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jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets · 9 months

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Love Beyond the Black - CH 1

Fandom: Ateez Rating: Mature Pairing: Jung Wooyoung/Choi San, with a little bit of Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa sprinkled in AO3 Masterlist

Summary: Wooyoung is the son of a merchant sailor for the King, one of his best. He is coming of age to prepare to take his fathers place as the captain, and so his father takes him on his first sail. After nearly facing death in a raging storm at sea, Wooyoung and his father make port at their destination. Not long after their arrival Wooyoung finds a boy washed up on sea, still alive, and the most gorgeous thing he has ever laid his eyes on. He is instantly entranced by him, taken by this boy with no memory of where he came from or why he had been washed up on shore. Wooyoung couldn't have cared any less about the unanswered questions, but how will he feel when he finds out the boy he has so very quickly fallen in love with turns out to be one of the most revered pirates to have ever sailed the seas?

A/N and Warnings: I added them to the bottom of the post, just because it's a bit long, so if you'd like to see the warnings just head to the bottom :)

*** MY WORK IS NOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER SITE WITHOUT MY EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION. THOUGH REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE SUPER LOVED AND APPRECIATED! THANKS FAM!***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter One

Wooyoung's favourite thing was the sea. Not being on it, no, that wasn't quite the life for him, but just being near it was enough. He loved the smell of the salt on the air, and the feel of the misty ocean breeze hitting his face as a wave crested upon the rocks below the cliff. He loved the sound, the ebb and flow of the waves as they washed upon the shore and retreated again. Wooyoung could fall asleep to it, completely at peace with his eyes closed laying in the tall grass, his arms outstretched and his fingers weaving through the blades.

But the ocean was more than that. It was also full of new beginnings, of hope and purity and strength. With each day the sun rose upon the horizon and brought with it a fresh start, no matter the storms and turmoil of the day before or how dark the night had been, the sun always rose without fault and cleansed the world of the past. For a moment each day, as Wooyoung sat upon the cliff by his home on the edge of town, he could feel those few seconds of tranquillity as the new day began untouched and untainted, completely pure. The sky would be painted in beautiful hues of pink and orange, his skin tinted with it like the sky's own canvas, reflected upon the calm surface of the water. It was the only thing Wooyoung could think of when he pondered upon perfection, even now as he sat on the same cliff looking out.

“Wooyoung, darling!” He turned to find his mother walking toward him from the house. She had the skirt of her dress gathered gently in her gloved hands, her hair done in an intricate updo with not one single hair out of place, even with the breeze. One of the housemaids followed closely behind her with an arm outstretched, a paisley coloured lace parasol held above his mothers head. She was as beautiful as she always was, the very definition of class and elegance. Every time he laid his eyes upon her, he could see why she was envied by the women in town, and desired by the men.

“Yes, Mother?” He smiled at her as he answered.

“Come,” she waved a hand at him, “your Father’s ship is returning to port today, I've been told they've been spotted on the horizon and should be here shortly. Shall we greet him?”

He nodded and stood, then turned to walk back to meet her, and held his arm out for her to take as they walked back to the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The port was a flurry of activity by the time their carriage made it through the busy town streets and pulled up at the docks. It was full, each ship docked was a part of his Majesty's royal merchant navy, and all delivering goods to be brought to the King himself.

Since his father was head of his Majesty's merchant navy, Wooyoung had been to the palace many times. He had attended lavish parties, elegant dinners, summer gatherings in the gardens. The King's palace wasn't too far from where his own home rested just outside of town, but Wooyoung much preferred his solitude as opposed to the large crowds that a king’s parties would amass. And now that his father had returned from yet another successful voyage, there would surely be another invitation from the King arriving soon.

"Wooyoung, my son!" His father called to him from down the dock where he had just stepped off the ship's ladder. "How were things while I was gone?"

"Perfect," he answered as he hugged his father, then turned and let him sling an arm over his shoulders as they walked back to his mother.

"I'm glad to hear," he smiled, then when they reached his mother, he said to both of them, "tonight we will have a special dinner prepared. I have some news I would like to share and I feel it requires more than a simple meal."

"I'll have the chefs informed as soon as we return home then." His mother returned his smile and lifted up for a quick kiss, before she turned and got back in the carriage.

The two of them followed her, with Wooyoung sitting across from them inside, his leg bouncing with anticipation as the carriage left the docks. "What's the news, Father?"

His father chuckled, always impatient his son was. "I will tell you at dinner, so you'll just have to wait until then. Though I know that will be difficult for you, patience is a virtue, Wooyoung. Trust me, it will be well worth the wait."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Waiting for dinner felt like a lifetime for Wooyoung, but finally he was sitting at the table in his usual spot, across from his mother with his father at the head. There was a king's feast worth of food laid out before them, and Wooyoung could wait no longer.

"Father, can you tell us the news now, please?" He was practically vibrating in his seat.

His father chuckled, a deep rumbling from his chest as he dug into the pocket of his jacket. “The news is that I have already been assigned another route for his Majesty, this time as a direct request from the King himself that me and my crew are the ones to make the trip, a delivery on his Majesty's behalf to a neighbouring kingdom.”

“Already?” His mother asked, her brows furrowed. “You've only just arrived home, when did the King have the time to approach you about another route?”

Finding what he was looking for in his pocket, he pulled out a rolled up, and now crinkled, piece of parchment bearing the King's seal. “There was a messenger from his Majesty waiting for me at the port when we docked the ship, I spoke with him just before the two of you arrived.” He handed the parchment over to his wife, who opened it and read it, but he turned his attention to Wooyoung. “I know that this is fast, as you said I've only just arrived home, but I do believe it comes at the perfect time as there is something else I have wanted to discuss with you both for a while now.”

“What's that, darling?”

“Our son’s future,” he answered, his eyes never leaving Wooyoung, who now stared back at him with both worry and confusion clear in his gaze, “Wooyoung, you are of age now where you should be seriously considering your career, and it only makes sense that you would take my place in the coming years as head of his Majesty's merchant navy.” Wooyoung lifted a hand from the table, about to voice his apprehensions on the matter, but his father stopped him. “I understand that it is a very high pressure job, but I trust you will do well, Wooyoung, and that is also why I would like to take you along with me on this assignment. I can start teaching you the ropes of sailing, of managing a crew as well as all of his Majesty's shipments both in and out of our ports. It will be the beginning of your apprenticeship, and when I am ready in a few years I shall retire, and you will be ready to step in and take my place. And the last thing I wished to discuss, is that I believe it is also time that Wooyoung be married.”

“Father, no, I don't think-”

He was stopped again by his fathers insistent tone. “It is a wise decision, son. Many men your age are already married and starting families, it is time you did the same. Upon our return we will start the process. Your Mother will arrange for some meetings and see if we can't find you a nice girl from a suitable family that catches your eye, and hopefully by the fall we will be planning a wedding. Are you on board with all of this, Wooyoung?”

Though it was phrased as a question, Wooyoung knew it really wasn't. It was a warning, more like his father was saying, you will be on board with this whether you like it or not, because that is how it always was. Wooyoung may be a child of a high class family, always been given exactly what he wanted and grew up in a very wealthy lifestyle, but when it came to things like this, his future or his career or even who he would one day marry, he was not so privileged. He knew this would be coming soon, as his father said he was of the age where it should have already been done, but it still angered him deeply that his entire life had just been laid out and decided for him in less than the time it took to eat dinner. But what could he do except agree, nod his head and accept his fate. The last thing he wanted to do was disobey his parents or disappoint them. So that's what he did, nodded his head and accepted it.

“Excellent!” His father beamed and his mother squealed with excitement across from him. “Be sure you're ready in three days, that is when we shall set sail, and just like that the first leg of your bright future begins, my son.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days came and passed in the blink of an eye, and Wooyoung suddenly found himself standing on the overcrowded dock wishing he was anywhere else. There were crew members bustling past him, hauling all kinds of barrels full of who knew what, all of them shouting and cursing, not paying any mind to how many times they nearly ploughed him over. He was even less impressed when one of them passed by, dragging a barrel full of something that smelled god awful, bumped right into his side and scuffed a large dark stain onto his new white shirt.

“Wooyoung!” His father called to him from down the dock, and Wooyoung turned an annoyed look at him, just finished rolling his eyes at the man who ruined his shirt. “Come here, I want to show you how to ensure the proper inventory makes it onto the ship.”

“Oh, sure.” He waved and faked his best smile at his father, grumbling to himself as he stalked over. “Exactly what I wanted to do.”

As soon as he reached his father he instantly pulled him into his side and started going over the inventory parchment with him. But Wooyoung could honestly say he did not retain a single thing his father had told him, he wasn't even really looking at the parchment as his father pointed to this item or that. He had no interest in this whatsoever, frankly if half the items never arrived he couldn't have cared any less then he already did.

“And this must be the special item we are delivering for his Majesty, the final piece we were waiting for before we could set sail.” Wooyoung finally snapped to attention as a beautifully carved wooden box passed by them, carried by a man with much more grace and decorum than the other ruffians running around the docks earlier. It was stained in the carved crevices and highlighted with pure gold, he knew whatever was inside must be worth its weight.

“What is it?” He asked.

“A gift from his Majesty to the King of Nero.” His father answered, and he baulked at him.

“Nero!?” He shook his head, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he was able to speak again. “That's a two week sail across the sea!”

“In good weather,” his father added, absently re-checking the inventory sheets before passing them off to a waiting deck hand, “if we hit any sort of storms or even simply rocky seas, it could take double that. Which is why you always have to prepare for the worst, pack extra supplies just in case your trip takes longer than planned. Not only is your inventory a top priority, Wooyoung, but so is your crew. They need to be fed and well taken care of, because without them the ship would go nowhere. Now, get on board, I'll show you how to set off and then we will meet in my chambers later this evening for dinner.”

His father left him with an aggressive pat on the shoulder that had him lunging forward a step. Wooyoung cringed as he stood frozen in place. Two weeks at sea, minimum, pending an easy smooth sail, which was highly unlikely. And once they arrived in Nero, it would only be to turn around and spend another two weeks or more sailing back home. Wooyoung loved the sea, but this was ridiculous. He was more than happy just watching and listening to it from the comfort of his little cliff by the edge of their home, he was not thrilled about this at all. Merchant sailing, or sailing of any kind was not the life for him, and if he didn't find a way to tell his father that, he was going to be stuck with it for the rest of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Seven days in, not even halfway through the journey yet and Wooyoung had lost count of how many times he'd been sick. It was starting to ease now, but the first few days it had been so bad that more often than not he wasn't even able to attend his lessons with his father, not that he minded that part, but hanging over the edge of the ship for hours at a time had been less than appealing. So far, merchant sailing had turned out to be just as horrid an experience as he had expected.

“Wooyoung.” He lifted his head as his father approached him and landed his hand on his back. He was still slung over the edge of the ship, still sure his face was as green as seaweed, but he hadn't thrown anything up in at least a few hours.

“Father,” he panted, closing his eyes tight to stave off a sudden wave of nausea, “I don't know if sailing is for me, I don't-”

“Don't worry about this,” he gestured to him, sweating and limp on the railing, “I was the same as you on my first sail, perhaps even a tad worse. But it eased eventually and now look at me, head of his Majesty's merchant navy, spending weeks at a time at sea without so much as an upset stomach. You will get there after a few sails.”

“If you say so.” He shook his head and hung it low over the railing again.

“I actually came to ask if you would like to join me for dinner.” Wooyoung couldn't help the heave at the mention of food, but his father continued anyway. “The chef is making a special sushi dish, I've even managed to sneak some caviar aboard to celebrate your first voyage as an apprentice, and the chef agreed to make san-nakji just for you-”

His father stepped back and laughed, full and straight from his chest, as Wooyoung lunged further over the edge and threw up.

When he was finished he groaned and wiped the back of his now soiled sleeve across his mouth, eyeing his father with a deviled look. “Really, Father? Was that necessary?”

“Just helping you get it all out of your system, son.” He reached out and gave his back another pat, this time lingering and rubbing gently. “You'll be alright soon, I promise. But you really should eat something to replace everything you're tossing over the side. I can have the chef make you something easy, some rice perhaps-”

Both of their heads whipped up toward the front of the ship as a massive crack of thunder rumbled across the open waters. It was the first time Wooyoung had looked at anything besides the water below him all day, and though the storm wasn't too close, it was moving quickly.

“Those clouds look really dark,” he said to his father, “much darker than any storm I've experienced on land. What do we do?”

His father stood still for a moment, watching the storm with a focused look, before he answered, “Our best course would be to avoid it as much as we possibly can. We can change our course to head north east and sail around the islands, put them between us and the storm, and hopefully come out behind the storm on the other side. If not, our next best course of action would be to hunker down on one of the islands. The last thing you want to do is get caught in a storm like that in open sea.”

Wooyoung looked back at the storm again as a second ear shattering rumble of thunder hit him. It shook him to his core, seeing clouds that black, and he swore it was already much closer then it had been only minutes before.

His father turned and began barking orders to his crew, all of them instantly jumping into action, but Wooyoung found he couldn't move and not because of the nausea. He had a bad feeling about the storm, and even more than he already did, he regretted ever stepping foot on this ship.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky around them was so black one would have thought it was the middle of the night. The deck was so shrouded in black Wooyoung could barely see his own feet as he stumbled across the ship. He was soaked completely, both from the rain and the never ending mists that came from the waves crashing against the sides of the ship. His nausea was gone now, replaced with gut wrenching fear with every dip and jerk of the ship being whipped around by the storm. He knew his bad feeling had been right, and how ironic it would be for him to die out in the middle of the ocean, killed by something he loved so deeply, something so beautiful and yet as deadly as the wrath of the very gods that controlled them.

“Father!” He screamed above the raging turmoil around him, but he felt drowned out by the thunder, the screaming crew mates, and Poseidon's rage. “Father! We need to do something, we're going to die like this! We're lucky we haven't capsized yet, and we've already lost crew over the sides!”

A flash of lightning illuminated his father at the wheel above him, and seeing him only made Wooyoung panic even more. He had never seen his father in such a state, washed out in worry of his own and his eyes seemingly lost in the vast darkness around them. “All we can do is keep pushing and pray we make it through! Tell the crew to batten down the hatches and secure themselves!”

All he could do was stare up at his father, how could this be all they could do? Why did he ever agree to getting on this ship? He did not want to die at sea!

“Wooyoung!” His father called out to him, a new fear taking over his features, one more intense than it had been moments ago, then Wooyoung found out why.

Lightning lit up the sky, along with the wave that was hovering over their ship, as tall as the mast and heading right for Wooyoung. All he could do was stand stock still and watch as his fate curled over him and readied to crash down. This was it, this was where it ended for him. A life spent gazing out at the ocean would now end at the bottom of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: So I was going to wait until I had some chapters stocked up before posting, but I was just too excited and I couldn't! Also the writing is flowing right now, so the chapters are coming quickly lol So I gift you chapter one! In this chapter we get a little insight into Wooyoung's life and his expectations. And as a slight heads up, I'm just going to say that after this chapter, things are going to start heating up real fast… and I'm going to leave you with that, enjoy!! <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N and Warnings:

First, yes, I ship kpop groups, but no, that does not mean I am crazy about them outside of their groups. It's hard to explain but I see them in their groups as almost characters in a sense, but whatever my boys decide to do in their real lives outside of the groups, I fully and completely support them as long as they are happy :) And with that being said, if this isn't the kind of fic for you, it's okay if you don't read it!

Second, this is going to be a very different fic from anything I have ever written before (I think). It's not going to be super dark or anything, perhaps a tad bit more angsty then usual, but it is a fic about pirates so there will be fighting, and blood, and violence, some homophobia because of the time period. Though keep in mind there will be a happy ending for our boys, and that the major character death in the tags does not apply to either San or Wooyoung. There will be NO rape or non-con, I do not mess with that, but there will be lots of smut, as promised.

And third, this is my first Ateez fic, so please be kind XD

And I think that just about sums it up. Please enjoy this if you do decide to read it, and I thank you for coming along on this journey with me <3

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jenkinstheartis · 11 months

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NCT 127 ☆ Fact Check

album review. released: October 6, 2023

9 songs ; 39 minutes

overall: 7.6

nct 127 the conquers of my little kpop heart, they made it to the end. round of applause for them! and then a separate round of applause for this album! doyoung breathes life into this album i swear, he's singing like they deprived him of it for years.

disclaimer: this is all opinion, im no critic this is for fun <3

☆ = favorites

1 Fact Check | 7/10

great opening. solid. nothing to write home about. i really like yuta's part: "check that, check that, I'm fine..." like mmhm i'm listening. not they best title track but like not they worse idk

2 Space | 8.5/10

giving firetruck album (still can't believe they named it the first mini album) the chorus just makes me stop and listen, omg they was showing out. this also when doyoung starts steppin. jaehyun does his lil thing too, his falsetto’s sound pretty here.

3 Parade | 8/10

taeyong needs a raise, make him a billionaire so i have a reason to hate him. johnny’s little negativity part surprised me and I was like oh god but it’s grown on me. also rapper jaehyun is always a treat. “what’s next? im so excited!” this girl is fun and entertaining!

4 Angel Eyes | 5/10

fun. i love lil boy band bops, taking me back to 2012 one direction, but like there’s better boy band bops out there,,, so oop. they put mark’s part at the end bc they knew i would’ve skipped it sooner.

☆ 5 Yacht | 8/10

wish it was still summer so I could enjoy this and be warm. mark and haechan’s “lovin it” and doyoung and taeyong’s “lovin it” should be studied for the affects it can have on the brain. what me and this song got is personal.

☆ 6 Je Ne Sais Quoi | 8/10

“we move to the new world, new world” like okay real! bags packed let’s go and on our way to the new world we get lost at the second verse then the bridge but the destination so good i barely even notice!

☆ 7 Love Is A Beauty | 10/10

breathtaking honestly. haechan just comes in so smooth and easy almost teared up sers. johnny's voice makes me blush fr just yeah lol. everyone sounded so good together, whoever mixed this needs a pat on the back and a certificate <3. another one where doyoung whispered his sad little love secrets into our ears. then mark just rocks us out like little love babies, what more can a gal request from life.

8 Misty | 7.5/10

Moon Taeil I miss you dearly, please answer my letters. another amazing group effort. johnny where you been all my life, sing to me more! This would’ve been a good album ender.

9 Real Life | 6/10

because of the strings and the fact they let doyoung bring it in like that, it gets her score. johnny pronounced tf out that "real life" love him for it king.

SERIOUS THOUGHTS

i dont mind turning back members to amplify other members. some people were leant more to harmonies and layering, and with so many people in a group that’s how it should be. I miss when being a visual was like an actual position in groups aka if you couldn’t sing you barely did! Nct doesn’t have that problem (now 👀) everyone has a nice voice.

127’s musical progression from the trash album that was Regular Irregular to this is truly astonishing. Fact Check is a very cohesive piece of work and fits into their discography perfectly.

Shoutout to NCT 127 and they music! Our last true visionaries.

#music #kpop #nct 127 #nct fact check #album review

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sabakos · 2 years

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Sunday Morning

By Wallace Stevens

Complacencies of the peignoir, and late

Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,

And the green freedom of a cockatoo

Upon a rug mingle to dissipate

The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.

She dreams a little, and she feels the dark

Encroachment of that old catastrophe,

As a calm darkens among water-lights.

The pungent oranges and bright, green wings

Seem things in some procession of the dead,

Winding across wide water, without sound.

The day is like wide water, without sound,

Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet

Over the seas, to silent Palestine,

Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.

Why should she give her bounty to the dead?

What is divinity if it can come

Only in silent shadows and in dreams?

Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,

In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else

In any balm or beauty of the earth,

Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?

Divinity must live within herself:

Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;

Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued

Elations when the forest blooms; gusty

Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;

All pleasures and all pains, remembering

The bough of summer and the winter branch.

These are the measures destined for her soul.

III

Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.

No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave

Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind.

He moved among us, as a muttering king,

Magnificent, would move among his hinds,

Until our blood, commingling, virginal,

With heaven, brought such requital to desire

The very hinds discerned it, in a star.

Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be

The blood of paradise? And shall the earth

Seem all of paradise that we shall know?

The sky will be much friendlier then than now,

A part of labor and a part of pain,

And next in glory to enduring love,

Not this dividing and indifferent blue.

She says, “I am content when wakened birds,

Before they fly, test the reality

Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;

But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields

Return no more, where, then, is paradise?”

There is not any haunt of prophecy,

Nor any old chimera of the grave,

Neither the golden underground, nor isle

Melodious, where spirits gat them home,

Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm

Remote on heaven’s hill, that has endured

As April’s green endures; or will endure

Like her remembrance of awakened birds,

Or her desire for June and evening, tipped

By the consummation of the swallow’s wings.

She says, “But in contentment I still feel

The need of some imperishable bliss.”

Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,

Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams

And our desires. Although she strews the leaves

Of sure obliteration on our paths,

The path sick sorrow took, the many paths

Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love

Whispered a little out of tenderness,

She makes the willow shiver in the sun

For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze

Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.

She causes boys to pile new plums and pears

On disregarded plate. The maidens taste

And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.

Is there no change of death in paradise?

Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs

Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,

Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,

With rivers like our own that seek for seas

They never find, the same receding shores

That never touch with inarticulate pang?

Why set the pear upon those river-banks

Or spice the shores with odors of the plum?

Alas, that they should wear our colors there,

The silken weavings of our afternoons,

And pick the strings of our insipid lutes!

Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,

Within whose burning bosom we devise

Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.

VII

Supple and turbulent, a ring of men

Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn

Their boisterous devotion to the sun,

Not as a god, but as a god might be,

Naked among them, like a savage source.

Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,

Out of their blood, returning to the sky;

And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,

The windy lake wherein their lord delights,

The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,

That choir among themselves long afterward.

They shall know well the heavenly fellowship

Of men that perish and of summer morn.

And whence they came and whither they shall go

The dew upon their feet shall manifest.

VIII

She hears, upon that water without sound,

A voice that cries, “The tomb in Palestine

Is not the porch of spirits lingering.

It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.”

We live in an old chaos of the sun,

Or old dependency of day and night,

Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,

Of that wide water, inescapable.

Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail

Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;

Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;

And, in the isolation of the sky,

At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make

Ambiguous undulations as they sink,

Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

#inspo etc #cultural christianity

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jcmarchi · 10 months

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Foreign policy scholars examine the China-Russia relationship

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/foreign-policy-scholars-examine-the-china-russia-relationship/

Foreign policy scholars examine the China-Russia relationship

What is the nature of the relationship between China and Russia today, and how extensively will the two countries keep cooperating in the future? It is a leading question of international relations.

On Thursday, a public panel discussion at MIT offered some answers, with foreign-policy scholars offering that China and Russia do not really have an “alliance” in a traditional sense, although they maintain a durable alignment based on not merely convenience but also some deeper common interests and perspectives.

“The partnership with Russia is big priority for China despite the fallout for certain foreign policy goals from the war in Ukraine, and that’s because there’s a certain amount of interdependence between China and Russia, shared goals, despite differences in many areas,” said Elizabeth Wishnick, an expert in Chinese foreign policy. “The limits to the partnership have always been apparent, but sometimes I think we underestimate its staying power.”

Those shared goals are apparent for both parties, including from the Russian point of view, as the panelists emphasized.

“Ultimately this certainly is not just a transactional relationship; it’s a relationship that’s been evolving for quite some time,” said Natasha Kuhrt, a scholar specializing in Russian foreign policy and security.

The question of how world powers engage and align themselves is certainly topical, with U.S. President Joe Biden meeting China’s president, Xi Jinping, on Thursday in California, a development that might offer a slight thawing of U.S.-China relations. Among other things, China has remained neutral about Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, while in the U.S., the Biden administration has adamantly opposed the invasion.

The event, titled, “A permanent partnership? How Xi and Putin are shaping a turbulent world,” was held online as part of MIT’s Starr Forum series, an ongoing series of public discussions about pressing international matters. The Starr Forum is organized by MIT’s Center for International Studies (CIS), and Thursday’s event was co-sponsored by MIT’s Security Studies Program and the MISTI MIT-Eurasia program.

Wishnick is currently a senior research scientist in China and Indo-Pacific security affairs at the Center for Naval Analyses, while on leave as a professor of political science at Montclair State University. Her research interests include Chinese foreign policy and China-Russian relations, as well as Arctic geopolitics.

Kuhrt is a senior lecturer of international peace and security in the Department of War Studies at King’s College London. She focuses on Russian and Eurasian security matters and foreign policy, especially pertaining to Asia.

The event was moderated by Carol Saivetz, a senior fellow in the MIT Security Studies Program and an expert on Soviet and Russian foreign policy.

The speakers noted that China and Russia are certainly linked by, among other things, economic interests. As Wishnick pointed out, China gets 19 percent of its oil and 25 percent of its coal from Russia; with coal accounting for about half of China’s energy consumption, those import levels are very significant. Indeed, while Russia is only China’s 10th-largest trade partner — behind Malaysia — its role as an energy supplier gives it a crucial role in the Chinese economy.

What Russia gets out of the partnership is not just an export destination for fossil fuels, however. A better relationship with China means Russia needs to commit fewer troops to its 2,300-mile border between the countries. In turn, that has freed up more Russian troops for the war in Ukraine.

“We’ve seen also the way in which Moscow deployed a large number of troops from the Russian Far East to the Ukrainian battlefield, and that hardly would have been possible 20-odd years ago,” Kuhrt said. “So, just that fact itself is of great significance.”

Whatever China’s own high-level assessment of Russia’s invasion, China has kept to its neutral public position with regard to the war.

“Clearly China is concerned about what’s happening in Ukraine but happy to project this kind of neutral stance,” Kuhrt said. “They do come together, Russia and China, in their view of the war essentially as being a proxy war, and being a war against western hegemonism. So, while China does profess to be neutral, I think it seems to be clear that they have a very similar view of the kind of underlying causes of this war, despite Chinese concerns about sovereignty.”

She added: “I don’t think it’s an alliance, otherwise China might have come to Russia’s assistance, and I don’t think it will ever be an alliance. The military level of cooperation is not at such a level that we can really call it an alliance relationship.”

And yet, as both scholars noted, the seemingly elusive sense of definition behind the relationship may help both partners in it.

“There is a strategic ambiguity about the partnership that increases its deterrent value even without a full-scale alliance,” Wishnick said. “For China, I would say that Russia is a consequential partner, though a problematic one.”

During a question-and-answer session following the presentations, Saivetz asked the panelists which issues could damage the China-Russia relationship. Wishnick suggested that nuclear security issues were “the main red line” in the partnership, along with China’s territorial integrity; both agreed that Arctic geopolitics could also be a source of tension, among other things.

The scholars were also asked if Xi’s visit to Biden in the U.S. had any bearing on China-Russia relations. They largely concurred that it represented a straightforward matter of China trying to findways to re-engage with the world in order to emerge from its economic doldrums.

“I don’t think that this visit was meant to signal anything to Russia,” Wishnick said. “I think it was, for Xi Jinping it was an opportunity to help revive old economic ties, not just with the U.S. but globally, at a time when the Chinese economy is struggling.”

Still, Xi’s visit might reflect one thing about the China-Russia relationship: the altered size of the countries’ economies. For decades after World War II the U.S. and Russia were the superpowers in the Cold War world, but China’s economic growth has altered that. Now, the U.S. and China have the biggest economies, in that order.

“This is maybe becoming a G2 world, even if they’re not really actually articulating it in that way,” Kuhrt said.

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bhagya211 · 1 year

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Incredible India Tour for your memorable Vacation Trip to India

LE PASSAGE TO INDIA

Introduction

Incredible India has attained this title on account of the immense variety and life within the commingling options of this unique country. The physical options of India is an incredible mixture of stupendously high and majestic mountain ranges of the beautiful Himalayas within the North, nestling the world’ highest top of Mount Everest in its folds. To the deep blue seas and oceans of the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean, and Arabian sea flanking its three alternative sides. Their are noted deserts just like the Tharp Desert along with the most fertile and populous river valleys of Ganges-Brahmaputra and Indus and its tributaries.

The stretches of sand, sea, and sunshine, famous historical sites, misty mountain retreats, grand metropolis, colorful and ethnic races and creeds, many languages, varied religions and beliefs, festivals, and vibrant cultures all at once lend this land a charm different from the other country during this world.

Filled With Loads of Wonders

Some of the most popular rural villages in India are situated within the centre of Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh, Bihar, Orissa, Assam etc… You must undoubtedly be at liberty to go to these places. There’s some Incredible India Tour to fancy. Feel free to speak with the locals of India. You may assuredly realize them friendly and over willing to communicate with you. They need a wealth of knowledge, and they’re usually willing to share it with you.

Rajasthan, the sovereign state of the country, is known for the beautiful fairs and festivals that they need to supply. Also, you must be sure to enjoy a pleasant camel ride at the Pushkar truthful.

One issue this Guide cannot do for you is defending you from the potential risks of visiting a far off land. Your health matters loads, therefore are sure to look at what you eat and drink. It’s always best to look for healthy stalls and go over your food carefully. Also, you wish to use caution of insect bites and defend yourself from diseases. You should forever make sure to own a first aid kit on hand and a contact list of hospitals and doctors that are close-by.

Colorful Heritage Rajasthan:

This is a well custom-built tour package that takes tourists to the land of kings and queens. It’s the majestic land wherever one will witness the not noted legacies of rule culture in its glorious palaces, stunning forts, splendid Havelis, traditions and customs. With this royal legacy, this place is additionally known for its scenic desert landscapes.

Classical North India:

North India is the land of the melting pot. It’s noted across the world for its endless charm of multicultural heritage; calendar packed with festivals and geographical variations. Tourists from around the globe like North India, Tour Packages to experience myriad sides of this incredible region of India.

Enchanting Kerala:

Kerala among the highest 20 ranked destinations of World tourism is visited by an oversized range of tourists throughout the year. The dotted beauties of serene and scenic nature built this place a celestial destination and selected it with the title of ‘God’s Own Country’. The beautiful charm of beaches and backwaters are preferred Kerala attractions that enthrall tourists most throughout their Kerala Tour.

Golden Triangle:

Golden Triangle is the most noted of all tour packages that cowl India’s preferred destination Delhi, Jaipur and city. These three are the most famous destinations of Incredible India Tour known for his or her monumental buildings like Taj Mahal, Hawa Mahal, and an array of forts and palaces. This well-customized tour package is available at budgeted rates that build it fashionable among tourists.

Tajmahal:

One of the best places is the Taj Mahal. Placed within the state of the state is that the town of the city, the house of the Taj Mahal. The white marble image of love is that the significant toured attraction from everywhere the planet, and undoubtedly shouldn’t be incomprehensible in an unbelievable India tour.

Close to the state is, the state of Rajasthan, world noted for its colorful traditional turbans, clothes, folk dance, music and art and craft. The place may be a land of heroic tales of the conventional Kings and their stories of victories. An appropriate proof for these ancient tales of wars and conquests is that the range of forts and palaces placed in abundance everywhere Rajasthan.

Conclusion

The non-secular tours in India also are an ideal showcase that reflects the religion and culture in India and how it’s transitioned into the life of the people over the decades. The tour packages are the most popular ones aside from the Golden Tour package, honeymoon packages within the backwaters of Kerala and therefore the safari tours within the dense forests of India.

https://lepassagetoindia.com

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mismaeve · 3 years

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→ Day 8 of February Writing Event 2022

↳ Waterfalls of Old, Kíli x Reader, fluff, a drabble February Writing Event → staring into the other's eyes Word Count: 1.0k Always tagging my lovely @tharan-duil Gif source, divider by @firefly-graphics

A rare moment it was for Kíli and Y/N to be able to steal away from Erebor and the ever-present company of their kin and people. There had been much to do after the Battle of the Five Armies, and more still while Thorin had been recovering from his wounds. As much as Y/N had yearned for a solitary moment alone with her most precious of dwarves, she hadn’t had the heart or the will to steal him away from his duties as king regent, not while their people needed guidance and stability. Many a moon had come and gone before the two lovers had had a chance of escaping the bustling life of the kingdom of Erebor.

“Kíli, where are you taking me?” Y/N sounded nearly out of breath as she tried to keep up with the dwarf in front of her who had her hand clasped in his as he dragged her after him. They had been sprinting since they had left the gates of Erebor, but where they were running to, she didn’t know.

“Come on, lassie, we’re nearly there!” Kíli called out to her as they continued to make their way through the mountain valleys, following a path only Kíli knew of. It twisted and turned, curling around the Lonely Mountain like a giant serpent, taking them up and bringing them back down again.

“Where is there?” Y/N breathed out heavily as their path took them to higher grounds. Her heart was beating hard inside her ribcage, her throat was in flames from her panting in hopes of providing her lungs with enough air. Even her skin had become slick with a thin layer of sweat that covered her face and chest. When Kíli failed to answer her question, Y/N caught herself wishing upon the wisest of stars that it only meant that they were near their destination. If it hadn’t been for her heart pounding loudly in her ears, she would have heard it sooner.

Somewhere in the near distance, perhaps around the corner even, she could make out the sounds of water falling. A waterfall, Kíli must have been taking her to see the waterfalls! The thought of it alone was enough to make a bright smile emerge on her flushed face. She had always talked about wanting to see them, and Kíli had promised he would take her, yet until now, they hadn’t had the time. The realization of where they were heading to was enough to make her quicken her step and gift her lungs with second breath.

Y/N’s assumption had been right, when they turned the corner, there it stood in all its might and splendor. The air around them was filled with the roaring clash of water at the bottom of the falls, splashing in all directions in a form of nearly invisible misty droplets. It was one of the most beautiful things Y/N had ever laid her eyes upon, so magnificent and powerful, a source of endless beauty and wonder.

“It’s beautiful,” Y/N sighed in awe as her eyes tried to keep up with the trickling water, her gaze utterly mesmerized by the sun’s reflection in the water which gave birth to countless rainbows.

“I agree,” Kíli murmured next to her, prompting her gaze to abandon the enchanting sight to find him watching her. His boyish face bore a sweet smile that touched his eyes, making him look beyond endearing. There was so much love in him, it was plain as daylight.

A playful chuckle emitted from her lips as she moved closer to Kíli, her heart and her eyes having forgotten all about the waterfall in front of them, her full attention was now on him. His brown eyes had always seemed almost magical to Y/N, especially now when they appeared to be capable of steering her attention away from that which she had longed to see for as long as she could remember. Kíli’s eyes had the uncanny ability to consume her and swallow her whole, to devour her of everything she bore and reveal her naked soul. Even if she could spend an eternity gazing in his eyes, it would never cease to be enough.

“I’m guessing you’re not referring to the waterfall?” Y/N teased him playfully, igniting an equally playful spark in his dark eyes.

“You guessed right, lass,” he purred as his hands went to rest on her hips, pulling her closer so that their faces were nearly touching.

“But what you might have missed is that the waterfall, as beautiful and grand is it might be, holds no candle to you,” Kíli’s voice was nearly inaudible now in the presence of the waterfalls, but she had heard him well enough. Not taking her eyes off his, Y/N reached up her hand to lay it upon his bearded cheek.

“Now I know you’re dreaming,” