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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Anakin and the Jedi Babies: A Child's Ink

Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

WARNINGS: underage characters get tattoos/piercings

Word Count: 5680 Rating: T Ships: primarily Gen (Disaster Lineage + Shmi), offscreen JangoShmi, past Obitine, past Anidala ----

Ylliben Skywalker is known as a preternaturally calm and quiet child, serious and pensive.

He jokes. He roughhouses. He is as responsive to tickle attacks and shoulder rides and warm hugs as any other child.

But he is Jetii'Manda, not just Mando'ade, and that fact is impossible to forget.

This is a child that can read before he can speak, a child who can talk at length about 'grassroots antiestablishment propaganda and its influence on rural sociological development' before he can say the words without a lisp. This is a child who looks a man in the eye and tells him to check over his blaster one last time, or it will explode in his hand only minutes into the next engagement. This is a child who is not only willing, but capable of discussing the plausible ramifications of Duke Adonai Kryze's latest decrees with Jaster Mereel himself, while still in possession of all his baby teeth.

(His father is not worried by this. Upset, sometimes, pained and tired, but not worried.)

(His sister only laughs.)

It is, as a result, not as surprising as it could be, when a six-year-old wanders his way into Na-Tsuyon's parlor and asks her what the risks of getting a tattoo at his age are.

"I'm not having that conversation with you unless your parent is here," she says. A few of the other artists crane their heads in her direction, but she waves them off.

"I'm not trying to get it right this moment," Ben protests. "I'm just gathering information. He said that was fine."

"Still need your parent here here," she tells him.

He leaves for about ten minutes, and then comes back with a tall, gangling figure in tow.

"I hear this isn't the place for unaccompanied minors," Knight Skywalker jokes.

(She has heard him called a General. She does not know which war he fought. Nobody does.)

(They no longer ask.)

"Well, he is young," she says, brushing her tentacles back over a shoulder. "I don't let anyone under human-fourteen get tattooed without a parent on hand, and giving preliminary information to anyone under twelve is... generally not worth it, shall we say."

Skywalker smiles, oddly amused in the way he always is when someone points out his children need supervision. "Glad to hear it. Are you the Na-Tsuyon whose name is on the door?"

"I am," she says. "And you're Knight Skywalker."

He's pleased at that. She can feel it in the chemical receptors of her head tails, and wonders. "Yep. So, do we jump right into the discussion or do you need me to sign something, or..."

"No, it's enough that you're here," she assures him. "Now, the main reasons we discourage tattoos for younger sentients is the distortion factor. While the level of pain is much lower than it would have been several millennia ago, and we have the technology to remove ink from below the skin, a tattoo before your body stops growing will distort as you grow and your skin stretches. You would need to come in yearly for touch-ups, to remove the sections that have moved out of place, and fill in where the ink is no longer settled."

"That makes sense," Ylliben says. He looks up at his father, and then back to her. "You'd be able to tell me if any of my choices would be... bad for a Mandalorian, yes?"

"I would," she confirms. She glances up at Knight Skywalker. "I don't suppose you have any history of getting tattoos?"

"No," he says. "I'm from Tatooine, so..."

Different connotations to the very act of it, for him.

She ducks her head in a nod. "I understand. Generally it's easier if the parent has experience in the process, but it's far from mandatory. You're willing to work with the distortion maintenance?"

"Yes'm," Ylliben says, and his father shrugs and gestures, as if the word of a six-year-old is thus law.

"I'll walk you through the details of the process, including the care, relevant allergies, and so on. I don't suppose you have anything in mind already?" she asks.

"I do," he says. He doesn't tell her what it is, yet.

Anakin Skywalker stays there the entire time, and they make an appointment for later in the week.

----

"My buir isn't my only father," Ylliben says quietly, when it comes time to get details on what he's getting tattooed. "I had another father before him. A Jedi. He died, to protect me, and a lot of other people. So, um..."

He shoves a picture to her, the symbol of the Jedi, plain and simple. She looks at him.

"In red," he says, shifting on his feet, looking up at his father and then back down at the page. "For, um, to honor a parent."

"Your first father was a Jedi?" she asks, gentle as she can.

"Mm-hm," Ylliben says. "He died, um... he saved buir from slavery, too, a long time ago. Both my dads were Jedi, and I'm going to be one, too, and so is Sokanth. It's--it's about where I come from, and--"

"You don't have to justify it if you don't want to," Na-Tsuyon tells him, reaching out to place one hand on his. It's very warm and dry, in her opinion, but she finds that most humans are. Mandalorians are some 80% human, or near human.

Nautolan Mandalorians aren't unheard of, but she's a rare one.

Ben sucks in a breath, and says, "I want it up here, on my right shoulder, like a pauldron."

Na-Tsuyon nods, and looks up to Skywalker. "You'll have to sign some papers to approve it, Master Jedi. You approve of the design?"

Skywalker hesitates, and then goes to one knee in front of his son, and speaks so quietly she can only hear "--remind you of the generator complex?"

Whatever Ben's answer is, it's too quiet for her to catch. It satisfies Skywalker, though, and he stands. "Alright, let's see this paperwork."

----

When Ylliben comes in again, a year later to get his slightly-twisting tattoo fixed, it's with Miss Shmi in tow. Na-Tsuyon greets the middle Skywalker, for all that she's still not entirely sure how to address the girl. "I heard you've been attending the university at Sundari. Some kind of engineering?"

"Mechanical, yes," Shmi says, oddly soft. "I'm going to spend another year to specialize in vehicular engineering. I'd like to design starships, since I already know how to fix them."

"A worthy goal," Na-Tsuyon says, as she leads them over to one of the stations and starts sanitizing Ylliben's inked shoulder. She doesn't entirely see why a university education is needed for something that, in her opinion, an apprenticeship could more thoroughly cover. It certainly worked well enough Na-Tsuyon herself. "You're on vacation, then?"

"I am," Shmi confirms. "It's... unfortunate that Anakin couldn't be here a the same time, but we'll see each other in a few days."

Ylliben fidgets for a bit as his jedi symbol is fixed, and then finally asks, "Ori'vod can approve new tattoos, right?"

"Sokanth, no. Shmi..." Na-Tsuyon looks up at her. "I have no idea if you're listed as his legal guardian anywhere, and I'd need proof of that."

"Secondary to Anakin," Shmi confirms. "Ben would like this to be a surprise for Ani."

Ben pulls out a sheet, with a careful design on it, and presses it into Na-Tsuyon's lap when she lifts the tattoo gun and he's not at risk of ruining his own ink. It's simpler than the Jedi symbol, though it's two colors instead of one.

"It's the Open Circle Fleet," Ben says, shy in a way she's given to understand he usually isn't. She thinks his shyer moments may be connected to admitting to emotion, something that he's tying quite closely to his choice of Tattoos. "I thought, um, since I'm already--already honoring one buir, then, er..."

"The Open Circle Fleet was under the command of my brother's Jedi Master," Shmi explains, one hand on Ben's. "And I am given to understand that the symbol was designed as a subtle nod, of sorts, to the two of them as a team. Ben's looking to honor Anakin as he has his first father."

Ben looks down at his lap, and doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes.

"Bring me proof of guardianship," she tells them. "And I'll make sure you get it finished early enough that the bacta comes off before Knight Skywalker makes it home."

She holds true to her word, and talks her way into being there to see the reunion and reveal.

The emotions that cross Skywalker's face are complicated and unexpected in ways that she can't identify.

Then it's all too simple, because he starts crying on little Ylliben in the middle of the hangar.

----

It doesn't take a full year for Ylliben to come in for another set. It's only five months, maybe six. He has a sketch again, a geometric design of something she doesn't recognize, but still pings as familiar for some reason.

"It needs to be the right shade of blue," he tells her, serious as anything. Knight Skwyalker is right next to him, smiling all soft and indulgent, and maybe a little sad. "It's for Soka."

Oh. This is based on her facial markings, then. Or... what they will be, maybe. This doesn't look quite like what she's seen on the girl, but everyone knows little Ben is more touched by visions than his father and sister.

Na-Tsuyon thinks she knows where this is going. "The same blue as her montrals and lekku?"

Ben shakes his head. "No, 501st blue."

Or not.

"It's close, but a little darker and more saturated," Skywalker offers, and shrugs when she looks his way. "It's a long story, but the 501st was the legion I led before I arrived at Mandalore. It had a specific shade of blue assigned for armor paint, so legions could easily identify each other in the field."

That's... odd. She doesn't ask for more detail, though. It's not her business. "Where do you want this one?"

Ben shows her his left forearm and frames a section about two-thirds the length of it, along the outer side. Like a vambrace.

She has a feeling all these symbols will be on his armor, once he's old enough for it.

"Let's go through my inks and see which one will work best," she says, and does not comment on the rest.

----

When Ylliben comes in again, a few months before his next touch-up appointment, he doesn't have an image on hand. His father is trailing him again, and Na-Tsuyon has a guess.

"Time for Shmi?" she asks.

Ben ducks his head, flushing and not meeting Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "Yes'm."

"I thought as much," she says, and smiles at Skywalker. "General."

"Don't start."

"There have been oh so many rumors flying since the last Jedi run-in, you know."

"I don't care," he grouses, dropping into a seat. "Hells, a man takes emergency command for one battle, and it's all anyone can talk about."

"You ended a civil war, sir."

Ben giggles into his hands as Skywalker groans and slaps a hand over his eyes.

"No respect," the man complains. "Ben, be nice to me, I'm your dad."

"Nuh-uh," Ben says. "I know all the most embarrassing secrets."

"A cruel child," Skywalker accuses. "Ruthless."

"You're the one raising me," Ben says, swinging his legs back and forth. He's got plastoid training vambraces, now, and greaves that clink against the legs of the chair.

"Somehow, yes." Skywalker sighs, with great drama and all such things. He drags himself up to sitting. "Anyway. Moving on."

"Do you have something in mind already?" Na-Tsuyon asks.

"Binary suns," Ben says. "Just two overlapping circles, coin-sized, one bigger than the other, in sunset colors. In a gradient, with a sort of... flare to it? Halo? The... oh! The stellar corona. Buir knows the colors better."

"I want to see what you have to work with before I sketch out the design," Skywalker says. "But yeah, sort of pink and yellow and peachy."

"I can do almost any color," Na-Tsuyon promises. "Especially on fair human skin like Ylliben's. I won't have a problem getting those to show up the way I would on myself."

Na-Tsuyon is a color most would call 'aquamarine.' She's a light shade between blue and green, and much as she likes her skin, it's an absolute pain to make red and orange show up.

She can do it.

It's just annoying.

Ben asks for this one to be on the inside of the left forearm, high and opposite to the widest point of the mark for Sokanth.

----

"Can I see your fonts?"

Ben's alone, for the moment, but Na-Tsuyon knows that when he makes his decision, his father or Shmi will approve it without question. It's no harm to let him browse.

"Basic, Mando'a, or Huttese alphabet?" she asks. "Or something more esoteric?"

"Mando'a, please."

He's eight years old, now. He's still far younger than most of her clients, but she's long gotten used to him. Even when he's acting like a child, there's something to it that doesn't quite sit right. 'Born middle-aged,' a few of the other civilians on base had joked.

She wasn't sure if she thought it was just a joke, these days.

Na-Tsuyon passes her fonts book to the boy, and settles back in her chair for a long afternoon of running numbers. He, meanwhile, goes to sit in the lobby, legs still not long enough to reach the floor, paging through with unwavering, unsettling gravitas.

Half an hour, and then Ben returns.

He points to a font. "This one."

"What's it going to say?"

"Vode An," he tells her, as serious as can be. "In black, over my heart. It's important."

"It's a fairly common phrase," she notes idly. "Should be quick."

She doesn't expect much of a response, and certainly not the one she gets.

"It was different for them," Ben mutters, not looking at her. She sees him twisting the toes of one shoe into the floor. "It was... it was different. I can't talk about it. They were brothers, actually brothers, and they had--they had nothing, they were basically slaves, but--"

"You don't have to talk about it," Na-Tsuyon assures him, a hand on his. "You don't have to explain it to me. If it means something to you, that's all that matters. I just need you to be sure."

"And buir to sign the paperwork," Ben quips, smiling at her. She notices that several teeth are missing. It's cute. "You need that too."

"That too," she agrees.

When Skywalker shows up, he hears what it is that Ben would like, and makes a few suggestions for a border--a gear that sounded too much like the Republic's symbol for a Mando'a phrase, a building on stilts from a city she's never heard of on a planet that rings no bells, a human genetic strand for reasons she can't imagine--most of which are soundly ignored, until Skywalker sketched out a stylized ship of... some sort.

"Venator," Skywalker says, and taps the image. "Nobody will know it except us, but it'll mean something to you, for them."

Ben looks at it for a long moment, and then takes the scrap of flimsi with Mando'a on it and lays it overtop the center of the sketch.

He stares at it for a few long moments, and then nods sharply and pushes it to Na-Tsuyon. "This, please."

He's such a polite child.

It makes it easier to ignore the more confusing parts of his presence in her parlor.

----

"Hi!"

Sokanth Skywalker is in her shop.

That's new.

"Hello," Na-Tsuyon says. "I didn't know you were thinking of getting ink."

"I'm not," she says, hopping up on a stool across the counter. She holds out a hand, and Na-Tsuyon clasps it with bemusement. "But you guys do piercings too, right?"

"We do," she confirms. "You're... ten?"

"Yep!" Sokanth chirps, kicking her legs back and forth. "Is that old enough to get these without permission, or should I ask my dad to come by?"

"At least twelve for piercings without in-person, signed approval from a parent or guardian," Na-Tsuyon says. "Though if you're anything like your brother, I don't imagine that'll be a problem for you."

Sokanth grins at her, bright and a little wild. "Nose, bottom lip, eyebrow. I don't know the actual terms, but I know what I want. Which do you suggest getting first?"

"I'd say nostril," Na-Tsuyon tells her. Most species even vaguely humanoid kick off with the ears, but that's not exactly an option for a togruta. "Let me get a chart and you can figure out what type of piercing you want, and what kind of hoop or stud. I don't actually do the piercings myself, though. Comm the General if you want this done today, though."

"Thank you~!"

----

Nostril, labret, and a horizontal brow, the piercer notes down at the end of the latest Skywalker visit. Na-Tsuyon wonders if the brow piercing will look strange with Soka's markings, and then doesn't think on it further.

----

Ylliben, almost nine, is silent as he gets the touch-up.

His father isn't here. Neither is Shmi. It's pre-approved, signed permission and all, but it's still odd that neither of Ben's adults is here.

Sokanth is, but she's almost as quiet as Ben is.

Na-Tsuyon has heard the rumors, but she's not going to say anything. She's not. It's not her business.

"Ben," Soka speaks up, towards the end of the appointment. "Ask her the thing."

Ben shakes his head. "No way."

"She knows more about tattoos and how important they are than anyone!" Soka urges. "Ask her!"

"Do you want to wait for your father?" Na-Tsuyon suggests.

"No!" both immediately yelp.

She pauses, glad the needle hadn't been to skin, and levels a look at Ben. He flushes and settles down, mumbling an apology for jerking as he had. She goes back to fixing the stretch of the binary suns tattoo.

Soka shifts in her seat, watching them intently.

"Shmi's upset with buir," Ben suddenly says. He doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "I'm... I don't know if you heard what's going on."

"I do my best to avoid rumors," she says, keeping her voice as neutral as she can. "I did hear that the Mand'alor is about to have a grandchild, and something about an upcoming wedding. That much has been announced officially."

"Dad freaked out," Soka says, legs kicking back and forth. "He's happy for her, and he's fine with Jango being the other parent, but it kicked off a... philosophical crisis? Ben, what do you think?"

"Metaphysical, maybe," Ben mumbles. "Definitely existential."

"And he told Shmi some stuff and now she's hurt that he didn't tell her before and it's all a mess," Soka finishes. "So, uh, we don't... want either of them involved. Until. Um. Until that's settled."

Na-Tsuyon bites back any deeper questions she might have. "Alright. I won't pry. What did you want to know from me?"

"I had a plan for what I was going to get next," Ben says, staring at the fold of fabric over his sister's knees in lieu of something more pertinent. "A peace lily, on the inside of my wrist, for..."

"You don't have to tell me," she reminds him.

Ben bites his lip, and closes his eyes, and breathes in deep. Neither of the girls comment.

"She was important," Ben finally says. "In the big memories. But she doesn't... she's not... she isn't here. And Jango is. And he's marrying Shmi, and they're having a baby, so I should put a mark down for him first, right?"

"He's gonna be Mand'alor, too," Soka adds.

"He is," Na-Tsuyon says, as neutral as she can.

"He's joining the family," Ben says, his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him. "And there's going to be a baby, and that's. That's important."

"There's no order that you have to get things in," Na-Tsuyon assures him, squeezing his shoulder in a light gesture of support. "You've prioritized family so far, so I think it would make sense to get a mark for the coming cousin, at least. Unless... is the lily for your birth mother?"

Ben's face twists, uncomfortable for some reason she can't begin to guess at.

"No," Ben says.

"Skyguy's Jedi Master did almost marry her when they were younger," Soka explains. She glances at Na-Tsuyon and then away and at the wall. "They had a whole dramatic 'forbidden romance' thing going on, 'cause Jedi aren't supposed to get married. She died before Ben came into the picture, though."

It's a neat enough explanation.

It feels fake, but much of what the Skywalkers say about their pasts does.

She's sure it's true in some way. In some perspective. From... from a certain point of view, maybe.

"Alright, then," Na-Tsuyon dismisses. "All things aside, I would suggest adjusting your order of tattoo acquisition, but there's no particular requirement by Mandalorian standards. Your choices are rarely anything that intersects with set traditions, nor do you have a historic clan or house that comes with mandates of the sort. It seems that you're leaning towards prioritizing something for the new additions to your family, though; you've made it clear that these things are important to you, and I think you should pursue it if you're comfortable with it."

Ben nods, eyes somewhere far off.

"It'll make him flustered," Soka pushes, kicking lightly at her brother's ankle. "Jan-Jan's still worried you don't like him anymore."

"He is not," Ben huffs. "He's just scared of buir."

"Nah, your opinion matters too," Soka argues. "And you've been avoiding everyone 'cuz Skyguy freaked out and Shmi's upset, so Jango's worried you're mad at him about the baby happening. If you get a tattoo about him, he might actually cry."

"Is that why you want me to take that route?"

"Not the only one," Soka says, utterly guileless. She blinks at him, bright and innocent. "But I definitely do want to see the future Mand'alor crying because you made it obvious he's family now. It'll be funny."

Ben sighs, very clearly being dramatic about it. "Soka, I'm not going to pick a tattoo based on what you think will be funny."

"Imagine his face, though."

Na-Tsuyon doesn't comment at the expressions Ben makes as he very clearly does exactly that.

"Well, kriff," Ben sighs, and Soka giggles at the swear. "I'll have to get a tattoo for Jango, then."

----

Ben is already nine by the time he comes in with his father to actually get the tattoo for Jango's addition to the family. The choice he makes isn't particularly imaginative, but it'll suit well enough. A mythosaur skull, the symbol of the Haat Mando'ade, in a grey the same shade as beskar.

There actually are traditions to this one, specific adjustments to the framing and stylization meant to indicate how one fits into the faction, but also how one is associated with the Mand'alor. Ben is family, and close family, but not related by blood, nor adopted directly by the Mand'alor, rather a relative through the riduur be alor.

Na-Tsuyon explains each element and adjustment in detail, lets them process and agree, until she's taking a needle to Ben's skin once more.

"Will you be getting one for the coming child as well?" Na-Tsuyon asks while shading in a curve of bone.

"Not yet," Ben tells her, quiet and oddly contemplating. "I need to meet them, first. Figure out who they are."

"Sensible," she agrees. There's the usual oddity in his phrasing, and she ignores it as ever. "Did you tell Fett that you were getting this?"

"No, it's intended as a surprise," Ben says, watching her work.

She can almost feel the coming question.

It does not come from the human she expects.

"Do you know any Mando tattoo artists in Little Keldabe?" the General asks, voice low.

She finishes the line she's on, lifts the needle away from skin, and turns to him. "You're leaving for Coruscant?"

"Not yet," Skywalker says. He meets her eyes evenly. "But... soon. The time's coming. A year, maybe two. The Force will let us know when the time is right."

"Uh-huh," Na-Tsuyon acknowledges this. She does not comment further. The Force is not her wheelhouse. If they think it wants them back on Coruscant, with the Temple, then that's what they believe.

"These are Mando work," Skywalker continues, almost painfully earnest, "and I'd like to ensure whoever maintains them until Ben stops growing knows the right way to handle Mando art."

It's really not that different from a standard tattoo artist, but she's a little charmed anyway. Enchanted, almost. The man really does care.

"I can get you some names and addresses next time you stop by," she promises him. "It's been a few years since I checked in on their work, and I'll need to look them over before I make any recommendations."

He smiles at her, relieved in a manner she finds appallingly open for a Jedi like himself.

Ben mimics his father.

----

She gets to attend the wedding, months later.

The food is very, very good.

(Ben waits until the reception to show off his new tattoo, and the future Mand'alor does, in fact, cry.)

(So does Shmi.)

(So does their eight-week-old daughter, but that's probably unrelated to the tattoo.)

----

"Do you think getting a belly button ring would be good?"

Na-Tsuyon doesn't lift her head from her paperwork when Sokanth poses the question to the piercer. She's in for the horizontal brow bar, this time, and the labret is going to be somewhere a few months down the line.

"That's really up to you," the piercer says. His name is Hujnak, and he's a Devaronian that's been working here since Na-Tsuyon opened up the place. She loves him dearly, but he stole the last piece of cake and for that he will have no help with difficult customers for the next fortnight.

Or until she gets bored.

"I'm leaning towards 'no,' but I'm not sure," Soka muses. "I like the idea of it, but I feel like it might get snagged on things more easily. Plus, it's going to be a point of higher damage and pressure if I get a gut punch. It's one of the parts of my body I'm never really going to armor up, you know?"

They do know. There have been screaming matches about all the Jedi's refusal to wear enough armor on many occasions. The Jedi prioritize their agility to such a degree that armorweave is more reasonable than actual armor, in their opinion. This is an opinion that Fett and Mereel both take issue with.

