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sleep-i-ness · 4 years

Text

The Nature of the Beast

Blurb: The Doctor is taking you to the one person who has dealt with the Monks before and you weren’t expecting the ‘monster’ in the Vault to be quite so hot.

Content Warning: hopeless lesbian, a thing for hands (because who doesn’t)

Taglist: @kjaneway1 (if you would like to be added please fill in this form)

Beep. You eyed the Doctor with some worry as he fiddled with the extensive locks, each part letting out a further bleep of approval as he came closer to completely unlocking the Vault. He had said he had to do this, that he had no choice and that’s what scared you the most. What monster could he have locked up deep in the basement of the university? You’d never seen him so visibly nervous and your muscles felt frozen at the prospect of coming face to face with the creature. As the doors swung open, you gripped tightly onto Bill’s hand, bracing yourself for whatever beast was within.

The delicate strains of a single melody echoed around the expanse, the piano eerie in the total silence. A woman sat at the stool, head resting on one hand while the other fiddled with the keys, playing the repetitive melody. You shared a confused look with Bill as you dropped her hand, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

The Vault was bigger on the inside, perhaps Time Lords needed to overcompensate for something, and there were even wide windows letting in grey light. As you continued further into the room, you noticed that the woman and the piano were inside a hexagonal containment field. Glowing blue posts outlined the raised podium, sparse bar the figure and her piano, and a few ratty-looking pieces of furniture were scattered around the rest of the room. The Doctor flopped into a leather armchair as the doors swung shut behind you, flicking his coat out before sitting. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“But it's, it's just a woman,” Bill blurted, arms spread wide as she hesitated. The aforementioned woman stopped playing and turned around to fix the Doctor with an unimpressed look. “God, the way you and Nardole have been carrying on, I thought you had some kind of monster in here, or something!”

You eyed the woman curiously, wondering what about her was so terrifying. Hair awry, eyes a brilliant burning blue, you couldn’t keep your eyes off the spellbinding figure.

“I do.” His gaze never once shifted from eyeing the woman and he sighed. “Missy, Bill and Y/N. Bill and Y/N, Missy, the other Last of the Time Lords.”

Bill raised her hand in a small wave as the woman eyed the two of you up and you smiled weakly. You shivered involuntarily as her eyes brushed over you, feeling oddly drawn towards her.

“Wait a sec.” Bill turned to the Doctor with a frown. “Why have you got a woman locked in a vault? Because even I think that's weird, and I've been attacked by a puddle and she’s snogged a Zygon.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a snort as you realised it was not the time nor place to be making fun of the current state of your love lives. Although it was understandable why they were in such a state, considering you had the hots for an incredibly dangerous Time Lady.

“She's going cold turkey from being bad.” The Doctor glanced up at Bill, eyes finally straying away from Missy. Missy hmphed, not looking away from the piano as the Doctor zeroed back in on her. “I want to ask if you've had any dealings with the Monks before.”

“Of course. I've had adventures too,” she preened, her voice lilting as she twisted her torso to face you all. She had a strong Scottish accent, maybe that was another Time Lord thing, and her voice dropped as she teased. “My whole life doesn't revolve around you, you know.”

“Did you defeat them?” Bill piped up, desperate, brow creased. The guilt was dripping off of her and you winced, wishing you could do something to alleviate it. You knew she blamed herself for the state of the world but, despite the Doctor’s remonstrations, she’d done what she believed was right and you would stand by her for that.

“I did.” Her self-satisfactory tone was tinged with affront, as if there was no doubt in her ability to defeat the Monks. Your teeth tugged on your bottom lip as you watched her, completely enthralled.

“How?”

Missy seemed amused with Bill’s bluntness, painted lips pulling into a savage grin as she exhaled a short laugh. Giving her a once-over, her eyes caught on you again, lighting up as you fidgeted under her gaze.

She turned away again. “I've got some requests. I want some new books, some toys,” the Doctor sighed, “like a particle accelerator, a 3-D printer, and a pony.”

“I don't think that you really grasp what's going on here,” he huffed, his accent bleeding through stronger as his frustration grew. “Nice people generally don't haggle over the fate of a planet.”

“I once built a gun out of leaves. Do you think I couldn't get through a door if I wanted to?” The tension hanging in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife and you gulped as her stare drilled holes into the Doctor. You weren’t sure what you were feeling at her somewhat veiled threat, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t solely fear. Missy jumped up, spinning to face the Doctor by the side of the piano. “I'm here, all right? I'm engaging with the process.”

“Okay,” Bill jumped in, glancing at you for support. You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we can, we can get those things for you.”

“C'est supère.” Missy overenunciated the French and you bit back a grin, noting her disappointed expression at the lack of reactions. She sighed, crossing her legs, and tilting her head. “So, what have you got so far?”

As the Doctor rose, so did Missy. He began to pace, each step leading to more thoughts tumbling out of his mouth. But you were distracted by the divine figure in front of you, enshrined in a tight purple suit and sinfully demure white blouse. “They hold on to power by targeting the part of the brain specifically to do with memory and perception, correct? Right?”

Missy closed the lid of her grand piano, fingers deftly clasping around the stand for the lid and folding it down. “Getting warm. Fingers tingling.”

“But they target it with what exactly? How do they sustain it?” Missy sat on the piano lid; hands clasped in her lap as the Doctor rambled. “How do their lies infiltrate the brains of billions? Is it some kind of airborne psychoactive?”

She shifted to lying on the piano lid, gaze following him as he paced round. Something in the shrewd look in her eyes reminded you of a cat watching a mouse.

“Oh my God.” The reverent gasp slipped your lips as she kicked her legs up. The smirk tugging at the corners of her lips gave away that she’d heard you and you flushed.

“No, no, that's very cold, very cold.”

“Something that's constantly being fed to the populace, constantly consolidating its hold. Is it in the water?”

“God, no. It's freezing, freezing.” She gestured wildly; legs kicked up in the air behind her. “Absolutely freezing. Couldn't be colder. Very, very, chilly. So, so chilly.”

Missy swung her legs round and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as she straightened up and jumped off the piano. She winked at you, smoothing down her skirt.

“Oh, come on. I'm bored!” She whined. “You haven't been to see me in six months. No-one has! Not even that bald bloke who looks like an egg.”

“What, you left her alone in here for six months?” You and Bill both whirled on the Doctor, mouths agape.

“Six months,” Missy whispered, repeating Bill with an expression of mock horror.

“I was in prison for six months.” The Doctor protested.

“Start at the beginning.” She ordered, treating him as a teacher would a little kid. “How do they get a foothold on a planet?”

“Some idiot asks for their help.”

Bill glared at the Doctor and you narrowed your eyes at him. Sure, it hadn’t been the greatest idea to ask the Monks for help, but he could have at least been somewhat grateful for how much she was willing to sacrifice for him. And for regaining his vision.

“Well, not just any idiot. It has to be a properly consenting human mind. A pure request, one without agenda or ulterior motive.” Missy’s lips twitched as the Doctor spun on his heel, stalking away from you all. The mania lurking in the back of her eyes frightened you and you shrunk closer to Bill.

“It's them.” The Doctor faced you again, a resigned smile on his face. “That person creates a psychic link, which forms an anchor that keeps the Monks in power. They're the lynchpin.”

“Scalding. Ow.” Missy’s eyes darted surreptitiously from the Doctor to you and back again, lips forming a perfect ‘o’. Your brain short-circuited, eyes caressing the sharp contours of her cheekbones and jawline. God, she was hot.

“But the brainwaves of one person wouldn't be powerful enough to contain an entire planet,” he trailed off; you could almost see the cogs whirring in his great mind. He paused, waving a finger. “The statues! As soon as they got here, the Monks put up statues in every town square, and every park, and every playground.”

“You're on fire, you're literally on fire you're so caliente. That's Spanish for hot.” Missy called back to you and Bill, who could do no more than stare and try to follow on with the Time Lords’ discourse.

“The statues are transmitters. They boost the signal and beam it out all around the world.” The Doctor grinned smugly.

“Boom! You've exploded.” Missy gestured with her hands, the light glinting off the tops of her cheekbones. You inhaled sharply. “Now, all you have to do is find whoever opened the door to the Monks in the first place.”

The Doctor glanced at Bill, raising his eyebrows. “Say I already have.”

“Oh! Well then, you're sorted. Just kill them,” the Doctor’s grin dropped, “that weakens the Monks' grip on the world.”

You grabbed onto Bill’s hand tightly, watching as her face fell, crestfallen. She almost seemed resolved and you rubbed your thumb over the back of her knuckles.

“No, no. No, no, that can't be right,” the Doctor scoffed disbelievingly, somewhat taken aback. Though wasn’t this response unsurprising? “There are planets that the Monks have ruled for thousands of years.”

“It's passed on through the bloodline. Usually the lynchpin goes on to lead a normal life, have their own family, and the link is passed down through the generations.” Missy strode forward, resting one arm up against the supporting poles, the other resting on the enticing curve of her hip.

“But the Monks must have worked that out. They've been doing this for millennia.”

“Why? If the link is passed on, the Monks stay in charge, through, they think, their ruthlessness and efficiency. But if the lynchpin dies and the link isn't passed on, and the Monks get booted off the planet, well, they just chalk it up to experience,” Missy gesticulated, each new point greeted with a flick of her wrist.

She sat down once again, resuming her place at the piano and her fingers ran daintily over the keys. You followed her hands with an unnecessary fixation, wetting your lips nervously as the joints flexed and danced across the notes. Bill’s sudden movement broke your concentration, and you shared a look with the Doctor.

Bill caught the expression on your faces. “No, it's okay. I want to speak to her.”

“Yes?” You couldn’t help the rising disappointment as Missy turned to face her, hands dropping off the piano.

“So when you defeated the Monks, that's how you did it?”

“Well, at this point, all that was left of the bloodline was a wee girl,” you swallowed harshly at the thickened accent, “and I just pushed her into a volcano.”

You could have sworn Missy glanced at you when she repeated the stressing of word in her heavy Scottish accent, that her lips had twitched at your visceral reaction.

“It's me. The lynchpin is me.” Bill’s voice trembled, tears threatening to break from her eyes. You inched closer to her, not close enough to touch but enough to provide some sort of support.

Missy’s attention jumped straight back to Bill, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly.

“Awkward,” she sang, leaning back on the piano with a hint of smugness at the discordant chords.

“So you're saying I have to die.” No. The Doctor would come up with something else, he couldn’t just let your best friend die.

“No. If you were just to die, everyone's false memories would have to fade, and that could take ages. It's actually better if you keep breathing, if your brain just keeps transmitting, well, nothing. That would blot out the residue false memories.” The grin on her face almost convinced you that the option she was providing was an improvement. Almost.

“What would be left of me?” Bill’s eyes never left her face.

“You'd be a husk. Completely and irrevocably brain-dead. You couldn't even get on Celebrity Love Island.” It was her matter-of-fact tone that riled you, the inevitability in her voice.

“No.” You stepped up beside Bill, face to face with the Time Lady and almost fearful at the feral look buried deep in her eyes. A hand clasped around your elbow as the Doctor yanked you and Bill back from the containment field.

“Even if that was the truth, the fact that you're suggesting it shows there's been no change, no hope, no point.” The Doctor’s words were harsh and the spark in Missy’s eyes fizzled out, replaced with an all-encompassing sadness. Your heart ached for her, despite her sole resolution to your problem being for Bill to virtually die. “We don't sacrifice people - it's wrong - because it's easy.”

“You know, back in the day, I'd burn an entire city to the ground just to see the pretty shapes the smoke made. I'm sorry your plus one doesn't get a happy ending, but, like it or not, I just saved this world because I want to change. Your version of good is not absolute.” A watery sheen covered her eyes, missable as she blinked it away moments after it appeared. “It's vain, arrogant, and sentimental.”

As the Doctor backed down and you were left staring at the forlorn Time Lady, a pang of empathy struck a chord in your heart. The Doctor made it very hard for you to feel like a ‘good’ person - the very first time you met him, he had yelled at you for taking a decision which had saved the entire planet, albeit whilst risking your own life. And forever was a long time to be stuck in his shadow of goodness.

“If you're waiting for me to become all that, I'm going to be here for a long time yet.”

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aethelar · 4 years

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If there are meanings to the various plants Graves hacks and coughs out of his lungs, he doesn’t care to know them. He knows enough, obviously, to recognise them as a sign of unrequited love and to know that they are not, by themselves, fatal, but otherwise, ergh. He’s not going to pore over books dissecting the language of flowers to divine the true meaning behind what he spits into his kitchen sink. This one’s red and crumpled in a soggy mess, does that mean his heart’s in pain from his passionate yearning - no, it means the fucking twig it’s attached to scraped his throat and came out bloody, and it’ll be a hell of a lot more than just crumpled by the time he’s finished setting fire to it.

It’s disgusting. Everything about it is disgusting. The stringy stems catching on his teeth, the way he coughs and it comes out lumpy with just-opening buds, the taste of fucking pollen that he can’t scrape off his tongue, it’s disgusting. And! That’s before you even factor in that, apparently, Graves’ feelings are literally choking him he knew the damn things were dangerous who in the seven hells ever thought they were a good idea. Being slowly throttled by your emotions wasn’t romantic in the great oil paintings and love stories of the past and it isn’t romantic now. It’s a pain. A disgusting, foul-tasting, inconvenient - a fucking foot long branch, are you serious, all thin and delicate and dotted with tiny white flowers but that doesn’t change the fact that Graves had to deepthroat a fucking branch and then somehow hide the evidence once he hacked coughed and choked the damn thing out.

So no. He is not enjoying Newt Scamander’s extended stay at MACUSA to help sort out the beast laws. Fuck off.

“Oh, Mr Graves!” Newt says, with his stupid floofy hair and his stupid lopsided smile. “I made you coffee.”

“It’s just Graves,” Graves grumbles for the eighth time, dropping his coat over the back of his chair with a barely-hidden sigh of relief. It’s a bitching coat, but it’s also not December anymore, and as he rolls up his sleeves and debates undoing another button at his collar he thinks, ruefully, that it might be time to move into more seasonally appropriate jackets.

No, he decides. Some berk impersonated him all through winter. He didn’t get the chance to wear his bitching coat when the weather was cold, so he’ll wear it now to make up for it. He looks good in black and he’s willing to suffer for fashion, it’ll be fine.

The coffee, when he takes it, is a perfect temperature. It always is. Given that Graves is forty minutes late today (fucking tree in his fucking lungs), this is something of a surprise, and he can’t help the quizzical eyebrow he raises at Newt.

“Magic,” Newt says, fluttering his fingers like an idiot and capping it off with a quirked grin. A stupid quirked grin. With the stupid dimples that come with it. And - the man has freckles, the fuck is Graves meant to do.

“Ta,” he says, slightly strangled, and downs the coffee in one. If he has to chew to swallow the fecking bouquet that appeared in his mouth in reaction to Newt’s everything, that’s no business of anyone else’s, and he refuses to let anything show on his face that might suggest the coffee was less than perfect. Newt’s got a lot better at making coffee in the past few months. It hasn’t tried to climb out the mug in weeks, Graves doesn’t want to discourage this sort of progress.

Nor, later, does he want to discourage the way Newt leans forward, speaking too fast and caring too much as he lays out the things they’ve achieved and the plans he wants to put in action, or the way Newt flicks his gaze back to Graves for support then launches into a passionate response to some complete moron’s doubting skepticism.

He does that a lot. Look to Graves for support. Grindelwald left his mark, and though his aurors know it wasn’t him, the easy trust they had in him is... not gone. If it was gone, then so would Graves be, it would hurt too much to stay. But it’s not so easy anymore for them to remember that Graves has their backs and will keep them safe.

Or maybe the easy trust in his intentions is still there, but the glaring evidence that he couldn’t keep himself safe makes it irrelevent. Either way.

Newt, though, Newt never had a relationship with him for Grindelwald to twist and turn sour, and Newt never falters in surprise when the new Graves snaps and hurts and bites down the things he wants to say and struggles to hold onto the person he used to be and - not that Graves does, not all the time, he’s fine, honestly genuinely he’s fine, he’s just. Finer. When Newt is around and doesn’t expect anything from him that he doesn’t remember how to give.

What Newt expects is for Graves to believe in what he’s trying to do. What Newt expects is for Graves to point out the impracticalities and the legal obstacles and work with him to help him through them. What Newt expects is for Graves to down whatever foul concoction Newt is passing off as coffee and tilt his head and listen when Newt speaks too fast and admit that maybe, maybe Newt doesn’t care too much, maybe the system was wrong and Graves was wrong and Graves could stand to care a little more.

Newt only expects it because that’s what Graves does. It’s different.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says, and goes to vomit out a fucking florist in the mens’ room.

“I thought you dipshits were meant to be in my lungs,” he complains, wincing as the bile burns his throat. He’s on his knees, one hand braced against the wall, and even when he stops retching he takes a moment before he tries to stand. He gets as far as an unsteady crouch before light-headedness threatens to overbalance him and he has to hold onto the cistern to stay upright.

“Breathe,” he growls, frustration and pain in his voice as he fights the urge to grip his chest. It feels tight, like heartburn, like thorns growing around his ribs, and it’s a struggle to get enough oxygen around the forest growing inside him. “Fucking - breathe, moron.”

“Graves?” a voice asks through the door. It’s Newt. Of course it’s Newt. None of Graves’ aurors would track him down if they were worried about him. It’s not like they did before, why break a habit.

“Give me a sec,” he says, and tries to keep his footsteps even as he staggers to the sink and washes his hands. In the mirror, there’s blood smeared at the corner of his mouth, and he gets rid of it with an angry swipe of his wrist. “I’m fine. Sorry. Bad timing.”

“No, it’s ok,” Newt says, still waiting outside the door. “You don’t need to apologise.” He pauses, then, hesitantly, “It’s ok if you’re not fine too, you know.”

Graves stops. Hands on the edge of the sink, shoulders hunched, head hanging low. The tap is still running. He can feel a tickle at the back of his throat but he’s exhausted and his ribs hurt and he closes his eyes and ignores it. “I know,” he says, coming out thickly around the flower on his tongue.

In the most romantic of the stories, the hero holds out, refusing to admit his feelings until he’s all but dying from the disease. The flowers aren’t fatal by themselves, but lungs aren’t meant to hold a garden. Then he swoons, or faints, or collapses dramatically in his true loves’ arms; they realise the truth and music swells in the background, and with tears in their eyes as they understand that only their love can save the hero, they kiss him.

Curtain falls. Lights dim. Flowers bloom. End story.

What, Graves would like to know, is romantic about telling someone their choices are to love you or see you die. It hardly seems fair. More like a thinly veiled threat, and he will not make a murderer out of Newt.

He opens his mouth and drops the flower - single, large, white - onto his palm, then crumples it in his fist and throws it in the bin. “I know,” he says again, once his mouth is empty and he can talk. It comes out tireder than he means it to and he shakes himself, squaring his shoulders before he opens the door.

Newt frowns at him in poorly-hidden concern, but doesn’t press it. “They called a break,” he says instead. “Do you want a coffee?”

“Yeah,” Graves says, allowing himself a faint, resigned smile. “I’ll make you a tea.”

And. That’s ok. It’ll have to be ok. The flowers are resistant to any spells or potions he tries to control them with so he works on his feelings instead, if they’re the source of the problem. He’s not sure how effective it is, but if he tells himself that he doesn’t love Newt, then maybe he won’t. Or - if he tells himself that if he loved Newt, then surely he’d respect the fact that Newt apparently doesn’t love him in return, and therefore as a sign of Graves’ love he should stop loving Newt -

He tells himself a lot of things. The plant life falls more to flowers and less to trees, which is a bonus, but it doesn’t stop coming. Graves is short of breath more days than not, and he’s losing weight from both the lack of appetite and the amount of time he spends throwing up. That’s ok too. He rearranges his schedule to put himself on less field duty and give himself more paperwork, and if that gives himself more time working in the office with Newt, then that’s just another bonus in life.

The fact that he has to give up his coat is not, but even with cooling charms it’s too heavy and it leaves him flushed and dizzy and lightheaded from the heat. Newt’s coffee progresses from mostly-liquid to mostly-drinkable and Graves likes to think he’s managed the correct balance of tannin and sugar in Newt’s tea, and life goes on. Quiet days, working on the beast laws in companionable silence, sitting to the side in meetings so Newt can take centre stage and shine. Tilting his head with a fond smile and watching the way he waves his hands as he talks too fast and cares too much about the latest creatures in his case. His freckles. The way his excited grins gives him dimples. The increasing worry in the way he frets over Graves and makes sure Graves knows he’s there and just waiting to be allowed to help.

Graves doesn’t allow him. Hanahaki is insideous. Love me or kill me is a horrible thing to say to someone. Maybe if the damn flowers weren’t there he’d’ve done something, but. The damn flowers are there. They come thicker, and faster; he wakes up wheezing in the night and he holds the bannister when he goes up stairs, he stops bothering to eat because everything tastes of pollen and he’s pretty sure Newt’s hiding nutrient potions in his coffee, he’s nearly there with the beast laws and he drags himself through because his fucking feelings are going to kill him but at least he can tie off his loose ends before he goes -

“Graves,” Newt says, leaning towards him with panic in his eyes. His voice echoes. Graves’ chest burns, thorns and trees and clamping vines; he’s coughing but he can’t - “Graves. Graves,” and fuckdamnit, Graves clamps his mouth shut and refuses to let this be a fucking romance because it’s not romantic to spit weeds in your kitchen sink and wipe the blood off your chin it’s disgusting -

He hacks, coughs, chokes; he heaves and dry heaves; dizzying white spots overtake his vision and his lungs give in; the last thing he sees is Newt.

He wakes up.

He wakes up, and his chest feels... unfamiliar. It’s been full of plants for so long, he’s forgotten what it’s like to breathe. He pushes himself up, achingly, slow, holy fuck had he really lost that much muscle that even this is a fucking trial, but there’s an exhausted resignation behind his anger.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Newt asks from the uncomfortable metal chair next to Graves’ uncomfortable metal hospital bed. “You nearly died.”

He looks pale. Drawn. Lack of sleep, Graves identifies, though the worry’s been dragging on him for a while.

“I didn’t want you to feel obligated,” he says, stiffly.

“Obligated?” Newt repeats. “To what, help you? I offered enough times, I thought it was obvious I wanted to. Besides,” and here he starts to get heated, running his hands through his hair in agitation, “You were dying. How did you let it get so bad? Why didn’t you - this has been going on for months, I thought you just didn’t want me to help you. I didn’t realise you were happy doing nothing!”

“Who the fuck else was meant to help? I can’t control it.”

“Who - what? Wait.” He squints. “Graves,” he says slowly. “What did you think was happening?”

