#he's just aging slower than those around him. even among his own people.

[bitterseaproduction]

The Hobbit’s official movie books really push the original timeline as the film one (despite 0 aging of characters in flashbacks pfft) BUT they also present Balin as the most ‘aged’ of the Company in both appearance and description at 178, despite Thorin — visibly far younger — being 17 years older than him.

It’s a conundrum, but I got an idea when I noticed Dwalin in the books supposedly lives to 340, even though a dwarf living to just 300 is supposed to be as rare as a human making it to 100! There’s been arguments that that was just a ‘typo’ on Tolkien’s part, but what if it wasn’t? What if we roll with that? Dwalin did look shockingly younger than Balin even though he’s just 9 years younger! That’s just 3 if you take it in human years!

So, using that 340 as inspiration and a base line, what if we say the direct line of Durin the Deathless plus the occasional offshoot like Dwalin just age slower than the typical dwarf? That their max baseline is closer to 300-350 or even 350-400 versus the usual 250-300? Because, if we go with, say, 400 as Thorin’s base max, suddenly we go from ‘Thorin should look older than Balin’ to ‘he’s in the human equivalent of his late 40s,’ and that seems much closer to the slightly aged up Richard Armitage we got in movies, doesn’t it?

This would also mean Thorin IS older than Balin despite their dynamic, but hey—sometimes your younger cousin is just wiser than you. 😂

[therealvinelle]

Hi, I was reading a post here in Tumblr about how Edward has two gifts, he can hear thoughts and is super fast, so I wonder what is your opinion about this topic?.

Furthermore, what others power might the Volturi's leaders and guards might have?

Edward has one gift, and it’s telepathy. Being fast isn’t a gift.

Strength, speed and even senses is varied among vampires. Some, like Emmett, are on the extreme end, but that doesn’t make Emmett gifted, nor does it mean that the rest are at an equal level. The Cullens have clear variations between them.

Physique appears to play a dominant role in how these variations play out: Alice, who was malnourished and never made it past 4′10″, is the physically weakest of the coven, while Emmett at 6′5″ and a mountain of muscles is the strongest. This is made very clear during the baseball game:

“Emmett was hovering close to third (base), knowing that Alice didn’t have the muscle to outstrip Rosalie’s fielding." (Midnight Sun, chapter The Game)

There’s also the fact that it’s taken for granted that Emmett would be intimidating to other vampires, and he is dismayed when James is more worried about Jasper, who is lean.

I suspect this disparity exists simply because a large frame means more tissue to have blood in. Newborns, animal, and human-eating vampires all having a difference in terms of strength is proof that blood has the final say in a vampire’s prowess, so Emmett being able to contain more of it than Alice and therefore being stronger makes sense to me.

This isn’t the meta for me to get into that, but I don’t think vampires have muscles in the sense we do. Or rather, we can’t know that they do. Renesmée is proof that Edward retains his human DNA, or she would be a clone of Bella. Nahuel is proof that Joham retains a Y-chromosome. Does this mean that vampires have different cell types? Does a vampire’s stone-like skin still contain human DNA? One would think yes - except, if you rip a vampire apart, you get rubble. The parts are all solid. There’s also Carlisle theorizing that vampires digest blood by absorbing it through porous tissue, which makes me wonder why he dismissed his digestive system (my guess: vivisection fun times with Aro in Volterra. Carlisle couldn’t have done it on his own, and Aro is the only one mad and curious enough to be down for that). I’m getting off-topic - what I’m saying is, we don’t know how vampires work, meaning I can’t build this meta off of the assumption that they have muscles. I simply can’t know for sure that they do.

The important thing is that a vampire’s physique is a deciding factor in how strong they are.

There’s also Laurent’s warning about James, that he has “unparalleled senses”, meaning some vampires are better at sight, hearing, and smell than others. I can believe that, because we have canon examples of vampires being bad at tracking.

There’s Edward in Port Angeles, who couldn’t track Bella’s, his singer, scent to her location, and (I admit this one is conjecture but it’s so probable that I say it goes) Carlisle’s creator, who after taking care of the mob must have realized he’d bitten one of the humans, meaning a newborn would soon be loose in London. This is punishable by death by the Volturi. The fact that he didn’t return to finish Carlisle off means that he was unable to find him. I remind the audience that Carlisle was bleeding and suffering the effects by a venom intended to paralyze the victim. To put it this way, Carlisle wouldn’t have survived James, or anybody with a trace of tracking competence. By comparison, Carlisle was able to locate a dying Rosalie by the smell of her blood, even though there wouldn’t have been a trail for him to follow, as her body had not been moved.

When it comes to these disparities in strength and speed among the Volturi, I imagine Jane and Alec are the physically weakest members of the guard, and among the slowest. They’re prepubescent, meaning no muscle for them, and their height (a humble 4′8″ and 4′10″) implies very short legs. They’re simply not going to get as far as an adult would, not in the same number of steps. Renata at 5′0″ is another tiny vampire lady who likely isn’t very strong or fast.

That’s not to say I think these physically weaker members of the Volturi guard are necessarily useless in hand-to-hand combat, Alec at least is a boy stuck in a playful age, and the males around him are trained warriors. He’s probably picked up a few things over the years.

As for the others, Aro is described as frail-looking, which hints at him being quite thin. I don’t think he’s weak, if he couldn’t win a fight he wouldn’t be around, but I do think he’s probably below average in terms of strength. Caius I picture as a Harrison Ford type, so of course I’m gonna think he’s a bit burly, but this is me headcanoning and not actually hinted at in canon. Marcus is 19, so I imagine he can only be so strong.

Back to Edward’s speed.

He’s a 6′2″ teen, that’s code for “very long legs”, though I’m actually going to go ahead and posit that he’s not actually that fast. Strap in for this next part:

The guy was a teenager who lay dying for an undisclosed amount of time. The fact that Carlisle had the time to get to know his mother points to a few weeks, at least. And Edward was very ill:

Elizabeth worried obsessively over her son. She hurt her own chances of survival trying to nurse him from her sickbed. I expected that he would go first, he was so much worse off than she was. (New Moon, page 21)

Muscles atrophy quickly, never more so than when you’re a teen ravaged by fever, on your deathbed. And as I’ve explained above, I think your physique in life ties directly into your vampiric prowess.

I think Edward is certainly the physically weakest of the male Cullens, quite likely weaker than Rosalie as well, maybe even Esme.

Now, speed is not the same as strength. However, for humans, the two are connected. It’s the muscle fibers in our legs that determine our speed. Basically, type I fibers make an enduring runner, type II fibers make a speed runner. So, assuming that vampires retain their human musculature, one could argue that Edward had a lot of type II in life. However, Carlisle when he was human was able to outrun the mob he was with:

He ran through the streets, and Carlisle — he was twenty-three and very fast — was in the lead of the pursuit. (Twilight, page 158)

Carlisle clearly had a lot of type II fibers, and unlike Edward he was in peak physical condition when he died. He was also an adult who’d had more time to develop musculature, while Edward was a seventeen-year-old. If musculature was a deciding factor, one would think they would at the very least be of equal speed, though realistically Edward should be slower.

So, if it’s not muscles, what is it that makes Edward faster than the others?

It could be a matter of technique. Except, the way Bella describes movement when she wakes up as a vampire, it’s all very automated. Her body knows exactly how to do everything, and executes it without much input from her:

After that first frozen second of shock, my body responded to the unfamiliar touch in a way that shocked me even more.

Air hissed up my throat, spitting through my clenched teeth with a low, menacing sound like a swarm of bees. Before the sound was out, my muscles bunched and arched, twisting away from the unknown. I flipped off my back in a spin so fast it should have turned the room into an incomprehensible blur—but it did not. I saw every dust mote, every splinter in the wood-paneled walls, every loose thread in microscopic detail as my eyes whirled past them.

So by the time I found myself crouched against the wall defensively—about a sixteenth of a second later—I already understood what had startled me, and that I had overreacted. (Breaking Dawn, page 251-252)

Growling, crouching - those are all distinctly vampiric, non-human ways to act. Bella didn’t learn this, her body knew it of its own accord. When she later runs, she explains it as happening the same way - she just does it.

The way Bella experiences it, vampiric movement is like a package she downloaded, and that executes her instinctual commands with no need for her to actually know how to do any of this. Her grace is another example of this - Bella Swan may be in charge of her own consciousness, but the venom is entirely in control of her body.

Given these facts, I don’t think it’s technique that makes Edward a better runner than others. His technique is likely similar to everyone else’s. If it isn’t, if technique is what makes the difference, then who is and isn’t fast is an arbitrary process.

With that, we get to my controversial theory about why Edward is the fastest Cullen: he’s not.

Running and being fast is the only thing about vampirism that Edward enjoys. This is for another meta, but Edward is extremely depressed about every single other bit of it. Every aspect of being a vampire torments him.

Except the running. He enjoys all of it, especially being the fastest, so much. And as a newborn, he would have been faster than Carlisle.

But after that, when his newborn strength faded…

I honestly think that Carlisle decided to just slow down a bit when running with him, let Edward have this. It’s no skin of his back, and it makes Edward happy, so why not.

Esme joins the family, and of course she would be down for this. Nothing is more parental, more maternal, than losing at checkers to make your child happy, after all. Could also be she’s not very fast herself, but even if she were then she would downplay it to make Edward feel like Jesse Owens.

Enter Rosalie, who would think it’s completely ridiculous, yes, but she would also recognize this excellent opportunity to call in a big favor from Carlisle later on. There’s also the fact that I think Carlisle has a gift (yes, yes, meta is coming, people) that makes him very persuasive people. And also that for all that Rose gets a lot of bad rep, she is very generous and loves her family, if being fast makes Edward happy then alright.

Emmett is an easy-going guy, he goes along with things. Alice adores Edward and would go along with it. She also has tiny matchstick legs and couldn’t outrun him if she tried. Jasper could not care less.

Bella does get outrun by Edward after waking up, but she also did zero exercise in life (listing this in case musculature matter), had Renesmée devour her from within rendering her emaciated, and then died like a slasher movie murder victim. There’s not a lot of blood in her, and what little blood there is doesn’t have a lot to work with. She does defeat Emmett at arm wrestling, so I’ll concede that. However, there are enough extenuating circumstances surrounding Bella that I think my “Edward isn’t that fast” theory survives his ability to outrun her.

So, I believe Edward is the fast Cullen because Carlisle told a white lie in 1919, no one ever corrected that, and now it’s too late.

[limelocked]

some backstory: basically look at this post then work on the assumption that phil is like Ancient/ages slower than humans/players

phil meets babyblade for the first time (brought to you largely unedited from discord messages)

---

thinking about phil being a traveller, walking or flying from town to town trying to find the new place to stay for like 100 years as a cryptid, passing thought a town, well developed with electrical streetlights not yet too common for testificates or players. The day pass slowly into night and with an unwillingness to take into an inn he settles to finding a cave or tree to camp in.

Techno is at that point perhaps half Phils height but still built shockingly strong for a child and he knows well not to disturb armed people sleeping in the woods. The dew clings to his hooves and fur as he inspects the man sleeping among the leaves and his wings. Phil is already awake, watching back from under the shade of his hat, seeing this upright, scar covered, piglet inspect him. Phil slowly moves as if he's just woken up and techno scampers away

phil knows about pigmen, hes never seen one of course but he's heard plenty about them. Theres villager texts with myths about them and its generally accepted that they're the cause of ruined structures though different cultures seem to disagree on if they caused the ruin or caused the building now in disrepair. He asks in town about pigmen but they only talk about what a pest the zombie pigmen and piglins that come through the resident portal are, the undertone of hate matching that of those that theorize towards the more... evil side of the pigmen. 

 They have heard nothing about any pigmen in the area, for all the town knows, and for all that most people know. They dont exist and they might never have

So he goes back to the forest and "accidentally" leaves some food and trinkets at the food of the tree, barely getting any sleep as he waits for the little creature to arrive. And he does. And with caution the piglet studies the food and items for a while, freezing with every movment of the wind through phils great folded wings. Techno takes some of the food, not all of it, and none of the items even though a cheap dagger seemed to make him hesitate on that choice

It goes on for a few nights, phil sleeping through most of them but knowing who it was that took the gifts and left the little napkin neatly still covering what he didnt take and who he found one morning returning with a handful of berries as a return gift. Phils back fucking hurt sleeping in the tree but he'd gotten invested now so what're you gonna do yknow?

Its noon after a week and a day and phil is half nocturnal because of this little thing coming to take and give like trade under his tree. He's almost falling asleep when bushes move and he's back on (exhausted) high alert. He doesnt move. Under him theres no napkin or items or food this time, he just needed a nap, but that doesnt bother the pink spot down on the ground from moving closer and inspecting the spot.  He's disappointed but returns shortly after with more berries and a messy leg of lamb. He thinks, as phil will never find out, that he's stolen everything this stranger has in terms of food so he has to give back some that he's gotten himself right? its only polite? 

"did you get the lamb by yourself?" to say that techno jumped out of his skin would be an underestimation. 

He didnt freeze but instead, just as cautiously as he seemed to do everything, hunched down into a fighters stance knowing well that the man with wings above him could easily catch him "dont worry mate" phils tone became softer, testing the bounderies of this child "-im not going to hurt you if that's what youre worried about"

he didnt change positions other than to look up slowly to.... g- glare? was this little pig kid GLARING at him?! what was that gonna do?? who would be intimidated by this adorable little fuck?!?! Phil would admit it every time anything even remotely related came up later that he laughed, i mean who wouldnt? hed liken it to a puppy glaring you down and how could that be taken seriously its just cute if anything 

techno, covered in scars of battles both with people and with nature, looked at this winged man in almost disbelief. phil, the nicknamed angel of death who seemingly could never die himself, was almost falling off the branch he'd been using as a bed for a week clutching his stomach as he laughed.

"what?!" the impatient, small, voice piped up after a few seconds "whats so funny!?" the seriousness both stopped phil in his tracks and Didnt Help At All. the tone was serious and.. desperate. it caught him off guard and finally his balance fails and he falls, unfurling his wings to catch himself and kicking up leaves and dust from the ground before his adorable little thief 

 "you're a piglet, you couldnt beat me up so stop looking like it" this was the closest the two had ever been, still a few meters apart but it was apparent that techno had only just realized just how Tall phil was compared to him, and how imposing his wings were when stretched to their full width

"heehh i could totally kill you" fake it til you make it, a strategy that had won him many battles before and it had only failed him.... a few times....  "oh could you?" while techno sounded cocky and serious phil was playful and in the ears of this kid, taunting  "mm.. ya" but phil didnt fail to notice how easily a child had threatened murder

-

A month can go quick and a conversation can go slow. A festival had been set up in the time that it took the two to finish their talk under the tree, or so techno would have you believe. There had been three weeks of food being left by both parties and playful banter countered by genuine threats becoming less so by the meeting. Phil had gifted techno, who'd in exchange given his name, the dagger he'd looked at that first night. The exchange was there sure but phil had also had to joke about techno not being able to kill him with bare hoof hand things, he'd need, yknow, a weapon

They sat then, that meeting in the woods a month after their first encounter, sharing food in relative silence. "-and you dont have any parents im guessing or else you'd not be hanging out with this stranger" phil said absentmindedly, a retort to his own lack of family

"fuck off"

stunned. he looked at techno shocked not only at the swear but at the nerve he'd apparently struck, "sorry mate- didnt mean.." he trailed off, studying the pigs reaction but there was none, he'd just kept eating... he watched for a moment more before debating taking another bite of his own food but, no, no he could be stupid "that means you can travel more though right?" a recovery, but only a stepping stone

"mm, guess so yeah" bait effective

"have you been to to the north much?" "... nah.. mostly around here and west" there was a long pause before the eventual "i think" that phil had come to expect at this point, though this time it wasnt accompanied by an equally unsure "im pretty sure"

"well im leaving town, could come with me?"

[with-my-murder-flute]

by the sword (Nile genfic, 2.6k)

Fic summary: Nile learned fencing and longsword and hand-to-hand fighting long before she ever met Andy's small army. But learning with them is a new form of difficult. Not because they've got thousands of years more experience (though they do), but because this time the practice doesn't stop when somebody gets hurt.

So she has to learn about war and how you balance it out with peace. Figure out how they do it and who she wants to be. And decide which weapons suit her best.

Content notes: Explicit depiction of the injuries Nile gets when training in knife fighting and quarterstaff combat with Nicky and Joe. There are also discussions of the physical damage done by different kinds of weapons, the butchering of animals, and people cutting off their own body parts in industrial accidents. (Oh, and a positive/sympathetic portrayal of Nile as a Christian)

They promised that in March they'd start teaching Nile how to fight with a sword, but when March came, Nicky gave her a knife.

A hauntingly familiar one, even though she'd never touched it before. For a second she thought it was her own, the Ka-Bar she planted in Andy's shoulder the day they met. Instead, as she turned it over, finding it familiar in every groove and contour, she found it an anonymous and identical match to her dad's instead. Not new, with the black paint worn down around the edges of the handle, but not a knife she knew. It could have been used by any Marine in the world except her. Except her father.

"You know too much," Joe explained from the side of the hangar, where he'd tumbled an umbrella stand of swords out onto a tarp and started removing their rust with fine-grit sandpaper. "We're not knights or cavaliers. For them, swordfighting was about honour. There were rules. We don't have any of that."

Nile knew going into this that nothing she knew so far was real swordsmanship. Like yes, she could fence; she'd competed in foil and saber for two years as a teenager. But that was closer to stagefighting than actual combat. It was all so staged and carefully managed. Even in her longsword league they said over and over again, it was a martial sport, not actual combat. They could imagine what it might have been like—could land heavy blows on armour, could mime falling down dead—but that wasn't the reality of it.

It seemed to her that the purpose of beginning with knife-fighting lessons was to go over territory she already knew, and do it for real this time. Nicky said he had something else in mind, some principle of combat he meant to teach. But that wasn't what Nile noticed.

What Nile noticed was that this time, she really died.

The old people argued it over, about how to teach Nile. Andy's example made them newly-cautious, but this was the way they'd always trained: You had to do it through blood and pain, you had to fight when you were still resurrecting. It was the way Andy and Quynh had trained Nicky and Joe.

Nile wondered, in the back of her mind, if being trained like that had something to do with the way Booker... well, Booker. After he'd already had such terrible experience of war that he'd wanted to desert. But that was the kind of thing she didn't air out loud, because they'd only just stopped having that kind of useless, circular, self-flagellating argument. She figured she'd keep her own peace on Booker.

She also opined, after hearing them wrangle over it for a day or two, that she'd rather practice with live weapons and get injured among friends than play it safe and incur a dangerous injury among enemies.

And when the knife fighting started, she was grateful they hadn't moved directly to longswords.

They taught knights how to do this, Nicky said, by having them slaughter and butcher animals. It taught you your way around muscles and tendons and joints. He offered to take her to a bullfight sometime, which she didn't say sounded so barbaric she had to wonder why PETA bothered with picketing rodeos.

He said that after her trachea healed over. She hadn't actually died that time; you had to aim further up or to the side to get the carotid artery. But the horror—not actually the pain, but the horror of feeling the air wheeze through the gash in her throat—had been so overwhelming that she'd barely resisted the pin he got her in. She'd just shuddered with her arms behind her back and his weight pressing her down until it healed, and tapped out of the rest of the afternoon. He'd been understanding when she didn't want to be around him for a bit, and let Joe gather her into a hug and let her cry.

That was when he told her about the bulls. She told him about Chicago's meatpacking district, about the old men she knew who'd butchered hogs every day of their lives for decades. About how they said they got numb to it, until one day one of them cut off his thumb with a machine and didn't feel it, until the guy next to him looked over and noticed all the new blood. About how after you see too much violence, your brain just stops processing it. About how a study on kids in the next neighbourhood over from hers had shown they had permanently elevated levels of cortisol, a sign that their bodies were under stress all the time and didn't know how to calm down.

Those were the kind of conversations Andy couldn't stay in the room for. She slunk off somewhere and got drunk, and you saw her the next morning, maybe. Nile used to judge her a lot more for it, but the day her throat got cut she let Joe and Nicky feed her a red wine as soft as velvet and fell asleep pressed against Joe on the sofa and understood, deeper than words, just how much keeping sane meant feeling anything other than your body shattering into pain.

Nicky braided her hair, the next day. Slow and careful, a little unpracticed, singing ballads in a language that wasn't exactly dead, but only had a few thousand speakers left in northern Italy. Their composer hadn't been good, exactly, but they'd been snowed into a castle with him one winter in the 1680s, so Nicky remembered his entire repertoire. Nile listened to the music and knew he'd refuse if she offered to record it, or write it down. One of the songs felt like the length of a novel (but was, when she checked her phone, more like one hour twenty) and by the end of it she was singing the chorus along with him, and it occurred to her that she could simply ask him to teach her.

"You can't rescue every one you see," she remembered her mom saying, when she found a half-stunned bird on the sidewalk. That was what it felt like with languages.

That afternoon Andy took her to the market. Ostensibly it was for groceries, but Andy didn't do simple errands, especially not when it involved food. She stopped to smell fruit Nile had never heard of; Google told Nile that medlar and quince were related to apples and also, apparently, roses. Nile had to try pine nuts, wild mustard, and three different kinds of yogurt drinks, one of which tasted of roses. Andy protested when she added a bag of potatoes to the load, saying they were bland, but Nile, who'd had enough of turnips, sweetly told her to pay the fuck up.

If you were lonely, and hurting, and didn't have someone to hold you, you could comfort yourself like this. Sunshine and sweetmeats and the steady hands of friends. Something, but probably still not enough. Nile understood it but it made her chest ache. She felt, sometimes, a little glad that Andy would die someday, the way families felt helping someone keep alive from cancer. Of course you wanted them to be alive, but you didn't want them to suffer.

Joe moved her on to staff fighting the next day. It was, he said, not the most useful of weapons in the current day and age, since it was most useful against long bladed weapons, "And who else but us uses those?" But there was some kind of theoretical basis behind the progression of her teaching, from weapon to weapon, and after knife came staff.

To tell the truth, Nile liked it. She'd learned about quarterstaff in her longsword weapons, as something that could defeat a swordsman, but nobody anybody she knew actually practiced it, because while you could wear percussion-resistant cloth and keep safe with blunted swords, there was simply no defending your bones against the percussive strike of a giant whirling stick.

There was something less offensive about getting your skull split or your collarbone broken, compared to getting stabbed. Partly it was because Joe was just a much nicer teacher, slower and more patient, while Nicky would keep stabbing you as you fought to reach your own knife. But also it felt more impersonal, more like an accident that had happened to you.

Okay, and it was also more fun. Knives created small imaginary hemispheres of pain, the angle of the arm as it swept out. Quarterstaves were huge, so long that if you wanted to get around them, sometimes it was literally easier to flip yourself into the air or dump your opponent to the ground instead of getting the staff to move. The first time she managed to run up a wall to get leverage on him, it felt so awesome she didn't actually mind that much that he popped her shoulder out taking her back down.

It was bloody and violent and really would have been impossible if dying had been a significant barrier for them. It made Nile laugh in a high-on-endorphins way, because it felt like she could finally push past the pain and find a place beyond her limits. It felt like being free. Like all her life she'd been wearing a heavy armor of caution, knowing she'd had to keep herself alive, and now she just felt the lightness of taking it off.

There were tears at the back of that laughter, about everything she'd lost because of it, but she pushed that away and went to shower. She and Joe spent the evening on Youtube, watching videos of capoeira and wushu, while the other two made a batch of some kind of pickled egg they thought they remembered from three hundred years ago.

Nile hugged Andy sometimes, because she looked like she needed to be hugged. Andy almost never turned her down.

A long time ago, she thought she remembered, holding a sword had seemed to transport her to some other time. Some other place. Like the sword had been a tangible connection to the past, to a time when things felt... clearer, or truer, or more real somehow. Like the feeling the word "honour" gave her, of something echoing and amplifying through a vaulted space. There was a time when people fought with swords for what they believed in. There was a time when you knew what was right and what was wrong and laid down your life accordingly.

She'd been twelve and believed in fairytales. So sue her.

The swords in their armory spelled out a long story of misery and war. When she held them now, Nile felt like she could feel the bodies that had come into contact with their blades. Curved single-bladed sabers and scimitars, ideally wielded from horseback, meant for a decisive downward chop. Nicky's giant longswords, meant to peel an armored knight like a tin can. (He'd used it, he said, to similar effect on a tank once or twice.) Andy's axes showed her age; before they had the metallurgy to make an entire blade, it was better to use a wood polearm with a blade on the end, and focus the sharp metal to a curved edge, to as small a surface area as possible.

Andy's axes showed her age, but not theirs; they were less than ten years old. Steel, especially steel that came into contact with blood, aged fast enough (and could only take so much of a beating) that the old people knew and had opinions on all the modern replica manufacturers. The oldest blades in the collection were used at Waterloo, only a little more than 200 years ago.

(Nile wondered, as she polished one and rubbed a state-of-the-art hydrophobic finish on it, if the quarterstaff lessons were actually preparing her to fight Booker, should she ever find herself opposing him. It was the kind of thing she couldn't help but think about the logistics of. Surely firearms would be more effective, she initially reasoned, except... guns jammed, guns broke, guns overheated, guns ran out of bullets. And then your gun became a very expensive bludgeon. And you're facing a swordsman who's had 200 years to train. So... why not try a very big stick?)

She knew that even this team could betray her. Even they could fight for the wrong cause. They'd supported revolutions that turned into dictatorships and fought alongside people who turned out to be monsters. There was no promise, no moral certainty, in violence.

So she felt really stupid about it, but the truth was that holding a sword... still brought back that old emotion. That feeling of being capable of doing things. Fighting for a better world. It made her feel taller. It made her feel like her life had a purpose that she'd been heading towards since she was young.

Like God had called her for a special purpose.

Which she'd never say to any of the rest of them, since Andy had been a god and Nicky had been a holy warrior and Joe had broken down completely once, when they let him get too close to a newspaper. They'd only ever hear it with the weight of all the horror they had seen.

So instead she had to carry it as a private conviction, a calling she would have to follow by herself, her own career to make holy instead of horrific. Like when she joined the Marines. Freer, in some ways, but even more out of her depth, not sure she totally understood the situations she was injecting herself into.

The fact that she wasn't sure she ever could walk the path of righteousness and keep herself always on the side of good... was absolutely no inducement not to try. It never had been.

"Picked one yet?" Andy asked, from the door.

"What, you guys weren't gonna pick one for me?" Nile asked, craning her neck around. Andy had her hands buried in the pockets of her jacket, smiling faintly.

"Some things, nobody can pick for you," she said. She picked up one of Nile's polished sabers and admired the sheen along its blade. "Your last-ditch weapon, least of all."

Nile already had a secret favourite of all the swords, but what she found herself saying was, "I want us to do some training in de-escalation."

Andy looked aside from the blade. "Sorry?"

Nile took a deep breath, her heart suddenly pounding like crazy. "That's what I was trained in, aside from combat. De-escalating conflicts. When I was a security guard, we... I got a course on mental health crisis from a guy who does hostage negotiation. I want... we should practice it."

She was ready to be seared by Andy's instant, caustic sarcasm. By a reminder that they were a specialist unit brought in when negotiation failed. Instead Andy looked back at the sword, twisting it to catch the light. "Was it useful?"

"Yeah," Nile said, trying not to let the breath shudder out of her in one long exhale. She didn't want Andy to know how nervous she'd been. "There's a... a lotta conflicts that don't have to turn violent, if you just approach it in..." She ran out of steam for an instant, and shrugged. "If you know how to respond."

"See if there's a webinar," Andy said, which flabbergasted Nile so much—coming from Andy!—that she didn't have anything to say while Andy set the saber down and sauntered back out of the building.

Nile sat for a good long while after that, surrounded by swords on a floor stained with her own blood, and got her breathing under control. Eventually she took her knife out of its sheath and looked it over.

It felt silly, to take a sacred oath on a Ka-Bar knife.

"I swear to almighty God," she said to it, anyway, "that I will use you as my last resort. Not my first."

[goonandfightme]

Numbers Pt.1

After a particularly horrifying case involving a serial killer starving his victims, Spencer Reid of the BAU relapses into old habits as past trauma resurfaces. The team slowly catches on as Reid falls further into his eating disorder and addictions but will they be able to help him before it's too late?

Pt.1 Concentrate

Trigger Warnings - EDs, drug use and addiction, child abuse.

Spencer Reid knew he has a problem at age 10. He had a routine, and once Spencer Reid had a routine it became part of him. He would wake up at 6 am, ensure his mother was asleep, pick his outfit for the day. His messenger bag would be packed with textbooks, notes and pens. He would brush his teeth, shower, then get dressed He went through this mental checklist, these motions were fluid, practised and precise. The clock would read 7:30 am, he would leave the house to grab the bus to go to school. High school. He was two years short of graduation, his mother had insisted on it, he was smart, he was special, he could be anything he wanted, he could have anything he wanted.

He would leave his lunch behind.

He would get picked on, laughed at, kicked, bruised all too easily, then go home. If his mother was lucid, he would have a proper meal, if not, whatever he could reach from the cupboards. He was malnourished, the corner of his lips cracked from b-vitamin deficiency, the rims of his eyes white from anaemia, his hair messy and breaking. People only knew him as his shadow of himself, no concerns were raised.

He would complete his homework, lay on his bed, his heart would palpitate, his world would spin. No one noticed, his grades hadn’t slipped, he never participated in sports. No one noticed.

His alarm sounded; it was 6 am. He started again; his lungs screamed, his heart pounded, and his headache came back, he always had a headache, but Spencer Reid had a routine, and he would stick to it. He went to check on his mother.

--Present Day--

It was six-thirty and Reid was getting ready for his day at work, removing his pyjamas while he waited for the shower to heat. The top came over his head easily, it was baggy, it was more than a couple of months old, it didn’t fit him anymore. He looked forward towards the full body mirror, tossing the clothes into the hamper, his face was thin, as it always had been, even when he was a healthy weight he’d always struggled with his figure. Brushing his hair out of his face he looked closer running his fingers over his features, saw how his eyes were more hallow, he pulled the lower lid down the reveal the ghostly white colour it had become, his cheekbones slightly more pronounced and painful to press against, his jaw slightly sharper in contrast to how he felt. His hand dipped and traced over his ribs, he could count them all, name them if he wanted, then his hand lowered to his wrist. His thumb and middle finger enclosing the joint, measuring how far he could raise it, whether it would come past his elbow, would it fit past his bicep. It stopped just after his elbow and he squeezed as if trying to rip his flesh after, from the bone, the white marks lingered across the already pale limb.

“White marks that last after applying pressure to the skin suggest poor blood circulation, common among those with anorexia nervosa.” There was no one there to hear him but when he was alone, he liked to talk aloud it helped him think through things slower, it helped keep him calm. “It also causes the exterminates to become cold and discoloured,” he looked down towards his feet. He removed his trousers, the shower warm and producing a numbing white noise as Reid continued his routine. Checking how each bone moved under his skin, thin, grey and translucent. He had so much more to lose.

“Grey skin indicates poor blood oxygenation, which can be caused by anaemia, a low level of iron within the blood that prevents red blood cells from delivering oxygen effectively. A common symptom of malnutrition.” He breathed out slowly to calm himself as he turned on his heel to enter the shower, it was much warmer than his apartment, the floor cold and unwelcoming, he was always cold anyway. He made quick work of scrubbing down his body, no longer wanting to look at it, feel it. He spent longer on his hair, it no longer sat right, it would always fly away as it became more brittle, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the longer-haired look but it suited him, made his face slimmer, so he kept it.

Reid turned the tap off and jumped out as quickly as his legs would let him, he swiped his towel off of the rack and placed it on his face, holding the weight in his hands as his head stopped swirling, then used it to finish drying himself off. He walked back into his bedroom where his clothes laid neatly. He placed on his underwear socks and trousers, a cream shirt and striped tie, a thick soft orange jumper to go with it, then blazer, then belt, he tightened and placed it through the newest punched hole. It was a nice belt he didn’t want to get rid of it. Checking that the apartment was in order and that everything had been done, everything he needed was in his bag, he picked up his keys from the dish and left after briefly sorting his hair in the hallway mirror.

It was another day at the BAU for Reid. Walking over to the staff space he started the kettle and placed his bag down, he retrieved his favourite mug and placed three teaspoons of coffee in. Once the water was boiled he filled his mug and let the thick scent waft through the air, he grabbed the sugar and poured, originally he would have counted the spoons of sugar but decided that cutting out the middle man would save time, he was slightly late as it was. “Want some coffee with that sugar?”

“Had a long night, need something to keep me functioning” Reid retorted as he turned to face Morgan who stood behind him placing his lunch in the fridge. “Nice one pretty boy, what was she like?” Morgan smiled. “Not that kind of long night,” he picked up his bag and walked towards his desk before Morgan had a chance to reply. He slouched down into his seat while taking another sip of his coffee and reached down to grab a file from the bottom of his desk drawer and after rummaging for a while he found it. A wave of nausea hit and Reid lent forward over the desk to stop his stomach from protesting, his body wasn’t used to this level of starvation. He’d lowered his intake from 700 to 500 yesterday, it was taking time to adjust.

The BAU hadn’t had a case for over two days so the team was catching up on all paperwork that needed doing, anything that had been shoved in draws to be forgotten was to be finished and filed.

He opened the file and glanced over the first page, thumbing over the papers to spread them out. Emily Moore, aged 25, died of malnutrition after a serial killer had starved her to death. Reid placed his right hand beneath his chin and ran his thumb over his mouth as he traced a finger over the outline of her body and closed his eyes. That was four months, two days and three hours ago that case started, and it was four months, two days and three hours since Reid had relapsed. He could see them still so vividly, all of them hung up like puppets, so skinny and frail. He still couldn’t bring himself to finish the file.

“Reid?” Hotchner asked, Spencer, opened his eyes to see the team filling into the meeting room as Hotch stared at him from across the room. Reid quickly snapped the file shut and followed behind everyone else, Hotchner joining the line afterwards. Spencer enclosed his hand around his wrist to help his heart stop beating as fast. It calmed him down, he didn’t even realise he had done it. Hotch was absorbed in his paperwork.

Reid sat down next to Morgan in his unassigned assigned seat as Gideon began the brief and Reid for one of the first times since he had met Gideon, didn’t listen to him.

I shouldn’t have had that much sugar, how much did I have, right, the coffee cup was about 5cm in diameter so that means the area of the cup was five multiplied by pi, then to find the volume of sugar the cup raised about 1cm.

“The victim was found face down lying in a pool of her own blood.” Gideon turned to the board displaying pictures of the woman.

The volume of sugar would be 15.7cm squared, which equates to about 25 grams of sugar which is 80 calories.

“Nothing was left at the crime scene, but her hands were bound with what appears to have been some sort of rope shown by the burn marks.”

“Could have suggested the killer was physically weak, needed to restrain her to get his way” Elle interjected. “Judging that the unsub took the rope it probably means he also brought it, premediated, definitely an organised killer,” Morgan added.

Why didn’t I just measure it out it would have made this so much easier, I’ll round it up to 100 just in case.

“Local police teams have already sectioned off the scene,” Hotch added, “alright but why call us, nothing about this case seems extraordinary, seems like a run of the mill homicidal rapist,” Elle questioned while looking to Gideon. “Well,” Gideon started.

If I can get home by 8 pm I can burn off that coffee, wait no if I run home then I can leave later but still burn it so if I have the 500, well now I can have 420 no 400, then I can-

“Right let’s go, the jet leaves in half an hour.”

With that the team all stood up abruptly, creating a whirlwind around Reid that made him snap out of his thoughts, his head and eyes darted around the room trying to figure out what was happening. He jumped out of his seat to follow everyone out but was stopped at the door.

“You alright Reid?”

Spencer spun back round to face Gideon who was looking at him, seeming to expect an answer. “Sorry, what was that?” Gideon's face became stern as his eyebrow slightly lifted along with his chin, he was not just looking at him, he was analysing. “I just wanted to know if you were alright?”

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine” Reid frantically looked across the room trying not to meet the other man’s gaze, “I’m just going to go grab my stuff” he stated while starting to walk backwards out of the room, pointing behind him with his thumb. “Uh yeah, see you on the plane,” he turned almost bumping into JJ “sorry JJ I uh didn’t see you sorry,” and with that, he took off to go grab his bag.

JJ turned to Gideon with a questioning look. “Keep an eye on him” was all he said before also going to grab his bag. Gideon wasn’t a man to say anything unless he was sure unless it was important, but he was worried. His intuition was screaming at him that something was wrong, but Reid would be at least three steps ahead if he didn’t want anyone to know. Damn profilers.

They had all swarmed into the jet and had taken their seats. Reid lay in the long seat reading a book, but not at his normally inhuman speed, it was slower, only just noticeably. Hotch sat next to Gideon reading all the information they had on the case thus far again, making sure nothing was missed. Gideon watched. They were sat at the other end of the plane with Reid’s back to them, the other team members preoccupied with their activities.

“Something’s wrong with Reid.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look at him.”

Hotch looked up from his papers and looked towards Reid, Gideons line of sight hadn’t wavered since he sat down. Hotch looked back from Reid to the man next to him. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s anxious, jumpy, overreactive,” Gideon still looked over to the boy and Hotch joined back, “I asked him this morning after the brief, he didn’t turn his back to me once until he was out of the room.”

“He was being defensive, wouldn’t turn his back on the perceived threat,” Hotchner added, “he knew the answer but couldn’t tell you, he looks at you as a father figure you know, he doesn't want to disappoint you”

Gideon paused, “he probably does, he doesn’t know much about his father,” he said shaking his head, they sat and observed in silence.

“He’s not turning pages as quickly as he normally does,”

“He’s not turning pages as quickly as he normally does,” Gideon repeated, “how’s his paperwork?” he finely looked away from the younger man. “Still exemplary, maybe a little less than normal but handed in on time, it hasn’t suffered any more than anyone else’s while we’ve been busy.”

Gideon nodded “somethings eating away at him, I just don’t know what.” There was a pause.

"There was one file I never got back."

[saturnsstufff]

Misfortune

credit to @vixenfoxpup​ this is her work, all characters belong to her.

Warnings: Character death

Misfortune.

    It happens to absolutely everyone at least once in their lives. Whether it be the loss of a beloved’s life, of one’s own life, or the worst luck that one can imagine, it has affected everyone in the world.

    Well, what if misfortune was given by one being? But not by their own will? What if misfortune was the very culmination of the one forced to bestow it upon others? Would you then pity the one who had to force their gift upon others? Or would you still resent them with all your might, wishing terrible events to happen upon them, because of something they cannot control?

    Maybe she can answer these questions, through a look into her past, present, and what is to come for her. 

    Introducing, Rahni.

    The young immortal had beauty beyond compare, with locks of curly, blossom pink hair, soft gray eyes, rosy skin, and a smile that could brighten anyone’s mood.

    This is the woman who built her kingdom, brick by brick, inch by inch, day after day. For nearly three hundred years, the woman single handedly made her empire one to remember, with the fire made blue by those who have wronged her, and who she had slaughtered. She built her empire in the coldest of lands, to ensure that any mortal who trespassed there would not survive unless she granted it.

    She ruled there with a mighty, yet kind, hand. Every day, she would mingle with and befriend her subjects, granting them each their daily needs, whether it be advice or material items, such as food and warmth, in the freezing air. This went on for generations, the empire living without war due to how generous Rahni was with other kingdoms, them being unable to find reason to attack the Arctic Empire.

    Until, one man showed up. A stranger who had managed to survive the frozen wasteland and, what was rumored to be enchanted, forest that surrounded the empire, and when he was confronted with about what his purpose was for being in the empire, he simply said, “To see Her Majesty, myself, and see if she truly is the ruler she is put up to be.”

    This angered her loyal subjects, offended by how someone could doubt their ruler’s authority, and caused them to notify the empire’s guards, arresting him. Word got around to the Queen and soon she summoned him in her throne room, due to her curiosity. The man presented himself by the name of Zieran, and he had come from another kingdom, to study how her own functions. 

    This surprised the queen, and out of pure curiosity she granted Zieran permission to live and study in her land, as long as he stayed in her palace.

    Over the course of the next few years, Zieran learned more and more not just about the empire’s economy and system, but about Rahni, herself. How she would always visit her townsfolk, communed with her palace servants, and laughed with her guards. He learned that she never treated those that were below her authority as such, instead lowering herself in front of them, and when he asked those she spoke to about it, they simply stated that it was impossible not to treat her as an old friend every time she came to them.

    Soon enough, Rahni and Zieran began to become closer, when Rahni requested that he shared his studies with her each week, so she could verify if what he had found was true. She eventually realized that everything that he found was indeed factual, but she still called for these meets, as an excuse to see the tall man each week. Soon each week turned to twice a week, to every other day, to every day. The two were inseparable, soon falling in love. They were then wed, years into the ordeal.

    The new king and queen continued to rule for years on end, Rahni sharing her youth with Zieran, not making him immortal, but so that he aged tremendously slower. Together they colonized new lands, allianced with more kingdoms, and were infamous for their good deeds to their people and others.

    ...Alas, it was never meant to be.

    One evening, Rahni had walked into her chambers to witness an assassin in the act of murdering her husband. In a fit of rage, she annihilated their soul, before rushing to her husband, who died in her arms that day.

    The village rarely saw their ruler after that day, for she never spoke to anyone outside the palace, and those that she did speak to only had short, curt conversations with her. She continued to grieve for her king, but that was merely the beginning of her history with misfortune, and how it would forever affect her future.

    “M’lady?”

    Rahni lifted her head from her hands, having been in deep concentration, focusing on her royal reports and proclamations from neighboring kingdoms. She had just started reading a letter from the fellow god and emperor, Rio, before she saw that one of her head guards was at the door to her office.

    “Yes, sir?”

    “You see, ma’am, the other guards and I found something, and we’re not sure what to do with her.”

    “...’Her’?” Rahni’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What on Ranos was he talking about?

    “Yes, ma’am. I believe that you should see her for yourself.” Curiosity once again got the best of the immortal woman, so she had her guard lead her to her throne room. “Before I open this door, your Highness, I ask that you don’t… overreact.”

    Now Rahni was itching with suspense, dismissing her guard with a mere wave of her hand before reaching for the door’s knob.

    What she found on the other side shocked her.

    The noises of a baby’s wails greeted her ears, and standing in front of her throne was one of her handmaidens, holding a crying infant. Rahni practically sprinted to her maid, not sparing a glance as she asked, “Where was she?”

    “We found her by the horse stables, madam-”

    “How long was she there?” Rahni’s hands were held midair, as if she were contemplating just snatching the baby from the maid’s arms. 

    “It can’t have been more than a day, when our guards made the patrol around the palace grounds last night, there was no one in sight, then when one of our stable boys went to replace the horses’ feed, there she was in the feeder,” the maid was looking warily between the baby and the queen, not sure what to do in that situation. Rahni continued to restrain herself from grabbing the bundle in the other woman’s arms, but she did lean closer to examine the supposed orphan’s features.

    Despite her face being bunched up from wailing, she could see that she had emerald green eyes behind tears, and a small head covered in ginger locks of hair. On the sides of her head poked out small ears with slight points on the ends. Rahni could no longer resist the urge to reach for the child, so instead of taking her into her own arms, she settled for having the girl wrap her small right hand around her own pointer finger, doing so made her wails silent.