At great volume.

(Shmi has vambraces, a gorget, and greaves, Na-Tsuyon knows. Some of it was exchanged at the wedding. Shmi doesn't wear much armor, certainly less than even the children. Shmi, crucially, isn't a warrior or otherwise planning to see battle.)

"Then I would say it may be best to hold off."

"Phooey," Soka says, though she doesn't seem particularly upset. "Ben's gonna be cooler than me forever, then."

"You think tattoos are cooler than piercings?" Hujnak challenges. "I'm offended."

"He can just get more," Soka protests. "Without it looking weird or getting dangerous, I mean."

Hujnak hums, noncommittal. "And you're worried about being cooler than the younger brother you have told me is, and I quote, the biggest nerd ever?"

"Well, yeah," Sokanth scoffs. "He's gonna start acting older than me as soon as he thinks he can get away with it. I gotta have something to hold over his head, you know?"

"Seeing as you are the older sibling..."

"Ehhhh..."

Nope.

Not paying attention.

----

"These are House Kryze colors."

Ylliben's breath hitches.

He is ten. He doesn't seem ready to provide answers. She turns to the father instead.

"Will that be a problem?" the general asks, calm and even.

"Yes," she says, and Ben slumps. She continues, because this is her job, and for a reason. "Unless you have a ready justification for when House Kryze asks, yes, it will be a problem. If it were a landscape or an animal, it wouldn't matter, but the pairing of the colors and the peace lily is an explicit statement of loyalty to Adonai and his heir, Satine. Unless you've suddenly decided to adjust your political stance to total pacifism instead of your Jedi approach, or have another reason to take on House Kryze colors, I'd warn against it at all, and would refuse to perform the work myself."

Ylliben's eyes are fixed somewhere behind her, and shining wetly.

"Okay," the general says. "Ben, do you have any other pallettes in mind?

"These were her colors," Ben whispers, and then he swallows thickly. "I just..."

"Simplify," Skywalker suggests. He fiddles with a necklace half-hidden in his Jedi layers; the japor one is visible, but a dull gold glint is all Na-Tsuyon can see of the other before it's tucked away again. "She'd understand, yeah? There's political ramifications. Dangerous ones, especially to you."

Interesting thing to say about a woman who, by Soka's earlier statements, died well before Ben was born.

They could at least try to stop dropping hints about their oddities. She doesn't want to know more.

"Lilac," Ben finally decides. "And... pale silver. With a filigree pattern in the shading?"

"I can do that," Na-Tsuyon promises.

She does not ask further.

----

"We're moving to Coruscant in a month."

Na-Tsuyon's head snaps up, head tails jolting almost painfully with the movement.

Sokanth is getting her labret, finally. She's gossiping as Hujnak prepares the tools, as usual, and Na-Tsuyon tries to ignore it when they Skywalkers do that, she does, but...

"You're leaving," she repeats, feeling oddly blank.

"Um... yeah?" Soka answers. She scratches at one stubby montral. "We've talked about it before. I thought you knew."

"I didn't realize it was so soon," Na-Tsuyon defends. She's more upset than she should be. "I thought you'd be waiting until the little princess was older."

Sokanth blinks at her, slow and... not judging, no. Evaluating, maybe.

"I'm almost thirteen," she says, slow and deliberate and heavy. "And Ben's eleven. There's no hard age limit for becoming a padawan, but I'm getting into the peak years for getting chosen, and I've been living here instead of in the Temple. I haven't had years to impress a potential Master like the others. That might not matter; sometimes a Master sees their future student and just knows, but... I need to have other Jedi to spar with, not just Skyguy and Ben. And Ben's visions are getting stronger, and Dad was never that good with his own in the first place, so he's worried about being able to help at all. We could stay longer, but..."

She trails off, and shrugs, and the weighted air disappears. "It's not the same thing as a verd'goten, at all, but it's about the same age, you know? I should be in the Temple for it."

"What would a verd'goten equivalent be?" Hujnak prompts, when Na-Tsuyon fails to find her words. "Being an adult and equal member and all such things?"

"Knighthood," Soka answers immediately. "Dad got knighted when he was twenty, but that's really young, usually. His master was knighted at twenty-five, which was a bit late, but apparently there was a whole dramatic thing going on there that Dad never got all the details about."

"Becoming a Padawan is a sign that your teachers see you as someone that is ready to take on the responsibilities of a Jedi, yes?" Hujnak asks. "That you may not be ready to go out on your own, but that you're old enough to understand your oaths and choose how to follow them, and to protect others?"

Sokanth considers this, and then nods. "Yeah, I guess it's similar to using the verd'goten to gauge if someone's ready to swear the Resol'nare, that way. Still not moving out, and just about entering an apprenticeship, but enough of an adult to make the choice of how to change the world."

"I think most cultures have something like that around the same age," Hujnak comments. "Some do it a bit later in the teens, but it's usually around your age that most... well, most cultures who age at the 'human standard' rate--"

Na-Tsuyon can't help the reflexive snort of derision. Neither can Soka. Hujnak, the closest to human in the room and yet still very much not, smiles like this is exactly what he intended.

"--most who age at that rate do have it somewhere in that eleven-to-seventeen range, I'd think."

Soka shrugs. "Yeah, well. Still gotta go to the Temple for it, you know?"

"Are you going to take the verd'goten at all?" Na-Tsuyon asks, suddenly a little desperate to keep the Skywalkers here, with Mandalore and all its people, just a fraction of a moment longer.

"I don't think so," Soka muses. "I've been thinking about it, but I should probably talk about it with Jango, yeah?"

"Yeah," Na-Tsuyon says, and feels like she's swallowing down around rocks.

----

As it turns out, the timing is very deliberate. Three weeks later, Jaster transfers the title of Mand'alor to his son.

(Though Na-Tsuyon does not know this, twenty-six is older than Jango was when he lost the title, once upon another life.)

There is a week of festivity. There is food, and drink, and dancing. Some people get married. Some people make announcements of impending births. Some people reveal songs they composed in preparation for this very day.

For a week, Mandalore celebrates a new king.

Then, the Jedi and his children leave.

(Ben gives Na-Tsuyon a hug before he goes.)

(She tries to understand why she feels like she's losing something when he does.)

#Obi Wan Kenobi #Anakin Skywalker #Ahsoka Tano #Shmi Skywalker #JangoShmi #Jango Fett #Disaster Lineage #star wars #time travel #de aging #mandalore #mandalorian culture #phoenix posts #Anakin and the Jedi Babies #tattoos #original characters #outsider pov #this is part one of three I think #it's two in the diddly darn morning and I am going to bed

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shatouto · 3 years

Text

bare his neck on the execution block

[gen fic, 2.5k. obi-wan and anakin discusses ahsoka’s apprenticeship early on. vent fic + character study, sort of. read on ao3]

“…I can’t do this anymore.”

Obi-Wan glances up. Anakin has uttered those words so quietly, so unlike his usual tone of voice when he is upset in some ways. There is none of that off-kilter lilt of minor irritation, nor the somber reverberation of suppressed but boiling rage in his voice. He sounds… defeated, the resignment almost nothing like Obi-Wan has heard before – and that is saying something, considering the ten-odd years they have broken bread and shared quarters and matched blades. Concern sinking coldly in his stomach, he stands up, paces over and settles beside his former apprentice, setting a hand on Anakin’s back in a tentative offer of comfort.

Anakin doesn’t really respond, just slumps lower, his forehead propped against his fingers, his face hidden behind his hands. Obi-Wan keeps his frown to himself, merely brushing his hand up and down Anakin’s back. He has a thousand guesses as to what Anakin means exactly, and no less than nine hundred of them would pertain to this grueling war that has covered their life in a grey pall. But assumptions are the enemy of comprehension; one who speculates will judge instead of listening at all, whereas Obi-Wan strives to be a good listener first and foremost. So he merely asks, “Would you like to talk about it, Anakin?”

Anakin lets out a slightly shuddery sigh. Obi-Wan studies him for another few moments of a silence that is not quite tense, just somewhat suffocating, like the humid air before a rainstorm. His eyes wander from the guarded curve of Anakin’s shoulders to the exhausted slouch of Anakin’s back. Between the back armor plate and ringlets of baby hair at the base of his skull, a pale strip of skin is exposed where his neck slopes like a prisoner bowing over the execution block. Obi-Wan shudders and pushes the intrusive macabre image all the way down to the bottom of his mind. He must focus on the here and now, especially the irregular pulses that spread from Anakin’s signature into the fabric of the Force around him like the throb of a dull ache.

“Ahsoka…” Anakin trails off just as he begins, but the fact that he opened up at all is already a relief. Obi-Wan says nothing, only brings his hand up to cover Anakin’s nape, giving it a grounding squeeze, in a way shielding it from the phantom blade that still haunts his mind’s eye. A minuscule intake of breath – too sharp, too much like the ghost of a sob for Obi-Wan’s liking – preludes Anakin’s wavering voice.

“I can’t—can’t train her, Master.”

Obi-Wan blinks, brows shooting up in surprise. Anakin and his own Padawan haven’t had the easiest of beginnings – what with Yoda’s doublespeak orders that led to misunderstandings and unpleasant surprises on the part of young Master and Padawan both – but Obi-Wan was almost sure that they have smoothed things out between them since. He doesn’t doubt Anakin’s care for his apprentice and Ahsoka’s respect for him likewise.

“I was under the impression that Ahsoka has been making great progress under your tutelage,” Obi-Wan says in a hushed tone, tilting his head down a little, not to force eye contact with Anakin but simply to suggest Anakin to turn to him. “What makes you say so?”

“Everything,” Anakin grits out at once, his voice taking on a watery edge. He slumps down lower, full on burying his face in his hands now, and Obi-Wan’s heart twists. “She’s been making progress because she’s just that good, Master. I didn’t do anything… She’s already trained in the reverse grip before I even taught her anything, remember?” Anakin gives a brittle laugh, breathless and humorless and fooling no one, least of all himself.

Obi-Wan bites the inside of his lips, his forehead creasing deeply in frowns as he shifts closer and slides his arm around Anakin’s shoulders in reassurance. “Lightsaber techniques are not nearly everything about being a Jedi, and you know it, Anakin. She needs a Master—”

“Then I’m not what she needs! I’m not a Master!” Anakin’s voice climbs to a near-cry. He takes in a shaky, stuttery breath and suddenly turns towards Obi-Wan, his eyes red-rimmed and downcast, a miserable frown etched into the downturned corners of his mouth. “I can’t pretend to be one anymore. I can’t take this anymore!”

Anakin’s pain pierces through his word and lodges into Obi-Wan’s heart as well. “Anakin…”

“There’s so much to do. I have to lead my battalion, I—I have to fight this war. We all have to, but I… I don’t know! I can’t do so many things at once! I can’t do right by her like this,” Anakin continues, sniffling, his flesh hand clawing into his gloved one so hard that his fingers blanch from the pressure. “I’m just—I just got Knighted this year, I don’t know anything about this. Aayla is even older than me. Why did <i>I</i> have to be the one to take on a Padawan? What, am I the only Knight in the Order who’s available to take an apprentice? I don’t get it. Anybody could have taught her better than I do.”

“Anakin, that isn’t true—”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Anakin unceremoniously cuts him off, his voice dripping with dismissal and disdain – at himself. He glares up and flinches back as soon as he meets Obi-Wan’s eyes as though only realizing then what he has been trying to hide. His gaze immediately drops, but by then Obi-Wan already saw the furious tears in his eyes. “Don’t lie just to reassure me,” Anakin mutters, roughly dragging his hand over his eyes. “Anybody else would’ve been better for her. You know that, the Council knows that, Ahsoka knows that.”

Anakin droops completely, and Obi-Wan finds it somehow both relieving and alarming that Anakin isn’t pushing off. Anakin’s need for comfort – physical comfort, especially – is nearly always at war with Anakin’s need to prove himself capable of handling everything on his own. This certainly isn’t unique to him; what is unique to him is the intense manner in which he feels, no less aggravated by the expectations that he carries on his shoulder and his incredible attunement to the Force. This is not the first time Anakin has broken down in tears from the stress of it all – his words, in fact, distinctly remind Obi-Wan of that one occasion, years ago, where he begged Obi-Wan to quiet the noise in his mind and take away the burden of being the Chosen One – but the pain it brings to Obi-Wan’s chest is the same.

“I’m sorry, Padawan mine,” Obi-Wan murmurs, squeezing Anakin lightly. He regrets making light of it when it turned out that Ahsoka was to be assigned to Anakin instead of him, to the young Knight’s surprise. He regrets taking it for granted that Anakin would just find a way to get along with this fourteen-year-old Padawan – an adolescent chock in the middle of her rebellious years and prone to challenging any authority, especially the one closest to her, the most insecure and inexperienced figure of authority, the easiest one to snip and quip at. At least when he took on Anakin as a Padawan himself, Anakin was only nine – unsure and outright frightful of his new life, but sweet and earnest – which allowed Obi-Wan a period of respite before the boy’s childish idolatry turned into a teenager’s testiness and brooding.

It’s easy to see Anakin as older than the nineteen-year-old he is; easy to believe him as capable and competent as he tries to prove himself to be; easy to consider him as bearing the full responsibility of a Jedi Knight and more, for being a prodigy, for having accomplished what he had. It’s much harder – and much more painful, especially for him who loves Anakin so – to dwell over and over on the fact that Anakin struggles in ways that one can neither fathom nor help with. There are burdens Anakin cannot share with him, phantom blades that will hurt Anakin only even if Obi-Wan volunteers to bare his neck on the execution block in his stead.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan repeats. “I did not know you were suffering. I should have stood up for you – and I would, had you objected the apprenticeship.” He pauses for a moment, rubbing up and down Anakin’s arm in soothing motions. “Why did you not say anything?”

Anakin leans limply against him, the remaining tension in his body suggesting exhaustion rather than relaxation. Obi-Wan simply holds up that weight with his own. He has always thought of it this way: if he cannot bear his former Padawan’s burden for or with him, then the least he could do is to provide shelter, absorb his hurt, cushion his fall. He would embrace Anakin’s fire with both arms until all the stars in the universe have burned out, and even then.

“I didn’t want to,” Anakin shudders out the words, turning and hiding his face in the crook of Obi-Wan’s shoulder like he’s a Padawan again and Obi-Wan welcomes the gesture like ocean waves cradling the setting sun. Anakin often hid in closets or even cracks in the wall as a child – until he apparently discovered that the safest hiding place in the universe was where he could tuck his head under his Master's chin and let himself be covered by Obi-Wan's great billowing sleeves. “Didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She’d feel rejected,” Anakin mumbles. “And… I don’t know. It felt like a mission – being her Master, I mean. I don’t—I don’t want to refuse a mission.”

“Anakin, you…” Obi-Wan lays his cheek atop Anakin’s head, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment in frustration at himself. Inane question, Kenobi. Of course he would not even try to say no to the Grandmaster’s order. This is not the time to think about who to blame, yet Obi-Wan cannot help feeling immediately at fault. He knows and has always known Anakin to be this way, ruled by not only pride but a deep-seated fear of being seen as anything less than utterly competent and fearless. He knows better than most, and so he should have known better. Of all people, he should have been the one to check on Anakin, discuss his feelings with him, speak up for him.

And how hard must it have been? How hard was it to earn the respect of someone barely five years your junior? How hard was it to assert your authority over someone you would rather just be a good friend to, just because you need to prove yourself to the authority above you? How hard was it to do all of that while trying to grow into the too-large mantle of General of the Republic, at the age of nineteen?

“Forgive me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, shattering inside out – from guilt and in empathy. “You are not wrong – it was a difficult and awkward situation you were in. I’m truly sorry. I wish I had come to your aid sooner.”

“I feel like I never got to be a Knight,” Anakin mumbles into the crook of his neck, his voice nasal and dangerously close to cracking. The confession is a bolt to Obi-Wan’s heart. It was how he’d felt as well, when he took Anakin under his wing immediately after his hasty graduation that followed Qui-Gon’s death. But at least it was a choice he made himself – a choice he doesn’t at all regret, looking back. He can say so with surety and fondness. Can Anakin even say so about his own apprentice? Anakin didn’t have any say in the matter to begin with. Even if he has grown close to Ahsoka, he is clearly tormented by the responsibilities that have been thrust upon him.

“It’s not like I don’t like her,” Anakin adds all of a sudden, shuffling up a little bit, clearly disquieted by Obi-Wan’s pensive silence. “She’s brilliant, I just… I’m going to fail her. I know I will. I’m not you. I wouldn’t have been able to do this even if I were twenty-five and she was nine.”

“Anakin, no,” Obi-Wan firmly hushes, frowning. Comparisons hurt. A comparison without context can poison self-perception like nothing else. He wraps his arms tighter around Anakin. “Please do not say such things. We are different – because we are different people. Look—Can you look at me, Padawan?”

He cradles Anakin’s face, and Anakin looks up through matted, darkened lashes, slightly biting down on his lower lip. With a tone as gentle as he can possibly muster, Obi-Wan speaks.

“If you’re thinking you aren’t capable of being a Master, or a good Master, then I assure you that isn’t true. I have seen your capacity for teaching, both in your methods and the results thereof. You have made progress just as Ahsoka did. I have faith in you, Anakin. However”—Obi-Wan absentmindedly wipes half a droplet of tear at the corner of Anakin’s scarred eye with the pad of his thumb—“what matters is whether you want to continue this apprenticeship. You are capable, but being capable of doing something doesn’t necessarily mean you have to force yourself to do it. Do you understand?”

Anakin watches him with a wariness that has Obi-Wan’s heart aching almost physically. It pains him so, when Anakin feels the need to tread carefully when speaking to him; he’d rather Anakin balk and brag and act brash than this. “I do, Obi-Wan,” Anakin utters syllable by syllable, chewing on his lip. “I just—don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

His voice is rough and fragile at the same time, tearing at the raw edges like a gauze that Obi-Wan wishes he could singlehandedly hem. Anakin looks drained, with circles under his eyes that suggest he would’ve looked ashen if it wasn’t for the flush of fury and frustration from earlier, and puffed-up eyelids that look ready to shut for the rest of the day. Obi-Wan holds back a sigh and brushes Anakin’s hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

“That’s alright, Padawan mine,” he says, prompting Anakin to draw closer to him with a light touch. Thankfully, Anakin does, and finally wraps his arms around Obi-Wan in a returning embrace this time. “That’s quite alright. You don’t have to decide everything right now. You can take your time and rest – you’ve done enough.”

Anakin lets out a sigh so deep that Obi-Wan can physically feel the way his chest constricts against his own body. He wraps Anakin’s signature with his presence in the Force, lighting up candle after candle in the gloomy aftermath of the hurricane. Anakin shudders, and whispers. “Thank you, Master.”

“Anytime, dear one,” Obi-Wan says against the crown of his head, softly stroking his hair. “I’m here. I’ll be here.” And I will stay by your side for as long as you will have me. Here I am and here I shall remain, be it to hold up the night sky before it crumbles in your chest or patch up the stars that burn and bleed from invisible blades. I will, until the day I cannot do it any longer.

#anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #shatou writes #star wars prequels #canon is indeed questionable don’t you think

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ziggyzagreus · 4 years

Text

The Craftsman’s Son

[Note: Hey y’all! So, I mentioned briefly in an ask reply to @silverwindsblog that I have an OC design and layout for Icarus!!! But, since I am not an artist, I have to write a bunch of drabbles about Icarus instead!!

I intend to make this a recurring series, basically just Zagreus meeting Icarus from time to time throughout the regions... It would mean a lot to me if you guys would let me know what you think!!! I have had ceaseless brainworms about Icarus since I started Hades and found he wasn’t in it. Feel free to tell me what you think of him, I can also use prompts/feedback as ideas for more drabbles with him!]

[AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960650/chapters/71065722 ]

[Summary: In Zagreus' many escape attempts, he runs into a mournful Shade who knows a thing or two of failed escape attempts.

Icarus wanders alone through the levels of the Underworld, too afraid to face his father, even if the man weren't cursed to never see his son again.

