#and anything set in the palace is just. pure yellow

[unityrain24]

out of all the thor movies, i think tdw definitely had the best hair/makeup. I was about to say best costuming to, but thor 1 had some pretty fucking awesome costumes. Tdw just had better lighting so you actually see the costumes

[lowkeyclueless5137]

Palace of faiytales(1)

:D

Back at it again :3

This time with the continuation of the first palace along with our very first awakening.

What we will follow is:

-the first palace navigation

-who is the owner of the palace

-the very first awakening

-how tf do they get out before they hit the bucket

4 bullet points! And all of them will be shot! :3 Pun intended

For the awakening, we will have a fully written fic segment... So I will mark it down for just a tiny bit of gore. (cuz persona summoning in P5 is *inhales* surely SOMETHING)

Now onto the the palace exploration!

Leaving from where we left: Entering the castle to ask what is going on. Riddle confused in general while Ortho just knows they will end up as rat food.

The inside was just as glamorous as the outside. Pure white walls, decorated with gold and gems. Tall collums, motifs and arhitectures akin to the renesance period, portraits of people dressed like royalty. The center piece was, of course, a gigantic painting of a prince on a white horse holding a sword as birds and critters seemed to venerate him. The painting was at the top of a big white and gold marble staircase, which was covered with a red velvety carpet.

So talk about extra. -3-

Ortho notes how the prince in the painting looks like Neige. Riddle points out that it is indeed Neige as the gold plaque at the bottom of the painting's frame says.

But their chatter gets interrupted by a heavy armoured guard, going towards them. Ortho just knows that they need to hit the road, but our oh so clueless Riddle decides to freaking ask them for directions. Ortho is just palmfacing bc 'it's basic movie logic, goddammit'.

Unfortunately... Riddle isn't that familiar with movies. x'3

Ortho pulls out Riddle right before a guard almost chops his head off with the sword. Riddle's response really was "well that isn't nice". He is firmly convinced this is a great prank while Ortho is the sane one and just wants to get out of there in one piece with his big bro's lunch.

But they get knocked out by the guards! Because those were 4-6 guards and they were only 2 boyos with no kind of self defence mechanism other than the flight or fight response, which unfortunately it was set on flight.

Cue waking up in a cell!

Riddle woke up on the bed while ortho was looking around for anything he could use to escape. Noticing the other was awake, Ortho came to check on him. Riddle felt the blood that was trailing off his own forehead, to which ortho explained that it was real. The school was now a castle and they were thrown in the dungeons. Ortho faked unconscious so he could see exactly which way they were dragged in here, so now they had an escape route, while Riddle was knocked out with a sword bottom.

Ortho did rummage through his bag, getting out a roll of bandages, hurrying to bandage the wound, but he dropped the roll in surprise when the door to their cell was slammed open and the guards came in, telling them that their sentence was decided to be: death.

At this, of course Riddle jolted up, but his head wound made him to be a bit dizzy. Ortho decided to play nice and beg to be let go, as one of them is wounded and they just so happened to be lost.

But that is when someone else enters the room. A princely attire, all in satin and velvet, with gold jewelry and a big gold crown with gems on it. Add to it the oxblood cape with white puff at the collar. He was a prince, no doubt as the guards all bowed before him.

But it was Neige, with wicked, glowing, yellow eyes looking at them like they were mere inconveniences.

~~~~(Tw for blood and decapitation)~~~~

"So... These 2 mere peasants came into my castle... Demanding to leave?" Neige purred in a doubled, elderich voice that both was and wasn't his. Ortho clenched his fists. "Should've known it was you behind this... LeBlanche..." he spat. "I know who you really are... You BASTARD!"

THUD! CLANK!

Ortho had his air knocked out of his lungs as one of the guards slammed him into a wall with their shield. The blue and black haired boy groaned as he tried to rise from the ground, weakly. "Speaking ill of the prince it's unforgiveable! Villain!" One of the guards boomed.

Riddle groaned, wobbling on his feet too. "Let us leave... This isn't fair..." He mumbled. The prince only smiled, amused of the display before him. With a delicate motion of a gloved hand, the guards immediately pinned ortho to the wall by grabbing him by the shoulders, despite him trying his best to oppose.

"Let me give you some advice before your execution... For I am so generous today..." The prince mused, as a few other guards grabbed Riddle and slammed him to the opposite wall from Ortho. Pulling out his gold sword with jewelry on the handle, Neige pointed it towards Riddle's neck, oh so close to cutting through the skin. The redhead's head was throbbing with pain as the blood trailed down his face slightly, the sloppy bandages already a dark crimson.

"This world... Is rotten... And only the cruellest of them all can survive. Everyone runs for fame and power. Everyone wants to be the hero. But in this world... The real hero is the Villain... And what does the Villain get?" Neige trailed as Riddle felt the cold metal against his chin. He exhaled, closing his eyes, tears ready to spill, although he tried to keep them out from going outside. The pain in his body was demanding his attention more than anything.

"You got my message it seems..." Neige smiled as he turned towards Ortho. "Black hair with dye in it. Big eyes, probably needs glasses, headphones and quite bad mouthed... No doubt this is a Kitagawa." the prince mused. The guards raised their swords, waiting for the prince's order.

"Just like your idiotic brother... You will end up at my mercy... That bastard keeps slipping away... But you are younger... You are naive... And you are vulnerable..." The prince mused. "What did you do to my brother?! ANSWER ME! WHAT DID YOU DO TO IDIA?!" Ortho screamed, struggling to get out.

Riddle tho, felt like all the noise was drowned. He saw everything far more darker. And in that darkness, everything was frozen. His body felt numb and he could only look around.

A delicate glow. A small white butterfly flew around.

This is truly an unfortunate situation. The hero is the one who serves unjustice. Your chances of winning are almost none.

But... If my voice reaches you... It means you can succeed where most fail... And serve the oh so longed justice.

The butterfly landed gracefully on Riddle's nose, dissappearing like a light switch, changing instead with the piercing pain. Riddle let out a hurtful gasp, lowering his head from the heaviness and pain.

"What now? Is your friend a crybaby, Kitagawa?" Neige taunted as he turned to face the other boy, the guards ready to persecute any of the 2 upon command.

Aren't you sick of this?

Riddle groaned, his body arching with adrenaline as he started to grunt and struggle against the hold of the guards. A gush of wind blew off the said guards, also freeing ortho who fell on the ground, all of them watching with shock the scene before them.

They were just playing with you. Treating you like a peasant. Then they have the audacity to execute your little friend. Don't you hate it when they lack a fair judgment?

"I do..." The redhead spoke softly, looking down at his feet, head low. "What did you say?" Neige snarled. At that, Riddle rose his head, his lips twitching.

I am thou. Thou art I!

Glowing yellow eyes, a bloodthirsty smile as a black and white mask covered his upper face.

You will be the one who judges. But shall I give my powers to you? Do you accept the burden?

The redhead was grunting and yelling in pain as he yanked onto the mask, finally ripping it off as his head shot up, blood spluttering out. The mask was holded by the right hand, pointed towards Neige's neck as Riddle lowered his blood covered face, his lips failing to contain a giggle.

"Give it to me."

Riddle's whisper was like an arrow, piercing through the silence. The blood dripped off his hand and face, falling on the ground.

Before it ignited in a wild blue flame, eating away the redhead's body slowly as the one in question laughed like a maniac, his whole body becoming just a mass of flames. The fire itself seemed to rise off Riddle's body, as chains swirled around, swatting the fire enough to reveal another being, floating behind the redhead, who gained also a new attire, instead of holding the mask, Riddle having a silver rapier in his right hand.

Clean of any blood with no fire wounds, the redhead didn't even think twice. He swung the rapier, immediately cutting the guard on his right side's head, before twisting around and stabbing the other in the neck, raising his sword and cutting the whole neck, the 2 heads toppling on the ground, right before Neige, the other 2 guards and the horrified Ortho.

"I... Am The rightegeous hand of justice, Judgement Queen!" the said ghost like being boomed. Neige and the guards made a few steps back from the gushes of wind as Ortho glued himself to the wall, trying to get even more further back. "What the hell?!" He could only sputter that.

~~~~~~

(Back to explanation format! Yay! :D)

Of course, Neige demanded for the 'witch' to be executed. And while the guards turned into some other beasts, the ghost being Riddle summoned pushed him forward onto fighting them, this time with magic provided by the being.

The guards were weak af to that, so once they were defeated, Ortho took it as an opportunity to tackle Neige, steal the keys to the cells and run out with Riddle, locking Neige in there.

Surpringly, Riddle returned back to normal, although no more headwound this time. Ortho really didn't want to contemplate more as he insisted to run tf out of there, because he memorised the way out.

On their way through the dungeon, they both notice that some students were trapped in there as well, from the uniforms or jerseys. They didn't pay too much mind as who knows when the guards would show up.

Once out, everything distorted and returned to normal, having both Riddle and Ortho to wheeze and lean onto the building walls for support.

But they get snapped to reality when Riddle's phone says 'returning to reality'. They cannot investigate more as a teacher sees them and calls them to come in, as the classes are about to start. Riddle defended that they were supposed to be one hour earlier, but the teacher, who was just tired, showed to him the time, repeating that indeed it was time for the 1st period to start and that they shouldn't be late on their first school day.

That's when the teacher also asks if Riddle was alright with all the sloppy bandaging around his head. The redhead immediately got it off, saying it was an accident with a bunch of gift wrapping, so the teacher really didn't need to know more.

Ortho said that he will make a small departure towards Idia's place to give him the lunch still, while Riddle tried to find his classroom. To his luck, he bumps into Mr Vanrouge, who happily shows him the class so he can introduce himself as the new student.

But surprise, surprise! The second he entered the classroom, Riddle noticed none other than Neige, in the front desk. At that moment, the redhead wanted to jump at him and strangle him for all that happened in the palace, but with the teacher and all the students in there, he had to hold it.

The first lesson wasn't a hassle, but Riddle could hear murmurs in between students about the fact that he was a new guy. There were simple questions like 'where was he from' or 'he doesn't look like he came from around here', things that usually would get cleared out with a simple chat.

The first break already meant that a few students were eager to get familiar with Riddle. It seemed like Neige did not even recognize him, despite Riddle noting that they saw each other recently. Neige could only recall that they meet during that short rain when Ortho refused for both of them to get under the umbrella with Neige's buddies.

Of course any attempt of a further conversation were shot down by Riddle acting passive-aggressive. Yep... Still salty about the whole 'lemme unalive you and your friend in another world' thing. :'3

In the break, Ortho drops by the class to see what Riddle was doing. Immediately the others knew by the hair, posture and face anatomy that he had to be Idia's younger brother. And that this' delinquent', as they immediately dubbed him, was associated with Riddle.

Wow... What a great start of school!

Ortho told quietly to Riddle that in the lunch break, they should meet up on the rooftop to discuss about the... 'thing'. It didn't take a fool to understand that it meant their surreal experience.

The rest of the lessons, Riddle listened to the lecture, sometimes answering a few questions. In the break, he meet out of his class a few other persons, including Jade, who apparently was staying behind him at the wall next to the door. Ruggie was also someone he meet while he tried to get wind of any upcoming tests or sales at the school store.

When the lunch break came, Riddle meet up with Ortho at the rooftop, the 2 discussing what exactly went on in there. Taking a closer look at Riddle's phone, they discovered that indeed the wierd navigation app got them in there. Ortho made his theories about them entering a parallel universe or hopping in another dimension. It sounded extremely SF, but with what they did witness and with the stained bandage from Riddle's pocket, they actually gave those theories a fair chance.

In between that and lessons, nothing out of the ordinary happened.

When returning to LeBlanc tho, this time Futaba was behind the bar with another man, one with black hair, who wore an arpon, Futaba looking as amused as well as annoyed. On the bar counter it was also a cat.

But the thing was, both Riddle and Ortho heard something in between the lines of 'Curry made by Akira is the best'.

So of course ortho piped in by asking about the curry while Riddle wondered if by chance, the misterious man was named Akira. It seemed like both adults were taken by surprise before the man in question indeed confirmed that he was Akira Kurusu, someone close to Futaba and Yusuke, using to be a part timer in here during high-school days.

Futaba swats it off as Akira just paying a short visit, before the 2 boys got up to Riddle's room to do homework, promising they will be down for that curry later.

Up in the attic, they only hit the books, although it was clear as day that something else was on their minds. Ortho addressed to the elephant in the room by asking if to Riddle, Mr Kurusu's voice didn't sound like the one they heard when they entered LeBlanc. Riddle admits he didn't pay attention to that, but Ortho insists on it, saying that he did hear a complete different voice.

Which did rose some questions. Questions which unfortunately couldn't be answered, as Mr Kurusu leaved with the cat and they only ate the curry dinner before each leaving to their beds.

Cue opera singing! Back to the velvet room baby! :D

Silver is first to welcome poor clueless Riddle, while Igor is as cryptic as ever, but generous enough to introduce the redhead to the fact that he was responsible for the Metaverse navigator. Silver filled in the blanks with what personas are and how the metaverse works. If seemed that was all for now, Igor promising that they will meet again.

The next morning, Riddle woke up, contemplating about the dream. He still couldn't fathom if it was real or he was just going nuts. But alas, he had again school. It did not matter now.

What the redhead noted tho... Was that Futaba gave both him and Ortho a wierd look. Ortho also told to the redhead on their way to school how his dad and mom both gave him a wierd look, asking if yesterday he got lost towards the school. Thankfully, Ortho figured that any sane human would consider him insane if he told the truth.

So they were aware they were walking on thin ice. :'3

To lessen suspicions, Ortho faked that he and Riddle would hang out after school and look around for a good food place. At this, Futaba told them that Yusuke knows the best and cheapest ones around, so maybe they should ask him when they have time.

With that off the hook, the 2 only had to act like normal students until after classes. That part was simple.

On his way out tho, after classes, Riddle noticed that a ginger boy looked quite down as he was going behind the school with some guys Riddle swore seemed familiar.

But he didn't mind it much as ortho suggested they should re-do their steps from yesterday. They had to find a loophole somehow. Ortho tried to recall everything. Especially when all he was whining about was how he had to play at PE and a student decided it was fun to spike a ball in his face. He was lucky he didn't have a broken nose or something. The PE teach sure penalised that student, but still Ortho was salty af about it.

That's when they realised Riddle had his phone out before they got to the palace. Opening through it, the 2 realised the wierd app Riddle had on his phone was a navigator, which had only one search result in his history.

And it so happened to be the keywords: Neige, Fairytale, Castle and Shujin.

Riddle then realises that maybe his wierd dream was not just a simple hallucination. Ortho asks about it, so Riddle promptly explains what in the world was going on with the velvet room, Igor, silver and that 'contract' he signed. Now Ortho hyped him up to return in there and find out what exactly happened, because it was obvious those 2 places had to be connected to him in some way.

And they sure returned to the castle, this time Riddle returning to the wierd attire. Ortho draws a line and concludes that if the velvet room is actually a somewhat real place and that those meetings actually occurred with Igor and Silver... It meant that this world, had to be something akin to it, 'in between dream and reality'.

But he cannot draw more onto the theory, because guards were patrolling. They had to find a good hiding spot. So because they had no signal on the phones. Ortho decided to draw on a paper from his bag what exactly he was meaning, using an invisible ink pen. When Riddle asked why he used the invisible ink, Ortho replied with 'I can't have people prying into my things and assume I'm nuts.'.

Entering the palace through a vent they found, the 2 realise that this place glitched to somewhat reality when entering a room, the main hall glitching for a hot second to the school inside.

Meanwhile, in the real world, a certain group of adults was having a meeting.

Back to the wierd af castle, Ortho and Riddle were forced by the patrolling guards to retreat to a closed hall after Ortho lockpicked the door.

They were met with a long hall of portraits or students and adults. Riddle recognised a few of them as the people that got the ginger behind the school. They were painted as knights in shining armour. Ortho recognised that student that spiked him a ball in the face, being painted as a dutchess.

But the biggest portrait at the end of the hall showed a blonde boy with purple hair ends, on a throne, like a royalty. Under it, it was a plaque which read: Vil Schonenheit, the King of the castle, leaving always for expeditions.

Under Vil's portrait, it was a small piedestal, which holded a sculpture of a few roundish bluebirds. Riddle tapped around it, feeling it wierd, until he found a button, which he pressed.

Instantly everything switched around. The white walls became grey walls of dark stone bricks, the collums and decorations changed to pillars of rotten wood and torches along with Chandeliers made out of weapons. The birds turned into vicious crows that looked more or so mockingly at the portraits. The carpets were all tattered and the portraits changed completely, looking tarnished and in some bloodied weapons were stuck, as if they were mere mocking targerts.

And they sure were.

Some portraits were just mere piles of wood and painting pieces, while some were bearly holding. It seemed like they were less tarnished towards the end of the hall, where the portrait of Vil changed with someone else.

It was a boy with long black hair and neon blue ends, painted in a praying position as he was sorrounded by flames, tears in his eyes. In the painting, a sword was plunged where his chest was. The little golden plate changed its description to: Idia Kitagawa, dark mage who threatened the castle. Not yet caught.

Riddle noticed Ortho backing up in surprise, but he also heard the guards out at the door. Looking around, he noticed a hole in the wall, so he nudged ortho to enter through it, as it was a small tunel in another room.

Unfortunately for them, it was the main hall, so they had to hurry. Ortho really refused to believe that the one portrayed in there it was Idia. Riddle tried to reassure that they will figure it out. That his brother has to be alright in the real world. It does get Ortho's worries to lessen a bit, but not enough.

Checking from their hiding spot, everything seemed alright for them to pass and return to that vent they used to get in.

Except that they get ambushed. Riddle tries to use his persona, but unfortunately the guards this time were other types of beings, who didn't fall so weak to his attacks.

Riddle was defeated by the guards, theur general holding him under his foot as the wierd Neige stepped forward. At this point they didn't know if it was the real one or not.

~~~~(yet another blood tw)~~~~

"Well, well, well... To think a lowly thief like you would return... Must've been at the little Kitagawa's insistence." The malicious prince smiled, eyeing Ortho. "Ortho! Run!" Riddle yelled, but the general pressed their foot more harder on him, shutting him up in favor of breathing. "You are just like your brother, little Kitagawa..." Neige trailed.

"Naive..."

Drip...

"Too curious..."

Drip... Drip...

"A ticking bomb just waiting to go off..." Neige trailed, as a guard pushed Ortho with their shield, making the boy to kneel. "But since you still have a way to be salvaged... I will let you choose..." The prince trailed. Ortho rested on his hands, noticing the tears that dripped off his cheeks.

"You either become like your brother... Or... You join me and be apart of this story's happy ending that I offer... This is your choice, little Kitagawa... Become an outcasted and unwanted Shroud or a beloved winner..." Neige trailed.

"I am... NOT MY BROTHER!" Ortho jolted up, pointing towards Neige. "Everyone assumes I am Idia... That I have to raise to their expectations for my brother! I am not Idia! And I will never be your subject! I AM ORTHO KITAGAWA! AND I DON'T NEED YOUR STUPID OPTIONS! I WILL TAKE YOUR DOWN WITH MY BARE HANDS IF I WANT!" He yelled.

We waited for you quite a while...

Ortho stopped mid track, a throbbing pain striking him. He felt like his skull was split open. He cried in pain as he gripped to his head, screaming and trashing his body around. The guards tried to get to him, but that was when he rose his head up, hands gripping at something that covered his face.

I am thou... Thou art I... It seems like your patience has already run thin. We do not need more introductions...

Everything darkened. A single stage light shone above the struggling Ortho as a gush of wind pushed away the other guards. Riddle scrambled up, rapier in one hand, trying to hold his stance against the gushes of wind.

Rip off the burden of expectations and be the shining inspiration for this show!

Ortho let out an inhuman screech of pain as he yanked off the mask off his face. The crimson blood sprayed everywhere, golden eyes looking up with their glimmer of emotions.

Flames ignited with a powerful light. "Another one?!" Neige groaned as he covered his face with his arm, much like Riddle, from the wind, flames and lights.

Rattle...

The rattle of the chains signalated the dimming of the flames. In all that light, a shadowy figure stood, the most noticeable thing being the scarf that swayed crazily in the wind. Ortho looked at his gloved hands in awe. "Woa... So this is how a persona feels like? Fuhihihi..." The boy giggled as he put both of his index fingers on the opposite corners of his mouth, stretching it into a toothy smile.

"Let's start this show! With the best performance of The Muses!"

~~~~~~~~

(Explanation format my beloved! :'D)

To say Riddle did not carve any kind of physical and spiritual shutdown was an understatement. He is in this wierd world, with both him and ortho summoning some wierd spirits out of their bodies and having to fight in order to survive. It did NOT help that maybe those freaky dreams he had 2 nights in a row might be correlated to it.

So with Ortho's persona, it sure came in handy to pinpoint the weakness of the general and put it down. Now they can just get out of there.

Except that they still had the guards to deal with.

To their absolute luck tho, it seemed like a stray ice attack shot at the guards, freezing them and destroying them. Both Ortho and Riddle were pointing at each other like: 'You did this? No... I didn't!'.

Their accusing session gets cut off when a wierd light is above them and they realise, much to their horror, that an UFO was above them. Some other wierd dressed people sorrounded them too. It was at this moment that both boys knew.

They messed up big time. :'3

Poor them... They get caught up, only to get caught again after finally being free. :'3

But today we have 2 awakenings at the price of one! :D

Not because this au will have a lot of them... No sir, defenetly not.

For those who do know... You know who are our 'misterious captors'. For those who don't...

Well wait until I write the continuation I guess :'3

Until next time... Buh bye! :V

[sonoftatooine]

Whumptober 2021

DAY 1: ‘ALL TRUSSED UP AND NOWHERE TO GO’ - BOUND

Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Jabba the Hutt, Grand Inquisitor

Warnings: Slavery, implied assault, attempted mind reading (?)

Summary: AU - The Clone Wars started early, and Anakin was never found by the Jedi on Tatooine. Instead, he was sold to Jabba the Hutt after his success in the Boonta Eve Classic. Years later, the Empire has formed, and its Emperor has set his sights on Tatooine and the Force sensitive slave that has been discovered there.

***

"The mighty Jabba bids you welcome, Grand Inquisitor."

The voice of TC-70, translator droid to Jabba Desilijic Tiure, kadijic lord of Tatooine, sounded clear through the halls of the Hutt's palace amid the echoes of his master's booming chuckle as the pale, yellow-eyed alien that had introduced himself as the Grand Inquisitor, Master of the Inquisitorius of the Galactic Empire bowed his head before the slug's raised dais in a show of respect as false and as manufactured as Jabba's show of welcome. Animosity was thick in the air, so tangible that each and every one of Jabba's slaves could sense it like the crack of a whip across their backs. This too was known to Anakin Skywalker, in the way that things had always been known to him—inexplicably, instinctively, no matter how much another being may try to hide the truth of their feelings—as he knelt on the hard stone at the tip of his master's tail, held down by by the rough grip of two Gamorean guards on his shoulders. He paid it little mind—he doubted he could make the slug any angrier with him, and soon, his opinion would no longer matter. Instead, he tried to focus purely on sensation. Of the pain in his head from the blow he had been struck when he'd tried to run the night before. The taste of the dry, dusty cloth that had been forced into his mouth, and the burn of the rough robes that had been twined tight around his wrists, rubbed raw and bleeding from attempts to escape. Anything not to have to think about the Inquisitor. About why the Inquisitor was here. About what was going to happen next.

"The great Jabba wishes to ask how you found your journey from the Core," TC-70 said courteously. "He expresses concern over whether you faced any complications on your way here."

That, Anakin thought, a little woozily as the wound on his temple throbbed painfully, was a pretty way of translating Jabba's words, which were something closer towards "this Imperial scum had better have a good reason for making me wait" than any true concern towards his guest. But this was a man that, for once, Jabba could neither afford to deride nor intimidate. The Empire's power was reaching ever further into the Outer Rim—ever since it had risen from the ashes of the Republic several years ago, when Anakin was fourteen. Now it had turned its attention to Tatooine, and the continued non-interference with Hutt rule on the planet had a price.

That price, it seemed, was Anakin.

"No complications, Lord Jabba," the Inquisitor replied with a sharp smile, a glint in his eye that said he knew that the Hutt's word had been nowhere near as polite as the droid had made them appear. "But the work of the Empire rests for no one. I am not hear to exchange pleasantries. Shall we get down to business?"

Anakin felt the slug's anger in the back of his mind, but it didn't show on his face. Instead, he let out one of his rumbling, full-bodied laughs, and waved a small, stubby arm towards the place where Anakin was held restrained in a gesture that was almost a shrug.

"If you think I have any intention of allowing you to overstay your welcome, you are a fool as all Outlanders are," he sneered. "Take the little shag and get off my planet."

"Glorious Jabba," TC-70 translated, ever obsequious, "invites you to inspect your purchase."

The Inquisitor's yellow eyes turned slowly towards Anakin, like an anooba that had caught the scent of blood in the air. An overpowering sense of wrongness, of danger shot through him, worse than any he had ever felt before, and he reeled back, tugging against the grip of the two Gamorean guards that held him in place. Two pairs of hands clamped down on him with bruising force, and he was hauled roughly to his feet. The cry of protest that escaped his lips was muffled by the gag, and his bound hands flew up to his chest, desperately trying to shield himself as he was dragged in front of the Inquisitor and held there in an unrelenting grasp. He never stopped struggling—anything to get out of the reach of this man that felt dark and dangerous and whose strange eyes were fixed on him with an unwavering intensity that he could neither understand nor explain—but after the beating he had received last night, and the meal he had been denied that morning, he felt as weak as a newly hatched bonegnawer chick. Small and helpless, fallen from the nest. No one to protect him from the cruel mercies of the desert. Defeated, he slumped in the guards' grip, head lolling down to the floor.

"Look at me, boy," the Inquisitor hissed.

No. Anakin felt the command reverberate in his head, but he refused to obey it. He screwed his eyes shut and held himself stock still, head bowed.

"I said look at me."