Graves hunches his shoulders. The urge to say nothing and try and deflect is ridiculously strong, but he’s not actually five anymore, so. He doesn’t. “I had a damn garden in my ribcage,” he says. “Picking flowers out my teeth like the heroine of a trashy novel.” He fought it as long as he could, and then he couldn’t fight it and Newt was there. Newt saw. And when Graves woke up, Newt was still there, and the flowers weren’t. He hunches his shoulders and hates the tiny part of him that’s glad Newt was a decent human being and didn’t let him die, because there’s nothing romantic in dying to love. It’s shit. Love me or kill me is shit. The whole thing is shit. He didn’t mean to drag Newt into it.

“Hanahaki,” Newt identifies, and fucker, he looks surprised. “You thought it was hanahaki. Graves. It wasn’t hanahaki.”

“I think as the one living through the fecking thing -”

“Graves,” Newt repeats, more insistently. “It was an infection of a parasitic plant you inhaled as a spore that was growing in the lining of your lungs. It wasn’t hanahaki.” And, when Graves just glowers at him dubiously, “Hanahaki is unrequited love. If it was hanahaki...” he hesitates, then braces himself and continues, overly casual and awkward with it. “If it was hanakahi, it would’ve stopped. Um. Months ago. So it wasn’t and you don’t have to worry and if it ever happens again please go to a doctor instead of hiding it?”

Go to a doctor, what’s a doctor meant to do? There’s no spell for a broken - wait. What.

The only way to stop hanahaki is for the other person to love you back.

What.

“Months ago?” Graves croaks out. Newt nods, his awkwardness now highlighted with a blush across his freckled cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “Months. You. Months?”

“I made you coffee,” Newt points out, as though that was supposed to be a defence for the fact that, apparently, Graves’ love hasn’t been unrequited for damn months -

“Do you want to be requited,” he blurts out, because why not, why ever the fuck - this is exactly why he never confessed his feelings, fuck it, do you want to be requited what in the seven hells is he saying. “I mean, if, uh, if you wanted to, um, we could. If. You want?”

Newt ducks his head. Probably to hide his laughter. Why. Why does Graves do these things to himself.

“Yeah,” Newt says, too softly for someone bemoaning the idiot that’s fallen in love them. He looks up through the ridiculous floof his his hair and he’s still blushing, but he’s also smiling, tentative and hopeful and very much not being pressured into anything by a stupid romantic disease. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Oh,” Graves manages around the entirely different sort of lightness in his chest. “That’s. Good.”

It’s also an insane kind of whiplash to deal with, and one that might take a while to sink in. He’s learnt both that Newt loves him and that his lungs, apparently, have been infested with spores for the past god knows how long. If Grindelwald did this there will be hell.

He just - spores? Fucking. Disgusting. Spores were meant to produce mushrooms, weren’t they, which might be no less horrifying in theory but at least they’d’ve been easier to bring up than branches.

God, imagine if it were cactuses.

Actually no. Don’t imagine that. What the fuck. Back to Newt loving him, that’s a much better thing to focus on, it’s a delightful thing, it’s, holy shit. It’s.

“You love me,” he says, with that sort of wondering disbelief that comes when something sounds too good to be true. “You’re not just saying it because flowers?”

“You drank the coffee I made you,” Newt says instead of answering. “No one ever drinks the coffee I make them. I can’t make coffee. I can’t believe you drank it.” And, when Graves just looks confused (whiplash, plus he nearly died) he just smiles again and says, “Yes, Graves. I love you and I’m not just saying it because flowers.”

“Oh.” That’s. That’s good. That’s. Yeah. “I think I love you too.”

(thank fuck it wasn’t cactuses)

#gramander #percival graves #newt scamander #hanahaki disease #so a genuine question to anyone who reads the tags #would you put this as angst?#i mean #maybe?#but humour #can angst be humour?#also fluffy ending bc it's me but that's beside the point #am genuinely curious #someone recently called me an angst author who also writes fluff and i had a crisis of identity #anyway #enjoy #my writing

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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

Text

Where Time Takes Us

Destination - Part 1

- - - - - - - - - -

Watch the home while she is off to war

The Slumber King versus the rearing boar

Awake, arise, do not be blind

To tales and destinies entwined

In the world we said that we would leave behind

— excerpt from folk song, The World Behind, writer unknown, dated back to the Era of Myth

- - - - - - - - - -

6 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days before the Hyrule Castle Slaughter, the Akkala Citadel Massacre, the slaying of the Champions, the death of the hero, and the rise of Calamity Ganon...

Her job ends on doomsday.

She should be working, and truly she wanted to, but circumstances had led her to walk towards the echoing laughter.

Already trying to prepare the quip she would throw back at them, (as undoubtedly they’d complain about her being late again), the researcher weaved through the familiar roads of West Castle Town. Most of the houses were dark, with the only light source coming from the occasional flickering lantern, and the pale complexion of the midnight moon. Needless to say, it made the warm glow of The Adequate’s Tavern stand out all the more as she approached.

Another roar of laughter and shouts escaped from an open window on the south side of the pub. The bags under her eyes curved with her smile as she recognized one of the voices. She absentmindedly traced her fingers along the outer walls of the tavern as she walked, loose chips of faded blue paint falling to the pavement below. The wooden sign above the door creaked with its askew weight. The Adequate’s Tavern was printed in bold, blue letters atop a faded yellow outline. The missing e’s and t’s gave evidence to the building’s true quality.

Pushing open the door, the researcher was met with a swirl of familiar scents, ranging from alcohol, apples, bread, and leather, along with a smokiness coming from the fireplace near the back of the bar.

Closing the door behind her, she walked through the entrance, passing under a wooden overhang, and alongside a long, stone-slated bar counter. She overheard a conversation between the barkeep and a waiter.

“Yes, they’re here again, so get out there already!”

“The scientists?” the waiter asked.

The man started shoving her towards the storage door behind the bar. “Yes, yes, now hurry up and stock up on that apple cider. I’ve already turned four full pitchers from the three of them, and the fourth is no doubt on the way. We can turn a bigger profit from those kids than any random alcoholic that stumbles in here tonight!”

The waiter disappeared into the back, and the barkeep was left muttering by the counter. Chuckling to herself, the researcher moved away, starting to search for the scientists in question. Other than a single, beige wall that separated the edge of the bar with a support beam in the middle of the room, the pub was very open and lively. Square and circular tables were littered across the floor in mismatched patterns, ranging from oak brown to birch white. Clearly, aesthetic was not the centerpoint of the place.

She walked about the pub, scanning the faces of the men and women alike who crowded by the booths and tables. The tavern mainly housed a sea of Hylians, who let out the occasional drunken laugh, or hearty chuckle. It was a miracle she could hear her thoughts at all, as the air was rich with the sound of clattering dishware and the patter of dancing feet, as in a small corner to the left was a semi-circle stage housing a small band. A Hylian man with umber dark skin, much like her own, blew away at a Lurelin-made, seashell harmonica. To his left, a blonde woman extended her arm in quick and elegant strokes with a bow and fiddle. Two others struck away on small drums and bells, and the playful gig they performed had gotten several people up from their feet to dance for Hylia knows how long. The music wasn’t terrible, but she had heard better, from a certain Sheikah in particular...

As if fate had read her thoughts, she finally caught sight of her friends.

It hindsight, it was easy enough to expect the bard to be at the table closest to the stage. Yet, it was probably the three heads of cloud white, Sheikah hair that gave them away the quickest. A young teenage boy sat across a square table from two other Sheikah, a boy and a girl. He was looking at nothing in particular, as he plucked away at his lute, presumably tuning it. Wrapped around his head was a small cluster of green wooden beads, woven with brown string. They dotted like a line of stars in his fluffy, white hair, alternating between pine and sage shades. The knot tying the strings and beads around his head hung loosely like vines just by his right ear. He was just asking to look like a starstruck, homeless traveler, if it weren’t for the bright red cape pinned across his shoulders. The golden, Hyrulean emblem holding the crimson cloth together signified his status as an important worker of the palace. Although, no one would be surprised that this thin, skinny teenager was a bard and court poet, and not a royal knight.

Suddenly, the bard looked up and met her gaze, a pair of warm, red eyes catching the light of familiarity. He patted the empty seat next to him and said something to the other two Sheikah in front of him. One of them looked back, a young man with storm wild hair that seemed to part like lightning. He had a beige, long sleeve coat over a red tunic, as was the classic Sheikah style. However, the style of his white jacket told of his rank as a scientist. With chocolate eyes and a contagious grin, he nudged the girl next to him and fake coughed.

The young woman wore roughly the same outfit, although she had a navy blue skirt and boots compared to the other guy’s black pants and shoes. Her eyes were also red, albeit, with a more striking scarlet color, compared to the other boy’s warmer wine shade. Looking back, she adjusted her bright, Sheikah red, round, sparkly, diamond decorated glasses, complete with white accents that matched her hair. It was pulled in a messy bun, a hairstyle that her close friends knew was less for looks, and more for practical purposes, as supposedly, “the stupid strands always find ways to bother my eyes. No, stop, I don’t need a comb! My eyeballs are just sensitive, okay?”

Pivoting past a waiter, the researcher finally moved closer to the trio, brushing her curly dark hair above her shoulders as she prepared for the sarcasm to begin.

The stormy eyed scientist spoke first.

“Purah, Purah! Is that...a ghost I see? It looks like Adello, but I feel like I haven’t seen her in a century, I surely thought her dead! Am I being…haunted?”

Purah turned in her seat and gave a fake gasp. She adjusted her red rimmed glasses at the sight of her. “You’re right, Robbie! I’ve heard about these spirits. They only come at midnight under a full moon, and they appear when you have friends that don’t know how to time manage and haunt you by coming to your birthday party with their terrible fashion sense 45 minutes late!” She clapped her hands along with the syllables of “45 minutes” to let her point be known.

Robbie awed at Adello in sarcastic wonder, and the boy across from him exhaled out of his nose with a smile.

Adello put a hand on her hip. “Save your breath, I was just working a bit overtime on the Divine Beast sketches. You know, work? For the jobs that we all have? So we can pay our taxes and shit? Unfortunately, not all of us have fancy salaries Mrs. Royal Scientist.”

Purah turned to Robbie, pulling down her glasses and looking at him sternly. “See, this is another trait of these kinds of spirits. They’re cursed to only say excuses for eternity.”

He shook his head. “Coupled with the fact that their fashion only ever consists of one color? Truly, a terrible fate for a ghost indeed.”

Adello narrowed her eyes. Smoothing out her juniper colored tunic, she said, “Okay, first off, green is a great color on me, it pairs well with my skin tone. You’re both just blind, no wonder you need glasses.” Purah put a hand on her chest dramatically, but she continued. “Plus, I’d really rather not get fired since that ceremony thing with those Champions is tomorrow and, as you all know, I just got that promotion.”

The researcher propped a black leather boot up on the empty chair by the table, flipping her jet black hair dramatically. “How does it feel to be in the presence of someone with an actual on-the-field career?”

Purah stuck out her tongue, and Robbie cupped his hands and booed. However, the boy sitting on the other side of the fourseated table gave a celebratory strum of his lute, giving Adello’s pose a bright background flourish with a few upbeat chords.

She winked. “Thank you Zimiri, at least someone can recognize skill.” The bard gave a little bow with his head, grinning. “A few chords is all it takes to enhance a dramatic, late night entrance.”

Adello chuckled, finally sitting down in the empty seat beside him. The old oaken chair and floor creaked under the new weight. Robbie let out a huff.

“You kids need to learn to respect your elders.” He announced the word “respect” with the tip of his tongue. The researcher rolled her eyes.

“Ah yes, a whole one year gap between us. What astounding age and experience that these elders emit.” She gestured at Robbie and Purah with a sweep of her arm.

“Uh, excuse me, but I believe in my case it’s now double that. A whole two years, my dear, naive child. For as of 4 hours ago, I now emit the knowledge of an existence spanning two decades!” Now it was his turn to pose dramatically, pointing towards the ceiling.

Everyone at the table groaned, turning to occupy themselves with something else. Purah started writing in her journal which she pulled out from her satchel, and Adello started to become very interested with the ceiling. Zimiri continued to pluck nothings on his lute.

Robbies crossed his arms, his white long sleeves folding across the Sheikah red shirt underneath. “Oh I see! So when Adello brags, she gets a musical accompaniment, but when I do it, it’s suddenly annoying and embarrassing?”

Adello smirked to herself, and answered, “Yep, that’s how it goes!”

“Alright, you don’t get to speak, Miss I-don’t-know-how-to-be-punctuation!”

Purah promptly smacked Robbie over the head with a pen.

“Hey! W—”

“The word is punctual, you idiot.”

Robbie slumped his shoulders and made a face. He tapped his thumb and fingers together, mimicking the opening and closing of a mouth while he muttered mockingly in Purah’s tone under his breath.

Purah finished off a note in her journal before turning to the rest of the table. “Alright Adello, time to catch up. We’ve been playing ‘Till You Spill and I’ve already got some juicy stuff in here!”

Turning the pages of her journal towards Adello, she gave a chaotic grin. “Last round, Zimiri revealed that he once got teary eyed in front of the King himself after reading a poem about clouds.”

Zimiri raised his hands in defense. “Look, the clouds were an analogy for lost childhood innocence and I got choked up with that author’s amazing choice of imagery and descriptions, okay?”

Purah pointed her pen at him to hush, and continued. “Of course, him being a sentimental dork isn’t anything new, so he lost that round to Robbie who revealed the identity of his first crush.”

Zimiri muttered something about the game being rigged towards the birthday boy, but Adello talked over him, excitedly.

“Ooohhhh? Robbie?? Who are they?” She propped up her elbows and cradled her chin in her hands, excited at the prospect of more embarrassing information she could hang over his head.

He mumbled, looking to Purah for assistance, but she only cupped a hand over her ear, waiting for him to respond. “You all fuckin—” he sighed, “it’s…she’s…c-ch…” he avoided everyone’s gaze, “her name is...Cherry…”

Adello gasped, gleefully. “That girl from your old university?? The writer you hung out with!?”

Purah beamed, shaking Robbie’s shoulders excitedly. “I know right???” She loosened her grip and allowed him to wiggle out of her grasp for a moment. “Oh sweetie, campus days may be long gone for all of us prodigies and geniuses,” she flipped a few strands of her white hair with a turn of her head, “but I’m sure you’ll get her someday. You just gotta turn up the charm, find a way to woo with words. I’m sure writers love that.” Purah pulled down her glasses and gave a forced wink at him.

Adello tried to hold her tongue to no avail. “Pffft. Yeah, you can try wooing her with your punctuation.” This got a snicker out of Purah, and caused the birthday boy to blush furiously and slump further in his seat. Zimiri finally spoke up.

“Now, now, let’s all play nice. We don’t need to pester him further about it, he did win the round after all.”

“Uh, yeah. Speaking of the game, you still need to drink up, mister.” Purah slid a tan brown cup of apple cider towards him, the translucent contents sloshing around like muck in a gutter.

He leaned on the back two legs of his chair. “Isn’t it punishment enough to smell it? The cider isn’t even near my face and my mouth is already burning.”

She shrugged. “Them's the rules of ‘Till You Spill. Your secret sucked, so swig!”

The poet groaned, but complied. Tipping the cup towards his lips, Zimiri took a hearty slurp of the cider, much to everyone’s amusement. It felt like hot, molten copper mixed with old apple skins. How could something both burn and freeze your throat at the same time? He let out a gag, to which Adello patted him on the back with a short laugh.

Raising his posture, Robbie crowed, “When we finally have Zimiri’s birthday maybe then we’ll actually upgrade to the alcohol.”

Adello raised an eyebrow. “Uh, right, because the upgrade from disorientingly strong, smelly apple cider, is you two being flat out drunk. Right...”

Purah slammed both her fists down with pride, letting the cups and pitchers slosh a few amber colored drops onto the worn wooden table. “Bold of you to assume I’d drink at all, considering I’ve never lost a round! Mwahaha!” She blew a raspberry at her. “This tongue is apple free, baby.”

She gestured with her pinky and index finger at Zimiri and Adello. “Now, you two! The late combatant and the latest loser shall spill next. Give us your juicy gossip!!”

The bard, still reeling from his drink, leaned back in his chair and gave a nod toward Adello. “Ladies first?”

While she wasn’t undefeated in this drinking game, she sure as hell was playing to win. Especially since somebody needed to knock that smug expression off of Purah’s face. Adello thought to herself quickly.

Zimiri, no doubt, is probably gonna say something self-deprecating again, as he’s too nice to actually reveal anything embarrassing about anyone else. So...I just need to say something unexpected and interesting...perhaps something embarrassing about...hmm, I’ve already exhausted all my info about those cushy nobles and guards in past rounds…

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “The princess has a secret stuffed animal collection.” Seeing the light in her co-workers’ eyes twinkle, Adello knew she had chosen her words well. Purah leaned in. “Ooh? And how did you come across this juicy piece of information?” She rested her chin on an arm with an innocent smile.

“When I sent my application for the new job a few weeks ago, I gave it to the princess directly. It was late at night, and I bumped into her as she just left her room. The door was cracked open for a few seconds, before some royal, pompous guard slammed it right in my face. Yet, it wasn’t before I saw the pile of,” she counted on her fingers, “cow, sheep, bird, dog, and several horse stuffed animals piled high by her big, blue bed. I bet if I peeked for just a few more moments I could have found enough to pin her as a true horse girl.”

Robbie shrugged his shoulders, unconsciously rapping the table with his finger. “Well, speaking as a horse guy myself, I can attest to the fact that the childhood horse obsession phase never leaves, so I find Princess Zelda’s collection quite admirable.” He gave a nod towards Zimiri. “Either way, it’ll be tough to top that, Zim. Cute, yet slightly concerning, fact about our future queen? Quite the competition. Shall I signal the waiter for a refill now?”

Zimiri plucked a few more strings from his lute, before finally setting it down on the floor. He tilted his head, playfully. The string with sage green beads seemed to sway with the tavern’s music, and he spoke with a glint in his eyes. “Well, I might be faced with impending failure and ultimate defeat, but hells if I’m not one to try instead of mope.”

He combed his fingers through his messy, white hair, pondering his next choice of words. Fiddling with the beads and strings wrapped around it, he thought out loud.

“Let’s see...to top out on an embarrassing fact about a respected princess...it's natural to combat it with something...personal? That always seems to be the more valuable information in this game…” Adello shook her head. He was playing right into her hand.

“Well...Robbie won last round with the identity of Cherry...so, how about I dish out something similar. See, I’ve...uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh! Well. Court poet, shrine researcher, the job gets you close with the princess...kinda...I’d like to think we’re close anyhow…” He mumbled the last part of his sentence and let out a short cough. Then, he went back to fiddling with his short, messy hair.

“So… ever since I moved into the castle, When did my mom move… five years now? I’ve, uh… had a crush on... Zelda…” He gave an uncertain grin, and raised the palm of his hands as if to ask, “well?”

At first he was met with silence. In his head, he started to celebrate the victory of his first ‘Till You Spill round in literal months. That was until he was met with groans and pitiful mutters.

“Oh Zimiri,” Purah sighed, “I was rooting for you too.” Seeing the bewilderment creep onto the poet’s face, Robbie answered the question before it even escaped his lips. “Literally everyone here knew that bud, it’s not a secret.”

The bard started to sputter, moving his hands in wild, questioning motions.

“But? Wha— I? You!? Didn’t you— I… W-Well I mean, I know Adello knew, I told her years ago, but you guys—”

“Oh my gods. Zimiri, you literally talk about her all the time, you’re totally in love. Given that we’re also the recipients of your long spiels and ballads about how ‘intelligent and thoughtful and amazing Zelda is,’” Purah said the words to mimic the tone of Zimiri’s honey sweet voice, “it’s exceptionally, extremely, very, very obvious.”

“R-Recognizing a person’s positive traits doesn’t instantly mean in love!”

The royal scientist leaned across the table and patted his head. “Right, but you also started attempting love songs a coincidental 2 weeks after starting your job of shrine research with her. Your eyes are already red, so whenever she passes by it’s like your pupils magically form into adoring hearts. Try to stay away from poker, it’s for your own good.”

Zimiri continued to sputter, his cheeks becoming roser by the second. Robbie turned to Purah. “So, all in favour of finding Adello’s spill better than Zimiri’s?” The two of them raised their hands in unison. “Alright buddy, secret sucked, so swig! WAITER PLEASE!”

Adello watched as the same woman she had seen near the bar earlier made her way to the table. Picking up a pitcher, she poured out a fresh cup of Adequate’s Apple Cider. The four of them had been here so many times, they didn’t even need to verbally ask for the order.

Before he could even start to reach for the cup, Adello snatched it out of the way. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll do one for you, Zimiri. These two monsters have already tore you to shreds, and I’m sure I need a punishment anyway for coming in so late.”

He started to protest, but after catching the look in her dark, iron eyes, he relented. “Well, I thank you for your generosity.” The other two, however, were not as compliant.

Purah cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling, “Booooo... Boo to pity! Boo to generosity!” Robbie mimicked her.

“Yeah you have to respect your elders’ wishes. We demand blood! Suffering!”

Adello cracked her neck for show, before downing her glass of cider in a few gulps. The stench and tingling sensation seemed to stick to the sides of her throat. It would take more than water to clear that out. “Adequate” was being very generous when describing its quality.

“Mmmm. The cider’s weirdly salty tonight, I think your attitudes got mixed in here.”

Purah blew another raspberry at her.

They played for a few more rounds, the clatter of cups and breaths of laughter decorating the hours. Much to everyone’s distaste, Purah continued her winning streak, getting by with unbeatable information about the King, royal guards, and one embarrassing anecdote about how her little sister, Impa, had caught her writing an interesting letter to the “local archery hunk.”

Yet, Purah laughed along with the rest of them, the eyes behind her red rimmed glasses held no shame, which Adello envied. Of course that sort of attitude would make you a master at this game. Robbie and Adello attempted to team up and be biased towards Purah in an effort to get her to lose, but either Zimiri didn’t take the hint, or he just really liked playing fair which wasn’t exactly out of character, even if it meant more drinks for him.

Suddenly, a bell towards the back of the pub rang, signifying the end of the band’s gig. The dancing paused, as people gave their thanks, varying from politie applause to drunken yelps. Robbie then rapped the table with his hands, excitedly.

“You know what else tonight needs? Some amazing music, eh Zimiri?” He bounced his eyebrows up and down at him, and gestured towards the lute leaning on one of the table legs.

“I don’t know,” Zimiri replied, “I’ve only a part-time hire for the weekend rush hours, and I wouldn’t want to blindly get on stage and sing without being given permission.”

Adello scoffed. “Uh, are you kidding? The owner would love for you to play without paying you. Haven’t you heard the talk around town? The Adequate’s Tavern: Home of alright food and acceptable ale, but an outstanding bard!”

He fiddled with the string in his hair again. “Oh yeah? I’d love to meet him someday.” At this, Adello clicked her tongue and promptly shoved him out of his chair with her hip.

He laughed to himself as he stumbled aback. “Alright, alright, but only because the birthday tyrant requested it.” Robbie clapped his hands in a “chop-chop” fashion, to truly signify his role as the newly dubbed tyrant.