Zagreus once again tried to pull some strings with his father's contracts.]

~~~

Chapter 1.

The chambers in which Daedalus forgot his tools were always empty of genuine company when Zagreus arrived – no sign of the master architect before nor following confrontation with any shades commanded to cease the Prince’s forward venture.

Emptier still, were the chambers before much more threatening foes, the terror at the brink of every region. Zagreus had been hoping for Charon’s shop, but instead heard over the bubbling lava of Asphodel the familiar chime of a blessing. Even from a shade, and one who was so meticulous in life now cursed to be somewhat forgetful with his things, the improvements granted by Daedalus’ craft were nothing short of miracles.

Rounding the corner and bounding up the few stairs into that waiting chamber, what Zagreus did not intend to see was a figure already at the tool itself, examining the binding at its handle with such familiarity that the Prince would take to dismiss.

Zagreus slowed his fiery pace and entered the room calmly, though his heart pounded in wary anticipation. “There is usually no one to greet me at these things, mate. I do hope you’re not some new, frightening instillation sent by my father to keep me from getting to that hammer.”

The shade looked up then, wide eyes a dark brown that would be welcoming if not for the hollow expression they took on. The shade was that of a young man, tousled brown locks curling about his ears and in every form of heedless unkempt. The shoulder of his chiton was clasped with one firm buckle, leaving much of his torso bare, as bare as his feet on the thankfully cool stones. Not that shades could feel much, that were, but Zagreus still cringed to think of this young man wandering about the flaming coals with nothing but the skin of his toes as a barrier.

The shade spoke then, and his voice was the deep timbre of a young man past adolescence – yet it carried a wispy, wistful nature of sorrow to soften it. Zagreus’ eyes came back to his face, met those eyes. “No, it would do me no good to believe I could cause you trouble. Just passing through at the same time, so it seems. Would you… like me to fix up that blade for you?”

He gestured toward Stygius, held firmly in the Prince’s grasp, and the creak of wood and leather, the rustle of feathers suddenly drew Zagreus’ focus away from his face and now to the tattered, scorched skeleton of wings fastened to the shade’s arms. The leather straps of harness bound to his shoulders and over his pectorals was clasped with welded metal, but the wood and wax of those wings melted in bubbled white scarring – melted, combined with the skin of his muscled arms and marred back.

“You’re Icarus,” Zagreus blurted out, and instantly regretted the insensitivity. He had heard of the tragedy of Daedelus’ son, heard how the father mourned in sorrow just as much as his anger. Zagreus did not expect to meet the boy himself at all, figured he had been cast into one of the lesser shades wandering Tartarus for some crime of little achievement.

Icarus huffed a soft, bitter laugh, lips curling into a delicate smile. “I am. Does that surprise you? Son of the great Daedalus wandering about, picking up his father’s forgotten tools instead of working at his side.”

Zagreus stepped forward, comfortable now in the knowledge that he would be done no harm, but guilty curiosity swept over him in this unfortunate legend’s presence. “Not really, just… Well, I’ve never seen your father about these parts either. Always seem to miss him, I usually find his hammers to fix up my own weapons and be on my way.”

“Well, leave that to me, then. You look like you could take a rest.”

Zagreus nodded and handed Stygius over, watching as Icarus examined the blade delicately, the muscles of his tattered arms shifting as he held and hefted the blade to check for imperfections. “This will be better done by the hands of an apprentice craftsman himself, no doubt. Thanks, mate. Really.”

“It’s my pleasure, good Prince. Wouldn’t do well for you to be running forward complacent in this blade’s integrity. I’ll have it fixed up in no time.”

Icarus got to work. Zagreus watched, the clanging of metal ringing in his ears, reverberating off the cavernous chamber, the stalactites above and the stone tiled floors, the rock walls surrounding them. Despite the state of his body, Icarus worked quickly, much more surely with the tool and the blade than Zagreus had in his own attempts to improve his weapon. Being in the Underworld alleviated him of the hurts of mortals, and while the lingering scars remained, his movement was uninhibited by anything more than the remaining bulk of the wings.

“Have you seen your father about, Icarus? One day – or, er, night – I’d like to thank him for his skill. Even with only one of his tools and little crafting knowledge, I can usually make something of my weapons.”

Icarus stiffened slightly for a moment, his smooth motions interrupted with a pause. Zagreus cringed, knowing immediately he had broached an uncomfortable topic. Much like when he pestered Eurydice about Orpheus and she grew heated, Zagreus felt a guilt bloom from that curiosity that still did little to quench it.

“I have not,” Icarus replied sorrowfully. “Part of my father’s sentence here is to work without furthering his legacy. And that means I will never complete my apprenticeship.”

The Prince’s brow furrowed, laurel sizzling. “But thousands of mortals read his writings, follow his plans and skills up on the surface, surely that accounts for something? Daedalus’ legacy is everywhere, even in the walls of my father’s house. How does that make sense to be his curse?”

Icarus shrugged and held up the hammer. “He’s not the man he once was. There are flaws in even the finest of his architecture, now. And the other humans cannot copy exactly what his intentions were.”

“Oh. I… think I see. Still though, surely you’re bound to run into him one time or another, picking up after him like this.”

Icarus frowned again. He resumed the work on Stygius, nearing the end of his repairs and brow furrowed in a thoughtful brood. “Forgive my bluntness, Prince, but I don’t think I could face my father even if given the chance. Here is your blade, how does it feel?” He dropped the hammer handle-first into a slim loop on his belt, the weight tugging the leather down just slightly, but seeming at home tucked against the apprentice’s side.

Zagreus acknowledged the subtle suggestion to change topics, and took Stygius. It felt lighter, somehow, and cleaner. He spun it experimentally a few times, rolling his wrist to follow the motion. It felt lighter, but more lethal. He wondered if it would be possible to pierce armor, now. “Razor sharp.”

Icarus smiled softly, a pitiful twitch of the expression registering on his sad face. “It is. Do be careful, good Prince. I… I know you are determined in your path, so I will not tell you to turn back. But do not underestimate your foes. No amount of confidence makes you impervious to error.”

“I will be careful, thank you, mate. Where will you be next?”

“Somewhere my father had been before, most likely. I hope we do not meet too often, for your success in escaping this place. I know a thing or two of failed escapes.” Icarus looked down, once again exhaling that brief huff as if he had said something painfully ironic; in all fairness, he had. But Zagreus knew it not his place to take any humor in this shade’s cruel fate.

Zagreus nodded, and rest Stygius on his shoulder, walking ahead while waving back. “Until next time then, Icarus. I wish you well in the meantime.”

To be continued...

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enithinggoes · 3 years

Text

The witch’s teachings, lesson 0: admission

This is a documentation of the education I’ve received from the witch Morgana, whose wisdom and proficiency I’ve come to admire greatly since it began. To contextualise this, though, I must first explain how my apprenticeship at her hand began.

I was a young lad of 23, and never had been out of the village where I had lived, whose only medic, doctor Jones, had taught me how to deal with sewing and cleaning wounds, as well as a few remedies that could supress pain and infection in the body, and I had been serving as assistant in his practices for a few months, however, we’d been recently dealing with injuries I found myself unable to treat, farmhands would appear with deep gashes into their arms and legs which, even after our usual practices, were said to radiate an intense burning sensation, and kept reopening for days on end.

After just a week of these happenings. Doctor Jones and me were both exhausted, caring for the 10 men and 2 women affected by the strange injuries had been intensely taxing, they would feverishly ramble about a dark creature with yellow eyes moving quickly through the night, slaughtering livestock and attacking any who attempted to scare it off or kill it. Me and my senior had been taking shifts of sleeping inside our clinic so at least one of us was constantly able to respond to new cases and monitor the existing victim’s condition. At the afternoon’s end, the neighbourhood suddenly fell silent, there should still be people moving through the street and conversing at the neaby bar at this time, the deafening silence made me shiver, I felt truly alone, being the only one awake at the clinic.

Suddenly the clicking of boots pierced the silence, followed by a door opening and I understood the reason behind the quiet. A woman entered the clinic wearing a short black dress with purple details, black pants, boots and gloves and a large brimmed, pointy hat. She was tall and lanky, with short raven hair. But what struck me the most was her eyes, they were dark like the ocean’s depths, giving the impression that any light that hit them could never escape, and they had a focus to them unlike those of anyone I’d met, the same focus of a falcon in the moment before it dove down for it’s prey, there was no mistaking it, this woman was a witch. I’d heard of them before, in fables and legends, how they were powerful and conniving and vicious and you should never cross them lest you be cursed to die or meet a fate even more terrible.

I stood reflexively to attention, stammering as I spoke a hurried greeting, “Hello ma’m, what brings you here?”

She brought out a small pouch and spoke with elegance and clarity “Heard your town was having a little werewolf trouble, so I’ve been brought on for a little help and consultation, you’re gonna want to spread that over their wounds twice, about half a day apart if you want the stinging to stop, has anyone been bitten?”

“No ma’m, we’ve only seen claw marks so far, did you say werewolf? I didn’t think those were real! What can we do? Should we organize a search party? What is this stuff?”, I asked, taking a small cilinder filled with some kind of cream out of her pouch, which she’d handed to me.

“Take a breath laddy, you don’t have to do anything about the werewolf, let momma here deal with that, it’s what I’m here to do anyway, just warn everyone to stay inside for a few days, alright? As for the paste, it’s silver powder, mashed together with rosemary, you can ask your mayor for the ingredients and make it here yourself.”

As the witch instructed, I spread the paste over my patients’ injuries, she insisted on checking them for bite marks, although considering the size of this creature’s claws, I imagine it would be near impossible to miss a bite. Whenever I finished the treatment on a pacient, their cries of pain would quickly lower in volume and frequency, to the point I stopped a few times to check if their heart and breathing were stopping, but their heartbeat was only going down from the speed it had accelerated to due to the pain back to a stable beat.

As she prepared to leave the clinic, the witch turned to me and asked “Have any human bones or half eaten carcasses appeared? Anybody disappear recently?”

“No ma’m, no dead yet, only injured” I responded

“Great, must be a recent transformation then, one last thing,” she said, “And I need you to answer this honestly, I promise it’s gonna be better for everyone, including you. Have you, or anyone you know been experiencing frequent night terrors, sleepwalking or finding destroyed furniture inside their homes?”

I must admit I was a bit afraid when I responded “not that I know of, ma’m.”

She put her hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “Easy there chap, you can call me Morgana ok? I’ll take you at your word, it’ll all be alright soon, now get some rest, you look spent.”

After she went away I was left to muse upon what that encounter had meant, the first witch I’d met seemed a lot kinder than the ones in the stories. Sure, she a cleverness to her indicative of someone who knew of things I didn’t, and a professional stance in the face of those grievous wounds that showed she was rather habituated to violence. But seemed ultimately benign and even kind, furthermore, I reckoned there was no way these people would recover in less than a month without her knowledge and assistance.

As I thought about it, my mind wandered to her pouch and the cylinder for the healing substance, still on the table, had she forgotten it? She’d probably want it back right? In what I’ve come to regard as a stupid move I left to look for her and give her what she’d left behind.

I only came to my senses when I realized it was already quite dark out, I thought I heard something moving behind me, but it could have been a mixture of exhaustion and paranoia, I started moving faster, trying to find my way home or back to the clinic, But the streets seemed to wind in ways unfamiliar to me. After a while I turned a corner only to find a furred creature starring back at me, it looked like a bear, but taller and skinnier and it’s eyes seemed to glow slightly in the dark. I ran, and heard it bounding towards me, coming closer and closer every second, I turned town an alley, trying to lose it but realized my mistake when I saw the wall at its end, I turned to face the creature, preparing to scare it off or maybe die trying.

Its jaws opened wide as it jumped towards me, moving its arms as if to grab me and hold me in place, I closed my eyes out of fear. *BANG*, a noise rung out through the alley, the creature’s weight knocked me down with it’s momentum, but no bite or swipe came, it was already dead, at the other end of the alley stood Morgana, smoke coming out of her flintlock pistol. I hastily pushed the creature’s body to the side, spotting a hole in the back of its skull

“I thought I told you to stay inside, kid. What in god’s name are you doing here, trying to get yourself killed?” She scolded while coming towards me.

I stood up as fast as I could, then did my best to answer her, “Y-You forgot your pouch.”

“Boy, you’re either very selfless or very stupid.” She took the pouch from my hand, then added under her breath “thank you.”

Suddenly, something came to mind, the real reason I was here, why I’d gone out in the middle of the night and risked my life, “I… I think I wanted to see you work. I was awestruck by your knowledge of a world that was in the edge of my very reality until now, you seem to wield a comprehension over it that seems impossible for anyone I know.” I bowed down my head. “Please, take me on as your apprentice! I’ll serve you however you like, just give me a morsel of that wisdom you wield so effortlessly!”

For the first time so far, she seemed stunned, she put her hand to her chin, thinking for a moment. “so your thirst for wisdom is such that it overpowers your fear of the dark…Very well, I could use a familiar, but be warned, I expect you to carry my things and do the menial labour I cannot waste my time doing. This will be hard, and very often tiring, you must let go of your old life and your old name if you are to proceed. Until you are powerful enough to be a witch yourself and choose your new denomination you shall be known only as my familiar. do you understand that?” She extended her hand towards me, stern but welcoming.

“Yes ma’m… Morgana.” I shook her hand.

“Then the pact is sealed.” A blue light engulfed me as I felt myself shrinking and transforming, I had quickly transformed into the form of a medium black cat, I’d heard about witch’s familiars before, so I did nothing but walk into my master’s leg, following her out of the alley.

As we left in the first rays of dawn, the first thing I learned was how the witch was able to kill the werewolf in one shot when it had bested many men, only silver weapons can wound a werewolf, so her silver bullet was an easy fix. The second was why she chose to leave so soon, instructing the village doctor like she’d done with me before and passing by a sea of judgemental eyes, angry and fearful. Witches are not well liked, they are seen as bad omens and dangerous beings, but they are tolerated as long as they are needed by the community. With the monster gone, and the body of a known baker of the village found in an alley with a hole in the back of the skull, that bottled up resentment was soon to turn into more dangerous action, hitting the road before that happened was vital to a witch’s survival. Thus began my education under the wise witch Morgana.

#original work #story #the witch's teachings #howdy y'all #enni #amateur writing #writing #fantasy #magic

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despressolattes · 3 years

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THE HEARTBREAK PRINCESS » CHAPTER ONE

THE HEARTBREAK PRINCESS MASTERLIST

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Lorelai smacked into the royal blue matts, the cushions within them doing little to nothing to soften her fall. She huffed, her abdomen aching from the aftermath of a punch she hadn't blocked. The sound of her body colliding against the surface echoed throughout her training room of the Kastilyo.

She saw stars, but not from the blow. Instead, her eyes now faced the ceiling, the rose golden stars that adorned the top of the high walls in her view. She groaned as she sat up, rubbing her head comfortingly. Her vision moved itself from the stars and trim of the walls right before they met the ceiling, and could now see her own tousled state in the mirror in front of her. The wall parallel to the door was one giant mirror, adorned with the same opulent design as the top of the walls.

The Kastilyo was what the Kingdom of Estrelya called their castle. The original designers had been careful and thorough when creating the five story building fit for royals.

Amira stood in front of her, moving on the balls of her feet swiftly, maintaining her stance with her fists protectively placed in front of her chin. She watched as the princess leaned back onto the mat, letting her dark brown hair bunch up just above her shoulders as she laid there silently.

"Giving up already?" Amira questioned, dropping her stance when she got no response.

Instead, all she heard was heavy breathing as Lorelai caught her breath.

Amira stood there with her hands on her hips. "You're the one who asked for sparring sessions, Lor."

Lorelai let out a groan, pulling herself to sit up. She moved her hair out of her face, practically slicking it back from her sweat-stained forehead. She looked up at the royal guard in front of her, looking posed.

It was a year ago that Amira had made it to the official ranks, setting the record for the Kingdom of Estrelya 's youngest member of the Royal Guard. Standing at a heaping five-foot-one, she wasn't that much shorter than the princess laying in front of her.

Despite being a mere nineteen years old, she was acknowledged as one of the strongest guards in the kingdom. She had begun her apprenticeship at the age of fifteen, skipped the status of Official Guard, and went straight to Royal Guard at the age of eighteen. It wasn't long before she scaled the ranks once again, entering a special assignment as the Princess' personal guard and attendant.

Now, she was practically beating up the princess she swore to protect—all with good intentions, though. Lorelai had requested private sparring sessions with Amira.

Amira turned to grab a water bottle from its spot near the mirror. As she stood up facing the mirror, she fixed her silken maroon hijab that was on her head.

Lorelai sat there, wondering how Amira managed to look flawless after a sparring match whilst her own hair was frizzy and untamed. Instead of answering Amira's question, she let out the one thing that had been on her mind the entire time they spared.

"I think Mom's still upset with me," Lorelai sighed, huffing breaths in and out.

"What for?" Amira asked her, turning around and taking a seat across from Lorelai on the mats.

"She had Taylor introduce me to a few more suitable candidates," the words fell off her lips mockingly, mimicking the posh accent the Royal Secretary had when she spoke. "And in person this time! I told them all it was nice to meet them, but I wasn't interested."

Amira chuckled.

"You know she's not going to give up trying to introduce you to a nice boy," Amira sighed. "Might as well humor her, let just one court you before rejecting them."

"Why get their hopes up?"

Amira bit her lip and gave her a defeated look, knowing that Lorelai had a point there. She pressed on the floor and stood up. "I'm gonna go shower if you're done for the day. Princess Daniella and Princess Kavina are supposed to be arriving today."

Lorelai gave her two thumbs up before allowing her body to fall backwards once again. Amira chuckled as she walked out of the room. Lorelai stared at the ceiling of the training room, attempting to catch her breath as she contemplated her ancestry.

"That's a good idea," Lorelai whispered to herself, pushing herself off from the ground yet again. "If I stay in all of this sweat, my eczema is gonna scream at me for it later."

Not to mention my friends are arriving soon.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lorelai glanced at herself in the full body mirror that hung from her walls, not flat against it as her room was built in a circle, with a cone roof. She believed her tower-like room might have been one of the few things that made her feel like those damsel in distress princesses from a fairytale—the way it felt like she was in some tower. Only she wasn't the one who was locked away, kept hidden from the outside world. No, not her. She swayed side to side, fumbling with the satin material of her brown sundress.

The loud sound she heard next was one she found hard to describe. It wasn't as if the word "shimmer" made a sound, but it was the only adjective that clouded her mind when she heard it. A loud, echoing, shimmer that would ring throughout the Kastilyo.

The sound of the Estrelya Portal Dock being in use. There were six Royal Portal Docks in their land—one in each of the six kingdoms. To use, however, the receiving portal would have to have its Master Key inserted and turned to the correct number on the portal's dial that corresponded with the portal that was dispatching.

The Estrelya Portal Dock was 1.

Royal Portal Docks weren't the only form of Portal Docks that existed. Smaller versions of them existed that could only be used for small distances within kingdoms, able to move from city to city, or from different neighborhoods. Because of its short range, they didn't need a Master Key to operate.

Excitedly, she skipped over to one of her many windows, pulling back its heavy curtains to look up at the bright azure sky. Her bedroom, thanks to its tower-like structure and position on the fifth and final floor, gave her a 360-degree view of the Kastilyo's surroundings. A faint pink light shot up into the sky from just past the gardens in the back of the Kastilyo—another indicator that the portal's Master Key had been inserted.

She ran out of her room quickly, breaking out into a slow jog. She descended the small spiral set of steps that had led up to her bedroom door, but she paused at the last step. There, at the end of the royal quarter's hallway right before her bedroom hung a large portrait that was just a bit bigger than a door.

Her eyes scanned over the painted portrait. They roamed over a familiar pair of golden eyes that was so evidently not those of a human's. The man, if they could really call him that, had sharp and long pupils that could only resemble a cat. Despite his young facial features, he had long, white hair, and he was standing straight up with a beaming smile on his face. He was in front of the Kastilyo, it's exterior unmistakable. He was clad in a black robe with rose gold hems, signature to Estrelya. That painting had been in the castle for eons, a reminder of the era when magic still roamed the land. The Mage of Estrelya, as history would come to know him, a hero in history books that became more of a folklore than anything else. It was hard to believe in something people couldn't see. But for her, staring at the portrait made Lorelai feel a deep sense of connection, as if there was some personal bond between her and the one depicted

Despite being talked about in books and in school, aspects of him became more of a folklore. People found it hard to believe in the things he had done. It was hard to believe in something that one couldn't see—but the Portal Docks were standing proof that magic once roamed. The last remnant of it. The sole reminder.

There was no longer street entertainment from Mages filling up festivals and events, there was no more barrier surrounding castles, there were no longer magical potions to help with ailments and surgeries. There was no Mages helping with military efforts, helping with construction—there were no Mages. All because of built up prejudice and a mindset that they had an unfair advantage in life. All because some man in power liked being the one to hold it.

She walked towards it, clenching her fists tight, feeling a slight pain in her palm as her long nails dug into them. She stopped right in front of it, letting her fingers trail down the carved wooden frame around the canvas portrait.

Do I have time to go and... she wondered.

"Lorelai."

Snapping her head around, her entire body turned to face the voice. Amira stood at the end of the hallway in a new outfit from the one she wore during training. She wore the uniform of a Royal Guard in the royal colors of the Kingdom of Estrelya: black and rose gold, with an embroidered rose gold star on the biceps of her long sleeves. The star on her biceps had twelve points with a frilly design, six of the points pointed straight and six curved in a wave matter, and it was known as the royal symbol, or the Estrelya Star.

The broach that fastened the top of her shirt signified her ranking by what kind of star she had.

There were four guard rankings at the Kastilyo. A three pointed star symbolized an apprentice. A five pointed star was an official guard. A ten pointed star, similar to the royal symbol but with straight points, five longer and five smaller meant it was a member of the Royal Guard. Almost the same as the star for the Royal Guard, Special Assignment Royal Guards had one small adjustment in their broaches: a sword would pierce through the star.

Amira proudly wore the highest of the stars on her broach.

The hijab upon her head was black with rose gold trimmings as well, everything about her outfit screaming professional and elite. Amira looked badass in her uniform, and Lorelai was never quite able to get over how in awe she always was with her.

She pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and said, "Callen's arriving."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

They walked briskly down the Glass Corridor, which was located at the very end of the west wing of the Kastilyo's second floor. It stretched from both ends of the front and back of the Kastilyo. Since it jutted out further than the main walls of the house, it had a small ceiling that was also made of glass.

From the Glass Corridor, Lorelai was able to see the Estrelya Portal Dock. It was built large enough to look like a door to nowhere when it wasn't on. Painted black with rose gold hems and frills, it also had a small ottoman sized control panel right next to it. On that panel was a circle dial that ranged from numbers 2-6 with a slot in the middle of the golden Master Key. Now that the key was inserted, the portal no longer looked like a door to nowhere. Instead, a pink glow formed inside of its empty space and shot up into the sky, fading the further up it went. The entire dock was on a white circular platform that had five small steps leading up to it.

Getting to the courtyard, the two briskly walked from the courtyard, out to the garden, around the side of the castle towards the Portal Dock. Lorelai couldn't help but notice how official everything felt—and yet there she was, in a simple brown sundress.

Guards lined up by the portal, her parents already waiting at the end of the string of guards, her mother's right hand woman, and a few other members of the royal cabinet. Sakura Icis, the Head of the Royal Guard and Chief Advisor to the Crown, stood at the end of the string of guards, closest to Queen Amor herself.

Queen Amor and King Jeune Bituin were clad in royal attire. Queen Amor in a rose gold dress with black lace and flourished hemlines, her crown sitting upon her curled black hair. King Jeune in a black long sleeve shirt and slacks with a rose gold tailcoat over the ensemble, his own crown upon his gelled back black hair.

Gorgeous and poised, like always, Lorelai believed. She saw the way the sunlight hit her parents' crowns, the reflection almost blinding. The King and Queen were truly breathtaking in every way to Lorelai.

As Lorelai looked around at those who had gathered, she realized she was the only one not formally dressed. She tried to reassure herself that there was no reason to have gotten all dolled up just to greet her childhood friends at the portal, but there was no mistaking that she stood out like a sore thumb.

A few aides materialized first, carrying suitcases with the Kingdom of Callen's royal emblem on them: a pastel purple colored outline of a mountain with what is meant to be a laelia orchid growing on top of it. The mountain represented the Callen Mountain, which their castle was built upon. The entire emblem was encircled in a thin, pastel purple line.

The first of the royal family to materialize out of the portal was Princess Daniella Laelia. The smile on Lorelai's face widened, as did her eyes, as she looked at the princess. Daniella had been one of her best friends all her life, but standing before her, Daniella looked almost completely different.

Her typically long blonde hair was now colored a dark blue. Her attire made Lorelai feel less out of place, as she was dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, obviously not caring much for appearances. All she had to do was walk through a door, for crying out loud.

She threw up a peace sign with her fingers upon seeing Lorelai, making her way down the stairway to embrace her friend.

"Oh, my! Your hair!" exclaimed Lorelai, reaching to touch it. As she moved it, she realized she also had an undercut. "Damn! Your hair!"

Daniella laughed, motioning to the portal with her head as she said, "They're not exactly happy about it since it's 'right before the Ball,' but I really couldn't care less."

The Three Queens' Ball, an event held once every decade in honor of the alliance formed between Estrelya , Callen, and Chandrama, signed into place by three queens eons ago: Minorin of Estrelya, Azalea of Callen, and Riya of Chandrama.

It was the Kingdom of Estrelya's turn to host it at the Kastilyo, though the other two kingdoms were planned to arrive early enough to help with the arrangements.

The princesses and prince had been small children during the last time the Ball occurred; though, the only thing that seven year old Lorelai really remembered from the event was that it was long, loud, there was lots of food, and lots of traffic in the capital city.

The Ball itself was a national holiday in all three Kingdoms. For those who were able to make the journey to the host kingdom were able to attend, admittance free to all of their citizens. Local business owners were even able to request petitions to open booths along the passageway leading to the castles. The Ball always left the castle cities bustling with tourists, traffic filled streets, and every form of lodging fully booked. Despite the actual ball only being a day event, the month before and after was full of celebration. Those who traveled far made vacations out of the Holiday, so the castle cities stayed busy for quite some time.

Daniella linked an arm around Lorelai's, and turned to face the portal, watching as everyone else came out.

Out came Queen Adalaide and King Barry Laelia, walking down the steps hand in hand, King Barry slightly ahead of Queen Adalaide, helping her on their way down. Like Lorelai's parents, they were clad in their royal outfits, almost identical to Amor and Jeune's, but instead, in the lavender and silver of their own kingdoms.

Like her daughter—or at least until yesterday— Queen Adalaide had light blonde hair, while her husband's was a dark brown; it could be mistaken for black depending on the lighting. Standing next to each other, they looked as if they were day and night.

Lorelai couldn't help but think about how beautiful they were together.

The guards in the line had bowed down their heads for them as they walked over, and Amor stepped forward with a smile, arms open to embrace Adalaide. King Barry and Lorelai's own father stood off to the side with one another, pleasant smiles on their faces as they spoke in soft tones together.

"Thanks for the help, Dani," grumbled a voice from the top of the dock.

Attentions moved to the last person to exit the portal—the crowned prince himself, Elijah Laelia. He was a stark contrast to his baby sister in the same way their father contrasted their mother. His hair was short and black with onyx eyes, which put him aside from his sister and parents who all bore grey-blue ones.

The only similarity between the two siblings was their complexions: both of a light, warm beige. They didn't look like one another around the face, either. Elijah had inherited their father's high cheekbones with a rounded face, while Daniella's was more sculpted like their mother's.

He was clad in a black button up shirt with lavender buttons, unbuttoned to reveal a silver silky undershirt. His family's symbol was embroidered on the pocket over his right chest.

It didn't go unnoticed to Lorelai that Elijah tended to tie in his kingdom's royal colors into all of his outfits even when he wasn't dressed up, from the silver to the lavender in his attire, to the embroidery on his pocket. It was so very formal of him for a nineteen year old.

Lorelai almost never wore her family's royal colors outside of official events and meetings, despite how much she liked the colors black and rose gold together. Nor did she have the Kingdom of Estrelya's rose gold star embroidered on any of her casual clothes.

But she knew that in Elijah's defense, not that she would ever come to his defense, that this was just an example of how he oftentimes tried too hard to appear to be a perfect prince.

Elijah was carrying a few bags left behind by the aides when they descended the steps. The way he was glaring at his sister, one could only presume it was her bags.

"What a gentleman," Daniella teased him, staying stuck in her spot as Elijah wobbled down the stairs and across the path towards them. "Thanks, Eli."

He put them down with a huff and rolled his eyes. He merely nodded his head in Lorelai's direction, and the Princess responded in the same manner. Without exchanging any words with one another, Elijah's attention refocused on the two kings, making his way from the Princesses towards their fathers.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The arrival of the royals from the Kingdom of Chandrama happened only a few moments after Callen's. Their arrival was almost identical, with the only difference being the emblem on their suitcases. It showcased a golden full moon, which had white craters worked into its design, and a frilly letter C in the middle in white.

Lorelai and Amira had been ordered by Queen Amor to go to the kitchen and see if the meals being prepared were ready, and to meet in the garden for lunch. Lorelai had been disappointed that she had to miss the arrival of the crowned princess of Chandrama, and the last member of her Princess Trio: Kavina Chandra.

"The meal?" Prim Keirnan glanced behind herself. The Royal Chef, with her unruly red hair that was up attempting to stay in its hairnet, stopped paying attention to the steak she was searing in front of her. "I already had it sent to the garden dining table, love!"

"Oh, alright, thank you!" Lorelai smiled, turning abruptly on her heels, Amira in tow.

She glanced down at her dress and back to Amira's guard attire, a frown forming on her lips.

"Amira," Lorelai called, snapping her head in her guard's direction.

"Lorelai?" she responded, raising an eyebrow up at her.

"Am I underdressed?" Lorelai questioned, grabbing fistfulls of her dress and then letting it fall back down into place.

"As the crown princess of Estrelya greeting two allied kingdoms? Yes," nodded Amira, and Lorelai cringed. Then, she added, "But as a teenage girl waiting for her friends to come over? Nah." There was a small pause, in which Lorelai smiled at the response. "If only you could be a mere teenage girl."

Lorelai frowned again and used her elbow to softly nudge Amira, sticking her tongue out at her.

The two of them made their way to the second floor of the Kastilyo, well on their way to the exit out to the courtyard and garden. Their strides were quick paced, the clicks of their shoes echoing against whatever fancy material the Kastilyo floors were made of.

The two made it to the top of the staircase, reentering the Glass Corridor section of the large castle.

"Hey, Heartbreak Princess! Amira!"

The voice came from the other end of the Glass Corridor, and the two of them halted. They stared at the newcomer, waiting for them as they approached.

Actually, Amira stared at them, but Lorelai shot an icy glare in their direction, crossing her arms over her chest at the sound of a nickname that she found ridiculous. She wasn't a heartbreaker.

Amira bowed her head in respect, and Lorelai tore her attention away.

"Prince," Amira greeted, pulling her head back up.

"Elijah," Lorelai acknowledged him, but she didn't turn her head back in his direction.

Elijah looked away as well, and a stagnant silence fell over them.

Amira glanced between the two of them, letting out an undetectable sigh when she realized the two of them rather stare than say something.

"Heading to the garden, Prince Elijah?" Amira questioned him.

"Yes, ma'am," he responded with a nod.

"Good, you can accompany us," Amira said with a smirk, ignoring the glare Lorelai was shooting her. "Chef Prim said the food was already brought out."

"Wonderful," Elijah said politely.

The three of them resumed their walk, exiting the Glass Corridor and entering the same hallway that connected to the grand entrance and the entrance to the courtyard. They were met with the romantic architecture of the Kastilyo, with rose gold curtains and long, frilly windows with white gold trims, a white paint coating the interior. There were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling every few feet.

Outside of the grand entrance, which had been left open with guards standing on both sides, inside and outside, they could hear murmuring and see the flashing flight of cameras. Lorelai glanced at Elijah, who already had his eyes on her.

"Should we?" he asked, turning his head towards the door, as if to point at it.

She wasn't surprised with the change in atmosphere. She oftentimes let Elijah's attitude towards her dictate the attitude she would give back. He had his moments where he acted like one of her closest friends, but there were other days where he hardly even looked in her direction. She willing danced to his beat, though, deciding just going with it was easier than questioning why he did the things he did.

Like why did he insist of dressing the way he did? Why did he insist on talking so proper even if they were in a casual setting? Why did he insist on never dropping his guard?

"Might as well," she shrugged, a small smile on her face as she spoke.

Amira watched from behind as the prince and princess stepped into the opening of the Kastilyo's door, and just like that, the voices intensified into enthusiastic shouts.

There was a small group, likely tourists, standing outside of the gates, more guards stationed in front to keep people from attempting to enter or scale the fences. Still, there were people who liked to take photos in front of the Kastilyo, and others who kept up with the royal news and knew that the Callen and Chandrama royalty would be teleporting in. Most of them had probably seen the pink lights anyways.

Despite being behind a gate that was at the end of a path, they could make out the faces of the prince and princess.

As they were taught to, the pair stepped a few steps past the entrance and onto the entry steps, their best smiles plastered on their faces. Elijah bowed while Lorelai curtsied, the two of them waving before retreating back into the Kastilyo. The crowd cheered as they snapped photos of the two royals.

"We'll be getting more of that than usual this month," Elijah stated, smoothing out his shirt as they walked further through the main hallway, making a right at the entryway that led to the courtyard.

"Ah yes, your fangirls will be lined up outside the walls of my house like they always do during your visits," Lorelai teased him, falling out of her standoffish attitude from the staircase and right into her playful banner.

"At least I'm not breaking hearts left and right, hm, Heartbreak Princess?"

There was the nickname again. Elijah had given it to her when she was fifteen and he was seventeen after witnessing her reject the son of some aristocrat who had found themselves invited to Daniella's fifteenth birthday party over in Callen.

"Oh please, no one should be heartbroken over me not being interested."

"You'd be surprised," Elijah muttered in a whisper.

Lorelai snapped her head in his direction, sure he had said something but hadn't caught it.

Louder, he added, "You know how many girls in the kingdom would kill to be in your position, Lor?" Lor? "Constantly getting asked on dates by cute men—"

"If you think they're so cute, why don't you ask them out, Prince?" Amira cut him off, her tone monotonous even if she was poking fun at him.

Lorelai's hand went up to her mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh, but she failed miserably. Elijah's cheeks heated up as he glared over at the guard, but he couldn't get mad at her. He, like the princesses, had formed a friendship with Amira over her years of employment at the castle, especially since the two of them were the same age.

"Back to what I was saying," Elijah grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, choosing to ignore Amira's comment. "You get asked out all the time, and you get to hang out with me. You're living the dream life for most girls in our kingdoms."

Amira scoffed out a laugh before covering her mouth, better than the Princess at silencing her humor. Lorelai just looked at him as if he said the most ridiculous thing ever, her mouth ajar but lips curled up in a smile.

"You're unbelievable!" Lorelai chuckled, shaking her head. "Most girls in our kingdoms may have a little crush on you, but your ego is why you're single."

"Or because I choose to be."

"Oh, so you're lecturing me about rejecting people, yet claim to be rejecting most girls in our kingdoms?" she mocked him, using air quotes about the words he spoke. "Are you sure you're not the Heartbreak Prince?"

"Shut up."

"That's what I thought."

They made it across the courtyard towards the entrance to the gardens. Tropical plants entered their view, and the sound of a miniature waterfall pouring water into a small pond somewhere thin the greenery could be heard from all around.

Their banter ended as they got to the dining tables that were out in the garden. Enough tables and chairs were set up to seat not only the royal families, but their attendants that had arrived, and Estrelya 's royal cabinet as well. Upon the tables were white table clothes and trays of appetizers, made for a nice light lunch. Kavina was sitting with Daniella at a table with three seats available.

Lorelai squealed at the sight of her friend—and mentally sighed in relief when she saw that even Kavina hadn't dressed up, wearing a dark green shirt that complimented her darker complexion and ripped loose jeans, her wavy hair up in a bun. She ran over, hugging the other princess.

Amira and Elijah looked at each other at the sight in front of them before shaking their heads and heading over to take the other two free seats. Lorelai couldn't help but smile, excited for the planning and preparing for the Ball that would be approaching, and for the time she'd be able to spend as a mere teenage girl with her friends.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A/N: welcome to book one of the original series I've been working on for the past year! I currently have 10 of the chapters written, but I want to know your guys' thoughts before bringing in the rest of the chapters I have ready!

also available on my wattpad

general works taglist:

@yaskna @mariishat @misssugarless @drarrylov3r @luluwiie@laudthingcat @walecznypisarz @bubblywriter0 @superhermit@chloflower-blog @dummies-world

#the heartbreak princess #despressolattes; the heartbreak princess #founders' council chronicles #young adult fantasy #young adult fiction #young adult romance #teen romance #teen fiction #teen fantasy #despressolattes; original seriews #original series #depressolattes; original works

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datheetjoella · 4 years

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Fantober 2020, Day 12: Enchanted Forest

Author: DatHeetJoella Fandom: Free! Pairing: MakoHaru Rating: T Part: 12/31 (read the full collection here) Word count: 1,799 Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Human!Makoto, Elf!Haru, First Meeting, Magic, Fluff Read at: AO3, FFn, or right here!

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Tired and worn-out from his travels, Makoto weaved through the dark woods in search of a place to camp out for the night. Preferably at a river or a creek, somewhere he could refill his flasks and wash his face. His horse was starting to lose speed, so hopefully, he would find a good spot before she had to give in to exhaustion.

Then, the sound of running water drowned out the symphony of owls and crickets. He followed it and to his delight, he stumbled upon a glade at the bottom of a cliff. A pristine waterfall cascaded down the rocks, flowing down into a moderately-sized lake.

Relief engulfed Makoto from within and he leapt off his horse, guiding her over to the edge of the lake so she could drink from it. He kneeled and peered into the water. Moonlight shimmered on the surface, illuminating every droplet. Never before had Makoto seen such clean water; there were no fish or algae in the lake, not as much as a leaf or a branch floating down the stream or caught on the sides. It seemed almost divine and the mere sight of it made his scratchy throat even drier.

He cupped his hands and let the water flood his palms, gratefully drinking as much as he could get. The water tasted even better than it looked, fresh and crisp like it rejuvenated him from the inside.

Once he'd quenched his thirst, Makoto checked the trees to see if anyone was around. When he was sure the coast was clear, he disrobed himself and dove into the water headfirst.

When he broke through the surface, he felt reborn. The fatigue and strain of his travels slipped off him, leaving nothing but contentment and serenity in his heart. Although he was miles removed from home, Makoto had never felt quite as comfortable as he did within this lake.

Alas, this feeling did not last.

A shadow moved behind the waterfall and Makoto let out a strangled screech, hastily covering his nude chest. Through the stream emerged a man, someone whose presence he hadn't noticed before.

Fear spread through Makoto's body like he'd been hit with a poison-tipped arrow; he was alone in the dark forest in a rather compromising position. Even if he hadn't been, he was not exactly the type suited for combat anyway and he saw no opportunity to make a quick escape.

But when the man stepped forward and the moonlight showered over his face, Makoto's fear evaporated.

Long, dark robes that reached down to the ground were wrapped around his slender body. Pointed ears poked through a curtain of dark hair, framing his small face. His features were soft and elegant and his pale skin contrasted the darkness of the night. But the most mesmerising parts of him were his eyes, blue and piercing. Like he could peer straight into the past, present and future.

Elves were rumoured to be gorgeous and although Makoto had never seen one in person, he was certain this man was among the most beautiful in their entire species. His appearance made him forget about the world around him, enchanted by a single glance.

But then, the elf's expression shifted, from neutral to confused. Or rather, shocked.

"Who are you?" he said, and despite the vibrant distress in his tone, his voice had a calming effect on Makoto. "How did you find this place?"

"Oh, um I," Makoto stuttered, unsure which question to answer first. "I was looking for a place to rest for the night. I heard the waterfall, so I followed the sound and it brought me here."

"Impossible."

"Sorry, am I not supposed to be here?" Perhaps he was trespassing on elven territory without his awareness. "If that's the case, I'll leave immediately. I don't mean to cause any trouble."

The elf seemed to be at a loss for words and the uncomfortable, misplaced feeling in Makoto's stomach grew.

"The water…" the elf said after a brief pause, "did you drink from it?"

"Yeah," Makoto said, cowering into himself like he was being scolded by his mother. "My horse did, too. Is that bad?"

A loud groan left the elf's lips and before Makoto could blink, his robes were flying through the air and water splashed upwards, sending ripples of waves throughout the lake. He emerged right in front of Makoto's nose, shaking the beads from his hair.

It startled Makoto and heat warmed his cheeks when he realised how clear the water was and how he was still very much naked. The look inside the elf's eyes was fierce and sharp and Makoto wasn't quite sure whether he should be embarrassed or scared.

"Listen, if I did something that I shouldn't have, then I sincerely apologise," Makoto said, frantically waving his hands as if to prove his innocence. "Please believe me when I say that I had no ill intentions. I just wanted to wash up and fill my flasks, I meant no harm."

After another second of staring in scrutiny, the elf relented. "I believe you. What's your name?"

"Makoto. And yours?"

"I'm Haruka. Haru," the elf said. "Say, Makoto, you have no idea where you are, do you?"

"Not a clue." Makoto sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck.

"This is the Sacred Moon Spring. Every droplet of this spring has been infused with ancient magic and every full moon, its magical properties are replenished and the water is at its most powerful." Haruka looked up at the sky and Makoto followed his line of vision; the moon was large and round, standing out brightly between the trees.

This was not good. No wonder he felt so refreshed. "We drank from the sacred, magic water…" Makoto stated the obvious. "So, what happens now?"

"I don't know. My clan has been guarding this spring for centuries, but no human has ever come near here, let alone drank from the water," Haruka said, "To be honest, I'm not sure how you even found this place. There's a protective spell around this area, a barrier that's supposed to keep all non-elven creatures out. Not even birds or deer can pass through."

"Oh," Makoto said, drawing circles on the surface with his fingers, "Well, there's this story in my family that my mother's great-great-grandmother was a Woodland Elf, but I always thought that was just a tale. Do you think it could be true?"

Haruka shrugged. "I guess it is. I don't have any other explanation why you would be allowed to pass through. The barrier must've detected elven blood in you."

"But there's so much more human blood in me, and I don't look like an elf at all."

"You don't," Haruka said as he took a step closer. "But your eyes do."

Makoto frowned. "My eyes?"

"Hm. They're… vibrant." When Haruka noticed how close he'd gotten and how breathy his voice had been, he blushed all the way up to his ears and increased the distance between their bodies. The pink hue looked immensely cute against his pearly skin. He coughed and tried to regain his aloof demeanour. "So, I suppose you are a descendent of a Woodland Elf."

"But what about my horse? I don't think she had a great-great-grandmother who was an elf."

"Were you riding her when you arrived here?" When Makoto nodded, Haruka said, "Then that's why. You lead her here, and your authority granted her permission to pass through, too."

That did make sense, as much as any of this magical spring situation could. Maybe there was an off chance he had bumped his head against a low hanging branch and was hallucinating, or maybe he fell asleep beneath a willow and this was all a dream. But was his simple mind truly capable of conjuring up something so fantastical, or someone as beautiful as Haruka?

Ashamed of his thoughts, Makoto said, "If I'm not supposed to be here, then I shall leave. I wouldn't want to disturb the balance of this place."

"You can stay, if you'd like," Haruka said, brushing his fringe back to appear nonchalant, "if the barrier let you through, then I see no reason to reject your presence."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose on this sacred place. If there's a barrier to keep humans out, then I can't imagine it's okay for a human to bathe himself in this water."

"As the guardian of this sacred place, I'm sure," Haruka said, "To be honest with you, no one is allowed to touch this water with their bare hands, not even I. It's used in important rituals in my clan."

"Then I should get out! I'm so sorry," Makoto said in a combination of disbelief and panic; Haruka didn't seem to care, but the last thing he wanted was to be struck with an elven curse if anyone else found out.

