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lordoffiction · 4 years

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Two Souls, One Fate: chapter one.

☞: After spending two days trying to post this, here it is! Hooray!

I really hope you all enjoy this whilst I finish writing the fifth chapter for T.L, because god knows I spent too much time on this. I haven’t wrote in a few months, so please excuse any mistakes I made in this and if it’s shitty! It’ll get better, promise.

Please give me feedback and let me know if you would like to get tagged in this series!

Anyways, enjoy!

WORD COUNT: 5,069

WARNINGS: swearing, mild violence, mentions of suicide.

gif isn’t mine, all credits to the owner.

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Your fingers combed through your hair, bundling it up into an untidy ponytail, pulling the long strands to make sure it was secure and tight enough. You had had long hair for around ten years, it's your pride and joy.

Growing up in an all-male family had made you that way, you grew up a tomboy with your five older brothers and always saw yourself as one of them.

But then that magical moment came when you were ripped from your carefree childhood and brutally slammed into the harsh society and expectations of women, you had begun to hate the idea of acting like a boy. People told you to act more like a “lady”. So you had put away the mud pies, the sword fights, and the wrestling. You began doing make-up, having long hair, and wearing pretty clothes.

But throughout everything, no matter what anyone said, society and snotty people couldn’t take this one thing from you.

Archery.

Your father had taught you from a young age, a sport that made you better even on your worst days. Something that not even the most powerful being in existence could take from you. The thrill of letting go of that arrow, watching it glide through the air before striking its target. It was something you would never get bored of.

You dressed in your normal sportswear, sliding on protective gloves made specially to stop your hands from getting sores as you held the arrow.

Where you lived was a small village, everybody knew everybody. News and gossip spread like wildfire here, so you only imagine that half the village had already heard about your date later tonight.

Reaching over to your bow and your arrow hanging pot, slinging it over your shoulder, you left your small apartment and headed towards the forest. You had a set up shooting range for archery at the corner of it, your dad would make targets for you and set you challenges every day when you were younger. Like swinging targets or shooting whilst you're running.

“G’ morning, dear. Going out to the woods again?”

Your eyes turned to see your elderly neighbour smiling at you, her eyes crinkled at the corners. Her walking stick barely keeping her up properly and her woven hat kept the sunlight out of her eyes.

“Mrs. Genkins,” You smiled at her small frame. Such a fragile woman. “Don’t I spend all my time in those damn woods?”

“Just you be careful, you wouldn’t want to hurt yourself before your date tonight.” Mrs. Genkins waved her walking stick at you slightly in a teasing manner, barely putting it back in time before she loses her balance.

The comment made your eyes roll internally. Of course, people already knew about your date tonight.

“I see news hasn’t lost its way around this place.” Your hand automatically reaching out to her in case she falls, which she brushed away with her wrinkled hands. Though she may be pushing ninety, she sure is one tough little lady when it comes to receiving any help.

“You know people around here, other people's lives are their entertainment. Just make sure this one can handle you, you can’t be single forever, you know?” Mrs. Genkins squinted her eyes at you teasing you from the last man you had dated that went sour once he had realized how unfeminine you are.

“Is he really worth my time is he can’t handle a tough girl like me?” You teased back, giving her a small wink as she cackled at your comment.

“Well, I better be going if I want to miss the morning rush at the morning market. You be safe, dear. And be careful.”

You nodded at her, smiling as you waved her down the road and out of sight. You let your head fall back slightly, closing your eyes with an exasperating sigh. You really need to move somewhere where there isn’t anyone you know or where no-one knows you.

You set off towards the woods, it wasn’t a far walk, only about five minutes from your apartment complex.

You dug your earphones out from your pocket, plugging them into your phone, and playing your latest playlist you had made for when you go do your archery. You began stretching your arms on the way, hooking one arm around the other, and pulling on it to receive a satisfying 'pop'.

Just as you entered the woods, you began to hear faint drumming noises. You brushed it off, perhaps it was something for the song you were listening to, though you never remembered this when you last listened to it yesterday.

Your brows knotted together in confusion as the drumming began to get louder and louder as you went deeper into the forest. The noise became so loud that you ripped your earphones out of your ears, your eyes widening. It wasn’t coming from the music.

It was coming from around you.

As soon as you realised, a small chanting sound echoed with the drumming, syncing with the beat of it.

A cult? You thought.

Your E/C hues quickly began searching around you to see who was doing it but found no one else in the woods with you.

Your fight or flight reflex suddenly kicked in, making you break out into a full-blown sprint into the woods, you tried to fumble with your bow, reaching for one of your arrows in it’s hanging pot behind your back, panting as your fingertips brushed the tip of it.

“C’mon!” You yelled at yourself in frustration.

Suddenly, you began to fall sideways, your ankle giving way beneath you in a twisted mess. The world began to spiral around you as you rolled into the ditch near the pathway you were once walking on.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You felt yourself being thrashed around for a few seconds downhill before finally landing on the flat ground again. You gasped for air, the collision causing you to land onto your back, knocking all the air out of your lungs.

You laid there for a minute, breathing in deeply. Did you really just fucking fall?

Rolling onto your side and going onto your hands and knees once you regained your breath, you looked up at the large hill you just fell from, realising the only way you can get back to the track is if you climb back up again.

“Shit.” You grumbled under your breath, using the nearest tree to pull yourself up to your feet again. Your arrows were scattered around you from the fall, leaning down to pick them up one by one and placing them back in your hanging pot.

As you reached for the last one, but your eyes were caught on a small box under the root of a large tree, surely the largest tree you had seen in these woods before and in your entire life.

It must have been thousands of years old, you could wrap yourself around it at least six or seven times.

“Oh, my...” You gawked the tree up and down, taking it all in before looking back to the box that was intertwined with its roots.

“What’s this?” You wondered aloud, going onto your knees and tracing your fingers on the corners of the box that you could touch. It was covered in dirt and moss but your curiosity ate you alive, reaching for one of your arrows, you began to jab at the root to loosen it with the end of your arrow.

After a few moments of trying, you finally loosened the root enough to yank the box out from it with a hard tug, causing you to fall backward.

You brushed it with your fingers but the dirt and grime were so thickly coated on it for god knows how long.

“Curious cat, aren’t you?” You spoke to yourself, standing up again and forgetting completely about your training. “This could be a murder weapon or something and you want to take it home with you.” You tusked, tucking the box into your hanging pot.

The journey back home was filled with many emotions, the main one being self-pity for yourself on how you fell down the hill. The second was about the drums that caused you to fall.

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You ringed your hair out as you stepped out of the shower, letting it fall down your back, the water droplets dripping down your skin, and pooling around your feet.

You dried yourself off as you danced to the music playing from your speaker in your small apartment, grabbing the clothes you planned to wear to your date tonight.

What a weird day, huh. You thought back to the drumming and chanting.

You had chosen a pair of black jeans and a cute black top you had recently bought as a treat, the neckline dripping to show your cleavage. The outfit suited your figure beautifully, staring at yourself in the mirror as you tugged on your black, leather heeled Chelsea boots.

You’d only done concealer and mascara for your make-up. Nothing too fancy for a little date.

“Not bad, Y/N. Not bad at all.” You smiled at yourself. You had curled your long hair, tucking one side behind your ear.

You looked behind you, seeing the small box you discovered sitting on your kitchen counter. You glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing you still had some time to kill before your date got here.

After a few minutes of running around your apartment and gathering things like a toothbrush, washing up liquid, a small paintbrush, and paper towels; you set up your little workspace on the counter to clean the box.

You dipped the toothbrush in the soapy water, gently scrubbing the dirt from the box, using the paintbrush to brush any specks of dirt off it.

Some time had passed, and you could finally see the beauty beneath the dirt.

“What are these?” You mumbled to yourself, looking at the strange engraved marks on the box. The box looked silver, but you couldn’t be sure.

Carefully prying the box open with your fingertips, you revealed inside a stranger kind of necklace.

Your head tilted to the side and your brows furrowed together as the small spiral pendant looked almost familiar. Like you had owned one before but forgot about it. A very distant memory.

It was silver, in the shape of an upside-down hammer. The leather cord that was with it had deteriorated, falling apart as soon as you picked up the pendant.

You cleaned off the pendant in the soapy water, patting it dry with a paper towel. Quickly going back to your room and grabbing one of your necklaces, you took the chain from it. Going back to the kitchen where you carefully hooped the pendant onto the silver chain.

Should I...

You pondered for a moment, staring at the pendant in your hand. You raised the chain around your neck, clasping it together at the hooks as it hung on your chest. You stilled for a moment, almost expecting something to happen when you put it on.

“Idiot,” You laughed at yourself, going over to where a mirror was to see how it looked on. But as soon as you took a step forwards, it felt like you began falling. You could hear the chants again from the woods, the drums pounding around you, almost deafeningly loud. Your eyes widened in terror as you couldn’t move your body as you fell back, the floor of your apartment swallowing you in a rabbit hole.

Lights surrounded you in all different colors, seeing silhouettes in the corner of your eye. Were they the ones chanting?

Oh god, oh fuck, oh shit.

Your breathing became labored, struggling to get air as you tried desperately to move your limbs.

The drumming and chanting only growing louder the deeper you fell into this rabbit hole.

Silence.

Suddenly the chanting and drums stopped, looking up to see the disfigured sky. You attempted to move your limbs again, gasping when you found you could move.

You kicked your way up to the sky, gasping for air once you broke through.

The sound of lapping waves and squalling seagulls invaded your ears, a sudden chill going over your body.

You looked around you with wide eyes, astonished by your surroundings. You were in the fucking ocean.

“What the fuck?!” You shrieked out, panic set over you as you tried to stay afloat, legs kicking under the water furiously.

“You’re dreaming. You must have gotten a concussion,” you repeated to yourself. “Yeah, yeah. You’re concussed.”

“You there!”

You snapped your head to see a wooden boat sailing towards you, numerous men aboard it as they all peered down at you. One man, in particular, stood at the arch of the boat, big and with a long braided bear. He was bald, tattoos around his head in strange patterns.

“Did you get lost, woman?” He belly laughed, the other men joining in. You were too much in shock to try and even say anything back. “Frode, throw the poor woman a rope.”

One of the men, skinner than the one barking orders, threw a thick rope towards you, splashing into the water in front of you, the water spraying on your face.

You grabbed the rope, unsure whether or not being on a boat with strangers or being in the ocean alone was better. The men heaved you up to the boat, letting your body hit the deck of it like a wet fish.

You panted slightly, trying to calm your thundering heart before it jumped out your throat.

You weren’t facing the men, your eyes locked onto your hands that dug into the wooden deck, trying to desperately grasp onto some kind of reality.

“Holy fuck.” You gasped out.

“Someone get her something to cover herself with!” The bald, bearded man ordered. Someone came over and wrapped some kind of cloak on you, you quickly tied it on your neck, trying to get warm.

“What kind of clothing is she wearing?” Another man spoke.

“A whore, perhaps?” Another replied.

“Whore!?” You repeated, turning to look at the men for the first time. “Who do you think you're calling a whore?”

The expressions on the men’s faces changed as soon as you looked up at them. The sudden change in mood made you want to cower away. Are these cosplayers? Re-enactors? Why did they dress that way?

“Freyja.” The bald one spoke, barely a whisper.

“Freyja?” You repeated. Who?

You’d never heard such a name before, were they calling you that? The men exchanged a look, communicating with their eyes before turning back to you.

“What’s your name?” The bald one asks, his tone in voice changing.

“Y/N,” you reply, beginning to stand up. “Where is this? Where are we right now?”

“Kattegat.” Someone spoke, earning a quick shove by the person next to him.

Your brows frowned together. Kattegat? Maybe you should have paid more attention in geography class when you were in school.

“Tie her up. We must show the Princes, this is an imposter of Freyja.” The bald one spoke again before walking away, his face unreadable.

“Wait!” You exclaimed, looking around as the men closed in on you, starting to grab you. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

You elbowed the man who grabbed your from behind, hearing a grunt from him as he doubled over, making you flick your long hair out of your face.

“If anyone touches me, I’ll rip your fucking limbs off.” You warned, getting into a fighting stance with your balled fists in the air. You were outnumbered, by many. Before you could even say another word, one of the men quickly backhanded you across the face, knocking you down to the floor where they all cornered you.

—————————

The bald man, whose name you had learned was Magnus, threw you onto the ground with force, causing you to land on your shoulder. A groan left your lips as pain tingled down your arm.

“Don’t fucking throw me, you bald bastard!” You shouted at him, your hands restrained behind your back and your ankles tied together also, restraining you of trying to run off. Your hair had fallen across your face, limiting your view of your surroundings.

The whole hall of people turned to look at you, hearing small whispers about your clothing. The music had stopped playing and the cheers.

Who the fuck were these people?

You could barely make out four men sitting at a large table in front of you, maybe a few feet away, two with fair hair and two with dark.

“What’s the meaning of this, Magnus?” You heard one of them say, his accent making your ears perk up. “Did any of you ask for a thrall for the night?” He directed his question to the men beside him.

“My apologies, Prince Ubbe, but...” The bald man suddenly seemed nervous, unsure of what exactly to say. It made you scoff. A big guy like him was scared of these guys? “We found her in the sea--”

“Spit it out, before I rip your tongue out.” Another man at the table spoke, the threat taking you off guard. His accent was the same.

“We believe she’s an imposter and a volva.”

“An imposter and a volva?” another one of the men at the table snickered. “Sound’s interesting, Ubbe.”

“Who are you calling an imposter?” You sneered at the men. “I don’t even know you.”

“Watch your mouth, whore!” You heard, gasping as one of the men who tied you kicked you in your side.

“Enough.” You heard the first man say, hearing the chair he was sitting in move across the floor. “I asked you what the meaning of this was? You’re spoiling our celebration.”

The bald man grabbed the back of your head, gripping onto your hair as he roughly pulled you onto your knees, making you wince. Your hair moved from your face in the process and you could finally see around you. At the table sat the four men, the Princes, you had gathered.

All handsome— wait. Not the right time.

Their faces were twisted in an expression you had never seen before on someone as soon as they looked at you. The whole of the hall went deathly quiet as eyes were on you.

One of the men at the table stood up abruptly, his hands on the table. He had four twisted braids in his dark hair, his eyes a piercing blue as they stared at you. They were the bluest eyes you had ever seen.

Those eyes. You’d seen them before.

“Freyja.” He said to you. Again with the name.

Your head was tugged back, knocking you out of your trance and filling your chest with rage. Ripping your eye contact from him, you turned your attention to the man behind you.

“Get your hands off me before I break them.” You growled out.

Whispers broke out around you, you scowled at them all. What were they all wearing? Are these Vikings?

Your E/C eyes find their way to the blue ones again, he seemed to tense when you looked at him, his breath catching in his throat. It was like he was a statue.

The one with long brown hair with two braids going into one and green eyes stood up.

“Everybody leave.” Was all he said for everyone to leave the room. “You men can also leave. Get out.”

The men behind you began to leave, Magnus let your hair suddenly go from his grip, letting you land onto your face.

“Fuck.” You whimpered out, a tingling pain going up your nose. The only people left in the large hall were you and the four strange men, you strangely began to feel small.

The blonde man who was at the head of the table began to make his way towards you, his footsteps stopping once in front of you. Was this the one they called Ubbe?

“You,” He kneeled on one knee as he grabbed your jaw with his index finger and thumb. “What is your name?”

You hold your tongue, refusing to tell him. But this only made his grip on your jaw tighten.

“If you want to keep your tongue, I suggest you answer when spoken to.” He said lowly, his eyes just as blue as the man behind him. Were they brothers?

You stare into his eyes, trying to stare him down like a dog but his eyes never faltered. His stare was incredibly intimidating.

You gave an exasperating huff of breath, rolling your eyes to yourself.

“Y/N. My name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

He kept staring at you, his eyes studying your face. His eyes looked sad as if pained as he looked at you. His jaw clenched and unclenched before he spoke again. “Why were you in the sea?”

“I don’t know, one moment I was in my home and the next I was in the water.” You knew this had to do with the necklace and the drumming in the woods. It all has to link up somehow. You went to reach up to grab it but remembered your hands were tied.

