letting wind magic incantations flutter through his mind.

Gently, Levin pulls open the door to the balcony.

In that moment, a woman with green hair drops down from the roof.

He hesitates, and she stands, a grim look on her face. Levin couldn’t care less.

“It really is you,” he breathes.

“Yes,” she nods. He sighs with relief.

“Thank the gods,” the prince murmurs.

“Levin…” her eyes grow frantic, and she looks away.

“Deet'var? What’s wrong?”

“I…” Deet'var looks away, her eyes closing.

“What is it, Deet'var?” Levin asks. She doesn’t answer, and Levin bites his lip. “Please… tell me.”

“A daughter,” Deet'var murmurs softly. “I- we have a daughter.”

The gravity of her words slowly hit him. “I… I thought-”

“Turns out your so-called contraceptive didn’t work that well.” Deet'var laughs, but brushes the hair from her forehead. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way… Truly.”

“Have you… told anyone?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not obligated to. So I’ve chosen not to.”

“I see… Where is she?”

Deet'var’s face falls, and she bites the side of her lip. “She… She was given to a friend of mine. I can’t raise her.”

“What? Why?”

Deet'var purses her lips. “That's…” she shakes her head. “We can’t continue on like this.”

“Deet'var, if this is about your alliance with-”

“You can’t convince me otherwise.” Her voice grows cold, her eyes harden. “Times are changing, Prince Levin. Next we meet, we’ll be enemies.” She flies off, with only a feather drifting through the air to remember her by.

He doesn’t miss the look of sadness and longing smoldering in her eyes.

43. Diamond

“One more thing, Lord Maios. The rebel army appears to be arming themselves for battle.”

“Hm…” the man grumbles. “I see. You are dismissed.”

Deet'var gives him a slight curtsy before exiting the room, making her way through the hallways.

The soldiers who pass her make no attempt to offer her respect, but she nods to them either way. She winds her way through the castle, making for the apothecary’s room. The cramps seizing her stomach are to blame, and she walks quicker, hoping that they’ll go away.

“Captain Deet'var!” The apothecary smiles, and she offers a smile back.

“Thank you for everything,” Deet'var murmurs as he presses a vial of ground herbs into her hand.

“Of course, Captain Deet'var. I know you have suffered much. Physically and mentally.”

She doesn’t try to deny it. The soldiers gossip about her, whisper hateful rumors about her and her daughter, about who the father could possibly be. Her reputation is terrible, and the only women who believe her are her subordinates - the pegasus riders beneath her.

The apothecary smiles. “Go on, Captain Deet'var. I’m sure you will no doubt overcome this trial.”

“Thank you very much,” she bows respectfully before exiting the room.

Deet'var hurries to her own room, tucking the vial she received into the shelf of her drawer. She pauses, picking up the silver ring embedded with diamonds next to the vial.

A knock sounds against her door, and one of her subordinates calls, “Captain Deet'var? Do you need us to do anything?”

Normally, she’d be irritated with their insistence, but she opens the door.

“Yes, actually.”

“What is it?” The pegasus knight stands straight, ready for any order she gives them.

“Take this to Meriah. Tell her to give it to Misha,” Deet'var instructs, handing the woman the diamond ring.

“Yes, Captain!” The pegasus knight salutes before scampering off.

“Misha… Levin…” she whispers, her eyes closed, “Forgive me…”

44. Lanterns

“Parchment lanterns?” Sylvia inquires, her eyes sparkling.

“Won’t they burn?” Sigurd frowns.

Fury shakes her head. “They’re a special kind of parchment, made in Silesse. As long as the flame is small, it will not burn.” Her eyes glaze over, and she smiles. “They look beautiful, especially when the paper is cut to have shapes.”

“Do you regularly make these?” Sylvia asks.

Fury nods. “We often write prayers on the parchment.”

“I see. So that’s what Levin is scribbling over there.” Sigurd grins, and Levin shoots him a dirty look before continuing to write away.

“Yes.” Fury hesitates, but shakes her head. “We veered off topic. You wanted to speak about Silessian tactics, yes?”

“Well, now I’m more interested in Silessian culture,” Sigurd chuckles.

“It’s really not that interesting,” Levin shrugs, laying down his quill.

Sylvia watches with intrigued eyes as Levin takes the paper he’s writing on and folds it effortlessly. It transforms into a beautiful, spherical lantern, and Levin slips it over the small candle in front of him. Sylvia “ooh"s.

"It’s pretty…” the dancer leans over. “Who’d you write your prayer for?”

“Someone special,” Levin smiles, but Fury flinches at the pain-filled look in his eyes.

“Can’t you tell me?”

“Nope.”