A hand on his shoulder held him back. It was small and felt cold, yet it also emitted a strange sort of heat.

"You already touched it and drank from it, so I don't see why I would send you away now. The water is already contaminated, and truthfully, it was long before you even got here."

"What do you mean?"

"How could I guard such a beautiful spring without going for a swim every night? There truly is no water like it." For a second, a hint of an adorable smile was visible on Haruka's face before he let himself fall backwards underwater and Makoto couldn't help but laugh. Haruka was the first elf he'd ever met and a rather odd one at that, but Makoto had an inkling they were going to get along very well.

All throughout the night, Makoto stayed inside the spring and talked with Haruka while floating beside him. They discussed their everyday lives, Makoto's family and his apprenticeship at a blacksmith a couple of towns away from his home, Haruka's clan and their traditions - and Haruka's disinterest in adhering to them -, how Haruka became the guardian of the spring and what effects the water could possibly have on Makoto and his horse.

The hours flew by and Makoto completely lost himself in their conversations and in Haruka. He didn't sleep a wink, but the water energised him like no amount of rest could and there was nothing that could whisk him away from this place. That wasn't because of elven magic, though, but because of Haruka. Makoto's suspicions were confirmed; Haruka turned out to be just as beautiful on the inside as he was on the outside.

Many things about his future were uncertain now, but there was one thing Makoto knew for sure: this would not be the last night Haruka and he spent together.

#i'm sorry i'm stupid #makoharu #makoharu fic #my fic #fantober2020 #colourful days with you #this is an idea i've had for so long now #i'm glad i finally got the chance to write something in this universe

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anne-lister-adventures · 4 years

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Tuesday, 11 March 1840

8 25/’’

2 3/4

Fine morning another thorough wash in spite of circumstances – Had piled all portmanteaus against one door and set our table against the other and made a screen of 2 chairs with our clothes just beginning to dress when their curiosity could hold out no longer and they gently opened our folding doors and peeped in at these and the windows till we sat down to breakfast at 8 55/’’ and afterwards at intervals – Reaumur 10 1/4º in our room at 8 50/’’ a.m. – In fact, children or grown people stood looking at us all the time we staid –

Seeing the master of the house among the gazers asked him in – George had brought us some brick-tea to look at – It is (said the Master) in a cake one half archine (i.e. 14 in.[inches]) square = 4/80 – It seemed about 1/2 in.[inch] or more thick – Made up in China – Cheaper than the other tea ∴[therefore] the Cossacks here have lately began to drink it – They boil it up with milk, and salt, and butter – A piece about 2 in.[inches] long and not an in.[inch] broad he said would be enough to make 30 tasses – But they cannot take it now – It is their grand Carême – Encore 7 weeks of Carême and they are not allowed to take milk or butter - ∴[therefore] their fish is cooked with oil –

Chinese brick tea (Image source).

2 Traineaux de Poste à 3 chevaux – A smallish Kibitka-body with merely a seat for the driver – And hay in the bottom on which A-[Ann] and I had one of our mattresses to sit on – Our Courier and George followed in the other Traineau –

Off at 10 10/’’ – We put on our Chalats (Shubes) over our fur cloaks – My Sarepta night-cap under my dark blue cloth waddled Jupp travelling cap, and my fur cloak collar pulled up to my eyes, and over all this my black satin much waddled pink satin lined Moscow bonnet tied tight down – After setting off, tied my pocket handkerchief over the bonnet to keep all tighter and pulled up my Shube collar which came up as high as the top of my head – A sheaf of hay to cover our feet – I had had hardly a peep-hole – But it was no loss – So thick, we could scarce see a dozen yards ahead – My eyes being still tender were still not sufficiently guaranteed from the piercing north wind – (Or wind in our teeth but rather to the left for I have yet to learn whether we went North or South) pulled up the great pelerine of my Shube and throwing it up over my head against the wind, the wind kept it in its place, and I was comfortable afterwards – The wind was very cold and searching yet Gross tells me that at 10 1/2 (on our being gone) Reaumur stood only at -8º and the same at 6 this evening – It is always cold on the river and there seems to be an extra force of wind – Tho’ it is strong enough on the Steppes – I should think the village is not seen at any great distance nor even the church?

At 11 40/’’ (in 1 1/2 hour) alighted at the Palace of the Prince – A comfortable 2 story high wood (board) Russian House in form of

each front having in the centre a 2 story 4 style portico or balcony the top finished in a pediment – And each end ditto ditto ditto – A row of tallish pyramidal poplars all trees I noticed near the house –

8 or 10 steps up to the centre room in which a large green cloth covered billiard table – On the left a goodish dining room right the salon in which we sat, and then a room hung round with Circassian and other guns, pistols (so very handsome) and side arms, and a broad 4 or 5 ft.[feet] wide carpet-covered divan the whole breadth of the room under the 2 windows – 2 armoires with some China and cups and saucers, and a carpeted bench and this, if I mistake not, all the furniture – The salon carpeted – Sofa and large mahogany table in front of it, and chairs &c. 1/2 length picture in oil of the Emperor and Empress over the sofa – Poêle – Print of Temirazoff Governor General of Astrakhan –

The belle soeur of the Prince and her daughter received us at the door – She in a green satin wadded Chalat with red chemise &c. underneath – And handsome high 4 cornered sable rimmed hat, the top full of waddling like the Moscow coachmen’s caps and girdled round with gold brocade – The daughter’s cap not bordered round the face with fur and rather different and she had a light printed cotton or muslin Chelat on – The lady very civil – Could not speak a word even of Russian but of the 4 men servants 2 could speak Russian that with George we got on very well –

The Prince was at his prayers in the little chapel in the garden close behind the house – Prays from 5 to 9 a.m. and from 5 to 9 p.m. every day) – Not obliged by his religion to do so – But does it from inclination – Prays alone – Query – Is he studying? For he seems an intelligent man – According to their religion they should pray 3 times a day – Fast occasionally but then allowed milk and butter – No regular Sunday – But service 3 times a month – Every ten days –

Perhaps it was 1/4 hour before he came – They say here he is 70 – If so, he is one of youngest looking men of his age I have ever seen – Remarkably good countenance – Good teeth – An agreeable good looking stoutish gentlemanly man – His manners easy and prepossessing – Moderately Mogul as to features – Might pass unremarked among Europeans – i.e. not remarked as one of another race –

Prince Serebjab (right) with his brothers.

The lady decidedly the very type of mogul features – Very high broad cheek-bones – Very small eyes &c. complexion very difficult to express – Slightly copperish? The Prince more so – The girl Æt [aetatis] 14 less decidedly of mogul feature – The boy Æt [aetatis] 13 more so than his sister and was he slightly marked with small pox? Perhaps we shall see him again at Astrakhan – He has an older brother studying at Kazan where the Lord is a Mongol who is professor of Mongol – Coffee excellent 2 cups each soon after our arrival – Asked if we would not take something before going away and it was settled we were to dine – Had George all the while as interpreter –

A Mongol Bible that is book of their religion – Their Bible – From Kazan brought for us to look at, on my inquiring about books in Mongol – Partly in Thibetan (the language of Thibet) and partly in Mongol – The latter read from top to bottom – And lines from left to right – The Thibetan in horizontal lines read from right to left – The grand Lamas (he pronounced it Lammās, with an S) the head of their religion – Buddist – Same as in China – And Chinese language same as Mongol, or the Mongols and Chinese understand one another – Mongol books to be bought at Kazan – But not at Astrakhan –

The Prince descended from Tchinghis Khâna (Tchin-ghis Khâ-nah) in the 20th generation – 20 generations since – If George interpreted rightly but either his French or Russian or both serve him badly for he has apparently difficulty very often in understanding what is said as well as in translating it – Asked why his nephew was not called Ghinghis or if there was no one of this name – No! It would be a sin to call anyone after this great man – He was too great to have his name given unworthily –

The Prince quite independent – Pays no tribute to the Emperor, but if called upon furnishes a regiment and defends the frontier – Is Colonel in the Russian Service – Commanded his regiment at Leipzig against Napoleon in 1813 – Wounded by a ball – Did not feel it much at the time – Soon healed and was well – But felt it (began to feel it) 2 years ago and now cannot bear to sit for long together on this account – Lost 1/2 his men at Leipzig – He had some archers there – No archers now – All armed now with gun, pistols, and pike à la Cossaque and clothed the same – He pronounced it Kassak – Find their own horses &c. &c. and the Emperor allowed pay during the campaign – Mongol for quiver = Cōlt-Tchăh and Noonoon = archer Pnash noonoon = archer –

The Prince is very well with the people at the Cavcase but not with the Tartars of Boukharah, or others (It stuck me that Cōlt-Tchăh resembled Xoλxis the ancient name of the Valley of Koutais …..) about 200,000 Calmucks, the Prince a relation of our Prince here, went some time since to China – No news of them – perhaps they are taken as serfs? But I cannot depend upon George –

The Emperor of China has an allowance made to him, and cannot do as he likes – Our Prince here much better off – Independent – Can do as he likes – Never stirs out of the house in winter – always lives in it but travels in summer – His brothers live in tents in summer – His brother for he has but one left – He about an hour from our arrival all ready (arrived at 11 40/’’) and we were off to the church –

The Prince never quitting the house, his belle soeur took charge of us and a nice lively Russian window widow of an employé of the princes and he keeps her – The lady took me by the arm and seated herself by me in the small Traineau, and a larger with A-[Ann] and the widow and George followed – The Lady put her arm round me to hold me safe if there was any little jolt ∴[therefore] I regularly afterwards attached myself to her – Gave her my arm each time afterwards – Covered her gloveless hands (the Prince had a pair of nice light gloves lying on the table in the house) with my cloak, and we were very good speechless friends – The church may be about 1/4 mile from the house and near it and between it and the house the village – Partly Kibitkas partly goodish Russian wood (board) cottages – I could count about 100 Kibitkas (going and returning) – I observed 2 or 3 instances of their being smeared over with mud plaster and one or 2 instances of 2 tents joined by a sort of passage -

As if these luxurious Calmucs wanted more room than their neighbours – In fact they are Russianizing – The Prince has a Russian Cuisinier – One of his people who has served an apprenticeship I suppose to a Russian – And George said he had one who had learnt cooking in Paris served an apprenticeship there (George said) – The church built 15 years ago – The only Buddhist church in Russia – Planned by his brother who was killed at Warsaw – Brick, white plastered over – After the model of a Thibet temple – Looks exactly like Chinese –

The outer line a low brick wall with brick pillars and wood palisading – Right on entering a handsome new building not quite finished for priests to live in and for a clocher or its equivalent – No bells – Call to prays by one of the large and one of the small trumpets, Kengree-ga and Bēw-ě-răh – Left on entering a wooden (board, unpainted) house where the priests now live – The 2 circles on each side 2 tent-temples – With each its altar and appurtenances – Circular open 6 style A-[Ann] says 7 style wing portico on each (like Kazan church at St. P-[Petersburg]) wooden steps, several up to the large square tower, equivalent of clocher –

The main temple. (Image Source)

The ground floor forming a vestibule the great and only entrance into the church and here our Princess left her hat, (the handsome cap before noticed) her black hair parted down the middle of her head and made into one long, case-enclosed braid on each side – The thundering music, the din of drum and trumpet commenced as we reached the steps – Vestibule – Nave – A side aisle of 3 arcades on each side – Over the end of nave a lower square tower to give light – And the apse, the sacrum sacrorum for the altar and its appurtenances –

Khusheutovsky Khurul. Kalmyk temple. Astrakhan, South Russia city on Volga River (Image Source)

The Prince had ordered a grand service (their high mass) for us – 9 priests (left on entering) on one side and 7 on the other on their hams on carpets, and on the same side as the 9 at this end the 2 blowers of the big trumpets – Beginning at the top end (nearest the altar) vis à vis 2 priests with each a curious little bell besides him

Then 2 more priests the one on the right with a little wheat in a little silver cup (about the size of a lotus flower) standing before him – And the one left with a bell that he constantly rang – The head priest – Giving the lead to all the rest – the 2 little dots at the top the bells –

R.2 the chief priest – He and his neighbour next below him had each a pair of big cymbals and the 2d.[2nd] below him and the 2d.2nd from the top on the other side had each a pair of lesser cymbals – Then the 2 bottom men had each a lesser trumpet (with hautboy red) and the 4 on each side above them had each a drum – And the 2 outside R. had each a big trumpet – 8 drums, an 8 in.[inch] long segment of 20 in.[inches] diameter? cylinder called Keng-rēē-găh. 2 big trumpets 5 or 6 ft.[feet] long, Bew-ě-rah 2 little ditto Bish-Kŏor with a red mouth-piece like a hautboy – 2 great cymbals Tzong (Tzong) the hollow parts like little basins 2 lesser ditto Tzêanzin the hollow parts merely like soup plates –

The chief priest rang his bell, muttered a few words (prayers) then struck his cymbals loud and then laid them down ant struck them together on the cushion before him so that the sound was deadened as he did so did the other 3 cymbal men, and all the other instruments played all the time he played – The service lasted 1/2 hour – Besides the 16 + 2 big trumpeters, one man with pointed cap and lappeted in yellow stood at the bottom at a little distance facing the middle of the 2 rows of priests, and 2 other men in yellow with base clean shaved heads stood one on each side – In all 16 + 2 + 3 = 21 priests –

The 18 musicians all in in a sort of robe de chambre like dress silk embroidered – Flowed rich silk – much worn – With pelerine shaped as if in remembrance of the lotus leaf?

Each wore a cap of long flowing 1/2 way down the back black silk tied at the top that is the cap finished tied up in 3 diminishing balls terminated in a little crown like ornament crown of 4 rays –

Reminding me of a flower – Whence also the fleur de lis of the Bourbons – And a Tiara, as it were of 5 petals surrounding the cap – Every cap had the same no.[number] of petals the white lily – the lotus has 5 petals – The dresses painted with lilies, lotuses, marigolds, (geums?), everything has reference to the lotus –

At the annunciation the angel is generally painted with a white lily in his hand – The sticks that struck the drums, curious the shaft like a sceptre (constable’s staff a little sceptre) i.e. both ends top and bottom reminding one of a flower and something else – The symbol of power – The handle like a ceinture tho’ rather disguised winged idol – The head of the church and particularly near the altar hung round with Chinese like drawings of Indian deities – I carefully examined them but found the Budhist deity too much disguised to be traceable to an inexperienced eye – Yet it is at the bottom of all –

The priests here draw – Paint – Do all the pictures – They understand – Our Princess and her nephew equally ignorant of the meaning of pictures – The people not admitted into the church – Stand outside – We were allowed to examine altar little brass images – All – Nothing evident – Little silver cup, (like lotus cups) of wheat and barley and oats mixed – And little cup of ice (eau benite – As if milk and water frozen) – And silver on tinsel flowers – Went into all the 7 tent-chapels 4 in the court and 3 rather larger outside it – An altar in each – The quantities of little brass or nice like Chinese images and pictures – A square pedestal stand on one side of 2 of their altars that the idol ought to be upon and a sort of sceptre in front of 2 of the altars, with a protuberance made to receive something – Inquired – George said a plate to hold the offering – Or what the priests ate – This column and its proper Budhist companion ought to be one on each side of each altar –

At the doors of the 3 tents outside was a cylindrical bundle of reeds one on each side the door – This paganism is a curious remain of Antiquity – The exterior of the church is very Chinese –

The clocher is square and then 4 retiring squares up to the ball on which rests the needle and above that a little ball and crescent and a point springing from middle of crescent I have inadvertently put the black-painted crescent work at the top of the retiring grade instead of the bottom? The cornice under the roof is every where triangular, in diminishing –

A very pretty cornice ‘4 grades square to ball and sceptre and top and crescent and ball – 6 columns’ (2 rows of) in each circular colonnade on returning to the palace our Prince ready to receive us – Gave me a Mongol Grammar printed at Kazan in 1835 and wrote his name in it – He had before given me his name and the names of his 2 brothers and that of the wife (our Princess) of his 2d.[2nd] brother all the brothers equally Princes and Sovereign Princes – Our Prince Cerbedjab de Tumen his tribe Tumen, and calls his village here Tumen, had 50,000 sheep when winter began – Has lost 20,000 – Ten years since such a severe winter – Last year at this time there was grass for the cattle –

Arrzha and liqueur glasses the precursor of dinner – The spirit tasted exactly like good Noyau – 1/2 and 1/2 mare’s and cow’s milk that of today sourish already (in 4 days, fermented and give once distilled yields the common Arrzha that we tasted and that still has sufficiently left of milk derived taste to let one find out its origin – This distilled 3 times and prepared with almonds yields the Arrzha like Noyau – Tchez-gan the Mongol name of Koumis – One may call Arrzha esprit du lait –

Dinner 1st Eesh-Kessen (looking like a Russian shredded reddish cabbage) a plat of shredded mutton – Shredded like on cabbage salad at Sarepta – Very good – Next little beef olives à la Russe with gravy good – Then Sabac fish cutlets like those the other day en route but better cooked – Then blinnys in little rolls 2 in.[inches] long and 2 in.[inches] diameter and several folds – Rather too hard and not hot enough – 2 preserve orange peel in shreds and white currants – Declined Medoc and some other French wine drank a glass made from the grapes of his own garden (4 v.[versts] off) this year – A weak white odd tasted but not disagreeable wine – The water excellent – Tasted dessert of Persian almonds, 2 sorts – Then coffee – Excellent now and in the morning – From Astrakhan but from Moscow or St. P-[Petersburg] then tea – 2 cups each – excellent – The best I have tasted in Russia –

Admired the lady’s cap – The Prince asked how long we should stay at A-[Astrakhan] if long enough would get me a cap made, and send it to me there – Said we should only stay 5 day glad to be handsomely off putting him to so much trouble &c. – He had asked for our name I wrote as under

‘Madame Lister de Shibden Hall dans la Conté de York d’Angleterre, et Mademoiselle Walker de Cliff Hill das la même Conté, rendent mille graces à Monsieur le Prince Cerbedjab, Prince Souverain des Calmoucs de Tumen, - de son hospitalité et de touts ses politesses – Elles desirent pour lui et pour toute sa famille le plus grand bonheur – Mardi. 11 Mars (Nouveau Style) 1840’

George explained and the Prince seemed pleased – I had asked if anyone had sketched his church &c. – Yes! An Officer (a Serjeant said George) chez Colonel Balájaefski at Astrakhan, has sketched the Prince and his people and temple – Much pleased with our day chez le Prince –

Thanked him thro’ George as well as we could – He had ordered a Traineau and pair and a Cossak mounted en courier to take us home because we should by this means go much quicker – True – The wild screams of our Cossack and his whipping on our Courier’s post horses (spite of the driver) and seizing them by the tail and thus urging them on and our driver, too, screaming and delighted at my laughing aloud – That us over the river like magic – At the Prince’s door and at our own at 6 21/’’ in 1 6/’’ hour! Gave the men each a Silver Rouble, and then on their asking for a written assurance that I was satisfied I told the Courier to write thanks and that we had come in 1 6/’’ and I then signed

A Lister de Shibden Hall

Tuesday 11 March 1840

And set aside this my arms – Tea – And we drank Sackville’s health &c. on his 8th birthday – All this over at 8 - Then till now 1 25/’’ wrote all the above of today – A-[Ann] writing by me – Very fine day but bitter cold wind to the left nearly in our faces, going – At our backs in returning and besides abated since morning – the ice often sounded as if the river would not be safe very much longer – Lay down at 2 3/4 a.m. –

[in the side of the page:] Brick Tea

[in the side of the page:] Cerdebjab Prince of Tumen

[in the side of the page:] Grand Lamās

[in the side of the page:] Chinese and Mongol languages nearly the same

[in the side of the page:] Calmuck (Mongol, Buddhist) Temple at Tumen

[in the side of the page:] Buddhist priests’ caps &c.

[in the side of the page:] Tumen from Soroglazinskaya 13 versts

[in the side of the page:] S-[Soroglazinskaya] from Astrakhan . . 90 1/2

Page References: SH:7/ML/E/24/0040 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0041 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0042 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0043

#anne lister code breaker #anne lister #ann walker #moscow to baku 1840

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virgil-on-crofters · 5 years

Text

A Goal to Impress (Thieve’s Guild AU part 2)

Summary: Prince Roman meets with members of the Royal Guard and his father to discuss the robberies of local shop keeps around the kingdom.

Genre: A little bit of angst

Warnings: Non supportive parent, self-doubt, mention of robberies, mention of weapons

Word Count: 1,611 words

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The young prince hurried down the deep red carpet that led down the long corridor of the palace, a few castle guards trailing after him. His crimson eyes trailed from the artwork on the walls, to the windows lining the corridor's left side, and to the doors right in front of him, giving him an anxious appearance. The bottom of his bold red cloak brushed against the back of his knees as he walked. He wore a neat white tunic tucked into formal, tan colored trousers, the cloak attached right at his left shoulder with an elegant gold clasp among other small, gold accessories. The white dress shirt was covered diagonally by a red sash that seemed recently ironed. Every part of his attire seemed spotless, from the straight cuffs of his shirt to the shine of his recently polished shoes. He approached the large wooden doors at the end of the hallway and stopped for a few moments. He adjusted the edges of his cloak, making sure they rested evenly and neatly at his knees as well as the sash, making sure it splayed evenly and wasn't wrinkled in any places. After fussing with his neatly styled hair a bit and making sure the silver crown, one that was no where near as elegant as those of the king and queen, was on the top of his head and was in the perfect place. The prince took a deep breath and proceeded opened the grand double cedar doors leading into his father’s study.

Inside was King Alanus along with the head of the royal guard, Sir Patton, and a few other knights. They were standing around a large table that a map of the kingdom had been spread out on, the corners held down with various heavy books so the information could be consumed. On the map there were six or seven red X’s, each one on a different marketplace or local shop. Roman approached the table, making his way to his father’s side. He gave a short nod, “Good afternoon, Father.”

The king rose his head at the words, exposing the crinkles in his skin from the corner of his mouth and eyes and the graying of the reddish-brown hair he shared with his son. He didn’t smile, no, he didn’t even greet his son. Just grunted, “You’re late.”

Roman frowned as he approached his father’s side, “My apologies.”

The king only responded with a quiet growl, standing up a bit straighter and clearing his throat, “I’m sure that Sir Patton would be happy to fill you in on what you missed due to your late arrival..”

Patton looked up from the map covered table, his curly blonde hair falling in front of his sapphire eyes as he almost immediately stood to attention. The head knight was wearing an outfit composed of shiny silver armor pieces that were bordered with gold, black leather padding visible in between the sturdy medal plates. The plates were centered around his chest, shoulders, and knees, his arms and legs given some leather padding. A light blue cape was attached by the shoulder plates, falling so it just barely brushed the floor. Patton nodded, adjusting his uniform the slightest bit before resting his hands on the edge of the table, leaning over the map, “We’ve been notified of several robberies across town. Originally we believed they were unrelated events, but when they begun to overlap..it became a bit more clear that they were connected in one way or another..”

Roman contemplated for a few moments, crossing his arms, “What has been stolen?”

Patton rubbed at the back of his neck, “That’s the odd thing, no money was stolen from any of the establishments, it was the wares of the shop. Anything from food to bandages to...weapons..”

Roman nodded, looking up to the knight, “Stockpiling perhaps..?”

Patton nodded, “My thoughts exactly, this had led us to believe that there has been the creation of a-”

“A thieves guild..” King Alanus cut off the knight. He cleared his throat again, “In that case we’ll have to take them down before they cause serious harm. Here’s what I want-”