His eyes moved from yours as he removed his hand from your jaw, turning to the other men at the table. Your eyes followed. Both the one with blue eyes and the blonde one with fluffy hair were frozen in place still. It’s like they’ve seen a ghost.

The one kneeling in front of you raised his eyebrows at the one with the braids as if asking him what to do. He walked over to the both of you, gawking down at you with his green eyes.

“It’s as if she’d risen from the dead, but how can that be? We saw her body that day.” He said, staring down at you.

“Can someone just explain to me what’s going on?” You pipped up. A loud bang caused you to jump, looking towards the cause of the noise. The blue-eyed man had gotten up, his chair fallen behind him and his hands pressed against the surface of the table. His chest was heaving under his leather armor. His face was twisted with anger and hurt, barely looking at you as he grabbed his crutch.

“I don’t care what you do with her," he looked over to you with eyes so intense, your lips parted as your breath hitched in your throat. You felt your heart dip into your stomach.

Holy shit. Those eyes... Where have you seen them before?

"She's not Freyja." He walked out the hall and passed you, his crutch stabbing into the wood beneath him in anger, he looked as if he was almost snarling as he walked through the doors.

“Ivar--” The one with the green eyes called after him, going to walk after him but the one who was knelt suddenly stood up, holding a hand against his chest.

“Leave him, this must be a shocking sight for him. He needs time.”

“Can you untie me so I can leave?” You cut in, the rope irritating the skin off your wrists. The men ignored you, the blonde fluffy-haired one finally speaking up after this whole time.

“You can’t let her leave.”

—————————

You sat awkwardly in the chair, fiddling with your fingers on your lap as the three men stared at you. The fluffy-haired one had untied you but sat you in the chair at the large table, the green-eyed one threatening that if you tried anything then you’d regret it.

Scary.

They spoke as if you weren’t even there too.

“What kind of clothes is she wearing? She's dressed like a prostitute.” The one with the two braids spoke, cutting an apple slowly with a knife before placing it in his mouth.

Your gaze turned to him, anger rising in your chest. What was with these guys? Do they have no respect?

“Say that again,” You pointed your finger towards him. “and I’ll spoon your eyes out. How can you say anything about what I'm wearing when you’re dressed like a rodent in all those furs?”

The man stared at you for a moment before smirking. Who are you smiling at, you bastard--

“With a mouth like hers, she certainly isn’t Freyja. She wouldn’t dare speak like that.” He said. "Even if she is identical to her."

“That’s because I’m not Freyja. And you do know that this is kidnapping, right? You can get put into jail because of this.”

The brothers exchanged a look.

“And where would you find one of those?” Asked the one with the long braid, Ubbe, you remembered. “We’re the sons of Ragnar, nobody can tell us what we can or cannot do.”

Your eyebrows frowned, looking at them sideways at you felt dumbfounded.

Who is Ragnar?

“As if I know, or care, who Ragnar is. Let me go.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest. Shit, it was cold here. Even this cloak did nothing to help with your soaking clothes.

Their expressions only looked more confused, as if they were more confused than you are and couldn't understand how you didn't know who Ragnar is.

“Where are you from?” The one eating asked.

“Tell me your names and then I’ll tell you what you want to know.” You cocked an eyebrow at them. If they were stupid enough, they’d tell you so you can report them to the police once you find a way out of here.

God, the air here smells like constant shit. You want to go home already, to your scented candles to cleanse your nose of this stench.

“Curious thing, aren’t you? I’m Hvitserk,” Hvitserk pointed to the other men with the end of his knife. “these are my brothers, Ubbe and Sigurd.”

Ubbe smiled at you as Sigurd only stood still, unsure of what to say to you.

“And the blue-eyed one who walked out?” You asked.

“That was Ivar, our youngest brother.”

“What was his problem?” You quizzed again. Shut up, Y/N. This curiosity is the reason why you’re here in the first place.

Ubbe and Hvitserk looked at you before exchanging a look between them, Sigurd shifting on his feet as he cleared his throat. You noticed his jaw clench and his fists tighten at his sides.

“Well?” You repeated, waiting for an answer from one of them.

“The woman you resemble—” Ubbe began, getting cut off by a nudge from Hvitserk.

“Is it wise to tell her?” He asked his brother lowly, his green eyes looking at you.

“You do not think she deserves to know?”

“She could be deceiving us, a volva like the men said,” Hvitserk warned his brother.

You could only roll your eyes at them as you shifted in the chair, crossing your legs over.

“I don’t know what that is, but I can assure you I'm not deceiving you. I just want to know what’s going on.” You sighed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“You resemble a woman called ‘Freyja’,” Sigurd spoke suddenly, looking into the bright flame that burned in the hall. His brothers turned to look at him with you. “No, you don’t resemble her. You are her.”

“Who is Freyja?” You asked.

“She was my first love.” He turned to look at you. “And Ivar's.”

Hvitserk and Ubbe sat back in the chairs, staying deadly quiet as their brother spoke to you. Their first love?

“What happened to her?” The question made your heart sink, taking you off guard. Why do you care?

“She died protecting us all. She was the most beautiful and loved woman in Kattegat, every man wanted her hand in marriage. Including all of us,” Sigurd suggested to his brothers, making Ubbe take a sip out of his cup and Hvitserk turn his gaze.

“A king came one day, wanting to trade. But once his eyes set on Freyja, demanding to marry her or risk causing a war between us. We all agreed to go to war, prepared, made an army. She refused to cause a war over her, Freyja had always hated violence.”

Sigurd took a shaky breath, his hands trembling in the light of the fire. The sight was enough to let you know how much he was affected by this.

“She... she was in love with Ivar. The thought of either losing him in battle or by marrying herself off was too much for her to ever bare. The day of the battle, Freyja stood between armies, in the middle of the battle field,” His eyes looked at yours, something flashing over them. “She drove a sword through herself in front of everyone. She did it for her love.”

The words made your breath hitch in your throat.

She killed herself... for him?

Your eyes tore away from Sigurd’s figure, looking anywhere but at the brothers.

No wonder Ivar left, you thought. Imagine seeing the woman you loved kill herself in front of you and then seeing her alive again...

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly, staring at your lap. “But I just want to go home. I have a family there, friends. They’re probably searching for me.”

“It’s dark out now,” Ubbe spoke, clearing his throat as he stood. “You should rest here for the night and begin searching for your way back in the morning. We'll help you.”

You nodded a 'thank you', standing from your chair. Hvitserk looked at your soaking clothes, turning to Sigurd.

"Tell one of the thralls to prepare some clothes for Y/N. She can't sleep in those."

Sigurd nodded, walking down a passageway and out of sight. You could see a grateful look on his face towards his brother for getting him out the room.

"You still haven't told me where you're from." Hvitserk turned his attention to you, leaning back against the table.

"Honestly, I don't think any of you will know where I'm from. But I can tell you I'm not from here. I come from a different time." You uttered, holding the necklace under your cloak, your thumb grazing the lines in it. "Someone or something brought me here, I want to know why."

#vikings #ivar the boneless #reader #ivar x reader #sigurd lothbrok #sigurd x reader #Ubbe Lothbrok #ubbe x reader #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk x reader #ivar lothbrok #ragnarssons #hvitserk smut #ubbe smut #ivar smut #sigurd snake in the eye

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aimee-maroux · 4 years

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Plato-nic Love (Part I)

I sadly didn’t finish the whole story in time but this is part one of Seren and Plato’s epic love story for the ages XD

Illustrations were done by the wonderful @sigeel 😍😍😍

So this submission is by the two of us!

Plato-nic Love

Seren poured a libation of wine and started working on the grapevine that had been growing in the family garden for a while. At first, her mother had tried to get rid of it but it had proven the essence of indestructable life and so they had accepted its presence much like Seren had come to accept the presence of its patron god. She was about to cut off a branch to use for making a crown later on when she heard a familiar voice. "How is my favourite bacchae?" She sighed. It had been about a year since she had agreed to become his faithful follower and needless to say she was still the only one. "Do you know what day it is?" Seren started frantically going through all the calendars she had studied, from the reconstructed Attic calendar to the Roman calendar before and after the Julian reform -what moon phase were they in again? "You always think we don't care about these things but I have a sursprise for you." Dionysos flashed her a bright smile. "What?" she said flatly. A surprise from a god couldn't possibly mean anything good.

"I SAID: I have a SURPRISE for you!" Confetti and flower petals started raining down on them and from above sounded a rustic melody played on pan pipes. Seren looked up to see Hermes sitting on a treebranch, grinning as he played the instrument his son invented. "Ha ha, very funny, Hermes." Dionysos took Seren by the shoulders. "He was supposed to play the Time Warp. Because it's exactly ONE YEAR TODAY that you became my bacchae and do I have a surprise for you!" "Yeah, you said so. But maybe it would be better if-" "Nonsense! As your patron god I am exceedingly generous. You see, I have noticed your infatuation with Plato." "You don't say." "Yes. Anyway, Hermes was so nice to pay grandfather Kronos a visit and relieve him of a little artef- well, details, it doesn't matter! What is important is that you will get to meet Plato!" "Really?!" There was a nagging voice in Seren's head that told her to be careful but Dionysos had just told her she'd get to meet Plato! "Really. All you have to do is take my hand. But I have another gift for you. Hermes, come down here!" The messenger god swung himself lazily from the tree and floated down until his winged sandals touched the ground. "My brother pointed out that you might have difficulties speaking ancient Greek fluently so he will grant you the ability to speak it like a native for as long as you give up your native English." Seren gaped. "That... is surprisingly thoughtful of you." "Hermes, do it! And no nonsense like giving her a lisp or a foreign accent!" "Of course not. Why would I do that?" Hermes grinned at Seren. "I'd not even be there to see it." "What? Now? Wait!" Seren cried out as divine magic rearranged the synapses in her speech centre. "I did not agree-" "She'll speak fluently once you arrive in Greece," Hermes said, "Once you return, the magic wears off." Dionysos gave his brother a suspicious look. Then he beamed. "Perfect!" Dionysos clapped enthusiastically. "Hold on tight!" He pulled her into his embrace and Seren instinctively hugged him. The world around them began to blur and the heavens seemed to turn back as they sped through time and space. There was a sudden jolt and the world was clear once again. Only, it looked strange. But not strange enough for Seren not to recognise her patron god had spoken the truth. This was ancient Athens! She felt a nasty queasiness but she was much too excited to care about that just now. She had known about polychromy but the sheer explosion of colours in the city made her heart sing. The reconstructions were mere shadows of the vibrant paint on the statues, buildings, and clothes. And the Akropolis! It looked majestic even now but the ruins were nothing compared to the magnificence of colour and architecture. Seren stood in awe, even though they were miles away down in a sidestreet. Potters had laid out their painted vases and other works as they created new ones. Seren couldn't decide what to see first, jumping this way and that until the unsavoury sound of regurgitation briefly diverted her attention. Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick wall of a house and puked his guts out. "How can you be so chipper?" Dionysos groaned, wiping his mouth. "You're mortal!" We travelled both time AND space. You should be barfing like a youth at his first symposion." But Seren just ignored him in her euphoria. "It's Athens!" she cried. "ANCIENT Athens!" "That fleet-foorted son of a-" "What? What is it?!" "Nothing, nothing. Everything is fine. I just..." Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick house. "Hermes could have said something about the inconvenience of travelling." Seren shrugged. Who cared, they were already there. "I want to see EVERYTHING!!! The sculptures! The pottery! The architecture! The clothes..." "Speaking of which..." Dionysos grinned. "We should get you something less 2020. If you want to meet Plato, we need a certain disguise. And you want to look your best for him, right?" Seren screwed up her face. "Plato isn't about looks. He's about the beauty of the soul." "Well, if you want to go dressed in that tasteless pink sweater and leggings combination. But let me tell you, nothing looks better on a woman than a finely woven chiton." "Yeah, you're not at all biased." "It's one of the few things even Apollo and I agree on, so it must be true." Seren would have been happy just roaming the streets of ancient Athens for a couple of days. Or for however long this time thingy would allow. The prospect of meeting Plato both exhilarated and terrified her.

Dionysos bought her an elegant chiton in the extremely crowded agora. Seren hardly suppressed a squeal when he paid with real ancient drachmae. Only they didn't look ancient at all. "Why is nobody staring?" she asked, as another group of people walked past them without paying them any mind. "Did you put glamour over my modern clothes?" Dionysos laughed. "No need, honeybee. This is Athens. At a time like this they get tourists from all over the world. One strange, foreign costume is not going to turn any heads." He pulled her away from the merchants and splendour of the agora into the entrance of a seemingly abandoned house. "Put it on," he said, handing her the chiton. "Don't peek!" she reminded him before she changed into her new garment. It felt cool and pleasant on her skin and the quality of the linen was indeed fantastic. Despite the loose fit the fabric was so delicate it hugged her figure in an almost revealing way, making her feel exposed. "Is this really acceptable dress?" she asked. "Only with this worn over it." Dionysos came up behind her, closing another layer of cloth over her shoulders with simple dress pins. "You look great, honeybee," he said sincerely. "Plato can consider himself lucky. You got the brains, you got the looks, and even that austere, joyless personality to match." "I get the impression you don't like Plato much." Dionysos slung the belt around her waist and fastened it. "What gave it away? My graffiti, my groaning everytime you bring him up, or the charming way I speak about him?" "The graffiti was a pretty obvious hint." "I hope you appreciate my gift all the more, honeybee." "I do." She smiled. "But I don't think I could appreciate it any more than I already do. This is a dream come true. The most exciting day of my life. More exciting even than Delphi." "Be careful not to tell Apollo," Dionysos warned but he looked pleased. "Sure. If I ever run into him I'll remember it." As they stepped outside, the streets were empty. "Where is everybody?" "Oh, it must be time to crown the victors." "Victors? Of what? It's too cold to be July, isn't it?" "Not the Panathenaic Games." Dionysos smiled broadly. "It's not an athletic contest. Today..." He made a dramatic pause. "Is the last day of the Great Dionysia!" "Oh." Seren was disappointed. "So we can't go and watch any of the plays?" "I'm afraid it is too late for that. But I can show you my theatre and the temple with my cult image if you want."

Seren politely admired the simple wooden log that was supposed to be a representation of Dionysos and genuinely marvelled at the masks that had been dedicated below it. She patiently listened to Dionysos as he recounted the story of the very first Dionysia in Athens and how he used to mingle among the crowd every year to watch what the people of Athens had put on the stage in his honour. Once they arrived at the theatre it was already empty but it was a stunning sight all the same. Seeing everything intact and in its full glory filled Seren with unknown joy. The decorations, both permanent and temporary, were as colourful and flamboyant as the god they honoured. When they made it back to the streets of Athens, there were already groups of shouty drunk people roaming about. "Victory parties," Dionysos explained when he saw Seren's face. "In fact, we are about to attend one too. But first..." A purple mist shrouded the god's body and when it dispelled, his simple chiton had given way to a slutty ankle-length skirt that hung low enough to expose part of his bum cheeks, his arms, wrists, and ankles adorned with golden jewellery. "I know you practiced with the aulos. You're gonna be a flute girl." Seren startled. "What? No! I'm not nearly good enough!" Dionysos shrugged, making his golden bracelets clink. "I don't think I need to tell you that other kinds of women are not allowed at symposia. Unless you want to play the role of a hetaira..." "F-Flute girl is fine."