The only warning he had was a sense of a strange malevolence filling the air before his head was caught in an intangible yet vice-like grip, like an invisible hand wrenching his chin up to stare into the man's face. Startled and alarmed, his eyes shot open wide, crying out beneath the gag. What—? What was—?

He froze, suddenly choking on a terror so absolute that it stole what little of his voice the cloth forced into his mouth had left him as the malevolence he had sensed surged to supercritical. It whirled around him, stinging raw at the edges of his mind like grit against exposed skin in a sandstorm. Then, it was pushing against his barriers, pushing deep into his head. Even further, into the depths of his heart, where his most precious secrets were kept, scrutinising relentlessly until the hall of the Hutt's palace seemed to melt away in shadows. He had to get away, had to get this man away from him, but he didn't know— He didn't know how—

Consumed by panic, he felt something in him push back. Push and push and push, burning out the darkness like the blazing heat of Tatooine's binary suns. Faintly, like a distant echo across the horizon of the Dune Sea, he heard a shocked yell and an angry roar. The darkness retreated, and he was dragged back into reality by the remorseless tug of a Gamorean fist in his hair. Another fist, he saw as his vision cleared, was poised to strike a blow across his face, but it was held back by the same invisible grip Anakin had been caught in not moments before.

"No." The Grand Inquisitor's voice cut through the tension in the air like a vibroblade. A gesture of one long-fingered hand, and the guard's arm dropped sharply to his side. "No, this is fascinating. Fascinating. Yes, he shall do very nicely indeed."

Even confused and disorientated as he was, not sure what had just been done to him, nor what he had done in turn, it did nothing to stop the wave of horrified nausea that threatened to overcome him at those words. The fear that had been festering in him ever since he had been hauled before Jabba's throne and informed that he had been sold to the karking Emperor of the Galaxy in exchange for the Hutt's undisturbed sovereignty on Tatooine had reached a fever pitch that was on the verge of burning him from the inside out—and anyone else who happened to be in range along with him. He had spent all his life being passed from master to master—from Gardulla, who had seen no use for him except as winnings to throw into a betting pool, to Watto, who had valued his talents but hadn't had the strength to keep him, and finally to Jabba, the champion podracer who had defeated Sebulba another addition to his collection of costly slaves that he surrounded himself with in lieu of rich jewels and lavish furnishings. But this master, this master who wanted him for reasons that were a mystery to him—reasons that he wasn't sure he would have understood even if he were told, who wanted him so much that he was prepared to part with a considerable sum of money and potential territory, however insignificant, on the Outer Rim in order to acquire him... At least he had known why Jabba had torn him away from his mother after he'd won the Boonta Eve Classic. This master, poised to tear him from his homeworld, was an unknown, and one that terrified him beyond anyone or anything he had ever encountered on Tatooine.

"What happened here?" Anakin flinched as he felt the fingertips of the Inquisitor's black-gloved hand brush lightly across his injured temple. He didn't want the man touching him. He didn't want him touching him. But the guard still held him by the hair and he couldn't—

"The boy is defiant," came Jabba's voice from behind him. Ha, defiant. The slug had always called him defiant. Maybe defiant enough that the Emperor wouldn't even want him and—"He tried to run. My guards were forced to subdue him."

The sound of TC-70 dutifully repeating the slug's words in that officious tone of his lit a spark in Anakin's chest that turned his fear into a blazing inferno. Rage and terror, remembered from the previous night, from his flight across the desert under a binary sunset, guided by the whispers on the wind that had led him through the worst of Tatooine's dangers ever since he was a child. Those whispers had been so insistent that he must not under any circumstances fall into his new master's hands that in his desperation to get away, he hadn't even cared that his transmitter chip was still in. He had known, instinctively, that Jabba wouldn't detonate it—not when he still needed him alive. But those whispers had failed him. The guards had caught up to him, knocked him unconscious when he'd tried to fight back, and dragged him, bound, back to the Hutt's palace to be thrown into a cell to await the arrival of the Emperor's representative the next day. The whispers hadn't saved him, just as they had never freed him from a single one of his masters. They had left him to his fate, and he could see no way out of it.

"Is that so?"

The Inquisitor's finger trailed down from his temple to his cheek. Again, Anakin tried—futilely—to jerk away. He would have bared his teeth if he could, but instead he made do with a hot glare and a faint growl behind the gag. Anger wasn't safe for a slave, but he doubted he would ever be safe again now, and anger made him feel far less small than fear.

"Such fury...," the Inquisitor murmured, with a soft chuckle that set Anakin's teeth on edge. He made no move to withdraw his hand from his cheek. "The Emperor will be most pleased."

Your Emperor can choke, Anakin snarled in his head, but he could fast feel himself spiralling back into terror. The Emperor, who had sent this man to fetch him, who would surely rule over his slaves as ruthlessly he ruled over the Galaxy. He wouldn't let him take him. He couldn't— But he was bound, injured, helpless, and the Inquisitor had already proven that he didn't need to lay a finger on him to restrain him.

There was nothing he could do.

"I wonder," Jabba scoffed derisively; though Anakin couldn't see his face, he could easily picture the expression that was on it - bulbous eyes narrowed to slits, "how your Emperor keeps control of the Galaxy if he finds disobedience so appealing in a slave."

Once again, TC-70's translation rang throughout the room. The Inquisitor smiled, sharp and cruel.

"Not disobedience, Lord Jabba."

His smile widened and his eyes, fixed on Anakin, glinted with a promise that chilled him to his core.

"Besides, disobedience can be curbed. Some traits, however... They are more valuable than you could possibly imagine, and I'm afraid those cannot be taught."

[capituloperdido1]

ACOSAS Chp5

Happy Friday Everyone,

I apologize ahead for the short chapter, I've been traveling a lot the last couple of days and have not been able to write as much as i wanted. I promise to come back with 2 chapters next week.

As always, let me know if you have any feedback, or if you want to be added to the list.

Enjoy!

Warnings: sexual language, but other than that pure fluff.

Gwyn's stomach was fluttering as she walked behind the shadowsinger, Azriel's look towards her still piercing her even after five long minutes of walking. She checked herself again, her dress, her shoes, her necklace; she could not see her face but tried to touch and check if there was anything on her face.

Trying to decipher this male was more complicated than all the tasks she had done for Merrill.

The way he had just looked at her was just... lustful.

She had felt his scent changing as he took her in, combined with the intensity of his gaze.

But she still was not going to accept that it was out of attraction, there had to be another explanation. Because Azriel had too much history of tangling himself with far more beautiful women.

Elain... Mor...

She had heard bits and pieces from Nesta about the shadow's singer's love life. She knew from these short conversations that Azriel did not think himself worthy of having someone who chose him first.

She also knew that at the moment, he was pinning over the middle Archeron sister, graceful and wonderful in her own essence.

She could not blame him, from what she had seen of Elain, she was the beauty of the sisters. Her whole presence was light, class, and divinity. Even she would probably fall for Elain if she had the chance.

So there was no way he was looking at her with attraction, she probably had something on her face.

Feeling her stomach flutter even more at the idea of Azriel being attracted to her, she blurred "i read something really interesting today, about the history of Valkyries".

Azriel stopped, waiting for her to catch up to him, "i saw you reading today. I'm sorry i did not pay attention to you earlier"

"No! no please don't worry," she said, grabbing his elbow slightly, "it's not something that important anyway. I mean, the temples were probably destroyed after the Valkyries were ambushed".

"temples?" Azriel looked towards her confused.

She blushed slightly at the sight of his eyes, "right... i should start in the beginning. Basically, Valkyries were training in temples all across Prythian. They each specialized in different forms of training and powers, each court held a temple that would train females of all ages. Once their training was complete, they would be sent to a temple at the border of the Spring and Summer court. They called it Ivor, and it was said to be in a jungle-like environment that allowed only the worthy to pass through. Amanecer told me that this temple held the final test of the Valkyrie, only the women who passed through were considered full Valkyries."

She stopped, afraid she was rambling and talking incoherently.

Azriel looked amazed, "Ivor... I remember Ivor, there were rumors of soldiers who were male that were killed after setting foot there".

Gwyn's eyes opened widely, sometimes she forgot how old he was.

He continued, "it is weird i had forgotten about the temples, i remember Rhys, Cass and i would read about them. Mother.. even Rhy's sister dreamed about training in the temple of the Summer Court".

She smiled sadly, the mention of her high lord's sister squeezing her heart a bit. "So many women could've been warriors, they could've helped the last war", she looked at Azriel, "many of us could've been saved from so many tragedies if we only knew how to defend ourselves".

"There is no doubt in my mind that you would've kicked some Hybern ass out there in the battlefield. Everyone would've been scared shitless of the redhead Valkyrie running towards them", he said jokingly.

She laughed, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood.

"In all seriousness, besides looking for the trove, we should definitely try to figure out how we can incorporate all of these Valkyrie books in our training. We have expanded in the last couple of months, but i know many more females have heard about you guys and want to train with you. That includes Amanecer" Azriel said.

She blushed, looking down to her hands,  "thank you Azriel, we will. I will make sure every female at least hears about us, and i will help them as much as i can."

The sound of fair music interrupted their conversation, Gwyn directed her view towards the street they were approaching. Stores overwhelmed the view of the road, vendors selling sweets, foods, clothing, armor and art. The smell of fresh fruits and vegetables filled her nose as she took in the sight before her.

The noise, the sight, the smell...

She was actually in a city, it was not Velaris but it was a place where normal people would go to.

She saw a few people walking, living in their own worlds as if nothing could suddenly happen that would change that.

There were only about fifteen walkings, but for Gwyn, that felt like if a pride of people was coming to surround her.

Her throat began to close, her heart racing faster by the second.

Vile rose at her throat, sweat poured through her pores.

She could not breathe, she needed to run away and get to a safe place.

She tried and failed to control her emotions, telling herself that it was fine. That all the people around her would not hurt her.

But she could not stop the panic rising in her body.

She took a step back, ashamed and humiliated.

She could not do it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Azriel's eyes were closed, taking in the delicious smell of spices traditional to the Day court. Out of all the things he had missed from visiting Helion, the food was at the top of his list. He remembers the night where Helion would take him walking through the city, feeding him all types of meats, rice, vegetables.

He smiled to himself, remembering when life had been a little easier.

His shadows began swirling fast around him, trying to catch his attention.

Panic, she is in panic.

Mistress is in distress.

She is leaving.

Azriel opened his eyes, turning towards the priestess.

Her brave face had turned into panicked and terrorized as she took steps to retreat from the city. Her eyes were sad, and she seemed to avoid his looks, afraid that he would judge her if she decided not to go through with this.

He extended his arms towards her, "we have two options, you can either tell me to take you back to the palace, and we will try again tomorrow. Or you can take a step forward, grab yourself on to me and look forward."

Her blue eyes shined with tears as she looked at him, hesitant to take that step.

Come on Gwyn, tiptoe if you must, but take a step towards me.

Her eyes widened, and Azriel blushed slightly at the realization that he had said that out loud.

She took one step towards him,

Two

Three

And then she grabbed his arm, looking straight in his eyes.

His shadows began to envelop themselves onto Gwyn, surrounding her arm and holding her.

She smiled again, turning her face and looking forward, "let's do this".

They take a step forward, and soon they are surrounded by the city lights.

Azriel guides her towards the small bookstore that he had visited all those years ago. The owner was an old fae who had collected books from the continent throughout the years, all genres and authors in his small stall.

Not surprisingly, Gwyn ends up almost buying the whole store. Enjoying particularly the romance section.

"This one is definitely Nesta's level of romance," she says, showing him the brown leather book with yellow pages.

"What is it about?" he says.

"A romance between an assassin and the princess" she hands him the book, "look, maybe you will finally read some good literature. Not those boring war books"

He smiles, opens the book in a random chapter, and begins reading.

I couldn’t get enough of him. I was tired and sore but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted the ache. I wanted him in me, all the time. His weight on top of me. I wanted to squeeze him in further and further. I wanted to watch his face. I wanted his sweat to drop onto me.

I got on top of him. Letting my breasts touch his face as i held him and put him in. He felt so warm in me.

I'll never forget it.

His face as i took control and he liked it. As i held his hands down and moved on top of him.

Azriel felt heat rising up his cheeks, looking shocked at Gwyn, "all you guys read is smut".

She flushed, noticing the page he now held open. Her face now of regret as she tried to take the book away from him, "that was just a coincidence. If you had opened any other page there would've been romance and adventure. This author writes really passionate romances, it just you don't know anything about romance".

He laughed, extending his arm high up so she would not be able to catch it.

Is that how she likes it? does she like to control? Words screaming in his mind.

He looked down at her neck once again, noticing the pendant moving as she jumped up trying to reach for the book. He noticed the red lips that pouted as she grew frustrated. He noticed the flushed cheeks giving away her shyness and embarrassment.

He stared at her intensely. She looked so flustered, that his mind could not help but wonder if she could be flustered in many other ways. After a kiss to her cheek, or to her mouth, or her neck. After a passionate encounter between them.

She stopped jumping, catching his strong gaze.

Her face became even redder. Which she quickly tried to hide as she looked down and began playing with her hair. Grabbing pieces of hair and tugging them behind her ear.

Azriel's temperature begins to rise at the sight of the smooth skin of her neck, the urge of grabbing it and kissing it overtaking him.

The image of Gwyn grabbing his wrist while on top of him on his mind.

Wait... What, he thinks.

Clearing his throat he extends his arm towards her and gives her the book back, "would you like to walk for a couple more minutes?"

She nods, still flushed and looking everywhere but him.

Idiot, you made her uncomfortable.

"I will take you to a couple more stores before we go, are you comfortable with that?" he asks.

"Y..yeah, it's just a bit chilly now. But i want to keep walking, if that's okay" she says, her voice soft and low.

Without thinking twice, he takes off his leather jacket, placing it around her shoulders.

Gwyn lifts her teal eyes towards him and smiles, "thank you".

They keep walking around the boardwalk, neither of them physically touching each other in fear of making a wrong move. Gwyn stops in a store that sells handicrafts traditional to the Day court. Telling him that she wants to take the chance to buy as many gifts for her friends as possible.

He waits for her outside of the store, as she insisted to go inside by herself.

Sitting on the stairs leading into the small building, Azriel traces his thoughts back to their encounter in front of the bookstore.

He had been feeling pressure in his heart, ashamed and angry at himself for making her uncomfortable.

He had lost control over his feelings, letting his mind play dirty thoughts with someone who was most likely not interested in any sexual activity.

But his mind also took him to her beautiful face, the way she seemed to shine every time she looked at him. The way the necklace highlighted the divinity of the priestess. The way her red hair looked during the day. The way her eyes changed shades during sunrise, sunset, at night.

Something in him wanted more, he wanted to see what she looked like when she slept when she awoke in the morning.

He wanted to inspect her completely, find out if she had freckles anywhere else besides her face. He wanted to taste her lips and find out if they tasted as sweet as they looked.

Sighing, Azriel grabbed his hair and looked towards the floor, frustrated and now even more angry with his selfish mind.

He was lusting after the priestess, while had unresolved issues with two females who he had also lusted over.

Elain and Mor, the two women who he could not have.

What made him think that someone like Gwyn would ever choose him?

She had to know, Nesta would've told her.

Told her how much he had hurt Elain, how Mor had done horrible things just to keep him away from her. How he had pushed his feelings onto them without thinking about the women he claimed to love.

Both Elain and Mor deserved so much better.

Gwyn deserved someone better, not him.

He could never be what they needed, his past had been clear enough.

He was destined to love but never receive love back, he was destined to hurt, destined to be alone.

"Azriel?" her sweet voice came to his ears.

Mother, he was obsessed, even hearing her while daydreaming about her.

"Azriel" sounded again.

The light and soft pressure of her hands on his arms startled him.

He looked up, finding the female looking at him with worry.

"are you alright?" she said

He quickly stood, "y...yeah I'm sorry, i was falling asleep", he lied.

She smiled, extending a paper bag towards him, "well we can head home after you open this".

A small pearl bracelet of blues and whites welcomed him once he opened the bag. White, teal, and navy blue pearls cold and smooth as he touched them.

"I know you probably won't always use it, but I wanted to give it to you, as a thank you for everything you have done for me," she said, flushing slightly.

Azriel's heart threatened to beat out of his chest, a knot forming in his throat.

No, I definitely do not deserve her. He thought.

"I will wear it, every single day," he said, putting the bracelet in his scarred hands.

She smiled, "Want me to put it on you?" extending her hands towards him.

He nods, looking at her smooth skin touching the imperfections of his hands. Looking at how the beautiful bracelet contrasted with the horrors of his skin.

"Beautiful," she said.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Neither of them said anything else as they walked back to the castle, both seemed too busy in their own minds to concern themselves with conversation.

They parted ways, promising each other to sleep only a few hours before meeting for their next challenge.

They go into their rooms, falling on their beds and closing their eyes as they hold on to that new piece of each other.

Gwyn smells the male she loves, covering herself with his jacket as she falls into a deep sleep.

Azriel touches the pearls, his mind imagining each color and what it represents. The navy blue of his siphons, which had and will dust anyone who might hurt her. White of her robes, the purity, and innocence of her heart. Teal of her beautiful eyes, that always looked at him so hopeful, so happy, so proud.

Even though the nightmares came, even though they were even more horrible than the ones before.

Neither of them noticed.

Whether by their exhaustion or by what they held so tightly, the couple awoke unaware of the terrors their mind just had endured.

Their only thought was each other.

TAGLIST: @imsointobooks @gwynkyrie @trashforazriel @meher-sumedha

Chapter 6

[crazyclouds5281]

Royal Knights AU Chapter 1

Inspired by @deroko-sinnermode‘s art

The Pale King was not an explorer. He never set out into the wilderness with nothing but the clothes on his shell and what provisions he could fit in his bag, camping out in the uncivilised tunnels of Hallownest. He may have memorised the official maps of his kingdom, but reclusive as he was, he’d never actually gone out and seen most of the sights for himself. He’d left his adventurous days behind him, along with the decaying corpse of his original Wyrm form, and secluded himself in his Pale Palace, rarely leaving.

As such, there were many things the Pale King did not know of his land. Tunnels and passages that were not recorded on any maps, dens and nests of vicious creatures that killed all who trespassed, such that there were none alive who knew of their presence. The lair of Nosk, the treacherous mimic of Deepnest, was hidden from his light. The vile experiments of the Soul Sanctum were unknown to the one praised as all-knowing. The surface town of Dirtmouth had never occupied his thoughts in anything more than passing wonderance. And at the crown of Hallownest, far above Crystal Peak, was the statue of the Old Light, which the Pale King would surely have blown to smithereens- if only he knew it existed.

The Pale King, nowhere near as omniscient as his subjects believed, also did not know that there was more than one way to escape the Abyss.

---

The Vessel could not get the burning pale light out of its mind. So painful to those eyes born in darkness, yet so entrancing, enticing, calling it to ascend from the pit, heedless of the hundreds of its siblings that fell to their death around it. The dozens it itself sent tumbling back into the pitch black, thinking only of removing any obstacle in its climb. Others had similarly tried to bring it down, but this Vessel was stronger, battering them off the nearest ledge and continuing on its way.

Strong though it might have been, it was not the strongest. Not the fastest. By the time it had reached that metal bridge, hanging desperately onto the edge, so close to the pale light it could almost reach out and touch it, another Vessel was already there. Before it stood the embodiment of the pale light, and it heard the words of the Pale King.

“You shall seal the blinding Light that plagues their dreams. You are the Vessel. You are the Hollow Knight.”

The Pale King turned and left, followed by the Hollow Knight, who glanced back at the struggling Vessel. For a moment, their dark eyes met, and though it was designed to be without emotion, the Hollow Knight felt some measure of pity for its struggling sibling- not that it knew what the slight pain in its empty heart meant. However, the Hollow Knight was more compelled to follow the pale light of its sire, which was getting further and further away the longer it dallied, so it turned its back on its sibling. The first of its kind to ever escape the Abyss.

It would not be the last.

The great doors slammed shut, sealed by the King’s Brand, forever locked, and the Vessel fell down, down, down, back into the place of its birth, the graveyard of its less fortunate siblings. Resigned to its fate, the Vessel went limp, understanding without understanding that only death remained. It simply waited for the moment when its shell cracked open on the corpse-covered ground, to become yet another in a sea of broken masks. It was not expecting to be caught on the way down.

Hundreds of eggs, thousands of grubs had been sacrificed to the Void by the Pale King in his now-finished search for the Hollow Knight. He thought them truly empty, unable to feel emotion, to think for themselves, little more than automatons. Not alive, just the reanimated corpses of his children, puppeted by Void.

What a fool he was. The Vessels were the progeny of the Pale King and White Lady, beings of Mind and Life. Powerful though the Void was, even it could not devour the godlings without their eggs being dropped directly into the Void Sea. Instead, by exposing the eggs to the miasma of the Abyss, the darkness had seeped into them, mixing with- not consuming- what was inside, creating a unique species.

Shells of hardened Void, masks of solidified Soul, organs of twisted Root, and brains of shaped Mind; the Vessels were an amalgamation of the four mystic elements. They were alive, they could feel and think, even if they did not know what emotions or thought were. Young as they were, the Vessels were driven purely by instinct. And that instinct told them to follow the pale light, for it would lead them to their father, who would pull them free of the darkness. Instead, they were cast down to their deaths, by their siblings or by their own missteps.

Root and Soul gave physical form. Mind gave mental form. The Void, alongside physical form, also gave the Vessels spiritual form. From the thousands of broken masks rose a legion of Shades, pitch black ghosts with Soul-white eyes.

The Shades would not let the last living Vessel in the Abyss join their ranks. Hundreds of them flew together, melding into a floating blob of Void, and the final Vessel dropped into the undulating mass. It bounced once, then lay there, dazed.

The combined Shades lowered the Vessel onto the shell-covered floor, dispersing back into their singular forms and crowding around it. They nuzzled against the sole living creature, ghostly black masks somehow making contact. The Vessel was jostled upright, standing on stubby legs. It stared blankly at its dead siblings, mind far gone, still entranced by the glimpse of the Pale King.

It had to get to him. There had to be another way out of the Abyss, another way to reach that pale light, even if it would not reach for them.

---

Time meant nothing in the Void. The Vessel searched and searched, enlisting the help of the Shades, and would have kept looking for eternity if it had to. Along the way, they found many strange things.

Through a tunnel, there was a towering structure, which bathed the Void Sea in yellow light, quelling the bottomless depths. A corpse lay in the top, of a creature unlike any of the siblings. It didn’t do anything other than lay there, obviously, so the siblings quickly lost interest in it.

Halfway up the pit was a dais with a glowing blue rock in it- a locking mechanism for the door beyond it, most likely. It couldn’t be opened, just like the door sealed by the King’s Brand. The siblings moved on.

Far beyond the lighthouse, across the Void Sea and through a stretching tunnel, was a fountain of overflowing Void. The Vessel, curious, jumped in, and attained the ability to warp into a Shade for a moment, passing through all obstacles before reverting back to its original form. It thoroughly startled both the Vessel and its siblings the first time it happened.

On the opposite side of the Abyss was a chamber filled with stone faces, mouths wide open, as if they were screaming. Overcome by an otherworldly voice, an Abyssal Shriek ripped out of the Vessel’s throat, sending a cacophony of Soul and Void into the air, shaped like the wailing visages surrounding it. It shouldn’t have been possible- the Vessels did not have vocal chords. They were not designed to have them. But, such was the arcane nature of Soul (or magic, as many ignorant bugs would call it).

It was in that same room that the Vessel found what it had been looking for. The force of the Abyssal Shriek shook the stone chamber, making dust fall from the ceiling in a heavy cloud. After it cleared, the Vessel noticed a portion of the wall was littered in cracks. Another Abyssal Shriek (and subsequent dust tornado), this time closer, completely shattered the weakened section of fossil stone, revealing a tunnel behind it.

Excited, the Vessel rushed in headfirst. Currently, there were only two Shades with the living Vessel, the others scattered about the rest of the Abyss, searching for alternative avenues of escape. The two ghostly siblings glanced at each other, coming to a decision. One followed the Vessel down the tunnel, while the second returned to the Abyss proper, to inform their siblings of their new discovery.

How unfortunate, then, that not soon after, the weakened foundations of the room collapsed, once more sealing the Abyss off from the rest of the world.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

timeless - prelude

PAIRING: medieval!james “bucky” barnes x reader

WARNINGS: sexual content (18+)

A/N: hello! sorry for my inactivity later with tags and fanfics, i recently moved out of my home into a new one and it took quite a while to set everything up but finally everything is a bit calmer. i hope you enjoy this new work, i’m extremely proud of it xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Time. 

Time is an odd concept. The dictionary describes time as the indefinite continued progress of existence and events that occur in an apparently irreversible succession from the past, through the present, into the future. Yet, would it be fair to describe time in such technical words when the movement itself is so ... controversial. For some, time runs fast, like a drop falling from a leaf onto the river, its consequences reverberating in several rings. For others, the ticking of the clock seems like a painful reminder that every single second lasts forever. However, for some, time is just paused almost as if they’re living in their own life repetition and therefore time has lost all meaning and no definition would apply to it. Time after all is of the earth, it’s not a human concept, it’s not something humanity discovered and coined as their own as they would wish. It is merely a thing of innocence of the Earth seen in the blooming flowers and the falling leaves, the growing of flora and the birthing of fauna. Yet, for some time is seen on their faces, the wrinkles and lines that accentuate their skins, scars that never faded, ages rising and the loss of opportunities. For those, if it were possible to freeze time, to reverse it or extend it, they would do it in a blink of an eye and so is the pure innocence of longing defiled. 

Lady Y/N of Arendelle had no particular affinity towards time. In all honesty, she barely thought about it yet for some reason the forces of nature had bestowed, unbeknownst to her, with the particular gift of giving people time. Why had it been given to her out of all people was a mystery. She was an ordinary girl born in the last second of the last day of the year when the snow covered the ground white, mostly surrounded in mystery. While her mother, Lady Catherine Bouvaire was one who made her way into the most prestigious circles of society in Arendelle from peasant to the Queen’s lady in waiting, Lady Y/N seemed to be locked away from society in their little cottage. “The outside world is cruel, too cruel for someone like you” is what she would constantly say to Y/N. However, no matter how harshly you try to grip onto time it eventually caught up to her. As the Queen’s eldest daughter caught the attention of the future King of Genoa, quickly enough was this locked environment broken. The Queen of Arendelle believed her daughter should take someone trustworthy, someone to remind her of home and no better person fitted that description than the naively protected daughter of her lady in waiting.