“I can do it.”

The king looked over at his son, almost seeming surprised. He chuckled a bit, shaking his head, “You think you can take down an entire thieves guild?”

Roman nodded, standing up a bit straighter as he turned to fully face his father, “I’m positive.”

His father shook his head, “Roman, I don’t think-”

“I can do it..” he insisted, “I’m the heir to the throne, how am I supposed to rule a kingdom if I haven’t proven myself worthy of the responsibility..”

Patton eyed the prince before looking at the king, bowing his head a bit, “With all do respect your majesty..I do believe that the prince should be given a chance to prove himself.”

The king pondered the proposal for the following moments, doubt filling his face as he gave an exasperated sigh, “Very well then, but one mistake and I’m taking control of this operation. We don't have room for careless mistakes, not with the safety of the kingdom and its citizens on the line,” he looked down at his son with a serious, but somewhat doubtful, expression, “Do you understand me?”

The young prince nodded, seemingly shrinking a bit under the eyes of the king “Yes, Father.”

With that King Alanus gave a sharp nod and cleared his throat yet again, quickly tidying his clothing before beginning for the door, “Well then, I’ll leave it in your hands..”

The knights in the room, whom were the king’s personal guard, followed close behind, disappearing from sight as the cedar doors closed, sending the click of the closing door echoing through the room. Roman placed his hands on the table, sighing as he removed his crown and set it down, “What have I done?”

Patton frowned, making his way around the table and to the prince’s side. He placed a gentle hand on the prince’s shoulder. Roman and Patton had always considered each other more friends and less a prince and his knight. They’d been close since Patton had started his apprenticeship as a teenager and continued to grow closer. In fact, Roman would commonly sneak out of the castle to visit Patton and his husband, Logan, at their house across the kingdom.

Patton gave the prince a gentle smile, “You trusted your instincts, which is the quality of a strong leader,” He turned Roman to face him, Patton’s hands on his shoulders, “You’ve got this, Roman. I believe in you. We’ll take this guild down together, and I’ll make sure to give advice anywhere I can.”

Roman gave a weak smile and nodded a bit, the smile falling shortly afterward into a nervous frown, “But...what if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.”

Patton’s comforting smile grew a bit, patting Roman on the back, “I can assure you that you haven’t..you’re going to do a great job,” he moved his hands back to the table as he leaned his elbows on the edge of it, “Trust me..”

Roman’s smile returned, “I do..”

Patton chuckled, “I’m glad,” he stood up fully once more, stretching before backing away from the table, “Now as much as I’d enjoy to stay and chat some more, I have some recruits to train,” he began making his way to the door, stopping just short of exiting, “I believe in you, your highness..”.

Roman smiled and gave a short nod, waving at the knight as he made his exit. As soon as Patton left, Roman sighed, letting his head fall to rest on the table as he took a seat in a nearby chair. He huffed a bit, muttering a bit to himself as he tried to start formulating a plan in his brain that he could present to the royal guard. After a few moments he stood up, stretching and taking a deep breath before deciding he would be able to think better in the castle’s courtyard.

On the prince’s way out of the study, he stopped short of the door as a small clatter from outside drew his attention. It sounded..nearby. From the window at the far end of the room, in fact. So he carefully drew closer to the window, almost sneaking up on it like a lion hunting its prey. Once he got close enough to the window he peered out of it, suspicious that it possibly was being used to spy on the meeting, yet he couldn’t see evidence that anyone had been there at all. The only thing that sparked even the slightest interest was the view of the bustling market located on the main street of the kingdom. He sighed, making his way back to the door and finally making his exit.

But Roman had a right to be suspicious...because someone had been spying.

Now perched above the window and out of sight of where the prince had been searching was a man. He was quite tall and muscular, the dark green hood of a cloak pulled over his while reddish-brown hair. His green eyes pierced through the shadows that masked his face and messy mustache. The rest of his body was shrouded in old, almost ragged, black and grey clothing, small accents of dark green present throughout it. But as quickly as he had been there, spying on the important affairs of the kingdom's leaders, he was gone, hopping from the roof and landing on his feet with quite a bit of grace before he disappeared into the bustling crowd of the marketplace, headed for the edge of the city.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides au #ssroman #sspatton #roman #patton #kingdom #medival #writing #fanfiction #fantasy #writers

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og-bbs-n-misfits-warriors-au · 6 years

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Chapter 8: Unique Bonds

The mourning of Thorntalon lasted all of the next night. Shrewthorn was fully present and was probably the most grieve stricken. Sure, Thorntalon did push him during his apprenticeship, but it was for the best! Shrewthorn had been a fearful apprentice, but his mentor helped make him more confident in himself, allowing the tom to defeat Blood Bringer. Now his old mentor was gone… Shrewthorn stood at the entrance to camp, looking out into the forest. He didn’t feel like hunting, nor doing anything really. He looked up to the sky as the sun rose. He wondered if Thorntalon could see him from silver pelt, even during the day. “Shrewthorn?” Alderflight’s voice pierced through Shrewthorn’s thoughts, snapping him out of them. Shrewthorn turned to see his best friend padding over.

“Hey Alderflight…” Shrewthorn mumbled as the white tom sat beside him.

“Braveheart was hoping you and I could do some hunting since the badgers had a feast while here,” Alderflight frowned, “But I was hoping we could find someplace to just talk.” Shrewthorn nodded and stood up, not noticing Whiskerwish and Brownstone heading out toward the direction of the abandoned twoleg nest. As the two walked, Shrewthorn looked around, as if expecting some Dark Forest cats. Oddly, none were present. It was just the two of them. “I…I wanted to find a way to cheer you up,” Alderflight spoke when they got to a set of thickets. “So…I found something I think you would like.” Alderflight used his tail to pull some of the brambles, revealing a patch of dandelions. “I know they’re your favorite.”

Shrewthorn walked in and laid on the dandelions, watching as the seeds floated in the air. When he was younger, he would have panic attacks. When he did get them, he would run to a dandelion patch in camp and roll around in the dandelions. It helped calm him down. Yet just before he became an apprentice, a fire swept through camp, destroying the dandelion patch. Even though Stormstar planted some of the seeds he managed to save, they never grew again… “Thank you…” Shrewthorn mumbled as he buried his face into the flowers.

Alderflight sat down beside his best friend. He was glad that he could help Shrewthorn. Alderflight laid down and watched as Shrewthorn rolled around in the dandelion field. “I’m happy to help,” Alderflight purred. He had hidden feelings within him, but right now he was focused on making sure Shrewthorn was happy.

“I knew it!!” Whiskerwish meowed as she raced over. The abandoned twoleg nest has a sign near it that read “Wildlife Greenhouse”. The twolegs were going to repair the nest and let animals enter without a worry. “Braveheart did this!”

“How?” Brownstone asked.

“Because his twoleg-self lives nearby!” Whiskerwish replied, padding over. “Uh huh, even though he said he doesn’t know where in the world we live,” Brownstone sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Well then, why don’t we ask him?” Whiskerwish snickered, then froze when she heard a dog bark. She spun around to see a large black and brown dog racing to her. Whiskerwish let out a yowl and arched her back as the dog skidded to a halt, bowing and whining as its tail wagged. Whiskerwish let out a snarl as her ears flattened. Too bad Braveheart was asleep, otherwise he could have helped her. Brownstone growled and got between the dog and Whiskerwish, taking a few swipes at the dog with his claws. Only when a whistle is heard did the dog run away, towards where the whistle came from.

Brownstone and Whiskerwish then saw a twoleg in a weird, moving seat pet the dog, calming them down. “Now’s our chance!” Brownstone hissed, turning and getting ready to run. Whiskerwish was about to follow, but something felt off about this twoleg. His scent…it was familiar… “Whiskerwish!!” Brownstone called.

“Hold on…” Whiskerwish mumbled, slowly walking over to the twoleg with caution, and trying not to get its attention. She failed as the twoleg looked up at her with a smile. The twoleg’s scent was familiar to her, one she was used to. “Braveheart…?” She meowed. The twoleg spoke something, but she didn’t understand. Whiskerwish flinched back when the twoleg reached its hand down, but not petting her. She sniffed the hand and her eyes widened. It was Braveheart! The twoleg smelled just like him, an exact match as a matter of fact! “It is you!” Whiskerwish purred as she hopped up on the twoleg’s lap, “Brownstone, it’s Braveheart!!”

Brownstone had a skeptic look, “There’s no way his twoleg self would show up when we finished talking about him!” Brownstone hissed.

Whiskerwish rolled her eyes, then growled at the dog as they barked. Braveheart, or Jaren really, waved the dog down. “Down Octavia!” Jaren laughed, making Whiskerwish’s ears perked up. So she could understand him. But could he understand her? Octavia whined before laying down, rolling onto her back as her tail wagged. Brownstone slowly approached Jaren.

“Can you understand me…?” Whiskerwish asked as she looked at her friend.

“Yea…guess that’s what happened when you spend almost a year with cats,” Jaren chuckled, then watched as Brownstone hopped up.

“Why are you here? And why are you in a moving chair?” Brownstone asked.

“It’s a wheelchair,” Jaren corrected him, “And…a car- monster hit me a while ago. And I’m here because of him.” Jaren pointed behind him.

Whiskerwish and Brownstone looked as Jaren turned his wheelchair around. Their eyes widened. Sitting on an old window of the abandoned twoleg nest was Firestar. The starclan tom hopped down and walked towards them. “Surprised? I figured Stormstar would have figured it out by now and told you.”

“Figure what out?” Whiskerwish frowned, “What’s going on?”

“We’re here to save the abandoned twoleg nest,” Firestar replied, “That and he needed a change.” Firestar glared at Jaren at the last part, causing him to raise his hands defensively, “I’ve been protecting his human body while he was in his cat body.”

“Then…you knew about Finchreef…” Whiskerwish frowned.

“Yes, and the damage done to Braveheart was also done to Jaren,” Firestar meowed, “It was a pain. But worth it. Now hurry on back. If needed, show the others this place as well.” Whiskerwish nodded and hopped off with Brownstone, walking into the forest.

#Warriors #Warrior Cats #BBS warriors au #Misfits Warriors au #Book 4: Defending Ideals #Series 1: Origin #SMii7Y

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malecsecretsanta · 7 years

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Merry Christmas, @weirdpersonblogging!

Read on AO3

*****

Little White Lies

Alec wouldn’t say his life was lacking, in fact he had a pretty full life. He had a job he was passionate about, a comfortable apartment a good distance away from his parents and a sizeable trust fund courtesy of Grandma and Grandpa Lightwood.

He could say he was damn near lucky.

Unless you counted the fact that he had been single ever since he graduated from college and his sister had made it her life’s mission to set him up with every eligible gay bachelor in New York.

“How are you going to find The One,” Isabelle had asked after he had declined her latest set up, somehow conveying the title caps in her tone, “if you don’t put yourself out there?”

“I go on plenty of dates,” Alec had countered.

What he neglected to mention was that most of these dates never amounted to anything more than dinner and drinks and the occasional invite to his date’s place for more.

Like most twenty-something New Yorkers Alec was well acquainted with the walk of shame.

“Really,” Isabelle had asked drawing out the word, knowing full fucking well he was lying.

“Yes, Izzy, I do.” Alec had insisted thanking anyone who might be listening that his sister was across the Atlantic. He took a deep breath and took the plunge. “In fact, I have a date tonight. We’ve been going out for a while. I just didn’t want to jinx it.”

And so the lie had been born. Spun from pure desperation and a touch of hysteria.

Alec hadn’t meant for it to spiral the way it had but somehow he found himself stacking lie on top of lie until he had a wobbly tower of anecdotes about his made up boyfriend.

“He’s great, Iz. He’s been introducing me to the mixed drinks you like so much.”

“Yeah, we went out for beer and pool. Didn’t have any qualms about hustling me.”

“I had to work late so he brought dinner to the office.”

The only reason he had been able to pull off the con for as long as he had was because Izzy was off at an apprenticeship in Spain.

An apprenticeship which was supposed to last a year and a half.

Which meant Alec was supposed to have time to concoct a dramatic break-up story.

And definitely not have his sister suddenly appear at his front door with her hand tucked into his imaginary boyfriend’s arm.

“Alec!” Isabelle cried gleefully, dragging the man in with her before launching herself into Alec’s arms.

His joy at seeing her after months apart was overshadowed by the panic making its way up his throat.

The thing was, Alec’s imaginary boyfriend wasn’t exactly imaginary.

Sure, the boyfriend part was, but the man he had been talking about to Izzy all those months were very much real. Very much his neighbor and very much out of his league.

Because Magnus Bane was hot.

The kind of hot that made Alec’s pulse quicken whenever they passed each other in the halls, his tongue too thick to manage more than a hello.

Not that it had stopped Alec from noticing the way Magnus’ jeans hugged the curve of his ass or the way his shirts draped across his broad chest.

Or the way his kohl lined eyes were now dancing in amusement, the gold specs in the brown of his eyes glittering in the sunlight.

Alec wanted to die.

Instead he gave himself a moment to take a breath, tucking his head into her sister’s hair in the guise of returning her hug.

He watched over Izzy’s head as Magnus, completely at home in Alec’s apartment despite the strange circumstances, closed the door and draped himself on the arm of Alec’s couch, waiting patiently for Alec and Izzy to turn their attention back to him.

Izzy seemed to sense the same thing and disentangled herself from Alec, smacking him in the arm as she pulled away.

“You never send me pictures! You didn’t tell me you boyfriend was model gorgeous.”

Magnus smirked, clearly enjoying Alec’s mortification. Alec should not find it cute. Not when he wanted the floorboards to swallow him up.

“Yes, darling,” Magnus said, tone playful, “should I be worried? We have been dating for more than a year now.”

Alec could feel a warm flush creep under his collar and fervently wished for an earthquake, a tsunami, any natural disaster really, he wasn’t picky.

Anything that could save him from this disaster of his own making.

Izzy sat down next to Magnus, one hand resting comfortably on his knee as if they were old friends.

“I was telling Magnus that Mom didn’t understand why you couldn’t just bring your boyfriend to the reunion but she gave you a pass when you said it was your anniversary.”

Magnus was now pressing his lips together to stop from laughing. It was unfairly adorable.

“Thank you for understanding,” Magnus said taking Izzy’s hand between his, giving Alec an exaggerated simpering look. “It was a truly lovely evening. Your brother is quite the romantic.”

That startled a laugh from Izzy. “Alec, a romantic. Since when?”

“Oh, crumpet, you have no idea how imaginative your brother can be,” Magnus said clearly having a laugh at Alec’s expense.

Beautiful and a sense of humor. Life just wasn’t fucking fair.

“Darling,” Alec forced the word out, the smile on his face as fake as the potted plant on the coffee table. “I haven’t seen you all day. How about you and I make some tea for Izzy.”

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Alec reached out his and grabbed Magnus hand carefully pulling him to his feet.

So used to being taller than everyone else, Alec didn’t expect to suddenly be eye to eye with Magnus.

The other man was not quite his height but he was tall enough that Alec lost himself in the clear, bright hazel of his eyes. Magnus held his gaze, the moment stretching between them until Izzy gave a polite cough.

“Yes,” Magnus finally said his fingertips sliding against Alec’s rough palms and tightening around them until his fingers were intertwined with Alec’s, “tea would be wonderful, Alexander.”

The sound of his full name in that deep rich tone, made something warm and soft unfurl in Alec’s chest. He blinked, lip curling slightly upward before giving himself a shake and forcing himself to tear his eyes away from Magnus.

“Right, tea.”

Alec pulled Magnus to the kitchen and reluctantly let go of his hand before busying himself with filling the kettle with water and setting it on the stove.

Magnus leaned against the kitchen counter, eyes tracking his movement until Alec finally stopped a few steps in front of him.

“I owe you an apology,” Alec started, voice low, large hands playing with the edge of the counter.

Magnus gave him an expectant look, body language relaxed and open.

“I told a stupid lie,” Alec started to explain, “It kinda- it spiraled out of control and your name was just easier - a real name than make up a fake one so I-”

Betrayed by his own twisting tongue Alec forced himself to take a steadying breath.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said taking a step closer and once more looking Magnus straight in the eyes.

Which wasn’t the best idea if Alec wanted to keep his train of thought but it would be insincere to look away now.

“I’m sorry I made my sister think that you’re my boyfriend,” Alec continued. “I completely understand if you’d like to report me to the homeowners association for being a creep.”

Alec held his breath, releasing it slowly when Magnus gave him a soft smile instead of snapping Alec’s head off.

“You’re not a creep, Alexander. Unorthodox, yes, but far from being a creep. A little pathetic maybe..” Magnus trailed off, obviously teasing.

Despite his embarrassment, Alec let out a soft laugh. “Thanks,” he replied, the sarcasm in his tone laced with fondness.

It was easy being around Magnus. The confident way he held himself, proud and unapologetic, was one of the the reasons Alec had noticed him when the rest of his neighbors had fallen under his radar.

He wasn’t surprised that Magnus’ confidence inspired comfort rather than intimidation.

“Regardless, I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I’ll clear everything up with Izzy and I’ll never bother you again,” Alec promised.

“That would be unfortunate considering I’ve gotten rather attached to your sister,” Magnus paused, eyes searching Alec’s. “And I would love to get to know her brother better.”

Magnus moved closer, eyelashes sweeping against his cheeks before looking up with eyes heavy with intent. Alec had to remind himself to breathe.

“Yeah?” Alec asked stupidly. His lungs were working fine but his brain seemed to have left him entirely.

“Yeah,” Magnus repeated, the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

Alec couldn't help the way his gaze followed that curve. He moved closer, giving in to the pull of Magnus’ lips, giving in to gravity. The air between them crackled, charged and electric - and was immediately broken by the ear-piercing whistle of the kettle.

They jumped apart, Alec dashing to the stove to turn it off and stop the racket.

“And I here I thought I was the one playing hard to get,” Magnus teased, helping him put the tea tray together. He took the kettle from Alec, pouring the water into the teapot with a flourish.

“There,” Magnus said with an approving nod. “Now, how about I make myself scarce while you catch up with your sister. And then you can give me a knock in the morning.” He looked up at Alec through his eyelashes almost shyly. “I make some mean waffles.”

Alec nodded, a pleased flush coloring his cheeks. “Sounds perfect.”

He knew he was standing there too long, staring at Magnus’ own pleased smile and committing it to memory but he found that he didn’t care.

It wasn’t what he expected, but if Izzy’s meddling resulted in a date with Magnus, then Alec figured he was a pretty lucky guy.

#weirdpersonblogging #malecsanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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sin-n-city · 8 years

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Ignited: Lumos

Ignited chapter 1- Lumos

Pairing: Dan Howell/ Phil Lester and PJ Liguori/ Chris Kendall

Rating: M

Warnings: Swearing and eventual fluff/smutt

Summary: AU superpowers. The lights has been there for as long as Dan can remember. It’s apart of him. But sometimes the burning and itching under his skin won't leave until it shines bright and illuminates the sky.

Dan's life changes forever when he is trust into a world of magic and mystery inside the walls of the Nova Institute for the Exceptionally Gifted and Talented. Dan Howell/Phil Lester, PJ Liguori/ Chris Kendall.

Notes: I’m back with a new chapter story. Not an Ethereal sequel (yet) but something that I hope will be just as exciting. I hope you enjoy!

Dan had always known he was different. He’d known since he was young. The light around him had always been so bright, and warm, and welcoming. It had beckoned him to come play, formed on his hands in a bright yellow orb, and soared through the sky as he’d chased it. As a child, he’d run through the park without a care in the world.

The lights had been there for as long as Dan could remember.

As a child, he’d wanted nothing to do but play. The shiny light had been so intriguing, and when he did play with it, he could feel it pulsing throughout his body, filling his body with warmth and happiness until giggles were escaping his lips as streaks of light that rested against his arms and legs, moving around his body as though they were trying to take flight.

Dan hadn’t really understand how or why the light was there, and as he’d grown up, he hadn’t understood why all of the other kids had run up to him in excitement one day on the playground, asking him all kinds of questions that had seemed so strange. “Why can you do that?” or “wow that’s so cool!” they had said, and Dan had been happy, the warmth from deep inside of him radiating out in front of him, circling his new found friends as they attempted to reach out and touch it, the smiles on their faces reflecting Dan’s own. That had made him feel special.

So at first, Dan hadn’t known why his mother had screamed, or why it had been so loud and startling. The warmth around Dan’s body had disappeared, the light vanishing as his mother stood in front of him, frozen. He’d been able to see her crying, tears flowing down her cheeks, and he hadn’t understood.

“Daniel, you can’t do that. That's not- you are never to use that, thing in front of anyone again, understood?”

From that day forward, Dan’s parents explained over and over again why he couldn’t use his powers, why it wasn’t normal and how kid’s weren’t actually supposed to do the things they saw in cartoons or in movies, that Dan wasn’t supposed to be able to create light, that he wasn’t supposed to see it shine so brightly.

But it hadn’t made any sense to young Dan, because how could something so beautiful, something that made his friends happy and smile and laugh, be so wrong? How could something that Dan had seen his whole life, be bad?

He loved the light.

So he’d nodded, because his parents couldn’t know what he did when they weren’t around. They didn’t see that he didn’t need a torch to read his story books at night, so that he could stay up late when it was past his bedtime, or how he played with the flickers in his palms in the bathtub, chasing them around like the most beautiful fish in the soapy water.

Then one day, Dan didn’t feel so happy.

He can remember when it all started to change, when everything that had once been fun and perfect suddenly wasn’t, when the heat started radiating under his skin, swirling around so uncomfortably that Dan wanted to scream. He can remember the light forming on his hands unwillingly, the heat so unbearable that it forced itself out.

The kids around him at the time thought it was cool, that he was giving them a show like he had so long ago, but Dan was scared, and his parents were watching on in horror, his father marching over to cover it up, yelling Dan’s name.

Suddenly, the light shot out, a longer, stronger beam than Dan had ever been able to create before, and there was a blinding ring, a loud crack, and the tree that had shielded them was suddenly falling down.

The kids screamed, scrambling in all directions. Dan was frozen in fear, his eyes wide as he watched the branch fall towards him, ready to collapse on top of him, hurt him in ways he couldn't yet comprehend. He’d braced himself with a scream, tears rolling down his cheeks, but the impact he’d been expecting never came.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in his father's arms, shielded completely. His brown hair had been stuck to the wetness on his face, and he’d been hiccuping so loudly as he’d crooked his neck to the side, his father lying beside him howling in pain, tree branch pinning him down to the ground.

There was yelling. Dan heard his mother screaming his dad’s name as she helped pull the branch up off of him.

It was in that moment that Dan had realised, maybe not being normal wasn’t such a good thing.

And for the first time in his life, Dan had come to hate the light.

There are moments where Dan feels like everything's okay, when his parents don’t smother him and school isn’t as bad as it seems. There are days when the sun shines and it looks down on Dan with a radiant warmth that feel like kisses, but there are other days where control isn’t on Dan’s side, and he has to stay so focused that he isn’t able to do anything at all, days where his parents have to remind him that he needs to be careful, and more importantly why he needs to be careful.