They arrived at a house that obviously belonged to someone well-to-do. "A group of revellers is about to show up here any minute. We'll join them to enter the symposion. Trust me, they're too drunk to realise we don't belong." Seren nodded nervously. "Now would be the time to ditch that respectable dress." Reluctantly, Seren freed herself of the protective extra layer of clothing and received the aulos flutes Dionysos handed her. The revellers did indeed show up. Loud and obnoxious, it was impossible not to notice them. A man in his late 20s or early 30s led the group. Half-naked and well into his cups, crowned with a wreath of ivy and violets, he was all but carried by two sturdy lads who looked like they were half-naked professionally. "Come!" Dionysos tugged on her arm and they danced along, she awkwardly, he with a grace and confidence she envied. The leader of the group pounded against the door and yelled for "Agathon". Seren's heart skipped a beat. "Is that... Alkibiades?!" she whispered to Dionysos. "The very same." "We are at THAT Symposium?!!" "We most certainly are." Seren gaped at the man who would eventually be the ruin of Athens by defecting to Sparta and then to Persia. He rattled the door, shouting "Agathon!" and dropped his single piece of clothing in the process, quickly picked up by his lads. Seren shrieked when the man suddenly leaned heavily on her, his arms reeling for support. Dionysos was quick to jump to his other side, taking most of the load off his bacchae. "AGATHON!" Alkibiades yelled once more, in the manner drunks yelled on their way home from the pub after closing hours. He kept demanding to see Agathon with a heavy tongue until a servant boy finally opened up and led them to the andron. Alkibiades managed to stand on his own, stumbling towards the host of the party while announcing how completely and utterly wasted he was. "Let's bring the bacchic spirit to this lame party!" Dionysos cheered. Seren gazed around with stars in her eyes. The room was bright with torches and the klinai were populated by men both young and old but all shirtless and all with crowns of ivy on their heads. She looked more closely at the guests while Alkibiades spoke to Agathon, probably congratulating him for his victory. But none of the symposiasts looked like any of the artworks she had seen of Plato. They were most likely created after his death anyway. "Soooo..." She leaned on Dionysos' shoulder. "Where is Plato?" Dionysos gestured at the kline at the very end of the room, occupied by two young men. "The dark-haired one."

"THAT is Plato?! I thought he'd be at least in his 30s!" Dionysos grinned a smug grin. "He wrote the Symposion in his late 30s. But this, honeybee, is the year the titular symposion actually took place. The first year of the 91st Olympiad. Or, as you would say, 416 BCE." Seren gaped at the young man seated on a couch with a blond youth. He had long, curly hair crowned with a wreath of ivy like all the symposiasts, young and old. A strong, Greek nose gave his face a distinct personality. Who would have thought the man Seren knew only from his words and artwork showing him as an old man could be so... hot. The blonde guy leaned over, whispering something to him. Maybe they were flirting. It wasn't anything unusual back in the day, Seren knew that. But they seemed to be about the same age. Shouldn't- "Play, flute girl," Dionysos nudged her with his elbow, "I'll clear the kline for you."

Seren watched him shimmy over to the pair and tried to remember how to play the aulos. She had practiced so much but right now it felt as if she knew nothing at all. Her idol, Plato, might be listening! Her cheeks burned as she blew into the wooden instrument, the tune an embarrassing version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". Despite playing the role of a dancer, Dionysos sat down with the two no doubt aristocratic young men in his usual impudent manner. The blond youth's face turned sour. "What is the meaning of this?" "I came for the entertainment." "We are very well entertained by each other's company, thank you." Dionysos gave the blonde guy a cheeky grin. "Does your company agree?" He crawled on the kline until he basically sat on Plato's lap, prompting the young philosopher to blush. How cute! "Some people can be such a dull affair, talking about nothing but themselves all the time." The angry blond yanked Dionysos off Plato. "This was a philosophical symposion before you arrived!" "Yes. And to shame! You are celebrating a victory at the Dionysia. Where is the revelry?" "There are countless symposia all over Athens. Why did you have to come and ruin this one?" "You know exactly that I didn't ruin anything. But please, if you have any grievances take it up with my master. Alkibiades." "You know what? I will!" The blond aristocrat got up from the kline and grabbed Dionysos by the wrist, effectively pulling him off the kline. He dragged the god behind him as he made for the door, leaving Plato all alone on his bed of colourful cushions. Dionysos winked at her as they passed and it was at that moment that Seren noticed that his "friend" was the only one wearing laurel instead of ivy. Did they just... cock-block Apollon? But not all is lost, she reasoned, if Plato likes Apollon, he likes blondes, right? Right?

Shyly, Seren sat down next to the man whose teachings she still hadn't figured out. And maybe neither did he. He was so young and handsome. She was close enough to smell his heavy perfume and either oil or sweat or both made his chest gleam in the firelight. It really was quite hot in here. He didn't fit the stereotype of the philosopher at all, being so young and handsome and quite brawny. But no matter how hot he was, his physical appearance was dwarfed by the beauty of his brain and thoughts. His intelligence was that much hotter. That being said, Seren liked to think she would be less flustered if the man were old enough to be her father. But he was not. He must be about her own age. "We got rid of the other flute girl." "Wa-What?" "You must know there were already celebrations with heavy drinking last night. Surely you played at Alkibiades' place or some other house?" Seren nodded timidly. "So Pausanias suggested we refrain from drinking tonight and we ended up sending away the flute girl as well. A shame, because before you came in, it was all boring speeches of the old men assembled here. I enjoy the delightful harmony of music much, much more." "You don't like philosophy?" "Of course I do, but not at a drinking party celebrating the Dionysia. You're not from here, are you?" "Ahm, no?" "I don't think I've met a Spartan flute girl. Most of them come from Peiraieús." Seren laughed nervously. What the fuck, Hermes?! "I hope it's not a problem?" she mumbled. "No, no. I'm just surprised. Do you have a name, dear?" "I... I am Seren." "Seiren? What a fitting nickname! My name is-" "I know who you are!" Seren gushed, "I-I-I admire you greatly, Plato!" "Oh?" To Seren's great relief he smiled. "So you have seen me compete?" "Uh, yes, of course!" Seren would be thrilled to see him at any competition, really. "It's just a silly name my wrestling coach gave me. To intimidate my rivals, he says." "I like it!" "You like my broad shoulders, Seiren?" Seren blushed. "No, that's not what I, uh..." "It's all right. Lots of women admire them." "Ahahaha." Was he flirting with her? Or just bragging? "You may be an outstanding athlete," she said, "But I admire your words even more." "My poetry?" Now it was his time to blush. "Did you play it?" "Not yet." Seren decided to be bold, "People want to hear the same songs, Sappho, Pindar and the like. But... But maybe you can teach me how to play yours?" "No I... I burned them all." "Why would you do that?" "I wanted to focus better on my studies. Maybe I made the wrong call. Mousaios, the guy who just left? He said music is like medicine and can create harmony between opposites, that a musical education is helpful in the study of philosophy. Ah, I don't know. I don't want to bore you, flute girl." "You're not boring me, Plato. Please, tell me your thoughts!" And then, all of a sudden, a large drunken group walked into the room and joined the party, Dionysos among them. There was noise everywhere, and Plato leaned in very close and asked: "What do you say, Seiren. Shall we make our excuses and leave?"

to be continued...

#Quarantined Bacchae #The Last Bacchae #fanfiction #The Last Bacchae fanfiction #Linda Sejic #fanart #The Last Bacchae fanart #Seren Calvert #Dionysos #Hermes #Platon #Plato #Apollon #Apollo #Seren x Plato epic love story for the ages?#Plato x Apollo missed romance #I hope you have a good laugh #written with love

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writinglionqueen · 5 years

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Hi! I am absolutely in love with your My King series! I was wondering how they both would react to Nikki Cross?

Nikki Cross.

It was a name you started hearing plenty of recently. A crazed woman who lived at the edge of the village. She was harmless as far as you knew, really, she just…worried people.

Some say she went mad after her husband left her. Some say she’s a witch who’s just gone too crazy with magic.

You didn’t know what to believe or what to really think of her. Until Drew started uttering her name in question. Especially as the counsel started to utter it.

“There’s talk that Cross does the devil’s bidding, my king,” a counsel man said in the great hall. Your king’s brow furrowed and he shifted a bit in her seat. “She worries the village, some are afraid to leave their homes when they hear her maniac laughter. They think she’s conjuring demons and other unholy creatures to muck about at night.” You frowned as you looked to your king beside you.

He looked displeased at this news, but not in the way you expected.

“Is there any evidence to these claims? One’s that pin her as a witch?” your king asked, evenly. You looked to the counsel man and watched as he looked away a bit. His shame of pinning a crime to a woman without evidence obvious in his mannerisms.

“Well….no, my king,” he answered. “People are too afraid to even go near her home.” You frowned.

“Than how are we to take these accusations seriously if there is no real evidence to objectively solidify the claims of the people?” you asked the counsel man. You could see the wariness in his eyes at even think of answering to you about pinning a crime upon a woman. He kept silent, knowing he was wrong in pinning a crime with no evidence upon a, possibly, innocent woman. Your king pointed a look at the man, though, moving him to answer.

“I recon you can’t, my queen,” the man said quietly, but you heard him. You looked to your king and he looked to you.

“What do you recon we do about this matter?” he asked you, quietly. It was only a moment’s thought before you replied.

“I think someone should be brave enough to venture to her home and see if the accusations are true or not. If they are, charge her for her crime. If they are false, than we leave the woman to herself. Simple.” Drew smirked.

“Not just yet, my queen,” he said to you. “No one’s brave enough to venture down there. So, it’s not that simple.” You sighed and shook you head, standing to your feet.

“I’ll go venture to her home and scope out for witchcraft,” you announced. Your king was quick to jump to his feet.

“You will not,” he said to you. “If there is to be danger there, my queen, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well someone has to check it out,” you said to him. Drew was about o say something before he fell silent. You gave him a pointed look, one your husband couldn’t refute. He sighed.

“Very well, but I will accompany you,” he said.

With that, you and your husband went to the stables and mounted your horses then proceeded to venture into the village and down the winding road to hearsay witch’s house with the strongest knights in tow. A murmur had spread throughout the town, drawing people from their homes and out into the street to witness their king and queen trot down to the Cross home. They followed as well.

Upon the arrival to her home, you noted that the little shack of a house…didn’t appear to be that pertaining to the dark arts. In fact, various flowers were in bloom in the front and everything looked upkept and nice. It looked homey.

You turned to your husband to note what he thought but he held a neutral expression as he halted his horse. The two of you dismounted and you watched your husband keep his hand on the pommel of his sword, just in case something were to happen. Your placed your hand on his chest.

“Let me go first and alone,” you said to him. “You lot may scare her.” Drew’s face contorted into displeasure at that. Before he could argue, you gripped the handle of his sheathed sword. “You acting like this could very well provoke her into displaying something unwanted. Let me make sure she’s not dangerous. Please, my love.” Drew sighed but nodded for you to proceed.

You walked up to the house with careful steps, wondering, if there was magic, how would you know. The door of the home opening made you jump and you heard the rustling of your party. You looked to find the women in a dark blue dress. Her hair was wet and cascaded down the sides of her face as she curiously peeked out from her doorway.

“What’s this then?” the women asked. You gave her a smile.

“Ms. Cross, I am the queen,” you greeted. It made her head tilt in curiosity but then a smile split her face and made you shiver slightly. It looked….crazed.

“The queen,” she giggled. Her hands played with the wood of the door frame. “What does the queen want? Nikki sees your king behind you. What does he want? Nikki sees your knights? What do they want? Nikki sees the village. What do they want?” You looked behind you at everyone who gathered at the little woven fence of the women who was giggling from the safety of her doorway. They shifted on their feet, unnerved by the women’s giggled and crazed appearance. You turned back to look at her.

“They think you’re a witch,” you replied. “But…I would like to befriend you.” Nikki looked surprised but her smile grew as her hands tapped the doorframe in delight. You felt uneasy about this. But you wanted to make sure she was innocent.

That was until she rushed from her door, knocking you down to the dirt and stood over you with crazed laughter. She didn’t harm you, but you heard your husband moving forward with his party.

“Wait!” you called to them. “I’m fine.” Nikki giggled more as she squatted to peer down at you.

“You want to be Nikki’s friend?” she asked. You didn’t like that. Especially as she smiled down at you while her hair was falling into her face.

“Yes,” you answered quietly. She said nothing as she hauled you to her feet and proceeded to move you inside with so much strength that felt beyond her small frame.

“My queen!” Drew called from beyond he fence. It made Nikki stop in her tracks.

“Ol’ king Drew, mighty and brave, want thy queen, safe she shall stay,” the women sing songs beside you. You looked from her to your husband.

“I’m fine, Drew,” you said to him. “Let me handle this.”

“Nikki will take good care of her, my king. Don’t you worry,” Nikki said as she guided you into her home. Your heart was racing as she moved you to sit at a table. “Do we want a drink?” she asked you even as she provided amber colored liquid from a cabinet and poured it into a mug for you to give to you. You took it.

“Thank you, Nikki,” you said as politely as you could. You watched her move her hair back from her face with a smile before taking a swig from the bottle she poured from.

“Nikki’s own recipe,” she said. “Spiced mead fit for a queen.” She sat in the other chair opposite you, watching you with an unusually large smile. You looked around her little home, noting papers littered along the ground….some containing symbols…like what you’ve seen in regards to a man named Aleister. He ran the cult of Black and Sanity. As far as the name goes and their belief…they’ve been nothing but harmless to you and the village. In fact they believe they were helping ward away evil spirits and evil people who’d commit heinous acts.

So far….they had killed a man who was said to be raping and killing women in the village and other people who had committed unspeakable acts. With their work actually doing the keep some good, your husband let them continue their practice as they have proclaimed their queen, king, and keep is safe as long as they’re around.

It wasn’t said in a threatening manner but as a promise and a pledge to you and your husband.

You had remembered the hush secret meeting Aleister had to arrange for your king to seek an audience with him. He had confessed the purpose of his cult and what they stood for. He had mention to you and Drew that there were more members within the village and in other keeps….but their names had to remain a secret from the crown for their safety. You and Drew understood this and asked Aleister for his loyalty. With his symbol between the three of you, lit only by candles, he had pledged his undying loyalty to the crown and the keep and on behalf of Black and Sanity. His pledge had remained true. Him and his cult hadn’t been a burden of yours or Drew’s.

And in regards to Nikki, her innocence can only be spelled out by the symbols on the littered paper. Though dubious as to what the symbols mean and their fashion, they were harmless and not of the dark arts of harm your village was afraid of. Or…as much as you knew, anyway.

Other than that, you noted there was no other things that seemed witch-like in her home. On the contrary….it seemed normal.

“Nikki,” you start as you turned to look at her. Her eyes widened as well as her smile.

“Yes queenie,” she answered. She began to rock in her chair as if she couldn’t sit still.

“Are you….a witch?” you asked. She froze at the question. It made her frown for a bit before looking in thought.

“Is Nikki a witch?” she asked herself. “Nikki….finds promise in information.” Her grey eyes looked to you. “Aleister brings that information for Nikki.”

“Is it dark magic?” you asked. Nikki shook her head.

“No…a man….a cult…Nikki is fond of him and his time,” she answered taking another helping of her mead.

“So you’re not a witch?” you asked. “The villagers want to accuse you of such…but…I would like to proclaim your innocence.” Nikki shook her head.

“No…not a witch, on Nikki’s name,” she said, raising her hand as if pledging. You let out a slow breath as you looked to the symbols.

“Do you belong to the cult of Black and Sanity?” you asked. Nikki’s smile grew. It was your answer. Not a witch but a follower of the respected cult.

“Nikki prides herself in being not sane,” she confessed. You raised a brow at that.

“As long as you don’t hurt innocent people, Nikki, I’ll proclaim your innocence,” you said to her. Nikki gave you a fast nod.

“Ok, ok, ok,” she said. “Queenie is good. Queenie is great. Queenie spells out Nikki’s fate.” The sing song rhyme was weird but you knew she was harmless. Even as she rocked in her chair again.

“May my husband check upon your home to also vouch for you?” you asked her. Nikki gave you another fast nod.

“Yes, he can enter Nikki’s home,” she said. You gave her a pleasant smile as you rose from the chair to motion Drew inside to see for himself.

For now the cult of Black and Sanity held Nikki as their member so her innocence was proclaimed to the village on Drew’s words as their king.

Nikki Cross wasn’t a name you heard often as much since that day. Your keep still thought the woman was insane and you couldn’t blame them. She was. But they were safe as long as they were innocent of any wick against another person.

But you swear you could hear her crazed laughter being carried on the wind some nights, before a mutilated body of a criminal was to show up.

As the way of Nikki Cross, Black and Sanity.

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#my king #my king series #ask blurb #blurb ask #blurb #ficlet #yes i'm still doing them #drew mcintyre #such mass

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minaminokyoko · 5 years

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A Love Letter to ‘Knives Out’

Disclaimer: This isn’t even a review. This is literally just me freaking out about what a great movie I just bloody watched and I just need to vomit words everywhere about it. Sorry in advance.