    Rahni wept.

    She, as an immortal, would never be able to have a child with a mortal, hence why she had no children while her husband breathed. Yet, Rahni could not deny the maternal instinct in her heart when she made contact with this small human. But… 

    “I can’t care for her…” Rahni forced herself to remove her finger from the infant’s grasp, and once she did she began to cry again, this time harder as she shook her soft hands in fists. Rahni resisted the urge to place her finger back in her hold. “I wouldn’t be able to find time for her, let alone take care of her!”

    “Then let us do it!” Another maiden entered the throne room, trailed by a few more. “Let us take care of her! We’ll feed her, change her, and make sure she grows healthily!” Rahni was taken aback by the womens’ urge to keep the girl. She looked between the maidens, to the baby in their arms, to the room around them. Still looking unsure, the eldest maid, who was currently holding the babe, spoke up.

    “Mistress, you’ve been so glum since Zieran, you need someone like this in your life again,” The woman paused, still seeing uncertainty in the queen’s eyes. “Would you like to hold her?”

    Rahni’s eyes lit up, despite her somber stance. She silently nodded and walked towards her throne, the maidens following closely behind. At this point, even a few guards were not-so-discreetly poking their heads through the main door.

    Now seated on her grand throne, Rahni extended her arms expectantly, soon receiving what she requested. With the infant now in her arms, she stopped her loud screeches, and looked up at the queen, with big eyes.

    Rahni’s heart lurched in her chest, and as she gazed down at the ginger babe in her hands, the palace staff knew that there was a new addition among their midsts.

    Rahni decided that it would be best to assume the role of the infant’s older sister, instead of mother, but she did bestow the child with the name Xena. Xena continued to grow and age with beauty and grace, and the two sisters’ bond was unlike any other. Rahni always made sure that the other’s needs were met, and Xena consistently helped her sister in times of need, including helping the queen become used to visiting her people more often, again. 

    However, sixteen years later when things began to look up for Rahni, it all came crumbling down again with misfortune.

    Xena, now sixteen, had quite the habit of using Rahni’s personal library. The young woman knew of her sister’s immortality, and of the many different ethereal beings and realms, so one day, while looking through the shelves of books, she stumbled upon a worn book on a back shelf. The book’s cover was covered in dust, and the spine was falling apart. Blowing the dust off, Xena found that the book was about the undead realm.

    This was one of the few realms that Rahni refused to tell her sister about, and the fact that Xena had found this made her ecstatic. So, opening to the novel’s pages, she found an endless supply of knowledge about the realm, such as the unique species, mannerisms of the undead, and what the terrain was like, ranging from warped forests to wastelands that contained lost souls in its very soil.

    But what interested the young princess the most was the ruler, Shugarah. The queen of the undead, stated to be ruthless and unforgiving. The more she read about her, the more she wanted to know, so one day when Rahni went to visit another kingdom to discuss a compromise, Xena began the process of creating a portal to this forbidden land. According to the book, she needed materials such as obsidian, ruby dust, and the portal creator’s blood.

    So she set to work in a private section of the palace garden, where she layed a circle of obsidian in the grass, and spread the ruby dust in the center. Lastly, she used a rock to cut her hand. With the blood oozing from her palm, she mixed it in with the ruby dust in the center. Xena took a step back as the portal roared to life. The dust and blood swirled within the obsidian to create a window into the hellish land, and as she looked into it, her body was struck with fear, but along with that fear was intrigue.

    After she patched up her new wound, she mustered all of her courage, and grabbed a bag of supplies, such as the book, first aid, food, some gold, more ruby dust, and she jumped into the unknown.

    The first thing she felt was heat that she could never compare to the summer’s hottest days, but despite the temperature, she did not sweat.

    “Odd,” she whispered, as she examined her clothing, seeing no sweat marks. Looking around all she could see were red rocks that made the floor, that covered the sky, and crawled up all around her. Collecting herself, she began her trek through the land, book in hand. What she was searching for was Shugarah’s fortress, which was said to be hidden deep in the center of the world.

    On her journey, she found indescribable places and creatures, including an ocean of lava instead of water, purple and blue forests, and walking skeletons. 

   After what seemed like days, she finally approached the grand walls of Shugarah’s fortress. Just as she was about to begin her treach through the walls of the infamous building, she saw a few young creatures in the corner of her eye. They seemed to be humanoid… pigs? She remembered reading about them, and how they were called ‘piglins’. They only came up to her waist, and some looked undead compared to others, their skin green and bones showing, but nonetheless, they played with wooden swords.

    She giggled at their little game, and approached them.

    “Hello!” The piglins had not noticed her before, but when she spoke, they seemed very startled and the tallest one nervously held his sword at her, while the rest hid behind him. Xena sat down, not wanting to seem threatening to the young piglins, and reaching into her bag, pulled out the gold she had brought, which were in little nuggets.

   The tallest immediately recognized the yellow mineral, and his pupils dilated at the sight of it, but his stance did not move, and he was still focused on protecting the other piglins. Xena then placed a few nuggets on the ground, and crawled back slowly, waiting for him to approach her instead of her approaching him. Soon enough the piglins approached her, one by one, five in total, and Xena found herself immersed in playing with the foreign children.

   She wasn’t sure how long they played together, and was also unaware of how long she was being watched by a mysterious figure from the fortress walls, which was now about ten yards away from the group. 

   The playtime between the two species led to a makeshift conversation. The piglins understood a miniscule amount of English, but could not speak it. Xena pulled out her book once more, looking for the section about the others’ species, and she, herself, began to make makeshift words in their tongue, which consisted of grunts and groans instead of fluent words. With her back now to the fortress, the piglins sat in front of her, listening and seeming to giggle at her poor attempts to speak like them. One even laid their head in her lap, seeming to be the most comfortable with her presence.

   This went on for who knows how long, but the end was coming closer. Eventually, Xena saw as all of the young piglins around her stiffened and became eerily silent, except for the, what seemed to be, youngest that had fallen asleep in her lap. All of their beady eyes became locked on something behind her, and before she could realize what was happening, a voice spoke.

   “Impressive, I’ve never seen them so open around something not of their kind.” Xena hesitantly craned her neck to glance behind her, and there she was. Shugarah. She was even more elegant than she was said to be in the book, and Xena could only gaze in awe.

   Shugarah wore a dress of black silk that hugged her slim figure, the only skin that showed was that of her feet and a portion of her leg that revealed itself in a slit in the dress. Her sleeves were made of a slightly transparent material, drawing attention to the muscle in her biceps and forearms. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight braid that swept over her shoulder, long enough to have the end touch her hip. The goddess stood at what seemed to be a seven foot tall stance, with her gazing down at the teenager in a slight interest, with her glittering hazel eyes. 

   Xena couldn’t help but feel the urge to bow in the intimidating presence of the queen of the dead, but could only sit there due to the sleeping piglin on her legs. Snapping out of her trance, she turned back around to softly remove the creature from her lap, but froze again when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

   “No, no! Don’t move him, they can be quite rowdy when woken abruptly,” Shugarah had knelt down to be directly behind the much younger being, and her head was just above Xena’s shoulder. “Here, let me take him.”

   Before Xena had time to process, Shugarah’s long arms reached around the girl, and swiftly took the snoring child into her own grasp, not even stirring the small piglin from his slumber. They both stood then, and the teenager wasted no time turning around to properly bow to the queen.

   “Oh, dear, none of that, now,” Shugarah shook her head, moving the child in her arms so that one of her hands was free. “Now, state your purpose.”

   “Uhm, no specific reason, Your Highness! I-I just found this book, and I-”

   “A book, you say?” Shugarah raised an eyebrow. She leaned slightly to look around Xena, and saw the book there, it’s pages still open to where it spoke of hell’s many creatures. Xena began to fumble over herself as she rushed to turn around and pick up the abandoned novel.

   “Yes!” she cried. “I had found it in our library, and your world sounded so interesting, so I-”

   “Made the portal…” Shugarah mumbled, breaking eye contact. The two stood there for a minute in silence, before Shugarah asked, “So tell me, mortal. Do you have a name?”

   Shugarah was surprised when Xena hesitated to answer. As she looked down at the ginger, she couldn’t help but notice that she was looking at the nearby fortress as she fidgeted with her hands.

    “Well?” Shugarah stared at her expectantly.

    Xena blinked, drawing her gaze away from the fortress, back up to the queen before her.

    “Well, your Highness, I come from the Esther family, and I live with my sister-”

    “‘Esther’ as in Rahni Esther?” Shugarah’s eyes lit up, and a smile graced her features before she realized her reaction, and she cleared her throat. “I mean, you come from Rahni Esther’s bloodline?” This sudden change of tone confused the mortal, but she didn’t question it. Instead she merely began to walk past Shugarah, towards the fortress, continuing to gaze at the intimidating structure.

    “Yeah, she’s my older sister,” she answered, without looking at the other. Shugarah blinked at how nonchalantly a mortal could say that their sibling was a goddess. 

   At this point, the piglin children had run off, leaving just the youngest still asleep in Shugarah’s arms.

   After a moment of watching Xena, Shugarah had two thoughts at once. “You still never told me your first name, child.”

   “Oh, my apologies, it’s Xena.”

    “What a lovely name,” Shugarah then initiated her second thought. “Would you like to come inside?” Now that caught her attention, causing Xena to turn around, her eyes as bright as stars. The queen chuckled at her enthusiasm, and led the younger being towards her abode, with the redhead practically bouncing on her toes.

    Once inside, Shugarah introduced Xena to some foreign cuisines, and the two made small talk with each other about the underworld and overworld, and how their kingdoms were run differently. They had been talking for about an hour until, “Miss?”

   “Yes, Xena?”

   “I was wondering, in the book it said that you were ‘unforgiving’ and ‘cruel’, and I wanted to ask, uhm, how come you haven’t…”

   “Killed you?”

   Xena was shocked by how blunt she was, but she nodded sheepishly, awaiting Shugarah’s response.

   “Oh, it’s because you looked interesting, I guess.”

   Xena’s skin paled, but then the queen laughed.

   “Dearest, I’m joking with you! I was intrigued while watching you play with the children. Most adventurers who survive the path to my fortress don’t survive, and when they do arrive, most try to attack the piglins and their young. So when you came along, you did something I wasn’t expecting, and not much down here is ‘different’, so to say.” Shugarah looked away, a somber smile on her face.

   The two continued to chat until Xena realized how long it must’ve been since she left her realm. Bringing this to Shugarah’s attention, the queen offered to make a special portal that would lead right into the fortress, for whenever the young woman wanted to visit at any given time.

   Agreeing to this arrangement, Shugarah led Xena to her, what looked to be, a garden with many exotic plants and a few mystical creatures roaming around the grounds. The goddess proceeded to make a much more grand portal than the makeshift one that Xena had made, with it standing upright instead of on the ground. Once activated, Xena could see her garden on the other side, and more importantly, who was on the other side.

   Xena cringed at how Rahni seemed to be absolutely fuming, standing with her arms crossed in the garden, near Xena’s previous portal. She looked up to the queen, only to see her wide eyed, seeming  to be absolutely enamored with the overworld, or, more specifically, the other goddess.

   Taking a deep breath, Xena stepped through the portal, with Shugarah staying behind, but still visible within the portal’s borders. Rahni began to approach her sister, looking ready to scold the living daylights out of her, but then she glanced behind her, and froze. Her eyes went wide, much like how Shugarah’s had, and her face went a light shade of red. Xena decided to slip past her, waving to Shugarah before departing towards the palace.

   The two goddesses gazed at each other, only hearing of the legends that the other held, and never actually meeting in person. Little did either of them know, this moment would change their lives forever.

   From that day forward, Rahni, instead of Xena, snuck to the portal to see Shugarah. In their time together, Rahni learned that the other goddess had also lost her husband recently, and Shugarah learned of Rahni’s kingdom and how she came to be the empress she is now. There was an immediate connection between the two, which was plain to see for anyone. Xena would also involve herself in the queens’ affair, being a, what one would call, “wingwoman”. Before either of them knew it, they were in love.

   For years, the two’s bond grew stronger and stronger. But, again.

   It was never meant to be.

   Rio, the god of chaos and monstrosity, had heard of the queens’ bondage, and out of pure boredom, decided to come in between it. He watched from afar, still feigning friendship with Rahni, as he searched for anything to bring the lovers apart. During his watches, he found one who was close to both of them, and that they would do anything for her.

   Xena Esther.

   One night, he snuck into her room, and while there, made an absolute monster out of her. He cursed her to forever walk on all four limbs, to be given a jaw full of teeth sharper than any sword, and a mutilated body of orange, a mix between all of scales, feathers, and fur.

When he completed the transformation, his maniacal laugh could be heard all throughout the palace’s walls. This awoke Rahni, and she practically flew to her sister’s bedroom, but alas, it was too late. Rio’s infamous power was irreversible.

She wept at the sight of her younger sister, now a horrid beast, who didn’t even seem to recognize her older sibling. Rahni was forced to have her guards lock her away for everyone’s own safety, including Xena’s.

Shugarah eventually got word of what had occurred, and she was absolutely furious, enraged that another god could do this to an innocent soul. She would have gone to punish him, herself, if Rahni hadn’t stopped her. Shugarah could see the pain and anguish that the empress felt, and decided that the best thing for her to do would be to comfort her companion.

Years after the incident, Rahni and Shugarah had wed and conjoined their two kingdoms, Rahni’s being the practical gateway to the underworld. Rahni was slowly recovering from the loss of her sister, but soon enough, the two wives could not live happily forever. 

Rahni had been asleep, Shugarah managing the souls passing into the afterlife that night, when an aura of suspense swept over the empire. It was a night that was very similar to another.

The night King Zieran had been murdered. And soon, it was about to happen again.

As Rahni slept, a guard entered her bedroom. Unbeknownst to anyone in the palace, it was an imposter. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The stranger approached the queen’s sleeping figure, and slowly raised a sharp dagger above her head. But… they couldn’t do it. The assassin could only hold the weapon in the air, trying to force their arm to finish the act, but eventually had to pull themself away forcefully. Rahni slowly awoke to see the intruder, frozen next to her bedside. Her gray eyes showed minimal fear, for she could see that the soul before her may have had cruel intentions, but their heart was good.

She quickly disarmed them, and sat them on the floor so that she could speak to them calmly. The stranger soon burst into tears, murmuring apologies not to Rahni, but someone else. She gave them a minute to compose themselves, until they were finally capable of speaking. She did, however, resort to threatening them for the truth, still wary due to this person having tried to kill her not an hour beforehand.

They introduced themself as Faux, and that he was the younger brother of the assassin that had killed Zieran. He had come to avenge his brother, and to finally prove to the world that it was, in fact, possible to kill an immortal being. Rahni could not help but feel pity for the boy before her, for he looked to be no older than sixteen. He reminded her of her sister, in a strange way. So, she struck a deal with Faux.

“If you are able to slay the god, Rio, then I will grant you your brother back, in return your word that you and your brother will never slay another living being again.”

Faux agreed, and Rahni then granted him the supplies that he would need to defeat the god of monstrosity. Of these supplies included a charm that would turn Faux into an ordinary fox as a disguise, and a vial of serum that would turn its consumer to stone.

And so, Faux set off on his quest to kill a god. When he reached Rio’s kingdom, a temple within a jungle, he activated the charm and turned into the small, orange mammal. He snuck into the temple, where other animals from around the world roamed. Rio liked to surround himself in the company of different creatures to examine their features, and make new monsters with the inspiration. 

The time was noon, and Faux had discreetly slipped the serum into Rio’s cup of wine. He watched from afar as the god entered the room and sat down to his meal, and he witnessed the unsuspecting king down the wine in one gulp. Instantaneously, Faux saw that Rio’s skin turned to a hard stone, forever frozen in the position of placing his goblet on the table.

Rahni could feel from across the world that the deed was done, so she revived Faux’s brother’s soul, and she fled to her dungeon, where Xena had been kept for nearly six years. However, what she found horrified her far more than the beastly figure that her sister had previously had.

Xena was dead. The transformation from her monstrous form back into a human was too much for her body to handle, and there she was on the dungeon floor, limp and lifeless.

Rahni’s shriek echoed through the entire empire, and the grief that overcame her was unbearable. She sobbed as she held her sister close to her chest, her tears flowing more than they ever had before. Xena’s death was the one that broke the young goddess.

Rahni isolated herself from absolutely everyone but Shugarah, and she never spoke again. Throughout the years of her existence, Rahni who had once been a goddess of promise and prosperity, was now the culmination of grief and sorrow, all due to her everlasting misfortune.

[hext00ns]

love when my brain attaches to dumb weird shit no one else cares about like a weird crossover ship that only makes sense to my brain and the weird little stories that go on in it because i wanna ramble under the cut is my thots on all this 

Don’t trust Steven with any human stuff mans never went to school even Ben is better at stuff like budgeting then Steven is and Ben lived on the road with two other teenagers for a good chunk of his older teen years 

All thee of them pool together in the decision making department because all three of them have those good ol’ leader instincts. Dexter is use to working alone while both Ben and Steven are use to leading teams. At first they probably butted heads a LOT and still kinda do but now days they are pretty equal in that kinda stuff. 

Ben tries to plan dates, really he does. But he’d rather just get a smoothie with them or watch a horror movie at home. It’s Steven who plans the more romantic stuff. HOWEVER, Dexter will surprise them both when it comes to things like anniversaries cause he’ll plan something weirdly and uncharacteristically romantic for them that will probably make Steven start crying and Ben makes fun of them both despite being really really happy. 

Cooking and cleaning goes to Steven. He mother hens both Dexter and Ben. Dexter has issues with stepping away from work long enough to keep himself from keeling over and Ben still acts like a 13yo some times when it comes to cleaning up and choosing McDonald’s for every meal. Steven is super happy to do it though! He was raised by the gems and Pearl was always huge on cleaning and keeping things tidy and he is use to cooking for himself as well from a young age. He actually finds joy in both of these activities because they’re very domestic and calming for him. 

I have lots of different aus and ideas going on through my head so who confesses first is very much up for debate. Ultimately, Steven is the most emotional of the three and is most likely to say something in the moment about his feelings. Where as Ben has been in many relationships over the years and is super use to asking people out that he likes. Dexter I think could be the one to initiate the relationship but only with the right circumstances. 

Ben is kinda hardheaded. Steven is highly emotional. When they have fights Steven is normally the first to try and get them to all calm down and make up. He’s very pacifistic and hates arguments especially among loved ones. Dexter is a bit on the middle ground. He can get very frustrated very easily but also he’s more likely to cool down faster than Ben is. However, you KNOW you fucked up if Steven is the one that has to leave and calm down from the argument. There are definitely times where and argument got to a place where Steven was the one to leave in a fit of anger to go blow off steam. Normally during those fights, Dexter and Ben are so surprised (and kinda worried) that they often completely forget what the argument was even about. 

Steven is literally the BEST caregiver when someone is sick. He gets a lot of his motherly tendencies from Pearl. Dexter is pretty prone to stress fevers and working himself sick if Ben and Steven aren’t there to keep him from doing so. 

Ben and Steven are so goddamn talkative there are days when Dexter straight up kicks them out of the lab. Ben’s probably the most talkative of them all but Steven isn’t that far off. Dexter is pretty quiet unless you get him going on something. Man can infodump for hours about some science shit Ben and Steven have never even heard of. Of course they still try their best to follow along even if they are so fucking confused. 

Steven is the most observant when something is going on with the others. Especially in an emotional sense. He’s borderline an empath (actually I think his powers do technically make him and empath but besides the point). Dexter is pretty observant if something is different or someone is acting strangely if he can get his nose out of his work long enough to see it. But unlike Steven who will question it immediately, Dexter will give it a day or so before mentioning it. Ben is so goddamn oblivious sometimes. It’s okay he’s trying. 

Proposing honestly probably isn’t on any of their minds much. All three are young adults, two of which are traumatized heroes and the other one is a workaholic. Not only is their age a factor but their situations are too. If marriage ever was gonna be a thing with them it would be a good few years into the future I think. And, despite being the most emotional and romantic one of the bunch, Steven is actually the LEAST likely to pull out the ring. After his proposal failure with Connie he just is really scared to even mention the idea of marriage to anyone. He realizes that the idea of relationships he was raised around isn’t how humans work. Yes he can fuse with humans but no human wants to stay fused. Even Garnet learned that you can’t sacrifice your individuality to a relationship. This is a struggle for Steven because he’s always struggled with who his is and his identity and though things are better now he always will struggle. Even then he’s also very scared of taking things too fast. He knows he’s overly emotional and a huge romantic and he knows he jumps into stuff way too fast sometimes. Dexter might think about proposing sometimes but will probably just talk himself out of it a lot. He’s married to his work right? Well, in all truth he can’t deny that the idea is nice. But they’re all busy and also there’s three of them so how would that even work? Yeah he just talks himself out of it. However, Ben is the one who actually goes through with it (when the time is right). He really doesn’t care about things like “how it’ll work” and whatever. He’s pretty impulsive and leans in on his instincts. When he realizes that this is what he wants and is pretty sure Steven and Dexter would want it to, fuck yeah he’ll go for it. 

It’s down right annoying how much these three would sacrifice for each other. Or anyone really. Steven the most, he often values other lives and happiness above his own. He’s a helper and a healer but often forgets about himself in the process. Ben is use to self sacrifice. He’s a hero, like Steven. He is prepared to put his life on the line for them. Dexter is interesting because despite being the protag of his show I wouldn’t really call him the hero type and I don’t really think he’d strap himself with the title either. However if put into the position he will take up the mantle (we see so in Fusionfall). Honestly, Dexter is more surprised than anyone at how much he’d risk to keep the people he cares about safe. He does it on pure instinct without even thinking first. 