“Aw, how boring…” Sylvia complains, but the boredom leaves her the moment Levin calls fire to his fingertip,

Slowly, he lowers his finger, letting the fire blossoming from his hand light the wick of the candle. Sylvia squeals in delight.

“How pretty!”

“It is rather pretty,” Sigurd agrees. His eyes are trained on the words circling the paper - Levin’s “prayer”.

The door bangs open, and everyone looks up.

“They’re attacking,” Lachesis breathes. Blood smears her cheek and there’s a dent in her armor.

Levin closes his eyes. “So it’s come to this, has it?”

45. Diversion

“You be the diversion, Levin!” Oifey orders from his place on Sigurd’s horse. “Defeat the enemy bishop, and lure out the Pegasus Knight squadron commander!”

“Will do!” Levin shouts over his shoulder, gripping his Elwind tome in his hand. He glances up at the sky briefly, and Fury looks down, nodding at him.

He smiles back and dashes forward. Levin lets the magic surge into his hand, and lets loose a powerful blast of wind magic. Before the enemy bishop has a chance to call for backup, he shoots another crescent of wind magic and the bishop falls to the snow-covered ground.

Levin brushes his cape behind him, his heart pounding in his ears as he races forward. A flash of a white pegasus catches his eye, and he turns. Over his head, Deet'var swoops down above him, drawing her sword.

“Deet'var! Stop! Please, we can talk this out!” Levin urges, but the answer she gets freezes his heart.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, shaking her head.

“Wait! What do you mean!?” Levin yells, but she’s already digging her heels into her pegasus’s side, spurring it forward. He blocks the wind rushing at his face with his arms, watching her fly away. An attack of dread seizes him and he starts to yell, but it’s too late.

Two golden arrows shoot through the sky. They both pierce through her chest.

46. How?

How could this happen? How could it come to this?

He’s screaming before he can realize it, collapsing to his knees and arms, burying his face in his hands so he doesn’t have to watch her corpse fall to the ground.

“No… No, no, no…” Levin shakes his head, his eyes screwed shut with disbelief. “It can’t be…”

“Prince Levin…” Fury’s voice breaks through his reverie, and she presses a gentle hand on his shoulder. He lifts his head, his hands clenched into fists and his head turned away.

“It can’t be, Fury. I don’t want to believe it, she can't… I…” he shakes his head. “No, it can’t be true! Tell me it’s not true, Fury!”

He lifts his gaze to meet hers, but the devastated look in her eyes gives him a thousand answers and more.

“I see,” Levin murmurs, then tilts his head back and looks at the sky. “So…”

Fury has nothing to say, and her fingers clench tight around her wrist.

“Fury?” Sigurd’s voice breaks the silence that settles between them.

“Lord-” Fury cuts herself off with a loud gasp. “How did you…”

“She was one of your old comrades. I thought she deserved to be in your arms at the very least,” Sigurd answers gently, and Levin lets his head fall forward and gaze upon the corpse of Deet'var.

He’s stunned speechless, and Fury wipes her eyes as Sigurd leaves, her arms wrapped around Deet'var.

“Prince Levin,” she gulps, kneeling in front of him.

“Her body… it’s really…” he stretches out his arms, and she places Deet'var into his grasp. Levin draws her closer, pressing her head against his chest and looping an arm around her shoulders and his other under her legs.

“Fury…”

“Yes?”

“Did it… hurt? When she…” he trails off and lets her fill in the blanks.

“No. It was painless,” Fury murmurs. She lays a gentle hand against Deet'var’s shoulder, leaning in to press her forehead gently against Deet'var’s. “I will miss you…”

Fury pulls away and stands up. “Prince Levin… her corpse… I should take it Thove.”

“I know,” he murmurs bitterly. He looks down, resting his fingers against her peaceful face. He brushes strands of tangled hair from her forehead, his hands tensing up at the feeling of coldness beneath his fingertips. “I’m sorry, Deet'var…”

He leans down, his eyes fluttering shut as he presses a gentle kiss against her lips.

Slowly, Levin stands, his hand tightening around her arms and legs. He stares blankly at her closed eyes, the peaceful look on her face imprinted in his mind.

“Deet'var… Goodbye,” he whispers, lifting her up in his arms and giving one final lingering kiss. Her lips are cold, and he pushes the corpse into Fury’s arms, turning away. He hears her pegasus take off, and the wind beats him from behind.

“How did it come to this…?” he asks himself, wiping at his eyes even though he knows there are no tears there.

47. Reminder

He looks himself over in the long mirror framed in golden curls, his eyes bleak and hands tense.

“Prince Levin?” Fury asks gently, her voice muffled from behind the large wooden doors.

“Must I go?” he asks softly, but he knows the answer he will get and sighs. Adjusting the coat on his shoulders, he opens the door.