Catherine had protested, arguing that her daughter was much to innocent to join the court of such a prolific kingdom. However, she was merely a lady and what the Queen wants goes. Nevertheless, Catherine would not let her precious daughter go, no, she needed more time and if that meant moving with her to another kingdom, then she would gladly do so. And so, Y/N was thrown inside a carriage with princess Odette which took both women away from what they had known for ages. 

They rode the road for a full month, enduring the harsh rains of mid September until, on a late afternoon, the carriage came to a halt in front of the place she would have to call home from now on. The castle grounds were protected by a great wall, tall enough you’d have to strain your eye muscles to find its end, tall enough to look like another prison to keep Y/N. Her mother, whose home arrangements were different to hers, had warned her to be careful with Genoa’s court, not to trust any of the men that paraded the parties. “They are never going to marry you, all they want is a break from their contracted marriages and would use her and leave” is what she said before being separated into a different carriage and Y/N believed her. She remembered the stories her mother had told her, women thrown into the street, into reckless lives and poverty. No, Y/N was there for Odette and no other motive. Yet, she couldn’t deny it was exciting to be somewhere else, to see other things and other people. 

The castle itself was old and small dust seemed to be falling from the walls, exposing the building’s foundation that used to look like a second world wonder, she thought. The windows, however, were crystal clear and glistening in the dark cloudy afternoon which was already setting on the opposite side of the building, casting a great shadow. 

Her shoes touched the perfectly cropped grass and she was ushered into the palace and straight into her living quarters. It was huge, bigger than her old home and while the outside of the palace looked rather somber, the inside was ostentatious, decorated in dark burgundies, whites and shades of gold enough to make anyone gasp at first sight. Y/N felt like she was dreaming wide awake as she explored every nook of her new bedroom, observing the art, the books and the instruments placed for her own enjoyment. 

She couldn’t help but throw herself into the comfortable bed, a small child like giggle escaping her rose painted lips. Yet, she had little to no time to enjoy her new bedroom as the Queen and King of Genoa wanted to welcome the Princess of Arendelle and her entourage with a banquet and Y/N couldn’t be any more excited. With a white ivory dress loosely falling from her shoulders, she joined her princess who was looking at the wall as if it held away the biggest monsters ever created.

     - You’ll be fine. - Y/N spoke out, placing a hand on top of her shoulder. - Prince William absolutely loves you, you have nothing to worry about. 

    - It’s not Prince William, it’s his parents. 

     - I’ve heard they’re fair rulers. 

     - Yes but we come from a small kingdom what if they decide it’s an alliance they don’t want? - Y/N merely gave her a soft smile, almost like a promise that she would be fine. The big white and gold engraved doors were opened to a crowd of a thousand faces all in awe of the beautiful foreign princess. Y/N, on the other hand, was in awe of the sheer beauty and light of the room. It was so much different from the walls of the little cottage her mother kept her in, it was light, breezy, bashed in oranges and yellows coming from the flickering flames of various white candles held by the chandeliers and walls. It was almost like a scene straight out a painting and suddenly the crowd of a thousand faces seemed to melt as she was on cloud 9. The scents were of wild fruits and sweetness which possibly came from the beautifully decorated decadent desserts standing on the long table.

She was much too distracted with the sheer delicateness of the world outside her cottage walls to even notice she had been sat quite far from the only person she knew. Instead, she was sat by some of the other court ladies, her dress majorly overshadowed by the precious stones sewn onto the silks and velvet of the Queen’s ladies. Nevertheless, she found something else to be fascinated by, that being the golden cutlery meticulously placed by the sides of the porcelain engraved plates. In that moment, despite her mind telling her it would be bad to be glad about it, she felt like being away from her mother was a blessing. 

This dazed dream was broken as she felt a gaze burn on her figure, almost as if she was being watched. Gently and slowly, she raised her eyes from the plate, the atmosphere of the dinner being of joy and hope for the new soon to be rulers too lost for someone to notice her, at least she thought so but was wrong as standing a bit left from her front was a very well dressed man, in shades of burgundy and black with a gold heavy medal weighting from his breast pocket looking at her. He looked almost curious, lines creasing on his forehead as his ocean eyes were glued that left her feeling almost naked to his sight. 

    - Are you alright? - one of the ladies sat next to her, the one in a ruffled lavender dress asked, noticing how quickly Y/N had resorted to looking back to her food, barely touched. 

    - Who’s that man? - she slightly moved her head in his direction.

    - That’s Grand Duke Barnes of Addia. He’s one of the King’s advisors, people say he killed his wife.

    - Not too loud, Eliza. - another lady dressed in baby pink scolded.

    - That’s surely just gossip. - Y/N commented. 

    - Gossip or not, everyone in Addia could hear screaming during the Great Fire. Yet again, royals can get away with anything and everything. 

Y/N nodded, looking back to her plate but not before looking up to the grand Duke one last time. It wasn’t exactly shocking news to her what men of court could do. Her mother had told her they were either adulterers, power hungry or untrustworthy men, however, she thought there would be some sort of justice. The dinner continued to go smoothly with Odette spending more and more time sharing romantic looks with her husband to be. Soon enough, she was on the dance floor with him, laughing and telling each other sweet nothings that made anyone and everyone watching smile.

Y/N wasn’t immune to that smile either, standing a bit further removed from the dance floor with her hands on top of her dress fabric. The sweet lullabies played by the orchestra had her head moving slowly from side to side until an overflow of the scent of freshly picked roses made itself quite pronounceable. She looked around looking from here the scent could be coming from as all the flowers scattered around the room were that of Genoa’s flag, lilies. No roses.

     - How come you’re not dancing, milady?

     - Oh, I’m not one for dan ... - she stopped mid sentence as she rustled through the fabric of her dress to notice who was speaking to her. There he was again, making her take a step back out of fright of what she had heard from Eliza at the dinning table. 

He looked somewhat surrounded in an air of mysteriousness costumed by the formal clothing such as his perfectly tailored burgundy jacket whose colour matching the ribbon keeping his long hair away from his face in a low ponytail. There was no denying he was a handsome man but Y/N couldn’t help but keep her guard up. There was always some underlying truth to rumours. 

     - I’m afraid I’ve never learned how to dance, Grand Duke. 

     - Please do join me in the floors, milady. 

     - No, my lord you really don’t understand, I can’t dance ... at all. I would embarrass my princess. 

    - I’m a good lead. - he extended his gloved hand towards her. She guessed he couldn’t harm her while surrounded by several people including guards. - Please, milady, do me the honour of accompanying me. 

She looked at his black matte glove covered his hand which was extended towards her chest and then back to his face and the guards stood in front of every single exit. “You’ll be fine” a voice said inside of her and shakingly she placed her delicate and polished hand on top of the leather, shivering once she felt its texture. Before Y/N could change her mind, he had already led her slightly off centre in the dance grounds, a free hand gently setting itself on her waist. 

The young girl could feel her heart beat against her thoracic cage as the violins and flutes led the dance along with him. It was an odd feeling, it felt peaceful and yet she was rather scared to dance with the man rumoured to have murdered his wife. The Grand Duke seemed to notice her unwillingness as the lines of his forehead and eyes creased even more and his grip on her softened. 

   - You shouldn’t believe in everything you hear. - he whispered against her ear, causing goosebumps to rise on her arms. Her eyes gazed his, lips slightly parted as she wondered if he had heard Eliza back at the dinner table, something she would’ve questioned him about had it not been for the ceasing music. As the music came to an end, he took a step back, bowing to her before disappearing between the crowds leaving her in the middle of the dance floor as another song begun. 

   - There you are. - a familiar voice broke through her haze of confusion. - I think we should retire for tonight. What do you think?

  - I think it’s a great idea.

In all honesty, Y/N was glad Odette wanted to retire from the ball and return to her chambers but it wasn’t without peaking curiosity that she left the room, eyes lingering on the crowds looking yet failing to find the Grand Duke. The orange and yellow lights dimmed as the doors were closed behind the two women and with a sigh, she followed Odette to her chambers, starting the routine taught to her back in Arendelle to get the princess ready for bed. Once she was settled in her silk bedding, Y/N left the room to reach hers, a small golden candelabra held by her hands as she made her way through the halls. 

The walls are hollow inside and it is as if they are whispering at her when the wind howls inside them and the rain hits the foot long glass windows, the image strengthened by the portraits of the several monarchs of Genoa. She climbed the staircase slowly, each step creaking at the slighest weight her feet put on the old wood and then creaking some more when the weight on it is loosened and disappear. Slowly but surely, with her heart beating like a drum, the lady in waiting reached the top of the stairs. Suddenly, her heart beat seemed to intensify its beating in her ears for no reason and, once she held her dainty fingers against them, they are hot to the touch and the saying of the Arendelle people echoed like a curse in her brain: “If your ears are red and warm, it means someone must be talking about you”. She shuddered at the thought, specially considering she stood alone atop the stairs.

Once she was back inside the safety of her chambers, she closed the door behind her and enter the soft cold and unknown bed quickly, throwing her clothes to the side, stretching her legs under the covers and pulling the white sheets up to her chest. Her eyes flutter slowly, staring up at the ceiling and the small chandelier hanging from it and, suddenly, she drifts off to sleep lulled by the falling rain: she felt airy, as if her limbs are being held up in the air and she fluttered her eyes open to the dream land that awaited her.

And at the end of the bed is the Grand Duke. He is naked and he crawls to the bed, hands slowly sliding down her sides as he towers over her and, she too, is naked. She sweated and stared at the man’s face and at the medallion hanging from his neck that rocks back and forth as he moves closer and pulls her knees up and apart.

He’s hard and slick with cum already and she’s not entirely not sure what took over her good morality, but she pulled her legs apart willingly and let him move closer and closer to her and her aching heat.

tag list: @lookiamtrying @kmuir1 @anxiousdreamersworld @tinymalscoffee​

[deviatedwinter]

hey hey. are your requests still open? If yes,could you write a fluffy oneshot (if you feel comfortable, feel free to add slight nsfw, but ofc not if you dont want to!!) where female reader is insecure about her A cup boobies and rk900 reassures her that shes pretty either way?~

Aesthetically Pleasing

(Rk900 x insecure! Fem! Reader)

Summary: Reader is insecure about her body, especially her breast size, but Nines is there to comfort.

Word count: 800+

Warnings: Cursing, slight hint at NSFW ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Authors note: Yes!! I'm all for body positivity. I hope this oneshot can help anyone out there who is insecure, because you are beautiful, badass, and I love you! (And so does Nines 😏)

△ △ △ △ △ △ △ △ △ △ △ △

You set down the digital tabloid

with a sigh, the image of the supermodel flickering on its cover. Bright letters adorned the front, the pixels arranged to say "The perfect woman!" The image stared back at you as the magazine rested on your coffee table.

What a load of bull. There was no such thing as a perfect anything, or anyone.

But the image still got to you, striking a nerve deep within.

The woman on the cover wore only a bikini, her legs long and bikini top resting on her slim shoulders.

Your own eyes drifted towards your own body, your mind automatically comparing the two.

How could you compete? Your breasts were much smaller, and was your face even as pretty as hers?

Your shift in emotion caught the attention of Nines, who had been scanning over some case files at your desk in the corner of the room.

His steely eyes flickered from the magazine to you, noticing your frown and unsure expression.

>"The perfect woman?"

//Model name: Haley Verre//

> Full body scan complete

> Detective full body scan complete

=Comparing structure=

//Comparison complete//

> 20% similar

=Cause of distress found=

$&$($ I th1nk she^s just as b€aut!ful$(_7

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ∆

"Detective, I would advise you to not listen to tabloid headlines. Statistically, they are exaggerated." Nines spoke up, interrupting your thoughts.

"I know.. it's just..how the hell were they even allowed to publish this shit? It's almost fucking 2040." You explained, exasperated.

"I agree." Nines calmly replied, carefully choosing his words. "It is very ridiculous to argue that there is a perfect way someone should look."

You looked down at your own body, and if you had an LED, it would've been pure yellow.

"Especially with girls like me" you mumbled, not expecting the Android to hear.

But to your annoyance, he always heard everything.

"What do you mean, detective?" Asked the android, his head tilting to the side slightly.

You huffed, rubbing your arm as shyness overcame you.

"I'm not like her, or any other women. I got small boobs and I don't have-"

"(Y/N)." Nines cut off, his tone firm which caused you to look over in surprise.

You watched with your breathe held as he stepped over to you, two fingers lifting to gently rest under your chin and raise your gaze to his.

His LED was erratic as it changed colors, but his eyes finally met yours, and they were filled with determination.

"Statistically, there is always a person out there who appreciates your features. I for one, think you are aesthetically pleasing. Please don't talk negativity about yourself like that." He spoke, the last sentence having an edge of softness to it.

His fingers still pressed against the bottom of your chin, and a shiver ran through you as his thumb gently traced your jaw.

"Nines..?" You breathed, shocked at his intimate gesture.

He thought you were beautiful? The thought made your heart flip in your chest.

Your partner drew his hand back with haste before his eyes looked around for a distraction. His objective was met when he saw the digital tabloid.

Smoothly, his skin retracted on his hand as it came down on the tablet, the interface glitching before banishing the article and replacing it with another.

On the cover were different models of all shapes and sizes, the title reading "The naked truth: How we are all different but beautiful"

Nine's LED stabilized to a cool blue as he gazed down at the article, satisfied.

He then turned towards you, gently easing down next to your chair.

"The woman on the front, her body matches yours at approximately 89%. Many people think she is attractive, and she is happy with herself."

You gazed at the woman, on her face was a brilliant, happy smile. She was wearing a bikini as well, and you felt your heart swell slightly. She did look beautiful, and she looked confident.

Maybe Nines was right. I didn't need to listen to the media about how I should look. I'm me, and that's damn well good enough. I'm beautiful, whether or not a magazine thinks so.

A realization struck through your thoughts.

"You said...89 percent? How do you know that..?"

You watched as Nines tilted his head once more, and you could've sworn you saw a hint of mischief in his blue eyes.

"I can make a 3D model of any human's body in my mind palace. It helps with investigating homicides, but I made one of you."

Instantly, your arms covered yourself, your cheeks heating up.

"That's- Nines!"

He seemed to be slightly amused by your discomfort as he explained calmly.

"Do not worry, Detective. The image is only available in my mind drive, it can not be leaked to a third party."

That didn't help.

"That's still, ugh. Nevermind. You're not the first guy to undress me in their head."

That seemed to peak the Android's interest as his gaze met yours, his eyes flickering from yours down to your lips. Your heart stopped for a moment.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ∆

The tension was quickly broken when the Android stood, marching over to your desk as he picked up a tablet.

"There was a homicide reported 20 minutes ago. I believe we should investigate."

[patricia-von-arundel]

Danse Macabre: Teaser - Anselma

Summary: A setting of stage: a series of teasers to introduce an upcoming dark AU by @lysissisyl​ and @patricia-von-arundel​. Coming perhaps too soon... 

Rating: G (teaser only)

AO3 || Additional Teasers (coming soon)

Danse Macabre Story Blog

There had been storms the night before.

Summer squalls were not uncommon in Enbarr, but they were usually brief and thunderous, leaving damp earth steaming and the air feeling as thick and sticky as melted sugar. Last night’s storms had been unusually long, unusually intense: heat lightning and throbs like the distant boots of some approaching giant, deep and ominous and growing closer and closer under a sky turned a curdled, heaving mass of green-yellow clouds. Then rain, and rain, and rain.

Anselma had felt the oppressive thrum of it, some monstrous manifestation of the same turmoil within her gut. Perhaps Edelgard had felt it as well; she had been excitable all afternoon, full of even more impossible store of energy than she always seemed to contain, a whirlwind of activities quickly abandoned, toys and books left scattered across every room and corridor, and endless, incessant chatter-chatter-chatter. By evening, when the heavy clouds finally burst into deafening torrents, she had become querulous and irritable, and dinner pushed with an aggravated whine to splatter across the floor was the last straw Anselma could take. She shouted, and Edelgard, with the righteous fury reserved for the most faithful of the church but also four-year-old children, shouted right back before descending into a tantrum that faded only with her consciousness.

She slept afterward as peacefully as if nothing at all had happened, never stirring as the wind took up howling and the rain drummed like mallets against the roof and the windows, each thunderclap reverberating through the floorboards. Anselma wished desperately that she could do the same - but instead, she remained restless, and watched the raindrops glisten golden as the sun finally made desperate attempt to rise and shine against a world of dark and tumultuous surprises.

Unavoidable surprises…

She took Edelgard outside, into that fresh sun, nursing her third cup of tea since dawn and wondering - not for the first time - how much more often such times would be allowed: Edelgard in an old dress, too short, and old boots, almost worn through at the soles from having once been a most beloved pair, both perfect for stomping gleefully in puddles or leaving hopelessly smeared with a canvas of mud. The stomping. The mud. The center of Enbarr - a world of palaces and of prisons - could be reached in less than an hour on foot, less than half that on a horse, but for all Anselma truly knew of it, it might as well have been Almyra. But there were children there - of course there were. In a cottage beyond the walls of the city, or a palace, or in Almyra or Faerghus or Dagda or anywhere else: a child was a child. They played, and chattered, and refused dinner with angry vehemence. Would that, for Edelgard, truly be any different?

Or so Anselma tried, for a time of which she had long since lost count, to convince herself. She tried as well to drink her tea - but it had no taste, and her throat seemed to spasm for a moment as she forced it down, leaving her chest burning and her eyes watering and some primitive corner of her mind convinced that she was drowning: ridiculous, all of it, and all of it she fought. Whatever the cause, tears solved nothing.

“Look!” Edelgard’s voice, eager and excited; she had finally learned where to click her tongue into place for an “L” sound, rather than settling for a “Y.” “Look, look what I found!” The tempests of the night before - internal and external - seemed completely forgotten, and again Anselma wished there was some way for her to do the same. She might live the impossibly-long life of a child of the Goddess, and still she would remember every moment, every detail, of the night of such summer storms.

She put her teacup on the windowsill - carefully; the stone was lumpy and uneven - and went to see what had this time caught Edelgard’s curious attention.

Edelgard was crouched on the broken stone pathway, almost to where the tall row of hedges separated their tiny piece of earth from the endless, rolling farmland beyond: the closest Anselma had been allowed to get to running free of Enbarr entirely. They would not let her take Edelgard from the city. She would not leave the city without Edelgard. As far as truces went, it was not a happy one. She had dreamed a thousand thousand times - both awake and asleep - of taking Edelgard regardless of what they ordered, of escaping to another land entirely, where no one would care who they were or of the fate of any chosen children of the Saints-cursed Hresvelg family. What were the true odds that anyone might care to find them, with so many other Hresvelg children who could be burdened with family mantle?

But it was the lack of absolute certainty - strong odds, but not absolute ones - that kept her from doing it, and kept her in Enbarr. She wondered frequently if she would ever know for sure if this was a good decision, or a very, very poor one.

None of these possibilities and speculations mattered a trifle to Edelgard, of course. Edelgard was four years old, and what mattered to her at that moment was a worm.

The worm had found its way from the depths of the earth to the warm, damp, crooked paving stones that made equally-crooked way from the door down the center of the overgrown garden. (Anselma had made a single season’s attempt at taming it, then was wise enough to return to purchasing her vegetables from the market square just inside the old city walls.) The worm was clearly now ready to return home, the cooler night sky having left it to the merciless beat of the summer sun. She could feel the same thing - the blessed break from oppressive summer dissipating almost as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the rays of sun sharp and glistening as fangs; the heat was not done sinking deep into Enbarr. Living within the mud must feel quite good…

“Gross,” Edelgard said - but her eyes were fixated and intent, and there was pure fascination in them, and in her little smile as well. The ribbons holding her hair away from her face - away from dirt; there would not be time to wash it again - were already coming loose; she’d been too squirmy to tie them properly, eager to get outdoors after a single day of rain had trapped her inside. Edelgard had never liked feeling anything was forbidden to her, and grew quickly stubborn if it was, no matter how practical the reason. Anselma knew exactly from where she had inherited such inclination… and also now somewhat better could appreciate the frustration she had once caused in others.

“Don’t touch it,” Edelgard added - a curt, firm mimicry of adult authority held carefully in her voice. “We don’t know where it’s been.”

It always took some effort not to laugh, when Edelgard unexpectedly took on tones that seemed impossibly incongruous from a frame so small. It was perhaps something all children did, but what did Anselma know of children besides this one? “And we don’t want to hurt it, do we?” she asked - a more practical reason for Edelgard to leave alone the poor creature, already struggling mightily to wriggle its way back into the earth.

“We could hurt it?” Edelgard looked up briefly - concerned. “I didn’t touch it!” She pursed her lips and shook her head, as if vehemence might erase any doubt of the truth in her words.

“Of course not. He’s just fine. He just wants to go home.”

“To the dirt.” The disgusted glee was back in her voice. “Are worms related to snakes?”

“Snakes?”

“Snakes are slithery.” Edelgard put her fingers on the stone - carefully apart from the worm - and dragged them in little curls. “Sssss!”

“Maybe they’re cousins.” Anselma knew as much about worms and snakes as she did about children, but it seemed a harmless-enough little fiction to satiate Edelgard’s curiosity.

“Slithery,” Edelgard said again. “Sss. Ssssss.”

“How about this?” Ribbons already loose, and frayed at the ends besides - they were as old as the dress and the boots. And unlikely to be needed again soon…

Anselma tugged one away with more force than necessary - more force than intended - as if she might too loosen and pull from her own head thoughts she desperately did not wish to think. She was lucky the knot was already coming undone; Edelgard seemed hardly to notice her hair falling to her shoulder, much less the force of the pull - she was still dragging her fingers and hissing. The worm, equally unconcerned, continued its fight away from the growing suffocation of Enbarr summer heat.

Lucky things…

Envy of a four-year-old and a worm - utterly ridiculous, and yet there it was. And quickly dashed with guilt: here was a four-year-old, excited to be outside, in fraying ribbons and old clothes, fascinated by a worm. A child. A curious, tempestuous secure child.

How much longer? How much longer?

Anselma dragged the ribbon along the stone, mimicking Edelgard’s little fingers. “Another worm! Can you help it get home?”

“Yes!” Eager, excited - content. Content with an old red ribbon.

For a time, the ribbon occupied her. She wriggled it from the stone, shuffling along without even rising from her crouch, into the grass, then back again - this worm needed several trips, or perhaps was attempting to show the other how this should be done. Then another idea occurred - “It’s time for lunch, worms!” - and Edelgard ran off for the hedges, gathering spiky little leaves and then tufts of grass. She mixed them and made careful, uneven piles, several more than she had worms, real or ribbon - perhaps the snake cousins had been invited to share in the meal.

Anselma watched. Watched, and tried hard not to think: a truly laughable waste of energy. She could still run. Take Edelgard, bring more old clothes; who would look twice at a young woman and a child in worn, ill-fitting things, just two more wretched beings spit upon by powerlessness and circumstances? The poor of Enbarr swarmed like rats in parts of the old city - she had seen them herself, more times than she could count - and very few of the more privileged ever paid them any mind, so long as they were not causing trouble. They could go further, see the world. How long had it been since even the thought of Enbarr had excited her? She could feel like that again, and share it with Edelgard, until they found together a place that felt like home. A safe place. A place where…

“Uncle!” Edelgard’s sudden cry once more breaking through wandering thoughts - Anselma had failed to hear the door, or the footsteps on the path behind her. “Uncle, I made lunch for worms! I found one! It’s here, look!”

“In a moment, Edelgard.” He wasn’t even looking at her - when Anselma turned, her brother’s eyes were quickly fixed hard upon her own. “Good morning, Anselma.”

“Is it?” She made no effort at all to hide the disdain in her voice, only her surprise at his arrival. Why should she hide it? She knew as well as he did the role he had played - had insisted upon - in securing Edelgard’s fate. And he also knew exactly how Anselma felt about that fate.

He ignored her question - as well as the disdain. “Worms? You think it wise to let a child of her birth play with worms?”

“What harm is there in worms? I don’t care a Saints-damned bit about her birth. And neither do you.”

“Anselma…”

“Volkhard.” Petty, puerile - but she also felt, sparking like a flame thought long since snuffed, a defiance growing once more inside her. She lifted her chin, staring up at him with challenge writ quite deliberately across her expression.

He saw it - he knew it well. He sighed. “It would be far wiser, and safer for Edelgard, if you might offer simply a facade of caring. Especially now.”

“I don’t see that it matters. Everyone had made it quite clear that my feelings, facade or no, matter somewhat less than horse droppings do to the horse.”

“You believe they will simply leave you be, no matter how your rash behavior might come to affect them, simply because Edelgard has taken what has always been her rightful place?”

“Her rightful place? There are ten more before her!”

“Not with the Crest of Seiros. The Vestra line -”

She wanted to slap him. Instead, she cut him off: “You’ve said that. A hundred upon a hundred times, you have said that. Say it a hundred upon a hundred times more, and it will still do nothing at all to change my mind.”

Again, he sighed - exasperation, now. “And your opinion on this will change the minds of no others. But that is irrelevant - Anselma, I am trying to keep Edelgard safe. Can you truly continue to refuse to see that, even now?”

“I can keep her safe.”

“You don’t -” But he stopped himself - shook his head. It was not the first time he had almost said more than intended… and just as every other time, the reminder of his secrets, his self-appointed superiority even where her own daughter was concerned, fanned the flames of her defiance and anger from spark to inferno. “There is no safer place for her here than amongst the protections afforded to the royal family.”

“The true danger is within that family. Or were you too busy in prayer to the Goddess to pay attention in your history lessons? You’re asking me to entrust Edelgard to a nest swarming with vipers.”

“She’s being honored by a sacred tradition as old as the empire. No one will harm her. Certainly not her own family - she will be with her father, her brothers and sisters. And the Vestra boy? Anselma, he is six years old!”