Ben is such a fucking blanket hog he gets his own. It’s green. Ben and Steven have to almost drag Dexter to go to bed and get some fuuucking sleep for god sakes. Steven isn’t a blanket hog only because he’s the cuddler. He gets all the warmth he needs from the others. Dexter wont admit it but Ben will, the fact that Steven is the best big spoon at night because he’s the biggest of the three. He’s wonderfully fat and it’s fantastic. Big arms big belly how do you not love to cuddle that!!!! However despite being a great big spoon Steven very much likes being the little spoon a lot. He likes to be held just as much as he likes holding others. Steven also is very prone to wanting to be held when he’s having a bad mental day. Ben would much rather be the big spoon in most his relationships but fuck man Steven’s hugs are so nice okay one exception. 

Steven is the most ticklish and Ben holds this against him. Ben is the least ticklish but once you get him going he gives this hilarious shreek. Dexter is ticklish but only if you know where to poke. However he’s also the one who will probably hit you on accident just as a reaction. 

Ben is the best kisser he’s had the most experience. Romantically, Steven’s only ever kissed Connie before then but he’s the best at like slower softer more romantic kisses that’ll make your heart ache. Dexter has no fucking idea what he’s doing but he’s a fast learner so there’s no complaining. 

God please they’re 18yos they are all so fucking irresponsible on some level. They’re so prone to doing dumb shit. Of course Ben more so out of all of them.

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Deep Blue Fantasy Part Six

Pairing: Merman!Tamaki Amajiki x Fem!reader

Warnings: Some angst and hopelessness, otherwise none

Author’s Note:

This is quite likely my favorite part of the story! Even though it’s a little on the shorter side, it’s really top tier for me. We got some tooth-rotting fluff up in here (Sugar’s going to give you some cavities (*≧m≦*) ) and then some lovely angst (cri).

I’ll leave this for you and run. I hope you like it! This will all come to its thrilling conclusion on the ninth! I’m happy with how it’s been received here!

Love you!

-Sugar

✤✤✤✤✤

{Pt. 1}  {Pt. 2}  {Pt. 3}  {Pt. 4}  {Pt. 5}  {Pt. 6}  {Pt. 7}

くコ:彡 くコ:彡 くコ:彡 くコ:彡

Another week passed. A whole week of Tamaki falling more and more in love with you.

Everyone at the chateau had taken notice of her highness's mysterious new best friend, often seen giggling with one another while you walked through the halls.

You had helped Tamaki come up with a good story this time, which happened to work much better than letting him nod along to anyone trying to play twenty questions to learn more about him. As far as the staff was concerned, Tamaki was a foreigner from far away lands who couldn't speak the island tongue. You however, just so happened to speak the language he did know, and that was why he couldn't respond to anyone other than you.

On the topic of language, both you and Tamaki spent hours in your study together. You taught him everything you could about the human world (including how to read, which he was picking up quite well), while he told you tales of merpeople history and culture, teaching you sign language along the way. Tamaki couldn't help but be impressed with how quickly you learned the motions for each word and phrase. Every time you were able to hold a short conversation with him, a tiny fire of pride glowed just a little brighter in his chest.

His time alone with you, however, soon drew to a close. One morning, you shook him awake with an eager gleam in your eye.

"He's coming today!" you excitedly whispered to him, referring to your father.

You'd been ecstatic since the day before after learning he was on schedule to come back to Milrich, which was the island you were staying at for the time being. You were in one of your favorite dresses, (F/C) skirts softly swishing around your legs. Tamaki noticed that your hair was done differently today, and he had to admit, it looked really nice.

You decided that today would be a good time to take him around town, showing him the shop stands and letting him greet some of the townspeople. Tamaki was nervous at first, clinging to your side at all times and doing little more than offering small waves to people. You made sure to keep him distanced enough so that you wouldn't have to explain why he couldn't hold a conversation, but he enjoyed seeing the sights of the town all the same.

Something was really starting to bother him, though. The people around you treated you with so much respect. Some of them even did an odd sort of bending over for you when you passed by. A sick feeling began to churn in his stomach. It had to just be him overthinking things, right? But the way you lived looked so different from these other humans he saw. Did you have more money? You mentioned your father owning the islands. That had to be it.

Tamaki gnawed on his lip. If you were rich, what would that mean for your interest in him? He wasn't by any means an important merman. He wouldn't have anything to offer if you were to get together. Would your father accept him? He must be the one with the money. Why hadn't Tamaki worried about this more? Why hadn't he asked you earlier about what you were? He was so focused on himself and the fact that he was a merman, he'd barely had time to ask what a princess was.

A sound interrupted Tamaki's thoughts, leaving him little time to try and guess what it was or what it meant before you excitedly gasped and grabbed his hand. Brianne, who had been accompanying you both a few paces away hurried to attempt to keep up with the both of you as you sprinted in the direction of the shore. Tamaki saw an impressive ship docked at the end of an extensive boardwalk; planks leading out into dark waters. He noticed how the boat rocked, pushed and pulled by the waves constantly slapping its sides.

A middle-aged man stood at the bottom of a ramp, surrounded by a small crowd of people. He resembled you, or, maybe Tamaki should say you resembled him. From your face to your build to your hair, this man was undeniably your father.

"Daddy!" You broke off from Tamaki's hand and tore down the wooden dock in his direction.

At the sound of your voice, he looked up, eyes twinkling as he caught sight of you. He was only able to take a few steps toward you before you leapt into his arms, hugging yourself into his large chest.

Tamaki stood by himself at the end of the pier, watching your interactions. Most of your exchanged words were swallowed by distance and the sound of waves slapping against the support posts anchoring the dock. He startled when Brianne finally caught up, panting slightly as she brushed past him and continued her way down the pier, lifting her skirts from the path of her legs.

You were still speaking amiably with your father when she approached the two of you, doing one of those odd bending over things before her own mouth began to move in what Tamaki assumed was welcome for your father.

Her arrival seemed to distract you enough from your father to look around, catching sight of Tamaki still standing awkwardly on shore. You waved at him, then bit your lip as you waited for Brianne to finish talking.

When she finally did, you latched onto your father's arm, pulling him much like you did to Tamaki down the boardwalk, however, you went much slower.

"Father, there's someone I'd like you to meet," Tamaki heard you say as you approached.

He looked up from you and met Tamaki's eyes. He was too far away to determine what color they were, but Tamaki could tell they weren't quite the same hue as yours. They looked tired and worn, but warm and friendly all the same.

"This is Tamaki," you introduced. "He's a castaway from a shipwreck who washed ashore last week. He's been staying with me since."

Your father glanced between you and Tamaki for a moment, finally sizing up the boy before him. After a slightly awkward moment of silence, he offered his hand, which by now Tamaki knew he was supposed to shake. His hand was large and, much like yours, warm in his grasp.

"It's nice to meet you, young lad," your father said, still gripping Tamaki's hand. It didn't seem harsh, merely firm, possibly threatening. "Haven't been too much trouble for my daughter now, have you?"

Out of habit, Tamaki opened his mouth to answer, but stopped himself before he could make a legitimate attempt.

"You see," you spoke up for him, "Tamaki doesn't speak our tongue. He's foreign. Luckily it was among the many languages I have been practicing, so we have been able to communicate."

"Really now? Which one?"

You swallowed, quickly scanning through your mind for a plausible language that your father didn't speak. You named it, and he merely nodded, finally releasing Tamaki's hand.

"He's a very interesting person, father," you continued, holding onto your king's arm as you and his entourage began to make your way back to the chateau. "I have had many opportunities to learn from him. He's very interesting to listen to." You glanced across the way to share a smile with Tamaki, which he appreciated.

"I assume you've been keeping up with your studies as well?" your father asked with a slightly teasing smile.

"She has," Brianne piped up. "Quite nicely too, even with her new little friend who she's running around with at all hours of the day."

No one in the group was able to miss the color donning both yours and Tamaki's cheeks at her statement.

Your father merely smiled down at the both of you, catching your gaze with his warm eyes. "I'm glad you have a friend, (Y/N)."

You smiled softly at the grass below you. "I missed you, father."

"And I missed you, princess."

"The whole town has been awaiting your return," Brianne spoke again. "We should have something in celebration. A dance, perhaps?"

Tamaki wasn't quite certain what a dance was, but from the way you perked up it sounded like it was something to be excited about.

"Oh, daddy, we haven't had one in so long! It'll be wonderful!"

Tamaki suddenly noticed Brianne eyeing him a bit slyly, catching his gaze for a second before innocently roving her glance back ahead. He was clearly missing something, yet again. This was starting to get a bit annoying, having to wait before he could ask you every question he had in private.

"A dance it will be then," your father said. "We'll open the chateau grounds and the entire village will be invited."

You removed your arm from his in order to clap your hands together. "Oh, I'm so excited!"

...

What is a dance?

Tamaki hadn't been able to corner you all afternoon. You spent nearly all day with or around your father, which Tamaki more than understood. But there was no denying that without you, it was difficult to function in your world. What with his anxiety, it was a bit nice to not have just anyone trying to talk with him, but it was still a little unnerving when some of the chateau workers just stared at him from across the room, sometimes whispering amongst themselves. And while he thoroughly enjoyed every moment he spent with you, dependence wasn't his scene either.

So that's how he found himself holed up in his room, alone, having finally escaped the bustle of your chateau. It only seemed busier now that your father was here again, where Tamaki had been used to calm, quiet, nearly empty stone walls.

An hour or so later, you poked your head in to find him sprawled face down on his bed, trying to come up with ways to make a relationship between the two of you work. That is, if you were interested. And if Tamaki could finally just come out and tell you how he felt. Sometimes he found his own lip curling in frustration with himself. Why did he have to make it so hard on him?

"Tamaki?" Your sweet voice saying his name, just like the music that so easily lulled its way into his heart. "You doing okay?"

Tamaki lifted himself up so he could sit on the edge of the bed, and you joined him without hesitation. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just . . . a lot of people."

You tentatively placed a hand on his knee, making the raven haired boy's heart jump. "I'm sorry. It might be like this for another day or so until everything settles. I'll try to make time for you until then, okay?"

"Sure."

Your hand gave his knee the lightest of squeezes before pulling back to rest on your lap. "Are you excited for the dance?"

Tamaki bit his lip, relieved to finally be able to have the question that had been on his mind all day answered. "What's a dance?"

"Ah, you must not have them," you said. Tamaki could appreciate how understanding you were with him, never talking down to him like he was dumb. "They're parties. With food and music and dancing—"

"Oh, we do have those."

"So you'll accompany me?" you asked, allowing heat to spread a bit on your cheeks.

"What do you mean?"

Your blush intensified a little more. "You know. You can take people to these things and they can be your dance partner for the night . . . . Would you like to be mine?"

Tamaki's pulse quickened. "Of course! I'd love to. It's just, I've never really been to many parties or anything . . . ."

"And you probably don't know how to dance either. At least, not with human legs."

Tamaki shook his head.

"Come on." You stood, walking him to the door. You glanced around the hall before leaving his room, making your way all the way down to the door to the outside.

The sun had long since set, and the sky had been painted over with a heavy inky darkness. Tamaki couldn't help but take a moment to gaze up at the thousands of stars that were scattered outside the atmosphere. You'd taken him outside at night once a few days ago, pointing out constellations that had been illustrated in one of your books, spending hours together just looking at them as you talked.

He still found himself fascinated with them, only shaken from his trance by a light tug you'd given to his arm. "This way," you whispered. Tamaki didn't know why you were whispering, but there was something about the action that just seemed appropriate now.

You led him to an open area of grass, fringed by small trees on one side. The night sky was in full view all around, moonlight softly pooling onto every surface for miles. Tamaki could see you just well enough to truly appreciate your beauty, eyes running from your kind face to your sweet curves.

Without him scarcely being able to register it, you were suddenly so close to him; chest to chest in the middle of the clearing. His breath caught in his throat at your proximity, craving it and fearing it all at once.

"I'm going to teach you how to dance," you said, your voice low in the still night air.            I'm Renasha Bliss—

You gently guided his arms and hands to their positions, your own heart suddenly feeling flighty at his butterfly touch. Once he was secured, you settled your own hands and began to explain to him some of the basics.

"Now move with me, and keep loose. There will be music with a tempo, so you'll have that to follow, but for now, let's just go—" You began to guide his movements, your feet gliding with his over the soft grass. "One two three, one two three, one two three—" Your voice remained soft, concentrating on keeping your motions fluid to provide an example for Tamaki.

Every now and then, fireflies would be awakened by your feet, humming into the air and creating a light show all your own. Tamaki watched as their glow shone in your eyes, unable to take his own off them. They went so deep, and he loved every detail about their color, even from what little he could make out in the dark.

You kept whispering one two three, one two three, until you felt Tamaki begin to relax into your hold, letting his own legs guide him relatively smoothly with yours.

"Look at that," you paused in your chanting to beam at him. "You're a natural."

The two of you kept going, your count eventually replaced by gentle humming. Tamaki closed his eyes and let the music flow into his ears, guided only by your warm touch and the silent continuation of one two three he'd started in his head.

"Spin me," you whispered.

Tamaki blinked his eyes open enough to watch as you broke apart from him momentarily, still grasping his hand. He'd seen this spin done countless times back home, so he was familiar with the action of lifting his arm over your head as you spun slowly beneath him, skirts swishing around your calves.

A soft laugh tumbled from your lips as he pulled you back into him. You hadn't had a dance partner in years, and never had it truly felt this way. Tamaki and you fell back into the three-step, notes still leaking from your throat as you recalled a dance you had watched your mother perform with your father when you were young.

Encased in the spotlight of moonbeams, with insects your only orchestra, the whole moment was nothing but magical. You couldn't keep the smile off your face if you tried, and you even noticed Tamaki letting go of his normally tense demeanor and softly grinning at you as well.

"Spin me again," you whispered giddily, having picked up the pace of your inaudible one two three's.

Tamaki happily obliged, watching as you dipped under his arm and held your position away from him for a second, only to come back into his chest. Except, you suddenly didn't quite feel like dancing anymore. He stilled as he held you in his arms, pressing you close to his chest.

Your breathing quickened as he looked into your eyes, indigo hues boring into your own (E/C) depths. Your lips parted ever so slightly in awe of him, which he quickly noticed, breaking the gaze to stare at your full pillows.

Your breaths intermingling was the only sign to you that you were drawing ever closer, unable to look or move away, completely spellbound by the man before you who was not quite of this world.

Otherworldly, you thought, your hand lightly running from his shoulder to the back of his neck, already applying pressure to the base in order to pull him in further. That's what he was. That's how you felt. In this unbreakable moment, where time had slowed and the earth had stopped spinning.

A breath. "Tamaki."

The whispered sound of his name made his gaze snap to your eyes again.

"Are you sure?" you asked, voice breathy behind your lips.

"About what?" Tamaki whispered back, caught up in your intense gaze.

"Taking me as your princess," you said, so close in his face the tips of your noses nearly brushed up against each other.

Princess. The word nearly sent a chill down his spine. What did it mean? The question had been gnawing at the back of his mind from the first day he'd been here, yet he'd never had the courage to ask it. But you were so close, so tantalizingly close, and he didn't want anything more to keep itself wedged between you.

Without a second thought, Tamaki parted his lips. "Actually, there's another question I haven't asked. It's been bothering me for a while."

"Oh?"

"I, uh . . . I don't actually know what a princess is."

Your eyes widened. "You—you don't know?"

Tamaki flinched, the spellbound moment he'd been caught in suddenly crashing down around him. He'd insulted you, he was certain. This was why he hadn't asked in the first place. He already regretted the words that had fallen from his tongue, wishing he could suck them back in again, go back to seconds before, when you were dancing, when you were finally about to kiss—

"Do you—do you not have princesses?" you asked in disbelief. "No monarchy?"

Monarchy. The simple word made his blood run cold, feeling rushing from his face. You were . . . royalty? This whole time?

"I—there's the emperor and the empress," he stammered out, suddenly unable to meet your gaze. "But we've never had—I've never heard of—I didn't know—"

Your eyebrows creased in worry at his crumbling face. "Tamaki are you okay?"

"You're—you're royalty," he finally said, his world momentarily pausing in its spiraling descent around him.

He couldn't miss how your face suddenly fell. You looked so . . . disappointed, almost betrayed. How could Tamaki have messed up so bad?

"Yes." Your voice was distant as you answered.

That was all he needed. He had to go. He couldn't bear to see you, to have you see him.

Tamaki spun around and began to run off in the direction of the sea. His feet pounded against the grass, nearly flying over the surface of the ground. He'd been to this path so many times before in the week he'd lived with you, so the journey was no difficult or unfamiliar one.

For the first time since he'd gotten his legs, Tamaki truly couldn't breathe. He had to get away, he just had to. Never before had he felt so foolish, so embarrassed. You were royalty? And he thought he had a chance? He should have known. The moment he'd laid eyes on your perfect face, the second he'd heard your beautiful voice, been touched by your gentle caring hands, you were more than he could ever deserve, and Tamaki should have known not to convince himself that you could ever love him back.

It all made sense; your home that was bigger than everyone else's, the people who seemed so eager to answer to every beck and call, everything from the way you carried yourself to the delicate circlet that always wrapped around your head.

You had status. You had money. You had power. You had no business being with someone as lowly as a merman like him.

His feet hit sand and the sound of the sea crashed into his ears. He ran into the waves, not caring that they were cold, not caring that they were so strong they could throw him against a rock and he could die. He only cared that it was wet and it was home and it was away.

Tamaki fought the opposing force, nearly screaming in frustration as a wave pushed him back towards shore, silently begging him to go back. Its pleas fell on deaf ears, and Tamaki focused all his energy on surging forward until he was up to his neck in the salty water. He yanked the shell necklace over his head and tossed it away, angry at how he'd once held so much hope in it. He thought it would set him free, not destroy his life. He threw it somewhere behind him, incapable of thinking of consequences for his actions.

He started to feel funny, his body beginning to reconstruct itself much like it had so many days before. This transformation was faster and far less painful, but Tamaki still stumbled forward, his face colliding with an oncoming wave as his legs started to fuse together. He held his breath and buried his arms in the sand to hold himself under the violent waters, waiting for his tail to reform and his gills to come back. Finally it was complete, and he pushed himself off the seafloor, pumping his powerful tail in the direction of home.

Home.

He couldn't go back. What would Mirio think?

Tamaki frantically whipped between the black rocks that jutted from the waves, hoping to fight off the strong watery forces in his moments of adrenaline. Soon, he surpassed the location where he had leaned against the rocks to watch you, experiencing what a human was for the first time. He passed where he'd grown legs and nearly drowned, claimed and spat out by the sea which had been his home. Finally he was where he'd last parted ways with Mirio, right before he'd started on this long, chaotic journey.

Tamaki floated still in the water, finally letting himself stop. His arms wrapped around himself, physically trying to keep himself from falling apart more than he already had.

He hadn't been submerged in the ocean for so long, it felt surreal. The weightlessness, the cold, the darkness. For the first time, none of it was comforting. He already missed the sun and the grass and the air and your wonderful face—

You. He had been a fool. A fool in love. An idiot infatuated by a fantasy, a fantasy where the two of you could be together, no matter who you were or where you came from.

Tamaki felt himself sinking. He didn't care. He kept his elbows to his chest and his face in his hands as his surroundings got colder and darker. The crushing feeling in his chest was worse than any water pressure he'd ever experienced.

His caudal fins brushed sand, and he soon found himself lying on the seafloor. He couldn't move for now. It was almost as if there wasn't a thought in his mind other than his own self-hatred.

What was it you said humans did? Cry? That's what Tamaki felt like doing. Except he couldn't. He wasn't a human anymore. His dreams had come to an end, and now he was little more than alone in the vast blue darkness that had once been his home.

...

To be continued . . . .

くコ:彡 くコ:彡 くコ:彡 くコ:彡

[Part Seven]

Author's Note:

Whoof, that was heavy.

Sorry this one was a little shorter than the others but oh well, variety I guess ('−｀) ﾝ. Don't worry, I promise there will be a happy ending!

Thanks again for reading! Love you guys!

-Sugar

Taglist:

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[pressedinthepages]

Chapter 20: Epilogue

Summary: So many unanswered questions, with a few answers.

Series Masterlist

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, smut, fluff

A/N: Oh my god y’all, it’s here! This is the final chapter! I literally started this back in May, and it’s now basically October? Holy shitballs. A huge thank you to those who were with me from day one and to those who joined me throughout the journey. While this is the last part, I do still have little ideas running around my head. I hope that you all have enjoyed this as much as I have, and I am looking forward to exploring new works too!

    A shiver runs down your spine as you watch the fog slowly creep up the mountain path. Your fingers itch to grab for your silver sword, bracing yourself for an attack of foglets. It’s only a split second thought though, a reflex from more than half a century of hunting monsters. Then you remember that foglets don’t come this far north, and you don’t have your swords. They have been left just inside of the doorway twenty paces behind you, and have been collecting dust for the better part of a year. 

    You watch as the sun rises past the craggled summits of the mountains around you, bathing the lower valley in light. The fog rises and dissipates, revealing the lush green pasture dotted with sprigs of lavender and thyme. After almost an entire decade more of following the Path, you had given in to the occasional yearning that grew more and more constant to finally make a life of your own, by your own choosing. Your ears pick up movement to your left and you turn, smiling when you see a veritable herd of animals approaching in your direction, led by the man who claims to be the source of your sanity. 

    Eskel leads the pack with Lil’ Bleater bounding at his side, albeit a bit slower in her advancing age. He fulfilled his promise, finding a friend for her named Bellegarde. She had kids earlier in the spring, the three little bundles of energy just as taken by Eskel as their mother. Scorpion and Lady follow just behind, the latter butting her head into Scorpion’s flank as he walks. The two of them have grown closer as well, having had a foal between them. She has the same stoic air as her father, with the gentle regality of her mother. 