Suddenly, Zimiri perked his head. Stepping back towards the table, he reached for his cup. “Oh wait, I just lost that round. I still need to drink my—”

Adello grabbed the cup right out of his hands. She tipped it 180 degrees and let the cider spill completely onto the wooden floor. He hopped back, and Purah let out a surprised yelp, saying something about letting the stench seep into the floorboards. Robbie just started to laugh, wildly. Noticing the small commotion, a few other guests looked back at them and started to snicker to themselves.

Setting the cup back on the table, the researcher said, “Great, now you don’t need to ruin your voice any longer. Now get up there and one-up the last band.”

The bard pushed his chair under the table. Picking up his lute as he stood and faced Adello, a charming smile on his face. “Heh, well. My singing voice is grateful. I suppose now I’m in debt to comply.” He gave a curt bow.

Robbie clapped his hands again. “Great, great. Now quit the manners and let’s go already! I still have to order the cake pie!”

Both of the girls rolled their eyes in unison. Zimiri shrugged and started to walk through the small crowd of standing Hylians, and towards the small stage.

A few of the regulars who recognized him let out whoops and whistles, yelling out “Bard!” or “More music!” in support. It seemed that no one really knew his name, but it was nice enough to know that even working here part time would grant you the honor of being recognized by a bunch of random folk. One confused patron, who only associated him with “z” yelled out “Yeah, Zelda!” before promptly slumping under the table. Looking around, a blonde girl caught his eye, as it seemed she was staring at him. He waved, and her cheeks, much to Zimiri’s confusion, turned pink at his gaze and she turned to her friends who started giggling.

Moving past the last of the Hylians with an, “excuse me, sorry!” he finally stepped on the stage. The bard pulled up a small stool to the stage, leaning against it. Most of the folks continued to whoop in approval, seemingly eager for another chance to start dancing. Even the barkeep clapped his hands, probably excited at the thought of a free gig.

I guess, if no one is stopping me…

It was a rowdy bunch, but not a new one. Zimiri had played for these kinds of audiences before.

“I see that quite a few people are itching for a new tune. So, uh, any requests?” he announced as he strum a chord on his lute.

A mass of different voices bounced around the tavern, requests ranging from The Babbler’s Jig, Misko’s Tale, The Eldin Bluffs, and Can I Get More Ale? Although, Zimiri wasn’t quite familiar with the chords of that last song.

He couldn’t stop himself from being biased towards the request of a certain dark skinned girl to his left.

“The World Behind!” Adello said. “Enough with those new ballads, I demand a classic!”

Robbie pumped an arm in the air. “Yes!” he shouted. “I second that! So is my decree as birthday tyrant!”

The bard smiled, preparing the fingering on the neck of his lute. He turned towards the audience. “Well, I’m afraid I have no choice but to heed to such authority.” He began to pluck the beginning notes, tapping a tempo with his boot against the stage. “Now then, a beat, if you all would be so kind?”

The tavern chattered in approval, before piping down. There probably weren't more than 30 people, but the beat they made was definitely sufficient. The sound of stomping, banging mugs, and clapping filled the room. The tempo didn’t even need much adjusting, as The World Behind was pretty familiar around Castle Town. The beat was like a child pretending to be a marching soldier, unconcerned and playful.

Zimiri’s smile widened. A lively crowd indeed, this will do nicely.

With that, he started to sing. His silvery voice echoed across the tavern, as he closed his eyes and began to play.

The boys have gone out to the wishing well

Will they come back? Oh only time will tell

A rupee for a life refined

But time and dreams never align

So tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Many of the guests had started to dance again, while the rest continued the beat of the song. As Zimiri plucked rapid notes on his lute, he heard a supporting holler from Purah. Next to her, Robbie was slamming his fist to the beat, clearly enjoying himself.

Have you seen the soldiers’ drinking ale?

They wish to sing along with nightingales

To dance on home with songs and rhymes

To banish all the fears from mind

Yes tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Another pause between the verses, and the bard played the “decorative” rapid notes in between. He didn’t mean to seem like he was showing off, but Adello would attest to the fact that this happened whenever he got too into the music. Looking towards her, Zimiri saw her give a double thumbs up.

Of beasts and men and all atrocities

The damn-ed fate, she owns all that you see

To a better day of new design

Forgot about the gods divine

Oh tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

At this point, some of the guests were singing along, though not to the point of overpowering his own alluring voice. Laughter rang out around the warmly lit room once again. Zimiri looked out at the dancing patrons and smiling guests, grinning at the feeling in his chest this brought. He continued the last verse.

Watch the home while—

“HEY!”

The sudden gruff voice startled the bard to the point where he nearly slipped off the stage.

Lumbering through the double doors, three guards entered the tavern. The one in front, who had interrupted the music, wore a typical knight’s outfit, the same as his male and female coworkers behind him. However, the black hooded cape he wore atop his metal armour swayed with every step he took across the floor, his supposed rank silencing the room.

Well, mostly, silenced the room. A few ticked off guests were booing, groaning, and mocking him for ruining the entertainment.

“Oh would you lot shut up for 2 seconds?!” he said, his voice booming across the tavern. “Listen, I’ll be blunt. I gotta give two messages for this establishment.”

The guests shook their heads, mumbling. Their booing and insults continued, but their volume quieted, it was too early to be getting cross with a couple of knights. Even Zimiri quietly slipped off the stage back towards his friends so as not to be at the end of the knight’s intimidating voice.

The female guard behind the knight handed him a slip of parchment. Unfolding it, the guard cleared his throat.

“Firstly, your music and pounding is disturbing the noblemen next door. He’s staying at the inn or something and wants you to, quote,” he read from the paper, “quit the mindless thumping, for Castle Town is a place of serenity and peace, not of nonsense jigs and banging.”

The groaning and insults started up again; the man gave a shrug, stating something about how he was just following orders.

Adello couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “HA! Well, with an attitude like that, this’ll probably be the first and only time he’s been banged— he should be grateful.”

The room exploded into a mess of laughter and whoops. Even the guard smirked to himself, but attempted to hide it with a shake of his head, saying “Watch the mouth, girl.” Although, his stern tone wasn’t in it.

After a second, he cleared his throat again. With a stomp of his boot he regained the pub's attention, the laughter suffocated out.

“Now, we’re also here looking for a Dr. Robbie Kimura? I received word they might be around here?”

With the attention now towards a single table, most of the guests went back to their idle banter. A few waiters nodded their head towards the table in the back, and the man caught sight of three, white haired teenagers, who were sitting with the dark haired girl who had quipped out earlier.

The scientists turned around too late, in an effort to avoid the knight’s gaze. “Gee, what a bunch of snitches,” Robbie mumbled. The three guards started to walk over to the table.

“Dr...Robbie?”

“Who’s asking?” Robbie squinted with his dark brown eyes.

“Doctor? Really? Is this some kind of prank? You and your friends don’t even look old enough to drink.”

He scoffed. “Okay, first, yes I am a doctor! I didn’t fly through all those courses over four years just to be called, ‘Mr.’ And secondly, I’ll have you know that I am a ripe 20 years of age today, and I’m here drinking expired apple juice with my associates. So take that, pal!”

Beside him, Purah gave a proud nod in agreement. Zimiri started to wave politely at the guard, but Adello grabbed his arm before he could finish the movement. The guard was a bit unsettled with the way that girl was glaring at him. What was some random Hylian doing hanging out with a bunch of Sheikah anyway?

“Right, well, look here, son. Some curious aristo-brat snuck into the courtyard and caused one of those flying, metal Sheikah things to fall apart. My boss said that it was your prototype so you should come back and clean it up before something explodes, and possibly give a sincere apology to the meddling kid who got a few scratches.”

Robbie threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’re really gonna pull me out of a birthday just so I can go apologize to a spoiled kid for breaking in and ruining my Guardian?”

“If it lets me keep my job, then yeah.”

Robbie mumbled something about not getting a slice of the apple cake pie.

Suddenly, Adello got up and pushed her chair in, smoothing out the belt around her tunic as she walked towards them.

“Ah yes, well, thank you my dear assistant for the assessment but I’m capable of taking it from here.”

The guard raised a bushy, black eyebrow. “Sorry, wha—”

“You said you only wanted Dr. Robbie? Well great job, you found them. Now let’s get going, I need to finish up a new design anyway.”

“You’re...Robbie? You’re a... clearly not—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have had my mother consult you for your opinion before I was given my name.”

This time, the guard didn’t smile along with her quip. “This is not the time for—”

She held up a finger to silence him, and glared at the three guards with her iron eyes.

“Look, I’m not a nobody. I’m more than capable of fixing up the guardian and any other disasters you might have left lying around the castle grounds. If I’m feeling generous, maybe I’ll even lick the kid’s boots, it’s not my first time dealing with this, alrighty?”

The knights looked at each other, quizzically. The researcher crossed her arms.

“You’re still following your precious orders, aren't you? How would you know what Dr. Robbie looks like? You can’t be faulted for not knowing someone you never met. So, you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

The blonde man behind the gruff, black caped guard, whispered something to his female coworker. Her gaze switched between the girl and the man. Still seeing the uncertainty in their eyes, Adello leaned closer to the knight and lowered her voice. “Come on, have a little heart, it’s his birthday.”

A beat of silence sat, only filled by the mild mumbling and chatter of the tavern. Finally, the guard let out a sigh.

“Alrighty Dr. Kimura. I’ll help escort you to the site.”

Robbie started to protest, but Adello quickly silenced him with a wink. The guard turned towards the rest of the room, yelling, “The rest of you, the sun is gonna rise in a few hours so save your rioting for then! Am I clear?”

The patrons just responded with stupid groans and half-hearted agreements. They started walking towards the door. The female guard started to put a hand on Adello’s shoulder, but she brushed it off, saying something along the lines of “I can walk on my own two feet, thank you very much.”

Purah turned in her seat. “I’ll save a slice of cake pie for you!” Adello turned her head and responded with a two fingered salute, before disappearing out the door with the guards.

The tension in the tavern was almost immediately cleared, the moment the knights left. Most of the people went back to their normal conversational volume, and the waiters began to patter about with more confidence. However, Zimiri slumped in his seat, letting out a sigh.

“Why does she always do things like that?”

Robbie fiddled with the edge of his cup, tracing his finger around the rim. “Well, you know her. Undermining authority? Check. Insults and quips? Check.”

Robbie continued to list off more traits, but it faded out of Zimiri’s ear. Always jumping onto other’s burdens. Ah, that idiot. I bet she hasn’t slept for the last two days.

Purah suddenly piped up, taking out her pen and rapping it against the table. “Alright you two, let’s not let the sacrifice be in vain. Pool your rupees, we’re getting Robbie the fancy cake pie.”

The clatter of a few red and blue rupees echoed on the wooden table, although Zimiri knocked Robbie’s share aside, saying how the birthday tyrant shouldn’t have to pitch in. Purah turned in her chair and started to wave her hand, in order to get the attention of a waiter. The bard watched as a woman with a tray started to walk over to the table. Then, he turned to Robbie.

“So what should we do while we wait?” Zimiri asked. Robbie stroked his chin, looking around the room.

“I think...the people could still use some music.”

Looking out at the crowd, Zimiri noticed how the guards' interference had really dampened the atmosphere. The warm and lively laughter that was present just a few moments earlier was now replaced with more monotone chatter.

He nodded his head in agreement, putting on a charming smile. The place needed a new pick-me-up, did it?

Well, what else is a bard for?

Stepping back onto the stage, he strummed an open chord, double checking the tuning. The whooping and clapping started to return, much to his delight. Plucking a familiar melody, the warm feeling in his stomach returned as he watched the new smiles that started to fill the room. However, before he began to sing, Zimiri first focused on craning his neck to look out a window, trying to catch a glimpse of a certain girl in the night.

It seemed the moon and sun were balanced on the edge of the world. The night had started to submerge behind the walls of West Castle Town, with only the brightest stars still perched upon the ink of the navy blue sky. The silver lining of greying clouds just barely glowed from the faint light of the day, still trying to break out of the eastern waters.

Adello’s footsteps echoed through the cobblestone streets, but she could barely hear it against the shifting of metal plates from the guards in front of her.

The gruff man looked back, scratching his peach fuzzed chin as he spoke. “Listen, if you finish your work quick I might be able to escort you back here.”

Adello shook her head. She turned to retrieve a journal from the pouch on her belt, opening its pages as an excuse to avoid his gaze. “No, it’s fine. I still have some more work I should be finishing up at home anyhow.”

“You...live at the castle?”

“Mmm.”

The guard took her blunt response as a sign to not continue with the niceties, much to Adello’s relief. Looking up, she gazed at the looming castle. Its towers were like mountain peaks, sitting above the blurred silhouettes of the buildings of Castle Town.

Taking out a bit of charcoal, she started to sketch its outline on a fresh page in her journal. While she only had one color, she tried to capture the shadows and lighting that cascaded on one side of the castle to the other.

The female guard slowed her step, starting to walk alongside the researcher.

“Already working?”

Adello didn’t look up from her journal. “Uh… you could say that.”

She laughed. “Well you best hope you know what you’re doing. This kid’s father has been yelling at Her Highness all night. Supposedly because she’s helping to lead Sheikah research, so everyone associated with guardians is at fault.”

Adello finished up the tower of Princess Zelda’s study in her sketch. She smiled to herself at the finished work. It was one of her better pieces. Putting the journal away, she turned back to the guard and scoffed. “Is that so?”

The guard hummed a yes, her blonde braid swaying to each side as she walked. “Apparently, the kid is the son of some visiting nobleman from the East Post. It’d be in your best interest to apologize profusely if you still wanna walk around alive.”

Adello shook her head. She didn’t know it then, but looking back, many moons from now, she would laugh at the irony of her response.

“I’d rather die.”

#botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda botw #loz botw #botw fanfiction #where time takes us #botw oc #adello #zimiri

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loyalflutist · 5 years

Text

Scarlet Carnation - Prologue (F!Byleth x Edelgard)

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Words: 7,084 Collaboration with @datsexykiwi Summary: “Ignorance is bliss...when you know too much, you will only face worse dilemmas of your lifetime”

Byleth is thrust into a difficult position. After experiencing a strange dream, the professor eventually finds herself switching between the two worlds with two very different Edelgards. Though they contrast from each other, Byleth could not help but cherish them... as they do for her.

A/N: So this is the first series I’ve written for Edeleth, and this is a collaboration I’m grateful to have with the lovely Kate, also known as @datsexykiwi . As someone who I’ve known for years, she’s someone I place great faith in her writing and trust in the ideas we cook up together. Hope you all enjoy this series! I really enjoyed writing it! :)

Kate’s A/N: Enjoy the max of angst and fluff. Have fun along with us. ;)

---

It was hot.

A young woman’s forehead gleam under the relentless sun, sweat dripping from her features. Her breaths were as fast as it could come and go. The dark, light armor that should have served as protection over her academic attire was in lieu of roasting her alive. She licked her cracked, bottom lip; a tinge of metal swept over her taste buds.

It was unbearably hot.

Loud, metallic screeches, horses neighing, and screams of all kinds filled the blurry background. There were a variety of sounds that would have driven out any ordinary person. This was something she was used to.

She looked down at her feet. A pool of blood stained the rocky pavement that belongs to the monastery; her metal combat boots were deep in the puddle. Evaporation in this humid and sweltering heat should have occurred in less than a few minutes. However, the ground remained moist as its source oozed plenty of crimson from his injuries. The Sword of Creator was lodged deep into the nameless soldier’s ribcage, its jagged edges slicing through all three germ layers. His facial expressions were, thankfully, overshadowed by his large steel helmet.

“...”

Byleth blinked. It had dawned upon her that she was still gripping ahold of the terrifying relic. Then, with a grunt, the older woman heard a sickening slick while removing her sword. The blade was coated in a deep shade of red. Unfortunately, it didn’t only derive from the deceased warrior. She slowed her respiration rate, her hues shifted upward at the battlefield.

Shadows shaped like fighters of all sizes and shapes ran at each other. When they collided, a black mist would swirl around as if they were dancing to the tune of death. Sparks and elemental spells would erupt from the visual attraction. Then, they would separate. They became still. This stillness would only last for a couple of seconds, however. One would showcase a noticeable trait of losing the blackness that enveloped their figures. Their identity would become public as they accept their demise.

This was surreal. Byleth’s knuckles became white as her aching limbs screamed for mercy. She can’t seem to recall her reason for being here. No matter how much the ex-mercenary mentally groveled, her brain would only pull up blanks. Still, there was one thing she was sure of: she had to be here in this battle.

“tɾo faða noi dɔn joɹhan dorja”

“...”

Archaic language thumped her eardrums. Clearly, it was something Byleth didn’t comprehend. She exhaled. The professor eventually raised her weapon once more as three more shadows crept towards her from the distance; each of them possesses one of the three shadow-cloaked weapons: a sword, a lance, and an axe. She squeezed the relic’s handle.

‘ Is this a dream? ’

It has to be. Not only were there supernatural elements that she could not coherently wrap her head around, but she was also the only person who retained her physical appearance. But it was vivid. The pain that singed from the sweats’ contact with her minor cuts, the wild beating of her heart against her chest plate, the aches that resonated in her worn muscles, and the fatigue that shrouded over her consciousness was a bit too realistic.

‘ Is this really a dream? ’

Alas, Byleth left it at that. The three unwelcome guests soon closed their distance. She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and deeply inhaled. When she exhaled, her eyelids snapped open and she flicked her wrist. Rocky debris kicked up in the air as she launched herself at the three enemies. The blade was reeled behind her back, her glare prominent.

“It’s over!”

The shadows retaliated. The lancer thrust their spearhead at her chest, the axe-wielder pulled back both arms to deliver a slamming blow, and the sword-user horizontally swiped at the professor.

Byleth pivot her feet. She sucked in her stomach and twisted her upper body. It was a fleeting moment for the spear’s tip to brush up on her heated armor. A battle cry was heard from her direction as she, with all her might, swung her weapon.

The Sword of Creator is a powerful tool during times of conflict. Parts of the blade broke apart into small chunks. It began to emit a dull glow as its razor-like edges flung outward at her enemies. They were unable to block the devastating assault. A single swing produced a multitude of traumas to their body. Splatters of red painted Byleth’s cheek. One by one, the black shell vanished without a trace as they collapsed onto the new puddle.

“...”

She lurched forward. Byleth quickly shoved her foot in front of her to prevent a fall. The young teacher was hunched over, panting; her vision was fading in and out like strobe lights. This is terribly exhausting. She slammed the relic onto the cracked pavement. Using it as support, the neon green-haired dryly swallowed and raised her head.

“...?”

There was another shadow from a few meters. Compared to most others that fill the disheveled landscape, this individual was shorter than them. A monstrous axe slashed through their existence like a hot knife through butter. Each strike brought out more fluids from their victims; dark substances flung in the air in slow motion. It was done with complete elegance and ease. This should have rung plenty of alarm bells in her head. No one should have possessed the strength to make bloodshed a visual treat. They’re a monster; a beast that should be put down. Instead, Byleth could not help but be in awe of the enigmatic person.

She could sense danger emitting from the short fighter. Fortunately, her instincts scream that the teacher has nothing to worry about. Whether Byleth’s guts are being churlish or not with her life is up for speculation. The older woman continued to observe the ephemeral bloody dance.

Just who is this shadow?

“...Huh?”

There was another dark figure spotted in Byleth’s peripheral sight. Sweat continued to fall from her face as her eyes were fixated on the new arrival. When her gaze slowly traced the shadow’s objective, her blood froze.

“?!”

Murderous beauty may have been bestowed to the shadow, but it did not prevent an unfortunate ending. Newfound energy burst through four of her limbs. The ex-mercenary scrambled towards the axe-wielder. Byleth was still unable to grasp ahold of her action’s purpose. But, just like her instincts told her about the unforgiving battle, she too had to protect this shadow.

‘ The Divine Pulse! ’

It was all for naught. Regardless of the amount of concentration she emphasized on the potent skill, not a speck of dust reversed to its original position on the concrete slab. Everything was still progressing forward.

‘ Why is it not working?! ’

There was no time.

She had no choice.

She needed to--

Byleth shoved the shadow out of the way. This threw the person off balance as their entire body stumbled sideways. Facial features were impossible to read, but the teacher could have sworn she saw a flicker of a familiar identity. She widened her eyes. The fighter extended her unoccupied hand out towards the supernatural.

There was a blunt thud pressed into her back. Then, the dull aches that plagued her tightened muscles ramped up to excruciating pain that ripped through her entire being. Byleth felt as if her spine had exploded! Just when this searing agony felt as if it could get any worse, it immediately dissipated… just like her consciousness.

< ---- >

“---!!”

She gasped and woke up abruptly from her bed. That was certainly a sudden transition from a bloody battle to being in a cozy bed within a tranquil atmosphere. She placed her hand onto her shoulder, remembering that pain against her back. It felt too real that she actually thought she’s dead. She wondered why would she have such a bizarre dream like that. Is it a premonition? Is it just irrational thoughts playing tricks on her dream?

“What a nightmare to have… ”

It’s about time to get up from bed towards her morning class. It’s another day she’ll be instructing the Black Eagles classroom. However, Byleth couldn’t shake the thought away about the dream she had recently. The thing is, those dreams started with being so vague she could barely remember any details of it aside from the fact she’s dreaming. Eventually, she started seeing and remembering more details as everything started to feel real. Sometimes, she would even be aware of what was happening but absolutely have no control over what was happening. She sighed and wondered what was this all about until she heard her green-haired friend speaking inside her mind.

‘ Nightmare again? ’

“...It has been so frequently. I’m starting to feel like I’m sleep deprived.”

‘Too bad I couldn’t see the dream itself, but I can tell you looked uncomfortable in your sleep.’

“...”

Byleth sighed before she changed into her signature black outfit look and lace stockings. She left her room and hid her exhaustion under her poker face like usual. She’s not that expressive according to Jeralt and her students that have been with her for a couple of weeks. She headed to her class to begin the training.

Today’s lesson plan was to teach her fellow students how to balance properly as an essential skill in the battle.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re a swordsman or not. Balance is an essential skill that everyone must understand how to use it. Or else, you’ll simply put yourself at a disadvantage unnecessarily. It is both a defensive and offensive skill.”

She demonstrated how to lower the center of gravity, gripping onto the ground firmly with one’s toes. Byleth demonstrated simple actions that allowed her students to understand it without much complexity. It is one of the most difficult basics that took her years to grasp it.

“You can’t always rely on brute force. When you are on the battlefield, what determines the victor is not who’s physically stronger, but who knows how to utilize their body’s strengths better. The ladies will have an advantage due to the fact that they naturally have a lower center of gravity than men. Simple basics, but a difficult mastery.”

Byleth walked up to the dummy made from bamboo. She used the training sword and showed her students its sharpness; it wasn’t that great. It could barely cut through one. However, she will use that same blade to cut through a pack of 3 bamboo stalks in a single strike. All of the members of Black Eagles watched attentively before the young professor did not use any brute force to cut, but was able to slice through all the stalks with a single fluid motion without breaking her sword.