Fury purses her lips when she sees the blank and lost look buried deep in his eyes.

“Prince Levin…”

“I’m fine, Fury.”

They both know it’s a lie, but there’s nothing either of them can do about it.

A flash of silver behind Fury’s back catches his eye, and Levin frowns.

“Fury, what are you hiding behind your back?”

She bites her lip, looking away. “Forgive me. I did not mean to hide it, but…” her hands fall to the side, “I had hoped to give it to you after the funeral.”

In her hands is a silver sword, held in a leather sheath with swirls of wind painted in green. There are bloodstains, splattered irregularly over the leather and along the handle of the sword.

“…Put it… in my room,” he chokes out. “I’ll give it to her… when I’m ready.”

48. Putting it to rest.

Levin grips the silver sword tight in his hands. The open black coffin in Thove’s courtyard stares back at him.

Fury follows behind him hesitantly. Tensely, she asks, “Are you sure you don’t want any flowers to go along with it, Prince Levin? Many lovers are sent off with flowers, are they not?”

Levin smiles bitterly. “She was a woman of the sword, not the clichés.”

Fury just nods, a sad and understanding smile on her face.

Sigurd turns back to them from his place in front of the coffin, glancing at Levin.

“Levin?” Sigurd asks, and Levin steps forward, the sword in his hand weighing heavily in his grip.

“Sigurd… could I… see the body for a moment?”

“Of course,” Sigurd steps back from the coffin, glancing over his shoulder at the prince. Fury steps forward.

“He came with the intent of putting that sword to rest.”

“That sword?” Sigurd asks.

“It was Deet'var’s,” Fury murmurs. “Deet'var and Levin…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

Levin ignores their conversation, walking up the stairs to the platform where the coffin is. It’s open, and he looks in. He can feel his hands tightening around the sheathed sword, his teeth gritting together.

He’s never seen Deet'var look so weak, so helpless.

The wounds that took her life stare back at him, two gaping puncture wounds just below her chestplate, two arrows angled upwards to pierce right through her heart.

She would have died no matter what he’d done.

Slowly, he lays the sheathed sword at her side, withdrawing his hands to stare at her closed eyes, her sharp eyebrows and slim lips.

She’ll never smile again, she’ll never laugh again.

She’ll never know how he loved her.

“Damn it!” Levin smashes his fist against the coffin, and Sigurd jolts, turning to look at him. Fury stares over his shoulder at the prince who has collapsed to his feet.

“Prince Levin?” She asks hesitantly.

“Damn it… Damn it all!” Levin screams, scrambling to his feet and dashing blindly through the castle hallways.

49. Artifact

The wind batters the windows of Deet'var’s old room, and he pulls his curtains shut.

The blue sky reminds him too much of that missing piece of his soul, those pegasi that shed feathers remind him too much of a gone girl, a woman who’s never coming back.

Slowly, he backs away from his covered windows, stumbling backwards. He ends up on his back on his bed, lying in layers of blankets staring up at the ceiling with a blank look in his eyes.

“Levin?” Sylvia’s voice floats through his door, and he turns on his side, back facing the door.

“Not now,” he responds flatly.

“You haven’t come out of her room for days though…” Sylvia whimpers. “I’m worried that-”

“Leave him alone,” a harsh female voice interrupts Sylvia. It’s Lachesis, and Levin knows why she’s standing up for him.

He doesn’t want anyone’s pity though, and he growls, “Both of you, go away.”

“Come on, Sylvia.”

“Hey, wait! Let go of me!” Footsteps stutter away from his door, and Sylvia’s protesting voice gets softer. Levin rolls over, burying his face in his blankets.

“Deet'var…” he bites his lip to keep himself from screaming, hard enough that he can taste the crimson blood beading on his lower lip. He resorts to sitting up, grabbing a pillow from the head of the bed and throwing it across the room.

“Why!?” he cries, grabbing at his green locks with his hands and shaking his head furiously. He’s breathing hard, curling up into himself. “Why…”

Slowly he unravels himself and moves to pick up the pillow he’d lobbed across the room, but stops upon realizing where the pillow is lodged. Slowly, he moves the pillow away from the drawer and lays his hands against the metal handle, slowly pulling the drawer open.

Inside is a pristine, wooden guitar, fashioned from the hands of experts and played only by Deet'var.

“It’s still here…” Levin whispers, then chuckles. “Remember this?” he says as if he’s asking Deet'var, gently reaching into the shelf of the drawer.

Slowly, he takes the guitar from the dark and musty space, dusting it off. He stands up and walks away, pulling open the door and then shutting it behind him as he steps outside for the first time in however long he can think of.