    You had balked when Eskel had walked through the door with a wolf pup in his arms, but he quickly provided a (still somewhat insane) reason for having brought him into the home.

    “I found him laying among a bunch of dead wolves, probably had been his pack. I couldn’t just leave him there, he’d die…” Eskel looked up at you with the biggest, saddest eyes he could muster, knowing that you’ve grown quite soft when it comes to him. 

    You sighed, turning back to the pot over the fire to give it a stir. “He’ll be your responsibility…”

    But that had not stopped the little thing from taking to you immediately. You often couldn’t walk more than two steps without him being under your feet, following your every move. You had named him Argos, after a story you had heard of a great warrior with a faithful dog that followed in his shadow. 

    Now, Argos bounds to your side, letting you run your fingers through his ever-thickening coat. Summer has passed into a chilly autumn, the trees once again turning the colors of fire before shedding their leaves. Eskel comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck and kissing lightly. You close your eyes and lean into his touch. Your mind settles with peace, but it is soon broken by the distant sound of approaching steps from the treeline, and the plucking of a lute. Your eyes shoot open, freezing on the spot as you stare at the place that the sound is coming from. 

    Silver hair shines in the sunlight as Geralt steps out of the cover of the trees. He looks strong, healthy, well-fed. Roach looks the same, though she always looks at least a little more well-cared for than Geralt himself. His face, twisted in his perpetual scowl, softens a bit when he spots the two of you. Eskel’s arm slips from around your waist as he walks to meet Geralt halfway, the two men wordlessly falling in a tight embrace. You move to greet him as well, but your feet still as the source of the music steps from the woods at Geralt’s back.

    He looks just as he did a decade ago, wavy chestnut hair framing a handsome face, blue eyes just on this side of too-bright. He is dressed in bright colors, a stark contrast at Geralt’s side. The lute slides into place across his back as he gestures widely in a greeting to Eskel, full of flowery words and vague insinuations. Jaskier places his hand lightly on Geralt’s shoulder as he speaks, and you can see the way that Geralt softens even further with the touch. As Jaskier turns to face him however, Geralt’s face switches back into his stern expression.

    Time freezes for everyone except you, Lil’ Bleater having been suspended in mid-air as she lept to greet her new guests. You huff, turning to see Jaskier at your side. You glance between the two identical men, wishing for the life of you that you had your swords on your back. 

    “He doesn’t know.” The Jaskier at your side speaks with a timeless tone, one that speaks of wisdom of countless years. He sighs with a smile, “Back then, I thought I was just as human as anyone else.”

    You blink, settling a bit in your boots. “So, I shouldn’t say anything to him?”

    “Unless you want to uproot this whole beautiful life that you have created with Eskel, no.”

    You nod, taking in your surroundings. A home, with a fire and a table and a bed that Eskel warms at your side every night. Countless animals, providing love and companionship. A garden in the back, spilling over with any and every plant that the two of you could think of. Your armor, tucked away under the bed. 

    “Thank you, Jaskier, for what you did all those years ago.” You don’t know what to do with your hands, flexing uncomfortably at your side. 

    Jaskier hums, stepping right up next to the frozen version of himself. You can see, even from where you stand behind Eskel, the way that Jaskier is gazing at Geralt, a twinkle in his eyes that could rival that of a star shooting across the sky.

    “You love him.” Your words are not accusatory, more so just stating a fact. Jaskier flushes a bit, biting his lip as he turns back to you. 

    “Could you…” Jaskier steps to stand at your side once more, “Could you not say anything about that either?”

    You smirk, nodding a bit before responding, “That’s not in your destiny, then?”

    Jaskier puts his hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. “No, my dear. Unfortunately, it is not.”

    The breeze picks back up as the Jaskier at your side disappears, leaving you to join the group in front of you. This Jaskier shines like a new coin, young and naive. Introductions are made as you escort everyone into the house, Argos weaving through the vines of new legs, nipping playfully at Jaskier’s fingers.

    ***

    A few days pass before Geralt and Jaskier take their leave, headed even further north towards Kaer Morhen. You had invited them to stay at your home, but Geralt had gently refused. 

    “I uh...I need to see Vesemir. I need his help.”

    Your eyebrows crinkled as Geralt explained the mess that he had created around himself, having claimed a Child of Surprise, a princess no less. As he spoke Eskel had gotten up from the table and walked out of the door, silently reliving his own tragedy around the subject. 

    Later, Geralt and Eskel had spoken. Eskel’s own past with his Child Surprise was still a rather tender subject, but Geralt was experiencing all of that anew. The two of you vowed to be of support to Geralt as he may need, and agreed that if there were any reason to break out the armor and strap the swords back on, it would be for him. Jaskier had agreed, though Geralt seemed unsure of what exactly he could do in this situation.

    “You may be surprised Geralt,” you said, probably one too many ales in, “I bet Jaskier’s got a whole lot of power.”

    You realized what you said as soon as the words fell from your lips. “I uh- I mean, his songs! He could wield a whole lot of power over the people with the stories he tells, right?”

    Jaskier brightened, launching into a whole new tangent about the songs that he will write about his journey this winter, the two witchers sequestered away in their cabin, and the ones who spend the season in a castle high in the wilderness. You tuned him out, quickly finishing your ale before retiring to bed. 

    Now, Eskel rolls over to face you on the bed, having seen the two of them off earlier in the day. “It was nice to see Geralt again...Jaskier’s an odd bird though.” His voice is teasing, light in the sanctuary of your home.

    You chuckle, thinking the same. Though, you choose to keep your mouth shut, hesitant to spill any more information about the mysterious bard. 

    “I am glad they’ve left though…” Eskel’s voice turns husky as he tucks his nose into your neck. “Couldn’t very well fool around with them in the next room.”

    Eskel’s hand finds your core atop your underthings, just barely teasing you through the fabric. You sigh into him, pressing into his touch. You lift your hips as he hooks his fingers into the waist of your shorts, pulling them down and tossing them elsewhere in the room. Eskel has already divested himself of his own smallclothes, so when you reach, you find him hard and wanting in your hand. 

    “How would you like me tonight, love?” you whisper as you turn to better face him. He kisses you sweetly, taking your lip between his teeth as he pulls back. Eskel grabs you around the waist and shifts his hips, pulling you over him so you straddle him. 

    “Like this,” he growls, leaning up to take the peak of one of your breasts between his lips. You thread your fingers through his hair, reveling in just how soft it is now that you have all of the time in the world for trivial things like special soaps to keep hair silky.

    You sink yourself down onto the length of his cock, your eyes fluttering closed with the fullness. This feeling never grows old, something familiar but oh so exhilarating with every moment that passes. As your hips meet a bolt of ecstasy shoots through your skin, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. You moan as Eskel holds your waist, his own hips beginning to thrust a languid pace. 

    Eskel’s eyes bore deep into your own as he rubs his fingertips in little circles over the bundle of nerves at the peak of your center, fresh waves of arousal soaring through you with every beat of your heart. Eskel can (and has) keep you for hours like this, perched on the precipice of a glorious climax, never letting you fall. Tonight though, he is impatient, his hips soon snapping in a fast rhythm. 

    Your muscles tense as you keen with your fast approaching pleasure, every nerve feeling like it is on fire. Eskel wraps himself completely around your form as he fucks even harder into you, notching his teeth against the soft skin on your neck. You shatter under his hands, your entire body singing with the all-encompassing euphoria that comes with your climax. You feel Eskel follow soon after, his grip tightening ever so slightly before spilling deep in your core. 

    Eskel kisses you deeply as he turns, pressing you into the cushion of the bed as he pulls out of your heat. You hum contentedly as he grabs a damp cloth, cleaning you off before doing the same to himself. You know that the both of you could go for several more rounds, but the appeal of rest is so much greater at the moment. You feel Eskel settle behind you, wrapping himself around you and pressing his mouth against the back of your neck.

    “I love you so much, my dove.”

    Your eyes well a little bit, smiling into the pillow with just how tender your life has become. This is the easiest thing you have ever done, and you can only hope that it lasts until the end of your days. The easiest words come next, just as they do every moment that they appear in your mind.

    “I love you, Eskel.”

[lisinfleur]

Savin’ Me

Author’s Notes | Thank you @youbloodymadgenius​ for saving me with the remembrance of this day: I'm a shit with dates, but it was a pleasure to sit and produce something for such a sweet person. Sydney, I know our months have been being hard, but people like you are what keep sanities, hold hearts in place, keep us up and full of energy to face the everyday problems knowing there will be a sweet smile, a lovely hug, a gentle word to make us happy once again after a hard day. Thank you for being the amazing person you are and may the gods bless your life twice as you bless our world with your very existence! Happy birthday, sweetheart!

To all Harald’s fans, consider this a way for him to redeem himself with us! haha

Universe | Vikings

Pairing | Harald x Reader

Info | Viking Age AU, birthday gift for @gearhead66​

Words | 2305

⁑ Warnings: Mentions of blood, wounds, some angst.

Here was him...

In a place he thought he would never be after conquering everything.

No. Nothing was really his.

Nothing was really reached.

With his body down to the wet sand - the battle still close enough to be heard leaving him behind as nothing but another wounded man to become a corpse on that beach - Harald's mind started flying through his life, almost as if closer to the death, it wanted to rethink his mistakes and choices.

His eyes, blurred, couldn't see much more than the shadows of the men - his men - fighting those monstrous Rus and their absurd strength, falling down, never fleeing, even thou their king was already fallen. He had good men, good fellowmen that followed him to the end of the world and would follow him into Valhalla, he was sure. As a commander, he had nothing to complain about.

As a man, however...

His heart clenched into his chest. Breathing was hard now and the taste of blood in his mouth wasn't able to erase the bitterness of the many empty kisses he ever received. Elisif and her lies, Astrid and her lies, the dream he was never able to fulfill... What was his legacy in this world? Who would remember his name?

His chest became too tight and Harald cough in a sad laugh: In the end, nothing he had done ever erased Björn's name from his life. He could bet that would be Björn's defeat such as many victories he was there to fight for were Björn's after the end of the battle. History would say Björn was the rightful owner of his crown, taken by that skogamaor he couldn't see around anymore. Harald bet with himself he would be known for nothing but his brother's murder in a war that now sounded senseless for him - He fought for Björn's crown and he lost. He fought alongside the man that took his brother from him.

And he lost.

But what did he lose after all?

What in this world was his?

His body was moved and Harald's eyes lost the battle from his sigh, looking down to see someone pulling him from the ground. A raider looking for his weapons? They were already stealing from the dead?

His hand lifted the sword one more time, but a familiar voice reached his ears quite on time to prevent him from dying fighting what he thought was his last foe.

"Calm down, my king. You're safe... You're safe."

What in this world was his, his mind asked itself again.

Loyalty, he answered himself when his eyes found your figure pulling his body over your shoulders, wounded and tired but finding strength into your core to carry your defeated king away from that beach, sneaking with him into the woods around, getting up even when your feet would stumble under his heavy weight, doing everything to get the two of you to safety away from that battle and the unbeatable enemy that got him down.

He was no king anymore. King of no land, he thought. Kattegat was lost. Norway was lost along with his crown, but there was you, sitting his body on the ground with his back against a tree, removing his armor, ripping your shirt and the legs of your trousers to have enough cloth for an improvised bandage to hold his chest whole until the two of you could stop further away.

"We can't stay here. They'll search in the woods. They're everywhere. The sea is safer, my lord."

Your mouth was speaking, but he wasn't really paying attention to your words. His eyes scanning your face: he knew you.

Y/N, he could remember. Your smile, your body into a dress, drinking, and dancing at his victories. Your growls, your body into an armor, fighting, and conquering his battles.

You were everywhere in his memories, among his most loyal men; among the most beautiful women of his court. Yet, he couldn't remember a man claiming you as his. At your age, like himself, you should have children, but he couldn't remember anyone running at the docks, yelling at your return from his boats. Why were you alone?

Why were you there for him?

"You should find safety for yourself, woman," he mumbled, hoarse. "I'll only pull you back, get you slower. You'll end up dying because of me." he tried.

But you lifted your eyes from his wounds after tying the bandages tight and looked into his blues with firm orbs that somehow touched him inside.

"Then we shall die and reach the halls of the gods together, my king. And I'll open the golden doors of Valhalla for you to enter, because no one will touch my king but over my dead body. Now get up, King Harald. We need to reach the next town before them."

That fire in your eyes. There was more than loyalty and he could see that. Harald held your hand, stopping you once again from taking his body over your shoulders.

"My king," you insisted, thinking he would be denying your help one more time.

But your eyes found deep blues looking into them.

"I'm no one's king, Y/N. I'm king of nowhere. I'm no king... But this is not enough for you to stop. Because you're not here for a king... What are you here for?" he asked, looking straight into your soul with those blue orbs you loved so deeply.

It was almost as if he could read the secrets of your heart.

You became a shieldmaiden for him. You fought every battle to keep your heart safe behind your shield. You were disposed to die if it was to keep him protected.

You wanted to kill every single woman who made a wound in his heart and you mourned not being your sword down into their bellies but celebrated inside when each one of them found the deserved fate.

You were always there for him. Not for the crown.

For him.

"For you, Harald," you said, for the first time looking him in the eye and ignoring his royalty.

For the first time, calling him by his name.

"I'm here for the man. For the one I know is still inside of you. Not for the poor bastard I saw falling with the weight of his own stupidity, smashed by his own ego and crushed by life's heavy fist. Not the one who took what wasn't his trying to give himself a taste of what it was to have what he wanted... By the man I saw taking a sword in his chest to save his enemy's life for honor. By the one I saw fighting for his people, conducting Vestfold for its people, not for the metal on his head."

Your words were messing with his pride.

Harald knew he failed his people, but more than that, he failed his honor for that piece of metal he wanted so hard. He lost his way, betrayed his principles, made promises, and swore oaths he could never fulfill. Everything for the crown he lost in an instant.

He laid hands on a woman that didn't want him and forced her freedom under his heavy hand for nothing but his broken pride and a sensation of vengeance that didn't last one night.

Yet there were you, still loyal to him, still looking at him as if there was more than a rag of a man looking back into your eyes.

"I'm here for you, Harald. And as long as you live, I'll believe that man can come back to me, although he was never truly mine," you completed.

Causing a flood of memories into Harald's mind.

His lips were sealed, his eyes surprised over you. His thoughts traveling through the many times he saw your eyes over him, smiles on your lips, your body moving for his claps, dancing happily until he was too drunk to find you around.

Your smiles always open and your skirts always moving through his party until there was another by his side - and you were gone.

He couldn't remember your image in his marriage with Astrid. Nor there was any memory of you around since he made her a queen.

Except for the fights, there weren't more dances or smiles... You weren't dancing at his party as Norway's King.

His chest clenched one more time and he understood the words unsaid - you weren't there to celebrate the king. He was never a king for you. But the man you loved and respected wasn't the one under that metal piece. He lost himself to become the King of Norway.

And maybe that's why his dreams were never the way he wanted them to be.

Silent, he traveled with you through the woods and towards the sea. Your heart sunk inside your chest, afraid his silence was the sign of rejection you never wanted to receive from him - the reason why you had buried your love six feet under into your heart and never told anything about it.

Harald's mind, however, was made up when the two of you reached a small village two days later that conversation. The place was abandoned, but there was still a fishing boat lost on the docks and supplies the men left behind in their rush to flee. Carefully, you helped Harald into the boat and went to the houses, gathering what you could carry, taking with you some blankets, food, lost clothes you could use to disguise, what was enough for a trip.

"For now, we'll just leave the coast," you broke the silence for the first time, messing with the herbs and bandages you found in what should have been the tent of a healer. "Then we can try to guide through the stars and find some dry land to..."

"York," Harald's voice sounded catching your attention. "We shall sail to York, to find our people and tell them what happened. To gather our men and come back against the Rus."

For a moment, your heart clenched. The king still wanted his crown.

But Harald's voice wasn't full of pride, instead, his eyes caught yours once again when he looked back at the coast and he sighed.

"There are still men of ours in here. My brothers that escaped this battle will need help. Our people are still in these lands. This is still our father's and grandfather's homes. I can't sit and chill as my people suffer. Maybe Björn still lives, and his men as well. We must go to York and gather our people to find alongside them."

You smiled.

Not the prideful bastard who would have left Björn to die just because of his ego, but back was the man you learned to love for his heart belonged to his people more than to himself.

You knew that battle could probably be suicide. You knew you could end up fighting for a lost cause. But it was once again your Harald, fighting for honor and for his beliefs. The one you swore you would follow 'til death without thinking.

"To York, then," you said. "But first, we shall take care of these wounds, my king."

His hand touched your hand when you went for his wound and once again, he stopped you. But this time, his orbs were full of something you couldn't determine.

Gratitude, maybe. The tenderness you never had.

His fingers touched your face and you felt your heart racing into his chest.

"You were always there for me. You knew me better than myself. Forgive me for betraying you. I swear on my sacred arm ring and the blood in my veins it will never happen again: I'll never lose myself this way again. And I'll honor the love in your eyes."

Harald wasn't speaking only to you, you know that. You were his people, his men, his army, his companions, his fellowmen he left behind. The only thing and everything that had left from what he lost and broke. And the forgiveness he was asking wasn't only yours, but from all the ones that trusted the man who allowed his ego to swallow him whole.

You touched his hand, gently. And your fingers caressed his palm with tenderness.

"I forgive you, Harald Finehair. For more than a king, you're a man, and men commit mistakes. I accept your oath, my king. And my loyalty and love are still yours. They'll always be."

Harald's lips curved in a smile and before you could notice, his hand touched your nape, pulling you forward, closer to him. And he touched your forehead with his lips in a gentle and respectful kiss before looking at you with tears in the line of those beautiful blues.

You had never seen your king crying before... But there wasn't sadness in his tears.

"Thank you, sweet Y/N. For everything."

Deep inside, Harald knew his oath wasn't only yours. He knew he swore an oath with his people in your eyes, one that he was able to fulfill this time. One that he would fight to keep until the end of his days.

And maybe the end of his days didn't have to be lonely. Maybe the time would allow him to conquer his way back into your heart. Cause even seeing there was still love into you for him, Harald knew you weren't any women but the one in which he could see his own kind. And such as he needed to deserve his position over his people once again, he felt he should deserve the love in your heart before asking you to stand by his side.

May the gods give me time, he mutely asked.

So as they gave him a reason to stand and fight.

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[pls-let-me-out]

YOUNG GODS

chapter 1: warmth

words count: 4909 

you can also find this on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25933858/chapters/63034189

        Time goes by differently in the upper world.

           When he was younger, Nico used to spend much more time there. Only when the blinding light of the sun caresses his face, he realizes that he hasn’t seen Hazel in many years. Is she still staying with Circe? How much has she learnt? The weight of not-knowing is heavy on Nico’s chest.

           “Fancy seeing you here.”

           Nico almost jumps out of his skin. Instead, he turns to William, scolding his features into a cold mask. William is wearing blue silky robes. Under the sunrays, it looks like a waterfall. When William comes closer, Nico finds himself surprised to not hear the sound of water splashing.

           William is even more beautiful in the upper-world; it shouldn’t be allowed. The Fates have really played a trick on Nico.

           “Did you really need to bring that sword here?” William asks, gesturing to Nico’s hip. “Do you intend to kill me?”

           Heat spreads on Nico’s cheeks. “Did you really need to paint your skin?”

           William nods. “It’s art, Nico. Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

           Nico rolls his eyes. William has far too much confidence for his own good. “Not pretending, my Lord.”

           “Oh, so we’re using titles.”

William sighs, putting his hands on his hips as he takes a few steps forward. Again not caring for his safety, he invades Nico’s personal space. Nico doesn’t realize he’s put his hand on his sword until William takes it off.

           The touch alone makes Nico shiver from head to toe.

           “I’m Prince of the Underworld,” Nico says. “Don’t touch me.”

           Before William can say another word, Nico slips his hand from free, and takes a few steps back. If anyone were to ask about his reddened cheeks, he would give the fault to the temperature. Instead, he takes in the place around them.

           They are in the same clearing Nico has gotten William, after freeing him from the dungeons. Last time he was here; he didn’t stay long enough to study his surroundings. Now he notices that the trees are oaks and pines, and there’s a lake. They must be far from the shore; he can’t smell saltine in the air.

           “Where are we?” Nico asks.

           “Pelion. The centaur Chiron lives not far from here, training new heroes.” William sits on the lake’s shore, uncovering his legs to dip them in the water. “Have you never met him?”

           “A long time ago,” Nico says. The memory leaves an ashy taste in his mouth. He sits not too far from William, keeping his legs crossed under himself.

           “Do you not ask me if I met him?”

           Nico blinks. “You obviously have. You asked me to bring you here after you spent a night in the Underworld.”

           William’s lips curl. “Ask me to be nice, then.”

           Nico doesn’t do nice. He’s Prince of the Underworld, there is no need for him to be nice. He’s a warrior, a soldier. He’s killed people, then given them eternal punishment. He’s spent more time with the dead than with the living. He’s scary, he knows that.

           “Shouldn’t you be healing me right now?” he asks.

           “Won’t it be boring to spend time together if we know nothing about each other?”

           “I’m the Prince of the Underworld, heir to my Father’s throne,” Nico says, talking far slower than necessary. “That’s all you need to know.”

           “You don’t even know who I am.”

           “You’re William.”

           “Who’s my Father?”

           “I don’t think I care, William. That wasn’t part of our bargain.”

           William’s happy expression fades. The sun feels hotter on Nico’s back, far angrier. He shrugs the thought off. He wishes he had stayed in his rooms in his Father’s palace. The lake looks like a mirror of diamonds under the sun, there’s nothing similar in the Underworld.

           The rest of the day goes by silently. The only sound is that of nature, although sometimes William hums hymns to Lord Apollo. Nico’s pain doesn’t lessen, if William touches the wrong point his fingers curl in the dust and stones they are sitting on, but he doesn’t say a word.