“If you know how to use your hip and balance well with your skills, then you are able to cut through the enemy’s armor or weapon.”

She then asked Caspar to assist her by swinging the sword with all his might at her. At first, he was reluctant to do so but Byleth asked him to trust her. In the end, he did as his professor said, and the moment he dashed and swung his training sword up into the air, ready to cut Byleth down, she swung her sword right at him too.

KLANK

It was Caspar’s sword that fell out from his grip and he could feel the numbness rushing through his shivering hand. Edelgard recognized it; that was the same move that she used to disarm the bandits on their first encounter.

“You can disarm, and that is enough to buy the time to strike your opponent down. Do you all understand?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Good, let’s begin the training. Go to your assigned station. I will come to check on you all individually.”

Byleth went around the group checking on her students, teaching all the fundamentals that Jeralt used to teach her when she’s simply just a kid. All of them showed perseverance and put all their effort to learn from her. After the training came to an end, she delegated one and a half spare hour for her team to focus on anything they wanted to do. Meanwhile, she will be working with three students on their private one-on-one training every time. Today, she would be checking up on Caspar, Dorothea, and Edelgard.

“Professor! Is this how you do it?”

“Not quite, you have to lower your balance a bit more.”

Byleth watched the young blue-haired boy stood his ground. She circled around him before she pushed him abruptly without him realizing it, sending him falling onto the ground.

“W-Whoa!?”

“Not good enough, Caspar. You have to relax more.”

“Gah! This is so hard...”

“Like I said, it is a difficult mastery.”

“You’re so good at it...”

“Keep practicing, Caspar. You will get there eventually.”

Finishing with the young boy, she headed to Dorothea and as expected she did slightly better than Caspar due to her natural low center of gravity. As she physically has to shift Dorothea, that made her student giggle and tease the older female.

“Oh professor, I feel so intimate when you’re touching me like that...”

“Keep the context clean, Dorothea.”

“C’mon! Just play along, will you?”

“Not when you make it sound like I’m physically violating you.”

“You’re such a fiend, professor!”

“Oh lord...”

As usual, Byleth was subjected to Dorothea’s sly tease every time she tried to teach her something, at least she’s a very studious girl that worked extremely hard or just as much as Edelgard herself. After she finished her session with her, the last remaining 20 minutes was with the head of the Black Eagles, Edelgard.

“Professor, could I test my skills?”

“I don’t mind that. What would you like me to do?”

“Please attack me, I want to do that disarming move you did.”

“Make sure you disarm me, because I won’t hold back.”

“That will be my pleasure.”

Byleth ran in and swung her sword towards Edelgard before she twisted, using her lower body as her strength to add power into her strike. That struck onto Byleth’s sword, but it didn’t manage to disarm her. However, it was enough to force the professor backward to regain her distance. Edelgard had that slight disappointment in her face as she thought she would’ve disarmed Byleth.

“That was really good. If I didn’t hold my sword tightly enough, it would’ve flew out from my hand. That was splendid, Edelgard.”

She smiled and praised her student for her amazing achievement. That made the young emperor blush slightly with contentment despite not reaching her expectations. As the tutoring session continued on, the class was finally over. Everyone slowly left the room to the dining hall for their meals whilst Edelgard was the last student to leave.

“Professor, are you by chance available at the moment?”

“What is the matter?”

“Well...I want to speak with you in person. Discuss some few matters.”

“Very well then, like usual?”

It seemed there was some secret way they communicate with each other. Edelgard nodded softly with those pink blushing cheeks that it made the professor just have to tease her a little bit. She pinched her soft silky cheeks before letting out a soft chuckle.

“You are adorable, Edelgard.”

“Stop teasing me.”

“My bad, let us go, shall we? I’m certain you brought your packed lunch.”

Bull’s eye. Edelgard did request a packed lunch earlier in the morning since it was her plan to have a private lunch session with her professor without other students around. They headed out to a quiet secluded space where there wouldn’t be many students around to spot them nor disturb their peace for lunch and tea. What they usually talk was related to their class content, especially digesting what she learned through the past week.

“Today’s class was very interesting. I had a lot of fun.”

“I’m glad you did. You’re doing really well too.”

“It is because of your guidance and training.”

“You credited me too much, Edelgard.”

“Not at all, professor.”

After they talked about their lessons, their conversation started to shift to something more casual and rather personal between the two of them. During the past weeks, Byleth was working in the Monastery as a professor, she certainly developed a special bond with Edelgard. Not sure where this is leading the two of them to, but Byleth realize she developed this sense of adoration towards the young emperor. She enjoyed her time with the young lady when it is just the two of them, it feels rather different from when they were other students in the class. As for Edelgard herself, she was clear with how she’s especially fond of the professor in a way she never ever did to anyone in her life. Byleth seemed to have a special place in her heart, but she was yet to be very honest with her selfish demands.

“I hope one day I can be as strong as you, professor.”

“I’m certain you will be.”

“...Will you be there to watch me? Being there with me?”

“I would love to. You all have a bright future up ahead and it would be a great pride and joy to watch you all grow stronger. I want to be there and see how far will you rise and shine as a future emperor of the Empire, Edelgard.”

“You promised, okay? You’ll be there with me.”

Edelgard moved in closer and began to whisper softly so no one could’ve overheard her words. Byleth didn’t reject her and only placed her hand on top of Edelgard’s hand before smiling back at her with sweet adoration.

“So, you want me there with you when you become an emperor, am I correct?”

“...I suppose if you put it bluntly like that, yes.”

“I see.”

She didn’t tease her much aside from giving a soft kiss on her forehead. That made her blush over to her ears in silence, she leaned onto her shoulder before they held each other’s hand without saying a word to each other. Byleth may have been experienced with countless battles, but she’s a novice when it comes to romance - Edelgard included. They spent their tranquil moment enjoying each other’s company before time is up. It was about time they return back to their classes.

“Edelgard, we must go.”

“Right.”

As she slowly let go of her professor, she seemed to be reluctant and it was written all over her face. Byleth picked up those hints that the young emperor wanted to do or say something.

“What’s wrong?”

“...Well, this is embarrassing.”

“...”

The professor could read her expression, and that made her giggled softly to herself before she opened her arms for the young one to come in. She ended up blushed even more with how her professor managed to read her childish mind so easily. She refrained from going in for the hug and made Byleth rather puzzled for a second.

“Ah, was that a bit too much?”

“Y-You’re such a bully, professor.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“How could you be capable of doing such things like this without being embarrassed?”

“Not sure myself, for some reason, I’m not embarrassed by it.”

“You’re truly weird, professor.”

This time she just pushed herself into Byleth’s arms and embrace her tightly. The young one buried her face onto her shoulder. That made the professor embrace her back gently. Despite the tough character she portrayed, she has this childish side that loves hugs. It was for a few seconds, but it is quite long for the two of them.

Byleth returned back to her room and felt so exhausted. It may have been lack of sleep she’s been having recently. She decided to go to bed early today and then she heard Sothis speaking inside her mind.

‘ You’ve become quite fond of that girl. ’

“Huh…?”

‘ Just be careful, she’s still a child. ’

“I am well aware of that. She’s an adorable student of mine.”

‘ I wonder if it is just a student-teacher relationship you both shared. I doubt she is thinking that way about you though. I lived long enough to realize that. ’

“Well...I don’t know what to say.”

‘ My only warning would be, don’t give her false hopes if you’re not planning to see it through until the end. ’

“Never thought there will be a day I got a piece of love advice you.”

‘ Shut up, I may look young but I lived way much longer than you do, kid. ’

“Yes, ma’am.”

Byleth gave Sothis a slight tease back but what she said was true though. She’s well aware of Edelgard’s growing feelings that may have towards her. The way she looked and sought physical comfort from her has been escalating gradually. Even though she adored Edelgard quite a bit more than several students, she wouldn’t be able to say that would make her anywhere special and different from other students like Dorothea, Caspar, Bernadette and others too. Byleth wasn’t sure herself if she would call that romantic affection that she has for Edelgard, but regardless of that, she should be careful not to give false hope to her. Rejection is painful, but what's worse than that is receiving false hopes from the one they love.

“...Thank you for the warning though, I will keep that in mind.”

She thanked Sothis back, but she didn’t respond anymore. She probably went to sleep inside Byleth or something, as usual. Thus, it was about time for her to go to bed too. As she lay down and closed her eyes...she recalled that dream was killed. For some reason, she couldn’t shake those thoughts away. As her mind slowly drifted off into the darkness, she wondered if she would have that same nightmare again this time or not...

< ---- >

CAW! CAW! CAW!

She cracked open her eyelids from the annoying sound. No matter how much she tried to will herself to stay asleep, the ridiculous noise would only increase in tempo and volume. It was almost like out of a horror tale Hubert would spook everyone with! This left her with the latter option of waking up, much to her dismay.

Through her lens, the older female stared at a blurry, brown wall. The natural twitches from her fingertips brushed upon a rather tough, granite-like surface. When she dragged her gaze upward, she found herself peering through a pile of broken pillars and stone slabs. The entire structure was acting as a small shelter for the teacher; its large hole from above provided the necessary sunlight for the woman.

“...”

Clearly, she was not in bed anymore. Just where is she?

That was the first question that popped to mind upon awakening. Byleth regained more of her consciousness as she sat up. This tactician felt a groan slip out as she pressed against her forehead. Small bits of rocks and pebbles were heard rolling off of her chest. She blinked. Then, a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face.

‘ Okay… I’m not at the academy for sure. ’

Obvious deductions were noted. Byleth lowered her hand and scanned her surroundings. The placement of the materials won’t pose any threat to her life. When the professor rapped her knuckles on a torn pillar with ferocity, it hardly budged. There was also plenty of room to stand up on her feet in this secluded premise. She quickly brushed off the residue from her dirtied skirt.

‘ ...Sothis? ’

No response. Confuzzled, Byleth made another attempt.

‘ Sothis… Don’t tell me you’re still sleeping. ’

Once again, no response. The teal-haired frowned. This was especially concerning. Sothis was never the type to leave her hanging. After all, she is the only person in existence to be able to communicate and see her. There’s no doubt that the petite woman would jump at every opportunity to talk at her beck and call. (Almost like a cat!) To boot, wherever Byleth is, Sothis was always there by her side.

‘ I’m sure I’ll figure it out later. ’

There was no point in dwindling upon the matter. Thinking and wishing won’t bring the short woman back to her side. Besides, there are far more important matters to tend to as of right now.

Byleth eventually recognized the Sword of Creator’s presence. The weapon had laid comfortably on the cracked pavements, waiting for its master to relinquish their ownership.

‘ I should get out of here. ’

The ex-mercenary thought of her next course of action as she retrieved her sword. She sheathed the ancient relic back on her waist and looked up at the hole. Gauging from its distance, size, and her skillset, Byleth should be able to make it.

Knees and elbows bent, the professor jumped up and grabbed ahold of the hole’s borders. Thanks to her efforts in training with the students and remaining vigilant with her exercises, this posed little to no strain on her muscles.

Byleth popped out of the pile like a flying fish. Both of her legs straightened as she squarely plopped on the ground. Had her students witnessed this feat, they would have clapped and praised for her acrobatic endeavors!

The teal-haired’s eyes nearly boggled out of its sockets. Unfortunately, desolation was her audience.

It was so barren, and this place... It was once the defense base of the monastery. Various structures were in shambles as if someone or something had rocked this sacred area; its servitude as a protective guardian beyond its walls was fruitless. When she glanced up, the sky high above was cloudless, but consist of a sun tormenting those below with its rays of light. If there was someone worth mentioning, it’s those pesky crows that perched on the black branches of a dead tree. Six of them stared at Byleth; their beaks were clamped shut. It appears that they have a new subject to overwatch on this land.

Byleth tapped the side of her head as she examined her setting.

‘ Just what in the world happened here…? ’

So far, Byleth can’t see a single, notable landmark beyond the base that would pinpoint her next destination. Her shoulders and head slumped.

‘ I have no choice but to walk around and find a village. If I remember correctly, there should be one behind this defense structure. ’

The woman glanced over her shoulder. There was an old, architectural wooden gate that led straight to the interior of the monastery’s ground. Many small communities gathered as a way to become closer to the Church of Seiros. Past the villages and towns, the Officer’s Academy sat above the civilians. To the residents, this was a gift. To the teacher, this meant hope for human contact.

Glimmers of sweat formed on her forehead, the metallic armor she usually wears during battle beginning to rise in temperature. The instructor felt her eyebrow twitch. It was getting hot. Like, really REALLY hot.

‘ I really should get a move on. ’

CAW! CAW! CAW!

Oh, if those flocks of birds can give it a rest!

Byleth tensed her shoulders and glared at the source. The crows wildly cried out, their black wings flapping at similar intervals with their callings. They were so quiet before. What made them act up? Is it because they found her amusing? Or is she too boring of a subject for observation? She stiffened her dry lips when one of the six crows left the mass. This particular bird flew right in her direction.

‘ Oh no! ’

Alarmed, Byleth sidestepped. What she did not take into account after sidestepping was catching sight of the military. The small group of soldiers that appeared from the now-opened wooden gate were chattering with each other. There were five of them. One of them held onto the reins of a snow-white horse as four others respectively held lances and swords in their hands. Some laughed out loud, one nearly doubled over from the profound topic. Whatever cheery banter they had came to a screeching halt, per contra.

“...”

“?”

Upon closer inspection, Byleth noticed that they were from the Adrestian Empire.

‘ Edelgard… ’ Her eyes widen. ‘ Edelgard! ’

How lucky! Meeting up with these fellow comrades meant that she could reunite with the Black Eagles! Her students must be worried sick if she had been sleeping outside of her dormitory room, even more so outside of the Officer’s Academy! Edelgard might give her a good scolding, but that’s the least of her worries!

The professor’s stoic features faintly brightened as she approached the soldiers.

“Excuse me--”

“EEK!”

Byleth nearly tumbled forward and onto her face; she caught herself in the nick of time by flailing her arms. She whipped her head towards the source.

Lo and behold, it was one of the soldiers. He stood rigid and hugged his lance. Not that he was the only one who squealed like a little girl. The other four warriors blanched at the sight of the instructor. Byleth let out a weary sigh.

“I hope you understand that your reactions really hurt me.”

“STAY AWAY!”

“...hah?”

The ex-mercenary was not one for explicitly showcasing her emotions. She just can’t seem to break out any form of expressions beyond disappointment, shock, content, and the occasional cheeky smile. In this case, she bluntly expressed bewilderment. What is wrong with them? Just because she has difficulty in showing features doesn’t mean she looks like a horror show!

Before Byleth could request for information, the five soldiers aimed their weapons at the staff member.

“Mommy, I’m so sorry for doubting you!”

“I thought you died!”

“G-GHOST!”

“What should we tell the emperor!?”

“GO BACK, YOU FIEND!”

It was a discombobulated verbiage. Byleth could not even muster the energy to say something witty right back at them. Actually-- There was no need for wittiness. The teal-haired woman unsheathed her Sword of Creator and pointed it at them. This elicited another squeal from the same male; the tip of his weapon trembled violently.

“I don’t want to do this,” she murmured. “But you leave me with no choice.”

The entire fight sequence took less than a minute, to her surprise. Perhaps fear had gotten to their nerves as their stances were out of line. Simple dodge mechanics and closing in on them made their souls fly out of their body. Byleth also made sure to use the butt end of her handle to knock the stubborn ones out. If anything, her existence made them faint!

“...”

Out of all the conflicts she had witnessed and experienced, this one has to be the most embarrassing of them all. At least it made the traverse to the inner parts of the monastery easier. This was also made possible thanks to the horse that one of the soldiers had. Unlike the horse’s owner, this creature was indifferent with respect to the instructor.

“Hope you don’t mind me borrowing him,” she mumbled under her breath. “I’ll return the horse later.”

That was something she appreciates after the ruckus this day has become. Besides, there is not a moment to waste. She must hurry back to the Officer’s Academy and reunite with her students!

The trek from the outsider borders and into the community opened up to a setting she was familiar with. Villagers and merchants occupied the roads and houses. Domestic animals greeted Byleth with their barks and yelps. Foreigners from all parts of Fodlan were frequently spotted in the midst of small crowds. This revisitation alone almost made the professor forgive and forget the incident with the soldiers earlier that day.

However, something was amiss. As the black horse slowed his pacing, she overheard one of the local merchants.

“It’s already been five years, hasn’t it?”

“Ah, yes… Five years since the fighting with the three nations has started.”

A faint sigh came from the old woman. She adjusted her hold on the cane and shook her head at the female merchant.

“I hope this war can end soon. I’ve heard Lady Edelgard has gone mad since she lost someone.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just a rumor.”

Byleth nearly tore the rein from pulling it back so harshly. This caused the horse to lift his front hooves up and madly kick the air. Had the creature prolonged its posture for another second, the poor mentor would have fallen off of his back. The horse threw his head upward. Evidently, the mammal fidgeted on the spot. She loosened her hold on the reins and soothingly pat his neck.

‘ Five years… Five years?! And what war?! I don’t remember there being any conflict yesterday! ‘ The patting slowed to a stop. ‘ This is all a dream, isn’t it? ’

The woman retracted her hand. She proceeded to pinch her own cheek and pull on it. Pain shot up from the abrupt stretching of the epidermis. Byleth released it with watery eyes.

‘ This isn’t a dream. ’

Dread loomed over her head. Whatever burst of energy she had now trickled out rapidly. Byleth’s guts continuously pound against its own chest, bellowing of impending bad news. Her jawlines became prominent. So many questions boiled underneath her sturdy exterior. At any given moment, she might explode from the deadly force of her curiosity and confusion.

‘ ...I have to see my students. ’

Byleth flicked the reins and leaned forward, the horse galloping as fast as possible towards the tall structures.

Pristine conditions that were evident from the distance eroded its illusion the closer she got. Many of the stone blocks were blown to smithereens. Black marks discolored the once-wonderful and prestigious academy for the students and staff. It made Byleth wonder what her father, Jeralt, would say about the condition. (Not that he would have anything to say in the first place.) Maybe Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn would have had a stronger reaction towards this mess. The fact that the holy ground was stampeded all over by the force of bloodshed would be more than enough to make any devoted followers of Seiros wail for redemption.

At least the marketplace was spared, albeit the number of foreigners and refugees from other parts of the nations increased by tenfold.

“Halt!”

One of the soldiers at the main gate raised his hand. She immediately heeded to his motion and slowed the black creature. The horse tossed let out a small puff through his nostrils as the man approached the dismounted woman. His brown irises gazed upon Byleth’s. Then, his eyes widen.

“Wait… are you really…?”

“?”

She blinked.

“Oh, right! You must’ve forgotten about me already.” The man became bashful, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. A wide grin ran across his face as the helmet overshadowed his eyes. This was a complete contrast to his prior tonality; the deep voice erased with a higher pitch. “Please allow me to speak to you normally again.”

‘ Normally? What could he possibly mean? ’

The steel soldier saluted to Byleth.

“Greetings, Professor! I welcome you back to the monastery!”

“...Thank you.”

It was him, alright. The same fellow that had always greeted her since day one at the academy. Although military personnel were, overall, kind, none of them matched the level of generosity and sweetness as this man. His famous “Greetings, Professor!” always echoed in the back of her mind whenever she thinks of this particular soldier. Five years hardly did a number to his young features. Perhaps he had gotten more handsome instead? Byleth finds it an amusing thought to ponder about.

His smile lingered on his features as he lowered his hand.

“I knew you were alive! I’ve always had hopes that you would return to us.”

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

He scratched the side of his head.

“Don’t you remember? Five years ago, the Black Eagle Strike Force all witnessed your death at the hand of Lady Rhea… though I don’t know the details all too well since I wasn’t a part of that battle.”

“I’m still not following you.”

It sounds simple on paper, but when he reiterated the information, she simply responded with a blank stare.

Death? How in the world did that concept bear fruit? Unmistakably, Byleth is alive and well. The ex-mercenary curled and uncurled her fingers. Her sense of touch was still intact. She can perform basic arithmetic. Her memory hasn’t failed her so far, save it for her origin and real age. These were some of the traits that a deceased person wouldn’t retain. A dead person is anything but alive. There was also the mention of Rhea… The tactician held the side of her head. Just what does she have to do with Byleth’s lifeline?

“I could see that you’re still confused, Professor...”

“I am.”

“I suggest that you talk to the emperor about this. I’m sure Lady Edelgard will be pleased to hear of this news.”

Hearing her name caused Byleth’s heart to increase its thumping intensity. She placed a hand on her chest and formed a small smile.

“I will do that, then.”

Pleased with her answer, the gatekeeper allowed her to go through the main floors of the monastery. A step into the main floor garnered more attention than she needed. Many Adrestian Empire’s soldiers penetrated her vulnerable exterior with their piercing stares. Some became as white as a sheet. Some began to tremble at the sight of the professor. Others toughened their features. All of their reactions were anything but pleasant.

‘ If only more of them acted like the Gatekeeper. ’

Whispers of a ghost floated around her auditory organ. Uncertainty filled the atmosphere as she marched onward to the classrooms. She found herself standing inside one of them by the doorless entranceway. The sight of her assigned classroom for the Black Eagles still stood well after the supposed five years time gap. As for the other classrooms? Empty. Not a single soul existed in the Blue Lions and Golden Deers Houses.

Just where are the students? The premise should have never been this empty… unless they have all graduated? That was plausible since the students would have to leave the academy in pursuit of their own goals. Then again, there is also that war that was mentioned-- and Lady Rhea being the cause of her death.

Byleth cupped her own chin and lowered her head. There are too many outliers here, and she doesn’t have Sothis to confide to. She’s on her own. Her eyes narrowed. These questions and theories can’t go unanswered. Perhaps it would be best she shares this knowledge with the two people she trusts: Jeralt and Edelgard.

“Professor? Is that really you?”

Isn’t there a pleasant tinkle to that articulation. Byleth knew fully well who it was. She barely got the chance to turn around when Petra and Dorothea advanced to their mentor. The princess of Brigid gleamed and immediately reached out to grab ahold of her hand.

“Oh, Professor! How we miss you so much! I knew you were alive at all these times!”

They’ve changed so much. Both of them radiated in beauty as a blooming flower. It also appears that Dorothea had dropped the signature hat. (What a shame.) It was the warmth that she happily received. In spite of the fact that Byleth would want to contradict with her statement, the tears that flowed down her and Dorothea’s cheeks made her hold back her words. She merely nodded her head in silence.

“You know how worried you made us?” Dorothea used the back of her hand to wipe the teardrops. “When Edie told her that you died, I didn’t believe in her.”

“Yes. I am the same way too. Edelgard is wrong about that.”

“Whoa, what’s with the commotion. Both Lady Edelgard and I would like for you both to-- Teach?”