50. “Still My Guitar Gently Weeps.” ~~George Harrison

“Will he be alright?” Sigurd asks gently, glancing through the columns of the palace at the green-haired man in the courtyard, strumming away at his guitar.

Fury turns to look at him, a grim look on her face. “They loved each other, so I don’t know if he will be… but I can only hope so.”

There’s a troubled look in her eyes, and Sigurd glances over her head at Levin.

“…I’m worried about him,” Fury murmurs.

Sigurd lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I know. Go get some sleep. I’ll look after him for tonight.”

“Thank you, Lord Sigurd.” Fury nods, giving him a small smile and casting a final look over her shoulder at the prince of Silesse before walking away.

Sigurd waits for her to enter the palace before stepping forward, approaching Levin from behind. The green-haired man doesn’t notice his presence until Sigurd sits beside the bard, a concerned gaze on his face.

“Levin…”

“Sigurd,” Levin murmurs, his fingers plucking mindlessly at the strings on his guitar. His eyes are downcast, an anguished look in his eyes. “Here to console me? Or chide me about my choice in love?”

“Neither,” Sigurd reassures, smiling. “Keep playing. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Levin chuckles, but it’s a low chuckle, a melancholy and sad one. “If you insist.”

There’s an awkward moment of silence, but Levin presses his fingers against the bar of strings, picking chords in front of the hole in the wood. He adjusts his hand every time, going deeper and deeper in pitch until he can go no more. Then he stops and sighs, gently plucking chords to a beat only he can hear. Sigurd tilts his head.

“I recognize that song.”

“You do?” Levin asks, and the tone of his voice make him seem like he’s surprised.

“Yes. I don’t remember from where though…”

“It’s called Dance in the Skies. My mother played it for me many times as I grew up in the castle. It was… It was Deet'var’s favorite.”

“Oh…”

“We loved each other,” Levin murmurs. “I swore a long time ago, I’d never cry. Still, my guitar gently weeps for me…”

He whispers over the gentle strum of his guitar, and tells Sigurd about her gifts and his, about their tales together.

By the time the moon has risen over their heads and blood falls off his fingers from the strings of the guitar, Levin can feel Deet'var’s presence beside them, and the tears he’s buried in himself come to see the moonlight.

#fire emblem #fire emblem 4 #fe4 #fire emblem: genealogy of the holy war #Levin #Deet'var #Fury #Mahnya #Pamela #Rahna #Sigurd #Jugdral #avietta writes #avietta writes fire emblem

5 notes · View notes

astxlphe · 7 years

Text

5 Things Tag

Tagged by @simply-m-a-d

5 Things you’ll find in my bag:

1. My wallet

2. My keys.

3. A book. Two if I have the room. It depends on the bag.

4. My phone.

5. A fidget cube (it’s my bag’s newest resident, but I don’t have it with me during the holidays)

5 Things in my bedroom:

1. A huge mess.

2. Too many funko pop figurines.

3. Books. Books everywhere.

4. Piles of papers, a mix of assignment, story ideas and random drawings

5. A small cheap replica of the horcrux locket from HP (you know those small things that come with a sticker book??) It’s made of plastic and isn’t Noble Collection or anything but I like it.

5 Things I’ve always wanted to do:

1. Write a story that makes sense

2. Learn Russian (Why Russian? No clue)

3. Study everything?? Why does everything look so interesting.

4. Going to HP World in the US

5. Get a cat

5 Things that make me happy:

1. Reading

2. Drawing

3. Making characters suffer Writing stories :)

4. Doctor Who (DOO WEE OO)

5. Playing video games (I’m pretty shitty at it though)

5 Things that I’m currently into:

1. D. Gray-man

2. Voltron Legendary Defenders

3. LoZ, I’m currently playing Majora’s Mask (finally got my hands on it)

4. Fire Emblem! I only have two games (FE Awakening and FE Fates Birthright) but I love it. I’m not really good at it though

5. Harry Potter. I’m never not into Harry Potter

5 Things on my to-do list:

1. Finding a psychologist.

2. Drawing more facial expressions and backgrounds

3. Developing more AUs and stories

4. Finishing The Gunslinger because I got distracted by my new games

5. Getting ready to go back to class

Tagging: I never talk to you but I like you so please bear with me @linzanytcg @apeironstella (you don’t have to do it sorry for bothering you) Also anyone who wants to do it, go ahead :)

#tagged #5 things tag #about me #no one cares but still #haha #thanks for tagging me!

3 notes · View notes

ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

[RF] Dear Brother

WARNING! THIS SHORT STORY CONTAINS FOUL LANGUAGE AND SOME SCENES THAT THE READER MAY FIND DISTURBING. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

[Author's Note] This was a short story I wrote when I was a junior in high school. Looking back, I love it, mistakes and all. It was an assignment given, and my teacher said I had made her cry, and she had given me full points. It's currently in development of an adaptation into a short film with the help of my friend's studio. I hope you enjoy!