           The moon is high in the sky by the time William lets go of Nico’s leg.

           “The day is up, Your Highness,” William says. “You are free of my presence.”

           Nico nods. He stands slowly, stretching his leg. He’s been in the same position all day long, something he hasn’t done in a very long time.

           “I’ll see you next moon, then,” Nico says. Now that he can leave, he’s not sure he wants to. His Father might be wondering where he is, though. Something he’s sure of, is that he doesn’t want his Father to know of William.

           William, who smiles too much and too widely. Not with Nico, anymore. He hasn’t smiled since Nico told him he doesn’t care. The information sits uncomfortable on Nico’s chest.

           “I’ll be here,” William says. He makes no move to stand, leaning back on his elbow. His spine cracks, and he lets out a sigh. He closes his eyes, as though he were under the sun instead of the moon.

           Is that how he spends his days? Stretching under the sun, painting flowers wherever he can? Is that what other gods do up on Olympus? It’s not the first time Nico has wondered what others his age do, but it’s the first time he really wishes he knew the answer.

           William opens an eye, and a smile slowly creeps on his lips as his gaze meets Nico’s. Nico blushes, turning on his heels to walk away. When he puts his foot on the ground, he’s not on the upper world’s soil, but in his Father’s palace.

           No sound reaches Nico’s ears down here.

             Days go by slowly in the Underworld.

           The first years of Nico’s life weren’t so slow. One day he was a young boy, the next he wore a crown and lived among the dead.

           He watches them during the day. Often walking through them, often accompanying his Father. The King has a stoic face, and Nico knows he is not much different.

           Days go by slowly.

             “William.”

           William turns, a smile widens on his face. There is no cloud in the sky, its blue reflects perfectly on the surface of the lake. William is wearing robes shorter than Nico’s, which isn’t a surprise, seeing that the upper-world is far warmer than the Underworld. When he was younger, Nico used to shiver even in his bed.

           “Do you not spend time here except when you come see me, Your Highness?” William asks, taking his legs out of the water.

           Nico raises an eyebrow. “What’s it to you?”

           “You are just very pale,” William says. When Nico indignantly stutters, his smile widens even more. “I’m just teasing you.”

           “I’m Prince of the Underworld. You can’t do that.”

           William looks around. “I don’t see anyone stopping me here.”

           “Just get on with my leg.”

           Nico sits on the warm soil, William grabs his leg and puts it on his lap. He starts massaging it, the contact gives Nico chills, and dries his throat. It’s not surprise that, when he speaks, his voice is weak.

           “What are you doing?”

           William raises an eyebrow, looking at Nico from behind his eyelashes. It sends new shivers down Nico’s back.

           “What’s it to you, Your Highness?” William asks. Nico furrows his eyebrows; his mouth opens slightly, complaints on the tip of his tongue. “I’m teasing you again. I have healing powers; I use them to check your injury. It was inflicted by the Giants, right? A thorn was left inside; I need to deactivate its powers before I take it out.”

           “Is it as bad as it sounds?”

           “It might leave you feeling a bit dizzy.” William rubs his neck. His face turns red. Is he choking? He doesn’t smell of death, but maybe it’s different for gods –oh. Right. Gods don’t die.

           Also, he’s still moving his mouth. He’s speaking. Crap. Was speaking. Now he looks at Nico like he’s waiting for an answer, and he’s turning even redder.

           “I was distracted,” Nico says. “Can you repeat?”

           William clears his throat, clasping his hands around Nico’s leg, startling him.

           William covers his mouth with his hands. “Oh, sorry, sorry!” He’s even redder, so red he might combust. “Did it hurt you? Of course it did. I’m so, so very sorry, and–”

           Nico rubs his hand on his leg, groaning. “Can you just repeat what you said earlier?”

           As he talks, William fidgets with his legs. “I was saying, that maybe you were wondering why I knew so much about your injury. But–”

           “I really wasn’t to, but go on.”

           “-I just knew because –wait. What?”

           “I wasn’t wondering anything. But now I’m interested, so you can go on with your story.”

           Nico looks at him with raised eyebrows, and William pouts. “I, uh. Yes, well – now I don’t remember where I was.”

           “Gods above.”

           “Ah, yes. I knew about your injury.” He clears his throat, rubbing his hand on Nico’s leg, a weirdly intimate gesture. “Well, words travel fast. We need something to talk about on Olympus, and… so, your injury.”

           Nico blinks slowly. He doesn’t even know why he’s disappointed. He knew William came from Olympus, it’s not surprising that he’s talked of Nico behind his back. Has he laughed at his stupidity for getting so badly injured?

           William must notice something shift in Nico’s expression, because his whole face pales.

           “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I just knew about you, and some things about you. Gods talk, and–”

           “I really don’t care about how you occupy your time, William.” Nico scolds his features into the coldest mask he can create, but it’s not voluntary the way his lips tug downward. The air is fresher in the upper-world, but now it’s just too fresh, the sun too bright, and Nico too foolish. “Just get on with it.”

           William looks down at Nico’s leg, his hands start moving slowly. “As you wish.”

           Nico looks down at his wrist, and curses at the stupid tattoo.

           Once again, they stay seated on the ground until the moon is high, and the stars are reflecting on the lake. Nico stands on his sore legs, his bones crack.

           This time, William stands too.

           “I didn’t mean to offend you,” William says.

           Nico gives him a tight-lipped smile. “And I don’t mean to waste my time, listening to you.”

           A step forward, shadows cloak him, and he is in his rooms again.

             Time goes by differently in the Underworld. Although, sometimes, it passes much quicker than usual. Sometimes the dead aren’t as passive as usual, and troubles happen. It’s Nico’s job as heir to make sure those problems are solved before they can reach Olympus’ ears.

           When problems come, days pass much quicker for Nico. He has something to do, the Underworld doesn’t seem so dead.

           He’s just done stopping the escape of those souls, and he walks in the Asphodel Meadows by his Father’s side. It’s a little ritual of them, to walk through the souls together after Nico’s done something for the realm.

           “One day it will all be yours,” his Father had told him the first time he had brought Nico along.

           Nico was still young, still foolish. He tries his best to not be, now. “But you are a god, you are immortal.”

           Hades had smiled at his son’s certainty. “One day the era of the gods will be over. It happened to the Titans, to Father Sky before them. For all my brother thinks we are invincible, stronger than them, we will share their destiny.”

           “Doesn’t it scare you, Father?”

           “Being scared of death would make me a hypocrite.”

           It feels like centuries have passed since that conversation. Maybe they have, Nico has never really grasped the concept of time, not in the way mortals do. Counting years is useless, when you have eternity in front of you.

           “Is something troubling you?” His Father asks, side-eyeing him. His gaze falls on Nico’s fingers, curling around the fabric of his clothes.

           “I was just thinking,” Nico says. He knows he won’t be able to see Elysium from here, but he tries anyway. “Have you ever heard from Hazel?”

           “She is in the upper-world,” Hades says. His voice sounds much colder. “Why are you asking?”

           “I was just thinking.”

           “You know I can’t give you permission to visit her, wherever she is. She made her choice. She refused the Underworld.”

           “I know.” A jolt of pain passes through Nico’s leg. “I was just–”

           “Thinking. I know.”

           They don’t talk much after that.

           “You didn’t come last time.”

           Nico looks up at William, his mouth falls slightly open when he takes in the other’s appearance. William is standing right in front of him, with his hands on his hips, clutching his clothes tightly. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips slightly tugged downwards, and no flowers painted on his cheeks.

           It’s a strange sight to behold, especially because it makes something blossom inside of Nico’s chest. If he were more honest with himself, he’d just call it worry.

           “I waited for you all day,” William continues, tapping his foot on the ground. “Why didn’t you come?”

           You look like a child, Nico wants to say. It’s on the tip of his tongue. The words change right as he is speaking.

           “I was here last time.”

           “Then I suppose you were using your father’s helm to be invisible. I was here and you weren’t.” William pokes his index on Nico’s chest. If Nico were a mortal, he’d stumble back. He’s too godly and too stubborn for that. “At least don’t lie to my face.”

           “You shouldn’t talk so freely of my Father.”

           William cocks an eyebrow, poking on Nico’s chest every couple of words. Nico doesn’t even remember William walking up to him. “Or what? What consequences will there be?”

           His face is only inches from Nico’s. Does it not bother him? Does he not know how dangerous Nico is? Maybe he should have listened better to the talks up in Olympus, if he is so keen on underrating Nico.

           “The consequences will be for me, not for you,” Nico says.

           William blinks, relaxing his posture. His hand falls to his hip, and he fidgets with the golden belt around his hips. “Does your father not know you are here?”

           “I shouldn’t stay in the upper-world,” is all Nico replies. He can’t take William’s eyes anymore, it’s much easier to cross his arms on his chest, and look at the lake behind him. It’s just as bright as always. “I had a lot to do, and I haven’t kept track of the passing of time. I’m sorry you had to waste a day here.”

           William’s eyes are already much softer, as he takes Nico’s hand in his own, squeezing it gently. Nico is Prince of the Underworld; William shouldn’t do it. He shouldn’t let William do it. With the warmth in his chest, the shivers running up and down his body, starting from his hand, Nico can’t keep track of reality.

           “I forgive you,” William says. He smiles, and it’s like seeing the sun for the first time after an eternity of clouds and rain. “Come, we’d better get to it.”

           This time, Nico doesn’t stop William when he starts talking.

           The day ends, and Nico returns to the Underworld. He makes sure to not miss the next appointment, and when it comes, Nico is the first to arrive.

           William talks again. After he is done with Nico’s leg for the day, none of them moves. They remain seated, looking at each other under the moon.

           “You never asked me who my father is,” William says.

           There’s the beginning of a smile on his lips, and Nico has found out that William’s smile makes his knees go weak, much more than any type of fear ever has. Nico takes a round stone. It skips three times on the calm waters of the lake, before disappearing under the surface. Nico knows what that feels like, being cloaked in shadows and freezing cold as you go down.

           He takes another stone.

           “Why is it so important for you that I ask?”

           “Because you haven’t yet, and there is no reason for you to hold back so much.”

           This time the stone skips seven times. Nico takes another.

           “You called yourself a god of medicine. Your father is either Asclepius or Lord Apollo. I’ve seen the way you look under the sun, so I’d safely say that your father is Lord Apollo.”

           William tilts his head to the side. “You could have just asked me, and I would have told you.”

           “But I didn’t need to ask.”

           William shakes his head. “It’s not about what you need.”

           The stone skips five times. Nico takes another. “Then what is it about?”

           “Making conversation, for one.”

           “So you want me to ask you questions I already know the answer to, just to have something to talk about?”

           “Yes!” William takes the stone from Nico’s hand, and makes only two skips. He lets out a frustrated groan.

           “Oh.” Nico takes two stones, and hands one to William. He accepts it without saying a word. “Who is your father, William?”

           William sends him an unamused glance. Under the glare, Nico’s skin heats up fast. William passes the stone from hand to hand, his eyebrows furrowed over his eyes.

           “Too late for that, I get it,” Nico says, raising his hands. His stone skips seven times.

           William throws the stone; it does three skips. He lets out another groan. “I get it. I’m not interesting enough for the Prince of the Underworld, just stop rubbing in my face how–”

           Nico’s throat is dry, when he speaks, he stumbles over his own words. “Why were you in the Queen’s gardens?”

           “Oh.” William blushes, and it’s a sight to behold. He looks younger, his eyes brighter. He’s even prettier. When he speaks, his voice is soft and low. “There’s a flower only Lady Persephone can grow, and I needed it for a healing drought. A friend of mine –she’s a mortal. She would have died without it.”

           Nico looks down at his hands on his lap. The tattoo on his wrist, his sister’s ring on his middle finger. “Just so you know, if you ever ask Persephone for a flower, she will give it to you.”

           It’s hard to say no to pretty boys with blue eyes and wide smile. If they paint flowers on their skin, then it’s impossible.

           William’s voice takes him back to reality. “I was in a hurry. I didn’t know if I had time to find her, then go to the Underworld and take the flower.”

           “Then ask me next time.” Heat spreads on Nico’s cheeks again. “I’m always in the Underworld, anyway.”

           “Thank you.”

           “It’s dangerous, you know? The Underworld has no mercy. If you had been found by a guard, you would have been dragged to the dungeons, to never see the light of day again.”

           “You say the Underworld has no mercy, yet you are the Prince, and I am still alive.”

           “Yeah. I’m not all that good at my job.”

           William looks startled for a moment. His lips parted in surprise, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Then he sags forward, clutching his stomach with his hands, and laughter shakes his body. Such a beautiful sound, made by an even more beautiful creature. Nico would be blessed, if he could spend eternity making William laugh, hearing that sound all over again. It hits Nico then that, if they were mortals, William would be the man another goes to war for.

           Another moon goes by. Then another, and another again. Seasons pass in the upper-world; the Underworld prepares to welcome its Queen again.

           Days turn colder, sometimes it rains. William and Nico don’t go to the lake anymore, but they see each other in a cave. The first time they go there it’s cold. By the next moon, William brings pillows and covers, and puts them on the ground. It almost feels like a bed, and Nico has a hard time keeping track of conversation, when that thought crosses his mind. By the way William blushes a time or two as he looks at the covers, he’s thought about it too.

           Persephone wears a crown of flowers, and she glows in the darkness of the Underworld. Hades bows to her, and kisses her hands. He calls her ‘my beloved’, and Nico blushes as he looks away. Persephone kisses his temple, says his name far too quietly for Nico to hear, but he reads her lips. King and Queen kiss each other on the lips.

           Fall has at last arrived.

           It’s on a day much like any other that Queen Persephone corners Nico. Actually, she invites him in her gardens, and he goes. It’s in the open –as much as anything in the Underworld can be– and he could leave through the shadows if he wanted to.

           She smiles at him from her chair, fruits are laid on the table in front of her. She sits on the chair like another would sit on a throne, with all the confidence in the world. A crown of flower adorns her dark hair. The summer tan is still tainting her naturally dark skin; she will be much paler by the time she goes to her mother again.

           “Did you want to see me, Your Majesty?” Nico asks.

           Persephone smiles, in a way that many would find warm. Nico would too, if he hadn’t lived in the Underworld for so long. They have never been close. Sometimes, Nico wonders whether she sees Maria or Hades when she looks at him.

           “Sit with me, Nikólaos,” she says, gesturing with her hand to the other chair.

           Nico grimaces at the use of his name, before sitting on the chair. Its painted in black, and much more Underworld-like than the one Persephone is sitting on. He drums his fingers on the armrest.

           “Is something troubling you, Your Majesty?” Nico asks.

           “Nothing is. I’ve just heard talks around Olympus, that’s all. I wonder whether they are truth or lies.”

           “Talks?” Nico repeats. He’s not sure whether Persephone hates him or not, but either way he knows she wouldn’t go to him for gossip.

           “About you getting cozy with a certain son of Apollo.”

           Blood falls from Nico’s face, so fast it feels like the ground is opening under him, too. How does Persephone know? Who told her? Nico wants to scream, or open the ground so that it swallows him whole.

           “If it were true, there would be nothing wrong with it,” she continues. “I’m just wondering.”

           “We are not cozy,” is what Nico manages to say. Heir to the Underworld, and talking with its Queen makes his knees go weak, and not in the pleasant way William’s smile does.

           Don’t think of his smile, idiot.

           “Are you friends, then?”

           “I wouldn’t say so, no.”

           Nico doesn’t remember ever having friends. There was a time when he thought he had, but after a while, it felt like being thorn in two different directions. Between the Underworld and his friends, he chose the Underworld. When the days go by slowly, and only the dead keep him company, it’s hard to understand if he made the right choice.

           “But you are not lover either?”

           Nico chokes on his own spit, which isn’t something a god should be able to do. “No!”

           “Just asking.” Persephone has the audacity to chuckle, before taking a sip of whatever is in her goblet. She licks her lips afterwards, closing her eyes as she savors the taste. “He seems nice, by the way.”

           “You know him?”

           “Everyone knows everyone on Olympus.” She waves her goblet around, a distasteful smile on her lips. “Especially since Apollo parades his children around so much, almost as much as he does with himself. If you were to listen to him, neither him nor his children have any flaw. If anyone were to actually listen to him, they’d know how boring, full of himself and empty he is.” Her smile turns sweet, as though she has just wished someone good luck, and takes another sip from her goblet. “Are you not hungry, Nikólaos?”

           Nico shakes his head, biting his lips. “No, thank you, Your Majesty.”

           “Does your Father know of William?”

           Nico’s heart speeds up. “There’s nothing to know of him.”

           “Oh? He’s like his father, then? A pretty, empty shell?”

           Nico’s lips tug downwards. “No, he’s –that’s not what I mean. I mean that I have nothing to tell about him.”

           “But you visit him.”

           Nico scrapes on the chair with his thumbnail, ruining the black paint. “He’s a god of medicine. He’s helping with my leg.”

           Persephone’s features turn softer; Nico fixes his gaze on the shiny seeds of pomegranate on the table. The pity in her eyes is far too heavy to bear.

“I see.”

           “I would much prefer if my Father didn’t know.”

           “I will keep my mouth sealed, then. I swear on the River Styx, I won’t tell your Father about you and William.”

           “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

           For the first time, he’s relieved he’s talked to Persephone.

           William is already sitting on the pillows in the cave, with a blanket covering his lap. He doesn’t know how to light the fire, it’s always Nico’s job.

           “People on Olympus know that we meet,” Nico says.

Nico’s voice is much drier than he would like, and William looks worried. Nico looks at him from behind his eyelashes, staying crouched on the ground, with the fire to warm him.

           “I know. I’m sorry. Does it bother you?”

           “Doesn’t it bother you?”

           “What? A couple of nymphs knowing I’m spending time with you? Why would it?”

           Frustration warms Nico even more than the fire in front of him. “I’m the Prince of the Underworld, William.”

           “I know, Nico.” William leans forward, tightening the blankets and furs around himself. “So what?”

           “So I spend my time amongst the dead, and before meeting with you, I hadn’t spent much time in the upper-world. Most days, I don’t even remember what the sunlight feels like.”

           Nico doesn’t notice he’s raised his voice until his words echo in the cave. William’s bright eyes don’t betray any fear, though. Does he not know what Nico is capable of?

           “And I spend most of my time braiding my siblings’ hair, as we dance and sing. My days are incredibly boring, Nico.” He tilts his head to the side. “What do you see when you look at me? Are you ashamed of spending time with me?”

           “Gods, no!” Nico stands so fast his head spins, and a bolt of pain shoots through his leg.

           “Then what?” William’s expression turns much softer, and so does his voice, as he draws his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly. “Do you think I am ashamed of you?”

           Heat expands on Nico’s cheeks. He knows he’s not as gorgeous as William. Not normally, surely not as he blushes and stutters. It must be answer enough for William, because he resumes talking.

           “I’m not. I really like spending time with you. You are funny, when you forget to be a stiffy Prince.”

           Nico rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter me too much.”

           William giggles. Actually giggles. Nico is almost sure William is just as old as he is, yet he is giggling, and the sound is warm and pleasant. It’s summer air lingering in the cold of autumn, the last spark of life in the souls in Elysium. It’s the sound that makes Nico’s breath break.

           “Come here, now. Should I thank you for starting the fire before talking? I swear I was getting hypothermia.”

           Nico huffs a laugh, sitting over William’s makeshift bed. He puts his leg on William’s lap. Even after so much time, it still makes him blush.

           “Just get on with it,” he mumbles.

             Bad days happen. There are days when Nico is so tired he either wanders around the palace without saying a word. Some other days, he can’t find the force to leave his bed. Sometimes, although he wants to get up, his leg acts up, and he can’t so much as walk.

           Pain shoots through his leg. His Father passes in his room, or maybe it’s just Nico’s imagination. With William’s cures, he hasn’t had such a bad episode in months. He clutches the blankets of his bed.

           Is it winter yet? Is Nico buried under snow? There is no other explanation in his feverish mind.

           The door closes. Is Nico alone now? His vision is blurred. Is his hand turning black? Fuck, is it his powers? Someone grunts. But isn’t Nico alone?

           He sleeps. He dreams of William. They are in the cave, and William is painting the walls. He turns to Nico with a smile, which stretches the skin of his cheeks. Nico’s heart flutters in his chest.

           “You’re going to be fine,” William says.

           As free as William is in real life, he’s even more in dreams. He steps forward, and tucks a strand of hair behind Nico’s ear. Afterward, he remains with his hand cupping Nico’s jaw. If Nico leans into the warmth, no one is there to see.

[inkblotsandeggshells]

Sorcerers and Sorceresses

Hello again!

After talking with my friend about it, I decided I still had some more to say about sex addiction. Clearly, we’re being pushed to this way of being by our modern culture, but I also notice this coming from the holistic New Age community. The most obvious example, in this regard, would be holistic sex coach Kim Anami, who I talked about in my last post. In contrast to the standard, faster kind of sex that gets referenced in movies and music, Kim Anami wants to teach people to use slower, orgasmic sex as a means to harness energy, which can be utilized to help improve your life. However, Anami claims that this level of personal control through sex cannot be achieved until you become addicted to it. While I can see the appeal for this kind of education, I remained pretty indifferent until I looked deeper into what happens when we fall prey to addictions.

When I was younger, I had thought that things like alcohol and recreational drugs were the things that led to addictions, and as long as you stayed away from those things, you were in the clear. However, we often overlook things like electronics and artificial foods like candy, which can be just as addictive as the more typical harmful substances. In regards to sex, I think it sounds like an attractive thing to be addicted to because it doesn’t necessarily harm your body or cause your teeth to decay. Even so, by becoming addicted to any substance, including orgasmic sex, it can chip away at our identities little by little until we become, as Michael Knowles says, enslaved. We become dependent on it to cope with life and it ends up controlling how we respond to our human experience. Furthermore, an addiction of any kind leaves us vulnerable to be controlled by outside forces.