She snorted. “A baby viper is still a viper.”

She could hear it, an echo; Edelgard’s voice: Sss. Sssssss. She glanced back, over her shoulder. Edelgard was playing with the twigs she had gathered, arranging them upright in the muddy ground, but if she was listening, it would not be the first time she had appeared to be completely absorbed in something else while taking in every word. Would she say anything later, as in the past she had done to Anselma?

What will happen now if she does?

“Vipers or not, she will be safe,” Volkhard said. He, too, glanced at Edelgard, but his expression was unusually cold and closed - difficult to read. “This is nothing offered to her lightly. If anyone seems to take it lightly, it is you - why is Edelgard not yet dressed and prepared properly to leave?”

The inferno was a sheet of flame across her vision - but had not yet fully engulfed all rational thought. She fought the rage at his words: take it lightly. As if he had not picked such phrasing quite deliberately, knowing her months of refusals, arguments, and blunt anger. She fought it - fought it, and said, “You told me yourself you would likely not arrive much before dusk. Unless the definition of such has changed, you seem to be several hours early. You expected to find Edelgard demurely waiting in satin and braids by the front door, no matter the time of day?”

“I would love to see Edelgard that way, at any time.”

She bristled at that - and certainly, he noticed, but she still attempted to cover it, turning away from him to call Edelgard in. What he would not see were the tears she fought.

None of them would ever see that.

This will not be the end of it.

Words she repeated to herself in silent, determined mantra as she led Edelgard back inside, far earlier than her fevered brain could possibly have prepared for. Repeated as she tugged Edelgard out of her old clothes, wiped the mud from her face and hands, dressed her in a skirt and jacket in Imperial colors - a gift from the Vestra family she had until now tucked into the furthest, darkest corner of Edelgard’s wardrobe. Whatever happened, no harm would be done in making a positive impression on this day of all days.

Edelgard pulled at the pleats in the skirt and twisted the tiny gold buttons with her fingers. “Fancy,” she said. “Don’t get dirty…” She was already dirty - dark crescents under her nails, a stark contrast to the polish and gleam of the buttons. But there was no time for bathing. Not now.

“Be very careful,” Anselma said, and Edelgard nodded in solemn agreement. She was unusually reticent as Anselma brushed and tied back her hair - or maybe the unusual factor was Anselma herself, taking almost-unconscious care in what might be the last time she ever did this.

No… Tying fresh ribbons, new ones, and more tightly this time. A deep breath. For a moment, she held it.

This will not be the end of it.

The little trunk Ionius had sent - it was already filled with Edelgard’s nicest things, all those satins apparently so precious and so rare. On top of them, Anselma put the brush she had been using. It was the only one that didn’t make Edelgard scream and fight any time her hair was touched.

Closing and latching the lid seemed as difficult as lifting the house from its very foundation. She let Edelgard help her carry it to sit by the door, though it wasn’t heavy. The weight was not the point. Edelgard took the task as seriously as lunch for worms: watching very carefully each step she took, her tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth. She looked more like her father when she was concentrating: the same thinned lips and drawn brows.

Volkhard did not let Edelgard help. He took the trunk and secured it to the back of the carriage - but Edelgard, distracted by the horse at the front, paid this no mind. “Does he have a name, Uncle?” she asked.

Innocent curiosity in her voice - no fear or uncertainty at all. But she had also not feared last night’s storms - very few things frightened Edelgard. A boon… except Anselma might once have said the same of herself. Standing now in the doorway of yet another home not truly her own, watching Edelgard stare up at a black beast towering above her - she felt not just fear, not just the anger she had nursed for so long, but something more like terror.

She could grab Edelgard, still, and attempt to flee. Perhaps they would simply be cut down by Imperial soldiers - could whatever skulked and screamed in an afterlife truly be worse than the most powerful men in life? Or they would escape, as she had imagined so often. Or -

“I don’t know,” Volkhard said to Edelgard - blunt. Still cold. “Into the carriage, now. Your father is waiting for you.”

“I don’t remember him,” Edelgard said - but quite matter-of-factly, and she did not hesitate to climb up the high steps. She required no help.

“You will soon enough.”

No goodbyes, just the slamming of the carriage door and a brief wave from Edelgard. It was likely for the best. Perhaps it was to be expected, considering how little Edelgard knew. Her stoicism in this might prove a necessary armor.

Anselma took a deep breath, and hoped only her own false stoicism showed. There was no one to see it - but that was not the point. She would wear this mask for herself. Wear it until…

Another breath, deep and slow and carefully even. This will not be the end of it.

Small, concrete things to do: clear away and clean the breakfast dishes. Tidy the toys scattered the evening before. Perhaps later scrub the floors. Things. Things to do. Things to distract. 

She returned first, though, to the garden; she had left her cup on the windowsill, interrupted from finishing her tea by Volkhard’s early, unexpected arrival. For a moment, she ignored it still - distracted by a flash of red further down the broken path.

Edelgard’s ribbon.

It was a coil upon the stone, bright against drab. Small and fraying, but like some helpless, pulsing creature, clinging stubbornly to life.

The worm had not been so fortunate. It lay next to the ribbon, prone and cracked and drying. Dead. Struggling for refuge, it had not escaped the sun.

[skywalkerqueen42]

Sitting beneath the glaring full moon, a young woman held a book in her lap. The rustle of the pages, coupled with her ebony-furred cat’s rumbling purr, offered the only sound in the night. The woman turned the page with her free hand – the other was busy with stroking the feline.

             Yawning, she blinked. The moon hung high in the sky, and she knew she should be getting home. She could almost hear her sister scolding her now. “Sya, you have school and studying! You can’t stay out in that field all day, every day.”

             To which she would always respond, “Well, why not?”

             She laughed at the memory. The town was just visible beyond the hill, most lights turned out for the night.

             Leaves from the nearby forest rustled, a quiet whisper. Leaping up, her cat knocked into her chin, clacking her teeth together. Sighing, the woman turned to look. Fur bristling, the feline stared unblinkingly into the woods, its eyes a glowing yellow.

“You’re seeing things, Luna,” she said, but when she looked down, the cat was gone. She glanced around, searching for the small beast.

Spotting a blur darting through the woods, she sighed, peering in the direction the feline had run.

She crept towards the woods, calling the cat’s name. Receiving no answer, she shook her head and continued onward slowly. She moved lightly, not wanting to attract unwanted attention.

“Luna?” Her fingers rapped against her leg as an owl’s haunting call rang in the distance. “Luna, come here!”

No answer.

Cold sweat ran down her back. Exhaling, she turned to return to the hill. The cat had disappeared before and come back.

She hesitated, not wanting to leave without her pet. In the silence, a caress of air moved by her ear, leaves blowing in the sudden draft.

Shaking her head, she took another step. As she stopped, the same breeze echoed her movement, this time escorted by a succinct shadow.

Standing impeccably still, heart roaring in her ears, she watched an elongated hand cover the rift in the trees – her only illumination source. She silently cursed herself, wishing she had brought a flashlight.

A vaguely humanoid figure, its body as colorless as the empty space around it, visible only by its outline - a slight rim of light surrounding it was all she could see – all else was an empty void. It was almost beautiful, in a horrifying way.

As she watched it, a new light appeared. A thin white line across what would be its face, stretching into a gruesome smile. It stretched out a thin, hand-like shadow, as if welcoming her. Stumbling away, she batted at the outstretched limb weakly.

The wide grin flipped, the horrifying smile now an even worse scowl. It shook, the outline blurring and blurring and blurring.

…

And then it was gone.

…

The darkness trickled away, the familiar but now frightening scene of the forest enveloping her once again.

Her sight flickered, her lashes drifting closed. She fought it, afraid to close her eyes. Afraid the thing would return.

Failing, her vision distorted and died away.

The sun was blazing in the sky by the time she awoke. She still felt cold, the night’s events a blur. Remembering her absent cat, she glanced around. Sure enough, the cat had returned, staring at her with suspicious eyes.

“Hey, Luna,” the woman said, calming. The feline yowled, shrinking away. Its fur stood on end – something terrified it.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she called the cat’s name again.

“That won’t do any good,” an amused voice answered. “Those beasts won’t come anywhere near anything remotely supernatural.”

She yelped, swiveling around. Hovering above her was a figure dressed in all black, a hood covering his face.

Deciding to follow her cat’s example, she recoiled.

“Relax, Sya. It’s only me,” the figure said, taking off his hood. He wasn’t all too bad looking, with a strong jaw and warm blue eyes.

She gave him a puzzled look, though he did seem distantly familiar. “And who are you? How do you know my name?”

“Sorry.” The man sat next to her, setting a large scythe beside him. “I always forget. My name is Tyr. King Death has requested your presence. You are still alive, though.”

She nodded, though she didn’t understand at all. “And why does Death want to meet me?”

Shrugging, he offered his hand. She took it and stood. He grabbed his scythe, wrapping his free arm around her. The forest dissolved into ink. For a moment, she thought the shadow thing was back, but them beams of light broke through the dark, images – memories – dancing across her vision. A large black owl, dancing on a beam of white, flew past her head.

Her reaper looked at the animal. “It’s your spirit animal,” he explained.

She nodded, too breathless to respond. They floated there, motionless, but the perfect moment faded away. Faded into a riverscape, the gentle lava waves lapping against the shore. Across a bridge stood a castle made of black stone, lit by a soft red glow.

She gasped, clinging to her reaper’s arm.

He reached over and carefully pried her hand off. “Ow, Sya.”

Wincing, she looked back towards him. Apologizing, she bit her lip.

“It’s fine. Everyone gets emotional the first time.” He smiled. “Let’s not keep the king waiting, shall we?”

She rested her hand gently on his arm and followed him across the bridge. A tall, handsome man, a crown of bone resting atop his head, met them at the door.

Tyr sunk into a bow. Sya looked around, eyes wide, before sinking into a hesitant curtsy. She hovered like that for a short while before the man’s gaze caught on her.

Death looked her over, curiosity flashing in his dark eyes. “Thank you for bringing her, reaper.”

“Hi?” Sya asked. “Tyr said… Tyr said you wanted to speak with me?”

“You’ve interacted with something out of my control. I do not know what it was, or why it attacked you. However, you are not the first.” He led them to the balcony, gesturing at a grassy valley.

There were at least three dozen people, milling about, talking in hushed voices. Their discussions abruptly halted when they noticed the king’s presence.

“All of these people came into contact with this thing,” Death said. “All of them died. You, however – you didn’t.”

“Why?”

He flicked a hand, a seat appearing behind her. She sat gratefully.

“All of these people have similar spirit guides in one way – they are all prey animals. It makes sense. This thing is obviously a predator, so it goes after prey. Tell me what you saw. All of it.”

Sya hastily recounted how it had stolen the light, smiled, offered a hand – all of it.

The king hummed quietly. “Anything else?”

She shook her head.

Nodding, he sighed. “Do you have pets? What spirit guide did you see?”

“I have a pet – a black cat. There was an owl–”

“It was massive,” Tyr inserted. “I’ve seen large ones before, but it was huge. And pure black.”

Death smiled for the first time since Sya’s arrival. “Call it,” he said. “You know how.”

“Sure,” she whispered. “Sounds great.”

Sitting cross-legged and closing her eyes, she imagined white scenery. Her forest came to mind, coated in snow during a particularly chilly winter. A shadow, much like the one she had seen before, when the creature came, flitted by her. This time, though, she was not afraid. She knew that it was not evil spirits following her, but good ones. Instinctively, she went to the tree on the hill.

A book rested there, a light dusting of snow across its cover. She sat beneath the full moon, taking the book in her lap. The rustle of the pages offered the only sound in this world of spirits. She turned to a randomly selected page.

It was blank. She went to flip to a new page, but dark ink began to spread across the sheet – as though an invisible writer had spilled their inkwell across the snowy white pages.

She stopped to see what would happen. The ink flowed, forming into an elegant cursive script.

Sya read it aloud seamlessly, despite the foreign language. A dark shadow appeared on the ground before her, the massive guide perching on a branch beside her. Standing, she looked into the owl’s great, round eyes.

Bowing its head, it let out an echoing call. The spirit world disappeared, Death’s castle reforming in her vision.

             Instinctively, she stood, extending an arm. A beam of white light cut a jagged mark into the wall, the powerful bird soaring out to perch on her limb.

             Its distinctive call echoed from the walls, filling the castle with sound.

“Fascinating…” A peculiar look came across Death’s face, almost – but not quite – awe. “Nebulosa.”

He bowed slightly, a respectful act from one deity to another. The owl responded in turn, spreading its wings in a silent movement.

Sya shifted closer to the king. “You – you know her?”

The king nodded. “She is a great deity from our past. I can tell you her story if you wish.”

Smiling, she shook her head. “Perhaps another time, your majesty. We should focus on finding out how to defeat this thing that attacked me. What is it?”

His face fell. “We don’t know.”

Sighing, he stood from his throne, stepping towards her and Tyr. “My sister agreed to allow us in her palace to discuss it. Nebulosa can access realm-shifting. Tyr and I will meet you there.”

With that, he disappeared in a cloud of inky smoke. With an exasperated sigh, she nodded to her guide. The iridescent blackness seeped into her vision. Nebulosa hooted softly in her ear, soaring away. In her wake she left a trail of white, a road to lead her way.

Sya took a hesitant step, her foot hitting the white path solidly. She looked out at the blackness.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she waved her foot slightly off the path. It hovered in empty space briefly before she yanked it back. A disapproving hoot scolded her, beckoning her on. She followed, chastised. As she walked, she came across a door – perched above it was none other than Nebulosa.

She hesitated – a sense of danger seemed to come from the silver archway. But her friends were in there.

Friends. She had known them such a brief time. Were they really her friends?

Yes. And technically, she had known Tyr for a long time. For all her life. Lives. She took a deep breath.

Do they think of you as a friend?

She froze. Confused, she wondered why she would have such a negative thought.

You did not. I did.

She turned around. Umbra – where had the name come from? She had never heard it before – stood there, the gruesomely wide smile once again taking up its features.

“You.” Her voice shook, betraying her fear. Cursing herself, she took a deep breath and tried again.

“What do you want, Umbra?” she asked. Her voice didn’t shake this time.

Come with me. You owe nothing to these people. What have they done for you? If you came with me, you could live forever.

It was tempting. Of course it was – immortality; the dream of Earth.

You want it. I know you do. I know everything about you. The spirit world disappeared. Sya’s home, the apartment she shared with her sister, took its place. She spun around, eyes wide.

“Sissy! Thank gods.” It was her sister, plowing down the stairs to embrace her.

Bewildered, Sya wrapped her arms around her. “Aura? What?”

“That filthy cat of yours came home without you. It may be a mangy beast, but its fiercely loyal. We were so worried!”

“We?” Sya couldn’t think of anyone else who might worry.

Had she stumbled through a portal? How else would she be back home? Back home. Aura had seemed frantic. How long had she been gone?

She repeated the question aloud.

“Only a day.”

But you already knew that, didn’t you? You doubted it – doubted that you’d be home. But the doubt that I knew how she hated that pet of yours. That was stronger. But you forget, my dear Sya.

Aura disappeared, her ruby hair flattening into a black, faceless figure. Umbra’s smile had changed. Where it had had some semblance of warmth, now it held only anger. I know you. I know every thought, every memory, every doubt. I can give you that life back for real.

“You know,” Sya started, the tremble back in her voice. “Humans usually have eyes.”

Umbra let out a wet cough. It reminded Sya of when her grandmother died, the rattling breaths terrifying the five-year-old. Umbra’s coughs lasted longer, dragging on and on and on.

Sya finally realized that he was laughing. At her. Her house disappeared, the spirit world’s inky surroundings enveloping her. It was comforting, now.

See, now that’s why I like you, little witch.

“Why do you call me that?” she asked, slowly backing towards the portal.

Its smile was warmer now, as though remembering something fondly. When I saw you with your cat, I assumed it was your guide. A witch usually has a black cat, and I thought you’d be willing to join me. You still are, though you fear me. My offer tempts you; I can see it.

She took another slow step backwards. Expecting to find solid ground, or perhaps the wall of the portal, instead her foot met only empty space. She whirled around, stumbling back onto the path.

Shaking its ‘head,’ Umbra tutted disapprovingly. Its illusions had swapped where she thought the portal was with where she thought Umbra was.

Fooled. Again.

Now, now. Where do you think you’re going, little witch? Certainly not through there. It won’t take you anywhere you want to go.

“Yes, it will,” Sya said, clenching her jaw. “It will take me to my friends.”

So, you cling to the notion that these people care about you. Its form shifted, the blackness changing into a truly humanoid form.

Blue eyes, sandy blond hair. Tyr’s strong jaw. Umbra smiled unnaturally.

Is this more visually pleasing? Do you prefer me in this form?

His tongue flicked, snakelike. It was black and forked, foreign in Tyr’s mouth. Shuddering, Sya stumbled away, forgetting that she was on a narrow path. As she nearly fell, Tyr’s hand – Umbra’s hand – grasped her arm, pulling her close to him.

Clearly not. Fine. We can ask them ourselves. The portal lit up with swirling patterns of white.

He led her through.

The first thing she noticed was the aroma. The air smelled welcoming, warm. Then she noticed the walls; light fractured into perfect rainbows, making the crystal walls alight with a million colors – more than Sya had ever imagined.

But then Umbra – still disguised as Tyr – dropped the illusion.

The immaculate walls shattered. The warm smell spoiled with smoke.

But most prominently the white-winged angel crumpled on the ground.

“No.” The word was almost inaudible, gone as soon as it came.

“Umbra. What did you do!” Shaking her head frantically, Sya ran forward.

He didn’t stop her. I didn’t do anything. Merely disguised the truth.

Collapsed on her side in a pool of blood lay the angel. She had one wing twisted beneath her, the other sprawled to the side.

Umbra stood beside her, looking down at the angel.

“Umbra.” He didn’t respond, preferring to examine a shattered piece of crystal. He fingered it, flipping it across his long fingers.

“Umbra!” she snapped. Startled, he cut himself with the fragment. He glared at her, the blue eyes a hundred times colder than Tyr’s ever were.

What is it, Sya? What do you want me to do? Sya noted that he used her name – he hadn’t done that before.

Looking up at him with zero fear, she snarled back her response. “Where are my friends?”

He waved his hand – a completely unnecessary gesture – and after a few seconds Tyr and Death barged through the door at the end of the hall.

             “Are there any more illusions?” she asked harshly.

             No.

             She gave him a disapproving look, as he was still in Tyr’s form.

             You’ve become very demanding, little witch.

             She deigned not to respond, and with a sigh he shifted back into his natural form, reverting to the horrific grin. He very obviously still wanted to intimidate her into accepting his offer.

             Death noticed as Umbra shifted, grabbing Tyr by the back of his hood before he could get any closer.

             “Nebulosa!” She swooped through the same area Sya had arrived from. But before she could reach the king, Umbra reached up, snatching the bird out of the sky.

             Nebulosa. I remember you, my dear. Do you remember me? he growled.

             “Let her go.” Sya stood from her position next to the fallen angel.

             Turning to set his terrible smile on her, he stepped forward. As he did so, he drew up another illusion.

             This is your last chance to turn against them, little witch.

             “Release the owl, Umbra.” Her voice stayed steady, though she felt her hands shake.

             You are afraid of me, Sya. You cannot harm me, and you certainly cannot hold your ground in a fight.

             Standing firm, she held her head high. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” She was bluffing, she knew it, he knew it.

             She looked around herself – it was a stunning deception. She looked out at the clouds from the top of the grassy mountain.

             “It is an impressive illusion,” she said, willing herself to stay strong.

             His smile widened. I can teach you how. It isn’t so hard as it seems.

             Swallowing, she offered him a slight smile. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

             He changed his appearance again, but this time it wasn’t Tyr. He was handsome. He had black eyes – no whites, just pure darkness – and pale skin. Pale, thin lips stretched in a wide grin that seemed perfectly natural on this face.

             She hated to admit it, even to herself, but he was handsome.

             “Who is this? This body, I mean,” she asked, tilting her head.

             Me. Me before I lost this form. Before she –

             He froze, his illusion shattering. His large black form lost all appearance – only a black mass floating before her. Turning around, Sya glimpsed Death kneeling beside the angel, Tyr standing guard above him.

             Nebulosa flew back to her arm, perching gracefully.

             Umbra, glaring, drew up another illusion. Though conscious of the illusion and how it looked, Sya had double vision – with Nebulosa’s help, she saw through the deception.

             She called his name, called for him to stop.

             Little witch. Why can’t you just give up on them?

             Shaking her head, she smiled gently. “They wouldn’t give up on me. Why should I give up on them?”

             He didn’t answer.

             “Someone hurt you. You recognized Nebulosa, didn’t you. You called her ‘my dear.’ That wasn’t coincidence.”

              No. The word was almost inaudible, gone as soon as it came. It wasn’t.

              “Umbra. Cruelty to others won’t make up for cruelty to you.”

             Death stood from the angel’s side. “We can make you a guide. You can help others, not harm them. I’d say you’re a panther, correct?”

             Why would I want that? Why shouldn’t I destroy you all, now? I could do it. I have the power to kill Death. I’d be worshipped by the humans. They’d all be immortal.

             “Would that make you happy?” Sya asked him, her voice soft as could be.

             I’d be powerful! I’d – I’d be a god!

             “You?” Death shook his head. “You’d be miserable.”

             A light caught their eyes, the light of a portal opening. Nebulosa flew through it, her movements as silent as ever.

             I will follow her. Death smiled at the shadow-beast, extending a hand. Umbra took it, changing into a great black panther. Not an illusion, this time. Bowing, it turned, leaping through its lover’s portal.

             Letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, Sya watched the swirling light emitting from the portal.

             Slow clapping echoed through the room. “Wonderful. Just wonderful. I suppose I’ll have to kill you myself, then.”

             A powerful figure rammed into Sya’s side, sending her flying through the gateway. She landed, hard, on the white road. Tyr’s face hovered above her, his arms holding her down.

             He stood with a growl, pulling her close to him. His striking blue eyes glared into hers, paralyzing her with fear.

             Silently, he twisted an arm behind her back. The movement involuntarily spun her around. She tensed, her back to him, as she faced out at the void.

             He nudged her forwards…

             And forwards…

             And forwards…

             Until she was right on the edge, her toes hanging out into the abyss. The thought to call for Nebulosa flashed through her head. He covered her mouth with his hand.

             “Sya.” He offered her a disappointed sigh. “What do you think you’re doing?”

             She bit him with all her strength, tasting blood as she sunk her teeth into flesh. His hand tensed but didn’t release her. The sticky feel of blood ran down her chin. The thought that her shirt would be ruined flashed briefly through her head, and she wondered sardonically if that was important when she was standing on the edge of the void.

             “Why, Tyr?” she whispered against his bloody hand. “I trusted you. How could you do this?”

             “Quite easily, really,” he replied, releasing his grip on her.

             She stumbled, caught off balance by the sudden lack of his steadying hands.

             Flapping her arms in a frantic bid for safety, she managed to regain her balance, teetering on the edge.

             A heavy sigh met her ears, disappearing with nothing to echo off.

             Her hair moved – just the slightest bit, but enough. It brushed against her cheek. Involuntarily, her muscles twitched, her head jerking to the side.

             Her balance lost, she slipped. Losing all sense of direction as she fell, all she knew was the rush of air against her face. Her locks of hair whipped against her forehead.

              The only sound – a short ‘tut, tut,’ met her ears briefly, then the soft foot falls to let her know of Tyr’s departure.

             Abruptly, the sickening sense of falling - that pit in the center of her stomach – stopped. So did her air supply. She had heard stories from astronauts, the feeling of weightlessness, the sense of drifting through the empty blackness.

             Only, the had helmets to provide them with air. They had stars, to show them the way, to fill the darkness. They always had something to keep them tethered, someone who could pull them free.

She had none of that, only blackness and empty space. Nothing to guide her, nothing to free her from her prison.

Or did she?

With the last inkling of oxygen left in her starving lungs, she croaked out a name.

“Umbra.”

She couldn’t tell if she was losing consciousness or not. Her head felt fuzzy, but she couldn’t see anything, eyes open or closed.

Then a flicker of light.

It might have been her imagination, looking for something to focus on in its last few seconds before she blacked out.

She woke with no feeling in her limbs. No, that wasn’t true. She had feeling, only she didn’t understand it. The feeling seemed different, alien. Her eyes flickered open, finding herself in the woods. Familiar woods, with tall pines, though her vantage point seemed odd. It appeared to be that she was sitting on a branch, though she couldn’t think of any that could hold her weight.

The details of the grass, the ants strolling along the bark of a neighboring tree, all of it was visible in clear, precise detail.

It unnerved her, as did the ruckus of chirping birds and buzzing insects, more than she had ever heard even in mating season.

That sort of sound level usually gave her a headache within seconds. Oddly enough, to her ears it was perfectly normal. She stretched.

And that’s when she realized why everything was so uncanny.

“Odd, isn’t it?” The voice was in the hoot of an owl, yet the words made perfect sense.

She looked at the large, gray wing connected to her back. The one that had taken the place of her right arm.

“Very,” she said, intrigued but not surprised when it came out as an owl’s call.

She hesitated, opening her mouth – beak – to ask the other owl a question. Before she could get the words out, a different voice stopped her.

Leaping up onto her branch, a panther licked its paw. “You are welcome.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Panthers aren’t usually in this area, you know.”

He purred. “Humans don’t come in this part of the woods, not since a young woman went missing. Besides, they cannot see us.”

Preening her wing, she hooted softly.

“Yes. There was no other way, not with Life gone. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she replied.

“I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

 (Hey guys. I wrote this “short” story as a school assignment, and it was what inspired me to write my current novel, bloodless.)

[the-magician-in-alice]

The camping trip

This story is part of Max’s Haunted Palace collab. 31 days of spooky writing collab! Enjoy

By nightfall, everyone had set up camp and were working on building the fire which was easy for Todoroki. As per usual Denki and Mineta were hitting on the girls from 3-B and failing miserably.