His long, luscious orange hair flowed naturally as he swooped into the room. Right next to Ferdinand, there was another familiar figure that Byleth would never mistake in her lifetime and the next. The two nobles hurried over to the small group of three. He glanced up and down at Byleth with stern features.

“Professor… is that really… you?”

That question is quite popular, isn’t it? Byleth resisted the urge to make a witty remark and, once again, nodded silently. Compared to the relief that washed over the two other females, Ferdinand crossed his arms and tilted his head.

“I do not wish to be rude, but I cannot find myself to believe that you are Byleth.”

“Ferdinand! That is extremely rude of you to say that!” Dorothea scolded. “The Professor, whom we believed was dead, is finally here with us! Isn’t that a miracle?”

“I find it hard to trust in that miracle, Dorothea. Just look at our Professor here. Don’t you find something odd about her?”

“That she doesn’t have bright green hair? Please. Physical trait can’t--”

“Dorothea, please listen to me. I cannot shake off this feeling that--”

“The professor had simply lost her power with Sothis.”

Byleth felt the regal woman’s armored hands touch her arms. Then, without warning, she embraced the teal-haired. The professor had already gotten used to hugs from Edelgard when she was young, but this one felt different somehow.

Anxiety. Fear. Loneliness.

Byleth let out a shaky exhale.

“Is that why I can’t hear Sothis anymore?”

“...yes.”

How in Fodlan did this Edelgard know about Sothis? Had she spoken to her about it previously?

“Five years have passed, and we all thought you were gone.” Edelgard parted from the hug, yet kept her hold on the older woman’s arms. She raised her head and fixated her eyes on Byleth’s. “How long I’ve waited for this moment for you to return…”

“...”

There was that five-year gap. Perhaps there were things that Byleth hadn’t remembered. Her instincts were itching to dive deeper into the logistics of that theory. Something told her that she needed to really explore that possibility. There was also the exploration of this five-year jump. So much has changed, and so much information has been left out for Byleth. She must play the catch-up game with the members of Black Eagles.

Nevertheless, that could wait. The Edelgard that stood in front of her is older and is in dire need of comfort. Byleth pulled Edelgard into another hug. With one hand holding her head, the professor pressed her lips on the top of the emperor’s head. If there were a few things that didn’t change, one of them was Edelgard’s sensitive and childish nature.

“I’m sorry I was gone for a long time.”

“All that matters is that you have returned to us, my teacher.”

#loyalftutist #datsexykiwi #collaboration #fan fiction #fan fic #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #edeleth #f!byleth x edelgard #byleth #fire emblem f!byleth #edelgard #edelgard von hresvelg #scarlet carnation #prologue

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adashofstarshine · 5 years

Text

“The Reunion” - Jace/Vraska War of the Spark AU.

Commissioned by @mygogglesdosomething

Find my commission details here!

Summary:

Not one, but two, undead armies ravage Ravnica's Tenth District, intent on raising the proud city-plane to the ground. With no memories of her plans for sabotage, can Jace reach his Captain before her Erstwhile army destroys the very city she once swore to protect?

As God-Eternals fill the spark-strewn sky and zombies pour relentlessly from the Undercity, Jace is terrified that his actions may be too little too late.

War of the Spark AU where Jace is the one to give Vraska back her memories.

~ AO3 Link ~

Full Story Under the Cut!

No sooner had Jace tried to summon the power of the Guildpact, he had noticed something was wrong. The Guildpact was an ancient magic built on the cooperation between guilds. If it was to be used against Bolas, then all ten guilds must be in agreement that Bolas needed to be stopped. There lay their problem. Shrouded in illusion, Jace darted up the wreckage of the Transguild Promenade, straight towards Deadbridge. With every step, the consequences of his actions, or lack of action, burdened him ever further. A burden that was only heavier with the knowledge of what he was about to face.

He understood. He knew why Vraska had petrified Guildmaster Isperia. Right here and now, he wasn’t sure if he’d stop her if given the chance again. Who would he be to deny Vraska’s right to assert her personhood over the sphinx that had abused her? She would not be defined by her abusers. As the leader of the Golgari, she would seek justice for all those who had suffered. Isperia had likely been ignorant to all the pain she’d caused. She hadn’t even cared as hundreds of Golgari had been tortured in her name. Sphinxes. They had never ceased to disgust him.

Jace had known Bolas had promised Vraska guild leadership, but he hadn’t stopped to think of the consequences. He’d assumed it was a business transaction of sorts. One Immortal Sun for one Golgari title. But no, Vraska had herself an undead army and she was using it for the very dragon she’d sworn to betray. Not one but two armies now swarmed the streets of the Tenth District.

When he’d heard the screams, Jace’s blood had run cold. Ravnica had already been at war when he’d returned. He hadn’t had time to venture down into the Undercity. There hadn’t even been a spare moment for Vraska and what she might be doing now she had control of the Golgari. He was too late. Vraska was still on Bolas’ side. She didn’t have her memories. He’d failed her. Failed her so badly that she was going to wipe out the very people she’d sworn to protect! The blood on her hands was also on his. The Tenth District was being pincered from above and below. The Eternals didn’t seem interested in civilians but the Golgari’s forces cared not for who they slaughtered.

According to the Izzet scouts, hundreds of troops had emerged from the entrances into the Undercity, helmed by an enormous force, a lich-led procession heading across Deadbridge. That therefore was Jace’s destination. If the Golgari Queen was going to be anywhere, it would be with her nobles and generals. As he approached Deadbridge, he saw a cluster of bodies, all dressed in outlandishly colourful outfits. Planeswalkers, no one else on Ravnica dressed in such exuberant hides and feathers. They had died not from their sparks being torn out, but by a poisonous fungus that was already spreading across their features. The Golgari were nothing but efficient. He had to reach Vraska before she wiped out the precinct.

The realisation was going to be hard on her. Jace could already imagine the pain in her eyes as she realised how much damage she’d caused. Her guilt would be immeasurable. He’d stand by her, no matter what. If she needed hope, he’d be her assurance. If she needed strength, he would be her crutch. If she needed a shoulder to cry on, well, he’d certainly be that too. She was his Captain, and perhaps, something more. Jace found his heart racing at the thought of that book date she’d promised. One step at a time Beleren, he scolded himself. He had a monumental amount of fixing to do before he could consider an ‘after’. He had a very rough idea of a plan. He had assured the others that he would bring the Golgari over to their side within the hour. He was going to have to abuse his power a little. He was going to be the Living Guildpact in a way only he could achieve. It was time. Time for him to step out from his safety blanket of illusions and be the one his home needed.

Just short of Deadbridge, he was forced to stop in his tracks by an almighty boom overhead. Something immense had just been released from the interplanar portal, loud enough to be heard many miles away. Skulking behind a low stone wall, he dared look up at the darkening sky. At first, he thought it was a bird, then he saw it had humanoid legs and the remnants of a robe.

The loud flapping of wings drowned out Jace’s expletives.

It was Kefnet, the ibis god of Amonkhet, or perhaps ex-god was more accurate. He was certainly more skeletal and lazotep-coated than last Jace had seen him. He was heading in exactly the same direction as he was. This was the entire definition of ‘not good’.

Jace took a deep breath. He couldn’t have been the only one to see that. No, he didn’t have time to think about this right now! He had to find Vraska! He had to save her and return her to herself!

His run turned into a sprint, weaving round abandoned bodies and vehicles. Cloaked by five layers of illusion, his feet made no sound against the pavement. He kept glancing upwards as Kefnet glided overhead. Please don’t notice, please don’t notice, Jace found himself chanting in his head. However, his prayers were soon drowned out by a great blast of horns and drums. Kefnet completely ignored this interruption, confirming Jace’s worst fears. The Golgari and Eternals were indeed working in tandem.

The Golgari army had reached the edge of Deadbridge. It was a sight unlike any Jace had seen before. Trolls with drums the size of wagons beat a fanfare as troop after troop of armoured Golgari marched in rank and file out of the Undercity. Flanks of armoured devkarin were interspersed with chittering kraul. Grim flag-bearers, bedecked in skull-like war paint, each led hundreds of fungus-coated zombies. They were unlike any undead Jace had encountered, and their military precision matched the eternals in every respect. He could hear their progress into the city, their arrival at a new road marked with a fresh chorus of screams. There was a crash and suddenly Kefnet joined the fray, ripping apart a nearby rooftop with enormous skeletal hands. The building was promptly swarmed by these horrific new zombies.

Jace looked up just as another loud boom shook tiles off the roof-tops. His knees almost gave out under him as not one but three more god-eternals loomed over the horizon. No… One self-proclaimed god was enough. How were they to deal with four more? How were they ever going to reach Bolas whilst trying to save the population from these divine monstrosities? Even the Golgari quailed at the sight of the goliaths, but their lich lords and ladies shouted them back into line from atop many-legged beasts - beetles, spiders and other unidentifiable horrors.

“Beleren!” the telepathic shout crackled like static in his brain.

“What?” he replied, in similar frustration.

“What are you doing? Are you seeing this?” demanded Ral Zarek, “The Golgari are massacring out here and now there are these giant…things!”

“They’re zombified gods,” Jace explained, as if knowing made it any better, “And I’m working on the Golgari! Give me a moment!”

“We don’t have many more moments left!”

Jace felt him drop the connection in panic and immediately turned to deal with the problem at hand. He had no idea where in the oncoming army Vraska was. Blood dyed the surrounding moss and fungi a rich crimson as liches raised the slaughtered city folk and sent them shambling off into the district. Jace tore his gaze away and took a deep breath. He didn’t have enough Guildpact power to hurt Bolas, but he could certainly do this.

“CITIZENS OF THE GOLGARI.” His voice boomed telepathically through every mind on the bridge. The procession came to an abrupt halt.

“I am Jace Beleren, Living Guildpact and I am here to tell you that you have been deceived. The end you march towards is the end of Ravnica itself. Not death, but obliteration from which no life will return. I therefore seek an audience with your Queen to put an end to this needless bloodshed.”

He gave a pause to let this information sink in.

“Guildmaster Vraska, as the Living Guildpact, I request your presence at the foot of Deadbridge, this instant. Bring no guards, no assassins, your army will stand by.”

The bridge itself suddenly rippled with green light. Jace felt the surge of power pass through his being, like being hit by immense wave. The leyline leading through the Guildgate had illuminated the brickwork, the power of Ravnica itself summoned forth by the Guildpact’s command. There were numerous cries as a glowing barrier, towering over even the largest beast, formed at the foot of the bridge. Pure mana stopped the army’s advance, walking into it would clearly be suicide.

“You have some nerve Beleren!”

A wide arch formed in the barrier, allowing the irate Guildmaster to come through. It snapped closed immediately behind her, but Jace was too transfixed at what she was wearing to care. The last time they’d met she’d been in full pirate ensemble. She’d looked utterly magnificent then, but now! What was that? Had she come to war in a ballgown? Still invisible, Jace couldn’t help but gasp and stare. It was a ballgown, resplendent with more mushrooms than Jace could possibly name, and many layers of silk that drifted ethereally about her in the wind. The dress was sleeveless, leaving her wide array of scars on display for all to see. She looked tall, proud, regal… and gorgeous beyond belief. He had to take a moment to compose himself before sending out an illusion to address her.

“No offense was meant Guildmaster,” said the illusion, “The need is dire but I am merely here to parley.”

She scowled at him, her eyes already alight with magic. In one swift movement, she pulled a knife from in her skirts and thrust it at the illusion. The blade passed straight through the fake-Jace’s head and clattered onto the pavement. The illusion flickered once and died before another swiftly took its place.

“If you truly wish to parley,” she spat, clearly wondering where he had acquired the term, “Then you will come out here in your own skin.”

It pained him to see her so filled with hatred. This was the Vraska ruled by revenge rather than compassion. He desperately wanted the new Vraska, the Vraska who shown him mercy and not rage. The Vraska who stood proudly at the bow and sung sea-shanties at the top of her lungs, loving life and more importantly, loving herself. However, if he approached her now, he very clearly risked petrification, or a knife to the head.

“I would have your word that I’m not going to be stone the moment I appear,” he informed her.

She let out another angry hiss, her hair unfurling to its fullest extent.

“State your purposes and perhaps I will.”

Here went nothing.

“I am here to return something you lost,” his illusion replied, “You left them behind on Ixalan. I merely wish to give them back.”

His mention of Ixalan had clearly caught her off guard. She pulled another knife out of goodness-knows-where, but did not throw it. As far as she knew, he had never been to Ixalan. He should not know the term ‘parley’ in relation to a pirate’s meeting. He shouldn’t even know she had been a pirate. Her memories showed her a glorious solo victory. An image of herself turning her adversaries to gold. Jace had never been part of that and, as predicted, this was enough to pique her curiosity.

“You have my word. Now come forth and explain yourself.”

Jace stepped out from behind the nearest building. He could just about see the Golgari troops, waiting indignantly behind his barrier. Vraska stood before them, a vision in autumnal hues, gleaming dagger in one hand, a golden glow in her eyes.

Jace dispelled his illusion with a casual wave, walking to the edge of the bridge, keeping his gaze trained on the furious Guildmaster at all times. His eye contact showed he wasn’t afraid of her. The Golgari grew quieter with his every step, as if shocked that he would dare approach their Queen so brazenly.

“Explain yourself Beleren,” she demanded.

“Of course, Captain.”

It was like watching an epiphany in slow motion. First, her eyes widened, their golden glow fading to a dull yellow. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as she slowly sank to the ground in a ripple of silks and skirts. Her taloned fingers rose, hands clasping over her lips in dawning realisation. Gaze burning blue, memories flooded her consciousness, each raw with emotion, as tender as the last. She drew a rasping breath, as if surfacing from deep water. Her hands falling to the ground to steady herself. As her senses returned, she looked up. Golden eyes swimming with tears, she stared at Jace – not with the rage of only moments ago, but with abject horror.

He offered her his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it and somewhat clumsily got to her feet.

“Jace,” her voice was softer but not devoid of anger. He had the distinct feeling this was not directed at him, but inwards

He didn’t need to be in her thoughts to know how she felt. One look spoke louder than words. What have I done?

“I’m sorry Captain,” he said, “For not being here sooner. You needed me and I was absent. I will apologise a thousand times over when we have time, but now, we are at war.”

Vraska blinked, confused perhaps by the fact that he was the one apologising. She straightened up a little and nodded.

“We are at war,” she agreed, “I need to make up for what I’ve done.”

She still sounded a little breathless.

“Can you project my voice?”

Jace nodded as she took a shaky step back towards her army. Then another more confident stride, then another. Jace took a step back, and slowly lowered the barrier.

“Golgari!” Vraska exclaimed, her voice booming out over Deadbridge, “Though it pains to say this, the Living Guildpact is right. We have been deceived!”

There was instant uproar from the assembled masses. Cries, shouts, a few bellowing roars but Vraska instantly called for silence.

“There will be no Kingdom of Rot! No land for the Golgari left to claim if the dragon has his way with our world! Today we fight to show Ravnica what glory grows forth from the Undercity! Not through destruction, but to bring the world into our debt! Today we turn the tides. Today we fight for Ravnica!”

Jace watched on as Vraska shouted orders at her troops. He stepped to one side as phalanx after phalanx of elf, kraul and zombie departed Deadbridge with a new resolve burning in their eyes. They marched in rank and file, through the streets, their numbers swollen by the soldiers once rampaging through people’s homes.

“If I find that any more citizens have been harmed!” Vraska called, “I will petrify every person responsible, starting with the highest chain of command! Spread the news throughout the city! The Golgari will be Ravnica’s saviour, not its doom!”

Soon only a small contingent of liches were left on Deadbridge. They seemed to be standing guard over the Undercity entrance, standing tall on their beetle mounts. Vraska turned to Jace, joining him at the foot of the bridge and gesturing for him to cut his enhancement of her voice. Once she was out of earshot of her gentry, she seemed to shrink a little, exhaustion evident in her posture.

“Jace, I-“ She shook her head. Her hair fell limp about her face as she looked at him, seemingly struggling for words.

“It’s not your fault,” he assured her, “The fault lies with Bolas, for deceiving you. And with me, for not being there in time.”

“No,” she replied, “No, I fell straight into his trap. He saw my weakness and abused it. Killing Isperia, it fell directly into his plans. And now, look what happened because I was weak.”

She gestured at the piles of bodies that littered the edge of Deadbridge. Those were undeniable, but still, not her fault.

“Someone once told me,” Jace stated, “That you aren’t weak because you were taken advantage of. The cruelty of what they made you do reflects on them, not you.”

She gave a funny little hiccup at the sound of her own words being repeated back to her. She smiled, but the guilt was plain in her eyes.

“Beleren!” the static was back and so was the Izzet Guildmaster.

“Yes,” Jace replied, “What is happening?”

“The Golgari have changed sides!” Ral exclaimed, “How the hell did you do it?”

Jace glanced at Vraska and made a silent motion, tapping the side of his head with one finger. She nodded and he linked her telepathically into the conversation.

“I spoke with their Guildmaster. Her mind was under the control of Bolas, I managed to find the root of his corruption and set her free.”

Vraska stared at Jace with wide eyes at his blatant deception.

“She was being controlled?!” Ral replied, “So this army, Isperia…”

“Bolas’ doing,” Jace lied, “To put his minion in control of the Azorius and trap us from both sides. However, the Golgari have returned to us. Their armies are taking on the Eternals as we speak.”

“Guildmaster Zarek,” Vraska’s thoughts felt cool, like shadows upon cold stone, “I know that no words will make up for my actions under the dragon’s influence.”

“You’re right there,” growled Ral.

“However,” Vraska continued, “In the Golgari deeds speak larger than words. So, let me show you how committed my guild is to ending this tyrant’s reign.”

Vraska turned towards her assembled lich lords. Though the barrier was gone, they had remained respectfully at the foot of the bridge.

“Lords and Ladies of Korozda!” Vraska called out to the assembled liches, broadcasting her words telepathically as well as audibly, “Contact your brethren! Now is the time to prove your loyalty to our Great City! Those undead who tower over us are weapons of the enemy. Bring them to heel! Now!”

Jace wasn’t sure quite what to expect. He could feel the necrotic energy in the air like water vapor. Humid with power, the air itself took on a green tint, distorting the world around them in a way that made his head spin. Vraska stood strong, pointing at the rampaging Kefnet, who was now batting off attacking Golgari undead.

“NOW!” she screamed.

There was a release. Like a bubble of pure energy being burst. Jace found his vision clearing, able to breathe easy once more as a great fountain of energy soared into the sky. More beams, like green beacons, shot off distant rooftops, Dozens of green rays struck the heavens, before turning, focussing. Golgari from all over the city, necromancers all, funnelled their power, directing it at the God-Eternals.

Jace watched in open-mouthed shock as Kefnet stopped in his tracks. Fungi, bright green and luminescent, was growing about the ex-god’s limbs at a speed unlike any Jace had seen before. Enormous orange shelf-mushrooms bloomed through his eye-holes, as roping vines wrapped about his beak. Blue lazotep was swiftly and utterly coated in a thick rainbow of fungi, glowing, undulating, writhing as they consumed the bird-god whole. There was a moment in which Jace stood, breath held, before Kefnet rose above the rooftops like a phoenix emerging from the ashes. His shape was recognisable but his form was entirely fungal, no trace of gleaming metal remained. The Undercity had consumed him. The Golgari had taken control.

“Strike down the invaders!” Vraska cried, “Take their mockery of our ways and grind them to dust! We are the Golgari and Ravnica is ours!”

There was an almighty cheer. Jace hastily stepped away from the bridge as the liches split into two parties. Those riding great spiders and beetles came charging onto the city streets, ready to join in the fray.

“Did they just-“ came Ral’s shocked thoughts in both their heads, “Did you just take all the-“

“Take command of those monstrosities?” Vraska replied, “Do not fight the Golgari with undeath as your only weapon. We will master you.”

She spoke with such power and conviction, Jace was feeling a little weak at the knees. His Captain was back and she was glorious.

“We’re still telepathically linked you know,” she thought at him. He went rather pink

“Well…you have certainly proved yourself,” Ral sounded immensely relieved, “I’ve powered down the Beacon, but we need to discuss what to do about the dragon. Meet me. Nivix. Now.”

He shut off his mental connection as if his words were final. The buzz of static faded from Jace’s ears and he turned back to Vraska, meeting her gaze once more.

“You lied to him,” she said, though she lacked any sort of accusation in her tone. On the contrary, she seemed a little impressed.

Jace shrugged.

“A little. I don’t think I regret it though.”

“That’s not very Guildpact-ly behaviour,” she teased. Her smile was contagious and he found himself blushing a little as he grinned back.

“I know, must have spent too much time around those good-for-nothing pirates,” he replied, before growing a little more serious.

“If I hadn’t lied, well, perhaps I was being selfish. But I know you.” He met her gaze, willing her to believe in his complete sincerity.

“As the Guildpact, I would much rather have you ruling the Golgari. As a friend, I know how wonderful a leader you can be. I believe the Golgari, and the whole of Ravnica, can only benefit from that.”

There was a crash in the distance as fungal-Kefnet flew through the air, colliding with a mass of winged eternals. Jace momentarily glanced skywards, but then focussed his attention back on her.

“I won’t be the one to take away your chance to reinvent who you are. You are who you decide to be. I believe, now you’re wholly yourself again, you can show Ravnica that you’re as amazing as I see you.”

Now it was her turn to blush, the green glow of her cheeks partially obscured by her hair, curling about her face in an endearing display of bashfulness. She took a step closer, and reached forward. Jace waited patiently, knowing how much of a trial this was for her, to reach out and voluntarily make physical contact with another person. Yet she did, long fingers gently brushing against his cheek. She drew closer still, cupping the side of his face with a smile that warmed the golden hue of her gaze.

“You’re still you,” she murmured, “You’re still the remarkable man I left on Ixalan. I missed you, somehow. There was always something gone, something missing. Now I know what that was.”

She traced over his tattoos with one calloused finger. Jace’s heart was beating far too fast. The fact she was touching him was exhilarating, but the fact she was comfortable enough to do so was a thrill in itself.

“I have a lot to make up for,” he replied, “To Ravnica, to you, I-“

She cut him off with a kiss. So light and gentle, but it stole his breath away.

“We’ll have time for regrets after we defeat Bolas,” she whispered, still so close, “You’re right, we are at war.”

Jace wondered if she felt like he did – like he’d swallowed an entire apple and it had lodged itself in his throat. Ever so gently, he kissed her in return. Her hair curled in delight.

“We’ll have time for plenty of things once we’re safe,” he replied, before realising how that might be interpreted

“I meant, you know for talking, planning, catching up, though I-I suppose there’s time for more kissing too. I didn’t mean it that way. But if you want there to be more kissing, or other things, I would be more than-“

She laughed, cutting off his nervous babbling with a simple:

“I would like that.”

“Talking? Or-or more kissing, I didn’t-“ Jace’s mind had spiralled off into what-ifs and maybes.

“You know what I mean.” Her enigmatic smile sent shivers down his spine, silencing him instantly. Gods, why did she have to be so beautiful?