This is something I became more aware of last year, during a time when I learned how easily people can be used by unseen beings when they relinquish control of themselves. One content creator who gave me a new perspective on this is a young woman named Galatea Van Outersterp, who created the YouTube channel called the Authentic Observer. Even though she creates content about storytelling and fictional works, I think she offers a refreshing perspective on what it looks like when something or someone strives to control the collective. In this way, she also raises the question of how much power we have to resist. She does this through her videos, the primary examples being her two-part video series about the story archetypes of the Sorcerer and the Sorceress. She describes these archetypes as two sides of the same coin. They both aim for absolute power and control, but they work to achieve those goals through different realms of humanity. The sorcerer is the yang aspect of this archetype that focuses on the external realm: the physical plane, the conscious and will. The sorceress is the yin aspect that focuses on the internal realm: the emotional plane, and the subconscious.

We’ll start with the sorcerer archetype. In her opinion, Galatea states that if a character has most, if not all, of these traits, then they can be defined as an evil sorcerer. These traits are as follows: They can see all, or they have eyes everywhere. They manipulate the events of the protagonist and the people around him/her to get the hero to certain places or people. They are extremely arrogant and have massive egos (which can also be their downfall). As a result of this arrogance, they often have a title, because they’re a recognized authority; they also have many followers. They have often given up something essential to humanity to gain their power, whether it’s their soul or just their morality. They often have a non-human physical form, or some kind of deformity to show their loss of humanity. Most importantly, they only desire for power and control, “power above all.”

In regards to Kim Anami teaching students to utilize BDSM in the “Well-F*cked Woman” course, she would frequently use the book “50 Shades of Grey” as a reference for this method and its alleged importance. In some of her stories, she also talks about how some of the men she has been most drawn to in the past are “smarter versions of Christian Grey.” According to Galatea, the way the sorcerer archetype is used in modern day stories is by portraying those archetypal traits through characters like abusive partners. In other words, characters like Christian Grey are definitions of this very archetype.

For example, Galatea lists off the traits of the sorcerer that Mr. Grey exhibits in the books. She observed that “he has a beyond normal ability to know what Anastasia is doing all the time because he stalks her and hacks into her phone. He manipulates not only her, but he’s also a powerful enough to manipulate events and the people around her to get her where he wants her. He’s arrogant in the extreme and believes he’s superior and has the absolute right to exert dominance over the people around him. This is particularly the case for Anastasia, as he wants her to sign his contract against her will. He’s a figure of authority and has many followers (his employees). He has also given up something essential to his humanity to gain his power: the ability to be a good person, respect others, and have healthy relationships. Finally, above everything else, all he wants is total power and control, both of his own world and of Anastasia.”

In contrast, the sorceress archetype primarily rules the internal domain. While this archetype shares similar traits with the sorcerer, Galatea describes the sorceress as primarily wanting to be adored. They use emotions and temptations rather than blatant orders and force. They are also represented by “complete and unbalanced chaos, hysteria, unpredictability and insanity.” They understand people’s deepest desires and control them by dangling these things in front of their faces. This point also gets highlighted in Galatea’s video, where she would describe sorceresses “to generally work more through an understanding of people, through intuition, really understanding people’s deepest desires.”

So the big question is how does the holistic sex practice of Kim Anami relate to the topic of being vulnerable to someone else’s control? How does this topic of orgasmic sex addictions, or addictions of any kind, relate to the archetypes of sorcerers and sorceresses? The purpose of the sorcerer and the sorceress is to show that “absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Whether addictions play a role in our lives or not, when we lose the ability to think for ourselves and take control of our response to life, we become susceptible to being controlled by beings such as these. If being “well-f*cked” means becoming attracted to men like this, or even, God forbid, marrying someone like this, than I would rather not reach such a standard at all.

During my conversations about the “Well-F*cked Woman” course with Lee Yun, I often wondered if Kim Anami herself was a sorceress in some ways. In my opinion, it seems that Kim does exhibit a few of the traits: she has hundreds, if not thousands of followers (her clients and coaches-in-training), and you could argue that she gave up part of her humanity through the use of neural therapy injections to change how her body responds to trauma. She sometimes demonstrates arrogant behavior in how she disrespects her partner’s boundaries and openly insults people who are unlike her or think differently from her. In my opinion, she also works within the emotional plane through her marketing strategies to get people to take her courses, buy her tools and practice her methods. Her philosophy in becoming “well-f*cked” feels very confusing, with some conflicting teachings, which you could argue is a reflection of the sorceress’ inclination for chaos. In my previous blog, I explained how this is further demonstrated in her marketing tactics, especially during 2020 when people felt lonelier and desperate for contact during lockdown. In her podcasts, Kim states that the point of her courses isn’t necessarily to use sexual energy to get whatever you want. However, this statement feels very contradictory when you observe how she teaches and how she speaks of her relationships with her partners.

In a different way than the sorcerer archetype, Galatea observes that the sorceress is almost the scarier of the two. Galatea explains that “the truest kind of freedom is freedom over your heart and mind. No one can truly own you if you at least have that, if you’re at least free in your own heart, mind, body and soul. The sorceress wants to take that freedom away. If you aren’t sovereign over yourself, then you don’t have freedom at all, because the sorceress is a jealous mistress, and you can be damn sure she will not allow any room in your heart or mind for anyone but her.”

To conclude, I want to share some quotes from the book “The 21 Lessons of Merlyn” by Douglas Monroe. Since the system of Celtic magic seems to be what I’m naturally inclined to, this is one of first the books Lee Yun recommended for my studies as a witch. Even though the teachings in the book sound outdated for our time, some passages intrigued me in regards to how the Druidic community viewed sex. Specifically, Monroe explains, through his characters, how using sex for gaining power isn’t admired at all among the druids. He states that “the world is full of those who pretend to use sexual union as an instrument of spiritual gain under the guises of ‘soul-love, true fulfillment, destiny’, and many other romanticized notions. But such could never be the case outside of their own minds, as this purely animal behavior belongs to another world altogether, a world that minds such as these cannot pretend to change by wishing it were so.” He goes on to add that “against truth, these people will continue to say that lust elevates them into the world of Magic along with their pleasure; that sex generates a force which may be turned to loftier things. They will continue to confuse the spiritual with the physical, for the sake of convenience.”

By encouraging us to become addicted to orgasmic sex, it seems very likely that the kind of freedom and “healing” Kim Anami offers comes with a serious price. Do I think she herself is a sorceress? I don’t know. She may be one, but I don’t know. Because they work in the subconscious and in the unseen realms, sorceresses can be much more difficult to spot than their male counterparts. However, in my opinion, if she won’t step in to control the collective through addictions—even holistic, orgasmic sex addictions—then someone will. So I encourage you to not give up that inner freedom so easily, because that’s where our real power lies.

[aki-draws-things]

NaNoWriMo #03

That was supposed to be angstier, and yet... Oh, well... there’s a whole month for me to write some real good angst. (Any comment or idea for future parts is so very welcome, that goes without saying. I may be really slow, and stray from prompts, But you’re gonna have my endless love. Even Though most this month prompts are on Mingjue and Zonghui.... and I’m not sure many people ship them...)  aaaaahhh anyway! Day: 03/11/2020

Prompt: Ritual Sacrifice

Ship: None

Word Count:  2234

Qinghe was a cursed realm, every other sect always said that and despite loving it even the Nie sect living there had to agree. 

Every region had their own legends made to scare misbehaving children. “If you don't go to bed, the wood spirit will take you.” “Eat everything or the howling demon will come for you at night.”, for some reason it always worked up until a certain, varying age. Then one day those children would learn that the spirits and the demons didn't go after misbehaving children, but after everyone they crossed their path with. “be careful when walking at night.”, their parents' words turned into, instead of the little stories to scare them. The Qinghe children never fell for any of those stories, not even the scariest, most gruesome, other children would tell. But they had some stories of their own. 

“there are demons living in the mountain.” Nie HuaiSang said one night in Gusu, his two friends listening close to his story. “Sometimes they get hungry, other times they get angry at the heaven's for having been banished there and they walk down into the woods and into villages.”

“And they take the first born!” Wei WuXian ended, like he knew the story already, well, that was how most legends went after all, but Nie HuaiSang scoffed. 

“No. They roam and roam. They destroy and, yes, they kill. So the Elders choose someone pure and just, and this person gets sacrificed to the demons. It is said, - He lowered his voice just a bit. - that this will grant that person's soul immortality because of their selfless sacrifice. I don't really believe that, but the demons leave after the sacrifice, their thirst for blood satisfied.”

Jiang Cheng frowned. 

“It doesn't sound like a story…”

“Because it's not.” Nie HuaiSang said. “Qinghe is guarded by demons.”

In truth Qinghe wasn't cursed, not in the proper meaning of the term. The unclean realm was a fortress built as a last defense, circled by mountains and distant from the rivers, the first place most demons would encounter when they descended, and the Nie sect had, for many years, perhaps even centuries, protected the region, all the little villages and the civilians. It was an honor, the elders said, to be born in that family.

“Honor?” HuaiSang asked. “If there's something cursed in Qinghe that's our blood.” And in truth his older brother couldn't help but agree. It was almost like they were personally connected to those demons. Nie members never lived long. But they've never been sacrificed either, bad luck, Elders said, to rob them all of their best protection. At least they were safe from that fate. 

Or so they thought. 

The demons were led by a woman. Everyone knew that but not many had ever seen her, she left the mountains less times than the rest, older and more used to surviving the blood lust the others experienced. 

She was scary, hideous even. Like any demon. She walked among men many more times than people thought, able to change and look like them, she even let some of them try to court her for a day before disappearing. She didn't like to deceive them and, much to the other demons' surprise, she even grew fond of the people of Qinghe. 

That didn't stop the call for blood, she still was a demon, a beast. Human souls was what kept them alive, and she liked that life. 

“Xiao Nie.” A voice greeted Nie MingJue, coming from the air around him, he was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his chamber, busy in  meditation. 

“Mysterious voice.” He greeted back, the tiniest smile appearing on his face. “Coming to haunt my meditation hour again?”

The voice laughed and didn't answer him. 

“Well, since you're here, - MingJue said again. - you could be helpful. That song you sang last time. It was really calming for my mind, would you mind if I asked you to sing it again?”

And she sang. 

It wasn't a language Nie MingJue was familiar with, foreign and yet calming, he couldn't make out the words, nor try to learn them, but the voice was now a constant in his evening meditation, and for some reason he couldn't explain, Nie MingJue trusted that stranger's voice, he had for years by then. Every night she talked to him, she sang and she taught him, she guided him through meditation. 

“We'll meet soon, Xiao Nie.” She whispered that night when he finally fell asleep. 

Nie MingJue never talked to anyone about that voice, part of him was convinced it was a trick of his mind, the sickness getting hold of his family's mind, maybe that was the beginning. He was still too young to die of qi deviation, despite having had some before, but maybe he was starting to grow sick too. 

One night the demons came down. From the mountains, converged silently as ever in the streets of the unclean realm, people shut the doors and windows, they hid in the safety of their homes and prayed. 

A demon walked forward in the courtyard and everyone bowed more or less gracefully. 

“In one week from now I will return. - Her voice was like melted metal. - bring your sacrifice to the altar and you all will be safe.” Then she turned and the crowd of demons opened to let her pass before following. 

No one noticed how Nie MingJue's eyes went wide as she spoke. The familiarity of the sound merging with the voice singing to him. She was a demon, he reminded himself, she can use any voice she wishes, maybe everyone hears a different voice, someone they like or find comforting… Maybe--

“You will have to meditate without me for this week, Xiao Nie.”

He gasped and attracted the attention of the elders and his younger brother. 

“Da-ge?”

“Sect Leader is everything…”

“Yes.” He cut them short. “Do what you need to do.” He turned and retreated to his chamber. 

Despite the warning he waited for the now familiar company but she didn’t come. Nor she did the following day, or the one after, just like the demon said.

It was strange. Him, Nie MingJue, born and raised in the Unclean Realm, in a Sect that gave sweat and blood to keep the world safe from demons, he who now was leading said sect, he was wishing to hear that voice in his head. A demon’s voice!

“She had been kind to me.” He would try to justify himself. “She never harmed me in any way. She even guided me through meditation.” He said aloud once more, just to himself. “Even Baxia is quiet with her.” So she can’t be too evil, or his Saber would make sure he knows.

Meditation was leading nowhere during that silent week Nie MingJue realized, he got so used to her presence and her voice that the silence was even more distracting, there was no point in trying.

“After this week everything will be back to normal.”

He wondered for a moment if it would actually be, or if knowing would make meditation different. “She’s not evil. I feel it.”

He would ask for her name, next time, so that he could properly greet her. One leader to another.

“It’s the obvious decision.”

“But… He’s a Nie.”

“He’s useless. The Sect will be much better without him.”

“The Sect Leader will oppose.”

“Ah! Let him talk, that child. He acts all big and strong and what he is in truth? An overgrown boy.”

“He still has the final word.”

“Oh, but don’t worry about that, he will understand our reasons. More and quicker than you.”

“But…”

“Sect Leader Nie. It’s time.”

The Elders gathered in the council room, before them Nie MingJue sat behind a desk, Nie HuaiSang stood by his side, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other. Everything would end in a couple of hours and for at least six months Qinghe would be able to forget the demons and their blood sacrifices, families will sigh in relief and him and His brother would pay a visit to the family of the chose sacrifice. Then everything back to normal. Why did he feel so anxious then? What was that fear crawling in his chest and wrapping cold fingers around his heart? He swallowed.

“So? - Nie MingJue asked. - Who is the one?”

The Elders spokesman lifted a hand without speaking, his finger pointed straight at Nie HuaiSang.

“Wh— What?” He managed to whisper, mouth suddenly dry. Nie MingJue looked back and forth between his paling little brother and the Elders wondering when they all went insane.

“I thought the rules forbid a Member of the family to be given in sacrifice.”

“There are certain… reasons that would make the rules bend. - The man explained and he almost sounded valid, except he was too mechanic not to have studied beforehand those very words. - The Queen herself came here, we can’t simply offerer a farm girl or a young boy. We need something more.”

“Then find something more.” Nie MingJue growled, two soldiers moved to grab HuaiSang but immediately stilled as Baxia flew from her sheath in front of them, trembling in rage.

“Sect leader, you must understand.”

“Find your more. And I’ll find a way to stop this blood madness.” “I will talk to her, she will listen, I can find a way that will suit both, I… I’m turning my back to the rules of my family…”

“There is no more time. He’s the best candidate, whether you like it or not, Young Master. He’s no use to the Sect anyway.”

“Da-ge!” Hands grabbed Nie Huaisang’s arms and dragged him out of the room to get ready. Soon Nie MingJue was left alone. His brother, his only little brother sentenced to death and he could do nothing to avoid it.

Or… No, maybe he could.

He didn’t have much time before the sacrifice ceremony start, but he had enough.

Dismissing the usual robes to the ceremony ones was fast, finding the golden jewels he had laying around a little slower, he never wore them much. Making the braids, that took him way longer than expected, but in the end the result wasn't as bad as he feared, white and gold beads shone under the lights of the candle, barely a shadow of golden make up over his eyes. HuaiSang would complain that his style was too plain, that he needed more colors and details, something red perhaps. But HuaiSang wasn’t there. He threw a cape and covered his head with a hood before leaving the room without turning back. Baxia rattled for a moment in her sheath then went still, he trained her well, Nie MingJue thought, she understood. He asked for her forgiveness, but her voice was silent.

The demon’s Queen was clothed in  gold and red, standing above the silvery white altar and waiting, far more patient and calm than all the other demons and spirits.

“Bring him forth.” Nie HuaiSang almost tripped as strong arms dragged him toward the altar, tears streaming down his face; that shouldn’t happen, he was a Nie, He should have been safe, he—

“Stop!” Nie MingJue’s voice ringed through the crowd, he walked ahead, he tried to look fearless, glad that they couldn’t hear his heart hammer fast against his ribcage. “I will go. I will do it.” He turned to look at the Elders, daring them to stop him, they wouldn’t, he knew it, they couldn’t risk of being accused to go against their Sect leader, no matter how young he was.

“You can’t! Da-ge, you ca—” HuaiSang ran to him grabbed his robes and pulled at them weakly. “You can’t. I… I don’t know what to do…”

“Oh, but you know, HuaiSang. - He said smiling. - You’re far better than what they all think, you’re strong and capable. And you’re going to be a great leader for Qinghe. Listened to them, and then ignore their words because you know better.” He pushed him back lightly. “You have it in your blood as a Nie, you will know what to do. When it’s time, it will be clear.”

He kneel on the altar and let the outer robe fall on the ground, looking up and meeting the demon’s eyes, she looked almost surprised, definitely intrigued by that change. Maybe a little saddened too, or perhaps it was the candle light giving MingJue that idea. Why should she look sad?

“Would you mind if I ask you something?” She unsheathed the silver dagger and teared open the robe in a swift movement, the blade briefly tangling with a golden necklace. “Your name. - Nie MingJue continued, unfazed by the weapon and by his fate. - I was going to ask the next time but there won’t be a next, so…”

She leaned closer, pure white hair falling to cover her face, she hummed a song Nie MingJue heard many times over the years during meditation, but for the first time he understood a couple of words. “Oh, Sweet soul of mine.” The dagger went through his heart and he gasped , blood trickling down from his lips on the altar, he felt himself fading, his brother’s voice broken as he called him, and then… then he heard her, and it was like he had always known.

“Baxia.”

[someplace-that-is-else]

‘The Art of the Reboot: Why I like Roswell: New Mexico’

In a word: Ugh.

 It was like everywhere I turned, there they were. Remakes. Reboots. Reimaginings.

 Hollywood just could not let it go. I got it. Nostalgia could be a hell of a drug. However…was nothing sacred. Nostalgia was that for a reason. A nice memory from when you were a kid. That time when things were simpler. It was fun. It was vivid with delights. So no one wants such a thing tainted.

 “So when are you watching it?”

 What was the show this time? Charmed. After such a success with superhero shows, The CW was branching out into reboots of old TV shows like Roswell and Charmed. Charmed was a show about three sisters who were part of a long line of witches. It ran on the defunct WB network from 1998-2006 and starred Shannen Doherty, Holly Marie Combs, Alyssa Milano, and (later on) Rose McGowan. All actresses that I liked.

 Great memories were attached to that show. My sister, brother, mother, me, and my nieces and nephew could be counted on to be around the television watching it. I still remembered how my sister loved how fierce the Halliwell sisters dressed. And who did not want to have Prue’s power to move things with your mind…or Piper’s power to freeze…or angst over Phoebe getting a love life. Yeah, good times.

 “I don’t know,” I replied to the question. “I don’t even really want to watch it. Maybe a hatewatch.”

 Hatewatch. When you watched a show because you disliked it so much that you sat there and nitpicked it to death. Something I felt that I would do to Charmed. I just did not see a reason to bring it back.

 That was the same way I felt about the news of Roswell, New Mexico. Old School Roswell was on the WB (and later on UPN) as well, running from 1999 to 2002. I was a late starter to it, drawn in by the potential sci-fi, but who didn’t love the relationship between main alien Max and human teenager Liz or the sparring between alien Michael and feisty Maria? Yeah, I admit that I was curious to see how it would do. I did not have much faith in it. Perhaps just another hate-watch.

 I was wrong. 

 So What Makes It Work: Plot and Character on Roswell New Mexico

 What makes a good reboot?

 Well for one, it could not be a retrace of what came before. Been there, done that. Have the T-shirt. Who would want to see that AGAIN when you already did it? Also like a sequel to a successful movie, most times one cannot beat out the original.

 For another, a good reboot also respected what came before as well as attempted to do something new with the source material which began as a book series by Melinda Metz. A good reboot was a balancing act, a case for nostalgia while being fresh.

 And coming away from the first season of Roswell, New Mexico…it was.

 Old School Roswell was about the idea that aliens were among us and trying to fit in while they explored their origins. They were always in fear of being discovered. At the same time, they could not help, but feel ‘other.’ Into this main alien Max Evans and human Liz Parker fell in love.

 New School Roswell was respectful to that with a twist…Max and Liz (as well as their friends) were all aged up a decade into adulthood versus the high school years of the original. And just like Old School Max pined for Liz, this version of Max had pined for Liz since they were kids. Both Lizs discovered the truth about Max and aliens after being healed by Max. 

Another change that Roswell, New Mexico made…Liz taking back her name. Ortecho. In the books, Liz was of Mexican descent. In the WB/UPN show, Liz was played more like the typical smart teenager. In the reboot, the show never shied away from the fact Liz was of Mexican descent. It explored that fact and how it impacted her in the United States now. Given current events, that made Liz’s family life…her world…EXTREMELY relevant. And most importantly relatable.

 Max feeling his otherness. Liz feeling her otherness. Quite a match. That wrote itself. And the closer they got to each other, the more they (and the viewers) learned about them.

 Anyone who knew me or read my books (https://www.amazon.com/LaTorre-Mays/e/B00E0LUID4) knew that I loved duality. Quite a few characters on Roswell, New Mexico had that. Kyle had gone from typical jock hothead to compassionate doctor. Alien Michael liked to be bad cowboy playboy with the swagger to match to heart on his sleeves guy who loved one guy when he was not projecting an image. Even memories of Liz remembering her sister Rosa (something else different from the WB Roswell) revealed there was more to her sister than meets the eye.

 Speaking of Rosa, the reboot kept something else that the original show had. Mystery mixed with some sci-fi and romance was the plot of the original show. Who was the fourth alien? Why were Max, Michael, and Isobel brought here? What had happened on their old planet? Who were the Skins?