Those days are harder than the others. Those are the days when Dan spends his time reading during lunch break, wishing that he could be one of his characters instead, the ones who make abnormal seem special, magical. The ones where the story has a happy ending and their differences are valued, accepted. Helpful.

Dan’s sitting at the back of one of his classes as usual, in the far corner of the room near the window, when everything starts to change.

It’s raining, dreary and miserable outside. The pitter patter is comforting though, drowning out the voices of the class. Dan’s notebook is mostly empty, doodles filling up more of the pages then actual words. He’s staring contently out the window when he hears a call of his name.

“Daniel?” his teacher half-shouts, and his head snaps up, eyes that had previously been unfocused now staring at the teacher in front of the class. She looks irritated, as if she’s called Dan’s name multiple times now without answer, and she’s sick of waiting.

Dan bites his lip, glancing at his fellow classmates for some sort of sign as to what the teacher had actually been talking about, and takes notices of the page of the girl sitting closest to him. It’s changed, and Dan quickly moves his own to the right page, a few off from where they had previously been reading.

“Sorry, I- got distracted.”

The teacher looks at him pointedly. “Then how about you come and write Pip’s inner monologue about his apprenticeship up on the board?”

Dan feels himself panic, then. Not only does he not want to, but he doesn’t know what monologue his teacher is talking about at all, and he glances at the girl beside him for help. She inconspicuously points at the sentence his teacher wants him to write on the board, and Dan sighs, nerves and stress leaving him just that little bit.

Thank god not everyone in his class are grade A dicks.

He has shitty handwriting, a curse from being left handed. It doesn’t help that today is a particularly bad day. Dan can feel a slight warmth prickling at his skin, reacting to his feelings. He wills himself to breathe, pushing himself up from his desk, and making his way towards the front of the room.

He writes the paragraph quickly, the need and want to get back to his seat and back into control much greater than trying to perfect his t’s.

"There have been occasions in my later life (I suppose as in most lives) when I have felt for a time as if a thick curtain had fallen on all its interest and romance, to shut me out from anything save dull endurance any more. Never has that curtain dropped so heavy and blank, as when my way in life lay stretched out straight before me through the newly-entered road of apprenticeship to Joe."

Dan puts down the marker, turns away pleased, his seat in sight. The blonde girl from before smiles at him encouragingly - he owes her a huge thank you - and he can feel the warmth begin to trickle away.

He’s going to be okay.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Dan briefly closes his eyes as he takes one more step towards his chair, and then he opens them again, smiles briefly at the student who’d helped him, hoping to come off grateful, and turns away. For half a second, Dan sees the guy sitting beside him get a smug look, eyes glistening with something Dan doesn’t know, and then, he finds out just what that is.

Suddenly, a backpack is in front of him, and before he knows it, Dan trips, his shoe getting caught on the bag as he takes the steps forwards. He falls down, crashing into the desk to his right. His head hits the corner, a flash of white hot pain shooting straight to his head, and then he feels it - the humiliation rushing upon him as quickly as the stabbing pain in his head.

He feels hot, but he can’t focus. The sensation overwhelms him, pain and fear mixing together. And he knows, he knows.

The light erupts from his body in a bright burst. A single, long flash of warm light drowning out all vision in the room.

A scream comes piercing from his right. Dan hears his classmates scrambling away from him before he sees it. Panic tightens his chest. He’s unable to breath as he watches his classmates press against the wall. They stare in shock, one dropping to the ground as though her legs have given out.

Dan doesn’t breathe, air caught in his throat as he scrambles to his feet. His hips bump against the table beside him. He flings forward, towards the door quicker than he ever thought imaginable. He runs, through the corridors, and he doesn’t stop running until the houses all blur past him, and his feet give out from underneath him.

By the time Dan get’s home, his clothes are dripping wet, and as he stands outside his front door, hand hanging loosely on the doorknob, he knows that his parents already know. There’s no way his parent’s don’t already know. There are a million missed calls on his phone already, and Dan is terrified, because he doesn't know what’s about to come. He swallows, turning the doorknob slowly as he attempts to make no noise. He prays the hinge squeak is drowned out by the thunderstorm happening around him.

It’s not.

Dan takes one cautious step inside, and he hears his mum before he sees her.

“Dan?” she questions. She appears from behind the lounge room wall, pulling him into a tight hug within a mere few seconds. He wants to cry, let more tears out, because he fucked up. He ruined everything and now everyone knows.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, voice thick. He embraces his mum, clinging onto her in a way he hasn’t for a long time. He despises how smothering his parents are, how they watch his every move and remind him constantly that he has to be careful, but he doesn’t hate it more than he hates himself at that moment.

He stands there for a few moments in silence, his mother gently muttering that it’s okay. It’s not okay, Dan knows it, they all know it. There’s a part of him that wishes it was, that he can pretend nothing happened and that things will be okay. They aren’t though. They are going to have to move, there is no way they can all stay here now.

“Come on,” his mother states after a few moments. She nudges at his arms, telling him to follow her as she heads towards the lounge. Dan does, head dropped low. No doubt his father will be in there too, waiting to tell him what the plan is.

“Daniel?”

Dan freezes on the spot, eyes locked on the two men that are sitting on the sofa. They are casually dressed, arms folded in their laps. Dan takes a step back, panic resurfacing for the upmost time that day.

“What’s going on?” he asks, attempting to keep the fear from his voice. His mother takes a few steps back so she is almost by his side. Dan flinches as her arm reaches out. Her hand retracts, a worried look surfacing on her face.

“The words out about your incident at school, honey,” his mother explains. Her hands straighten out her skirt, a nervous fidgeting habit that has also been passed down to Dan. “These men are from a school, a school for individuals with gifts as yourself! They teach kids with your type of abilities how to use them. It could be good for you Daniel, to learn some control.”

“And what?” Dan retorts, his voice dripping with hatred. “You want me to go to some government school where they can run experiments on me? Fuck that. No way.”

He can feel his abilities prickling beneath his skin defensively.

“It’s not like that, if you’d let them explain-”

“No way,” there is venom dripping in Dan voice, as he takes another step back, shoulder hitting the door archway.

“If you wouldn’t mind Dan, I’d like to show you something.”

The man on the right hand side of the couch speaks. It sounds friendly, inviting, and it only makes Dan disbelieve him more. The man raises his hand, fingers pointing towards the cups in front of him. The coffee table shakes, before it slowly rises into the air, floating several meters above the ground.

Dan’s eyes go wide, disbelief as to what he is seeing. “You- you can. You have...”

“Telekinesis. At least that is its technical name,” the man comments. “Basically the ability to levitate objects.”

His mother chimes in, an encouraging smile on her face. “See, Dan. There are other’s out there just like you. An entire school worth! Where other kids have gone through the same thing you have.”

Dan is filled with both relief and disbelief. The fact that there are others out there like him, living human beings with unique abilities, that he isn’t alone, he isn’t the freak he was always made out to be, changes everything. He can feel an invisible weight suddenly lift off of his shoulders, and for the first time in his life, he feels like he can truly breathe.

“They’ve all gone through similar experiences to you, Dan. Unique abilities that can turn out of control without the proper practice and skill. We teach these things; guidance, learning, and self-awareness. Teachers and classes to better understand who you are and where your abilities came from. We offer guidance, and most of all, one day complete control over your powers.”

The words repeat in Dan’s mind, in a loop. Control over his abilities. No more anger or panic, no more spinning out of control. No more fear.

“We’re here to offer you a place at the Nova Institute for the Exceptionally Gifted and Talented.”

Link to Chapter 2: Nova

#Phanfiction #Phan #sin-n-cityfics #Dan and Phil #chapter story

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a-deadly-serenade · 8 years

Text

Chasing the Dragon: Greed/Reader Fic (Chapter 2)

so i posted this last night and when i checked the tags, it was nowhere to be seen so… guess i’ll try again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[it is also available on my ao3 account: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10061765/chapters/22418879]

You’ve been in an apprenticeship with the renowned bio-alchemist Shou Tucker for several months now, the both of you hard at work trying to crack the secrets of human-chimera transmutation. After having dedicated so much time to this strenuous field of study, the both of you are thrilled when a breakthrough is made that allows you to become a certified state alchemist. Watch and certificate in hand, you head back to your hometown of Dublith to celebrate, where you’ve planned to meet an old friend at your favorite locale: The Devil’s Nest.

Chapter 2: Marry the Night

The air was heavy, and it was difficult to breathe, as though the atmosphere was trying to smother you. A charred scent filled your nostrils, it was pungent, but you could pick up traces of different chemicals as well. Was that chloride… hydrogen…?

A thick wall of steam, (or was it smoke?) permeated throughout the room, and it coiled around every piece of furnishing and seeped into every crack in the foundation. You coughed, and a slight burn stung the back of your throat as you inhaled, ashes greedily sticking to your windpipe. Your eyes began to water, and your hands went up to wipe away the tears that trickled down your cheeks.

You stumbled around in search of a window, becoming disoriented in the smogs suffocating embrace. Your fingers clawed at the latch once you found it, and the wind gave a mighty howl as it burst into the area, a clear path finally being forged in the darkness.

Piercing yellow sclera were the first things you managed to make out, their owner peering up at you with an eerie gaze. You noticed ears perk up at the sound of your ragged breathing, and you backed further into the corner as one of its long, spindly legs dragged across the concrete floor in an attempt to reach you.

Curled, unnaturally lengthy claws dug into the cement, leaving deep impressions as it heaved its heavy body into an upright position. A curved tail swung from side to side, and you could surmise that it was at least canine in origin. But you had never seen a dog this large before, let alone one that was so bizarrely proportioned.

A ragged bark erupted from its enormous mouth, saliva dribbling from the points of its canines. The way that it strolled over to you seemed almost pained, as though it took a great deal of effort to even take a few steps.

As it drew closer, you note that it is not only coated in sleek, black fur, but that it also has a mop of thick, brown hair on the top of its head. It was very strange, almost as if it were sporting some sort of cheap wig.

It gave you that look again, the one that caused your stomach to turn and the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. It appeared as if it were pleading with you, begging for you to do something… but what?

“Ah, thank you so much for opening that window. It was beginning to get a bit stuffy in here.”

The creature immediately slinked away from you when it recognized that voice, its tail going between its legs, and it shuffled near a stack of discarded books in an attempt to hide itself.

“Mr. Tucker, when did you get here?” you were in a bit of a daze, uncertain as to what was going on. “Is… is this the transmutation you told me about?”

A sadistic grin erupted onto his face, and he clapped his hands together, chalk dust exploding from his palms and coating his glasses. “Yes, yes it is. I was so overjoyed that I called Central Command as soon as I became assured that she would live.”

“And we’re glad that you did, Mr. Tucker.”

Rays of sunlight suddenly filtered in through the window as the clouds parted, which allowed the beams of light to brighten up the gloomy office space. Your startled gasp was the only response that your astonished brain could send in return for who you had just laid eyes on, and you urgently straightened yourself up so that you could give the proper salute.

“Your excellency, King Bradley, sir.”

He gave you a warm smile, a hearty chuckle shaking his large frame. “At ease, soldier. There’s no need for all of this unnecessary military etiquette. I am just here to see the groundbreaking work that you and the good doctor here have worked so hard on.”

You gave him a nod, your body still a bit rigid from your nerves. But how could you not be all jittery? King Bradley himself came down to assess the progress that you and Shou had made. You were honored.

Shou was the first to enter, and he strode over to the creature, taking a firm hold of the collar around its neck and forced it to sit in the center of the room. “Please forgive her,” he said, and tugged harshly on the lead so that it would quit fidgeting. “She’s a little shy.”

Bradley’s visible eye narrowed at the specimen, a high pitched whine of fear emanating from her as he scrutinized every little aspect. “Are you sure that your transmutation between human and animal was successful?” he queried, and sounded skeptical that this was indeed the real deal.

“Of course,” Shou released his grip so that he could face his creation. He bopped her on the snout, and in a firm voice commanded, “Speak.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused as to what Shou was trying to accomplish here. You had heard… her bark earlier, what more could he be looking for? She appeared more dog than human, after all.

She glared up at Shou, her mouth slowly opening so that she could answer her master’s order. “K… King… Bra… dley…”

Stunned silence echoed between the both of you, your jaw going slack, and eyes wide in astonishment to what had just transpired. “It… it talked!” you shouted, filled with excitement. You could not believe it! Shou had finally done it!

“My, my. Now that was quite the surprise.” Bradley appeared more than pleased, and he gave Shou a congratulatory pat on the back. “Well done. Thanks to the research of both you and your partner, we’ll be able to make great advancements in the field of bio-alchemy. I believe I have seen enough to assure that the two of you become certified state alchemists.”

You felt your heart swell with happiness, overjoyed that all those months of hard work had finally paid off. You bowed your head to express your gratitude. “Thank you so much, sir. I am eternally grateful.”

“Nonsense, you earned it,” he replied, a grin back on his face. “If you would allow me to escort the two of you to Central Command, we can get all of the necessary paperwork in order so that you may receive your pocket watches.”

“What a marvelous idea!” Shou declared, before he reached for a long chain and hooked it into the collar around the chimera’s neck. He gave it a few good jerks and when he was satisfied that it would hold, he let it coil around the creature’s feet. “She is secure, sir.”

“Excellent, we wouldn’t want her escaping like the last batch of human-chimera’s that we had.”

“Oh trust me, (Y/N) and I are much more competent than those fools that ran the previous experiment. We won’t let something so valuable slip under our noses.” Shou assured him, and nudged his head in your direction as a signal for you to follow the both of them outside.

You flushed, embarrassed that you had kept them waiting, and quickly recomposed yourself. You sneaked past the chimera and were about to shut the door, when an eerie sound rumbled in the creature’s throat.

Your hand froze over the knob, a cold sheen of sweat forming on your brow. Did it just call out your name? No, that was impossible, that couldn’t be what you heard. You doubted that Shou would go out of his way to teach it your name. But this foreboding feeling in the back of your mind challenged you, and it was practically impossible to shake off. Was it perhaps plausible…?

“(Y/N).”

Shou’s firm voice snapped you out of your reverie, and you apologized for dozing off like that. “How irresponsible of me,” you mumbled and pushed against the door to close it; the chimera’s stare penetrating your mind, silently begging at you, silently pleading at you.

“He… lp… me…”

Your fingers delicately traced the pattern of the Amestrian Dragon, the symbol of the military’s state alchemist program. It was still hard for you to believe that you had been finally granted the title that you struggled for months to achieve, but, here you were. That dream had finally become a reality.

The examination process had not been difficult for you at all, and you passed all of the required tests with flying colors. When you finally went to meet up with King Bradley, he was very pleased with your results, and personally handed you your certificate of achievement along with your silver pocket watch.

Your heart fluttered a bit as you read over the letter once more, a crooked smile on your face as you repeatedly stopped to glance at your chosen nickname: the quantum alchemist. You found it be be quite suiting, since your research was on the development of various techniques on how to change the quantum makeup of somethings biological composition.

Excitement filled your entire being, and you could not wait to get home and surprise your parents with this announcement. You had already called ahead to let them know that you were on your way, but you had explicitly left out the detail on becoming an alchemist. You wanted to see their reactions first hand.

The train lurched forward as it entered the the station, slowly coming to a halt as the captain announced that they had successfully arrived in Dublith. You pocketed your watch and certificate, quickly gathering your things so you could begin searching for your family.

The platform was a sea of people boarding and disembarking, children crying about being hungry or wanting to go home, and adults screaming at one another to get out of the way. It was a bit overwhelming, and you stood on the tips of your toes to try and spot your parents amongst the chaos.

You caught the flash of sign with your surname printed on the front, and you politely shoved your way through, your mother being the first to spot you and she ran over to embrace you in a tight hug.

The trip home was filled with laughter and excited chatter as you discussed the months that you had spent in Central under Shou’s apprenticeship, which eventually lead to your father popping open a bottle of champagne when you decided to spill the beans on becoming an alchemist.

“This is so wonderful!” your mother shouted, and pecked you on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah kiddo, this is great.” your father added, a kind smile on his visage. “I really can’t believe that you managed to do it.”

You gave them both chaste kisses to their foreheads, appreciative of their considerate words. “Thank you, both of you. I don’t know if I would have made it this far without your support.”

“Oh come on, you’ve always been really smart. There was no doubt in my mind that you wouldn’t become a state alchemist.” your father said, and poured more alcohol into your glass. “Now, whaddya say that we celebrate a little, huh?”

You laughed, always amazed at your father’s fervent appetite for the party life, but you had to decline. “I was actually going to meet some friends at a bar, if that’s alright.”

Your mother shooed off any of your concerns. “Of course it’s alright, this is your night! Go out and have fun. Just make sure that you come home safe.”

With the final hoots and hollers from your father, and the final goodbyes from your mother, you headed out into the streets of Dublith, eager to meet up with your close friends and get this evening of celebration started.

The nightlife of Dublith was certainly one of your favorite things about living in the city, and even if it paled slightly in comparison to Central’s, it was still a unique crowd that you never ceased to find enjoyment out of.

Most of the folks that you tended to hang out with were acquaintances that you had made within many of the bars situated in Dublith. Finding someone to drink with, or party with, or even just sit and relax with, was never an issue that you had to worry about. If you frequented one bar, then you practically knew everyone else that fancied themselves a connoisseur of the local entertainment.

However, out of all the pubs that you had visited thus far, your favorite probably had to be this small little place located in the inner city know as the Devil’s Nest. A lot of people gave it a bad rap since it was situated in the “bad side” of Dublith, but you had yet to be involved in a sketchy incident there. Anyone that you had met while spending time there had been very amicable, and they certainly knew how to have a good time.

It came as a bit of a surprise when you rounded the corner and saw that there was a decently sized line outside waiting to get in. Maybe they had finally decided to advertise? You gave a low chuckle, and took your spot at the end of the line.

An irritated huff escaped you when you could see no trace of your friend, even after she had promised that she would be waiting outside for you. Slight panic started to rise within you when you noticed that almost every single person that had tried to get in had been denied, and you were beginning to suspect that if she didn’t come to rescue you soon, your night would be cut short.

The bouncer gave a loud snort before he chucked a large spitball into some corner of the street, his expression blank as he glared down at you. “What do you think you’re doin’ here, kid?”

“Uh… well, you see, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.” you stutter, your cheeks tinted red from embarrassment at how pathetic you sounded.

“Sure, sure, that’s what they all say. Go on, beat it,” he grumbled, and lightly pushed you out of the que.

“H-hey! I’m not lying!” you exclaimed, and stomped your foot on the cobblestone road to assert your dominance… well, a semblance of dominance.

“Listen kid, I don’t wanna hafta use force on ya, but if you’re gonna make this difficult, then you’re really givin’ me no other choice--”

“Ulchi who are you mouthing off to now?” someone snarks from behind the hulking man.

“Back off, Martel,” he snaps, teeth bared. “It’s my job to pick and choose who gets in here, not yours.”

“That’s a friend of mine you idiot,” the much smaller woman snarls, as she shoves past Ulchi. “Treat them with a little more respect next time, will ya?” her stare is venomous as she gives a solid punch to his gut to further elaborate on her point, even if the man hardly flinches at the assault.

Ulchi raises his hands in defeat, stepping aside to allow the both of you entrance into the bar. “My bad,” he grumbled. “Maybe next time you should let us know ahead of time that someone is gonna be stoppin’ by.”

Martel ignores his complains, and you feel her slender arms wrap around your shoulders as she leads you to the bar. “Sorry about that,” she apologizes. “He’s usually much nicer, especially if you’re cute,” she gives you a wink and you blush, unaccustomed to such compliments. “But we’ve been kind of on edge lately, so we’ve been more selective on who we let in here.”

She snaps her fingers in an attempt to get the barkeeps attention, and when that doesn’t work, she whistles him over.

“What’s the big idea, Martel? Can’t you see I’m workin’?” he narrows his eyes at her, offended that she had resorted to such a cheap tactic to bring him over to the both of you.

“Quit your barkin’ Dolcetto, I brought a friend over. Make us a drink, will ya.”

“You know the layout of the bar and where all the drinks are kept. Why don’t you get it yourself?” he replied, obviously annoyed at Martel’s demanding attitude.

She simply shrugs, content with this suggestion, and extends her arm so that it may reach one of the higher shelves. Her muscles easily bend and flex to compensate for the drastic change in her bone structure, and a round of quiet laughter tumbles from you as she snatches the bottle of vodka with serpent-like reflexes.

You had never admitted this aspect of Martel to anyone else, not even your parents. You had found out that she was a human-chimera herself after she had fought off a couple of creeps, easily beating them all to the pulp with her impressive strength. The mysterious nature of how she developed is actually what inspired you to become a scientist, but you wanted to uncover these secrets with your own methods. You would never want to experiment on your friend.

“Forgive him too,” she says, as she plucks two shot glasses off the shelves as well. “Both he and Ulchi take their jobs way too seriously.”

“Hey, I keep this place safe!” Dolcetto retorts, before he scampers off to fill the order of his most recent customer.

Martel snorts and pours the both of you a shot. “If keeping this place safe means that he supplies all the idiots that come through here with enough alcohol to get them completely wasted, then, yeah, he’s doing a fine old job.”

You down your drink in one go, coughing slightly at the strong taste. “Hey Martel, what did you mean that you needed to be more careful with who you let in here?” you question, greedily accepting the next shot she offers you.

“Apparently the military police have been sniffing around here more than we would like, so the boss ordered us to only allow a few people in every night so that we wouldn’t get shut down.” she explains, acting as your personal bartender as you toss back more and more shots.

You feel the alcohol quickly take effect, your mouth going dry and head starting to swim. “Boss?” you slurr. “Who’s your boss? This is the first that I’ve heard of him.”

“Really?” she sounds amazed. “I’m a bit in awe that you’ve never seen him before, since he loves being the center of attention.”

You shrug, and steal the bottle from her slack grip so that you could take sips straight from the source. “Guess I was just havin’ too much fun with you whenever I was here,” you giggle, and bop her on the nose. “I am curious though. Where is he?”