The smell of the preservative burned his nostrils, the dank, musty smell of the fetal pig made Andrew’s stomach churn, and separating the intestines only made it feel like his breakfast was beginning to crawl up his esophagus. The sweat rolling down his brow only intensified as he continued to separate the intestines, and occasionally cut the mesentery with the fine edge of a scalpel. Scat from the intestines would pour out onto his plastic apron, and he’d wipe it off with the backside of his glove and onto a paper towel. “Hey Raye!” a thunderous voice shouted from a few feet behind Andrew. Andrew turned, only to be hit with a mass of intestines, sending blood and scat in seemingly every direction. Andrew’s stomach churned as the stinging smell of the preservatives, scat, and blood hit the chemoreceptors in his nose, and his breakfast began to rapidly travel up his esophagus, and through his pharynx, and the mass of food and bile was expelled from his mouth, and poured all over the mass of intestines and all over his Khakis. As a wave of sickness began to spread like wildfire in the classroom, the teacher ran over to young Andrew Raye, and escorted him to the nurses office. As he was leaving the classroom, he noticed that Wilson Sidd, the kid who had continued to bully him throughout his years in elementary and middle school, and throughout his freshman year in high school, gave him a sly smile. Andrew, now sitting in the nurse's office drinking water and recalling the previous events to himself, the school nurse came in with his belongings, along with a change of clothes from his P.E. locker, which smelled of sweat and grime. In silence, the nurse gave him his clothes, and he walked into the restroom, where he changed out of his outfit, which was now covered in blood, vomit, and pig scat. He looked at himself in the mirror, wondering how someone could bully an innocent, introverted boy such as himself. He looked at his fine, medium length brown hair, his small, weak, wimpy frame, and his semi-defined baby-face. He stared at the reflection of his own, piercing blue eyes, eyes which he got from his mother, and admired them. He saw himself as cute and handsome, but in a humble way rather than a narcissistic way, unlike Sidd. As he walked out in his black shorts with the Harlem High emblem printed on the bottom right leg, as well as on his grey t-shirt with mint green dye, he grabbed his stuff and asked the nurse if he could leave. “Are you still feeling sick? We can call your parents, and we can get you home if you’re still sick.” “No thanks, I think it was just the intestines from the fetal pig, it was really gross. But I really do appreciate the offer, I think I’ll be okay.” He smiled at the nurse. “Okay then, well I’ll just write you a note so you can get back to class, yes?” “Of course.”

2. Andrew, note in hand, walked out of the nurses office, with his photodegraded Jansport backpack, he made his way toward his next class, knowing that the bell would ring any second now. As the bell rung, he galloped faster and faster toward his Social Studies class. He was suddenly shoved forward, and fell in the crowded hallway, and as he was getting up, he had his left hand stomped on twice, leading to the constant, throbbing pain that continued to haunt him throughout the rest of the school day. As he entered the classroom 130-B, he put in his airpods, and pulled out his phone. He opened up spotify and began to stream Nujabes. The peaceful sound of lo-fi hip hop began to flow through his ears, and soon after, the soothing, emotional rapping of the artist Shing02 began to produce a warm wave of happiness and calmness. As he sat down in his seat, he began to produce a notebook and a pen from his bag. As he opened the nearly pageless spiral notebook to an empty page, he began to write in his messy cursive.

Dear Brother, How are you? I know it has been awhile since we talked, but I just wanted to check up on you. I’ve really missed you, and could really use your advice right now. I’ll probably just deal with it, I know you’ve been busy. I hope you are doing well, Momma and I miss you terribly, and we hope to hear from you soon. Your Favorite Brother, Andrew Oliver Raye As the words from his mind flowed through his hand, into the pen, and into the smooth, thick ink from the nib of his fountain pen, he finished his letter to his Brother, Oliver. When his mind began to fade into reality, and out of his own world, he quickly became aware of his teacher, Mr. Williams, was staring at his profile, with a passive aggressive look. “Mr. Raye, do you know why you’re failing this course?” He aggressively whispered. “No, sir.” Andrew replied, straight-faced. “It’s probably because instead of doing your work, you’re out playing around with girls and writing them sappy love letters. How about you put that away, that way you can work on what you need to, putting you on the path to actually graduating High School?” “Yes sir.” As Mr. Williams walked away, the voice in Andrew’s head spoke his feelings. “Officious little prick.”