 Roswell, New Mexico continued that plot tradition, but again did its own thing. The Season 1 mystery had to do with the events surrounding Rosa’s death. Was it an accident? If it was not (spoiler alert…it wasn’t) what happened? Who killed Rosa and why? On top of that…who was Rosa really? Good girl? Bad girl with toxic baggage? A misunderstood girl with a bag of secrets not her own? Not only that who was the murderer? The mystery surrounding her death built over Season 1’s 13 episodes. Even better, just when you thought you knew something, something else was revealed or was turned what was known on its ear. Like an onion, a fan pulled back its surface only to find more surface. Layers. Season 2 took the mystery idea a step farther by having Max, Isobel, and Michael dive into their alien origins, specifically what had happened to their parents and how that involved human ally (and one of Michael’s love interest) Alex’s family the Manes. That mystery as well, while slower than Season 1’s plot arc, revealed itself to also be an onion. Again…Layers.

 But speaking of Alex, there was another thing Roswell, New Mexico also pulled out some originality on, but honored the original series.

 The relationships.

 What Keeps It Working: Relationships on Roswell, New Mexico

 So what were you? A Stargrazer? Or maybe a Dreamer? Perhaps you were more for M&M aka Candy?

 Old Roswell had its shippers before anyone knew what a shipper was. Shipper = people who loved a couple, worshipped them, and lived for every moment between those characters. Whether you loved the destiny pairing of Max/Liz, the Bickerson-ness of Maria/Michael, or the ‘opposite attracts’ aspect of Isobel/Alex, there were quite a few to choose from. And those could help in the case of bad writing, something that people debatably said about Season 2 and definitely said about Season 3.

 And what ships they were. Even the reboot series did the now famous scene (also in the book as well) of Liz being shot and Max healing her. The scene of her pointing up to the scene after Max explained where he was from. The various scenes of Maria and Michael arguing, but that fire always bringing them together whether it was him watching her dance at the start of Season 2 or them dancing at the senior prom after a misunderstanding. Or who could forget the time when Alex stripped at Isobel’s birthday party to impress the popular girl…and of course the comedy that ensued?

 In a word…relatable.

 On Roswell, New Mexico….well, the saying was true. The more things change…

 And boy did it change! By aging up the characters, the show stepped away from the old typical high school dramas. Good news with the change? It allowed for deeper subject matter and relevant subject matter for today’s work. Illegal immigrants. Bisexuality. Identity.

 But again…not too different. Hehe!!! The Liz of the Roswell Reboot was the child of illegal immigrants. That opened up for a new audience to see a whole different culture. It also showed the problems with being one. Meanwhile, the Max of the Roswell reboot was a sheriff with a darker edge to him. A Liz who constantly proving that she could save herself. A Max who may be a savior, but was not above being a little more selfish. Watching the two of them come together slowly was interesting to watch and reminiscent of old school Max and Liz. More so since this Max also had a crush on Liz.

  Not only did they have their differences to deal with, but a mystery involving the death of Rosa which of course involved the aliens somehow. The who, what, why of the death was the driving force of the first season, but Max and Liz (ship name Echo) was the heart of it. And in Season Two, the drama for their relationship was wisely focused on them. If the drama for the relationship in the first season was external, season two focused on how their differences could be a problem and thus, internal.

 Speaking of identity, one cannot talk about Roswell, New Mexico without talking about Michael Guerin…and Alex.

 While Isobel dealt with some identity issues that touched on assault, abortion, and self-exploration, Michael was in a league of his own. While Michael in the old Roswell was a hothead with not much drive searching for his place in the world, Michael of Roswell, New Mexico…was actually the same. However, part of the reason Michael did not have a drive was that he was busy playing cover-up behind Rosa’s death with Max and Isobel. And the other reason became very clear when he laid eyes on Alex Manes after years. Lost love was usually that way.

 Yes. On the new reboot, Michael and Alex had a lost love from when they were teenagers. And seeing each other again brought that all back. Shame since Alex’s father was anti-alien and homophobic. So viewers got to watch them deal with their issues. From how tragic things ended when they were kids. From dealing with the issues of the closeted lover. Add on the alien issues and the Rosa mystery, and you had a couple named Malex that had a lot of past and present issues to deal with.

 Enter…Maria.

 Just like the old series, Michael and Maria had a sparring partner relationship. One thing led to another and during a break from Alex, Michael and Maria hooked up. So a chemistry filled triangle began. And Michael found himself asking what was more important…the past or the present?

 And all of the relationships kept people tuning in. Not to mention the alien hijinks. I was happy to see that while the writers were very good at plotting out a mystery with twists, turns, and flashbacks, the writers knew what made old Roswell an enduring show. The relationships like Max and Liz and Michael and Alex…and Michael and Maria. The writers knew about the search for self when a person knew they were different. They knew none of it would mean anything if the characters were not relatable. And at the same time, they threw curveballs to keep this version of Roswell fresh and original while still honoring what made old Roswell Roswell.

 And knowing that meant they got the art of the reboot.

 And I…couldn’t wait to see what they did next.

   #reboots #art #roswell #roswellnewmexico #cw #upn #wb #charmed #echo #malex #candy #stargrazer #dreamer #melindametz #max #liz #rosa #shannendoherty #alyssamilano #hollymariecombs #rosemcgowan #michael #maria #nostaglia #characters #plotting #childrenof #respect #originality #refresh #remake

[graceful-storyteller]

BABY BLUES - VIRUS

Being in the middle of a pandemic I, naturally, was inspired to write a sick!fic. Warnings for sparklings being unwell and anxious parent Starscream. Unlike in the real world EVERYONE gets better.

The worst part, for Windblade, was that she missed it.

In her defence, she'd had other things on her processor at the time. The final vote on her tax reform bill, a meeting with the Mistress of Flame, a damning media piece on fuel poverty she was still trying to get properly fact-checked. When you ran a planet things like making sure the sparklings were ready for the Education Centre on time were rarely at the top of her priority tree. That was Starscream's job as primary caregiver; a phrase which still caused minor processor errors to those outside their inner circle. For all his selfishness and ruthlessness Starscream was...an adequate caregiver. There were still times when Windblade caught him being highly inappropriate around the little ones, but he'd never put them in real danger. As much as he (loudly and regularly) complained about the sparklings most of it was for show. He cared about their little ones just as much, if not more, than she did.

Which was why Starscream was the first one to realise something was wrong. As Windblade was rushing around their apartment gathering her things and downing her morning fuel, Starscream was stood staring critically at Turbulence. She wasn't refuelling, she wasn't talking, she was just sitting quietly and staring at her untouched energon. Something was definitely not right.

“Goodbye everyone,” Windblade said as she pressed a kiss to the sparklings' helms and one to Starscream's faceplate. “I hope you all have a good day.”

He turned to watch her head to the balcony. He waited until she'd transformed and flown out of sight before moving to loom over Turbulence. She looked up at him with sad, unusually dim optics.

“Are you malfunctioning?” he asked tersely.

At half her normal volume she murmured, “My tank feels funny.”

“Is that because you've been eating rust sticks when you're supposed to be recharging?”

She shook her helm.

Starscream released a frustrated ex-vent. “We're going to take Moonshot to the Education Centre and then we're going to see a medic. If this is a ploy to avoid a test I will not be pleased. I have better things to do than waste my time going to see Flatline.”

She nodded, still looking sad and tired.

The walk to the Education Centre, painfully slow for someone who could fly there in a fifth of the time, was even slower than usual until Starscream lost patience and decided to carry Turbulence. She clung tightly to him and he tried not to notice how unusually warm her frame was.  

“Is she broken?” Moonshot asked, half concerned and half curious.

“No,” Starscream replied. “She probably just has a virus. We're going to see a medic after; he'll make her all better.”

“Good,” Moonshot said. “It's weird being able to tell a story without being interrupted.”

Starscream couldn't help but smile at that. His smile died when he arrived at the Education Centre and the instructors were not as sympathetic towards Turbulence's plight.

“She's probably faking,” the obnoxious little kettle decided. “Give her here, I'll set her straight.”

Starscream glared and resisted the urge to kick him. “Are you a medic?”

“No, but I know Turbulence, and she-”

“Is a melodramatic little diva when she scuffs her paint or is in any other way injured. The fact that she is quiet should be a glaring red flag to anyone with a processor. I'm taking her to a medic. If you have a problem with that you can raise it with Windblade.”

He'd stormed off without waiting for a reply. Turbulence had remained worryingly silent.

Starscream had double-timed it to the med-centre and forced his way through reception to find Flatline in the treatment rooms. The former Decepticon had grumbled and griped about Starscream jumping the line, but he'd dealt with enough overly-anxious (and overly-armed in some cases) creators in the last few years that he knew better than to try sending him away. He'd ordered Starscream to put Turbulence down on the berth and begun his examination. It didn't take long for the grumbling to be stopped dead in its tracks.

“Nurse! I need a space clearing in Intensive Care ASAP!”

That was when the panicking started.

“What?! What's wrong with her?! Hey, I'm talking-”

“Starscream,” Flatline said as slowly and calmly as he could, “you did the right thing bringing her here when you did. It looks like Turbulence has a virus, but she doesn't have the right software to counteract it. It's standard software for you and me – but the sparklings weren't created in the same way. I'm putting her in Intensive Care to be safe and to isolate her from anyone else who might not have the right software.” His optics brightened as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, you have two sparklings right?”

Starscream grabbed his arm. “Moonshot.”

“Bring him here, just in case. With any luck we can download the software before he starts exhibiting any symptoms – if he has the virus at all.”

Starscream didn't need to be told twice. He flew as fast as he could to the Education Centre, barely slowing as he raced through the halls to Moonshot's classroom.

The doors opened. The class turned to look at him. Moonshot wasn't among them.  

“He's down the hall,” said the instructor. “He started crying uncontrollably a few minutes ago. I sent-”

Starscream didn't wait for him to finish. He kept running until his audials captured the faint sound of his sparkling in distress. He kicked the door open, startling the room's occupants.

“What in the blazing inferno do you think you're-”

“Star!” Moonshot cried, reaching for him imploringly. “I don't feel good!”

Starscream pushed the instructor still attempting to berate him out of his way, picked up his sparkling, and rushed out of the Education Centre without a word. It wasn't until he handed his still sobbing sparkling to  a medic and was ordered to wait outside until the assessment was complete that he noticed Windblade was trying to contact him.

He answered the comm with a wry, “Do you want the bad news or the worse news?”

.

After finding enough people to delegate the co-ordination of a response to a public health crisis to, Windblade allowed herself the luxury of collapsing in a chair beside her sparkling's berth. It was lucky, the medics said, that they'd been alerted to the virus when they had or the whole Education Centre might have risked overheating and spark failure. As it was all the sparklings were currently receiving an update to their software centre to prevent further transfer of the virus. Turbulence and Moonshot's classes had been admitted overnight as they had all been infected, although many had not yet started to show symptoms. The two sparklings were in a private room, recharging, watched over by their creators. Flatline had given them the necessary antivirals and was hopeful they could be discharged after a further day's rest and observation.

Even though her sparklings were no longer in danger Windblade had no intention of leaving their side anytime soon. She stroked Turbulence's helm with the hand not held in the sparkling's tight grip. Beside her Starscream was running a soothing palm over Moonshot's wing, his own occasionally twitching and making contact with Windblade's. It was more reassuring than irritating.

“Stop fretting,” Starscream groused without looking at her. “You heard Flatline; they're going to fine.”

“This time,” Windblade muttered.

Starscream twisted in his seat, a frown marring his features. “What are you talking about?”

Windblade sat back in her seat. “I didn't notice. I couldn't tell that Turbulence was ill. Her change in behaviour didn't even register. What if next time I don't notice something until it's too late to get her treatment? What if she gets permanently hurt because I'm not paying attention? What if-”

“It really galls you that I'm the better caretaker,” Starscream said with a wide smirk.

“Excuse me?!”

“Look at you – all wound up because I was the one who realised our sparkling was ill. You were ready to chew me out because I was rude to the instructors but I was actually doing the right thing. You're mad that you were wrong.”

“That is – no! I am not-”

“Windblade, Windblade, Windblade,” Starscream cooed condescendingly. “It's alright. I promise that when you admit I'm superior you'll feel much better.”  

“When Turbulence lets go of my hand I'm going to slap you,” she threatened.

“If you think that will make you feel better you can try,” Starscream said pityingly. “Deep down, though, you know it won't. You won't feel better until you acknowledge you are limited. Limited by your inability to rule a planet and micromanage your family. Limited by your need to take responsibility for everything and everyone. Limited by your belief you can have your rust cake and eat it. You can't bring about a new Golden Age of Cybertron and be creator of the year. Something has to give. Better it's this than allowing some warmongering psychopath to steal your crown.”

For a long moment Windblade was silent as she digested Starscream's words.

“You know, even when you're trying to be supportive you're an aft.”

Starscream continued to smirk as he returned his attention to Moonshot. Windblade rolled her optics and turned back to Turbulence.

After a moment of silence Starscream extended his leg, nudging her ankle-strut. With a smile she nudged him back. They remained linked by that small contact until the position became too uncomfortable. As they shifted their wings connected and remained together, causing Windblade to smile.  

“Thank you Starscream. You are a good caretaker,” Windblade muttered.

His wings twitched in acknowledgement, but for once Starscream was blissfully silent.  

[paxohana]

Menagerie, Pt. 1

The evening was chilly for late spring, leaving him wishing he had worn a heavier jacket or better yet remained at home.  He was expected to be there, however.  It was the ball of the season, the event of the elite in the city.  While he didn’t consider himself in the upper crust of society, his family name carried notable weight.

He felt confident in his appearance, wearing the latest fashion from Paris.  The coattails were something that took some getting used to but paired along with pinstripe trousers he felt dapper. His crimson cravat felt as if it were choking him and the highly polished shoes pinched his feet, but such was the bane of aristocracy.  He just prayed he’d get through all the pomp and circumstance of the occasion.

“Viktor,” his date began, “I’m thirsty.  When we get inside, would you be a darling and get me something to drink?”

“Of course, my dear,” Viktor said, lifting her gloved hand and kissing it.

They walked through the archway leading to the grand room, only pausing to be introduced.  The scattered applause didn’t bode well with Viktor, but he knew it was because of his date.  Her family prayed Viktor took a liking to her and wedded her, but Viktor knew it was hopeless on their part.  He invited her to the ball as a favor to his father since her family’s clout was deteriorating. 

After excusing himself, Viktor headed toward the refreshment table and perused the offerings.  Every delicacy befitting a ball of this magnitude was present.  Scrutinizing the appetizers, Viktor was pleased when he saw a towering platter of finger sandwiches.  He grabbed a plate and stacked several on it along with a few petit fours.  Deciding he had enough to last most of the evening, Viktor returned to his date.

“I think you forgot something,” she said, frowning when he looked at her cluelessly, “My drink.  I swear, Viktor, you are so scatterbrained for someone your age!”

“I apologize,” he said, handing her his plate, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Heading to the table once more, Viktor waited until the server assisted those ahead of him.  The band had struck up a tune and several couples headed for the dance floor.  He turned around and watched the dancers waltz around in the open.  His eyes darted from pair to pair, and he recognized a few before his gaze stopped.

That’s when he saw him.

The young man appeared to be an angel descended from the heavens.  His tan plaid jacket complimented his jet black hair perfectly, the golden wire-framed glasses giving him a glowing appearance.  Viktor admired his slender figure and the way his vest hugged his upper body.  His hands seemed delicate under the white gloves he wore, but the way he held his date in his arms suggested admirable strength.  

Viktor was instantly smitten.

He watched the graceful flow of the man’s body as he twirled his dance partner around the floor.  His movements denoted one skilled in the art, and Viktor thoroughly enjoyed being privy to see it.  He could tell the man was carrying on a conversation with his date, and when his eyes crinkled when he smiled, Viktor thought his heart would cease beating.  His smile was brighter than any star imaginable and the joy on his face ethereal.  Viktor wanted nothing more than to swoon over the man, wished it was him being held in his arms, spinning around the hardwood floor with him.

Shaking the impossible thoughts from his mind, Viktor ordered a drink for his date and returned to her.  His gaze remained fixed on the man, however. Viktor was intrigued by him, and he thought he must introduce himself.  Trying to think of a way to strike up a conversation with him, Viktor was jolted from his reverie when applause broke out among the guests.

“Viktor?”

“Yes, dear?” he responded with a question of his own.

“I’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes.  I would like to dance now,” she declared, taking his hand and dragging him to the floor.

The band switched to a slower tune and Viktor held his date closer, but his eyes never left the young man.  He barely heard the words his companion was speaking, nodding every so often or giving a hum of approval.  His mind wasn’t on the woman in his arms, but of the man mere feet away from him.

The song seemed to drone on forever.  He wanted to break away from the crowd, find the man that caught his fancy and chat until the small hours of the morning.  He wanted to know everything about him, wanted to hear his laughter and see that broad smile directed at him.

Bowing to his date, Viktor excused himself and scanned the people surrounding him, but became dismayed when he couldn’t locate the one that fascinated him.  Deciding to get a breath of fresh air, Viktor headed for the balcony but froze when he saw someone leaning against the railing. 

It was him, the one that took his breath away.  

Viktor couldn’t believe his luck and wondered if the heavens were smiling down upon him.  Clearing his throat as not to frighten the young man, Viktor ambled up to the railing and stood next to him.

“Good evening, sir,” Viktor said, trying to steady his voice to contain his growing excitement.

“Good evening,” the man said, smiling softly at him.

“Quite the party, isn’t it?” Viktor asked, grinning when the other man chuckled.

“I hate these soirees,” he replied, “Too many expectations and secrets.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Viktor said, holding out his hand, “Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Yuuri Katsuki,” the young man said, shaking Viktor’s hand with a strength he found enchanting, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine.  What brings you to the Kelly’s tonight?”

“My father is their investor,” Yuuri said, “I’m representing my family.  I almost wish they had sent my sister.”

“I completely understand,” Viktor lamented, “My father is a steel magnate.  We’re expected to attend events such as this.”

“Wait, Nikiforov Metals?” Yuuri inquired.

“That’s us.”

“My father was just asked to take over as their financier,” Yuuri said in astonishment, “and here I am running into the scion of my father’s newest client.”

“I suppose it is a small world,” Viktor replied, chuckling slightly, “Maybe the stars have aligned or whatnot.”

“Perhaps.”

Viktor watched Yuuri as he stared out at the inky darkness sparsely sprinkled with gas lamps.  He wanted to know what was going through his head but thought it impolite to comment on it.  Leaning against the railing, Viktor looked at Yuuri when he sighed.

“I wish we didn’t have such social responsibilities,” Yuuri began, “I want to feel free and alive, not stifled under others’ expectations.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.  I’m expected to marry and carry on the family business,” Viktor said.

“What would you rather do?” Yuuri inquired.

“Travel the world, help the less fortunate,” Viktor elaborated, “I see the underprivileged in our city and it tugs at my heart.”

“That’s quite admirable of you,” Yuuri said, giving a smile that made Viktor’s heart skip a beat.

“What would be in your future if you had a choice?” Viktor questioned.

“I’d like to go to school for medicine,” Yuuri explained.

“A doctor is a highly respectable career choice,” he said.

“Alas, I feel my life will be dedicated to taking over for my father’s position once he retires,” Yuuri said, sadness mingling in his voice.

“As will mine.  Such are the burdens of an only child,” Viktor said, sighing deeply.

Yuuri nodded in sympathy.  While he wasn’t in the same situation as Viktor, he was the only male heir and was expected to carry on his father’s legacy.  He felt trapped in his circumstances and wasn’t ready to resign himself to his destiny.

“Perhaps in the next lifetime,” Yuuri mused, desperately hoping it were true.

“Mayhap,” he agreed, “but enough about melancholic subjects.  What does Yuuri Katsuki do to pass his time throughout the day?”

“Typically follow my father around and learn from him,” Yuuri revealed, “Other times I spend time in the park reading or playing croquet.  I’m the family champion.”

“Impressive,” Viktor said, grinning when Yuuri smiled, “Have you ever tried your hand at polo?”

“I can’t say that I have,” he said.

“Would you like to join me this week?  There is a spot open on our team since Harold will be out of town.  I’d love for you to experience such a grand occasion,” Viktor invited, sincerely hoping Yuuri would agree.

“Alright,” Yuuri said, “It sounds like fun.  As long as it doesn’t interfere with my schedule, I’d be delighted to tag along.”

“We generally meet up in the square at ten o’clock on Wednesday mornings.  Is that agreeable?” Viktor inquired.

“Quite so.  See you then?”

After exchanging information in case one needed to cancel, they parted for the night to return to their dates.  Viktor kept scouring the crowd for Yuuri much to his date’s chagrin.  The last time Viktor spotted him, he knew he had gone too far.

“You could be couth enough to hide your fancy for other women, Viktor,” she complained, gathering her clutch, “I’m ready to leave now.”

Grimacing as his date angrily shrugged into her shawl, Viktor played scenarios through his head to appease her.  He knew if word got back to his father that he avoided her most of the evening, the man would be most displeased.

“I apologize, my dear,” Viktor said when they reached the stoop of her house, “My wits were not about me tonight.  I promise I shall make it up to you.”

“Don’t bother,” she grumbled, “Good night, Viktor.”

He leaned in to kiss her cheek but was spurned when she spun on her heel and opened the door, slamming it seconds later.  He knew he should have felt horrible at the manner he treated the woman, but he couldn’t help feeling relieved.  Not only would the limelight of her family’s expectations dim, but he wouldn’t be pressed into future engagements involving the woman.

Which left him more time with Yuuri Katsuki.

Grinning to himself, Viktor whistled as he wound his way through the darkened streets toward his own home.

Just something @princessmimoza​ and I thought up in 2018 and finally decided to get going on this project lol.  This ficlet will be updated on the first and sixteenth of every month.  We hope you like it!