She takes a firm hold of your arm and helps you off of your seat, accompanying you farther back into the bar. It was becoming a bit difficult for you to walk, and you imagined that Martel was becoming rather irritated at all of your stumbling and grumbling about wanting to sit down. You feel her push against the small of your back, and you suddenly find yourself in a plush leather couch.

“Oh? Now what did you bring me this time, Martel?”

A chill travels down your spine at the sound of that voice, and you jump when you realize that someone is sitting right beside you. You can tell that it’s a man, and you have to suppress yourself from laughing out loud when you observe that he is wearing sunglasses. Who the heck wears sunglasses in a dark bar?

“This is (Y/N). They were curious about you after I mentioned you in conversation, so I brought em over here to meet you.”

You couldn’t tell where Martel had wandered off to, but since you could hear her voice, you could only assume that she was still close by, which set your mind at some ease.

“Oh really now?” you hear the couch squeak as he scoots closer to you, a pointed grin on his face as he pushes his circle lenses down the bridge of his nose. “So your name’s (Y/N), huh? You a friend of Martel’s?”

Your breath hitches in your throat when you notice his eyes, and you’re mesmerized by their unusual color. They’re a startling violet, contrasting greatly against his pale skin, and seemingly oozed power and control. You hear him chuckle and you feel your face heat up, your own eyes widening slightly as he pockets his glasses into his coat.

“I know I’m handsome, sweetheart, but I don’t like to be kept waiting for too long after I’ve asked a question.”

Your head lowers in submission, flustered that you had so easily forgotten what you had been asked. “U-uh, yeah. I’ve known her for awhile.”

“Oh? And she tells me that we’ve never met before. I find that a little odd, don’t you agree?” he drapes a strong arm across your smaller frame, pulling you closer to him.

“I-I guess.” you mumble, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. Why did you always have to get so thirsty whenever you were nervous?

You noticed that that had attracted his attention and he brings himself even nearer to your face, either out of teasing or out of curiosity.

“You guess? Well, either ya know or ya don’t. This isn’t difficult stuff, kid.”

“Y-yeah, it’s weird I’ve never seen you. She tells me that you’re loud.” you peer over at the bottle of vodka resting on the table and grab a hold of it, taking a sip to calm your nerves.

He clicked his tongue in displeasure, his head turned to the side so he could speak to Martel. “You said I was loud? What, have you been spyin’ on me while I was in the backroom?”

“That would imply that you’ve even had sex, Greed.” she hissed back, a group of patrons whooping and hollering at the comeback.

“Yikes,” you muttered, as you took a another sip of your drink.

“If you just came over here to talk shit, then you can take your little friend and go. I’m in no mood to play games tonight,” he growled back.

“Relax, Greed. I just wanna help (Y/N) have a good time, that’s all. We’re celebrating tonight.” Martel mused, and you felt her pat the top of your head.

Greed turned to face you again, a curious expression on his face. “What are ya out celebrating tonight, doll?”

You bounced excitedly in your seat, eyes alight with happiness as you whispered, “I became a certified state alchemist today.”

“A state alchemist, huh?” he looked intrigued and brought you closer, his warm breath fanning your face. “What kind of alchemist are ya?”

“A bio-alchemist, but I uh… specialize in human-chimera transmutations,” you responded, and took another swig of your vodka.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly fascinated. “Chimera’s? It’s funny that you say that, because all of my possessions are human-chimera’s.”

Skeptical laughter enveloped the space between the two of you. “Come on,” you whined, grin upturned into a twisted smile. “Now you’re just teasing me.”

He sneered, and placed his hand on your thigh, slowly groping you before his deft fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle and he snatched it away from you. An exasperated “hey!” fell on deaf ears as he chugged what remained of the alcohol, thumb coming up to swipe a rogue droplet that had evaded his avaricious appetite.

“If I were teasing you, I’d probably do a little something like this,” he drawled, his grip on your waist tightening as he pushed you forward. Your startled gasp was easily swallowed by his eager mouth, and your hands trembled slightly as you gripped tightly onto his shirt when his tongue shoved past your parted lips.

The kiss was intoxicating. He tasted of whiskey and cigarette smoke, but those were easily overpowered by this flavor of unhindered, raw power. Your fingers laced themselves in his short hair in an attempt to steady yourself, and you crawled into his lap, a shudder going through your body as he bit down on your lower lip.

You suddenly jolt forward when you feel his strong hands on your backside, a quiet moan slipping from you when he slaps your behind. You don’t know if it’s from the alcohol, or from the thrill of it all, but you slowly begin to grind into him, and the low chuckle that rumbled through his chest is a clear indication that he’s enjoying this turn of events.

He thrusts you forward, pressing the two of you even closer, a quiet whimper reaching his ears as he pulls away from you so he can latch himself onto your neck. You flinch as his sharp teeth sink into your soft flesh, but he doesn’t pierce the skin, and a shaky exhales rushes out of your nostrils when he drags his cold tongue across the abrasion, soothing the newborn welt.

You’re helpless under his touch as he continues his work, and you’re more than certain that your throat and clavicle are coated in bruises. A particularly harsh bite causes you to moan loudly, and his hands are in your hair, a forceful tug keeping your head in the position that he wants it to be in.

Goose-pimples erupt on your stomach when he palms you under your top, and you keen into his caresses, head going to rest on his shoulder as you’re reduced to writhing mess in his lap.

“God…” you gasped, and your mind swam with ecstasy when he started to kiss along your jawline.

He snickered darkly, and hooked his finger under your chin so that you could face him. “Actually the name’s Greed, but if you wanted to keep calling me that, I don’t think I would have any objections.”

Low laughter rumbled through you in response, and you leaned in to kiss him again, hungry for more. That is, until your eyes caught sight of the time on your wristwatch. “What?” you exclaimed, and Greed tried to embrace you again when he grew impatient with your stalling. You perked up to try and get more light, and paid no attention to the man currently marking your chest with a trail of love bites.

“Damn, it’s really that late already,” you grumbled.

“Hey, what’s the big idea? I’m giving you the whole package here, lovin’ that people could only dream of havin’, and you’re over here ignoring me!” Greed whined.

You glanced back down at him, and you felt your cheeks heat up again. “Uh… well, I told my parents that I would be home by a certain time, so I really need to get going. If I don’t, then my mom is going to start to worry, and you do not want to be on the receiving end of one of her lectures.”

“What? Exactly how old are you?”

You shoved out of his grip, a pout on your face. “Old enough… I’m an adult!” you defended. “It’s my parents who worry.”

You heard him sigh, and stumbled back slightly when he stood up and placed a gentle grip on your waist. “I’ll walk you home then.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that…”

“Come on, you’re not embarrassed about heading out with me are you? I’d find that a little surprising considering how well acquainted we became on the couch.” he had that stupid grin on his face again, and you could only remain silent in your own bashfulness as he lead you towards the exit.

“Boss,” a large burly man called out to Greed. “Where are you going at this time of night? You know that the military police like combing around the area when it gets darker.”

Greed rolled his eyes, and patted the guy’s face. “Relax, Roa. I’m just escorting the lovely (Y/N) back home. They’re under a curfew,” he teased, and ruffled your hair when you punched his bicep.

“Are you sure that it’s safe?” Roa pressed, concerned creases expressing his worry.

“We’ll be fine. If worse comes to worse, I can take care of it. Besides, we’ll have Bido keepin’ an eye on the two of us.” Greed said, as he tried to alleviate his friend’s apprehension.

“Bido’s gonna be trailing the two of you?”

Greed nodded his head. “Yeah, can you find him and tell him what I just said, by the way?”

Roa rumbled something about Greed being a pain in his ass, before he disappeared into the crowd to find this Bido that he was tasked to talk to.

With all of the housekeeping taken care of, the two of you walked out into the streets of Dublith, the cold air welcoming the both of you as you began the trek back to your house. A ferocious chill traveled straight to the marrow of your bones, and you blushed when Greed placed his coat around your smaller frame, a quiet thank you expressing your gratitude.

The fur tickled your nose, and your cheeks heated up again as his scent overwhelmed you. You snuck a peek at him, and your heart skipped a beat. The way he looked in the moonlight… it was a sight to behold; the way his eyes glittered in the soft white light, the way the shadows danced over his impressive physique, the way his expression managed to look so peaceful and yet so commanding at the same time.

“Didn’t your mom ever tell you that it’s impolite to stare, kid?” he chastised, a playful smirk on his face.

You immediately turned away, mortified that he had caught you. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

He gave you a light-hearted shove in return. “You know, I honestly didn’t believe you when you told me that you were an alchemist.”

“And why’s that?” you snapped back.

“What kind of alchemist is friend’s with a human-chimera, and hangs out at the dingiest bar in Dublith?” he replied, and still sounded skeptical himself.

You huffed and pointed to yourself with your index finger. “This alchemist.” you retorted, your tone the most confident that it had been all night.

Greed laughed, and placed a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer. “Is Martel what made you want to become an alchemist?”

“You’re more perceptive than I initially thought,” you said, a sly grin forming on your lips when he glared down at you. “Which reminds me, you said that all of your employees were human-chimera’s too,” Images of the men that you had met at the bar flashed through your mind, and you wondered if you could strike a deal with the patron of The Devil’s Nest. “Would you be willing to help me with my research?”

“Is a prospective member of the state military trying to bargain with me, a scummy mob boss?” Greed cooed. “Now that’s something I did not see coming.”

“Are you gonna help me or not?” you repeated, not really caring about Greed’s shady past as long as he could be of some use.

“I guess I could, but you’re going to have to give me something in return, an equivalent exchange. Seems only fair.” he whispered into your ear, a delighted grin erupting on his visage when he saw you visibly tremble.

You supposed that made sense, after all, he was sticking his neck out to assist you with your research. You could do him a little favor in return, where was the harm in that?

“What do you want me to do?”

“Well you see,” he unexpectedly shoved you onto a nearby wall, his large frame pinning you there as he stared you down with a predatory gaze. “I’m Greed, and I want everything that the world can give me: money, sex, women, status, and glory. The one thing that is out of my reach, however, is immortality. That’s where you come in, sweetheart.”

Your breath fogged up between the two of you as it came out in ragged gasps, your heartbeat pounding in your chest. “W-what?” you croaked out, and swallowed a large lump in your throat, panic beginning to take its hold on you.

“Come on, you’re an alchemist, right? You should know a thing or do about immortality.”

“You can’t possibly mean a philosopher’s stone… those only exist in legends!” you hiss, irritated that he had scared the living hell out of you to talk about such a ridiculous concept.

He scoffed, and splayed his hands over his chest. “I’m not talking about some dusty old stone, I’m already plenty covered in that department.”

Before you could ask what he was babbling about, the tips of his fingers turned the color of charcoal and grew razor sharp claws, which he used to pry himself open.

A horrified cry erupted from you as he did this, paralyzed from fear when your eyes landed on a bright red stone beating like a heart, veins sprouting around its perimeter and transporting what you could only assume was blood.

“W-what is that?” you whispered.

“A philosopher’s stone. Weren’t you paying attention to anything I just said?” Greed removed the invading ligaments away, and the wound quickly sewed itself shut in a flash of red lighting.

This couldn’t be real, you had to be dreaming all of this. Perhaps you had passed out on the couch and this was all just a figment of your imagination. “What are you?” you managed to croak out.

“I’m a homunculus,” he said, and brought up his left hand to show off a red tattoo inked into his skin.

You felt yourself shake with nervous laughter. This definitely had to be a dream. “That’s impossible, there’s no such thing.”

“Nothing is impossible, doll. I think the philosopher’s stone in my core proved just as much.” he replied.

You gave your thigh a harsh slap, a sorry attempt at trying to rouse yourself awake. “This can’t be real... ”

“Afraid it is,” Greed reached over and pinched your cheek, an offended gasp and harsh slap to his prodding hand only confirming his statement.

Your mind was racing to try and rationalize what had just occurred. One thing was certain at least, and that was that he trusted you with this information. You sincerely doubted that he would have revealed such a monstrous secret if he did not think that you would keep it. Even if you were still a bit apprehensive about all this, you took some comfort in this fact, and decided that it would be best to just roll with it.

“Let’s say that I believe you’re a homunculus, alright? Then why would someone like you need to gain immortality? Aren’t you already immortal?” you gave him a slight push, a signal for him to back off and give you some space.

He easily complied and pushed himself off the wall, stepping aside so the two of you could begin your walk once again. “Even though I am built a lot sturdier than most, I can still die if I am killed enough times. My stone can run out of mojo, it isn’t some limitless supply of energy.”

You nodded in understanding. “Alright, but a philosopher’s stone is really the only thing that I’ve heard of that could grant immortality.” you confessed.

“I guess that means you’re just gonna have to start searching for other ways then, huh?” he countered, and grimaced when the both of you rounded a corner and he spotted a house at the end of the block.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I was assigned an almost impossible task,” you responded, a shy smile back on your visibly worn features.

The remainder of the stroll passed by in silence, and when you were at the base of the steps that lead to your home, you slid off Greed’s jacket and handed it back to him. “Thank you for walking me here, I really appreciate it.”

He gave you a big grin before he cupped your face and placed a kiss on your lips. This one was much different from the first that you had shared at the bar. It was sweeter, a lot gentler, and you felt butterflies flutter in your stomach. You would have no objection to staying this way for the rest of the evening, the two of you basked in the silver moonlight, and a twinge of sadness shot through you when he pulled away.

“I look forward to working with you, (Y/N),” he husked, and brushed away a stray lock of your hair.

You gave him one last peck before you began to ascend the stairs. “You better not have lied when you said that you’d help me,” you called from the top.

“I never lie, doll-face.” he shouted back. “Now off ya go, get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Greed,” with one final wave you walked into your family home, a mixture of emotions travelling through you as you made your way into your bedroom.

When you spotted your bed you practically leapt into its waiting embrace, your thoughts jumbled as you tried to make sense out of everything that had transpired. Not only were you going to be receiving some first-hand data on human-chimera’s, but you had also met and… made out with a homunculus. Dublith’s nightlife was definitely much more exciting than Central’s.

Another smile found its way to your lips as you snuggled into your pillows, and when you felt the heavy blanket of sleep wrap around your exhausted body, you were more than certain that you would be dreaming of the man with the electrifying purple eyes.

#fma #fullmetal alchemist #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #greed the avaricious #greed fma #greed x reader #reader #king bradley #shou tucker #martel fma #dolcetto fma #roa fma #bido fma #ulchi fma #fanfiction #chapter 2 #if this doesn't post iSTFG

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joyfullyimportantyouth-blog · 7 years

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Tell Me a Story: Part I. What it looks like to be broken up with abroad

“Prochain arrêt, Sept Deniers.” The bus lurched to a halt. Each stop - from Jean D’Arc to Concord to Pont Jimeux - weaved in harsh tandem, like chewing glass on a deadline, towards home. The fear stewed, hiding within my French textbooks, the sleeve of my tattered jean jacket… it was becoming a concrete monument, an armored vehicle prompting decisions to be made. I wanted another month, another year to carve this statue of necessity, not this afternoon.

This fear had to do with my relationship, the one I’d moved to the South of France for. My boyfriend and I had met in February in a tiny beach town called Palomino, nestled in the spicy throes of the Caribbean in Colombia. We enacted some clichés: the French bartender giving the American girl free mojitos. In exchange, I went with him to a fishing village the next day to encounter hammocks and more mojitos and deep talks while he flipped from French to Spanish to English. A multilingual love. I fell into a travel love over Carnivale and FaceTime and more plane tickets purchased. It was a thrill of never getting tired of someone while I sat barefaced at bus stops, hungry and happy. It was the turn of my heart waking up to a stranger and a companion who I never thought I’d meet. I felt lucky, and I think he did, too. It was his last night of his work before three weeks of travel until returning to France when I met him. The slow pouring, the calm, ruminating glances across the bar of admiration on both of our ends… the rhythm of seduction when you’re in a foreign country is not hard to master.

What I didn’t anticipate was the loss that comes around the corner after fireworks explode. After bustling around orders on double shifts in order to move to France. The inherent ache of sadness that pierces when you know you don’t belong, when you’re not being loved. Most of the time, you just know. My trove of iNote diary entries had started from the beginning days of being together after three months apart. The techno festival where I slept alone in the tent, wondering in a jet-lagged, wine-drenched stupor over who he had slept with before I arrived. The anger in his voice over not wanting or being able to explain his feelings in English, the crushing sound of his cell phone ringing while he asked what I would do if we broke up “if things weren’t that good.” The photos of his ex-girlfriend and him holding a baby that lay propped against the heater in our room, opening silent curiosity. The warm bed that he lay on day after day, where I would fall back onto after class, musing about my beautiful French boyfriend, or the bed that I would sit on the end of, crying after he responded “well, you didn’t die” after I got back from a near-fatal car accident in Italy.

But I couldn’t let go. And yet the wall of fear had hit my insides, detonating into a need to do something. In class that Monday, September 11th, I couldn’t sit still without wanting to retreat to the toilet to sit in a corner, half-breathing and wishing I could run away from a pain I couldn’t quite name other than “I don’t know what to do.” That feeling of both escape and wanting to open my arms wide and melt into the earth overcame my sense of time. “Je suis malade,” I mumbled to the professor, grabbing my things and shuffling out of the room in a haste. When you know you’re about to experience an earthquake of change, you feel the magnitude, the shaking rumble of what is to come, before it hits. My ballet flats felt like I was dressing up as a woman, my French bus card a posing of my foreignness. My sense of yearning felt too big for my body to hold.

Sept Deniers: this was my stop. The quiet of the woman clutching her small supper of fresh charcuterie and a thin loaf of bread, the soft smell of talcum powder, made my eyes water. I thought of how I wanted her to hold me.

Then there was the numbness of putting one foot in front of the other, opening the gate, walking through the living room quietly while my roommates listened to techno music in a cloud of rolled cigarette smoke. “Salut,” I feigned a smile. The girls, draped in salvaged crochet and amber perfume, looked up for a second from their tartines to say ça va.

In the bedroom, he was still laying on the bed, checking his phone, his list of carpentry apprenticeships strewn on the ground. I grabbed for a sweatshirt, stripping off my blouse and climbing into bed. I mumbled something like “I don’t feel well,” and he went to go grab me tea, which he quickly set on the nightstand and went downstairs to speak his language. Please come back, I want you to talk to me, I thought. When he finally did return to the room, my chest felt like breaking. When you’ve lived with someone, their daily movements become apart of your internal working; you can anticipate when they are ready to leave, when you both are ready to fall asleep, how hot soup might fill their afternoon with something light. But sometimes, when things aren't right, we ignore, we just deal, or we interrogate in half-breaths what the hell is wrong with the other person. He could sense something. “What’s wrong?” he asked, climbing onto the bed and half-laying on me with his arms spidering around my sides.

“I feel like I’m trying to figure out my life right now. I just feel sad.” I turned towards the pillow to cushion the blow of the next truth. “I feel like I care more about this relationship than you do.”

He looked down at me - then away - getting lost in the cartoon painting of our armoire. His backpack was stuffed with a frisbee and beer, ready to flee with him to the next cycle of friends awaiting him. “I’ve been thinking about it too, and the truth is, is that I don’t want,” he said slowly.

There are things you know are going to happen. They are also things you don’t want to happen. There was no sameness, even between us, after this conversation was going to be over. It is a strange feeling when you realize you never really knew someone who you deeply loved, their true desires closeted away for their own keeping. Yours, too.

“You don’t want what?” I asked.

“I don’t want this relationship,” he said back. “Have you noticed that I spend more time with my friends than with you? I should want to spend more time with my girlfriend, but I don’t want to. I just want to see my friends. I didn’t even miss you while I was away for the weekend. And my friends know me, so they asked if I even loved you. Once I thought about it and I said no, it just became real, and I knew I didn’t love you.” He paused. If the room could’ve exploded with silence, I would’ve let it. Or just exploded with anything, really.  “So, you don’t want a relationship with me, or with anyone?” I asked.

“With anyone. I just want to spend time with my friends and do my year. You and I are very different. We’re from two different worlds. You question yourself all of the time. I don’t. I just want to live my life and for it to be easygoing,” he said. “I really appreciate you and feel bad because of all of the effort that you’ve made with coming over here and taking French, you’ve tried really hard. I like when you do all of these nice things for me, like make me dinner or remember that I have a frisbee tournament or try and speak French to my friends, but you’re comfortable to me. I want there to be passion and I don't feel love for you.”

I’m not enough. The smack of feeling unlovable.

“You never loved me?” There are some questions you shouldn’t ask again. But sometimes you just have to hear it one more time.

“I thought I did, but I know now that I don’t. I like you, but I’m not in love with you.” A cry clawed its way out and found its food for the moment: I don’t love you. When I became aware of myself crying, like always, I began to stop and have that same urge to just melt into the floorboards, into the earth, carrying the pain but disappearing from this person with all of their hurt and mine separated by a knife of difference. I wanted to cut it up into pieces and keep it with me. I wanted to create a gorge of silence to make him miss my voice or any of these nice things that I was. I didn’t want to be nice. I wanted to be both home and the body he craved, the touch of meaning and the sound of something not quite attainable. I was none of these things to him.

“I’m going to give you some space. I have to go see some people,” he said, having backed away from the bed without even a hug or fingers to clutch onto. There was nothing more to clutch onto, just that beach in Palomino trapped in a Polaroid, the novel of missed calls when we were apart, the marked up visa forms that may not see the light of day once I decided to get out of bed.

When he left, he walked onto the next moment of his life. We were not together. It became clear to me that my mind couldn’t nor didn’t need to explain what was happening; it’s like having seen a light in the distance when you’re on a ship and you finally reach it. The glass is blasted out and you can feel its warmth and its mystery when you reach a cliffside with the lighthouse that you didn’t mean to reach. But you’re here. And you have nothing more to do, than sit on the bluff with the wind slapping your face awake, watering your eyes into a haze, and you get to sit on that cliff just looking at the view for what it is, with no meaning yet other than you’re stranded in this moment with no one else to suggest how to swim. Only in this moment of sitting alone can you decide what you do next; most often, it is simply by dragging yourself up and realize you need to get out of the cold somehow.

#expatlife womenwhotravel france toulouse breakupsabroad

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