“Are you okay (Y/N)?” Uraraka placed a hand on your shoulder to get your attention; you flinched at her sudden appearance.

“Y-yeah, I am just in awe of how great things are going with everyone...like the bonfire is lit, drinks and food are there, just everything is coming together so nicely. I was hoping we could explore the forest some too.” you looked over at her and smiled softly. Something was pulling you towards the forest, you had to explore it, it was calling to you.

Entranced by the stillness of the night you started walking and left Uraraka standing there by the bonfire. You followed an overgrown path that weaved through the trees. You were so preoccupied with the path you didn’t realize people were following you. The path came to a clearing that led to a tiny rustic house almost at the edge of the cliff.

You walked over to the cliff and stood just at the edge. You were about to take another step when you were suddenly wrapped in something and pulled back. Your head and back collided with the floor in no time. You looked up to see Sero, Mina, Denki standing all around you. You tried to sit up but couldn’t place your hands anywhere.

“What’s going on guys? Where are we?” you looked over between all of them. You saw in the distance more of your friends but they all looked concerned.

“(Y/N) you don’t remember walking out here? You were just about to step off a cliff” Mina kneeled next to you helping you to sit up.

“I don’t remember getting here. All I remember is wanting to explore the forest. I was so drawn by it” you replied.

Bakugo, Midoriya, and Kirishima approached you all and asked what happened. Mina quickly filled them in on what she had seen and that you didn’t remember getting there. But now the question was “Why here?”. Once you were freed from your sticky restraints you stood up and looked over at the small cabin next to the cliff; maybe you could find your answers there.

Everyone moved together toward the abandoned cabin. The place looked old and long forgotten as if someone just left one day without taking their things. Pushing the door open you were met with complete darkness inside. Everyone started looking around for any lights but all you could find were candles; how old was this place?. Thankfully you always carried a lighter with you so turning on candles was no issue. Soon everyone had a candle nearby.

Rummaging through drawers and cabinets you couldn’t find much besides bottles with very odd labels. In the center of the room, there was a big wooden table with many books spread out but the language was one you couldn’t read.

“Hey, dumbasses I found something,” Bakugo called out rather loudly, breaking the eerie stillness in the cabin. You walked over to where everyone was huddled to see an old book that was hidden by the ones in a different language. You inched closer to the table pushing through the others to read the faded words.

“The forest isn’t just any forest for it hides trickster gods and sorcerers, do not let yourself be fooled by their words. Every harvest moon they prey on the pure of heart and body using the forest as a beacon to lead their victims to their death where they can collect your soul to rejuvenate their flesh and seduce virgins for sacrifice be warned of Reynard’s forest”

“So...legend says it only goes after virgins….so sucks for you (Y/N)” Bakugo looked over at you and laughed. Your eyes widened at the newly revealed information; it had never been your intention to reveal that intimate piece of information. But now everyone knew...it shouldn’t bother you but you felt everyone’s gaze shift to you. You backed away from your friends and turned to look out the window that faced the cliff, trying to avoid their gaze. You tried to go back to looking through the cabinets but you heard the hushed talking behind you.

If there is one thing you hated more than life was humiliation and you couldn’t stand a single moment more knowing they were talking behind you. Your legs started moving faster than your mind could process, ignoring the questions your friends asked you as you ran out of the cabin. It didn’t take you long to disappear under the forest shadows. The forest seemed endless and darker than before, you stopped to catch your breath and sit down.

“How did he know?” you thought to yourself, you groaned and covered your face. The stillness of the forest brought a chill down your spine. You weren't alone. You looked up to check your surroundings but you couldn’t see too much in this darkness.

“Are you okay there darling?” a voice broke the silence around you. You looked between the trees to see who was there, maybe someone followed you again? You spoke up as soon as you stood; no one answered.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” you spoke again. The overwhelming feeling of being watched didn’t go away and it couldn't have been your imagination that made you hear that.

“Fuck this” you thought to yourself as you started walking in some direction you hoped would get you back to the camp. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement in the same direction you were going. You were officially starting to freak out, you kept walking hoping to stumble upon the trail that pulled you into this haunted forest but to no avail. You pulled out your phone and turned on the flashlight setting.

The walk seemed endless and being alone did not help the fact that you were easy prey for anything living in the forest. Your light shined on the floor illuminating the variety of rocks, moss, and grass that inhabited the ground. It wasn’t until you saw a pair of brown boots that made you stop dead in your tracks. Slowly lifting the flashlight, you encountered a tall man with a long black coat, tan skin, and long reddish hair. He stood tall in front of you; his bright yellow eyes scanned your figure and his smirk grew.

“Who are you? Where did you come from?” you found your voice again.

“I live in this forest little one, you’re the one who’s trespassing in my yard. And why should I tell you my name when I don’t know yours?” He cocked his head to the side, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Ah! See how hard was that now? The name’s Reynard” he extended his hand to you while giving you a toothy grin. You could see how large and sharp his canines looked. You finally looked away from his face to stare at the stretched hand in front of you.

“Cmon (L/N) don’t be rude, shake my hand” Reynard insisted playfully. You shook his hand but he did not let you go. He pulled you closer to him and as he held you, he brought your hand up to his face kissing your knuckles softly. He inhaled rather loudly which made you recoil with disgust. With your hand free from his grasp you backed up more.

“This forest...is named after you, you are the trickster god, aren’t you?” You shined your phone’s light a little higher on his face. The tall man straightened and put his hands behind his back.

“I see you’ve heard of me...tell me was it those pesky gatekeepers? Or was it one of the villagers who live past the forest?” his voice turned serious and his eyes held no more amusement. You were onto him and he did not like it. You know his game but not how he played it, you decided to make a break for it and run in between the trees. You broke into a sprint in whatever direction and hoping to all the gods that you didn’t trip over anything. As soon as you thought you were far away enough you tried to slow down. You felt a hand wrap around your neck and the pain of being slammed against a tree.

“Ah, ah, ah my little darling, you aren’t going anywhere. You know who I am and I can't let you go now; I need your soul” Reynard’s face contorted into a terrifying extended grin almost like an animal-like face. The guttural growl that came out of him made you screw your eyes shut and scream loudly. His nails dug into your flesh as his face neared yours. Was this your end? It sure seemed like it. The sudden crackling of electricity reached your ears fast and you felt a shock but nothing else. The pain of Reynard’s nails suddenly disappeared and as you opened your eyes you saw him knocked out on the grass. You picked up your phone from the ground next to you.

“(Y/N)! Are you okay?!” you turned to see where the voice was coming from seeing something moving closer and closer to you. Denki appeared in your small lit vision field with a panicked look on his face, you ran over to him and hugged like there was no tomorrow.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Who-” you cut him off “there is no time for questions, he might wake up any minute now” you grabbed his hand and ran. You both ran for what seemed like hours until you saw the glow of a torch from afar, the glow of the fire grew and you were able to see who it was. Todoroki, Uraraka, and Tokoyami found you both. The lot tried to question you but you urged them to turn back and lead them to camp.

“Wait what about the others?” You turned to Uraraka who stopped to answer your question. She smiled at you and let you know that they had found the others earlier and they had come looking for Denki and you. Todoroki reminded you to keep going but the ground shook around you and created a rift between you and your friends.

“You are MINE, I need your soul!” Reynard moved towards you at an incredible speed, his voice remained guttural and his face contorted like a canine. You wanted so badly to use your quirk but your body refused to cooperate with you. “Is the forest taking my energy too?” you thought to yourself, Reynard was moving too fast for you to deter him. Both Todoroki and Denki jumped in front of you trying to protect you.

The combination of electricity and an ice wall sent him flying back, you had no doubt you were only making him angrier. “Is there even a way to kill a god?” you yelled at your friends. Tokoyami looked over at you and sighed.

“No, you can’t but usually they are confined to an area by the older gods. I am inclined to believe the forest is his area so if we manage to get you out of this forest before he gets ahold of you, we might be safe. The camp isn’t too far from here now about half a mile. We need to get going” Tokoyami called out Dark Shadow and asked that he located where Reynard was. There was a lot of movement around you and you knew he was trying to confuse you all.

“Start moving everyone! The faster we get out of here the quicker we can trap this asshole here” you called out to everyone. Todoroki and Denki moved behind you in case Reynard tried to attack again while Tokoyami and Uraraka were to your sides. You had practiced many times at UA group rescues and at this point, your mind focused on getting out with the least amount of people hurt.

“I’m baaaack!” Reynard appeared in front of you.

Todoroki attacked with ice but he dodged just in time, what he didn’t expect was a log pinning him to the ground courtesy of Uraraka.

“Keep going!” she yelled as she motioned more heavy items to fall on the trickster god.

Your hand was pulled by Dark Shadow who effortlessly picked you up and enveloped you in his figure. The camp was not too far ahead, you could see the light from the bonfire your classmates built earlier. You felt powerless having to be the one who needed to be rescued but there was no denying you felt grateful they came looking for you.

Reynard had freed himself from the restraint Uraraka created and was on your tail. The tree line was in sight and you were sure everyone felt relief in seeing that. The ear-shattering screech Reynard let out made your ears ring. The mighty god disappeared behind you and reappeared in front of the group making everyone jolt to a sudden stop. Dark Shadow dropped you and your body rolled a few feet in front of your friends. As you fell you felt something sharp cut your face, maybe a rock or a root, you couldn’t tell.

Reynard focused his attention on you again. “Your blood smells so sweet, maybe I will eat your flesh too” he cackled diabolically.

You tried your best to fight his grip but nothing made him budge. You couldn’t look at Reynard’s face any longer. You turned to your friends who seemed frozen in place. Your eyes locked with Denki who seemed scared shitless, but nevertheless spoke up.

“Discharge 2 million volts!” he pointed his hand at you and Reynard.

Time seemed to slow down in the seconds before the electric shock crashed down on you. The shock made the trickster god screech once more but this time in pain. Your friends recognized this as their chance to get you and Denki out of the forest. Uraraka made Denki float pushing him towards the clearance while Todoroki and Tokoyami ran over to you and Reynard. The electric shock stunned him once again making him fall back with an enormous thud. They tried to help you up but your muscles ached from the electric current that just went through your system and they struggled to lift you from either side.

Uraraka had managed to get to the clearing before you three and was cheering you on. The tree line was right there Todoroki went through first as you stood up on your own. The horrendous screeching came alive again and stood right behind you pushing Tokoyami forcefully out of the way and grabbing your arm in a last-ditch effort to pull you back in, but you could feel your body giving you enough strength to power up your quirk. Reynard held on to your arm digging his claws into your skin, you turned towards him and threw a metal shard towards his face. The shard cut his face, causing him to release your arm in pain.

“NOOO” Reynard slammed his fists against the invisible barrier that kept him captive in the forest.

You had defeated a trickster god at his game thanks to the help of your friends. Your face was bleeding but you were alive and that is all that mattered.

“Checkmate Reynard” you panted while you stared at him through this barrier.

You backed away while still looking at him then turned around to see your friends standing looking at you.

“No one is going to believe that we fought a god and won.” you spoke in a hushed voice. You saw them slowly start laughing as you joined them, this was a night you surely wouldn’t ever forget.

**Bonus**

You sat in a tent cleaning the blood from your face when you heard the zipper of the tent open up. You saw Denki’s face pop in with a bright smile, he looked like he had recovered from his short circuit.

“How are you feeling (Y/N)?” he asked, taking a seat next to you.

“I mean I’ve had better days but I did escape the jaws of a god who wanted to eat me so I would say good.” you laughed nervously. “Guess I should take you up on that offer now.” you continued.

He looked confused; his eyebrows furrowed as he asked “What offer?”

You bumped your shoulder against his and smiled, “The one you made me this morning...of letting me stay in the tent tonight.” your eyes finally locking with his. If you weren’t looking at his face you would assume he had short-circuited again.

“I will take that as a yes.” you laid your head against his shoulder and relaxed once more. Maybe after this trip, you would no longer be a worthy victim for Reynard.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Protea (Part 2)

It hurts. It hurts terribly. Agonizingly. She sinks deeper and deeper and the water around her seems to bubble and boil. She sees a face and then several of them and then many more. They all watch her.

They are all around her but her gaze is still fixed on the first one. It is quite lovely. Lovely and terrifying in synchrony. Like an erupting volcano it is intense, splendid, and promising of demise. That face fades into the background and the others circle around her.

For a moment her vision is obscured by a thick cloud of bubbles. They flit and flick about like moth-wasps. She thinks that she can hear them buzzing. When they clear the faces are all scowling at her. They are twisted and ugly. Evil.

They want something.

They all swarm closer. Closer… Closer…

She bolts upright and shakes her head. It doesn’t matter how much or how hard she shakes it, the dream never leaves her head. It is always there replaying in different variations and tones. But those faces, they are always there. Always watching. Sometimes she feels them watching her well into waking. She shudders. It is still dark out, she ought to roll on over and get back to sleep. Especially now that she has a new job. She smiles to herself, Mohi will be proud if she can make this one work. Especially since she hasn’t really been able to hold a job; if it wasn’t tardiness it was getting mouthy with her employer. If it wasn’t snark and wits it was brawling on the job. And sometimes that wasn’t even her fault, sometimes they just came to her. She thinks that this is why Mohi moved from Hira’a to the Capital. Something about a fresh start and no enemies.

She sits still for some time, staring at the moonrays that spill through the cracked window. The draft that comes through it is cool on her face, refreshingly so after so many sweltering Fire Nation nights.

She stretches her arms and pulls herself out of bed. Ultimately she has no desire to plunge back into the waters of her nightmare. Slipping out of the house isn’t so difficult, Mohi and her sons sleep heavy. She wishes that she could do the same but she supposes that being up so early has its perks. Namely she can slink about the city and swipe a few goods from mostly unmonitored food carts and trinket stalls. And when she isn’t in a swiping sort of mood she can jump from roof to roof, swing from railing to balcony, leap over walls and on top of stacks of crates. It is a hobby but it keeps her both fit and entertained. It gives her something to feel special about when Zenyul and Kaz overzealously dance around with their flames.

She takes a step into the cracked city streets. They are littered with trash, mostly discarded posters, broken glass, and piles of excess coal that the factories were too lazy to carry out of the city. Apparently the outskirts worked just as well, out of sight out of mind; really there was no harm, the outskirts of Capital City are already dirty.

The wind carries the scent of sulfur and factory waste as it smacks against her face. She bunches her nose and gives a little cough, she hates windy days. This doesn’t really matter either, she will be in the inner city soon enough and the offensive odors will transition into more pleasurable scents like sizzling skewers, poignant spices, and upper class perfumes.

She finds herself a building to scale. Find might not be the best way to put it, she has found this building quite some time ago and it had quickly become her favorite with its rickety and rusty ladder and its crumbling smoke stacks. On the first week it had been something of a playground to her and she is still discovering little quirks and treasures within; new places to climb up or crawl into. Height, or lack there of gives her the ability to slip into all of those tight places. All the while it makes it harder for her to reach certain places, she has yet to reach the top of the tallest smoke stack. She has climbed it from the inside but it had eventually grown too tight even for her. From the outside, she can never quite stretch her arm far enough to reach a possible handhold. She promises herself that she will make it up there one day. For now she settles for climbing as high as she can.

From her new vantage point, she feels free. Free and above people she otherwise never would be. The inner city skyline glistens like gold or sunshine or something pretty and poetic, she never really has the right words for it. But it is splendid, a goal even higher and less reachable than getting to the top of the smokestack. Most opulantly of all is the palace palace. She spies it’s gleaming multi-tiered roof. Even without the sunlight to cast it in the most flattering light, it still sparkles and glints and outshines the rest of the city.

By the time she shimmies her way down the smokestack her hands and clothes are as dirty and smudged as the palace is pristine. Her feet meet the floor with a dust-kicking thud. She wipes her hands on her pants and climbs back over the fence. She ought to make her way into the inner city before the sun can rise and spoil her fun.

She makes it there with the ease and quickness that only familiarity and routine can provide. It still takes a good hour or so, but she has leaned the quick routes and the ones that take her past the street gangs and their drug trades.

This is the trip that finally wears a hole in her shoe, just one more tatter among many. She guesses that that’s what her new job will get her first. The vendors almost never leave shoes, clothes, and jewelry unsurveyed.

She ought not with her shoes growing battered, but she can’t resist scrambling up a pile of crates and discarded boards. She balances upon a beam that has yet to be thrown out. With luck, they will drop it off at the old industrial factory so that she can have more discarded war machines and parts to enjoy. She leaps from the beam to a balcony. It is always a risk to use the inner city balconies, sometimes they spot her. Granted she is too quick for them to catch her so she doesn’t fret it too much.

She worries over other things. And she can’t seem to outpace them no matter how many buildings she weaves in and out of. The thoughts follow her and the more she thinks on it, the less she feels she is suited for this new job. It had been such an impulse volunteering. She’s no good for it and the woman running the shop didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic to have an assistant. She can’t imagine that she’d be particularly hurt if she didn’t show.

.oOo.

Mai inhales deeply. She shouldn’t be surprised that the woman hasn’t shown up. It was a joke or an attempt to blend in until whoever had it out for her had come to pass. Mai thinks that it is mostly her own fault for humoring the woman and then getting her hopes up. For putting her faith in someone who clearly takes few things seriously. But she has quite stupidly brought an excess of flowers under the impression that she’d be having help.

She turns around and lifts the first few flower pots to be arranged and scoffs when she finds that one of them has broken, spilling dirt everywhere. She hears the shuffle of feet on cobblestone. “I’m not open yet.” She grumbles without averting her gaze from the mess.

“‘S fine, I’m not here to buy anything. But I can clean that up for you, my hands are already dirty.”

“I didn’t think that you were going to show up.”

“Me neither.” She shrugs. She stoops down and begins pushing the dirt into a neat pile.

“I have a broom.”

“And I have hands that work just fine.”

Mai rolls her eyes, “If that’s how you want to do it.” She shrugs.

“It’s already done.” The woman declares.

Mai looks at the woman’s dirty hands and sighs. “You’re going to have to clean them…”

The woman quirks a brow, rubs her hands on her pants, and lifts them up.

“Close enough.” Mai grumbles. “Help me set this up.” She gestures to the flower pots.

The woman nods. “I’m pretty good at arranging things.”

“I usually put the poppy and violets in the front and…”

The woman is already arranging them in her own way. “I think that these yellow ones look nice by these orange ones. Pinks also go nice with them. Like a sunset, ya know? And we should put the bright ones in front because they’ll draw more attention.” She moves a few deeply colored violets and poppy and switches them out for the dahlia, marigold, and fire lily.

“Ugg, the bright ones make me nauseous.”

“But they make your customers notice the stall. See.” She points to a couple wandering near.

“I guess.” Mai shrugs before turning to her customers. For some time they mutter between themselves occasionally pointing at one flower or another. The woman seems to watch them with much more intensity than she ought.

“I don’t know…” Says the man as he strokes his chin. His companion shuffles on her feet and shrugs. “Well what do you think she’d like?” He asks.

His companion gives another shrug. “She’s your sister.”

Mai drums her fingers upon the counter, she wishes that people would decide what flowers to get before they approach her stall.

“What are the flower for?” The woman asks.

“My sister just had a baby.”

“Lilies!” The woman declares and picks up a potful of white lily.

“Why lily?” Asks the man’s companion.

“They’re soft and pretty like babies.”  The woman declares quite boldly. Mai rolls her eyes, much too boldly for something that sounds like improvisation. “Lilies are supposed to represent innocence.”

“Really?” The man asks.

The woman nods. “Back in Hira’a I knew a woman who had a garden. She always said that lilies are pure, especially the white ones.”

“What do you think?” The man’s companion asks.

Mai shrugs. “Yeah, lilies are soft and pure.”

“Sounds good to me.” The man passes her a few coins as the woman hands his partner the flowerpot.

Mai watches them wander back into the crowd. Truthfully, she doesn’t think that she has ever gotten a customer so soon after opening. “Maybe you’re right about putting the bright flowers in front.” She admits. She also finds herself admitting that the woman reminds her of her aunt in a way, prattling about what characteristics each flower represents.

“It’s all about presentation!” She declares. “You arrange them all nice and pretty and then you talk about what each one is supposed to mean, draws people right in.”

“Have you sold flowers before?”

She shakes her head. “I sold other things though. Rocks and trinkets, stuff I found laying around, and fireworks. Lots of fireworks.”  

So the woman is a scavenger. “I swear to Agni, if you’re one of those people who gets all crazy over shiny things, I’m gonna puke.”

“Want me to get you an empty flowerpot?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I got lots of shiny things, see.” She pulls her necklace out from under her shirt. Each charm--though she uses charm quite loosely--is fixed on a thick rope cord. She sees a bent and slightly rusty spoon, a key, a few beads, a dull razor blade, and small shards of metal. The woman tucks it back under her shirt before she can pick out any more knick knacks.

“Interesting.”

“Thanks, I made it myself.”

Mai nods and folds her arms across her chest. “So you really don’t have a name?”

“That’s right.” The woman nods.

“Then what am I supposed to call you?”

“Most people just say, ‘hey, you!’ or ‘streetrat!’ Mohi and her sons usually just tap me on the shoulder or something.”

“Do you actually answer to streetrat?”

“Sure. I don’t really care what people call me.” She gives a dismissive hand gesture.

“I’m not going to call you that…” Mai trails off. Something in her stirs with discomfort or maybe bitterness on behalf of the woman. She’s much too energetic, disorganized, and somewhat grubby but she’s got determination and diligence. Truth be told, Mai thinks that she has an intelligence about her, one that might be lost on even she. “I don’t think that you’re a streetrat.”

She gives a hum. “Not entirely, no. Coulda been though.” She pauses. “You can name me if you want.”

Mai blinks, “you want me...to name you?”

“Sure, if that makes things easier.”

“I can’t just come up with a name for you on the spot.”

“Sure you can, people do it all the time.”

“Well I want to call you something that fits you.”

“How are you gonna decide what fits?”

“I guess it’ll come to me when I get to know you better.”

Her eyes seem to light up. “I can take you to the industrial park after you close the shop.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I don’t have much going on and Mohi doesn’t mind me going there as long as I come home first, ya know, so she knows that I’m not dead or something. She gets worried that the Iwaken are gonna get me.” She pauses. “So I’ll say hello to Mohi and then we can go to the industrial park.”

Mai very nearly groans; she hadn’t meant to talk her way into a spontaneous outing with a bizarre character, and at an probably dirty and shady industrial park of all places. She opens her mouth to decline but the woman is looking at her with such delight…

“I haven’t been able to make many friends since coming to Capital City, everyone is so uptight here.”

This time Mai does groan. “Alright, fine. We can go to the industrial park.” She very well could suggest a trip to a restaurant or to a nature path or something of a more mundane variety. But Agni if she hasn’t been longing for a break from the monotony. Things have been rather drab without any national catastrophes and with TyLee having off with the Kyoshi warriors again.

The woman flashes her a grin and Mai thinks that she might have just made the right decision. “We can always close early and…”

“Nice try. You have a full day of work ahead of you.”

[thedarkstrangeson]

(pa)Jamas

I impulsively wrote something, enjoy!

AO3

Ships: Jamas(a.k.a Thomceit)

Warnings: None! It’s pure fluff. There is, however, as singular curse word.

In which: Janus' space heater breaks and there's really only one place that is going to be warm enough. Unfortunately, that place is taken.

Words: 1232

There was a conundrum in the dark side of the mind palace. Despite being mid-April, there was a chill. This was, regrettably, nearly always the case, although Janus could usually get around it with layers and a space heater. 

Until the heater broke.

Now, he was stuck here, a cold-blooded snake boy, with nothing to warm him up. It was far from ideal. But he wasn’t going to give in on searching for help just yet, so he rolled over and pulled the covers tighter over his head. 

5 minutes later, he was still shivering. Fuck. Going up to the “common” room would normally be out of the question, as it was more of an exclusive, light sides and thomas only sort of room. But… they did know his name. Thomas did attempt to trust him. Maybe things could be different. Or, maybe he just wouldn’t run into any of them! Everybody had been sticking to their rooms since the video, and it was the middle of the day. Ideally, everyone would be busy and he could just curl up on the couch until he warmed up, before leaving. Nobody would even know he had shown up! The plan was flawless.

Groaning, Janus pushed himself out of bed. But he was not about to head up there with not even a bit of warmth, oh no. He pulled the comforter around him until it resembled a tortilla for a snake boy burrito an extremely intimidating villain’s cloak, surely stocked with plenty of hidden weapons. 

Cloak trailing behind him, he made his way up the stairs to the common room. Even just halfway there it was already getting warmer, and Jan was just about ready to melt into a nap on the couch for the next several weeks. It couldn’t be a bad way of passing the time. 

Coming into the room he glanced around furtively, before beelining it to his target. The room was empty, thank goodness, so instead of taking the dignified route around to the front of the couch, he rolled right over the back of it.

Into something warm, squishy and wriggling. Oh, it was talking too.

“Hey! What the—”

“Oh, hello there,” said Janus, not at all prepared for this encounter, “I was expecting to find you here. Who are you, by the way?”

“Um, Janus, it’s Thomas.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll just be taking a nap here, then I can get out of your hair.” 

“Janus,” said Thomas carefully, “You’re on top of me.”

“Ah yes, that,” he paused, “Deal with it.” Thomas was undeniably warm and Janus was not about to lose his new personal space heater. At least not until he stopped shivering.

“I guess I didn’t have anything planned… Janus, why are you so cold?” He could hear the tinge of concern in Thomas’ voice, and he was not about to navigate this in his current state. So he said the only reasonable thing.

“I’m not cold.”

“Sure, Jan.” Thomas shifted around to let Janus lay next to him on the couch, although there really wasn’t enough room for that. Janus hissed at the loss of body heat and extricated an arm from the snake burrito blanket comforter. Reaching out wildly, he soon found Thomas’ arm and pulled it around him.

“Now you’re sstuck.” Thomas chuckled, and Jan could feel the deep rumble even through the comforter.

“I suppose I am. Can I have some of that comforter?” Janus considered it. It would be difficult to get out of the blanket, but it could be worth it because there’d be more warmth with both of them underneath.

“I guesss you musst.”