I think the best thing ever is I went into this with zero information. I remember seeing the original trailer months ago, but it wasn’t detailed. Just the short one of the premise, and to be honest, I’m not really into Whodunits. Clue is one of the exceptions and Castle is the only detective-related thing I’ve ever liked and followed religiously (up until the final godawful two seasons), so I have no predisposition to even care about murder mysteries. But then Rian Johnson dangled the juicy carrot of Chris Evans playing against type (because we all know the man is a sweetie and I can personally vouch that he’s great at hugs) and so I decided to add it to my watchlist. Then the reviews came pouring in that it was great, which surprised me, and so I decided to take a leap of faith to see if the hype was real.

Oh God, was it ever.

Y’all know me by now. I’m a hard, cynical old bitch. It’s tough to impress me, but fucking hell, I really loved Knives Out.

It’s not that it does anything new; it’s that it is a fresh, creative spin on tropes we’re used to and it’s also the strong performances that just make it a delightful film. It’s kooky and dark and offbeat. It’s charming. It’s wonderfully political. It’s irreverent. This is the niche kind of writing that I adore. It’s why I’ve loved shows like Frasier or movies like Snatch. I love the interwoven mess between the plot and the characters and everything coming to light in a big explosion.

Spoilers down below for my talking points, naturally.

I want to start with Marta, simply because I love how this movie framed the character as innocent, but not stupid, useless, or weak. I love that she had a great relationship with Harlan. I love that Harlan didn’t have any evil ulterior motives. It was simply a man who looked around and realized that he thought he was providing for his family but all he really was doing was supporting selfish, downright cruel people. That family basically just siphoned off of him and had the entitlement complex that is currently killing this country right this fucking second. It was very satisfying when he left them nothing and gave Marta the money and the choice of what to do. The final shot of the movie is genius.

Which segways into probably my second favorite thing about the movie: the commentary about the entitled upperclass versus the working class immigrant. The whole Trump debate during the party made me groan because we all just wrapped up three holidays, so I know that people were having to go home for the holidays and listen to the broken-ass logic of their Trump supporter relatives. Especially since they dragged Marta into the bullshit conversation. I LOVE the writing of having this girl who busted her ass, who listened, who was a genuinely good person, still being able to be a good person in the end after one hell of an ordeal. I loved how the movie poked all kinds of holes in the fake narrative of inheritance and immigration and patriotism. Fuck that. This country isn’t some holy land. This country was stolen from the people who were born here and then they built a fake fucking pedestal on top of the mass graves and proclaimed it theirs. Fuck that revision history and fuck the people who believe these lies. This movie is so satisfying because it’s a giant middle finger to those people and it’s a reminder that the future is these hardworking, kind people who care about society and they are the ones who have earned all the good things this country has to offer.

I also love the examples of bigotry and microaggressions that were more subtle. The WASPs in this movie don’t even realize the backhanded compliments and the truly insulting shit that they do since they’re so entitled. For example, Richard handing Marta his plate while he was arguing for Trump. That’s brilliantly done. He thinks of her as a servant while he pretends she’s on equal footing: saying one thing and yet his actions prove the opposite. There’s also Meg’s comment of “we’re his REAL family,” showing that those bastards all will smile and welcome you until the second you cease to be useful to them and then they show you just how truly ugly they are beneath those “civil” masks. When the will was read, it was the exact shitshow we all knew it would be. That was a great representation of the upper class. It’s not about being loud and racist; it’s all those subtle, hideous things they do to suppress people of color and the working class so they can stay on top where they think they belong. This narrative is powerfully woven in that regard and I really needed to hear this story in today’s climate, especially since we just started 2020 today, which could be the end of everything all over again. I applaud the writing. As a woman of color, I see this kind of shit every single day, especially now that I work in higher education, so I really hope it opens more eyes to the shit that not only immigrants but working class POC deal with on a daily basis. I likened it to Zootopia, where you came to the movie for one reason but then you were served an absolutely piping hot side dish alongside the entrée. Well done, Knives Out. Well done.

I need to give a nod to this powerhouse cast as well. I forgot Michael Shannon was in this movie so seeing him made me giddy, as I’ve always liked him since he’s so damn sinister. He’s a great antagonist actor and I almost wish he’d been given more to do. Jamie Lee Curtis did great as well.

But y’all know what’s coming. I mean, look at my profile picture. You know I have to stop and talk about my future husband’s performance.

Chris Evans as a villain.

Not only that, but Chris Evans as a GREAT villain.

Oh, God, pass me the cigarette.

We all knew from his work in the MCU that the man can act his fine America’s ass off, but boy, did I really like his role here. I compare it to Chris Hemsworth in the godawful movie Bad Times at the El Royale, because while that is one of the worst movies of the decade, it was extremely smart in casting Hemsworth in the villain role. Why? Because it sold the believable factor. Chris Hemsworth is so handsome and charismatic that he COULD in fact be a creepy ass cult leader. You take one look at that man’s chest and tell me you wouldn’t fight a smelly hippie to jump in his bed. Damn right I’d be in a Chris Hemsworth cult. Point being, Chris Evans as the handsome but cruel Hugh was phenomenal. I really enjoyed seeing everything unfold. He did such a great job. It’s all the more satisfying knowing that in real life, he’s the cutest, sweetest goofball on earth. I’m so delighted he took this role because he knocked it out of the park.

Which brings me to my next point.

I’m gonna be a basic fangirl bitch for a second here. Just hear me out.

I’d LOVE an alternate ending to this movie where Hugh didn’t do it.

I know, I know. That’s super basic and dumb and I know part of it is because I just wanted to like Hugh anyway, but it actually would be a great piece of storytelling if you changed the ending.

In this premise, Marta really did mix up the bottles and accidentally killed Harlan. Well, what I would change is that Hugh really did have a benevolent epiphany and he decides to come back to stick it to his shitass family and he figures out what Marta did and decides to help her so she’ll slip him his cut. Then the rest of the film is Hugh and Marta trying to cover the rest of their tracks so that Blanc doesn’t piece together Marta’s accidental crime. Over the course of helping her, Hugh gets to know her and they become friends, so by the time they pull it all off—mind you, I’m ambiguous in this AU, I’d be fine if the detective works it out but lets them cover it up or if they actually manage to just destroy all the evidence so he can’t convict her and he admits defeat—he’s now invested and doesn’t accept the money when she goes to pay him. Bonus points if he falls in love with her during the cover up. It’s not necessary, but I saw a couple little sparks, so I think it would be very cute if Hugh and Marta hooked up to protect each other from the horrible family and build their own empire together. But that’s me.

Trust me, this movie is brilliant as written. It doesn’t need that alternate ending. But I have to admit it got my mind churning about what a fantastic character arc it could be if Hugh hadn’t been the bad guy and he and Marta learned things about each other and formed a friendship. I’m a writer, it’s kind of a hobby, sorry. I hope I’m not the only one who thought that, but we’ll see.

I’m so glad I started 2020 with this film. It’s a rare gem. I can’t wait for it to get on DVD, because I am gonna snag it asap and watch it again. What a romp. It’s also gratifying in a petty way that J.J. Abrams went out of his way to undo Rian Johnson’s work in the Star Wars franchise and it’s backfiring majorly critically speaking meanwhile Knives Out is getting bomb ass good reviews, so good for you, Rian. Your revenge is at hand. #TEAMPETTY

I can’t recommend this hard enough. If you love murder mysteries or if you just love Clue-style quirky black comedy, please see Knives Out. It’s worth every red dime, to quote the movie.

Kyo out.

#knives out #rian johnson #chris evans #ana de armas #review #movie rec #film rec #spoiler alert #spoilers

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chchanging · 4 years

Text

I wrote too much about Lily being dead, and it made me sad—here’s an alternate universe where things aren’t as bad but are somehow just as bad (this was supposed to just be cute, I’m sorry skfsjdfk)

MC: Rossi Mayhew, the one who ruins everything

“I love our job,” Lily stands amidst piles of ashy vampire remains, stroking her crossbow lovingly as if it were a cherished pet rather than a deadly weapon. Fangs flash through her bright grin, adding a wicked glint to her otherwise childlike glee. “Have I mentioned lately that I love our job?”

She spins around lightly to face her two companions, the inhuman grace of vampirism woven into her every move after spending a whole year among their ranks.

One of the others—a supermodel-tall, amber-skinned woman with long dark braids falling down past her shoulders where her bun had come undone—yanks savagely on the hilt of her sword. The blade comes lose, spraying blood from the chest cavity of the woman it had previously been buried in. With a dying yowl, the injured party crumbles into nothing more than a pile of dust.

Rossi stands triumphantly, shoulders heaving with effort, and tosses a tired, amused look towards her best friend.

“I’m glad you’re having fun.” She titters good-naturedly, “Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of clean-up duty.”

With every supervillain, there were sure to be those few blindly devoted followers cropping up like weeds just asking to be plucked—at least that’s what Lily had pointed out after Rheya had been defeated and Jax had been laid to rest. It had only taken a little bit of investigating to prove her right. Neither Adrian nor Kamilah had been content to just let them be, to stir up trouble wherever they please—but both have been increasingly busy as of late.

Luckily the great majority of Rheya’s remaining followers had been none too bright, and therefore rather easy to track down. Lily had been all too pleased to put together her own little strike team, setting out to put an end to any potential danger while the other two held things down on the home front.

“Yes, such a shame that ‘Senator Raines’ was too busy to join us this morning.” Their third pipes in, brushing the coating of ash off of his hands. He bends down to retrieve his sword from where it had been knocked to the ground, sliding it back into place in its scabbard. “It was wise attacking in the daytime, when they had nowhere to run—that does not mean I have to like it.”

Lily gives him a sarcastic smile, “You’re on evil vampire probation, Gaius, you don’t get to choose jobs that you like.” Gaius clicks his tongue in response and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. She has a point, after all.

He’d been surprisingly well-behaved all this time, save for the occasional snark. Given how rough things had been when they’d worked with him the first time, Rossi had expected some friction. She’d been hesitant, but Kamilah had pulled her aside the night they’d decided to let him live.

We can’t just let him go out in his own and trust him not to fall into...old habits. She’d said, rather tightly. Rossi knew that the decision had been hard on her, but as much as she knew that, she also couldn’t just ignore how wrong it would’ve felt to sentence him to death after he’d played such an integral part in Rheya’s defeat. He’s tasted the Blood of the First, and we haven’t seen how much of that power he still holds. If he goes off the deep end again you’re our greatest contingency plan.

Rossi hadn’t minded the idea of playing babysitter—she was the main reason he was allowed to live, and it wasn’t a problem if she had to take responsibility for that. Not to mention he is unstoppable in a fight, which had worked in their favor more than once since these little excursions had begun. More than once she and Lily had been forced to admit they’d been glad to have him along when things got messy.

She glances over at him, watching has he rolls his shoulders and neck to loosen up his muscles. He’d long since ditched his old-timey getup for something more modern—slim, dark pants and a grey long-sleeve v-neck. It suits him, she’d decided—and keeps deciding, often while her eyes are lingering on the muscles of his forearms where he’d rolled up his sleeves, or on the defined line of his collarbone.

He’s smirking like the cat who caught the mouse, pleased with himself after what was no doubt another overly simple battle. There’s a little extra color to his cheeks, and a lively light in his eyes. He can complain all he wants, but she knows that he is fully in his element, here—looking more alive than he had even after Rheya’s demise.

It takes a little too long for her to realize that she’d been staring—long enough that she isn’t the only one who does. Lily watches her with an incredulous brow raised, a hand on her hip. Rossi balks, swallowing hard and averting her eyes from the both of them.

Lily’s gaze weighs on her for a few more moments before she finally clears her throat. “I’m gonna check the rest of the place out—see if these guys were in touch with any other pro-Rheya groups.” Gaius nods at her, and she disappears into one of the back rooms of the dingy little hideout this particular group of insurgents had chosen for themselves.

It’s little more than a shack in the middle of the woods a few hours outside of the city. It’s dark, the walls creak with the slightest breeze, the windows are terribly drafty, and the whole place reeks of mold and mildew.

Unable to focus on much else now that she isn’t preoccupied with being attacked, Rossi can’t help but wrinkle her nose.

“Ugh,” she grunts unhappily, “why can’t anyone ever start an evil goddess cult in a five star hotel? This place sucks.”

Gaius scans the room as if making sure Lily isn’t about to pop out of the room right this second, and once he seems satisfied his face softens into a genuine smile. It’s gentler than Rossi is used to, even now.

He gives her a slow once-over, noting her rumpled clothes and disheveled hair.

“That would make our being inconspicuous a little more difficult, don’t you think?” He asks lowly, amusement in his tone. She rolls her eyes.

He approaches her slowly, a fondness in his eyes that makes her heart skip a beat. She notices belatedly that she’s holding her breath.

“Ah,” She begins, watching him closely, “we know all about being inconspicuous, don’t we?”

Her teasing tone earns her a rumbling chuckle. The sound of it warms her, makes her smile without really meaning to. He comes to a stop right in front of her, eyes sparkling, and extends a hand to her with his palm up.

“Here.” He says plainly, voice soft.

She glances down at it, then looks back at him, grinning quizzically. She lays her hand in his, the warmth comforting. “What?”

There’s a spark of confusion that flits across his face, his smile growing infinitely wider. He looks like he’s just been let in on the world’s greatest joke, and he couldn’t be more delighted. “I...was offering you the hair tie.” Her eyes blow wide, shooting back down to where she still holds his hand and finally noticing the black band he wears around his wrist.

More often than not he ties the majority of his wavy hair up in a stylish knot, so she can always count on him to have extras if she loses her own.

She feels her entire face heat up with a blush so intense she could probably fry an egg.

Of course...

She refuses to meet his eyes even once in the time it takes her to accept his offered hair tie and redo her previous bun, just stares holes into the ground as the embarrassment eats her alive and silently curses herself for being an idiot.

She hears his breathy laugh, feels him step a little closer.

“I liked your idea better, though.”

Her cheek tingles under his touch, his fingers tracing softly along her skin until they hook under her chin. He lifts her face, waiting patiently until she finally gives in and meets his eyes once more.

“Such a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He murmurs, voice smooth and sweet like honey. Indignation flares, and she opens her mouth to tell him off quickly and cleverly. She would have, too, had she not been promptly distracted by his lips brushing lightly against the corner of her mouth.

Righteous anger forgotten, she attempts to turn her head and catch him in a kiss of her own, but he is already pulling away before she can get a better angle. His eyes fill with a tender amusement while hers linger on his smile. The pad of his thumb stops her from leaning back in, his hand still warming the spot beneath her chin.

“Not here, lovely.” He rumbles, sounding as though he wants it as much as she does. “Inconspicuous, remember?”

Rossi lets out a mighty groan, pouting up at him without shame.

“Gaius Augustine, you’re nothing but a bully!”

It’s more than a chuckle, this time. His laugh is light and melodic in a way that sends the butterflies in her stomach fluttering. He looks so uncharacteristically happy right now that it warms her heart even as she frowns petulantly up at him.

Their relationship had been a rather recent development. When others are around he keeps mostly to himself—polite but distant with everyone—but it had seemed that even someone such as himself craved companionship, because Rossi had noticed that when left on his own he often sought her out.

She doesn’t suspect it had started with any romantic intentions. Gaius had spent the previous millennia surrounded by those he considered friends, family, and even lovers—it only made sense now that he’d be a little lonely. Rossi had been the one who’d shown him kindness, who’d vouched for him back when she’d had no reason to. Not only that, but her argument for keeping him alive is likely the only reason he still is. She must’ve seemed like the safest bet.

But days turned into weeks turned into months—the more time they spent together, the more they found they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. Rossi didn’t treat him like the plague, and Gaius didn’t treat her as though she were an old glass doll ready to shatter at the slightest provocation.

In their down time he’d told her stories of the past, and she’d shown him her favorite spots around the city. He’d trained her, and slowly he’d learned what it was like to live a normal life, again.

“Come, now, none of that.” Once more, he dips his head down. Their lips meet, a searing, passionate kiss that leaves them both breathless despite its brevity. He hums as he pulls away, cheeks pink. “You know all my weaknesses.”

Rossi giggles, light-headed.

“We’ve got a two hour drive back home—we should take what we can get.” She rises up on her toes for just long enough to give him another peck.

He huffs, rolling his eyes and frowning. “Lily’s going to make me drive again. She’s realized I can’t argue once she brings up my ‘probation’.” With a heavy sigh, he lets his forehead rest on her shoulder. Rossi laughs and strokes the back of his neck. “If you had all just killed me that night, at least I wouldn’t be stuck with all the grunt work.”

“Ooooh, poor baby!” Rossi trills, endlessly entertained by his dramatics. “If you’re really that tired, I’ll drive back.”

He turns his head just enough to peer up at her from the corner of his eye. “Truly, you are the best of us, Rossi Mayhew. I know not what I would do without you, only that it is too bleak to even consider.”

She shoves him off, watching as he stumbles with a pleased little smile on his face. “Lily! We’ll be waiting out in the car!” She shouts back towards the door Lily had disappeared behind, flipping her lover the bird all the while. She hears a muffled shout of acknowledgement in response. “Hurry, before I string Gaius up in the sun for a laugh!”

“Never have I known a kinder soul than you,” Gaius croons, wrapping his arms around her waist as she turns her back and heads for the door. “Your mercy knows no bounds.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she deadpans, stifling her laughter. “Just hand over the keys.”

——

Rossi knows Lily too well to believe the silence they drive in is benign. She’s been tapping away at her keyboard ever since they’d started the long drive back into the city. Nothing unusual about it, save for the fact that she hadn’t said a word the entire time.

It had been an hour and a half, Gaius was reclined in the passenger seat with his arms folded over his chest and his head resting off to the side. The slow, steady rise and fall of his chest led her to believe he’d fallen asleep. He’d relaxed as soon as they’d returned back to the safety of tinted windows and luxury leather seats—a gift from Adrian to Lily when this had all started to make her job a little easier.

Rossi’s eyes keep drifting back to him during the more boring parts of the drive. His head is turned away from her, but every once in a while she can just slightly see the way his eyes flutter in a dream.

Her lips quirk up a bit when it happens again, and she turns her eyes back towards the road.

“So, what is it with you two?”

Lily’s tone isn’t accusing, not even a little betrayed, but there’s a little edge there that’s almost akin to panic. She’s noticed how close they’ve been, and she’s begging Rossi to make it make sense.

Rossi winces imperceptibly, keeping her eyes on the road instead of meeting Lily’s in the rear view mirror. She’s afraid of what she might see there, but not really all that surprised that the cat is clawing it’s way out of the bag.

For as long as she’d known her, Lily had always been the smartest person in the room, regardless of said room’s size and/or population—that’s always been a fact. It had just never worked against Rossi, herself, before.

“What do you mean?” It’s painfully obvious, even to herself, that she’s stalling. She hadn’t expected this little fling to happen in the first place, so she hadn’t spent much time coming up with a reasonable explanation in the event that one of her friends so happened to stumble upon the truth. She doesn’t know what to say, or even if there’s anything that she could say at this point.

Lily scoffs quietly, “Girl, don’t insult me, ok?” Rossi expects to see anger in her eyes when she meets them, but really she just looks tired. “You two aren’t nearly as subtle as you seem to think you are. Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed if we haven’t been spending literal days together at a time. We spent those couple days investigating that tip in Jersey and you guys were holding back so hard I thought one of you was gonna sprain something...”

Rossi bites her lip, chewing at it nervously.

“Honestly, at this point I was just waiting to see how long it was gonna take for you to tell me.”

She glances guiltily over at the passenger seat, muted surprise tingling at the edges of her mind when she sees that Gaius’ eyes are open. She wonders how long he’d been awake, but now isn’t the time to bring it up.

“I’m...I’m so sorry, Lil, I just...”

She doesn’t want to admit that she’d been the slightest bit ashamed, especially not when he is awake to hear it.

But she had been, hadn’t she? Why else would she have struggled for so long to keep it a secret. She can’t deny how he makes her feel—whole, and happy for the first time since Jax had died. They’d been in a strange place since she’d come back from the dead—and Rossi’s stubborn refusal to admit to herself that anything had been different had ensured that they’d remained in that place without closure up until the moment he’d turned to ash.

Had that been what she was running from all along? Was she just hiding away from it in the arms of someone new?

Does she love Gaius? Or does she like the way he lets her forget her guilt?

The silence that permeates the car is heavy, oppressive. Rossi doesn’t know how she planned to finish her apology, and she doesn’t continue. Whatever she says right now, with her thoughts and feelings in a jumble like this, will be terribly hollow. Too hollow for words between best friends. Between sisters.

Her eyes sting, but she blinks a few times to clear them. Gaius says nothing, grip on his own arms tightening as his brows knit together in discontent.

She knows she’s letting them both down, right now. She can’t give either of them what they want; she can’t give them a clear definition of her relationship with him. Can’t explain what it is she hopes to gain.

Lily sighs heavily when she resigns herself to the fact that she won’t be getting an answer today. “Don’t worry,” she promises, “Adrian and Kamilah won’t hear a thing about it from me. But for the record? You should talk to him. He’s not just some guy, Rossi—not after what he’s done.”

Rossi’s grip tightens on the wheel. Lily is right. Of course she is.

Dread settles heavily in her gut, its home there already well-established. The conversation that awaits her at home is not going to be an easy one.

#bloodbound #fics #gaius x mc #gaius augustine #my fic #this fic is solid proof that i cant write anything without making it sad at least a little but #it was just gonna be them #fooling around in secret !!! just her accidentally holding his hand !!! maz wtf is wrong w you !!! think happy thoughts im begging

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 5 years

Text

Cult of Luthor: Sleepover

The Danvers home almost makes Sam cry. Not for the home she used to have-- there's no similarity between the dark, dusty house she shared with Patricia and this wide, windowed house full of light.

Pictures of Kara and Alex hang on every wall, sit on every surface. The only photos Patricia had of Sam were baby photos, tucked into an album at the back of a closet. Life graces every inch of Kara's home, in the shoes left by the door (Kara's haphazardly, Lena's neat and square), in the magazines cluttering the coffee table, and the rumpled blankets along the back of the sofa, and dirty dishes in the sink.

As soon as they arrive, Kara and Lena divide and conquer. Kara relieves Sam of her backpack, while Lena draws her to the kitchen. She removes a plate from the cupboard and fills it with cut vegetables, pulled from tidy plastic containers already chilling in the fridge, and a sampling of fruits and crackers.

It's a simple offering, but it's the first produce she's had since telling her mom and it's so fresh and so clean that her body cries out in relief and Sam bursts into tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sam waves Lena off, when green eyes snap to her in concern. Kara returns in that moment, surveys the scene, and lifts the sudden tension with a slanted grin.

"What did I say about making pregnant ladies cry, Lena?"

Lena pegs her with a roll of her eyes.

"No, please," Sam pleads, wiping her eyes even as tears continue to flow. "It's not-- you guys have been so great. Just-- hormones, you know?"

It's a cheap excuse not explain that after two months of cheap junk and fast food, a baby carrot is enough to move her to tears. That the kindness she's been shown thus far has come with an unspoken expiration date, and only after Sam asks for it.

Never offered, never given. Simply extracted, through pity and guilt and some social expectation to not turn a pregnant woman out on her ear.

"Thank you," she says simply, ostensibly for the handkerchief (an actual, cloth handkerchief) that Lena hands her, and starts filling her mouth with food.

Kara sits with her at the breakfast bar, filling the space with warm words of mundanity. Lena, on the other hand, remains in constant motion. She unpacks the dishwasher, clears the dirty dishes from the sink, and tidies the mail left in a messy pile on the table in the adjacent dining room.

She remains part of the conversation, deftly splitting her attention between task and Kara, until she dips out with a quick excuse me to start a cycle of laundry.

"She doesn't idle well," Kara says in a quiet voice once Lena is out of earshot. "But once she gets all the doable stuff done, she'll be able to relax some tonight. Hopefully."

Sure enough, Lena returns from the laundry room and seamlessly transitions to starting dinner, asking Sam whether she'd prefer lasagna or tuna casserole.

Sam almost moves to immediately demure, because really she's already imposing enough, but pauses when her stomach churns ominously at the thought of tuna.

"Lasagna sounds amazing," she says finally, feeling a warm flush spread up her cheeks. "Can I help?"

She almost expects Lena to dismiss her, in the manner of a consummate host, but Lena pauses herself, and nods.

"Eliza said she picked up some fresh Italian bread. I was planning to turn it into garlic bread..."

"I can do that!"

Kara pouts. "Aw, that leaves me with salad. That's the worst."

"No one's going to make you eat it, Kara," Lena drawls, already pulling out a box of noodles and a jar of tomato sauce.

Sam smiles at their banter. "I don't mind doing the salad."

Kara gives an exagerrated fist pump. "Yes!"

She does a happy dance all the way to the bread box, and Sam watches with happiness in her heart for the first time in months.

They don't put anything in the oven until later, and Sam tides herself over with an unending supply of cut melon as they all spread their homework across the table and get to work.

Well, Sam and Kara get to work.

Lena breezes through it, her pen flying across the page as she renders her solutions in neat lines. Sam finds herself watching her more than focusing on her own work, and Lena's focus is so intense that she only notices when she finishes the last problem with a final tick mark on her list of tasks. "Did you need help?" Lena asks. "Oh, no, I--" "Just say yes," Kara mumbles distractedly, head in her hand as she glares at her copy of the Crucible. "She teaches it better than the teachers being paid to do it. Trust me." And that's how Eliza finds them when she arrives home, hours later. As she pulls the lasgna out of the fridge and slides it into the preheated oven, she smiles at the sight of them with their heads together, Lena speaking in low tones as she breaks down a complicated formula and explains it in simple terms. She knows Lena's nearly seamless transition to the outside world is temporary. It's the result of her natural curiosity, and not a revocation of her belief in LuthorCorp's mission, or her faith in her brother. But even so, she's grateful for the friends she's making, and the warmth she spreads to those who need it. Sam enjoys dinner, and the momentary normalcy it brings. Once again, Lena's intelligence shines through in the words she exchanges with Eliza about her work. To her surprise, Sam finds herself able to follow along a little. Her afternoons spent in city library were good for something, at least. But Kara's prediction comes true once the table is cleared and the dishwasher run. They all gather in the living room, with books and music and sketches. Kara traces lightly in her sketchbook, and Lena bends over a diagram of SOMETHING from her seat on the floor at the coffeetable. Sam simply basks in the comfort, her eyelids heavy as she sits curled on the couch beneath a soft, warm blanket. When Eliza catches her eye, the woman seems to understand what Sam is unable to vocalize. "I hope you don't mind me asking, Sam," Eliza says, her voice gentle in deference to the warm quiet that fills the room, "but have you been receiving prenatal care?" Kara's pencil doesn't stop moving, but her eyes lift briefly in interest. Lena's head lifts, her features open and soft. Sam nods. "Yeah. I met with the school health nurse, and she pointed me towards some programs for young moms. I'm set on that, at least." Eliza nods. "Do you have any plans for after the baby is born?" "I'm keeping her," Sam states simply. "The rest I'll figure out as I go." She shrugs. "It'll be easier after graduation. Once I can get more hours, I can get an apartment of my own, and think about childcare." It's all she needs to say, but somehow, the words keep pouring out of her. "I've already been accepted into a few colleges, though. NCU offered almost a full ride-- I'd just need to pay for books and materials." Which is still considerable expense. "But I'd have to be a full time student, and I've been trying to figure out how to make it work, but I don't know how I can do it and still earn enough money for an apartment, and childcare, and everything else. But at the same time, I don't want to give up on school because-- what kind of example would I be setting?" Eyes burning, Sam presses her lips shut against the word vomit. No one's asked her before. She's never told anyone. But while doing so lifts tears of futility to her eyes, it also lifts the weight from her shoulders. "Sorry," she mutters quietly, wiping her eyes. "Don't apologize," Eliza soothes from her seat on the far side of the coffee table. "That's a lot of burden to take on all at once, especially without support at home." Swallowing, Sam shoots a glance to Lena, whose features had grown solemn in thought. "But I admire your dedication to see things through, and to set a good example for your daughter. It takes a great deal of strength to do what you're doing. I'm only sorry you're facing it alone." But Sam doesn't feel alone tonight. Especially not when Kara pulls her and Lena upstairs, and not when she makes the fortunate mistake of complimenting Kara on her braided crown. "Lena did it!" Kara practically crows. "Lena, you should do Sam's hair!" "Oh, no, that's okay--" Sam tries to wave it off, but Kara is insistent. "It's already a sleepover," she counters. "Now it'll be a proper one!" Which is how she finds herself on the floor between Lena's knees, slowly loosening under the gentle fingers that comb through her hair. Their talk soon turns to gossip, and Kara regales them with the story of how Barry Johnson once tripped over his own shoelace and knocked out his front tooth. Sam remembers it well, and the memory brings laughter to her chest. She cherishes it, and does her best to stamp this night in her mind-- the first, and likely last time her life has ever felt like the quintessential high school experience. Later, when her hair has been comfortably woven into a horizontal figure eight at the base of her skull, and helps Lena prepare a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor of her bedroom. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed!" "You're pregnant!" Sam glares at her, and Lena relents. "I didn't think you'd want to share, but... I don't mind if you don't?" "There. Solution found. Now bring those blankets back, we're gonna need 'em." They slip into bed, and Sam's surprised that Lena doesn't roll to the far edge of the bed. "I shared a bed for years," Lena confesses a moment later. "I've been told I'm a cuddler, so I apologize in advance--" "I'm sure I'll survive." In the darkness, Sam feels more truth rising to the surface, just as it had earlier that evening. "Thank you for chasing me down today. It's been a long time since... I've missed being a part of things, I guess." Lena doesn't respond for a long moment. When she does, she sounds... hesitant. "I hesitated to mention it in front of the others but... Have you heard of LuthorCorp?" The biggest tech conglomerate inthe world? "Yeah, of course." "Well, they have an outreach program, called LuthorCares. It's dedicated to investing in new potential." Sam snorts. "Potential? Like, head hunters?" "No, I mean-- sorry, that probably sounds weird. I mean, when someone is eager to learn, but feel they don't have the means or opportunity, LuthorCares can help alleviate some of that burden. Members can stay in lodges all over the country for nominal fees, tutition assistance, even childcare." Sam stares at the shadowed ceiling, waiting for a catch that never comes. "You're so smart, Sam. And driven to do the right thing, both for yourself and your daughter. You're exactly the kind of person they want to help realize their potential." It can't be that easy-- the answer to all of Sam's problems delivered on a single platter. "Sorry," Lena apologizes quietly. "I don't mean to pressure you. I just hate that you might be forced to choose between your education and your child, when you could be free to have both." The raw honesty in Lena's voice sends Sam's threatening tears down the sides of her temples, to get lost in the tangle of her hair. Lena's fingers curl around her hand. "You deserve both," she whispers. Sam nods. "I'll look into it," she manages, clearing her throat. "Thank you, Lena." --- The next morning, Sam is amused to discover that in sleep, Lena's definition of cuddling is a face smooshed in the crevice between Sam and the mattress, her breath hot on Sam's back. She groans pitifully when Sam rises, but rebuffs the pocket of cold by pulling the blanket over her head in defiance of the hour.

"See you tonight, you three," Eliza calls as they gather their things to leave. Sam's stomach clenches, arrested by what she's sure is a slip. But when she looks up, Eliza is looking right back. When the woman nods, Sam returns it with a wobbling dip of her chin before Kara grabs her by the hand and pulls her out the door.

Continued: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Appendix A

#cult of luthor #sam centric #found family #lena's kindness is gonna get her into trouble hey o #supercorp #i swear it is #its coming next part

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amazingphanisnotonfireaesthetic · 5 years

Text

Some of you will be mad, but i have to say it

TW: Gun Violence-Alcohol- Talks of racism, homphobia, nazis, and transphobia-Guns/Gun violence-Police/Police Brutality-The Holocaust-Onision-Assult-Gun Violenve-Shootings-Others.

- getting drunk contsantly isn't cute, it's just not, and sometimes it's really worriying

- if you say that They/them singular pronouns are grammatically incorrect you are just straight up wrong

- people don't understand that if police racially-charged violence wasn't happening it wouldn't be an issue. Yes, there are some good cops, but god are there so many more that use a job that should be an honorable thing and turn it into a power-feeding ego-trip to hide their biggotry

-To the people who say climate change isn't a problem, i hope you know you are the reason our grandchildren probably wont make it to retirement age before the planet is horrible to live on

- Not everyone needs and AR-15, not everyone likes guns, people are terrified of guns because of how much gun violence there is, and making fun of a woman who said she held and AR-15 and didn't like it doesn't make you cool, it makes you look like an asshole

- It is not anyone's right to tell someone that they are not valid and that they are not trans, unless you are that person, doesn't matter if you're cis or trans.

- Making fake homophobic posts about people, like what happened to Millie Bobbie Brown (which is now happening to Greta Thunburg), isn't cool or funny, and can actually hurt someone's career

- Not everyone can afford to go green and go vegetarian/vegan, and you need to get over that fact unless you want to help those people.

-Not all zoo's/animal sanctuaries are abusive and some house animals that literally wouldn't survive in the wild because they were never in it and their parents weren't or they are too injured.

- You have no right to tell someone that being LGBTQ+ can't be part of their personality

- Those "pro-leave people the fuck alone" types of people are usually the most bigoted people

- The Confederate flag is LITERALLY another countries flag, a country that seperated because they wanted slave, amongst probably other things(that also doesn't exist). So waving it around in the name of "american pride" is just wrong and makes you look racist.

-Nazi's are literally horrible and deserve the worst. People need to realise that the holocaust was something horrible and not minor at all. Someone in a groupchat I'm in once say "jewish people are over the holocaust, so we should be too" (paraphrasing, i don't remember it because it made me so mad) which is literally the most stupid thing i have heard someone say, and he said this because we had a holocaust remberance assemby at my school.

- Onision is god awful and should be in jail, enough said

- Telling someone they can't be loved until they love themselves makes someone not love themselve more because it implies that no one loves them.

- Let kids go through fases where they get really hyperfixated on something they find cool, let them go through ther "emo fase", or their "anime fase". Stop telling kids they shouldn't persue what makes them happy.

- If there is a fellow student in your class who you think is going to do something bad like a shooting, murder, assult of any kind or you think they are genuinely a Nazi//terrorist//cult member//racist/homophobe/transphobe with the intent of a hate crime, talk to a guidence councillor or a trusted teacher/adult about it, don't just sit back and let them be the "scary quiet kid", they might need help, be that help

-rasict jokes aren't funny, and you need to stop making jokes on behalf of asian people, because jokes against them are so normalized they're woven into people's dialect and conversation, and it needs to stop.

- A non-japanese person liking japanese culture doesn't inherently make them a weeaboo, y'all are just angry about everything

- Someone liking Kpop, Kdramas, and S. Korean culture doesn't make them a Koreaboo and calling a normal kpop fan a koreaboo is so so fucking rude, it implies a tone of cultural appropriation and ignorance that a normal, leval-headed fan doesn't have

- BTS didn't pave the way, yes, they have been a big impact on kpop, but they did not single handedly make kpop popular and mainstream

- Drake is a creep

- Chris Brown tried to kill rhianna and y'all just forgot? Okay then...

-Dear Tumblr, not all men are horrible, worthless, pigs who want nothing but sex, please get over yourselves.

If you need help dealing with alcoholism, harmful throughts, or anger issues, please seek out help.

#rant #my rants #i had to #i had enough #climate deniers #politics #against onision #anti onion man #chris brown is horrible #tw: violence #tw: swearing

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wizardsnwookies · 6 years

Text

POTA100918 - Ghost Stories

Redlarch was large enough that the comings and goings of a handful of strangers were for the most part ignored. They were a Caravan town after all, people came and went all the time. The disappearance of three adventurers meant as little to them as the sudden appearance of four more. It was the way of things. Little more than a few more coins at the inn.

The All-Faith’s Shrine warmed his spirit the moment stepped over the threshold. Something about the home of any kind of faith felt welcoming and safe to him. He enjoyed the feeling for however brief a time it would last, for as always, he was here on his grim duty.

“Master Dion?” A gentle voice turned his attention away from one of the many magnificent tapestries that covered the plain stone walls. It’s soft and precise tone fit its owner well, a slight elf female who stood taller than most men Dion had made acquaintance with. Stature, however had nothing to do with this. She carried herself as a woman of her faith, proud and utterly confident in her movements.

“Yes, Alura of Tempest I presume?”

“It is our pleasure to receive you.” Alura offered a slight bow of the head, sweeping her hand out towards the entirety of the shrine. “We don’t get many of your kind here, it is a rare honor.”

“It is my honor to perform this solemn duty. Please, how may I be of service here?”

Dion fell into a slow stride alongside the priestess. The hall before them was brief, bringing them into the large central chamber with a ceiling that seemed to stretch out to the heaven’s themselves. Pillars of stone rose up to brace the rafters, all long their height were sculpted scenes of great faith towards all gods. More tapestries covered the otherwise bare walls, each more colorful than the next, carefully woven out of luxurious threads and yarn. Alura moved with a fixed gaze as if the splendor of her surroundings were utterly mundane.

“Redlarch is in need of much more than a Doomguide I’m affraid, it is troubled times indeed.”

“Please, my lady indulge me.”

“Some are rumor, but much is beyond the help of anyone. The earth around us seems to revolt; earthquakes, wildfires, storms of rain and sleet, great winds that gust from nowhere. The loss of an important caravan.

However, one such rumor may suit you well in particular. There is a place just outside of town known as Lance Rock. Many youths breath conflicting tales, singularly they might be shrugged off as fanciful tales of children, together they may point at something more substantial.”

“Truth often hides within the shadow of rumor.”

“Well spoken.” Alura finally stopped at the center of the chamber and let her head slowly fall backward, gazing up into the domed ceiling high above them. “I dare not sully this holy place to speak of what floats on the lips of these babes. Go to the Swinging Sword, the innsman there can tell you everything he has heard.”

A sense of foreboding fell upon Dion like a shadow. For a Priestess of Tempest to fall silent on a subject was rare, and often it bore ill tidings. Yet he would not falter, if there was even one soul to be guided into the next world he must be there to aid them. No matter the circumstances.

---

Everyone stared blankly at the strange Priest with a silence that had not fallen on the Swinging Sword since it opened early this morn. The confidence drained from his face as the awkwardness of it all sank in, shrinking him back inside himself somewhat. Speaking with the innsman had filled him with a sense of urgency. Disease, death, and ghostly figures filled the rumors the man had heard from his patrons. Dark things moving in the vicinity of Lance Rock, where their children frequently play. They were still but rumors he admitted, but he would feel much better if someone, anyone, looked into the matter.

Dion wondered why the constable had not followed up himself. The innsman scoffed, seemingly not satisfied with the excuse he was given, that there were far more pressing matters to attend to than a few ghost stories. Admittedly, Dion’s zeal got the best of him. Filled with purpose and duty, he shouted his intentions to the entirety of the Tavenr, loud and precise so that all could hear...and was met with blank faces. Flea chuckled to himself and gulped down the last of his ale.

“Well...that’s certainly one way to get attention.” Aunt Lenore cocked her head somewhat. “I know I’ve been dead for the last twenty years but is that really how things are done nowadays?”

“Not typically.” Flea stood, slamming his tankard on the table. “Which is a shame. People spend too much time dancing around the subject most of the time.

“Aye! I’ll join this task, assuming it pays.” His voice carried over the heads of crowd, slowly getting back to their own business, a dull murmuring already gaining in volume. He shouldered his way across the floor, splilling drinks as he bumped shoulders. Those so assaulted would turn to accost him, but shrank back upon seeing the half-orc’s size.

“If shouting out your intentions is how you go about things, you’ll probably be needing me.” Dion turned to his left just in time for a slender arm to fall across his shoulders. A pair of golden eyes of a high elf smiled at him.

“Name’s Alura, and you can thank me by buying me a drink.”

“Oh, of course.” Dion blinked, taken aback by the forwardness, but opened his purse to her nonetheless. When joined by the hulking half-orc, the cleric chose a table in which they all might sit and discuss their plans.

“I think you, this is an important undertaking we are to set out on.”

“Aren’t they all?” Elura carefully sipped her wine, sinking deep into the wood-spindled chair. “Not to be crass, but you didn’t answer our good friend’s question.”

“Flea.” He nodded, appreciating the acknowledgement. Too often the religious types got caught up in their own morals and ideals. Which is all fine and good, but they don’t put food on the plate.

“Yes, of course. My apologies. The innsman is of course happy to pay us for our efforts. Though I want for no reward, I would not presume to ask the same of others.”

“Good man.” Elura raised her glass to him. “Do we have anything further to go on besides some wild rumors? Something in the area that might be connected, a tomb perhaps?”

“Not that he is aware of. Although he did speak of caves in the nearby ravine.”

“Caves can hold many things.” Flea offered.

“I was born in a cave, you know!” Great grandfater Oorg raised a gnarled finger and Flea knew if he didn’t stop him now, he would continue on his diatrype for most of the evening.

“So was I Grandfather, so were most of us. Please, continue priest.”

Dion blinked. “Who were you - “

“Don’t worry about it, just go on with it.”

“Yes...well, what I’m afraid of is of course some kind of dark magic taking place. A spellcaster of ill intent, if left to fester, will spread like blight upon this town.”

“Or it could be nothing, like I said, caves can hold many things.”

“I agree, I don’t like the vague nature of it all.” A new voice made them all nearly jump in their seats. The strange Golden Dragon born sat as the fourth of their table, looking curiously at them.

“How long have you been there?” Elura furrowed her brow, a bit disturbed that a rogue of her class did not detect him in his approach.

“Since you sat down.”

“...and you were just-”

“Listening, I wanted to make sure I had all the details before I offered my aid.” He blinked. “Why? Is that-”

“Weird? Yeah, just a little bit.”

“I apologize, I’ve been at the monastery for some time and social culture is bit lost on me.”

“Clearly.”

“My name is Miv, and I offer you my assistance in this venture.” Dion smiled as the monk bowed from across the table. He had not dared to dream of such a large spread of talent for this. A monk, a rogue, and what he could only assume by the smell, a barbarian. All pledged to aid him in his duty.

“I am Dion, and I welcome you to our group.”

---

“You are of Mirabor? Did you know anyone on that Caravan?” Sir Daniel glady accepted the drink offered to him by the stranger sitting at the bar of the Swinging Sword. He had no worries or suspicions, her armor being of official issue to the guard of Mirabor. Being a Dragonborn of Silver decent didn’t hurt either, their kind were a lawful lot, seekers of justice. Thus, she was a kindred spirit, and he welcomed her company.

“I...yes. I believe I did.” Banshea struggled to answer, while she couldn’t remember anything up until waking up in her own grave, if she was indeed a guard on the caravan than she must have known her colleges. “I heard they disappeared on their way to Summit Hill?”

“Aye, strange thing it is. I come from there myself, truth be told.”

“Oh? Then what gleaming have the good knights made on the matter?”

“We have not I’m afraid, stretched a bit too thin these days. Lady Stormbanner recently received a group of adventurers looking into it not a few days ago.” He paused mid sip, thinking back on the evening they had all shared together. “Strange group, they were.”

“What have they found? If anything?”

“I know not, and I know of no one who does. They went to investigate the Monastery across the river when they left, that was the last anyone had heard from them.”

Banshea heaved a sigh, disappointingly little to go on, but it was more than she had this morning.

“You should know.” Sir Daniel began delicately. “They did find evidence of a battle on their way. It is believed to be the point where the Caravan was ambushed, but not much was found.

“They found many dead Mirabor guards, I’m afraid.” His voice was low and compassionate, offering a clap on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, truly.”

“My thanks.” Banshea offered a bittersweet smile. “What of the antagonists? Were they among the dead?”

“Some of them, a group of Hobgoblins and one of the monks from the nearby monastery. They all bore a strange symbol upon them, the adventurers suspected some kind of cult activity.”

That was more to go on. A solid lead as opposed to a vague assumption of one. She felt her sense of purpose and duty swell in her chest. It was a strange feeling. She held no memories of this life that she once had. No memories of this lord whom she owed allegiance. Yet, she had no question in her heart that she must go and pursue this mystery. She was tasked for a duty to protect the Caravan, and failed. She could at least seek justice for those slain, and perhaps find a piece of herself in the process.

---

“Very well then, it is decided. We leave at dawn tomorrow.” Dion stood to punctuate the end of whatever gathering this was. The four of them had made an accord and were bound to it, as far as he was concerned. “I thank you all for your support, and I shall pray tonight for a peaceful journey.”

“Pray all you want, my hammer will take care of the Peacekeeping around here.” Flea smirked but did not stand. It was early yet, and he could still get some drinking in before the ancestors started their squabbling again.

“I should turn in, if I am to make the necessary morning meditations.” Miv joined Dion on his stride to the door, offering a wave to the half-orc already with fresh tankard in hand.

“Well aren’t you guys a pair of wild party animals.” Elora tipped back her glass of wine and let the warmth envelope her.

The two holy men turned and ran into what felt like a brick wall wrapped in hide and chain. Before them the large frame of a female Silver Dragon born stood rooted in place.

“You, do you still require assistance at Lance Rock?” Banshea’s voice was thundering and shook the pleasant buzz from Elora’s head.

“Ok, people seriously need to stop just popping up out of nowhere.”

“I suppose one more could only further the chances of success.” Dion stumbled backwards, the stern silver face staring down at him.

“I offer you an accord then. I require a group to accompany me South to investigate the loss of several delegates from the Lord’s Alliance. I shall grant you my blade if you would be that group.”

The four looked at each other in silence. They had heard the rumblings of such a thing in town, but had not thought much of it. Something of this importance surely must have been taken care of? Apparently not.

“Lords tend to pay pretty well. I’m in.” Flea shrugged.

“Sounds like fun.” Elora bowed her head with a smile.

“I go where I am needed.” Miv said after a slight pause.

Taking a moment to collect himself, Dion brushed his clerical robes back into place and offered his hand out. “Then, I believe we have a deal miss...?”

“Banshea of Mirobar.“

Buy Me a Coffee

#Dungeons and Dragons #princes of the apocalypse #role playing games #campaign diary

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toxickimi · 3 years

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CH 10 Proposal

Azumiral had left Kimikyo in her room before going straight to Aiko's quarters. "Mother." Aiko looked up at Azumiral before going back to her paper work. "I thought you would like to know Kimikyo is falling for Elder Maxson. Perhaps we can persuade him to marry her and have them live here. He has an army and many followers he will be of great use to us should war occur." Aiko remained silent before looking up at Azumiral once more. "La Tempo has been at peace for centuries, I intend to keep it that way. However, he is a tremendous leader and Kimikyo does seem to listen to him." Aiko tapped on her cheek thinking for a moment before nodding. "They would also make darling little ones too! Alright Azumiral, we will begin preparations. Send a letter to Elder Maxson at once to meet with me. We will have much to discuss." Azumiral bowed to Aiko before leaving the room. She went to her own room to write a letter to Maxson that he is personally requested.

Azumiral donned a cloak before going through the portal. Azumiral took her form of a dove, flying to the Prydwen. She landed on on loading dock for a vertibird, changing back, before making her way to Maxson. The soldiers that were posted guard on the loading docks just looked at each then shrugged. Azumiral was escorted to Elder Maxson's room by Danse. "Elder Maxson." She bowed to him with him simply nodded his head to her. "This is a surprise. What brings you here?" Azumiral handed him the letter that was marked with the official seal. "Mother wishes to see you and only you." Maxson opened the letter, reading it over. In the letter it made no mention as to why he is being requested. "Does this have to do with Kimikyo?" Azumiral simply nodded. "Very well. I will appear in three days time." Azumiral had taken her leave, flying back to the portal to La Tempo.

Danse had looked at Maxson who was fuming. "No doubt that those princesses weaved rumors about what happened." Danse shook his head at Maxson's words. "I don't think that's what is going on at all. Sure she ran out of here like no tomorrow but that doesn't mean you're in trouble." Maxson pinched the bridge of his nose. "We will see I suppose." Maxson began working twice as much to ensure everything would be fine while he was away. Soon the time came when he would leave through the portal with Danse.

Kimikyo was going about her day as normal by reading a book and walking the halls. She didn't look up from her book as she walked past Danse, who was heading to see Nala. She only looked up was she caught a faint smell of sweat. "Paladin Danse...?" She looked back to see him already out the door. "Well hello to you too rude...." She furrowed her brow as she turned around to see Maxson standing in front of her. She dropped her book as she stared up at him,, her face turning red. "E-Elder M-Max-Maxson. A pl-pleasure-No not pleasure! It's great to s-s-s-see you." She looked around before taking off running. Haku, who was patrolling witnessed everything before walking over to Maxson. "You'll get use to her. After she lets her guard down she's a pretty silly child." Maxson had picked up the book she left behind, seeing that it was about King Arthur. "She's not a child anymore." "Maybe not to you guys but she is to us. She's our little princess and she will always be."

Haku led Maxson to Aiko who was sitting outside, enjoying the sun. "Ah Elder Maxson, I'm so glad you could make it." Aiko stood from her chair, smiling. "Let's walk. Hannah if you will." She held her hand out to take the parasol, which was handed to her. Maxson and Aiko began to walk side by side with her resting the parasol on her shoulder. "I heard my daughter made quite a scene while visiting. She didn't even stay the night as planned." Maxson hesitated in stepping before catching up to Aiko. "Yes, she did. Though it wasn't entirely her fault." "I'm aware, young one, of what was said. Do you think I'd send my little tadpole alone in that world?" Aiko looked back at him. "I sent one of my sentries with her, in her bag. She was unaware of the little bird but it would have alerted me to any major dangers. Such as with those bugs and monstrous dogs she and that Nora took out." "I should have been there with her to better protect her." Aiko chuckled lightly. "No, I'm glad you weren't. She was able to grow as a person. She's like a bird in a cage. I haven't let her out of the castle or the grounds since her father passed away. I am so afraid we might loose her once more." Maxson followed beside Aiko as she spoke. "Elder Maxson, you are the first man she's let her guard down to in a very long time and it seems she listens to you." "Hardly, ma'am. She hasn't done any training since I've left and she ran off on her own while in the Wastelands." "Yes but remember when she turned into a dragon. You were able to stop her." Aiko turned to him, looking up at him. "She is corrupted I fear. It is a plague that will manifest and grow inside her until it consumes her. The only way we know of to combat corruption is to break her away from depression."

Maxson stared down at the queen, confused by her words. "What do I have to do with any of this?" "I request that you marry her. Your union will join not only our armies and lands but it may also soften that heart of hers, give her closure." "This is not my choice to make alone. Have you spoken to her about this?" Aiko had shook her head, her soft slow still on her face. "I would rather get your approval before arguing with my daughter. I already know she will decline at first but as I said, she has let her guard down with you. It might not be as big of a fight as before." "I will only accept this offer if she does." Aiko nodded to Maxson before continuing to walk. "If I may so bold as to ask, but what happened to their father?" "Are you referring to Takito?" "I am." "Takito was my second husband. He is only Kimikyo's father and was the captain of the royal guard before our marriage." Aiko's smile faded as she took a deep breathe. "He was killed while protecting Kigra and Kimikyo. Those poor girls...Kigra was able to get away hardly injured, she was extremely lucky that day but Kimikyo. My dear little Kimikyo..." Tears began to form in her eyes as she recalled the state Kimikyo returned in. "She was neither dead...nor alive...Takito risked his life to get our girls home that day. He did just that. He walked through the door with Kimikyo in his arms and Kigra on his back before collapsing on the floor. He bled out on the journey but he kept his promise to save them." Maxson had become uncomfortable at her story. "I'm..sorry I didn't mean to bring up such bad memories." "Think nothing of it. I remember that day often when I'm looking at those two girls." "Kigra said they targeted Kimikyo, she just happened to be there at the time. Did you ever find out why?" "My first husband Lord Vaati, had a cult following. When he was put to death they weren't thrilled that I took another husband. They targeted Kimikyo to smoke out Takito, knowing he wouldn't allow me to follow."

Aiko had wiped the tears from her eyes before looking at Maxson. "Do not worry. We find the group and made examples out of them but ever since then I have not allowed Kimikyo out of our sights in fear there would be more." "I understand." The two continued their walk around the castle grounds. "Now Elder Maxson, I have questions for you. Do you think you'd be willing to live here with your people granted citizenship to La Tempo?" "That is a tough question, your highness. My men and I are catalysts for our world, to rebuild the old world that was lost. For us to leave will allow the greater enemy, the Institute, to take over an make experiments out of the remaining humans." "I see. Well we can't have that now can we? No then should Kimikyo accept the proposal we shall carry forth a plan from the past. She shall spend half the year with you then half a year here."

The two soon finished the walk where upon Aiko instructed Hannah to fetch Kimikyo to meet in the throne room. Hannah went to find Kimikyo only to find her hiding in the kitchen in the a tightly woven basket. "You still have your hiding hole here? I could have sworn your mother order it be taken away." Hannah opened the lid to see Kimikyo reading a book and eating crackers with jam. "Look in defense of everyone here. I don't want to be found by Elder Maxson. This was the only safe place I knew of." Hannah couldn't help but laugh at her. "Why wouldn't you want to be found by him? He's so strong and handsome." "That's the point! He drives me crazy with how he can get me to say anything. Are we sure he isn't a wizard? Are we sure they don't have magic? I must have been bewitched. I bet this is another one of Kigra's tricks!" Hannah slowly closed the the lid before walking away. Haku and another guard walked into the kitchen to pick up the basket she was hiding in. "Please no..." A tiny plea came out of the basket as they made there way to the throne room. "Sorry princess Kimikyo, queen's orders." "Your queen, here is your basket case of a daughter." Haku proclaimed as they sat the basket down. Aiko giggled lightly at the play on words before speaking. "Kimikyo, dear, please come out of there. It is just us in here." Kimikyo peaked out of the basket, looking around before slowly climbing out. "I thought we threw that old thing out." "Claire made another one....there were originally apples inside...then I saw Elder Maxson and panicked." "My dear, why would you panic at seeing him?" Kimikyo looked away, blushing. "I...I...just did." "Well he is the reason I summoned you here. Elder Maxson has agree to a marriage but only if you agree." Aiko stared down at Kimikyo who paled. "Pl..please...no..." She clenched both hands on her chest finding it hard to breathe. "D-Don't...don't do this mama, please." Tears began streaming down her face. "Why not? He'll make a wonderful husband and you get to live with him for six months out of the year." "N-No..." Aiko frowned at Kimikyo. "When will you learn to grow up? I've let you by too many times now Kimikyo." "He-He's my friend...I-I don't-" Aiko walked up to Kimikyo, staring down at her. "You are not to deny this marriage, young lady." Kimikyo looked up at Aiko, fear in her eyes before she took off running.

Kimikyo ran out of the castle and across the animal training grounds, where Danse saw her. "Kimikyo?" He watched as she jumped the fence that was there as she went into the forest. Azumiral, having been hiding behind the pillars of the throne room, stepped towards Aiko. "Mother, don't you think that was a bit harsh?" "She needs to grow up. She is twenty-one years old." Haku rushed into the room. "My queen, princess Kimikyo has ran into the forest. I have guards looking for her as we speak." Aiko looked at Haku in horror before rushing out of the castle. Danse was stood at the fence talking to a guard when he saw Hannah tackle Aiko to the ground. "Apologies my queen but don't! That forest is dangerous." "My little girl is in there!" Haku and Azumiral had caught up to them. "My queen, I assure you we have all my best men looking for her. She couldn't have gotten too far." Maxson had walked over to Azumiral, who was helping Aiko up. "What is going on? I noticed all the guards rushing out here." "Kimikyo ran into the forest." Azumiral looked at the forest, then to Aiko. "The forests are rather dangerous as the hold dark creatures and magics. We've kept it all at bay with spells and charms along the fencing." "Why would she run in there?" Azumiral looked at Aiko who bowed her head. "Mother." "I told her about the marriage. I informed her she is not to refuse." Maxson's expression turned to anger. "You're forcing her?" "She is a princess. She has a duty to us. By marrying you she'll be uniting two great armies. We will be better protected and as would you. It is her role. I have failed as queen by allowing her to deny all the others." Azumiral looked away from Aiko, tears falling from her eyes. "Arthur, please go. Kimikyo won't listen to any of us but she might just listen to you." Danse stepped in between. "You just said there's dangerous magic in there. He has nothing to protect him from that. You're asking him to go in blind."

Haku had taken a dager out of his holster. "Give me your hand. I will inscribed a charm of protection." Haku pricked his own finger before drawing a protection charm on the back of Maxson's hand. Maxson then went into the forest to search for Kimikyo. Azumiral looked at the forest before at Aiko. "Can't you two fly over the forest to search?" Danse spoke up. "The forest is too thick...plus unless it wants to show us we wouldn't be able to see anything." "Why build the castle so close to it then...?" Aiko looked at Danse. "It wasn't here when the castle was built. It appeared one thousand years ago out of thin air...some say fae grew it.."

#fallout4 #fanfic #au #maxson #danse #magic

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jarienn972 · 7 years

Text

One of Those Nights

This is a little gift for @killian-whump that will hopefully bring a smile back to her face after dealing with too many Twitter a-holes. I threw together a little bit of Rogers whump with a side helping of Hooked Queen so for those that aren’t into S7, this isn’t for you so just skip and move on. Hope you enjoy, @killian-whump

As proprietor of a popular neighborhood bar and general hangout, Roni was no stranger to late nights – or was it early mornings? I was a rare occasion that she could call it a night much before 3AM and tonight was no exception to said rule. She’d delivered her nightly last call at 1, then slowly ushered her patrons out so she could lock up at 2. And now, at 2:30AM, she and Remy had just finished wiping down all of the tables, chairs and bar stools and while he completed his last-minute stocking at the bar, she’d retired to the office to tally the day’s receipts and make sure that Remy had his portion of tonight’s tips in hand before he headed home.

At 2:40AM, she handed Remy the envelope containing his tips and said goodnight as she let him out the front door, relocked it and returned to her office to finalize the paperwork and shut down her laptop. It took her less than 10 minutes to finish those routine tasks and as the computer shut down, she reached for the switch to turn off her desk lamp only to be startled by a thud against the rear door. She nearly dismissed it as accidental (maybe the wind blew something against the door) until the pounding returned – determined, deliberate bangs against the metal door.

Roni certainly wasn’t expecting any company at this hour and if Remy had returned, he had his own key so the sound of someone banging on her delivery door at nearly 3AM was more than a bit unnerving. Momentarily ignoring the incessant knocking, she made her way out to the bar to retrieve her trusty baseball bat. While it wasn’t necessarily the best weapon, her bat could prove quite effective against a persistent drunk or vagrant looking for a handout should they make any threatening moves toward her. Now armed with bat in hand, she returned to the rear entrance as the thundering, staccato blows against the metal continued, except this time, she could also hear a voice calling her.

“Miss Roni? Are you in there?” she heard a woman’s voice ask without taking pause from the assault on the door.

“Tilly? Is that you?” Roni called back as she recognized the voice on the other side of the door, although she hesitated before unlocking the deadbolt until she got a response.

“Yes, yes, it’s me! Please open up! I really need your help and I didn’t know who else to trust or what to do…” The fear and anxiety in Tilly’s tone was worrisome so Roni leaned the bat against the wall, unlocked the door and tugged it open to find the bedraggled young woman standing in the alleyway, eyes darting from side to side nervously.

“Tilly, what are you doing here at this hour?” Roni demanded, not yet noticing the huddled figure at the frightened woman’s feet.

“I didn’t know who else to trust,” Tilly repeated, “or where else to go and that bastard, Weaver, isn’t answering his phone!” She was rambling in rapid-fire mode, leaving Roni understandably confused.

“Tilly – slow down… What do you need help with?”

“Detective Rogers,” Tilly replied, crouching down to draw Roni’s line of sight toward the black-clad lump that lay at her feet. “I found him at the other end of the alley…”

“What?” Roni lowered herself to a knee next to the clearly wounded and probably unconscious form that was Detective Rogers. He was curled on his left side, facing away from Roni atop a damp, flattened cardboard box which apparently was what Tilly had used to transport him to the back door of the bar. “What happened?”

Tilly exaggeratedly shook her head. “I don’t know for sure. I was out wandering and heard some shouting and a pretty fierce scuffle. Curiosity got the best of me and by the time I got to the alley, I found the detective on the ground next to his car. I tried to call Weaver using the detective’s phone, but he wasn’t answering. I knew you were close so I dragged him over here hoping you might be able to help him somehow…”

“He’s hurt. Why didn’t you call 911 and get him an ambulance?” Roni wondered, taking note of Rogers’ visible injuries in the dim light of the alley. His face was bloodied, but she couldn’t tell how badly out here because it was just too dark to see the extent of the cuts and abrasions.

“I didn’t know who to trust,” Tilly repeated. “I think he was attacked by another cop…”

“What?!” Roni didn’t know how to respond to that statement, but if that was why Tilly kept glancing around the alley, she didn’t want to stay out here. “Okay, help me get him inside and then you can tell me why you think he was attacked by a fellow cop while we try calling his partner again.” She grasped a corner of Tilly’s makeshift stretcher and with the younger woman’s help, they managed to pull the wounded officer through the doorway and into the relative safety of Roni’s office. Roni immediately ran back to the door and secured the deadbolt once again before she re-entered the office and switched on the brighter overhead light.

Being careful not to move him too abruptly, she carefully maneuvered the unconscious detective onto his back and in this light, they now had a much better view of his facial wounds. A jagged laceration zigzagged across his forehead, starting at his hairline and extending across his temple and another deep cut sliced open the bridge of his nose. There was also a darkening spot above his jaw that would without a doubt be a nasty bruise in the morning. Rogers stirred slightly at her touch, groaning in obvious discomfort as he drew his arms tighter against his chest and Roni didn’t doubt that he had other injuries hidden beneath layers of clothing. She wasn’t a doctor though so all she could really do was try to keep her friend comfortable.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asked Tilly. “Beneath the bar, there’s a stack of clean towels. Can you bring me some and while you’re at it, get me one of the ice buckets and fill it up with water? We’ll see if we can get this bleeding stopped and clean him up a little.” Tilly nodded in reply, springing to her feet and hurrying out of the office to gather the requested items.

Not really sure how safe it would be to move him further, Roni decided that it would probably be best just to leave him here on the floor until they could track down some professional help. She crawled across the narrow office to the battered leather sofa that sat against the wall opposite her desk, retrieving the navy and tan woven throw that she’d used on many of those particularly rough nights where she crashed here on the sofa, unable to muster the energy to venture upstairs to her loft. She was just about to drape that throw across his legs when Rogers woke with a start, attempting to sit up too quickly and only further aggravating the throbbing inside his head.

“Easy…” Roni warned, moving swiftly to catch her unsteady friend before he toppled over. “Not so fast. You’re beat up pretty bad…” Rogers gave her a subtle nod of acknowledgement before losing his balance and falling back against Roni, his head dropping onto her shoulder. “You probably have a concussion so you really should lie back down.”

“I’m fine,” he lied, pushing himself back into a sitting position, although the movement markedly slower this time.

“Okay…,” Roni played along. Apparently, wounded cops were as obstinate as drunks. “Think you can make it to the couch in that case?”

“I think so,” he insisted as Roni stood and extended her hand to help the teetering detective to his feet, then wrapped an arm around his shoulder to lend some support. He had a noticeable limp as he staggered the short distance across the room and as he flopped onto the sofa with a grimace, he spied the blonde head he recognized as Tilly entering the room with a bucket and an armful of towels.

“Tilly? What are you doing here?” he asked. “Hell, for that matter, what am I doing here?”

“She found you out back in the alley,” Roni explained. “Please lie down and try to relax while we get these cuts cleaned up. Maybe you can tell us what you remember about what happened?”

“I’ll try…” he replied as he lowered his head onto the thickly upholstered arm of the sofa. Tilly knelt beside him and dipped one of the towels into the bucket then squeezed out the excess water before gingerly touching the cloth to the largest cut on his forehead. “Damn – that hurts…” he bristled, immediately tensing and recoiling from both the chill of the water and the searing pain.

“Sorry…” Tilly pulled back, having not wanted to cause further injury.

“It’ll be okay, Tilly,” Roni assured her. “He’s going to feel some discomfort, but we need to get some pressure on that cut to slow the bleeding. It’s pretty deep and will almost certainly need stitches. I’ve got a first aid kit around here somewhere…” She couldn’t remember if she had one here in the office so she excused herself for a moment to retrieve the one behind the bar, then dug through it to find some butterfly strips that would be good for holding the torn skin together until they could be sutured. “Do you know who did this to you?” she asked him as they attempted to bandage the worst of his cuts.

“I’m not really certain…” Rogers admitted. “I remember getting a call about that cult symbol showing up in the neighborhood, but I didn’t find anything. Maybe the rain earlier tonight washed the evidence away, but as I was returning to my car, I saw a shadow that looked like someone hiding behind the dumpster. I shouted at whomever it was to come out, but instead, someone attacked me from behind, knocking me down. I looked up to see who or what was there, but all I saw was something swinging toward my head and then, I felt the strike and everything went black. I’m fairly certain that wasn’t the only blow they got in based on all of the parts of my body that ache right now.”

“So, you never saw the person who hit you or the person behind the dumpster?” Roni asked.

“’Fraid not,” he replied, squeezing his eyes closed as he fought through the pain, trying hard to remain conscious even though he knew he was losing that battle.

“Tilly thinks you might have been attacked by another cop.” Roni stated, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Another cop?” he questioned, confused but not showing signs that the possibility was a surprise.

“I saw someone drive away in an unmarked police car,” Tilly said. “I know we’re not supposed to know they’re police cars, but it’s really pretty obvious if you pay attention like I do…”

“Would you know the car if you saw it again?” Roni asked her, knowing that it would have been Rogers’ next question if he hadn’t already drifted into the pain-free oblivion.

“Of course, I would,” Tilly assured her. “I don’t forget things.”

“Okay, stay here with Detective Rogers. I’m going to try calling his partner again,” Roni stated as she retreated into the storeroom, dialing Weaver’s number on her cell phone and hearing his voicemail message. “Weaver, it’s Roni. Get your ass over to my bar as soon as possible. Someone beat up your partner and he’s here, unconscious in my office. I did what I could, but no one is sure who to trust and that includes yourself. Maybe you can enlighten us as to what the hell is going on?”

She disconnected the call and waited a few moments in the storeroom until her phone vibrated with a text message notification that read simply: Be there in 10.

#detective rogers #OUAT S7 #ouat s7 ff #had to make this s7 after all of that ridiculous posturing #grow up fandom

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phlareshadowdancer · 7 years

Text

Removal of Existence: Part 2

The night was a rather warm one as the summer breeze began to bring it’s humid air against the exposed flesh on his neck and forehead. While walking down the dying path of the plaguelands. Each step growing slower and slower until he was outside Scholomance. Standing at the gate, his eyes narrowed as the shadows began to lick at his finger tips. The physical shadows casted by the few candle lights began to bend, pointing in Phlares direction. “Time to go home.” He said softly to himself as the shadows bleed from his figure to join with that physical ones. As soon as he blinked, his body was pulled into the grey washed realm. Darkness shrouding his figure as the shadows wrapped around him and wisped in excitement. Each single step was like walking a mile. The realm rushed past the man, the humidity, the warmth, and the light was all gone. Appearing before his family’s old estate that bordered the Ghostlands. Each step was careful and slow as he approached the well. Though as he placed his hand upon the wooden arch that held the pale, the illusion faded and a stairwell to what most believe was a tomb appear. Walking down the stone stairs, his fingers brushed over the cold wall. Though something was different. There was a golden yellow light flickering at the bottom of the steps. Once reaching the bottom of the steps. His eyes looked across the long wooden table that had the cross he wore burned into the surface as it stretched over the whole table. Counting the chairs, all eighteen were there plus the two at each head. But in the throne Phlare normally sat was occupied. Opening his mouth to speak, the well dressed man spoke before him.

“Evening, I hope I’m not intruding. This place use to be somewhere my family came to discuss their future.” Phlare narrowed his gaze and cocked his head to the right. “Yeah?” Phlare questioned softly. Walking up to the table as he pulled the old wooden chair out. The feet whining across the stone floor. “I wasn’t aware it was occupied still. Who might you be?” The man across the long table folded his hands before him as both elbows rested on the arm rests of the chair. The frozen and misty eyes looked at Phlare curiously. “Avitu Fang.” He stated firmly, with pride woven through his tone. “My family was apart of the Cult who use to run this estate. We were one of the smaller houses, but we were one of the.. chosen houses.” Phlares heart began to race, and truly his mind wished to lie to himself. Wished to say this wasn’t possible, over and over he reminded himself that he killed all of them and didn’t miss a single one. Recounting the deaths, the events as they all flashed before his eyes. Though his stature and tone remained calm, collected. “Chosen houses huh? I’m not one for politics... even in a cultists nature. Can’t say I’ve heard of you.” The man across the table offered a small, but arrogant chuckle. “So it is true, hmm?” Leaning forward as his hands unfolded, placing his palms on the table while a long smirk came across the mans face. “The Shadowdancer still lives to this day..” Phlares figure tensed, even visibly before the man and before Phlare could reply, the man spoke once again.

“Oh, relax little Phantom.. you wouldn’t remember me. You killed my family before you were free of Azezal’s mind control. Though.. he painted you out in such a bad, dirty, and very power hungry light. Ashame, it doesn’t seem like you’ve ever gotten away from that. Not Azezal, but what he wished you to be. A murderer, and a monster.” Phlare had leaned back in his chair, carefully scratching at his forearm. What may of looked like a nerves habit, he was secretly unsheathing one of his throwing knives. Speaking in a rather curious tone. “The one and only. Though.. you know very little about me.” The man offered another chuckle in amusement, shaking his head lightly. “Oh no.” The man said confidently. “I know everything about you. I know you’re addicted to shadow magic, that you use this realm to not wither away. I know you’re a pompus little ass, who believes he’s almighty and untouchable. I also know, you managed to open Azezals book. Seems you learned you had to deplete his soul shard.” Phlare had thought back, depleting the soul shard was more of a means of survival, an accident that occurred which caused Azezal’s soul to become the energy Phlare had needed at the time. With a smirk behind the mask, Phlares muffled voice spoke arrogantly. “You left out my devilish good looks, and my genius level intelligence. I’ll forgive you this time, if you tell me one thing. Why you are here. That’s a demand, not a question.” The man’s smirk never faded, the frozen misty eyes never grew wide as he stared at Phlare in amusement. “I come wanting the book, as simple as that. I’ll take passage here when I please, and you will remember what you were designed, sculpted to do.. You will fall under command again, and consult me as master now.” Phlare silently had drawn the throwing knife from it’s holster, leaning back in the chair, his hands were kept under the table. A low, rather annoyed tone escaped his lips. “You come into my realm, making such demands? In case you forgot-” The man spoke, cutting Phlare off. “In case I forgot, you’re at your strongest point here. Unlimited shadow magic, pure, dark shadow magic.. You’re right, you likely could rip me to pieces in here. But out in the actual realm? The advantage is mine. You have three days to bring me the book.” Without hesitating Phlare brought his arm back, swiftly tossing the throwing knife through the air as it ripped through the shadows. But even with the knife moving faster than a blink within the the realm it failed to pierce the man. Flying through the air where the man once sat and clashing against the stone wall. “An apparition..?” Phlare questioned, though the sudden feeling of not feeling at home in the only place he felt safe began to sink in. “Avitu Fang..” Phlare repeated the name to himself a few times, though nothing came to mind. Sighing defeatedly, the shadows stopped their dance around him and he appeared in the ruins of the cellar of the old estate. “I guess it’s just my month to make friends..�� Though as he looked at the wooden table. Carved into it at the seat he was sitting at read. ‘I’ll rip apart your soul once more’.

Closing his eyes, he leaned down to rest his head against the table. Though, it didn’t rest long. Tapping his forehead against the wooden surface as each bump became harder and harder. “If I haven’t heard of him, I doubt he lingers in the city.. This is going to be much more exhausting than it needs to be..”

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siodymph · 7 years

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Fiddlefest! Society of the Blind Eye

Now for week 3, Fiddleford tracks down and tries to confront Blind Ivan, or Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle as he prefers to go by now.

And just a reminder, I'm happy to take requests all the way 'till April 7th! So if you would like to, send any of those requests my way!

You can read under the cut or over on my AO3! Hope you enjoy!

It had taken several week but now after so much time he managed to track down Ivan.

He was following the Woodstick tour, sticking with them ever since Gravity Falls. He wasn’t listed as a performer but apparently he’d play music for anyone waiting around and willing to listen. Fiddleford found that out when he did some online research about Woodstick and found descriptions of Ivan scattered in everyone’s reviews. The next spot on the tour was set to be a small town near the Rocky Mountains, so Fiddleford made plans to attend the event too.

Stepping into the caravan of faded, woven cloth, hand-made beaded crafts and the stench of pot hanging in the air immediately took Fiddleford back to his younger days as a hippie. Flowers in his hair, writing ditties on his banjo about peace and enlightenment, designing giant dinosaur robots to overthrow the government. Those were the days…

It was also interesting to Fiddleford to see how they styles of hippies had transformed through the years, especially now as these “hipsters”, he hoped he was using the right terminology. Everything was still big on earthy, crunchy and free and their fun odd choices in wear still reflected that. But now it seemed like plaid was a much bigger element to the hipster look, that and knit wear and big boxy glasses rather than circular ones.

Fiddleford wandered through the crowds looking for any sign of Ivan’s tell-tale tattoos. He ended up hearing him before seeing him. He heard the twang of a banjo being plucked and then a voice that made mixed emotions swirl inside him. Ivan was singing a song to a small crowd of young hipsters. Fiddleford politely made his way through the people to get a better view and sure enough it was Ivan, sitting on a barrel and smiling as he played. He neared the end of his song.

“And so I wander and play,

through the night and the day,

with a song from my heart to my boot.

And while my head’s still unsure,

I don’t know what I’m for,

well, it’s all in the life of your good ol’Toot-Toot!”

There was a small applause then everyone began making their way off. Ivan waved to them as they left, a happy absentminded smile on his face.

It was now or never. Fiddleford tried to swallow down his nervousness and made his way to Ivan.

“Hello handsome Old Man! What may I do for you today? Do you wish to hear more of my mystifying ministrations?” Ivan asked with a showman’s voice. He tried to play a cord but his fingers were misplaced and the sound that came out made Fiddleford grit his teeth. Ivan grumbled to himself, continually rearranging his fingers till he got the cord he wanted. “Damn, blasted thing… No. No… Eh, not what I was aiming for but it will work!”

“Actually, Ivan, I just wanted to talk.”

Ivan looked at him in confusion. “I’m sorry but my name isn’t Ivan. You must have me mistaken for someone else sir. My name is Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle, traveling minstrel! And I- wait. I recognize you!”

“You do?” Fiddleford said. He wasn’t sure what to expect, what on earth could Ivan recall about a man he erased from his mind numerous times when he didn’t even know his own name?

“Yes, you’re the gentleman from the museum back in Oregon! I almost didn’t recognize you. You’re all dressed up now, and you trimmed your beard. It looks nice!”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile. Now that he could afford to he bought himself a full wardrobe filled with all the patterns and colors he’d loved when he was younger, and felt flattered to be complimented. “Aw shucks, that’s nice. Now do you remember anything else about me?”

“Well, let’s see.” Ivan stroked his chin, looking up in thought before looking back down and beaming at Fiddleford. “Of course! Your little granddaughter reminded me of my name and my life’s work!”

Fiddleford tried to think of gentlest way to try and correct Ivan he wanted to help the man but there was only so much he could do if the man was so deep in denial. “Actually, Mabel isn’t my granddaughter, I’m just a friend to her family. And-“

“Regardless I don’t know what I would have done without her! Please send her my thanks if you could. I don’t remember my past clearly, but I don’t think I’ve felt this happy in years!”

“How so, if you don’t mind me asking of course.”

“It’s wonderful! Everyone’s so kind, they’re always happy to be here. No one ever mocks me for my tattoos. They all said they make me ‘deep’ whatever that means. It so exciting being on the road all the time, I get to see new places every day. The music, the crowds, the festivity! I can’t quite place why but it’s like coming home!” As Ivan listed off things he was smiling, sincerely smiling. He’d never seen Ivan look quite like that, even when they were both young men just starting to erase their minds.

And while Ivan couldn’t place why he enjoyed being with Woodstick, Fiddleford could. He recalled how before he had persuaded Ivan to join his foolish cult Ivan had been a carnie performer. And apparently Woodstick now must remind him of his former life, even if he didn’t realize it yet. They both certainly sounded similar. Perhaps this concert tour might help trigger more memory recall for Ivan.

Fiddleford patted Ivan’s hand. “That certainly sounds nice.”

“Yes it has been.” Ivan agreed. He tried plucking a few more cords, frowning when they sounded sour. “Is there anything else you would like to know, sir?”

“You can call me Fiddleford and I have just one more question for you.”

“Ok Fiddleford, what is it?” Ivan parroted back. Fiddleford hoped he would actually remember his name. He knew how in his own experience having names to tie to places and faces made them much easier to relearn and recall.

“Eh, do you know how you got that banjo?” Fiddleford already knew it was his but he wanted to know if Ivan would recognize that too.

“I’ve always possessed it, that’s why it’s so worn and old now. And your gran- sorry your little family friend returned it to me. And I know how to play, I can see you judging me! I’m just a little rusty, that’s all.” Ivan ended slightly offended, as he tried to play a ditty to prove his point.

“Actually Ivan, if you don’t mind me saying, that banjo was mine first. It was one of Fiddleford’s.”

Fiddleford tried to speak gently but Ivan reeled back, possessively holding the banjo to his chest. “Stop calling me that! I’m not this Ivan, you keep bringing up. And I this banjo’s mine now, you can’t have it!”

Fiddleford stepped back. Giving Ivan more space. Shoot, things were going so well starting out. “I never meant to imply otherwise. I’m sorry. You’re free to keep the banjo, it is yours. I just wanted to let you know that Fiddleford, I had that banjo before. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket?”

“No!” All at once Ivan jumped off the barrel, glaring down at Fiddleford and for a moment he feared for himself. Had he gone too far? But then Ivan relaxed, though he still obviously looked distressed. He backed away from Fiddleford. Inching his way towards the crowd. “I… I have to get to my next gig over by the lemon grass shot tent. Have a nice day… Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford didn’t like how he spat his name, but if remembering how much he despised him before he overthrew him then maybe it would help trigger the rest of his memories. But there was still one last thing Fiddleford wanted to get off his chest before leaving.

He called after Ivan before he could disappear into the milling crowds. “Ivan! Toot-Toot wait!”

Fiddleford could see Ivan’s hand clutched into a fist, but the man still turned around. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to say, I’m real sorry.”

Ivan took the time to look him over, Fiddleford swore he saw a brief flash of recognition before Ivan lost it again. “Well, maybe if I knew what on earth you were talking about I’d be more inclined to forgive you. Or not, I have no idea who you even are. Goodbye Fiddleford.” He said stiffly.

Then turning around, he walked away. As he disappeared into the crowds of Hipsters, Fiddleford caught his stealing glance back at him and down at his banjo.

That didn’t go nearly as well as he’d hoped, but also not as disastrous as he feared.

Fiddleford hoped that the carnival like atmosphere here now paired with some of Fiddleford’s words just might help trigger more memories for Ivan.

The Society of the Blind Eye had been forged with good intentions. To make people happy, rid the town of its anxieties. But they had all abused the power of forgetting and all had paid the price. And now that Fiddleford was older and having met the Pines kids, he realized that memories, no matter how pleasant or unpleasant, all were important to make you truly you. And it never helped to hide the truth and live in mindless, happy ignorance. Now he could only hope his old colleague and friend might learn a similar lesson.

With that he wandered back towards a tent filled with metal sculptures that caught his eye earlier. He did want to head home but he might as well enjoy himself here at this festival, it was nice being out of the manor after all.

#fiddleford appreciation month #fiddlefest #marchgucket #fiddleford mcgucket #society of the blind eye

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