One hand disappeared into the skirts of her dress and, to his immense surprise, she pulled out a sword. Was that why she was wearing so many layers? Were her skirts just packed with blades?

“Come, we’re meeting Zarek at Nivix are we not?”

Jace was thrust back into the here and now. Yes, there would be time for talking, (and maybe kissing), later. Now they had to fight a dragon.

“Yes Captain!”

There was a ripple of mana as he cast an illusion over them both. They exchanged one last look before starting the long trek back down the Transguild Promenade. They had a meeting to attend, a plan to make, and a multiverse to save. Even after this little triumph, the turning of the Golgari, the controlling of the God-Eternals, they would surely have their work cut out for them. They would need every last Guildmaster and planeswalker on their side, but maybe, if they fought long and hard enough, the day would be theirs. Jace couldn’t help but silently beg the spark-strewn sky for victory. Give them this. Give them their home. Years of pain and suffering had brought them both, here, at this moment. Please, let the day be theirs. Let them enjoy their new lives, their new selves, together.

#mtg #mtg fanfic #jace #jace beleren #vraska #war of the spark

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elfnerdherder · 7 years

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Magnum Opus: Chapter 13

You can reach Chapter 13 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 13:

He was first taken to the FBI to have DNA samples taken, as well as fingerprints and blood. He recognized the agents as the two that’d worked with Jack Crawford in Georgia, and they told light, familiar jokes to one another as they worked, leaving Will to his thoughts. At some point he managed to get pain killers, and he dry swallowed them as they worked. Every time he blinked, a gun fired and left his ears ringing from the sound. They picked dirt and blood out from underneath his fingernails before they let him go, a spare FBI hoodie and a pair of sneakers tossed his way as he went. At least he didn’t have to be barefoot anymore.

He sat through the questions, repeating himself over and over until he was able to sign a few papers and leave. Although he wasn’t being interrogated, he stared at the large, imposing loop bolted into the table for those that would be handcuffed. If he hadn’t murdered Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Hobbs would have been handcuffed there. Jack Crawford stared at him from the other side of the table, and he let out a low, aggrieved sigh.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone had it out for you,” he said, tossing down the papers for Will to sign. Will gritted his teeth and accepted the pen, scribbling his name on the line and dating it. Knowing better than Jack Crawford, he agreed.

Hannibal waited for him outside where the sun was steadily rising in the early morning sky. The time was 6:49 A.M., and he dozed in Hannibal’s car as he drove, wondering where in the world Bill Graham could be. He hadn’t been home, according to Hannibal and Jack. Had he stayed out at the bars? Had he crashed in his car, wisely knowing he was too drunk to drive? Had he found a friend? Had he found a girlfriend? He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the car had stopped. They’d reached Hannibal’s house.

“I have a guest room that I think will be adequate,” Hannibal said lightly, opening the car door. Will looked to the house attached to Hannibal’s, and he all but stumbled from the car.

“Who lives there?” he asked. Hannibal glanced to his neighbor’s house and smiled.

“A wonderful elderly woman that makes gingerbread cookies during Christmas that defy description,” said Hannibal, walking with Will to his front door. He opened it to the smell of the remnants of rich, delicious food, and a faint musk of cologne. Before all of this happened, Hannibal must have had dinner guests over. Will walked in and tightened the ties to his hoodie, glancing down to the slightly too small sneakers.

“You don’t have to let me stay here,” Will said, following him into the living room. Hannibal turned lamps on, setting his coat on a coat rack.

“Nonsense,” he said, heading up the spiral staircase. “I can’t in good conscious allow you to go home alone after such a traumatic event. My job is to help you, Will Graham, and I intend to do just that.”

He was shown a bedroom with sage green walls and thick, feather down blankets, as well as a bathroom adjoining that held a shower as well as a bath. Hannibal fetched him a spare set of clothes, as well as a towel before he hovered in the bedroom, watching Will remove his sneakers.

“I’m directly down the hall and to the right if you need me,” he said, and his calm, serene exterior shifted to reveal a hint of concern. “Don’t fear your nightmares. They are normal, and merely reveal to you what you already know that you struggle with.”

“Thanks, Hannibal,” Will said sincerely. His hands shook, and he fumbled with the laces before he finally just kicked the shoes off savagely. “I’ll try not to make too much of a mess.”

“This house could use it,” Hannibal said with a smile, and he left him to his own devices, closing the door behind him.

Will showered first in order to wash the blood off of his skin. He watched the tracks of pinkish water swirl about his feet, unsure as to which part was Abigail and which part was her father. Where did one end and the other begin? It was indiscernible; all blood looked the same. He blinked, and it was a gunshot. Hobbs looked as surprised as Will did, and as he dried off with a towel, he wondered where Hobbs ended and he began. Although he was only the fisherman, he’d become the hunter for the faintest of moments, and those moments clung to his skin.

He slept fitfully, revisiting the same scene over and over again. He stood before Jacob Hobbs, gun raised, pulse elevated. Hobbs held his daughter, mouth pressed to her ear as he whispered, hissed words of poison, knife to her throat. Behind him, right before Will could pull the trigger, a large, terrifying beast walked up the dirt path, standing taller than Hobbs could hope to be. The stag stared at Will, knew him, and he turned, walking around them in a slow, deliberate circle. On his haunches, feathers grew with the thickness and color of raven’s wings, and when his breath caressed Will’s neck, he closed his eyes.

He woke around eleven, eyes bleary as they stared up at the off white ceiling. Along the edges, sage green filigree curled and danced around itself, and as he dressed he wondered if Hannibal had found such a place by accident, or if he’d designed it to be so ostentatious. Outside of his room, he followed the smell of cooking food, and found Hannibal in the kitchen, making eggs.

“Good morning, Will,” he said, looking up from the skillet. He tossed an egg and caught it on the side of his spatula, cracking it over the skillet without the shell falling in. Will blinked, rubbing sleep from his eyes to see if he saw correctly.

“Good morning,” he mumbled.

“How did you sleep?” Hannibal asked, adding a pinch of spice to the food. It sizzled and popped in the pan, making the room smell divine.

“Off and on…do you always cook like this?”

“As I said before, cooking is its own form of therapy for me. That, and in my travels I’ve come across enough recipes that I couldn’t allow to go to waste.” While the eggs cooked, he moved to the side and delicately sliced tomatoes, his wrist gentle on the blade. Rather than cut them entirely, though, Will watched with fascination as he twisted and turned the tomato, slicing in arcs that turned the fruit into a flower, a rose in full bloom that he garnished with cheese and set on a plate.

“I’ve never seen food like this before,” Will said with a laugh. "Thank you for sharing."

“I always enjoy having a friend for breakfast,” Hannibal said, glancing up at him.

“Can I help at all?” Will glanced to the food as the sausage let out a scream from the heat. He blinked, and Abigail screamed in terror.

“You can sit down and relax, Will. I don’t think you do that enough.”

Will found a bar stool and sat down, sliding his palms along the too big pajama pants Hannibal had lent him. He watched the display of art before him as Hannibal chopped and diced, pausing between moments in order to brew coffee from something that looked like it belonged at a lavish barista counter. When it was ready, he set everything on a tray and led Will to a dining room with a full length table, everything just as gorgeous and rich as the rest of the house. He studied the cobalt blue walls and deep, ebony furniture, and he laughed a little as he sat down.

“What’s so funny?” Hannibal asked, setting the plate before him.

“Your house is just…it’s beautiful. How did you find it?” Hannibal smiled, setting his plate down, as well as a carafe of orange juice that Will witnessed him fresh press.

“It was a lucky find, if I’m being honest. They allowed for painting and decoration, so I took advantage of it and decided to make this house a home. I may be in college still, but why must one suffer a lack of art and culture while they’re getting an education?”

“I think most people can’t afford to not suffer a lack of art and culture while they’re getting an education,” Will said dryly.

“Then I feel a duty as well, to hold such things in my home so that when they visit, they may be able to enjoy here what they couldn’t anywhere else nearby.” He poured Will a cup of orange juice and smiled, gesturing to the food. “It’s nothing fancy, but a protein-packed meal was the order of the day, I felt. Sausage, egg, braised tomato, and peppers.” Will took a bite of it, studying the display on his plate.

“What sort of sausage is it?” he asked after he swallowed. “I don’t think I’ve had it before.”

“A certain breed of pig I found at an Italian butcher’s gives off a spicy, aromatic flavor. I couldn’t resist treating myself to it,” Hannibal said. Will nodded and spooned up another bite, smiling wryly.

“I almost feel guilty for eating something you worked so hard to present to me. It’s an art form in itself,” he said, gesturing towards his plate.

“That is why it must be consumed. I feel that art in all forms must be consumed in order to be fully appreciated. That is why we gaze so long at paintings, and why we wish to covet a beautiful person. Art is not meant to merely be glanced at and moved by. It has the power to move us, and in being moved, we owe it to find a way to take it in all of its entirety.”

“You make this art easy to be consumed,” Will said, taking another bite.

“I appreciate that, Will.” Hannibal smiled, a sly turn of his lips.

After breakfast, Hannibal took him home. Will considered calling the school, but he figured that they’d find out soon enough when news was brought to them about Abigail Hobbs. His father’s truck wasn’t in the driveway, and he uneasily hesitated at the door, shifting his stance.

“Do you think he’s alright?” he asked.

“Do you have the number to his workplace?” Hannibal asked in return. Will nodded and walked into the house, eyeing the bed that’d sat untouched in the front room for the night. Hannibal followed him in, and if he thought anything poor of Will’s way of living, he didn’t say it. Will avoided watching him look about, and he found the telephone, scrolling through the list of numbers before he found the right one and hit the talk button.

“Yeah?!” A loud, brash voice answered. The sound of machines whirring and saws hacking drowned out his tone and made him unrecognizable. Will jerked the phone away from his ear and grimaced.

“Is Bill Graham working today?” Will asked.

“What?!”

“Is Bill Graham working today?” Will said, much louder. There was a pause, then the sound of shouting before some of the machines died down, making his ears ring.

“This is Bill,” his father said. From the background, Will heard,

“Sounds like someone you owe money to!”

“Hey, dad,” Will said, aware of Hannibal crossing behind him in order to sit in the kitchen. “I just called to…did you come home last night?”

“No, I slept at Trent’s since I knew you’d be sore if I drove,” he said, and laughter filtered in from the background. “Why? Everything okay on the home front?”

Will started to say no; he started to give his rehearsed speech that’d crowded his mind on the drive over. He started to say, ‘Because you weren’t home, a man came into the house and kidnapped me, and you weren’t there to stop him. I almost died and you weren’t there to stop him and help your own son, you fucking gambler, you fucking poor excuse of a father.’

He shook his head. It’d change nothing. Bill Graham in Wolf Trap, Virginia was a gambler, not a father. Will’s situation had stressed him to the point that he had to begin anew, and that rebirth didn’t include paternal instincts. He’d have to try again the next time they moved, when his mistakes were once again too much for his father to handle.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to check up on you. Sentimental things, I guess.”

“Thanks, son; I appreciate that,” Bill said.

Will hung up and looked over at Hannibal morosely. Hannibal gave nothing of his opinion away. If he judged Will for lying, he gave no voice to it. He merely watched, and somehow the passive acceptance was even worse. Will went and quickly changed into his regular clothes, ignoring the signs of a fight in his room, and he returned, sliding his jacket on.

“I’d like to go and see Abigail,” Will said.

They drove together to save gas, and Will leaned back against the seat, brooding. Hannibal’s car was not only a full leather interior, but the seats had warmers, and there was a computer display right above the temperature gauges. He’d have made a comment about how expensive it must have been, but at this point Will was of the mind that Hannibal could afford almost anything that he set his mind to.

“Do you often keep the burdens of the father and the son on your shoulders?” Hannibal asked in the quiet. Will opened his eyes and squinted out to the sunlight.

“He’s busy,” he said.

“He’s absent,” Hannibal corrected. “If he’d been in your home, he could have prevented certain events from unfolding.”

“Do you want me to be angry with him?” Will asked incredulously.

“No, I suppose I feel enough of that for the both of us. You have enough to worry about.”

“You’re angry with him?” Will raised his eyebrows, surprised.

“We’ve only been working on your mental state for a about a month now, but I do see you as more than a case study for my thesis. I’m beginning to see you as a friend.”

“But you’re my therapist,” Will objected.

“As I’m not a psychiatrist, I can’t be your therapist,” Hannibal disagreed.

“Then what do you call the meetings every day in your study?” Will asked.

“Conversations,” Hannibal said after a moment of thought. “We have in-depth conversations.”

“And that makes us friends?” Will asked. Hannibal laughed, delighted.

“Normally, after so many conversations, that tends to happen. If we need to, we can stop. God forbid we speak too much and become friendly with one another.” Will wanted to fight against his sarcasm, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Hannibal smiling, and he couldn’t help but smile, too.

There was an FBI agent in Abigail’s room, but he nodded and stepped out after Hannibal spoke with him. Will hovered in the doorway, looking about the pristine and chemically cleaned room with trepidation. He blinked, and he sat in a pool of Abigail’s blood, desperately holding onto her life. He blinked again, and he stood behind her, slitting her throat. He shook his head and walked in, clearing his throat to try and banish the thoughts in his mind that it should be him in the ground, not Garrett Jacob Hobbs.

She’d been cleaned up since the night before, no indication of severe wounds apart from bruising near her temple. A thick bandage hid her neck from scrutiny, and a feeding tube rested in her mouth. She looked peaceful, a natural sleep rather than a near-death-induced one. Will reached out and gently touched the top of her cheekbone, brushing a stray eyelash away. His heart was in his throat, clamoring to escape, and he had to turn and sit down on the couch, legs giving way.

I didn’t honor her. I didn’t honor her, and now she lays here, straddling the line between life and death, between a half-life and a sacrifice. The other girls were stand-ins, a poor man’s daughter, and they couldn’t sustain, they couldn’t carry me through the darkness so that I could find her again. I am remiss, and all that remains is to place my hands around her neck and end her agony. If I can end hers, I can end mine, and all will be well. Everything’s going to be okay.

“Will?” Will looked up from his hands, and he scooted to the side so that Hannibal could sit beside him. He self-consciously rubbed his palms into his jeans to remove any trace of her, and he stared at her still form, shuddering.

“How are you feeling?” Hannibal asked.

“Guilty,” Will whispered.

“Why?” He crossed one leg over the other and tilted his head, gaze intent on the girl in the hospital bed. “What’s crawled into your head to make you feel that way?”

“I feel like I’m the one that put her there,” he replied, and he looked down to his hands.

“You did put her there. If you hadn’t put her there, Will, she’d be somewhere far worse.” Will nodded, but the words didn’t connect, didn’t piece together the way that they should have.

“Where’s her mom?” he asked when he could find his voice.

“Her mother was found dead in their home when the FBI raided it. It appears that she’d been dead for several hours, the first kill of the night before Garrett Jacob Hobbs came for you.”

“And now she has no one…” Will murmured, and he buried his head in his hands. “I took them away from her.”

“She has you,” Hannibal said, tilting his head slightly as he observed her. “She also has me.”

“You?”

“You feel beholden to her, don’t you?” At Will’s curt nod, Hannibal nodded. “As do I.”

“Why?”

“You were there when it happened. You were both her father and her friend, her killer and her rescuer. When I answered the phone and heard your voice, I heard the voice of Garrett Jacob Hobbs as well, and I stayed on the line. I stayed on the line until you hung up the phone right in front of me.” At Will’s shocked expression, Hannibal’s lips flattened to a pained line.

“You were there?” he asked.

“I heard your panic, your fear as she presumably held a knife to you. I heard her run from him, and I heard you realize she was in just as much danger as you were. I heard your footsteps, and I heard the gunfire.” Hannibal looked down to his hands as Will had, as though he were the one to squeeze the trigger. “I heard you weep as you held her, struggling for breath that couldn’t come. I imagined you trembling as I sat in the back of the car, and I felt as though I were the one to hold her for you so that you could cry. Each second that passed as you fought to keep her alive, I was there.”

“You heard everything?” Will pressed.

“I heard every word,” Hannibal murmured. “I have never felt quite so helpless as that moment, hearing your struggle without a way to help. I was just as afraid as you were, that each new second would bring the end of Abigail Hobbs.”

They both looked at her on the hospital bed, various machines and electronics doing their best to keep her alive. Will blinked, and he wondered what would have happened if he had tried to help Miss Avery the way he’d tried to help Abigail. Would Jared Freeman have killed him, along with Miss Avery? Could he maybe have prevented what happened as Jared forced her final moment to be one of terror? Or had he fallen into Jared’s mind so far that if he’d been able to stand, he’d have taken the gun and done it for him? As he looked at Abigail, his hands held tremors as he wondered if he’d have killed her himself if the FBI hadn’t gotten there in time.

“Thank you for being there for me,” he said quietly.

“May I ask a personal question, Will?” Hannibal asked. Will nodded, a short jerk of his head.

“When you stepped into the place of Garrett Jacob Hobbs, how did it feel?” Will tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling, teeth dragging over his chapped lips.

“Hungry,” Will replied. Then, “Powerful.”

“And when you shot him, were you repulsed by yourself?” Will closed his eyes, and he clenched his hands tightly in his lap. He knew the right answer to give; killing doesn’t feel good. Murder doesn’t feel good. No matter the cause or reason, there was no joy in the taking of a life. He inhaled deeply, swallowed the chemical-ridden air, and he sighed.

“Powerful,” he said. Then, “Good.”

“Knowing that, how do you feel now?” Hannibal asked. Will opened his eyes and rubbed them, knocking his glasses askew.

“I feel like there’s a reason I should be in therapy,” Will said heavily. “Meaning I should probably continue to see you.”

“Doing bad things to bad people feels good,” Hannibal said, and Will looked over to him sharply. “Don’t you think?”

“Have you ever done something bad to someone bad?” Will asked suspiciously.

“No,” Hannibal said, “but I can imagine.” He looked over to Abigail and smiled serenely. Will didn’t have to question whether or not he was imagining what he’d have done if Garrett Jacob Hobbs had stood before him rather than Will.

“She’s going to hate me,” Will said after the silence felt too heavy.

“She’s going to be grateful to you, but you did take her father from her. You told Agent Crawford that he was eating other girls. Did they look like her?”

“I only saw the photo of one on Tattlecrime, but she looked very similar. Just, you know, dead.” Will laughed humorlessly.

“I’ve only heard small pieces because of Dr. Du Maurier’s work, but the girls fit the description of Abigail very closely,” Hannibal said.

“So he killed them so that he didn’t have to kill her. When she couldn’t become him, though, he had to finally take care of her, too?” Will shook his head, disgust curdling his gut. “To what end?”

“That is the question, isn’t it? I’m sure that even if Abigail knew, she certainly wouldn’t say,” Hannibal said. “Why did you say that he returned the other girl?”

“There was something wrong with her,” Will said, tasting copper. He’d bit the inside of his cheek.

“So he couldn’t honor her?” Hannibal clarified.

“He was eating them…so there must have been something wrong with her. Maybe she was sick, maybe she was…imperfect.” Will shrugged, and he looked at Hannibal. “I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

Hannibal studied him and reached up, carefully adjusting Will’s glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Then we won’t talk about it anymore.”

#lias scribblese #magnum opus #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal #hannigram #slow burn #will graham x hannibal #someone help will graham #hannibal au

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shadow-wasser · 8 years

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WIP Fic Whenever: The Weakest, Of the Gods

WIP Fic Friday is a place where I will put a ‘quick and dirty’ first draft of either a short story or a chapter from a longer story. This will hopefully encourage me to improve my writing output. I missed last week... oops. This is from the “The Gods Have Horns” setting. Warning: Eye-related horror.

You always thought you were, kind of, the weakest of the gods. Not because Breath is like, a shitty aspect, but more because you never really went that high up the god tiers, and Pages are like, supposed to have further to go, than most.

You don’t mind that much, though. You don’t need lots of flashy powers to enjoy life.

You wander. You fly. You sometimes accidentally run into other gods, or hear them calling your name from afar. You rarely answer them. Generally speaking, other trolls have not been kind to you, and you much prefer the company of beasts. All of you turning into immortals with robes and wings and shiznasty powers has not changed that basic fact.

You don’t hang around the aliens much, either. You might stumble upon some accidentally, if they’re in that span of time between when they start talking, and when they start building cities. But you don’t stick around long. After locals spot you, they tend to say your name, for thousands of years afterward. It’s a little annoying.

So, you find worlds of animals. Worlds upon worlds where only animals walk, where nobody splits the air with speech. You’re not all that lonely. You tell yourself you’re happy.

(You can hear Eridan calling your name sometimes. You don’t ever say his.)

You are reclining under a tree in the moonlight on a vast savannah, listening to chirping night-critters, writing beat poetry, in your head, to their songs. Then you see the lights, moving above.

A spaceship.

You are not afraid, but you are cautious, and disappointed. You’d rather that a star-faring civilization not colonize this world. It’s always a pain, to have to find a new planet to live.

The starship, which is truly enormous, comes to ground, and you know, even before it lands, that it’s not a regular alien ship.

It’s purple, for one, and bedecked in banners and streamers and flags. Those sorts of decorations, you’re pretty sure, don’t usually survive on spaceships. They burn up, or something.

And you recognize the sigil, on the banners. The aspect of Rage.

You haven’t seen Gamzee in, well, probably eons, but you don’t really keep track of time anymore. He stopped calling your name, after only a few years, when you first split off from the rest.

You’re pretty sure, he doesn’t miss you, anymore.

You’re not sure, if you ever missed him.

Aliens are coming out of the spaceship now, opening up the sides. They are all sorts of different aliens, many you’ve never seen before.

The spaceship unfolds like an intricate paper sculpture, inflating into a tremendously giant tent. There’s a carpet rolling out along the ground, and out of the tent steps-

Whoa, he’s huge.

You shouldn’t be surprised. You all can basically look however you want, now, within trollish reason. Like, you can have working legs, when you want, which you usually do. Also, you can look more like an adult, if you want, but you usually don’t like to. You like the way you feel, when you look young.

But Gamzee must be, eight feet tall, at least, not counting the horns. He’s wearing a black and purple vest and a fancy coat, striped pants and heavy boots. You can’t see his face clearly from under your tree, but you’re certain he’s still wearing his subjugglator paint.

You should go greet him, right? Maybe you can convince him to leave this planet alone, for whatever it is he’s doing. But he’s all dressed up and you’re basically just wearing your godhood. You quickly try to make yourself presentable, dredging an old hat with a feather in it out of your sylladex, even though the green clashes. You wish you had some real pants.

You feel kind of silly, for being nervous. It’s just, Gamzee, right?

Gamzee is talking with one of the aliens, but he looks up as you approach. And yes, it’s still Gamzee, he still has that lazy, satisfied expression, though his purple eyes have a degree of intensity you don’t remember being there before.

“Tavros,” he says, his voice a low rumble that makes your horns vibrate. “And there I thought you’d up and died ages ago, brother. Miracle.”