3. Andrew found himself sitting alone underneath the shade of a big tree on this seemingly awful spring day during his lunch break. After the events of not only getting bullied by his peers, but his instructors as well, the neurons in his brain fired, bursts of electricity shot rapidly through his head, like a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier. His mind was processing the previous events, and the other events preceding them. He sat there, suffocating in his own isolation, while trying to keep calm and convince himself that everything would turn out alright. He hated where he was at in his life. He missed his brother terribly, and thought about him everyday, even though he knew that he would be coming back. His only true friend, gone, like a leaf in the wind, carried away. He still had his mother, but after his brother had left, their relationship had become distant. The same could be said about his group of friends, although due to the underlying drama within his friend group, his choice to leave didn’t phase him much. As Andrew sat, peacefully eating his apple and drinking his water from his HydroFlask, he noticed someone walking toward him. A sense of animosity overcame him, almost as if he was cringing watching him with his lumbering stride. “Andrew, we need to talk.” “Hi Casey.” Andrew responded dryly. “Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” “What do you care?” “Because I’m your friend.” “I’ve just been busy.” “No you haven’t, why aren’t you returning my calls?” “I just don’t wanna talk to anybody right now.” “Listen dude, I’m your best friend—” “I’m sorry, when the fuck did you care?” “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you serious right now? I’ve been your best friend since the 3rd grade, and now one day after a ‘fun’ vacation you just stop talking to me? You cut off the entire friend group, led on Natalie and shat on everyone else, and your excuse is that you just dont wanna talk?” “I can do whatever I want.” “Is this a joke to you? Do you just find fun in hurting the feelings of other people? Do you know the kind of shit I go through? Who the hell am I supposed to talk to? I’ve never met anybody in this world that actually gives a shit about me until I finally had the courage to tell someone, and that person is you, and you’ve helped me every single time I asked for it, and now when you’re in trouble you cut everyone off? What kind of sense does that make?” “Can you just shut the fuck up? Leave me alone, I don’t wanna talk to you.” “Get off your ass and come down here.” “Why?” “Because I wanna have a face to face conversation where I don’t have to look up at you and feel like--” “No, leave me alone Casey.” “Andrew seriously come down here now.” “You’re not the boss of me, I can do whatever I want.” Casey felt the rage slowly building throughout the conversation, and anger has continued to gradually speed up, like bubbles from a bottle of champagne. Now the bubbles had made their way to the backside of the cork. Casey began to lose control, and now the anger began to physically manifest itself in the form of his fists clenched together, making his knuckles white, and the veins in his neck and forehead beginning to protrude through his skin. Without thinking, fueled by his unrelenting anger, he began to walk up the grassy hill toward an unsuspecting Andrew, who went back down to thinking and eating his apple. Mindlessly, he grabbed Andrew and pulled him up to his feet by his shirt.

Andrew dropped his apple from his right hand and out of pure instinct, he clenched his small boney hand into a fist, and swung as hard as he could at Casey, making him lose his grasp and drop Andrew. Before Casey could return the favor, another student came up to them and separated them, not seeing Andrew’s previous swing and thinking that they were about to get in a physical altercation.

“What the hell are you guys doing? Quit trying to fight each other and piss off!”

Casey stormed off as the other student finished his lecture, and Andrew heard the sharp piercing bell go off as his peers left his side. He grabbed his stuff and packed up, and continued onto his next class.