A few minutes of intense wriggling later, and the end result was worth it. The comforter covered both of them, and Jan was pulled tight to Thomas’ chest. Dimly, he thought that it should be the other way around. It was his job to protect Thomas, after all! But the warmth was comforting, and he was not about to try to right this, at least not now. So he did the only reasonable thing, and pushed a little closer before closing his eyes. This was still a perfect nap opportunity. 

~~~~*~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~

“Thomas, you have been asleep for approximately the last 93 minutes, if you do not get up now you will enter into another sleep schedule and it will be more difficult to wake up later, therefore—” Logan blinked as another head emerged from the blanket burrito, “Greetings, Janus.”

“Thanks, Logan. I guess I should get up, there's stuff to do,” said Thomas, yawning. Janus, however, hissed and tried to disappear further under the blanket. He may have warmed up, but he was not about to go back to the cold part of the mind palace just yet. 

“Sstay?” His voice sounded smaller than he had hoped, but it seemingly worked. Thomas brushed the hair out of his eyes, and Jan melted into the touch.

“I do have some shows to catch up on, don’t I?” Thomas smiled down at him. “Logan, I’ll get up early tomorrow to catch up, alright?”

“This seems to be an adequate use of your time. Although, you may want to find Janus some better pajamas. His are well-worn, to say the least.” 

“No, they’re not,” said Janus.

“I’ll go get you something fleecy, alright?” said Thomas. It took a lot of persuading, but he eventually managed to extricate himself and return with a set in soft yellow plaid. Janus was maybe a little too happy to see them, but he changed as quickly as possible before smooshing himself back next to Thomas, upright this time at least.

“What do you want to watch?”

“Phineas and Ferb,” Jan responded without any hesitation.

“As you wish.”

They marathoned a non-trivial amount of the show, with commentary from each. Both of them knew all of the songs, of course, and Janus took every opportunity to criticize Dr. Doofenshmirtz’s lack of villainous success.  Of course, nobody could tell that Doofenshmirtz was his favorite character. It definitely wasn’t obvious. 

But, time kept moving and it ultimately became a little too late to be able to justify staying up any longer. He was warm, and there really was no other reason to stick around. Jan tried to do it as simply as possible.

“I have, err, scheming to get to, Thomas. Besides, I am warm and no longer in need of your body heat.” 

“Oh, um, alright Jan,” Thomas seemed almost disappointed, “Well, maybe we could do this again sometime.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Janus pulled his comforter back around himself and tried to look intimidating.

“Sure it won’t. How about Friday?”

“Thursday.”

“Deal.”

Janus nodded imperiously, before setting off back down the hallway, his comforter swishing across the floor.

“Good night, Janus,” Thomas called after him.

“Good night, Thomas.”

Upon arrival at his room, Janus nearly stepped over the package at his door. His thoughts were most definitely elsewhere. But he was curious, so he opened it up to find his space heater, repaired. A note in concise blue pen spelled out his name, and the repair date. Janus plugged it in, but he was definitely not planning on telling anyone it was back in working order. The excuse was too good. And he wasn’t exactly averse to another late night with Thomas.

Overall, the adventure was an 11/10 flannel pajamas.

[starfirette]

Every Which Way: Chapter One

The Way Off Aniri

➡️a/n: a new series! Woohoo! Shoutout to  https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/ for inspiring the names of the people and planet. There is possible false information regarding Mandalorian culture, so don’t bitch to me about it. I know I said posting was at 8 but I am too anxious. @interwebseriesfan24​ is my lovely beta so go follow her and maybe even read her fluffy AF star wars fanfics!!! For more info on the OCs included, visit my OC page. 

➡️masterlist 

➡️Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader | attempted execution | attempted murder | arranged marriage | love triangle kinda | slow burn romance | mild smut | angst to fluff | strangers to lovers | word count: 7,566! 

➡️ JOIN THE TAGLIST

NEXT CHAPTER AVAILABLE NOW!! >> ! << 

Aniri is a planet where a monarchy reigns supreme. 

The Anirian King has submitted a request to the guild, which suggested that he wants a man dead for making threats against the court; Karga just had suggested his best fighter take the job, just as non-explicitly as the king had been. 

And Din has never been one to reject a job; especially if the pay seemed unreal.

To eliminate one man, the court was offering half a million credits and ten pounds of ruthenium. 

Happy and boasting, Karga contacted the Anirian council and relayed that his best hunter would be taking the case. 

The Mandalorian was given a tracking fob as well as a quick run down of Aniri. 

In Karga’s own words, Aniri is not nearly as fluffy and dreamy as the public galaxy might think. These perceptions were coined by Anirian councils to distract suspectors from their supposed sympathies to the Empire as well as their cruel, unjust government. Karga had heard rumors that the current princess, Emelea, had been going on a rampage simply because her parents would not stop her. 

With great consideration, Din reviewd these rumors. While he set a course to Aniri he told himself that he’d never actually been to the planet. Karga was not the only person to have said such things about the planet, but there were several offending accounts claiming Aniri is a wonderful place to live. People live their lives, no matter how a planet fairs. As far as Din knows, the planet was globally unified a century ago.While he’d never actually been to Aniri, he knew better than to listen to silly rumors, especially when every person has a different account. 

Arrival to Aniri did not give Din any trouble. The atmosphere enterance gave the Crest zero problems. 

Din touched down in a grassy plain about half a mile from the main palace, which was surrounded by large steel gates. On the landing plot were a large number of court members and palace guardians. 

With a short greeting, Din followed the guardians into the palace, where the royal family waited to greet him. 

The King is Josiahn Weslyn. He is shorter than Din, and pasty white, with thinning hair washed pure of color. His wife, also his first cousin, is Melvanne Weslyn, a taller woman, but with the same thin hair colored a muddy brown. Both she and her husband have no eyelashes and beady eyes. 

Their children are equally unattractive. 

The triplets are Melv, Riz, and Emelea. Melv and Riz are boys, tall as their mother but with darker eyes that are wreathed with heavy grey bags. Their heads share the same waves of suffocated amber that rolls down their necks. The strangest of the bunch is without a doubt Emelea; she is the tallest of her family. Her sunken black eyes stare deeply into Din’s helmet. It seemed certain to Din that she could see past his helmet. 

His bones felt exposed to the princess, who did not blink as she stared. The wind tousled her dirty blonde hair before she finally sank into a deep curtsy, in sync with her two brothers.

Din greeted them with a cool nod of his head. “I am here to complete your task,” he said. The modulator of his helmet maximized his aversion to the strange bowing of the children. 

Josiahn paid Din’s near invisible discomfort no mind as he gestured for his guardians to part and allow Din to come forward. 

“Our Mandalorian savior,” Josiahn proclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” his family echoed.

“Please come with us.” 

One by one the court members turn on their heels to return inside the palace. Their hems swished an inch above their heels, waving around a golden emblem wrapped around the ankles of their customary pants. As for the palace, it is quiet and cold. Din’s boots scuff against the concrete floors. The walls are devoid of decor. Every window has a set of large shutters to keep the sun out. 

The only light comes from torches lit along the grey walls. 

Bristled servants scatter in the shadows like swamp mice. They do not dare to murmur gossip. Not one of them stops to stare at the Mandalorian armor with awe, but it isn’t out of courtesy—it’s as if they’re too scared to be noticed.

Most maids wear dull scraps of potato sack-like material. Even that, though, isn’t what Din finds strange. Every maid bears thick makeup like paint. The lines and patterns which adorn their face have no pattern, and no meaning whatsoever. The glimpses of color he sees are the ugliest shades of yellow or green. 

The makeup can’t be a popular trend. 

Din recalls the warnings given by Greef Karga. 

Journeying down the palace made Din feel smaller and smaller as the ceilings gradually became higher and higher. When Din was a mere speck of metal among the stone fortress, he was given a seat in Josiahn’s study. The children remained standing near Din’s given chair. Emelea’s hands rested on the shoulders of his armor, making Din feel suffocated. He resisted the urge to shake her away to not disrespect the family. Both of her brothers stand watch beside their sister.

The king and queen sat on a bench behind their desk. Din had never seen such a set up before. He’s seen many governors and monarchs and they never did business beside their partner. But Melvanne seemed perfectly used to this arrangement. Her left hand rested on the table, while her husband mirrored this with his right hand. They reached for their own pens but in perfect synchronization. On a piece of parchment they began to write. Joshian wrote the first half of the contract while Mevanne wrote the second. Their pens met perfectly in the middle, leaving not even a blot of ink. They slide the contract to Din, silently gesturing to him to read it. 

With a surge of shock Din found that they’re handwriting is perfectly identical. It looked as if one person had written it out. Aside from that the contract is curiously short. 

The chosen Mandalorian will return the peasant man Kais Korren to the palace dead or he forfeits the bounty of 500,000 credits and ten pounds of ruthenium. The chosen Mandalorian will not be given more or less. The chosen Mandalorian will be the chosen hero of Aniri. 

“Do you agree to the terms?” The king asked. 

Din hesitated to agree. These terms are not Guild regulated, but if they contacted Greef Karga, then surely they know the actual rules. This contract must be for their own personal relief. 

“Agreed,” he finally said. The tracking fob was slid across the desk by the King, and as Din looked at the slow blinking light with an unseen grimace. He couldn’t imagine what sort of threats a man could be making to warrant drastic measures. A tracking fob, half a million credits, and not to mention pounds of ruthenium. If the Armorer does not see the ruthenium fit for armor plating he will simply sell it and donate half the earnings to the foundinlings of Mandalore. Although it’s no secret Din, himself, is broke. His jobs barely carry the amount of fuel for his ship, let alone upkeep. What money he gets he sends half away to care for the foundlings. That is his Way, the Way, that he has devoted himself to. And it does not bother him. He isn’t easily bothered.

But this planet—this planet bothers him to his core. 

The fob leads Din to the village about five miles from the kingdom capital. 

It’s a quiet village, serene with its grassy farms and tall trees. Unlike any other village Din has been to the people are quiet. Among the markets there is only necessary chatter. Bystanders that come and go don’t speak, and they certainly don’t look at Din.

Most people have similar reactions upon seeing a Mandalorian. Some children point and jump with glee. Mostly, however, people avoid him but point him out with admiration or shock.

This village is different. Because he stands out, people fear him, as if they fear anything out of the ordinary. Villagers begin to squirm when they sense Din coming closer, but they try their best to ignore him. Din has done similarly as a child, when he thought there were beasts in the darkness of his bedroom. He would force himself to not look, thinking anything there would just leave him alone if he didn’t make eye contact. 

 Fob in hand, Din moves through the village. There are no distractions, no obstacles.

It did seem too easy. 

The fob frantically beeps each step he takes north. Villagers part with no hesitation as Din treks on, his palms sweaty beneath the leather and sun. 

At a small house, the fob burst into a panicked blip, the red light flashing bright under Din’s thumb. Kais Korren is here. 

The passage to the house is a lame excuse for a garden, with dead soil withered weeds.

Between being a Mandalorian as well as a bounty hunter, there is no room for pleasantries like knocking. The door creaked open and Din allowed himself to go in. 

The house is just as plain as the palace. The only life of it darted past Din in a blur, screaming for his father. 

A family of three, soon to be four judging from the mother’s belly, gathered tight in a corner. 

They looked truly tired. The rags of their own clothes seemed almost too heavy for them to be wearing. Din said nothing as he displayed only the tracking fob. With slow movements he set the fob down and simply asked for them to bring Kais Korren forward. The family’s compliance did make everything easier. 

Kais himself was a tall man, but thin. His graying hair in thick tendrils was tied back at the base of his neck. His eyes, sullen, silently thanked the family for opening their home to him. Kais did not fight Din as Din cuffed him and led him out of the house, going out beyond the village to a field where no one would bother them. 

Kais Korren’s body was identified by the king himself in a steely room that could only be described as a morgue. The involvement of the king baffled Din more and more. Most high ranking men and women have people to do such bidding; the “dirty work.”

But King Josiahn wanted to see the corpse himself. 

With a nod to the morgue director, the body was rolled away, and Josiahn turned on his heels to look up at Din.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” he said, clapping his hands. He sounded strangely happy, and yet there was not any emotion in his eyes; not even a sadistic smile weighed over his non-existent lips. “I’m honored to be in the presence of the best bounty hunter in our parsec. You have truly proved your worth. Your rewards are awaited in the dining hall. We humbly invite you to our celebration as our dinner guest. We are aware of and respect your culture. While you will be our guest of honor at the feast, a meal basket will be packed along with your money and ruthenium. Would you please join us? My daughter has become fond of you and insists she would love to have a Mandalorian at her party.” 

Emelea has not been near Din for longer than half of an hour. Recalling her strange face did not settle well with Din’s stomach. 

But to keep amiable ties with the Anirians, Din accepted the offer. He thanked Josiahn for the respect of his Creed, as not many do. Even within the Guild he is bullied relentlessly about his secretive nature; he’s been called hideous despite being unseen. He’s been called a prude despite his long hours spent in his bed wishing he had a woman with him instead of his calloused hand. Admittedly he would have declined if Josiahn hadn’t mentioned his respect for the Mandalorian creed. 

The Way is Din’s life. He wouldn’t have it differently. 

Din was escorted and announced officially into the vast throne room. Grandiose tables line the room and in the center is a wide circle of red paint. 

As Din became announced those who sat at every table rose to their feet and broke into a thundering applause. Each crack of their palms struck Din’s chest as he felt suffocated. He felt watched. He felt weak, and small, despite the armor that weighed on his tired muscles. 

Each step taken over the concrete floor jolted in Din’s chest, egging on the headache that sliced into Din’s eyes. The very center table had a chair set out and decorated with wreaths of plain flowers. Emelea made herself seen in an instant, taking Din by the hands and leading him to his chair. 

Over the rumbling applause Din could hear Emelea speak. “I’ll feel much safer knowing you’ve gotten rid of that man for us!” 

She had a light in her eyes Din could only describe as weird. She is weird, plain and simple. Her colorless hair is tied in a large knot on the top of her head, and dark makeup is brushed over her eyelids. She coerced him into the chair while Josiahn chastised her. 

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Josiahn snapped. Emelea immediately pulled away from Din. She had to be at least twenty years old. It churned Din’s stomach that Josiahn had spoken to her like she was a child, and it made it all the more disturbing that she simply giggled and apologized bashfully. She sat by her mother when Josiahn bid for her to scurry off. 

“I apologize for my daughter,” Josiahn murmured near Din’s ear. Clearly Din is not the only one who has noticed Emelea’s strange behavior.

Emelea had turned into an entirely new person in the hours Din had been gone. Before, she’d been silent and vaguely terrifying. And now she could not stop staring at him from her mother’s side, like a schoolgirl in love. 

As the applause faded out, Josiahn brought forward a couple of his court members who were to present Din with a number of presents. 

The basket of dry meat and fruit had been neatly tied up in muslin napkins. 

Small girls dressed like fruitcake offered ribbons and tiaras made from flowers. 

Din could not bear to reject any of the gifts, especially from the children. He was given more small things than he knew what to do with. Eventually the hall of people that seemed to adore him for simply murdering a man began to wear the Mandalorian’s patience thin. 

“Sir,” Din finally said to Josiahn. “I’m flattered by the lengths you and your people have gone to, but a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

Josiahn offered a small nod. His bug-like eyes drooped to avoid what would have been Din’s stare.  “I am afraid we have kept you longer than you would have liked.”

He waved his hand to a guardian who is quick to come to Josiahn’s chair. “Would you do the Mandalorian a great favor and bring his food and reward to his ship.”

The guardian nodded, a lack of vocal confirmation filling the air as he strode away. 

“Guess who’s back!” Emelea sang, suddenly flitting before Din’s chair. She pranced around, swaying the loose hems of her pants around her feet. “Strange thing to be given. Ruthenium, I mean. You could do with something better,” she adds with a curling grin. “I want to thank you again,” she then said, blinking for the first time Din had seen all day. 

“It’s nothing to thank me for,” Din said flatly, the monotone modulator clearly keeping Emelea in check. She wavers on her toes like she wants to do more, to say more, but she doesn’t when she becomes reprimanded by her father. The two stared at one another, not in a way a parent and his child should. It was a challenge. A challenge that Josiahn lost as he looked away first. 

“Well, Mandalorian, did you have fun with us today?” Sheer delight gleamed her buggish eyes. Something about Emelea is very wrong. How would Din have enjoyed his day here? He murdered a man and then got paid for it, so it’s not something to be excited about. Although she might have been trying to make him feel guilty. 

Just something about Emelea is off. The entire family is off. 

There is a sudden clamor at the front of the hall as the doors are pushed open to reveal an entire gallery of court guardians. They march in, carrying with them a figure draped in loose rags and crude face paint. From the distance Din sees the guardians throw the young woman into the center of the red circle he had seen before.

Emelea turned on her feet to look at the growing stream of madness. All of the court has now scrambled to their feet. They flock to the rim of the red circle. Some mock  while others whisper and point.

Din struggles to understand. 

He takes to his feet and walks into the madness. 

In the red circle of paint is you. You aren’t much different from the other servants Din has seen. You wear the same crude looking face paint and rags. 

Josiahn’s voice could not raise loud enough to silence the crowd that rages like an angry mob. Feebly, Josiahn demands, “What is going on?” 

A court guardian responds: “Defection.”

Josiahn had nothing to say to this. Emelea overtakes her father’s spot. Her voice booms throughout the room, silencing the mob in a split second. 

“Execution,” she said, “is the price of defection.”

Her eyes lock down on her father. “Isn’t that so?” She asked her father, mockingly.

Din couldn’t tell what had snapped in Emelea. She doesn’t look like the giggliest girl who had been fawning over Din just ten minutes ago. She’s wildly livid. As calm as she tries to be, Din can see she is practically foaming at the mouth.

Emelea turned to Din. “You must do it,” she says quietly. “My father will pay you handsomely. Though it is nothing to lose a servant girl.” Emelea spat the lowly title as she sneered in your direction. 

Din’s heart fell down to his stomach. He could see the raw fear that festered in your eyes as you trembled on your knees. 

“Emelea,”a voice booms. 

Riz pushes through the crowd. A split second of relief. Din hoped Riz would calm Emelea down. 

The two siblings held a silent conversation, staring at one another. 

Emelea broke it off with a nod. 

Riz drew out a long sword, brandishing it for the crowd to see. 

Din dove into the red circle, standing before you with a hand resting on his blaster. 

“This is our way!” Riz cried. He shows the sword off to every person in the crowd. His eyes, wild and wide, zeroed onto you. “She would defy the way of Aniri.” He pointed to you with the tip of the blade. 

Josiahn did nothing. He said nothing, but Din could see the resignation in his eyes. “Why should she be killed?” Din demanded when Josiahn failed to speak up. “What has she been accused of?”

“She tried to leave the palace, sir, and without her makeup.” 

What the fuck? Din thinks. 

Emelea fumed at the words. “A Mandalorian would not understand the laws of this planet. She’s bound to this palace, bound to be my faithful servant.”

Din raised his chin. “She can be easily bound to another, couldn’t she? I agreed to help you with a man who threatened your court,” Din said to Josiahn, ”but a young servant girl leaving the palace without wearing makeup is hardly a cause for her death.”

Riz shook his head. “She is bound only to the royal family.” Riz gripped his sword, knuckles pale. “Well, father?” 

Josiahn swallowed. He leveled his eyes with the Mandalorian’s helmet and, in a soft breath, he granted the servant to him. 

Riz grunted. In a single swish of his arm, the blade slashed through the king. 

Din couldn’t hold back the gasp of shock as Josiahn crumpled face first to the floor. The outcry was fast and sharp for anyone that regarded Riz as a villain. 

Riz’s sword dripped with the blood of his slain father. “Mandalorian, considering you are new here, allow me to explain. Long ago, before Aniri became civilized, the battling clans would brawl within this red arena. The one to slay their opponent would earn the right to rule for four full years. It’s an ancient law, but one that has never been dissolved. And as I have already disposed of my mother, I see no reason why I should not be regarded, now, as the king, with Emelea as queen. Emelea had slain Melv the moment you left the palace to bring Kais to us. And while she had hoped you would stay to serve her in any way she pervertedly pleased, I can see that you have chosen this disloyal whore over me.”

Din’s heart pounded in his ears. Karga was right. The rumors about the court, especially Emelea, are true; and they are much worse than anyone has heard. The palace ran like a cult and Emelea, a crazy, ruthless nut, is now in charge. 

As Emelea sauntered forward like a villain, Din drew his blaster and shot.

A wound blossomed on Emelea’s shoulder and she sank to her knees with a loud cry of pain. 

Riz, now the only family Emelea has left, runs towards Din with his brandished sword. There’s no hesitation on Din’s side; he brandishes his forearm, shooting licks of fire from his wrist, emitting shrieks from the onlookers. Riz became enveloped in flame, and he rolled on the stone floor frantically to save himself. It hadn’t worked, and his body burned on as Riz laid dead. 

Emelea shrieked. Her screams are like a beast’s as she scrambled to her feet, clutching her shoulder. “Kill them!” she screamed. She pulled at her hair and shrieked and cried. 

The court guardians that remained at the scene stuttered in response. Half of them visibly questioned where their loyalties now lie. The other half remained too stunned to pounce immediately. Din struggled to pull you up as you stared in horror, your tears now dry by the heat of the dead prince’s corpse. 

Running back to the Crest would have been easier if you were faster. You tripped and stumbled. Din doubts you have ever gotten decent exercise. You’re struggling to breathe before you’ve even escaped the palace. 

Din can see in your eyes how tempted you are to just give up; to stay put and let Emelea do away with you in whatever cruel way she would. Before you could open your mouth to say the words, Din scooped you up into his arms. You latched your arms around his neck, struggling to stay secure as he took into a sprint. You’ve never felt wind over your face this way before. You’ve always watched ships and speed bikes come and go, but the luxury to ride them was reserved only for court members. 

Your strange savior ran fast; in a whirl of strange and stranger courses you’d been whisked away by him, a man of metal that ran fast as a speed bike. 

He took you to places you’d never seen before in a matter of a minute and you don’t even know his name. 

Beyond the palace gates where he set you down and took on the court guardians that attempted to stop him. You’d never before seen the front gates, or the vast columns of trees. Awestruck, you stumbled out of the doors and into the grass. 

Din tugged you along once more, urging you to go a little farther. His ship was close. You could see it, and it was unlike any other ship you’d seen before. 

“Go!” Din demanded. You ran as fast as you could. You felt light, free, scared and giddy, all at once, even as gunfire rings out behind you. 

Your rags of clothing fumbled your escape. You tripped over yourself again. 

And that was it, you realized. That was the last of your freedom. 

A court guardian lifted you into his arms, prepared to drag you back to Emelea.

You had only seen the ship once, and it hadn’t been enough. 

Across the field Din struggled to fight off his own number of guardians. You writhed in your captor’s arms, calling out for help in a hoarse voice. 

Din’s helmet raised to attention. He could see you struggling. All of his strength surged as he used the remainder of his fuel to spray fire in the air. The guardians flanked back, watching in horror as their fellow fighters burned alive.

Din ran to you, like no one ever had before, and you were unsure if you should feel glad or scared as he tumbled to the ground with your almost captor. Once more in Din's arms, you were being flung onto the ramp of his ship. 

“Get in!” Din shouted as he shot at oncoming guardians. You clambered up the ramp, cutting your hands over the ragged edges. Din comes behind you to hurry things along. You sink into Din’s arms as he drags you inside. He firmly sets you down, only saying, “Stay there” before he rushes to the cockpit. 

His adrenaline spiked hands shuddered as he fires up the engines of the Crest. The rumble of his ship is literal music to his ears. Din did not bother to gauge anything else as he forced the ship into a full exertion of motion. The Razor Crest lurched as it lifted off the ground at an alarming speed. 

You strained to find balance as the entire world fell from under you. 

Colliding with every panel as the ship lurched out of the atmosphere sent you into a sobered state of pain. 

As the hum of the engine gets louder, you feel yourself becoming more and more frightened. 

Your unknown fate, which lies in this stranger’s hands, topples through space as the ship whirls and spins, leaving you to do nothing but brace yourself in a corner. Your vision blurred with every moment that passed. The rampant heart that beat in your chest threatened to burst free and fly through space all on its own. 

Some kind of siren went off as the walls of the ship shook. Distantly, you know the ship is being shot at. Breathing is becoming a struggle. 

Your memory skips out on everything since that moment in the hall. The vague voice of your hopeful-savior is clear in your mind, but your surroundings have been washed down to plain palates of color. The blazing prince, a muddled yellow and brown splashed with the fiery licks of orange; his sister who screamed as she bled now remains faceless in your mind. 

You crawled over the floor as it rumbled. You feel like debris in a tornado as you struggle for cover. The racking of metal pierces straight through you as you feel the looming threat of explosion closing in on you. A flat whistle is rising in your ears. There is no balance point for anything, not anymore. Were the rumors true? Does gravity not exist beyond the atmosphere of Aniri? Would the walls of the ship be stripped apart, leaving you victim to space winds, black holes, and freezing, endless darkness? The idea frightens you into a frenzy of hysterics.

You tumble across the panels. You go head first into a wall. It knocks the vision out of you. It’s difficult to tell how much time passes.

Sitting blind and gripping the sharp grooves of the ship, you brace your body back to fight the ship’s desperation to throw you around. Your neck twinges with pain of strained muscles. 

You narrowly dodge debris that rolls around the ship. 

Using the walls as your guide, you search for safety. 

Inside of a strange vault, filled to the brim with weapons, you lock yourself inside. Your breath is uneven, so ragged it hurts. Pinned up against guns and other strange arsenal isn’t helping the feeling of impending doom, but at least here you’re safe. 

You stay hidden until your legs hurt. 

You can feel the paint dripping down your face in thick streams of sweat. 

The ship ceased to rumble a while ago, but the nauseating pain in your stomach is still set firm like stone. 

You know once you emerge from the weapon locker you’ll be apprehended by your strange savior. 

You know what he is—a bounty hunter. He killed that wanted man on Aniri. He killed them just for money. He surely wouldn’t save you out of the kindness of his heart. He knew running off with you would cause a stir. They’d followed you off planet. 

You know what Emelea and Riz are like. Melv was kind, but weak. He had been the sickly triplets of the bunch. Kind he may have been but he was easily overpowered by siblings. 