“Uh,” you reply. “No, I’m alive. I’ve been alive, this whole time. I think.”

“None of us had our knowing on about that there thing what you said.”

You feel a little bad, now. You might have told them you were alive, at least. When you speak, your tone is a little defensive. “I’ve been, exploring. And, communing with the animals. It’s peaceful, out here. And no one, judges me.”

Gamzee’s painted brows crease, but then he smiles. “Brother, why don’t you come inside? See my ring?”

“Uh, sure?”

You follow him behind a curtain, and into his ship. Inside it’s purple, and shadowy, and it smells bitter and musky. You can see aliens of various shapes and sizes running around, through curtains and around mirrors. You can hear distant screaming, or maybe it’s laughing? Maybe it’s applause. The air is full of smoke. By the time Gamzee and you reach your destination, your eyes are watering.

It’s the very top of the tent, a wide balcony from which Gamzee can look over the rings being set up, and the savannah stretching to the horizon.

There’s an alien there, its face painted in black and white, and Gamzee waves a hand at it. “fuck off.”

It fucks off.

Gamzee settles himself in a chair that looks more like a throne, and you are amazed at how easily he fits there, fits here, now naturally he seems to take up divinity. Not a hint of uncertainty, not a pause of hesitation. Every inch a god.

You’re almost envious.

“Lots to do here, brother,” he says. “We meet in a time of miracle and wonder.”

“What are you here to do?” you ask.

“Spread the mirthful word, my brother. Ain’t been a whole planet devoted to the Carnival, not yet.” He smiles lazily, and maybe there are a few more teeth in the grin, this time. “High time for there to getting been done.”

“The whole planet?” You can’t keep the surprise from your voice. “Not just, like, one city?”

“Naw, brother, got to think bigger than that. Nothing but tents and rings and sideshows and freaks, far as your motherfucking ganderbulbs can see and then more.” Gamzee gets up from the throne and walks up to the edge of the balcony, resting his arms on the railing. Then, he turns.

“But enough all and about me, my invertebro! What is all up and happening with you?”

“Gamzee, I… That’s all, very nice, and all, but I’m not sure that’s all, a good idea? Turning the planet, into one big, um, circus?”

Gamzee frowns, and, for a moment, narrows his eyes at you. You take a step back.

Then, he’s smiling again. “Brother I know we ain’t got our squawk on in millions of sweeps and all, so you don’t got it in your pan that I got my motherfucking understand on what all this is about you dig?”

“W-what?”

“Rage, brother. You even know what Rage is all about?”

“Not, um. Really. I mean, I know it means, being angry, but it’s probably more than that, because Breath is about more than, you know, breathing.”

“What’s Breath about?”

You blink in surprise. “What?”

“I want you to get me all up in the schoolfeeding, Tavbro. What’s your motherfucking aspect all getting itself about?”

Breath… you know what it is. You know it in your core, like the sigil has been branded into your thinkpan, which is probably has, now that you think of it. Breath is freedom. Unfetteredness. The feeling of responsibilities being shed, of being light as air, of being held accountable for nothing.

You think you’ve done a pretty good job of being Breath.

“Freedom,” you say, eventually, uncertainly. “Breath is freedom?”

Gamzee laughs. You don’t see what is so funny.

“Aw, brother, I’m all about that too!”

“Huh?”

Gamzee leans forward, and his voice quiets. “Rage, brother. Rage is the hole what’s left when freedom’s gone. Rage is the thing in your thinkpan that makes you stop. Makes you hesitate. And I kill that. I MOTHERFUCKING KILL THAT!”

You jump at the change in volume, then feel immediately sheepish.

“Aw, Tavbro, don’t be all scared. It’s all good and miraculous that every single one of my motherfucking followers has all their Rage gone. Would be a better motherfucking world if everyone just said what’s on their motherfucking mind and did what they motherfucking wanted. Freedom. Brother, don’t you agree?”

You swallow. “Uh, I’m not sure I understand. I thought you were a, Bard? You don’t destroy, directly, right?”

He shakes his head. “Naw, brother. But it goes and shrivels and dies all on its own. Here, I’ll up and show you.”

He turns, and looks out at the savannah. The animals have never seen aliens before. They only look up curiously, don’t run, as Gamzee’s followers set up the circus.

He points. “See that motherfucker over there?” You go up and look. It��s one of Gamzee’s followers, a funny looking red alien with four arms. “He’s been wanting to try something but ain’t letting himself do it. And that ain’t no way to be thinking in my Carnival.”

Gamzee looks at you, and smiles, mouth friendly and eyes hard. “Don’t want none of that in my Carnival, brother.”

The red alien, who had been focused on erecting a large pole, turns to a brown furry alien next to him. And without hesitating a moment, he reaches up and rips out the furry alien’s eye.

And eats it.

You don’t watch the rest.

“I think that’s kind of sick.” you manage to say, eventually. “Did you, make him, do that?”

Gamzee actually looks confused. “It’s freedom, brother. It’s only what he wanted all and up to do, all in real life like.”

He must see the distress in your expression, because he then follows that up with: “We do the same thing, Tavbro.”

“No, I,” you don’t know what to say. He’s going to make your planet (you can’t help but think of it as yours), your whole planet, be like that? Without restraint or empathy or kindness? “I don’t think it’s the same thing at all.”

Gamzee frowns, then just as quickly smiles again. “Sure thing bro. We don’t gotta work together, though it’d all make me as happy as motherfuck if we up and did.”

He turns to look at the view again. “You can still up and stay if you wanna get your watch on, my brother. Or go on chilling with the birds and bees if that’s what speaks to you and all.”

“Gamzee,” you say, after a moment. “Can you, um. Use a different planet, maybe? I kind of, like this one?”

He looks at you, sidelong, and says nothing.

“Like, I like it, how it is? Not made into… a carnival…” You trail off.

“This is a good planet for a Carnival, bro. Not like you were up and using it.”

“Gamzee, don’t- I was kind of, living here-”

“IT’S NOT LIKE YOU WROTE YOUR MOTHERFUCKING NAME ON IT!”

Gamzee whirls, and his appearance is transformed. His fangs are bared, expression furious, and the scleras of his eyes look more orange than yellow.

“Tavbro, you ran, you can’t claim nothing. NOT MOTHERFUCKING NOTHING. Ain’t even acting a real god, just running around playing like you’re STILL A MOTHERFUCKING KID. This planet is MOTHERFUCKING MINE, brother. Can’t claim NOTHING. And I. Am going. TO DESTROY THIS MOTHERFUCKING PLANET. And there ain’t nothing you’re gonna do about it, are you?”

You sit down. Hard. You are sitting in a four-wheel device. You didn’t realize you still had one. You’re not sure if you can move your legs, actually. Or feel them.

“Didn’t motherfucking think so.”

Gamzee turns, to look back at the Carnival. And you…

You can feel it. The animals. Ripping into each other. Killing mates, killing young, predators going mad, fear-aggression spiking into suicidal terror…

He’s wiping out the whole planet.

Your planet.

By now, your communing abilities are highly developed. You’re more powerful than the Summoner, more powerful than any mortal troll could ever have been.

But when you reach out to get the animals to stop, you can’t. Divine power trumps psionics, you guess.

You have divine power. You are the Page of Breath. The Page to Breath. But if this is freedom… what does Breath want from you? You wish you were a Seer.

But you’re no Seer. Barely even a Page. You’re sitting there in your chair like a fool. The clown made a fool of you.

For a moment, you think you might hate him. Then you realize, no, you just want to be free of him. You just want-

And that’s when you get it. You really, actually get it.

“Gamzee,” you say slowly. “I think, there might be, two kinds of freedom.”

“What the motherfuck are you talking about?” he rumbles.

“Yeah, there is… there is freedom to. That’s your kind of freedom. But I think my kind of freedom is freedom from. Which is different. So that’s, I think, what I’m going to do.”

You Breathe.

And they are free.

All of them. The animals, the followers. Free of their burdens. They are free now, of Gamzee. They can do what they want to, really want to, and not just reflexively enact their most base impulses.

You can hear cheering, from below. Or maybe screaming. Maybe applause.

“What the fuck did you do!” roars Gamzee, turning on you.

You stand up. The chair is gone. You do not need to be afraid of him. You are free of your fear.

You spread your wings.

“I think, I’m doing, what I need to do,” you say. “Which is, to say, stop you.”

The wind whistles, and-

------

It is the first time, but not the last, you fight another god openly.

It is the first time, but not the last, you really felt divine.

------

Your planet, at least, died free.

#wip fic #fanfic extra #homestuck #fanfiction #my fic #gamzee #tavros #godstuck

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2017 EXPENSIVE CARS

THE 10 MOST EXPENSIVE CARS IN THE WORLD

2015 Lamborghini Aventador Roadster MSRP $441,600.00 440,000.00

$4.8 million – Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita

the top ten most expensive cars in world million koenigsegg ccxr trevitathe top ten most expensive cars in world million koenigsegg ccxr trevitathe top ten most expensive cars in world million koenigsegg ccxr trevita Koenigsegg makes its first appearance on our list with the CCXR Trevita, and it does so as the most expensive street-legal production car in the world. Why so much coin? With no exaggeration, the car is literally coated in diamonds … and diamonds aren’t cheap. For the Trevita, the Swedish manufacturer developed a new exterior finish called the Koenigsegg Proprietary Diamond Weave, which involves coating carbon fibers with a diamond dust-impregnated resin. We can’t even fathom how much the touch-up paint costs. Underneath the lustrous finish lies a 4.8-liter, dual-supercharged V8 with a total output of 1,004 horsepower and 797 pound-feet of torque, which means it should have little to no trouble overtaking semis on the freeway. The car’s specifications — in both performance and price — are nearly comical at this point, and just three were ever made. Find out more here. $4.5 million – Lamborghini Veneno

the top ten most expensive cars in world million lamborghini venenothe top ten most expensive cars in world million lamborghini venenothe top ten most expensive cars in world million lamborghini veneno Poison. That’s the name Lamborghini chose for the modified Aventador you see above — translated from Italian of course — built to celebrate the automaker’s 50th birthday. We can’t speak for the company’s motivations, but the name is fitting for a vehicle that looks so positively deadly, so undeniably venomous. The car is absolutely stunning from every angle, and to this day, we’re not convinced it isn’t an alien spacecraft surveying our planet for eventual takeover. It just doesn’t seem real. The only thing more remarkable than the look is the price — a whopping $4.5 million. The Veneno is fast, and that should come as no surprise. Its 6.5-liter V12 spins all the way up to 8,400 rpm to deliver 740hp and 507 lb-ft, surging the car to 60 mph in 2.9 seconds. Find out more here. $3.4 million – W Motors Lykan Hypersport

the top ten most expensive cars in world million w motors lykan hypersportthe top ten most expensive cars in world million w motors lykan hypersportthe top ten most expensive cars in world million w motors lykan hypersport Next Previous You may recall the Lykan Hypersport from its starring role in the blockbuster Furious 7, where the Lebanese supercar crashed through not one, not two, but three skyscrapers in Dubai. In a franchise filled with high-end exotics and one-off custom creations, the fact that the Hypersport got so much focus is a testament to its magnetism. Let’s start with the styling, which includes jewel-encrusted headlights, scissor doors, and an interior ripped straight from science fiction. It looks like a pissed off armored car from the future, and its performance is right on par with its image. The Hypersport boasts a 3.7-liter, twin-turbo flat-six that yields 770hp and 708 lb-ft. It’s not just Dominic Toretto who benefits from this level of performance, though, as the Abu Dhabi police force has drafted the Hypersport into patrol duty. Although it’s mainly used for marketing and public relations purposes, the high-flying stunner assures that the authorities can keep up with any baddie who tries to get cute on the freeway. Pedal to the floor, 0 to 62 mph is accomplished in just 2.8 seconds, and top speed is a downright scary 240 mph. Read more here. $3.4 million – Limited Edition Bugatti Veyron by Mansory Vivere

the top ten most expensive cars in world million limited edition bugatti veyron by mansory viverethe top ten most expensive cars in world million limited edition bugatti veyron by mansory viverethe top ten most expensive cars in world million limited edition bugatti veyron by mansory vivere Next Previous This list wouldn’t be complete without some version of the mighty Bugatti Veyron. We’re shining our spotlight on the the Mansory Vivere edition here, because not only is it one of the fastest cars in the world, it’s one of the most expensive. Augmented by German witch doctors Mansory, the 1,200hp Veyron starts out as a Grand Sport Vitesse Roadster, only to be adorned with a gorgeous carbon-fiber body, a new spoiler package, upgraded LED lights, a revamped cabin, and a redesigned front grill. Further classifying the Veyron as a work of art, maps of historic race events like the Targa Florio are laser etched into the exterior and interior. Oh, and it can do 254 mph. Find out more here. $3 million – Ferrari Pininfarina Sergio

the top ten most expensive cars in world ferrari pininfarina sergiothe top ten most expensive cars in world ferrari pininfarina sergiothe top ten most expensive cars in world ferrari pininfarina sergio With an asking price of $3 million, the Ferrari Sergio isn’t the most expensive car on our list. It is, however, one of the most highly-coveted vehicles in the world, as only six were ever made. Crafted by legendary Italian design house Pininfarina, the Sergio is essentially a Ferrari 458 Spider with a completely new body and interior. That means a 4.5-liter V8 sends a whopping 562hp to the rear wheels, but because the Sergio is lighter than the 458, it’s quicker and handles better. The new body doesn’t just save weight — it’s chock-full of interesting details like aerodynamic headrests that are built directly into the roll cage. With so few examples built, the Sergio’s purchase process wasn’t as simple as strolling up to a Ferrari dealership. No, each owner was chosen by automaker itself, making it one of the rare invite-only vehicles in automotive history. Find out more here. $2.6 million – Pagani Huayra BC

the top ten most expensive cars in world million pagani huayra bcthe top ten most expensive cars in world million pagani huayra bc pac go apertathe top ten most expensive cars in world million pagani huayra bc 1 of 23 With an AMG-sourced V12 and the fastest road-legal Top Gear lap ever, the Pagani Huayra is a beast through and through — it’s named after the Incan God of Winds, after all. That wasn’t quite enough for Pagani, however. At the 2016 Geneva Motor Show, Pagani debuted the Huayra BC, a lighter, hotter version that takes no prisoners. Right off the bat, you can tell the BC is playing a different game from the standard Huayra. It’s fitted with an enormous active rear spoiler that generates 1,102 pounds of downforce at 155 mph, as well as a wider rear track, new side skirts, and a bevy of sexy aero goodies. Despite the additions, the BC is a true featherweight, tipping the scales at a paltry 2,654 pounds thanks to the extensive use of carbon fiber and other lightweight materials. The whole deal will cost you a cool $2.6 million (or it would have, if all 20 units hadn’t sold already), but you clearly get a lot for your money. With 789 turbocharged ponies on tap, the BC may actually live up to its godly name. Read more here. $2.5 million – Ferrari F60 America

the top ten most expensive cars in world million ferrari f americathe top ten most expensive cars in world million ferrari f americathe top ten most expensive cars in world million ferrari f america To celebrate Ferrari’s 60-year tenure in North America, the Italian brand built 10 examples of this stunning bombshell. Based on the F12 Berlinetta, the F60 is undeniably patriotic as it wears a Stars and Stripes color scheme, American flag seat inserts, and classic racing livery all around. Better yet, you can experience the glory with the top down, as the F60 features a lightweight fabric top that can be operated at speeds up to 75 mph. The supercar is mechanically identical to the F12, but the Berlinetta isn’t exactly a Fiat Panda to begin with. Its 6.2-liter V12 churns out 740 glorious hp, enough to propel the car to 60 mph in only 3.1 seconds. The ultrarare flag-waver harks back to Ferrari’s bespoke past, as the company built several region-specific sports cars in the 1950s and 1960s. Find out more here. $2.5 million – Bugatti Chiron

the top ten most expensive cars in world million bugatti chironthe top ten most expensive cars in world million bugatti chironthe top ten most expensive cars in world million bugatti chiron Next Previous How do you follow up a classic? You make something even better. With a starting price of $2.5 million and a gorgeous new body, the divine Chiron outdoes its predecessor in every conceivable way. While the Bugatti Veyron redefined what an automobile could do, the Chiron laughs at those who said the Veyron was the last of its kind, pushing the boundaries of performance even further into the stratosphere. The supercar’s monstrous specs are made possible by its reworked quad-turbocharged 8.0-liter W16, which now produces 1,500hp and a monstrous 1,180 lb-ft. Sixty mph is dealt with in a rather quick 2.5 seconds on the way to the Chiron’s top speed, which is limited to 261 mph. It’s still not the fastest car in the world — that title belongs the Hennessey Venom GT — but cars like these aren’t just about speed; they’re about making statements. We think you’ll agree this Bugatti makes a very strong statement indeed. Read more here. $2 million – Koenigsegg One:1

the top ten most expensive cars in world million koenigsegg onethe top ten most expensive cars in world million koenigsegg onethe top ten most expensive cars in world million koenigsegg one Next Previous You can buy a lot with $2 million — a really nice house, about 80 Mazda MX-5’s, or the Swedish “megacar” shown above. A logical thinker could probably think of a better way to spend your life savings, but megacars don’t give a damn about logic. Because they’re mega. And after reading what the car is capable of, $2 million might actually be a steal. The limited-edition One:1 is based on the Agera R, and it earned its poetic moniker by employing a 1:1 kilogram-to-horsepower ratio. The figure on each side of the colon? 1,340. That’s right, this car has 1,340hp, and can theoretically top 273 mph because of it. Simply put, this is one of the fastest automobiles ever made, and with its F1-style honeycomb core, carbon-fiber intake manifold, and ventilated ceramic brakes, it’s one of the most advanced as well. Just six examples of the speedy Swede were built, and each one was sold quite quickly. Keep an eye out on Craigslist — you never know. Find out more here. $2 million – Koenigsegg Regera

the top ten most expensive cars in world million koenigsegg regerathe top ten most expensive cars in world million koenigsegg regerathe top ten most expensive cars in world million koenigsegg regera Next Previous When we think of hybrid hypercars, we generally fantasize about the “holy trinity” — aka, the McLaren P1, Porsche 918 Spyder, and Ferrari LaFerrari. Somehow, Koenigsegg always gets left out, despite the fact that the Swedish automaker makes a vehicle that outshines its electrified competition in many ways. Powered by a twin-turbo 5.0-liter V8 and a 4.5-kWh battery pack, the $2 million Regera produces an outstanding 1,500hp in total, a stat made all the more impressive when you consider the car’s low weight of 3,240 lbs. Zero to 60 in 2.8 seconds is impressive to be sure, but the Regera’s 0 to 186 mph sprint is even more mind-blowing — the feat is accomplished in only 10.9 seconds. By Koenigsegg’s internal estimates, the car will be able to reach its top speed of 248 mph in just 20 seconds or so, which is a triumph over physics as much as it is a bragging right. Why just an estimate? Apparently, the brand can’t find a road long enough. Read more here. Honorable Mentions

$8 million – Mercedes-Benz Maybach Exelero

the top ten most expensive cars in world maybach exelero imgthe top ten most expensive cars in world maybach exelero imgthe top ten most expensive cars in world maybach exelero img Next Previous By far the most expensive car on our list, the Exelero makes its appearance under Honorable Mentions due to its one-off status. The Maybach was also built way back in 2004, but that actually makes its sticker price more impressive. Adjusted for inflation, the Exelero would cost around $10.1 million in the U.S. today, which is close to the GDP of a small island nation. Money and Maybach are about as closely related as peanut butter and jelly, but the two-door further justifies its cost with a 700hp, twin-turbo V12 and luxurious amenities. $2.7 million – LaFerrari FXX K

the top ten most expensive cars in world car ferrari fxxkthe top ten most expensive cars in world car xx renderthe top ten most expensive cars in world car ferrari fxxk Next Previous The Ferrari LaFerrari is a vehicle held back by one thing — the law. Emissions standards and safety equipment add considerable bulk to a near-perfect machine, so for the track-only FXX K, the car bows only to physics. The “standard” car’s output of 950hp was boosted to a downright silly 1,035hp in FXX K guise, and its various body modifications have increased downforce by up to 50 percent. Even the tires are space age, as the slick Pirellis feature embedded sensors to keep tabs on longitudinal, lateral, and radial acceleration, as well as temperature and pressure. Until Ferrari invents some sort of road-going hyperdrive, this is about as good as a performance car gets. Find out more here. $2.2 million – Lamborghini Sesto Elemento

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The Sesto Elemento embraces minimalism like few other cars on the planet — its chassis, body, drive shaft, and suspension components are all crafted from carbon fiber, meaning this 570hp demon weighs less than a Honda Fit. As you might expect, the upshot is incredible. Zero to 60 mph comes in a motorbike-rivaling 2.5 seconds, and the car will sniff 200 mph if you have enough road. With that type of acceleration, you won’t notice the lack of infotainment, massaging seats, or hand-stitched upholstery, because this car is meant for one thing — speed. It does have air conditioning and a stereo, though. Why an honorable mention? Like the FXX K, the Elemento is confined to the track only. Read more here. $1.9 million – Lamborghini Centenario LP 770-4

the top ten most expensive cars in world lamborghini centenario x cthe top ten most expensive cars in world lamborghini centenario x cthe top ten most expensive cars in world lamborghini centenario x c

Ferruccio Lamborghini, the man who founded one of Italy’s most iconic car brands, would have turned 100 years old in 2016. To celebrate, Lamborghini created the Centenario, a $1.9 million magnum opus that is equally at home on the racetrack as it is on a bedroom wall poster. Longer, larger, yet lighter than the Aventador supercar, the carbon-fiber Centenario features an exterior that is both beautiful and functional. The aerodynamic bumper fins, hood vents, wheel blades, and powerful rear haunches are all sculpted to keep the limited-edition vehicle glued to the ground, and Lambo says the Centenario is twice as aerodynamically efficient as the Aventador. And then there’s the power. Simply put, the Centenario is equipped with the most extreme engine Lamborghini has ever built, as the 6.5-liter V12 pumps out a whopping 770hp at 8,600 rpm. Given its low weight of 3,351 pounds, the Raging Bull demolishes 60 mph in just 2.8 seconds, and it’ll scream its way to 220 mph given enough space. Read our interview with the head of Lamborghini’s research and development here. $1.4 million – Ferrari LaFerrari

the top ten most expensive cars in world million ferrari laferrarithe top ten most expensive cars in world million ferrari laferrarithe top ten most expensive cars in world million ferrari laferrari This 950hp hypercar is so prestigious that its name literally translates to “The Ferrari” in Italian. The automaker’s first mild hybrid, LaFerrari equips a 6.3-liter V12 alongside an electric motor and trick Kinetic Energy Recovery System, which results in a shade less than 1,000 ponies and 664 pavement-crushing torques. Few cars on the road are more striking, and even fewer accelerate faster. With a dry weight of less than 2,800 lbs, this dragon-like performance car accelerates from 0 to 60 mph in less than 3.0 seconds, and it’ll prance to 124 mph in under 7. Flat out, it’ll top 217 mph. The only thing quicker than the car itself is how briskly it sold, as all 499 units were snatched up faster than you can say “bank loan.” Find out more here. $1.4 million – Aston Martin One-77

the top ten most expensive cars in world million aston martin onethe top ten most expensive cars in world million aston martin onethe top ten most expensive cars in world million aston martin one Next Previous To be sure, 1.4 million is a popular number in the supercar world, because that’s what it took to get your hands on this limited-edition Aston. We say “took” because all 77 units have been spoken for, so if you were hoping to channel your inner Bond with this car, your luck has unfortunately run out. Arguably the most classically handsome car on this list, the One-77 is built around a carbon-fiber monocoque chassis, with a handcrafted aluminum body providing its sophisticated, aggressive look. Under the vented hood lurks a naturally aspirated V12 that displaces 7.3 liters, which is a lot. It produces 75 hp and 553 lb-ft, which is also a lot. Those numbers make the One-77 the fastest Aston Martin ever made, as this spy chaser will top 220 mph in the right conditions. From a stop, it’ll do 0 to 60 mph in 3.5 seconds. Read more here. $1.2 million – Zenvo ST1

the top ten most expensive cars in world million zenvo stthe top ten most expensive cars in world million zenvo stthe top ten most expensive cars in world million zenvo st Next Previous Assembled on Denmark’s island of Zealand, the Zenvo ST1 is less of a car and more of an uncaged animal. It creates an absolutely obscene amount of power by combining a 6.8-liter V8 with both a supercharger and a turbocharger. Just how much is obscene, exactly? How about 1,104hp and 1,054 lb-ft, all channeled to the car’s rear wheels.Unfortunately for the Danish outfit, the mostly hand-built ST1 has been surrounded with controversy since its debut. During Top Gear’s 21st season, the program tested the supercar around its famous track, only to be met with constant breakdowns, slower than expected lap times, and a good old-fashioned engine fire. Zenvo disputed Top Gear’s claims, stating the show only published the vehicle’s sluggish laps and that the fire was caused by hours of extreme driving. Nevertheless, the vehicle’s murderous looks and monstrous grunt are nothing to shake a stick at. We certainly wouldn’t kick it out of the garage. Find out more here. $1.15 million – McLaren P1

the top ten most expensive cars in world million mclaren pthe top ten most expensive cars in world million mclaren pthe top ten most expensive cars in world million mclaren p Next Previous McLaren has its roots in racing, originating as a dominant Formula One team before expanding into mass production. Those racing roots poke through in their cars, marvels of carbon and steel that showcase British engineering at its best. McLaren’s design philosophy is embodied in the P1, a lightweight speedster that can easily break speed limits and the bank. The first thing one might notice about the P1 is just how slight it is. The svelte body is designed to be aerodynamic, with the ornamental trappings of typical cars removed for the sake of speed. Titanium and carbon fiber are used throughout to keep the P1 lightweight, part of McLaren’s singular desire for performance. The P1 looks impressive, but how does it drive? Quite fast, it turns out. The P1 can go from 0 to 62 mph in 2.8 seconds. It has both a twin-turbo V8 engine and an electric motor, which can be used in conjunction with each other. Front and rear wings adjust automatically to changes in speed and downforce, reducing drag to keep the P1 gliding. A rocket on wheels, the McLaren P1 is a dream for anyone who wants to feel the power of a Formula One car in a street-legal package. It’s a shame that it’s completely sold out. $1.1 million – Rolls-Royce Phantom Serenity

It used to be that owning a particular make or model car was a sufficient display of wealth. Today, however, it seems like every YouTube rap sensation or Saudi Prince can afford a Maybach. Rare models just don’t seem rare any more. Enter the bespoke car. Luxury manufacturers have begun to emphasize customization, creating unique takes on high-end models that are as much pieces of art as they are automobiles. Case in point: The Rolls-Royce Phantom Serenity, a unique version of the well-known Phantom coupe with a tranquil pearl paint job and an interior that draws on Japanese artwork. While the outside of the car is the very portrait of austerity, the interior is a temple to opulence, with silk upholstery inspired by the textiles of imperial China. Blossoms drawn in classic Japanese style adorn the walls of the Serenity, emphasizing the zen aesthetic. The technical aspects of the Phantom are well-documented; it handles well and can go from 0 to 60 mph in under 6.0 seconds. What makes the Serenity unique is its singular aesthetic, a commitment to luxury that makes it seem more like a royal litter than a car. Rolls-Royce is banking on the Serenity as a harbinger of things to come in the luxury car market, of a future where the wealthy commission bespoke cars just as the princes of Italy funded renaissance paintings. Those who want this rare beast may be out of luck; so far, only one exists. It’s important to note that a car doesn’t have to be expensive to be good, but it doesn’t exactly hurt either. These dream wheels, titans of pavement and pocketbook, are some of the most jaw-dropping vehicles to ever grace the asphalt, and it will take something truly special to top them.

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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

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Where Time Takes Us

Hey all! I’m almost done with Chapter One of a fic I’m working on, so in the mean time, why not have a quick teaser?

Eventually I’m gonna also post the full thing on AO3 so the format is better, and it’s also gonna have zelink and some revali stuff in the future...although I’m mainly gonna focus on character growth and arcs than the romance. All in all, when I’m done you’ll have to read it for yourself. In the mean time..

Enjoy!

Where Time Takes Us 6905 words (of like...15k it’s a teaser ok)

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Watch the home while she is off to war

The Slumber King versus the rearing boar

Awake, arise, do not be blind

To tales and destinies entwined

In the world we said that we would leave behind

- - - - - - - - - -

6 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days before the Hyrule Castle Slaughter, the Akkala Citadel Massacre, the slaying of the Champions, the death of the hero, and the rise of Calamity Ganon

She was supposed to work until whenever doomsday struck, and truly she wanted to, but circumstances led her to walk towards the echoing laughter.

Already trying to prepare the quip she would throw back at them (as undoubtedly they’d complain about her being late again) the researcher weaved through the familiar roads of West Castle Town. Most of the houses were dark, with the only light source coming from the occasional flickering lantern, and the pale complexion of the midnight moon. Needless to say, it made the warm glow of The Adequate’s Tavern stand out all the more as she approached.

Another roar of laughter and shouts escaped from an open window on the south side of the pub. The bags under her eyes curved with her smile as she recognized one of the voices. She absentmindedly traced her fingers along the outer walls of the tavern as she walked, loose chips of faded blue paint falling to the pavement below. The wooden sign above the door creaked with its askew weight. “The Adequate’s Tavern” was printed in bold, blue letters atop a faded yellow outline. The missing e’s and t’s gave evidence to the building’s true quality.

“Yes, they’re here again, so get out there already!”

“The scientists?” the waiter asked.

The waiter disappeared into the back and the barkeep was left muttering by the counter. Chuckling to herself, the researcher moved away, starting to search for the scientists in question. Other than a single, beige wall that separated the edge of the bar with a support beam in the middle of the room, the pub was very open and lively. Square and circular tables were littered across the floor in mismatched patterns, ranging from oak brown to birch white. Clearly, aesthetic was not the centerpoint of the place.

As if fate had read her thoughts, she finally caught sight of her friends.

The young woman wore roughly the same outfit, although she had a navy blue skirt and boots compared to the other guy’s black pants and shoes. Her eyes were also red, albeit, with a more striking scarlet color, compared to the other boy’s warmer wine shade. Looking back, she adjusted her bright, Sheikah red, round, sparkly, diamond decorated glasses, complete with white accents that matched her hair. It was pulled in a messy bun, a hairstyle that her close friends knew was less for looks, and more for practical purposes, as supposedly “the stupid strands always find ways to bother my eyes. No, stop, I don’t need a comb! My eyeballs are just sensitive, OK?”

Pivoting past a waiter, the researcher finally moved closer to the trio, brushing her curly dark hair above her shoulders as she prepared for the sarcasm to begin.

The stormy eyed scientist spoke first.

“Purah, Purah! Is that...a ghost I see? It looks like Adello, but I feel like I haven’t seen her in a century, I surely thought her dead! Am I being…haunted?”

Robbie awed at Adello in sarcastic wonder, and the boy across from him exhaled out of his nose with a smile.

Purah turned to Robbie, pulling down her glasses and looking at him sternly. “See, this is another trait of these kinds of spirits. They’re cursed to only say excuses for eternity.”

He shook his head. “Coupled with the fact that their fashion only ever consists of one color? Truly, a terrible fate for a ghost indeed.”

Adello narrowed her eyes. Smoothing out her juniper colored tunic, she said, “Ok first off, green is a great color on me, it pairs well with my skin tone. You’re both just blind, no wonder you need glasses.” Purah put a hand on her chest dramatically, but she continued. “Plus, I’d really rather not get fired since that ceremony thing with those Champions is tomorrow and, as you all know, I just got that promotion.”

Adello chuckled, finally sitting down in the empty seat beside him. The old oaken chair and floor creaked under the new weight. Robbie let out a huff.

“You kids need to learn to respect your elders.” He announced the word “respect” with the tip of his tongue. The researcher rolled her eyes.

“Ah yes, a whole one year gap between us. What astounding age and experience that these elders emit.” She gestured at Robbie and Purah with a sweep of her arm.

“Uh excuse me, but I believe in my case it’s now double that. A whole two years, my dear, naive child. For as of 4 hours ago, I now emit the knowledge of an existence spanning two decades!” Now it was his turn to pose dramatically, pointing towards the ceiling.

Adello smirked to herself, and answered, “Yep, that’s how it goes!”

“Alright you don’t get to speak Miss I-don’t-know-how-to-be-punctuation!”

Purah promptly smacked Robbie over the head with a pen.

“Hey! W—”

“The word is punctual you idiot.”

Robbie slumped his shoulders and made a face. He tapped his thumb and fingers together, mimicking the opening and closing of a mouth while he muttered mockingly in Purah’s tone under his breath.

Turning the pages of her journal towards Adello, she gave a chaotic grin. “Last round, Zimiri revealed that he once got teary eyed in front of the King himself after reading a poem about clouds.”

Zimiri raised his hands in defense. “Look, the clouds were an analogy for lost childhood innocence and I got choked up with that author’s amazing choice of imagery and descriptions, OK?”

Purah pointed her pen at him to hush, and continued. “Of course, him being a sentimental dork isn’t anything new, so he lost that round to Robbie who revealed the identity of his first crush.”

Zimiri muttered something about the game being rigged towards the birthday boy, but Adello talked over him, excitedly.

“Ooohhhh? Robbie?? Who are they?” She propped up her elbows and cradled her chin in her hands, excited at the prospect of more embarrassing information she could hang over his head.

He mumbled, looking to Purah for assistance, but she only cupped a hand over her ear, waiting for him to respond. “You all fuckin—” he sighed, “it’s…she’s...c-ch…” he avoided everyone’s gaze, “her name is...Cherry…”

Adello gasped, gleefully. “That girl from your old university?? The writer you hung out with!?”

Purah beamed, shaking Robbie’s shoulders excitedly. “I know right???” She loosened her grip and allowed him to wiggle out of her grasp for a moment. “Oh sweetie, campus days may be long gone for all of us prodigies and geniuses,” she flipped a few strands of her white hair with a turn of her head, “but I’m sure you’ll get her someday. You just gotta turn up the charm, find a way to woo with words. I’m sure writers’ love that.” Purah pulled down her glasses and gave a forced wink at him.

“Now, now, let’s all play nice. We don’t need to pester him further about it, he did win the round after all.”

“Uh, yeah. Speaking of the game, you still need to drink up mister.” Purah slid a tan brown cup of apple cider towards him, the translucent contents sloshing around like muck in a gutter.

He leaned on the back two legs of his chair. “Isn’t it punishment enough to smell it? The cider isn’t even near my face and my mouth is already burning.”

She shrugged. “Them's the rules of ‘Till You Spill. Your secret sucked, so swig!”

Raising his posture, Robbie crowed, “When we finally have Zimiri’s birthday maybe then we’ll actually upgrade to the alcohol.”

Adello raised an eyebrow. “Uh, right, because the upgrade from disorientingly strong, smelly apple cider, is you two being flat out drunk. Right...”

Purah slammed both her fists down with pride, letting the cups and pitchers slosh a few, amber colored drops onto the worn wooden table. “Bold of you to assume I’d drink at all, considering I’ve never lost a round! Mwahaha!” She blew a raspberry at her. “This tongue is apple free, baby.”

She gestured with her pinky and index finger at Zimiri and Adello. “Now, you two! The late combatant and the latest loser shall spill next. Give us your juicy gossip!!”

The bard, still reeling from his drink, leaned back in his chair and gave a nod toward Adello. “Ladies first?”

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “The princess has a secret stuffed animal collection.” Seeing the light in her co-workers’ eyes twinkle, Adello knew she had chosen her words well. Purah leaned in. “OOoh? And how did you come across this juicy piece of information?” She rested her chin on an arm with an innocent smile.

“When I sent my application for the new job a few weeks ago, I gave it to the princess directly. It was late at night, and I bumped into her as she just left her room. The door was cracked open for a few seconds, before some royal, pompous guard slammed it right in my face. Yet, it wasn’t before I saw the pile of,” she counted on her fingers, “cow, sheep, bird, dog, and several horse stuffed animals piled high by her big, blue bed. I bet if I peaked for just a few more moments I could have found enough to pin her as a true horse girl.”

He combed his fingers through his messy, white hair, pondering his next choice of words. Fiddling with the beads and strings wrapped around it, he thought out loud.

“So… ever since I moved into the castle. When did my mom come here… five years now? I’ve, uh… had a crush on... Zelda…” He gave an uncertain grin, and raised the palm of his hands as if to ask, “well?”

At first he was met with silence. In his head, he started to celebrate the victory of his first ‘Till You Spill round in literal months. That was until he was met with groans and pitiful mutters.

The bard started to sputter, moving his hands in wild, questioning motions.

“But? Wha— I? You!? Didn’t you— I… W-well I mean, I know Adello knew, I told her years ago, but you guys—”

“R-recognizing a person’s positive traits doesn’t instantly mean in love!”

Zimri continued to sputter, his cheeks becoming roser by the second. Robbie turned to Purah. “So, all in favour of finding Adello’s spill better than Zimri’s?” The two of them raised their hands in unison. “Alright buddy, secret sucked, so swig! WAITER PLEASE!”

Before he could even start to reach for the cup, Adello snatched it out of the way. “Nah, it’s ok. I’ll do one for you, Zimiri. These two monsters have already tore you to shreds, and I’m sure I need a punishment anyway for coming in so late.”

He started to protest, but after catching the look in her dark, iron eyes, he relented. “Well, I thank you for your generosity.” The other two, however, were not as compliant.

Purah cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling, “Booooo... Boo to pity! Boo to generosity!” Robbie mimicked her.

“Yeah you have to respect your elders’ wishes. We demand blood! Suffering!”

“Mmmm. The cider’s weirdly salty tonight, I think your attitudes got mixed in here.”

Purah blew another rasberry at her.

“You know what else tonight needs? Some amazing music, eh Zimiri?” He bounced his eyebrows up and down at him, and gestured towards the lute leaning on one of the table legs.

“I don’t know,” Zimiri replied, “I’ve only a part-time hire for the weekend rush hours, and I wouldn’t want to blindly get on stage and sing without being given permission.”

He fiddled with the string in his hair again. “Oh yeah? I’d love to meet him someday.” At this, Adello clicked her tongue and promptly shoved him out of his chair with her hip.

Suddenly, Zimiri perked his head. Stepping back towards the table, he reached for his cup. “Oh wait, I just lost that round. I still need to drink my—”

Setting the cup back on the table, the researcher said, “Great, now you don’t need to ruin your voice any longer. Now get up there and one-up the last band.”

Robbie clapped his hands again. “Great, great. Now quit the manners and let’s go already! I still have to order the cake pie!”

Both of the girls rolled their eyes in unison. Zimiri shrugged and started to walk through the small crowd of standing Hylians, and towards the small stage.

I guess, if no one is stopping me…

It was a rowdy bunch, but not a new one. Zimiri had played for these kinds of audiences before.

“I see that quite a few people are itching for a new tune. So, uh, any requests?” he announced as he strum a chord on his lute.

He couldn’t stop himself from being biased towards the request of a certain dark skinned girl to his left.

“The World Behind!” Adello said. “Enough with those new ballads, I demand a classic!”

Robbie pumped an arm in the air. “Yes!” he shouted. “I second that! So is my decree as birthday tyrant!”

Zimiri’s smile widened. A lively crowd indeed, this will do nicely.

With that, he started to sing. His silvery voice echoed across the tavern, as he closed his eyes and began to play.

The boys have gone out to the wishing well

Will they come back? Oh only time will tell

A rupee for a life refined

But time and dreams never align

So tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Have you seen the soldiers’ drinking ale?

They wish to sing along with nightingales

To dance on home with songs and rhymes

To banish all the fears from mind

Yes tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Of beasts and men and all atrocities

The damn-ed fate, she owns all that you see

To a better day of new design

Forgot about the gods divine

Oh tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Watch the home while—

“HEY!”

The sudden gruff voice startled the bard to the point where he nearly slipped off the stage.

Well, mostly, silenced the room. A few ticked off guests were booing, groaning, and mocking him for ruining the entertainment.

“Oh would you lot shut up for 2 seconds?!” he said, his voice booming across the tavern. “Listen, I’ll be blunt. I gotta give two messages for this establishment.”

The female guard behind the knight handed him a slip of parchment. Unfolding it, the guard cleared his throat.

“Firstly, you’re music and pounding is disturbing the noblemen next door. He’s staying at the inn or something and wants you to quote,” he read from the paper, “quit the mindless thumping, for Castle Town is a place of serenity and peace, not of nonsense jigs and banging.”

The groaning and insults started up again, the man gave a shrug, stating something about how he was just following orders.

Adello couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “HA! Well, with an attitude like that, this’ll probably be the first and only time he’s been banged, he should be grateful.”

The room exploded into a mess of laughter and whoops. Even the guard smirked to himself, but attempted to hide it with a shake of his head, saying “Watch the mouth girl.” Although, his stern tone wasn’t in it.

After a second, he cleared his throat again. With a stomp of his boot regained the pub's attention, the laughter suffocated out.

“Now, we’re also here looking for a Dr. Robbie Kimura? I received word they might be around here?”

The scientists turned around too late, in an effort to avoid the knight’s gaze. “Gee, what a bunch of snitches,” Robbie mumbled. The three guards started to walk over to the table.

“Dr...Robbie?”

“Who’s asking?” Robbie squinted with his dark brown eyes.

“Is this some kind of prank? You and your friends don’t even look old enough to drink.”

He scoffed. “Ok, first, yes I am a doctor! I didn’t fly through all those courses over four years just to be called, ‘Mr.’ And secondly, I’ll have you know that I am a ripe 20 years of age today, and I’m here drinking expired apple juice with my associates. So take that, pal!”

Beside him, Purah gave a proud nod in agreement. Zimiri started to wave at the guards, but Adello grabbed his arm before he could finish the movement. The guard was a bit unsettled with the way that girl was glaring at him. What was some random Hylian doing hanging out with a bunch of Sheikah anyway?

“Right, well look here son. Some curious aristo-brat snuck into the courtyard and caused one of those flying, metal Sheikah things to fall apart. My boss said that it was your prototype so you should come back and clean it up before something explodes, and possibly give a sincere apology to the meddling kid who got a few scratches.”

Robbie threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’re really gonna pull me out of a birthday just so I can go apologize to a spoiled kid for breaking in and ruining my Guardian?”

“If it let’s me keep my job, then yeah.”

Robbie mumbled something about not getting a slice of the apple cake pie.

Suddenly, Adello got up and pushed her chair in, smoothing out the belt around her tunic as she walked towards them.

“Ah yes, well thank you my dear assistant for the assessment but I’m capable of taking it from here.”

The guard raised a bushy, black eyebrow. “Sorry wha-”

“You said you only wanted Dr. Robbie? Well great job, you found them. Now let’s get going, I need to finish up a new design anyway.”

“You’re...Robbie? You’re a... clearly not—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have had my mother consult you for your opinion before I was given my name.”

This time, the guard didn’t smile along with her quip. “This is not the time for—”

She held up a finger to silence him, and glared at the three guards with her iron eyes.

The knights looked at each other, quizzically. The researcher crossed her arms.

A beat of silence sat, only filled by the mild mumbling and chatter of the tavern. Finally, the guard let out a sigh.

“Alrighty Dr. Kimura. I’ll help escort you to the site.”

The patrons just responded with stupid groans, and half-hearted agreements. They started walking towards the door. The female guard started to put a hand on Adello’s shoulder, but she brushed it off, saying something along the lines of “I can walk on my own two feet, thank you very much.”

Purah turned in her seat. “I’ll save a slice of cake pie for you!” Adello turned her head and responded with a two fingered salute, before disappearing out the door with the guards.

“Why does she always do things like that?”

Robbie fiddled with the edge of his cup, tracing his finger around the rim. “Well, you know her. Undermining authority? Check. Insults and quips? Check.”

Robbie continued to list off more traits, but it faded out of Zimiri’s ear. Always jumping onto other’s burdens. Ah, that idiot. I bet she hasn’t slept for the last two days.

Purah suddenly piped up, taking out her pen and rapping it against the table. “Alright you too, let’s not let the sacrifice be in vain. Pool your rupees, we’re getting Robbie the fancy cake pie.”

The clatter of a few red and blue rupees echoed on the wooden table, although Zimri knocked Robbie’s share aside, saying how the birthday tyrant shouldn’t have to pitch in. Purah turned in her chair and started to wave her hand, in order to get the attention of a waiter. The bard watched as a woman with a tray started to walk over to the table. Then, he turned to Robbie.

“So what should we do while we wait?” Zimiri asked. Robbie stroked his chin, looking around the room.

“I think...the people could still use some music.”

He nodded his head in agreement, putting on a charming smile. The place needed a new pick-me-up, did it?

Well, what else is a musician for?

Adello’s footsteps echoed through the cobblestone streets, but she could barely hear it against the shifting of metal plates from the guards in front of her.

The gruff man looked back, scratching his peach fuzzed chin as he spoke. “Listen, if you finish your work quick I might be able to escort you back here.”

“You...live at the castle?”

“Mmm.”

The female guard slowed her step, starting to walk alongside the researcher.

“Already working?”

Adello didn’t look up from her journal. “Uh… you could say that.”

She laughed. “Well you best hope you know what you’re doing. This kid’s father has been yelling at her highness all night. Supposedly because she’s helping to lead Sheikah research, so everyone associated with guardians is at fault.”

The guard hummed a yes. “Apparently, the kid is the son of some visiting nobleman from the East Post. It’d be in your best interest to apologize profusely if you still wanna walk around alive.”

Adello shook her head. She didn’t know it then, but looking back, many moons from now, she would laugh at the irony of her response.

“I’d rather die.”

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