4. Andrew’s mind began to race as he was processing the situation, he was scared, no beyond scared. Andrew was terrified. He had simply been wandering down the street, and he had looked up from his phone, only to see Wilson Sidd standing against the brick wall of a Harlem apartment. He tried to look down at the ground as he walked past, but it failed to trick Sidd. Andrew felt a strong yank from the back of his backpack, and he fell to the ground like a brick. After trying to get up, he was met with a large, matte black boot forcing him down to the ground and grinding into his chest. “Hey you little faggot!” Sidd exclaimed, his hyena-like grin stretching across his face into a disturbing expression. His face and his shaggy brown hair had struck fear into Andrew ever since he was a kid. Andrew always thought he looked like a hyena with his evil smile and his large ears, skinny face, and beady eyes. His slim, muscular build made him tower over Andrew, and his strength had always been the scariest part of him, especially if you were on the receiving end, as Andrew had been in his years in elementary and middle school. As Sidd’s boot continued to put pressure on his sternum, saliva and mucus made its way forcefully onto Andrew’s face from Sidd’s mouth. The pain and pressure from Sidd’s boot continued to increase, and Andrew began to scream. Suddenly, a deep, masculine voice yelled at Sidd from a few feet away. “HEY KID! PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE! GET THE HELL OFF HIM!” the man screamed angrily at Sidd. Sidd looked down at Andrew, and spat on him one last time as he fled the scene. Andrew began to get up and wipe the spit off of his face, and as he was doing so, his bones groaned in protest. “You alright kid?” The samaritan asked. “Yeah, just a little shaken.” “You gotta learn how to fight, someone might not be there next time, go to the gym and show him who’s boss.” “Thanks man, I really appreciate it.” Andrew shook the man’s hand, and the two departed. 5. Andrew painfully made his way toward the Douglas Park Apartment building, and walked in, taking the elevator to the 3rd floor. He made his way down the hall, and he found apartment 308. He clumsily fumbled the keys from his bag, and the pain in both his hand and sternum radiated through his body as he tried to enter. He unlocked the door, and threw his bag on the floor. The apartment was messy with trash and clothes. Pictures of his athletic father and brother, David Jesse Raye, and Oliver David Raye, were hanging all over the walls. He walked over to his cluttered living room, and passed out on the couch. Andrew was awoken by his mother, telling him to get ready. The woman was in her late 40’s, her curly brown hair had streaks of grey, and the wrinkles on her face weren’t quite pronounced, but very much noticeable. Andrew noticed she had been wearing a black dress and heels, along with a black overcoat. “Mom, where are we going?” Andrew asked, sleepily. “Trinity.” She responded, in a monotone manner. “Okay, I’ll be back in a minute Ma.” Andrew made his way to his small, cramped room down the hall of his apartment, and he went to his desk. In the bottom drawer, he grabbed a mass of letters, about 300 to be exact, which were all held together in a bundle with the help of a large rubber band. Andrew undressed from his P.E. Uniform, and he threw on a wrinkled black dress shirt, and slacks, along with a pair of black dress shoes. He then grabbed his black overcoat and black trilby. He returned to his front door where his mother was waiting for him in silence. Andrew stared at the the names engraved into the marble in the mausoleum. Pain rushed through his system, and tears began to well up at the corner of his eyes. The names, on top of each other, read; David Jesse Raye - August 23, 1972-September 30, 2016 and Oliver David Raye - June 22, 1992-May 12, 2018

Andrew placed the bundle of letters in the steel vase attached to the marble plate, and he noticed that the most recent letter on top read, 05/13/19. One year, he thought to himself. His mind couldn’t help it and it took him back to that night. Andrew had been hacking up a nasty case of influenza in his bedroom and his brother was looking for some cold medicine. After informing Andrew that there wasn’t any, Andrew asked Oliver if he could go down to the convenience store and buy some, and initially Oliver refused, he said it was too late. But Andrew begged him to, and he eventually gave in. Oliver made his way out of the apartment, and later, Andrew awoke to police knocking at his door. They had explained that the store that Oliver went to was robbed, and the cashier, Oliver, and another civilian were shot. Oliver and the Cashier were killed instantly. Tears began to well up in Andrew’s eyes, and he was transported by his thoughts from the past back to the present. What am I doing? His mind spoke to him as he stood there in silent emotional pain. Why am I here? Why is this happening? What is wrong with me? Was it really my fault? Yes… it's all your fault. It’s your fault that Oliver is dead. It’s all your fault. His mind was arguing with itself, and suddenly, a rush of calm went over hm. He stopped crying. Although his mind was still enveloped in darkness, he wasn’t panicking. A dark thought rushed into his head like a car going 90 down the highway. Andrew, in terrifying silence, walked calmly and swiftly back to his Mom’s car and waited for her.

6. After a car ride of silence, Andrew made his way home with his mother. His mother had made his favorite dinner meal to try and cheer him up after their visit to the cemetery. As he and his mother ate at the dinner table, it seemed as though all of Harlem was silent in mourning with the two Rayes. As the two both finished their dinner, they departed to their separate rooms. Andrew laid down on his bed and began to cry. The empty walls seemed to scream at him, and the silence in all of Harlem pushed him closer to what seemed like his impending doom. Andrew cried and cried, until his tear glands lacked the ability to produce tears. After he had nothing left to cry, the darkness that had been circling his mind since his cemetery visit swooped in. Andrew’s hands found their way into his desk drawer. He fished around and found what he was looking for. He pulled out a pocket knife with a red handle, and a black textured rubber grip in the center of each red plastic slate. With a swift flick of his wrist, the knife opened, and the razor sharp blade gleamed with the light of his beautiful sunset showing through his window. Andrew’s thumb ran itself along the fine edge of the blade, and it cut through his thumb, and blood began to slowly drip down his hand and onto his wood floor. His mind spoke softly to itself. Satisfying… it said. Do it. No. Do it. Don’t. Do it. Andrew please... Do it. It wasn’t your fault Andrew. It is your fault. It was. Yes. Do it. I’m gonna do it Yes… Andrew don’t. Mom needs you, your friends need you! Put the knife down. No. Don’t listen to it. It’s better off this way. Andrew quit it! None of us blame you! Remember how much we loved you! Damn it Andrew! Don’t listen to it! ANDREW PUT IT DOWN! YOU’RE WORTHLESS! NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOU! THAT’S A LOAD OF BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT ANDREW!! DO IT! DO IT YOU LITTLE FAGGOT! ANDREW DON’T! PUT IT DOWN, I NEED YOU TO REMEMBER! DO IT ALREADY!!! ANDREW REMEMBER WHAT I SAID TO YOU ON YOUR FIRST DAY!

Andrew’s mind silenced itself, and he recalled a distant memory. Andrew remembered being driven to the front of Democracy Prep Charter Middle School in East Harlem. After a car ride filled with songs from Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly, he and Oliver had finally arrived. “Alright bud, this is where you get off.” He said in his usual, happy tone. “But what if I get beat up again?” “Listen, you need to fight back.” “But mom said--” “Forget what Mom said. If you don’t do anything to shut it down, its gonna keep happening.” “I guess…” “Listen, life has a funny way of doing things. There will be times when life throws crap at’cha. In those times, you have to fight for what you need. I love ya bro, I gotta leave, tell me how it goes when you get home, yeah?” “Yeah, for sure. Thanks bro.” And with a quick fist bump, Oliver had drove away in his 2002 Corolla. Andrew was brought back from his mind and into reality, and he found himself holding the knife on his wrists, ready to cut swiftly upward to end his own life. Andrew out of pure shock dropped the knife and began to cry.

7. Andrew woke up to the painful sound of his alarm the next morning, and began to get ready for the day. As Andrew walked out of his apartment with his coffee, the words of his brother echoed through his mind. You have to fight for what you need. As Andrew recalled the previous events to himself, he noticed a kid in a black hoodie with a familiar, Hyena like grin. Sidd hit his travel mug upward, splashing hot coffee onto Andrew face, making him scream. Andrew tried to wipe off the remnants of the coffee from his face when he received a bony fist to the gut. Andrew hurled over, and fell to his knees. “Hello again, faggot.” Sidd’s grin stretched across his face like a madman. “F-fu-huck y-you S-Sidd.” Andrew responded in a shaky voice. “What did you just say to me?” “You heard me… faggot…” Andrew grinned for a moment, but it was wiped clean off his face when a kick from Sidd sent him rolling on the sidewalk. Andrew’s nose began to bleed, and he got up. You have to fight, he thought. Okay! Andrew clenched his fists, and as Sidd was approaching to strike him again, Andrew hit him as hard as he could right in the jaw. Sidd staggered back, and grew even angrier as he charged at Andrew. He swung and missed, and Andrew countered with a knee to the gut. Out of instinct, Sidd elbowed him and as Andrew staggered, he kneed him in the gut, and as he hurled over, punched him in the jaw, sending his head looking straight up. Andrew fell on the ground unconscious, and Sidd continued to pummel him.

8. Andrew awoke in the hospital, pain surged from all over his body periodically like a wave. He realized that the painkillers he was on were wearing off, and he called the nurse. After drifting in and out of consciousness for what seemed like an eternity, he finally managed to find his way back into reality. He sat up in his hospital bed and saw his mother. His mother began to cry, and Andrew comforted her in his arms. Andrew had to stay in the hospital for three days. Sidd had broken his nose, left arm, and a false rib. Andrew later found out that Sidd had been spotted by a police officer, and had been arrested. As Andrew sat alone in his room thinking of his victory, a girl walked in. Andrew became confused. This wasn’t his nurse, or anyone he knew, it was just some random girl. “Hey…?” “Hi. My name’s Emily! My mom is in the room across the hall, and she told me what happened with you. She said you don’t get many visitors, so I thought maybe I’d say hi, since she also told me we were around the same age.” A pleasant smile came across her face. “Thanks, that means a lot! I don’t have many friends, so it's good to meet a new person! I’m Andrew.” “Hi Andrew!” Andrew and Emily continued to talk through his hospital stay. Everyday she went to go see both her mother and Andrew. Andrew felt at peace. He had finally gotten what he had so desperately needed; a friend. After a few months, they began dating. Andrew thought about marrying her often. I wonder who I would have as my best man… Oliver came into Andrew’s mind. A wave of depression rushed over him. Andrew had stopped writing the letters, and hasn’t visited his final resting place in almost a year.He began to recall the events leading up to meeting Emily, and he remembered his flashback. He remembered the voices. At the time he had never pieced it together why he was stopping himself, but he now realized that it wasn’t his voice that was battling the suicidal thoughts.

Andrew realised that the voice belonged to Oliver David Raye.

submitted by /u/dadakin [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2FJSh4q

#Blogger #Story

0 notes