They followed you off the planet. You, a servant. You are their property. They’re going to war over a stolen girl, and given Emelea’s absolute insanity, you can only guess how it will end for you. 

Even if Emelea doesn’t make further attempts, you are still in the hands of a stranger. A bounty hunter; a killer. He could use you for anything he wanted. Leverage to get ransom from Aniri, sell you to the Empire to be a slave, or he could keep you for himself. You’d be dead or worse either way. 

You gripped tight on a blaster before carefully opening the door. 

The ship rumbles in easy silence. No fire or smoke leaks. Just silence.

Did...did he outrun them? 

You stepped out. The metal under your bare feet is unlike anything you’ve felt. Servants were not permitted shoes because they had nowhere to go but around the palace. You’re used to smooth concrete. 

Your slippery palms grip the blaster with sloppy form. You’re unfamiliar with weaponry and rely mostly on what you’ve seen to defend yourself. Aim, pull trigger. 

In such a close range you could surely kill him, but piloting the ship wouldn’t be as easy. 

You tiptoe around, heart hammering in your chest. The metal floors creak behind you. 

You whirl around with a sharp gasp, pressing the gun into the metal armor of the man who saved you. 

You tried to shoot but his hand wrapped around your wrist, bending you in such a way that the gun fell from your fingers into his hand. You started to struggle. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” the Mandalorian says sharply. He sheaths the blaster in a holster on his hip and then holds you firmly by the shoulders. “Calm down,” he says. 

The modulator of his helmet highlights the details of his voice. Surprisingly deep but sharp, you find. 

You can't help but continue to struggle in his hold. He only has you by your forearms but he's incredibly strong. Or at least stronger than you. 

"Calm down," he repeats again. "I am not going to hurt you."

You are desperately hoping that's true. Palpitating, your heart disagrees and screams at you to fight and run.

The prospect would fail you no matter what. You're weak in general, more so now after the chaos you've gone through. Above feeling scared, you are dreadfully tired. 

The Mandalorian man cautiously leads you to a lumpy mattress pushed against the wall of a smaller room. "Sit," he says, a gloved hand gesturing to his bed. 

Your heart thunders away as you do. You grip the skirt of your rags and sit obediently, staring at your hands. 

Tears dripped down your face, tumbling off your chin. 

"What are you going to do to me?" Those are the first words you've said in a while. The crackling of your voice makes you cringe; your number one weakness is your vulnerability and right now you're the most vulnerable person in the galaxy. 

"You need rest," The Mandalorian says quietly. He digs around a little closet. He hands you a folded white shirt and towel. You're beyond puzzled at the gifts and behind tears you manage to send him a questioning glance. 

"Wouldn't you like to freshen up?" He sounds puzzled. You debate the idea. Hesitantly, you nod. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats. This time it sounds gentle.

Genuine.

"You can wear this for tonight," he continues. He places the shirt and towel in your arms. You had never been given something for you. Not this way. 

"Would you like to shower?" The Mandalorian then asks you.

You look up through your dirty bangs, unsure what he means. 

"Bathe," Din corrects himself. 

You nod. As unsure as you are you begin to give into the looming feeling of safety. 

Ushering you into the refresher in silence is beyond awkward. 

Din gives a quick rundown on how the shower works. When water came from the showerhead your eyebrows lifted to your hairline. 

"Curiouser and curiouser," you murmured to yourself. You run the top of your hand under the stream to test it out. To your disbelief the water is warm. 

You look to the Mandalorian, shock written all over your face.

Din tries not to chuckle at your expression. He can see that you're rather pretty even under the sweat, dirt, and paint. 

"I'll leave you alone. Take as much time as you need."

Din shuts the door after himself, leaving you in the steamy refresher. You hang your things on the hook. You're beyond excited to wear something other than your itchy rags.

You discard the rags to the floor and step eagerly into the water. 

It's amazing. 

You look at your feet, watching the dirt and paint whirl down the drain to never be seen again. 

While "showering" might be new, you at least know how to wash yourself. 

You use a bar of soap to lather bubbles in your hands. Scrubbing away the vomit-green foundation is beyond satisfying. 

You wash your hair, taking your grand time. The bubbles gather in your hair like a fluffy cloud. It's hard to remember there is a world outside of the shower where you massage your scalp for a decent ten minutes. 

By the time the water has ran cold, you have exhausted the possibility of washing any untouched body part. You feel butter soft, hair silky smooth. 

You pat yourself dry with the towel your savior had given you. 

It's then that you struggle to not burst into tears. The sight of your crumpled uniform overwhelms you. You huddle into the corner, gripping onto the soft linen the man had given you. 

Dabbing tears away with your inner wrist, you tell yourself to stay calm. 

You slip on the shirt.

He is bigger and taller than you, so the shirt covers all of you to your mid thighs. 

You look at your reflection in the foggy mirror. 

You don't recognize the girl that looks back at you. No loose rags cover her curves and no thick paint masks the face she is so unfamiliar with. 

You can see all the pigment in your skin. Your eyes are slightly red, but filled with hope. You detangle your hair with your fingers before you gather enough courage to go out. 

You slip into the cold air with your old uniform and towel bunched in your arms.

You scan up and down the narrow hall. You wish you knew your savior's name. 

"Hello?"

The answer is footsteps that lead away from the cockpit. 

He still wears his heavy armor, helmet included. 

"How do you feel?" He asks after a tense moment of silence.

"Clean," you say sheepishly.

You’re still slightly concerned with your well being. You look up to his helmet, taking a conscious shuffle back. "I should thank you properly," you murmur. 

"There's no need for it," the Mandalorian says quickly. His tight voice is incredibly nerve wracking. 

"What are you going to do to me?" You finally asked the one question that's been on your mind. 

He tilted his head back. You imagine he's surprised from the way his body seemed to stutter. 

"Nothing you're thinking, I can say that," he declared. "Technically you...you are mine now. The Anirians will be looking for you. They made that clear. It's safe to assume you have no family off planet?" 

You must have looked surprised because he quickly tries to apologize for overstepping a boundary. 

"I have no family," you say. "None at all. I was born into the servant ranks."

"I see." He visibly thought about what to do. Even though his face remains unseen you can tell he's debating all of his options. "If you're tired, you can sleep. If you're hungry, help yourself. Do as you'd like around here, at least until tomorrow."

You don't know how he keeps track of time here. The question isn’t nearly as  pressing as what’s happening tomorrow. 

You clenched your stomach when you asked what happened tomorrow. You prepared for the very worst answer. 

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.” His response didn’t make much sense. He turned on his feet to head back to the cockpit, but you reached after him. Your touch must have startled him as he flinched. You recoiled. “I-I want to ask why you did it.”

He doesn’t answer your question. 

“I’ll be here if you need me.” 

You retreated to the little bed. It’s lumpy, but soft. You sink right into it, timidly covering yourself with the thin blanket. 

You rest your head against the pillow.

This must be his bed. 

This must be what he smells like; metal tang mingling with his soap and just him. It’s difficult to describe since it’s not really a thing. It’s just him. 

Sleeping could have just been blinking. Your eyelashes tickled your eyelids as you opened them, seeing the world only as a pillow. You had cuddled it during the night, and you can’t say it was bad, since it smelled nice and was a real pillow.

You roll over to your back, feeling the start of a headache instantly form behind your eyes. 

On the small bedside table are new clothes. Well, you find it’s actually just a new linen shirt and an oversized leather jacket. You are a bit surprised to see that. After all, your savior doesn’t seem like the leather jacket type. 

But it’s very soft, so you figure it’s old. 

You shrug into the clothes, grateful he didn’t simply wash your rags and have you wear them again.

Although it is a peculiar outfit as far as outfits go. The brown leather jacket does a good job of keeping you warm and your hands at least reach the outside of the sleeves. But the shirt is sort of short. Oversized, but short. 

At least shorter than what you’re used to. On closer examination you’d say you have at least two inches between your kneecaps and the hem of your shirt-dress. You just zip up the jacket to avoid any mishaps. Strangely enough it makes a cute-ish outfit. 

Then again you’ve never actually had any other outfit before. You’d probably think anything would be cute. 

You come to the conclusion that you’re stalling going out to meet your savior. You’d slept peacefully and gotten new clothes, so you’re kind of expecting the entire thing to be revealed as a trick. 

You open the door with the thought that you could always run back to the weapon locker and grab a pistol. Your hope for a silent start to your first day is smashed when you run into him less than a full minute of being on your feet. 

You awkwardly stared into his visor, stuttering a quiet “Good morning.”

He didn’t exactly reply the way any other person would. 

“How are you feeling?”

The crisp edge to his voice cuts your ears. He’s awfully fear inducing. 

“I feel alright,” you mumble. “Thank you for the clothes.”

He nodded, not making a sound that could be mistaken for a “you’re welcome”. Instead he straightens his helmet, the T of his visor looking somewhere behind you. He says, “I have set a course to Nevarro.”

You nodded right back. “I would guess that’s a planet,” you say, trying your best to sound serious. Who could take you seriously, though? Makeupless, tired, with less than combed hair, and you don’t know anything about the galaxy you live in. 

“It’s going to be where we live. For now. At least until I can find somewhere safe for you.” His words took your breath away. It’s mind blowing to imagine how many planets are out there. Which planet will you live on? What would you do? Just live, breathe, all without being in the service of anyone else? 

You bobbed your head softly, a quiet yes on your lips, but excitement gathering in your chest. 

“I’m going to have to thank you again,” you murmur, sweeping your bangs out of your eyes. “I’ve never been shown such kindness from a stranger. I am Y/n.”

The soldier bowed his helmet in response. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/n.”

You half expected him to tell you his name in response. You should have known better, however, considering his entire identity depends on mystery. Before he could leave, you asked him, “What should I call you?” 

A slight falter in his footsteps makes you regret the question. He visibly thought as he tilted his visor down. Is he staring at you? His feet? The way the leather jacket hangs off your limbs? 

“You can call me Mando, if you want,” he finally suggested, his words sounding so broken apart that you wonder if he is physically malfunctioning beneath the helmet. You decided to just stick with Mando rather than force him to socialize and talk more than he already has been. 

The day passed by uneventfully, but still blurringly fast. You have nothing to do, but that is a thousand times better as opposed to your usual schedule of cleaning around the Anirian palace from dawn to dusk. You never had the luxury to feel bored before today. You passed the time by cleaning up around the ship while Mando remained ever stoic in the pilot chair. 

You grew used to his ever looming presence. You have an idea of him in mind that you can’t be too sure of. He watches you constantly, occasionally handing bowls of soup to you without a word. He thanked you before bed for taking the time to clean but insisted you don’t do it again. You’d taken that with a grain of salt in the wound. For a brief moment you felt embarrassed; you must not seem like a real person to him. Just the poor Aniri girl programmed to clean and stay silent. 

Mando must have seen this thought in your eyes because he stopped you from going to bed to say a few words.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice always cuts through your chest, right to your heart. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I want to say that you shouldn’t feel obligated to take care of anything.”

You tilt your head up, peeking at his helmet through your bangs. “I don’t know how else I can thank you,” you sheepishly admit. “Cleaning is my only real talent.”

He didn’t laugh at the half-joke, instead he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. The tang of his armor you could taste on your tongue, and you can just imagine how it would twine with the smell of him.

“If you’re hungry then I’ll bring you food, to the bedroom.”

“Wouldn’t you want to eat with company?” You asked. 

His long pause is deafening. “It’s alright,” he finally says, voice lowered to a soft lull. “Y/n,” he said. Your heart pounds when he says it. “I’m going to take care of you.”

You nodded. “I know,” you mutter. “I really, really wish I could thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by getting rest. We’ll be at Nevarro in twelve or so hours.”

You retreated to the door to your little bedroom, before turning back to look at Mando one more time. “Where do you sleep?” You asked. 

“The bedroom,” he replied. “But it’s yours tonight, once more.”

You don’t argue as Mando turns away, returning to the cockpit where he would no doubt be the rest of the night. 

You shrugged out of the leather, draping it across the small night stand where a glass of fresh, cold water greeted you. 

You have never been cared for. 

You have never been given anything so luxurious in your entire life.

Mando had now given you his bed for two nights in a row, and you would have felt guilty if you weren’t struck by your sudden change of lifestyle. You crawled onto the mattress and sunk your face into the pillow, breathing in the smell of him.

Just him. 

>> next chapter! 

[tae-cup]

If The Sky Falls | Of Eternity and Euphoria (4)

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Summary: Jin is known as a stable god, always surrounding, like the sky. Then he meets you and everything shifts. 

Warnings: Ehhhh maybe some talk of blood and violence? Only in the middle part, no biggie. 

Word Count: 4.5k Words (Oh this was shorter than I intended, but I promise it’s good okay)

A/N: I swear I’m giving this one a good ending. *slaps self* I will not indulge in angst nope nope nope

This chapter contained more woman empowerment than I thought. Guess I needed it out of my system. 

Other: 

Series Masterlist

Normal Masterlist

The ceremony is long. Lovely, yes, but long. The handsome man beside you nudges your arm. You were a low level goddess working for the underworld under the bride’s supervision. You helped to guide lost souls to the palace to find a resting place. 

So why you were sitting next to six of the big seven gods and their girlfriends had you puzzled. Yes, you had grown close to __, the bride, and yes you had good relations with Yoongi, but you never considered them close friends. In fact, you didn’t have many friends. When you arrived, you had found an empty seat next to a certain sky god that had your name on it. Why? Only the gods know. Literally. 

“Hey, at least try to look interested.” Jin chuckled under his breath. He did a remarkable job at restraining a goofy smile from his face. 

“I am!” You whispered back furiously. “Why can’t they just kiss and get it over with?” 

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future.” 

“Future?” You played dumb, despite knowing his insinuation. It would have gone over well except for the redness that crept up your cheeks. You knew he was your soulmate, you had known for the past hour. The second he had accidentally brushed against your hand, you had felt the spark. He didn’t even react, which led you to believe he didn’t realize what happened. Of course, he knew. He wasn’t stupid. 

He glanced at you and then turned his attention back to the ceremony. Jin kept feeling the need to hold your hand, twitch his hand and brush over your knuckles, to wrap an arm around you. The god of the sky was soft already. It really wasn’t fair. Then he started to wonder why a girl as fragile looking as you managed to guide souls to the underworld everyday. It was dark in the underworld, a fog covering the ground at all times. You had a soft voice, he guessed you rarely raised it, much like him. 

Yes, you guided souls, but you also preferred a gentle approach to it. You led with a gentle voice and warm hands. For your safety, you did carry a knife. It was just a precaution if you met an angry spirit. You had been a bit traumatized from your first encounter where the spirit sought to scratch your eyes out, but you managed to get away. You took a temporary hiatus from your job and the rulers of the underworld understood. Still, you were made for this job. Your body had ached to go back to it. So you went back a week later with determination and a weapon. You were strong mentally, but not physically. It took guts to move through the darkness and fog for years on end. 

Still, there wasn’t much bloodshed in the underworld. Souls didn’t have blood and you rarely saw violence. It was a peaceful existence, but it was just that; existence. You had seen the god of the sky on occasion, but you had never touched and you always stayed in the background. You were pulled out of your thoughts as cheers rose from the crowd. 

Yoongi kissed his bride passionately and you ignored the twinge of jealousy. Was it so wrong to want to exist for something other than your job? You were basically a servant to the king and queen, but they never acted like it. It always felt as if you were a part of their family and then they’d remind you of your place. Again, it was an existence, but not much else. You just told yourself that the so many souls would be lost without you and perhaps you were a little too selfless in that sense; sacrificing your self worth for another.

Jin stood and you did as well as the happy couple walked back down the aisle. Taehyung whooped and clapped, Jimin squeezed his date’s hand and clapped politely, Jungkook watched quietly, Hoseok cheered the loudest, and Namjoon smiled fondly. Jin absentmindedly took your hand, making your cheeks heat up. He led you out to the reception. 

“So, soulmate, tell me about yourself.” 

-

-

“No fucking way!” You laughed loudly. 

“Ah, my little goddess has a dirty mouth.” Jin tsked, swirling the wine around in his glass. 

“It’s the alcohol.” You scoffed, taking another sip. It was a wedding. There was free wine and you planned on getting drunk. Anything to make you feel normal again. A hand reached out, covering your glass and you whined. 

“I think that’s enough, then.” The god smiled gently, but firmly. “You can get drunk on me, then, okay?” 

You opened and closed your mouth, unsure if you were supposed to defend your right to drink yourself silly or listen to him. You decided to listen. You set the glass down onto the table and sighed, sinking into your seat. Jin observed you quietly before moving to hold your hand. 

“How long have you been down here, darling?” 

“For as long as the underworld has been established.” You shrugged. That took him aback, eyebrows shooting upward. 

“By gods, you’re almost as old as me, maybe younger by a few millennia.” 

“You got a problem with that?” 

He flashed you a winning smile. “And here I thought you were fragile and innocent.” 

“I’m not as young as ___, if that’s what you’re wondering.” You shot a look over at Taehyung’s lover. She was lithe and ethereal, every part the goddess that you failed to meet standards for. Jin laughed and it reminded you of a windshield wiper. 

“Of course not, my love.” He soothed, almost sarcastically. You rolled your eyes. 

“It might surprise you, but I don’t like death.” You mused. He looked confused, prompting you to continue. “I don’t like the idea of people being gone forever, even if I know they will have a peaceful resting place. I...I had a bad run in with a lost soul once.” Your mind flashed back to the attack. Sharp, claw-like, nails swiping towards your face, your racing heartbeat. “I guess I just feel weak for hating violence so much.” You poured out the contents of your head. You hated confrontation, people paying any attention to you. You preferred to blend into the background. Maybe it was the alcohol that made you so bold to tell him this, maybe it was the soulmate bond. You were a private person. 

He squeezed your hand tightly, pulling you out of your thoughts for the second time that night. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not a fan of violence either so we have that in common.” His voice was smooth, calming, like the sky itself. He was someone who oversaw all the other gods, but everyone knew Namjoon had most of the power in the group. They regarded him as the smartest because, well, he was. Jin was the father figure, though. Trustworthy, reliable. But when you looked into his eyes, you saw something broken. Having to be strong for thousands of gods was a lot of pressure. Even those closest described him as reliable. Obviously he must have other emotions. So who was he talking to about his issues? Even you understood that wasn’t healthy. 

“Jin?” You watched him intently. “Are you...okay?” 

Something changed in his eyes, an uncertainty. He opened his mouth to respond when the scream hit the room. 

-

-

Jin let go of your hand immediately, standing and approaching the woman. You felt your breath catch in your throat. The last time you heard a scream so distraught was when you were the one screaming. 

“Ms. Lee?” You muttered under your breath. Then you stood, seeing the other gods and goddesses go still. You frowned, worried for Jin. You knew he cared more about others than himself. 

At the words of an attack, you felt your blood go still. I just feel weak for hating violence so much. Your words flooded back to you and clearly to Jin as well because he glanced at you. As gods began moving, you stayed planted in place. 

“Great! Then we’ll go to war!”  Jungkook shouted. You winced, hands wringing together. 

It was a free for all as the bangs outside continued. You watched three women being ushered away as the other gods took a defensive stance. You simply crouched behind a table, peering over to survey the surroundings. You hadn’t brought your knife, it was supposed to be a goddamn wedding. Yoongi frowned, using a hand to take off his tie and shrug off his jacket. A scythe materialized in his hand. If there were intruders, he’d defend his territory. You could tell Jin looked upset that he couldn’t defend the sky. Lee had made it sound like the sky kingdom had fallen. 

“On my wedding night, seriously?” Yoongi drawled, pounding his scythe into the ground to get the attention of the other gods. “I will fight and defend my land. You all don’t have to, but I would appreciate the help.” 

Jin nodded along with the other five gods. “I may have lost my home to whatever is out there, but I pledge that I will defend yours.” He stated, placing a fist to his heart. The other gods murmured their agreement. 

Then they got ready. Jin must have assumed you had left already because he didn’t spare you a glance. Electricity cracked through the air as Jin pulled several bolts out of thin air. The atmosphere felt very dry and warm suddenly. Your hair was raised. Taehyung had a silver trident in his grasp, looking very godly. In fact, all the gods had deepened their auras. Jimin glowed a pink-ish red fury, a bow and arrow in his hands. Jin glowed a light blue, like a pure sky, and Taehyung evened him out with a deeper blue, like the depths of the ocean. Yoongi’s aura was as black as death itself. Hoseok had a yellow aura, almost like pure light. He had a whip and chain. You wondered if he used it for his chariot that brought the morning sun. Jungkook looked the most furious. His aura was a brilliant red, like anger incarnate. He held a sword, long and sharper than any blade you’ve ever seen. Namjoon looked eerily calm. He had a green glow and in his hands was a notebook. 

Despite the innocent nature of that notebook, the others eyed it warily. 

“Ready?” Yoongi called, to no response. Everyone focused on the doors. Then the glass shattered and the doors flew off their hinges. 

-

-

Hoseok hooked his chain around an enemy god, tripping them. Then he used the spiked whip to knock him unconscious. Next, Taehyung pushed his trident through a female, her eyes drained of life. Blood slid down the silver painting it a rusted red. 

Electricity buzzed through the body of another, Jin whispered a prayer for every foe he disposed of. Yoongi reapd several souls at once, scythe slicing in a large arc. 

Jungkook went on a rampage, sword plunging into any enemy he saw. Jimin watched the surroundings from his perch on the chandelier. He had killer aim. You assumed it was from his work as cupid, but that was early on, way before Agape existed and took over that role. His shot was still deadly accurate. 

Namjoon was the most interesting. He darted around, haphazardly ripping pages out of his notebook and placing them on the backs of enemies. Swords, knives, and many other weapons would suddenly protrude through the paper and consequently the enemies. His weapon intrigued you the most. He seemed exhausted. You would be worried if you weren’t so panicked. The commotion was so loud that no one could hear or bother to notice the sobs that wracked your body. You were having a panic attack. Your throat closed up and you couldn’t breathe. Your heart pounded against your chest. 

Then Namjoon found you. He was going to place a paper on you without thinking, moving on instinct. You scrambled away, throwing your arms up. You knew what those papers did. He instantly stopped, eyes dilating in recognition. He finally seemed aware of what was happening. 

“Y/N?” He glanced around. “What are you still doing here? You shouldn’t be-” He knew you didn’t fight. Most gods knew that. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t leave in time.” You whispered, fear lacing your voice. You could barely get out your words before choking back up. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He slowly folded up the paper and pressed it into your palm. “Keep this for safety. Place it on an attacker and I’ll know their location instantly. It will also release a poison that will hopefully bide you time. Only use it in an emergency.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’ve got to go. Hang in there.” 

Then he left. You tried your best to calm yourself. Then there was a loud shout, more like a roar. You almost fainted when you looked over the table. Every instinct screamed run. You knew a titan anywhere. This seemed to be a low level one, but it was a wonder there was one at all. You thought the big seven had managed to contain all of them, banishing them to Tartarus. 

The other gods instantly stopped. Even the enemies seemed surprised. The only beings that could match and maybe even overpower the gods, were titans. The smallest of titans could do damage. You could see the unease, a sudden quiet. 

“This is a useless plight. Kronos is coming back. you’ve already let so many slip through the cracks.” The monstrous man laughed. He had on a suit, like he was to attend the wedding as well. But his hands...oh his hands. He had long fingers and even longer nails, like claws. You felt your hand instinctually go to your face where the ghost of nails slid into your skin. It made you wince. 

“We’re going to obliterate you right here, right now.” Jungkook cried, covered in the blood of others. 

You felt yourself peering over the table, worried for your friends. Worried for your soulmate, the man you had spoken to for hours tonight, the man you could see spending the rest of your life with. He stood on guard, but you could tell his resolve was cracking. 

“Jungkook.” Jin warned lowly and the younger god couldn’t help but listen. The other gods slowly stood down, seemingly admitting defeat. The other gods didn’t seem happy, but they looked behind the titan to see several others. They paled at the sight. Then Jin happened to glance at the table to see you peaking. His eyes widened. Why were you still here? Were you injured? You looked distraught. He internally cursed himself for not checking before. Then he grimaced knowing what he needed to do. He had to stall and he knew the exact thing to do. Though the others would probably scold him after. 

“Mister...?” Jin spoke, trying to keep his voice from wobbling. He was in no condition to fight a titan. Maybe a million years ago, but not now. 

“Call me James.” 

“Oddly normal.” You heard Yoongi grumble. Jin kept a straight face. 

“Well, James, you know why I don’t trust stairs?” 

cue incredulous looks from every god left standing. They all knew what he was up to. Even Hoseok looked horrified. Is this really what he’s doing to bide time? Was on the mind of every god. 

“Why is this important-” The titan started, agitation evident. 

“They’re always up to no good!” Jin cracked, laughing so hard he bent over. He was trying to keep them occupied. The other gods held back a groan. Even you looked confused. Was this seriously his plan?

“-Just give us Olympus and we’ll leave you all alive!” James just shouted louder. 

“Hey, hey James,” Jin continued through his laughter. “How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh? Ten tickles!” You couldn’t help but laugh a little. Taehyung looked unamused, hand shooting up like a child at school. 

“I have to disagree! I’ve tried to tickle an octopus before-” Taehyung began, looking annoyed only to be cut off by a firm hand on his shoulder. He stopped talking, mouth snapping shut as Yoongi shot him a deathly glare. 

You tried to contain your laughter even harder at Taehyung’s outburst. James began a long and angry monologue, looking more like a scolding parent than a titan. You had tears in your eyes, but at least they weren’t from pain. You were laughing at the hilarity of the situation. Sadly, you let one whimper of laughter escape your throat. Everyone’s eyes whipped over to you. 

“Who’s back there?” James barked. You ducked down, placing both hands over your mouth. Jin’s expression broke. Through the soulmate bond, he could feel your panic. Now your heart beat with anxiety once more. Your thoughts were so loud that they stabbed his own mind. Please don’t take me. Please don’t kill me. His heart broke. 

“No one!” Jin cried, a little too forcefully. James tilted his head curiously at the god before a wicked smile graced his face. 

“Oh? Is it a girl?” The gods were old school, as per usual with ancient gods. They just valued women’s lives above their own, believed they needed to be protected. And so many women had grown up like this that they had begun to believe it, even you. Still, you couldn’t help but frown at his condescending tone. Maybe you wouldn’t have joined in, but if you had your knife you knew you could do some damage. When Jin didn’t respond to his question, he continued. “Oh! Maybe your soulmate?” 

His question made Jin flinch and he knew he had given himself away. The other gods shot their brother a concerned look. They understood that to have your soulmate taken away, still alive or dead, that it was painful, especially if you’ve met but not completed the bond by kissing. You knew Jimin must be feeling the effects now because he had his hand clutched to his chest, trying not to give away his pain. 

“Get her.” James’ eyes darkened dangerously. 

A hand roughly grabbed your arm and you yelped in pain. You knew there would be bruises. You felt yourself shaking as they dragged you before these men, all who knew you in some form or another. You recognized fury in their eyes. They could all feel Jin’s anger, his pain, his concern, as they were all closely bonded to each other. You were thrown to your knees in front of James. 

“Hello. What’s a pretty flower like you doing in this underworld?” James tipped your chin up with his long nails. You scrambled backwards, bumping into his other underlings. 

“Get away from her!” Jin shouted, electricity crackling the air once more. You were shaking, but you just looked at James with as much anger as you could. You had spent so long being afraid of titans, but maybe you had just been angry? 

“I hate you.” You spat at the titan. 

“Darling has a fierce mouth. A wonderful catch, Seokjin.” 

Jin let out a growl from the back of his throat, lunging forward and taking out the underlings. His hands pulled you back and behind him. You rushed away to the corner of the room, as far away as you could go only to have a cage materialize above your head. You let out a shriek. Hoseok ran over, always being the kindest of the gods. 

“Hey, Y/N. Look at me.” Hoseok soothed. “We’ll get you out of here.” 

You wrapped your hands around the bars, knuckles turning white. Hoseok was shoved out of the way and Jin’s face took up your vision.

 “Jin?” You whispered, your voice weak. You felt light headed, dizzy. 

“Love, I’m right here. Wherever you go, I’ll be right here.” He reached through the bars and place a finger over your heart. “And I’ll find you, have faith in me.” 

You nodded, then you gently cupped his cheek with your hand. “Don’t give up Olympus for a girl you met a few hours ago, Jin.” 

“You’re not just any girl.” He murmured softly, placing his hand over the one on his cheek. “But you have my word, you’ll come back to Olympus, not the Titans.” 

“I’m not gone yet, please just stay while you can.” 

-

-

You stared at the three other women through the bars of your cell. You were all separated, but you could still see each other. When you looked at these women, all you thought was strong. Three strong women. Yes, they had shed tears, but they were long gone by now. You just looked sadly at ___’s tattered wedding gown. You felt pathetic, having been unable to stop your tears. You’d calm down and then remember your situation. In the beginning, the women had tried to comfort you, but now they stayed silent. Their presence was comfort enough. 

You passed the dirtied cardigan over to Jimin’s lover through the bars. She looked tired and you were aware she was a demigod. How did a part human part god have more strength than you? She took it with a small smile and you sighed, hugging your knees to your chest. 

How long had it been? A few days? A few weeks? Probably not more than a few weeks, but ___ looked extra thin and you knew she was a demigod. The other goddesses didn’t complain, knowing she was probably suffering far worse than any goddess. 

You could stand the hunger. You just couldn’t stand the isolation. No one had come to check on you. You were sure they had forgotten you at this point. No, Jin wouldn’t forget you. None of the gods would even be able to. The pain from your soulmate bond was signal enough. If it ever stopped hurting, then you would start feeling truly hopeless. But the pain told you he was still thinking of you. You fell asleep for the, you had lost count, time and welcomed the darkness of your mind. 

-

-

“Y/N? Wake up!” A panicked voice called. You recognized it as Taehyung’s lover. 

“How long has she been like this?” Jimin’s girl had a worried tone. 

“Is she dead?” you could recognize the demigod’s voice anywhere. 

“No, she can’t be dead, she’s a goddess.” Yoongi’s wife murmured. 

“Then why isn’t she waking up?” You were slipping consciousness again and the voices were blurring together. 

“She’s a goddess but can still experience pain. Everyone reacts differently to hunger and it seems her body is trying to preserve her body fat.” 

“Lucky, I can’t even get a wink of sleep.” 

“That’s why you’re so skinny now.” The voice was more concerned for her friend. 

“I can’t help it.”

“Mortals’ bodies are so finnicky.” 

“Hey! Stop that-”

When you shifted slightly, you felt the crinkle of paper. Hidden in the folds of your dress was the paper Namjoon gifted you. You knew what you had to do. 

“Guys.” You managed to croak out, forcing your eyelids open. They stopped, turning to you. “This, you need this.” You said faintly, shoving Yoongi’s wife the piece of paper. 

“Y/N, how did you get this?” That was enough to tell you that she knew how to use it. Then you slipped into the darkness again. You never wanted to wake up. 

-

-

The pain in your chest was gone. You felt safe. A warm embrace enveloped you. This must be a dream, a pleasant trick of the mind. You hummed happily, burrowing into the warmth farther. Wait, the pain in your chest is gone. The soulmate bond. Your eyes shot open. You were met with a blinding light, a large room, and the lack of presence of the women who had comforted you. You coughed, tumbling out of the bed and crawling to the door. You needed to get to Jin, he couldn’t have forgotten about you already. In your stupor, you failed to notice the figure who was groggily getting out of bed. 

“Y/N?” 

That was Jin’s voice. Your eyes sprung to the bed. 

“Jin!” You cried, flinging yourself into his arms. He landed with an oomph back into the bed, arms immediately circling around you. 

“Y/N, oh my gods, I thought I lost you.” He choked. You smiled a little, you gently unwrapped yourself and moved to sit at his side. 

“Jin, I know we have the soulmate bond but-” 

He stopped you in the middle of your sentence. “I know, we can take it slow.” He smiled. “I’ve been around long enough to know a girl doesn’t instantly fall in love with you, even if she’s your soulmate.” He winked. “But, can I at least?” He leaned forward. 

You leaned forward as well and met his lips with your own. It was a quick kiss, simple and soft. It had the timidness of first love behind it. You pulled away and took his hands in yours. 

“I think we’ll be okay.” You chuckled. “How long was I there? Are the other girls alright? What happened to me? How long have I been out?” You blurted. 

“Woah, Woah, okay one question at a time.” He laughed. “Well, the other girls are okay, but both you and ___ were in critical condition. ___, because she’s a demigod and you because your body went into hibernation. ___ is still out, but you were asleep for maybe three days. It was terrifying. We had to force feed you to stay alive.”

“How did you save us?” 

“More like you saved yourselves.” Jin chuckled. “While us idiots were arguing about how to enter the complex, Yoongi’s wife burst through the door, collapsing with you in her arms and ___ was carrying the demigod. That earth goddess is stronger than we give her credit for.” 

“Did they tell you what happened?”

“Well, a little birdy told me that my darling had given them the key to success. The next time a guard visited, ___ used the paper and managed to grab the keys from the dead guard. Then she unlocked her cell and the rest of yours. They fought through several unprepared gods. You women are a lot more resourceful than the rest of gods think. They should trust you guys more.” He shrugged. 

You frowned at this information, worried for the demigod. “Is she okay?” You should go see her. As if Seokjin read your mind, he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Wait, you can see her later. Please stay with me a little longer.” 

You sighed and leaned in to his touch. His breath sent shivers down your spine as it fanned across your neck. You twisted your head, engaging him once more in a kiss. This one was more forward than the last one, an aura of passion clouding the room. He turned you so you were straddling his waist. Your hands pressed against the side of his face. When you pulled away, you were both panting. You pressed your foreheads together. 

“Don’t scare me like that again, I was terrified seeing you in that state.” He whispered. 

“I won’t again, I promise.” 

And he pressed his lips to yours once again. 

-

-

Me reminding myself that I don’t write smut. 

[fieryrondo]

my report on skate canada 2019 and how i fell in love with figure skating all over again (part 1)

It’s taken me about a month to sit down and write this. Not necessarily due to lack of time (though that is a factor) but because the experience was so much. Even now, with grainy photos and videos taken with a trembling hand as proof of my time there, Skate Canada feels like a bit of a fever dream. The best kind that leaves you breathless, heart-pounding and longing for more.

I’m not a stranger to traveling alone but this would be my first international venture for something solely recreational, something solely just for me. A purely selfish pleasure. The planning itself was a.process that evolved over the course of months. And to be honest, there were times when I thought this trip wouldn’t happen at all. My flight, booked months in advance, got moved up several hours earlier than expected, forcing me to decide between missing part of the gala or to stay an extra night. Personal problems drained my stamina, and several bouts of poor health stoked the fear that this day would never come. It only became real when I set off for Boston, carry-on, and swan plush in tow, for the first leg of my journey.

Kelowna, a charming lake-resort town in the middle of nowhere British Columbia. There are no direct flights from the East Coast there and I ended up having an overnight stopover in Toronto. From what I saw from the vantage point of the aircraft, Toronto was a beautiful city and reminded me a little of Los Angeles. However, I had little time to appreciate the city. I checked into a hotel to shower, warm up some leftovers, and resurrect my dying phone.

(above) My companions for the journey. 

The swan was for Yuzuru, I know it is traditional to give him a Pooh bear but I picked the swan because it was the first program of his that I saw and to this day, it is still my favorite. It has a lot of meaning for me. The Sakura Pooh was my lucky charm, the Pooh ears a last-minute purchase. 

Due to my schedule, I had to miss the first day, which itself was a bit of a risk. Isn’t it crazy? Traveling thousands of kilometers just to watch half a competition? I certainly thought so. Not to mention how Yuzuru performed during the short would have a direct impact on how he would approach the free skate. Skate Canada has never been his strongest competition. Even if he was the overwhelming favorite, like most fanyus, I’ve learned to take nothing for granted. When I heard that he skated well in the short, I breathed a little more easily before settling down to draft my letter.

“Perhaps it’s a bit forward of me, a complete stranger, to wish you this, but congratulations on your chest muscles” was the opening line of my letter, as suggested by my good friend Tanya over @turistinmyowncity​. I was too embarrassed to actually take photographic evidence but rest assured I did include it. I like to think that it may have made Yuzuru smile. A gold foil origami crane was added for additional luck. Like many fans, I was keeping my fingers crossed for Yuzuru’s first Skate Canada title.

And then it was off to the airport again, this time for the second leg of the flight. Unlike the first flight, not so many passengers were flying to Kelowna and we all got to pick our own seats.

It did not occur to me that catching Yuzuru’s practice was even within the realm of possibility until I had realized that we had arrived in Kelowna 30 minutes earlier than scheduled. A fanyu i had been corresponding with had texted: “Yuzuru’s skating second to last in practice. If you hurry, you might make it.”

*insert dramatic cinematic action sequence where I race to the nearest cab driver, shakily request to be taken to Prospera Palace expediently without breaking any traffic safety laws and then quietly die to the barely heard strains of Origin while the main entrance security guard painstakingly searches my luggage.*

One of the most vivid memories I have of Skate Canada is dragging my ridiculously bulky carryon (gimpy wheel and all) up the flight of stairs in Section 114, trying to flatten myself and become one with the stairwell wall and not get in anyone’s way. A volunteer took pity on me and let me stand on the top of the steps for a closer look. The first thing I saw, of course, was Pooh-san, that bright splash of red and yellow works perfectly as a homing beacon.

I missed Origin but was able to catch the last few minutes of practice. As for first impressions go, I’m afraid I don’t have anything particularly new to offer. Yuzuru looks as exactly as he does in photos. Sharp, precise, graceful. And fast! He kept practicing what looked like his entrance into quad loop. 

With men’s practice over, I met up with fellow fanyu VentusCantabile, an extremely sweet person with an excellent singing voice :). I dropped off my luggage at our Airbnb (conveniently located two blocks away) before rushing back over to the arena for the free dance. The venue itself is not that big so even in seats from the nosebleed section you can get a pretty good view. I was in section 112, the closest I could get to the judges' side view and also got a decent(ish) view of the kiss and cry.

I must confess that I don’t really follow ice dance and am unable to provide anything insightful. To me, everyone looked absolutely stunning. I cheered extra loud for Sara Hurtado/Kirill Khaliavin, the first Spanish ice dancers to win a Grand Prix medal. It’s no secret that I miss Javi terribly since his retirement so it was so nice to see Spanish figure skating continue to make strides. Sara’s story is also particularly inspiring. Like Javi, she has worked extremely hard to put Spanish figure skating on the map.

Other teams that impressed were: Gilles/Pourier, Hubbell/Donohue and Fear/Gibson. Fear/Gibson had an especially fun program and the Russian family next to me were so cute in that they were cheering for all of the European teams.

And then it was time for the ladies.

Media will talk about Trusova’s mindbogglingly difficult quads, Rika’s sublime triple axel, Medvedeva’s fight of a free, but the free skate of the night for me personally was Marin’s La La Land. So tenderly skated! Marin is so lovely and a true pleasure to watch live. To watch her bravely skate through (bandage and all) the best free she’s had in ages, how meaningful it must have been. And thus the first sea of Japanese flags washed through the stands. 

Here is Evgenia! Her dress is actually extremely beautiful. A very charismatic skater, there were a lot of fans who had come from overseas to cheer for her. 

Cute podium :)

Then a break for lunch. The funniest thing I found about being in Kelowna is how it is no exaggeration that figure skating fans just take over the town. The restaurant we went to was packed full of figure skating fans. Talking with fanyus was surprisingly easy. A bit awkward at first but it wasn’t long before we were easily chatting about scoring GOE guidelines and work and other fandom interests.

Then back to the rink for pairs. Given that there was a dearth of filled seats in the lower rows, I half-guiltily took the opportunity to sit a bit closer.

Watching pairs. Is. Terrifying. Lifts are hella more impressive. Twists are gravity defying. Throws are put your hands together and pray the guy does his part to help his partner land those jumps.

Vladimir Morozov lifting Evgenia Tarasova. I appreciated them a lot more live. Their elements are huge and so so clean.

Boikova/Kozlovskii are also now officially my favorite Russian pairs team. I had originally planned on filming their free since seeing quality pairs skating is such a rare opportunity in the US (cough, cough, please invest in pairs more, usfsa). I could not take my eyes off of them for one second. They were so confident and radiating electric charisma from start to finish. A young team with a very bright future!

Between the break, I also spotted Elladj Blade and Kevin Reynolds, the latter was kindly signing autographs. I was too shy to approach either of them but let me tell you Kevin is very sweet with little kids.

And then on to the men! The arena was starting to fill again so I ended up moving up a few rows. I was nervous (for a variety of reasons) but this was ultimately the event I came to see. Watching men is a bit like Russian roulette, you can either expect magnificence or implosion (or sometimes both). Not too many falls but pops are quite painful to see, especially when you know they are so costly. Still, there was a lot to like. Watching Matteo made my heart ache because his style reminds me so much of Javi’s (and doing a flamenco program does not make that association any easier). Roman is also really gorgeous to watch live, but he was so nervous during the free he was unable to show us what he’s really capable of.

At some point, you can sense the audience’s point of focus shift, probably during Camden’s skate (also really liked Camden!). I was sitting pretty close to the side of the skater’s entrance and noticed that all of the fans right by the stairwell had their phones/cameras out. Stairwell shooting is always a reliable indicator of Yuzuru’s arrival ^^

That roar of approval when Yuzuru takes off his jacket is something else. Origin 2.0 is a beautiful costume and way, way more sparkly in real life. Photos don’t quite do the sparkles justice.

Those six minutes of warm-up were honestly some of the most stressful I’ve experienced. Yuzuru kept drilling the quad loop, the jump that he had been having trouble with during practice. After he had gotten a beautiful one under his belt (good, please do that again in the free), he seemed to calm down.

I found it very difficult to concentrate on the other skaters in the second group. By then the stadium was packed and every seat was filled. I had doubts about whether or not I would even get the chance to throw my gift onto the ice because I was so high up and nowhere near the aisle. Worst case scenario, I would just keep my swan.

Keiji!!! He was so fun to watch here. I really love both of his programs this season and he was totally on from the very first jump! Not gonna lie, I saw my life flash before my eyes when he almost ran straight into the boards on his second sal, and then the dainty single toe on the end made me laugh. :)

So it never occurred to me, a formerly strictly broadcast viewer, the amount of time that skaters have right before they skate. There is SO much time. While they were doing the slow-mo replay and the judges were punching buttons, Yuzuru was already whizzing on the ice. He landed a very beautiful quad toe. Feather light. Airy. Calm and commanding, he looked good to go.

At this point, I put down my phone. Although part of me cried at the thought of not having a personal recording of Yuzuru’s free, it felt important to focus entirely on him with my own two eyes.

There are no words that can quite describe what I felt when watching Origin. When I look back on this skate, I can only remember how hard I ground my teeth. How I could feel the opening drum beats like the beats of a human heart. How my knuckles whitened as they grasped the edge of my hard seat. Yuzuru went for the loop and spun out, clinging on to the ice by the edge of his blade. Not the prettiest landing but he made it.

The sal next, smooth as silk. Step sequence, violin choreo(!!), that scream for the prettiest triple lutz I’ve seen. Quad toe. How many quads left. My fingernails were digging into my plastic wrapped swan. THAT FUCKING QUAD TOE-EULER-TRIPLE FLIP. Ahhhhhhhh, roll of thunder, hear our cry.

The CLAPPING. 6000 voices in perfect synchrony. Every completed jumping pass felt like a victory charge. That bionic knee bend determination to eke out that double toe. All jumping passes cleared. At some point I must have started breathing again. A song in my heart, indiscriminate joy squeezing the heck out of my vocal cords. Lay down that ina bauer! A tiny slip on the hydroblade but he’s done it. He’s ground the silver curse to dust. When you’re screaming at the top of your lungs but you can’t hear a thing because everyone else around you is screaming louder than you. Final clapping sequence. Dramatique pose, punch the air. Sound your barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

322.59!!! Feels. So. Damn. Right.

[spacebookettes]

Fairy on the Xmas Tree

Fairy did all the work, she watched the kids for naughtiness, she made most of the wooden toys, listened to the love life problems of the elves, she did all the lists organising, made sure the elf parties had enough glow sticks, and she organised all the xmas food in the North Pole; you must know, xmas food is all year around in the North Pole: except at xmas, but that’s another story. And who do you think remembers to leave out the super strength indigestion tablets for, you know who, on his return. Fairy organises all the elf rota’s. Fairy sets the spells that scare away the infestations of Axmas Trees. And when all the big build up is over and everyone has a holiday, who do you think clears up the New Christmas Years Eve celebrations. No actually that’s , you know who’s, wife.

The End

By Peter Stringer

Girl

“Girl, how are you feeling now... that third Band Cloud-Reeta should be making you feel better by now"... The Girl’s memory was still very hazy, flashes of childhood upset, embarrassing teen problems and moments of past depression. “Girl, you know it’s always the bad things that come back first.” “Anyways I’ll be with you for most of the first few years. So we’ll work out who you are.”

The Girl had been awake in the future a week and still was utterly disorientated. She had no idea who she was, where she was, what she was or what to do about it. The EMP had wiped out the database of the Cryogenics facility; something left over from the Cryo-terrorists.

“Girl you’ll be feeling like planesoulling soon.” The Girl asked what planesoulling was... “well it’s, the emotion you feel, when your micro spaceship glances off of a solar wind and your vessel is humming and also daydreeing... it’s a lot like, Guuurl, there’s nothing quite like the fear mixed with pure awe... You’ll find out one day. When the migration happens."

The future was pretty, all the surfaces were iridescent and the windows (if you could call them that) were faintly rainbowed..

“Girl, you are far away from Earth... all the cryo sleepers were moved a long time ago... the Cryo-terrorists.” The Girl asked what Earth was. “our home world, but we fled so quickly we are having trouble locating it again.” What’s a world.

The Girl asked why everyone was a different colour than her. “You can change everything in the future. No one has human coloured skin anymore... mine is Sillleevann, very popular.” The girl knew yellow when she saw it, though this particular shade was particularly flattering in it’s greyish sparkling. The Girl believed that a sparkling greyish yellow was a memory that was wholly new: sparkling grey hues she felt were impossible some how: but she kept that to herself.

The Girl asked what is a migration. “well, when we use up all of a stars energy and it’ll be close to going nova, we have to move on to another star. Which takes time and not everyone will fit on the transports so we have to sail our own micro spaceships.” The Girl didn’t understand any of these things.

“There are a lot of people in the future”

The nanobots inside the Girl's brain had constructed some extra features, expanding the Girl’s experience of reality. “Girl, you have to have these augmentations in the future or you’ll never understand anything properly.” A glowing word appeared in the distance just in the Girl’s peripheral vision. “that’s how it starts, the augmentation. Just out of reach so as not to startle you, then one day you’ll be fully up and running and be able to understand your surroundings better... Magical!”

Who were the Cryo-terrorists she asked. But there was an explosion before Gremmille D3 could answer. Gremmille moved behind the Girl, as if to protect itself from the direction of the explosion.

The facility was hidden in a envelope of space-time, inside a kind of hyper reality. Exhaustive of energy, that goes unnoticed until a waning star, energy source, gives things away. “I'm sorry about this Girl, but we are near the start of migration (always a dangerous time), don’t worry I’ll be with you while we make our escape. Priority for you has been made in one of the transports.”

The Girl learned about the great chase. The Cryo-terrorists were in pursuit and there space-time harpoons had caused an early migration. “Girl, the Cryo-terrorists believe you are a devil, any reanimated human is a danger. But our techniques are getting better. Every new batch of cryo sleepers we regenerate are better than the last ones.” “This is your little area, you can see enough of the real world now that you’ll be able to attain anything you need. Not that humans need much in the future. I'll have to take a micro-ship and we’ll meet at the next star.”

The transport hummed the Girl awake. Her little area was large enough to stand in to sleep and sit through the awake times. The nanobots took care of her waste, recycling it. And her nourishment, synthesizing any minerals or H2O she needed. They disposed of any skin grime as well. In fact all a human had to do was sit. On a transport.

The Girl searched the databases for an answer for why, if we are being pursued, why we are trying to find the home world. Surely we are being pursued away from Earth.

“Girl, a wish... one wish from the first cryo sleeper to be revived. To feel Earth grass inbetween her toes. It’s that simple... there's little else to do out here.” The Girl heard a different humming through the communicator; the micro ship had just planesoulled. "Guuurl, this is my grass in the feet.” Gremmille D3 said.

The End

By Peter Stringer

The Young Billionaire

En garde the billionaire called to herself in her imagination. “Shame i don’t like swords, but EN GARDE.”

The Bright City was celebrating Halloween, neon 300 meter pumpkins somewhere deep in the bowels of the city. Someone entered one of the egg shaped taxi pods. It, centrally controlled, floated into the stream of other taxi pods. Flowing through The Bright City on super fast sky highways. It would be a bit of a journey to the edge of the city. A city that was home to billions of people and robots. 30 miles high at it’s borders and much more miles wider.

The taxi pod reached a shaft of sunlight horizontally peaking into the city. And then pure sunlight, clouds, and trees for a far as an augmented human eye could see. Now the egg pod could really be super fast. Clouds blasted past the taxi. A small tower quickly came up to the pod, and it slowed. Coming to rest at ground level just next to the tower. A gothic tower with 4 giant clock faces, a gothic sprawling palace. Surrounded by trees; perfectly preserved in it’s ornate medieval features... next to a brown churning river. The someone exited the pod and sat barefoot on a small patch of grass. She looked up to a gothic window. A holographic ghost from history waved back at her from the other side of the window. The someone smiled. EN GARDE...

The Young Billionaires final project a glint in her eye would take some convincing.. but to preserve a still beautiful planet, leaving it to nature was one option. An option the Billionaire liked the most. All the people’s of earth contained in a gargantuan city. 30 miles high and topped with grass, fields and fields of grass and alpine flowers, many many miles wide. A complex of multi levelled superscrapers reflective so the light reaches down into the depths endlessly cascading off of super reflective surfaces; each superscraper a field of grass on top. But such a feat of engineering would be for others lifetimes... though the massive foundations must be fought for now. Political foundations must be started in a previous lifetime. Many glints in the eyes of the people with Vision, not yet augmented.

Imagine the garden parties.

The End

By Peter Stringer

Alien Food

 

The UK is the home of Alien Cuisine

The fact that Great Britain is the hub of alien activity, alien Food activity, tells you all you need to know about the state of cuisine in the rest of this half of the galaxy. Galactic visitors have been visiting small towns, villages and cities for a long time. They come for the Yorkshire puddings, the packet gravy and over cooked vegetables. You see Yorkshire Pudding is renowned across half a galaxy as the Food of the Gods and it’s worth stuffing yourself into a flesh bag skin disguise to walk among the humans to eat it in peace.

 Alien mothers come across time and space to learn how to make the best Yorkshire puddings from a little older lady, who lives on the moors of North Yorkshire in a little stone two up two down; a little older lady who started a small cooking class a few years back, that is now fully booked until the next 50 millenniums... scores of alien scientists are right now working on a youth elixir to make sure Granny Yorkshire keeps teaching her older ways of making oil roasted batter towers that always rise to the top of the oven and char a little where they touch. Granny Yorkshire also does a roaring trade in expertly mushy vegetables that she sells by the small, over salted, pot.

There is a factory, also in north Yorkshire, that makes the dehydrated gravy elixir (that also goes amazingly well on fries or should I say proper chips) That has recently taken an order for 12000 10kg boxes of the stuff; an order from one oddly named Zurghish Klavlong the 287th.

One intrepid alien once ventured over the sea to France to try their luck with, as the British Used to call it, Foreign Muck. They never returned on the channel tunnel train to France again, disgusted at the use of rich flavours, herbs, spices, cream and real butter!

By Peter Stringer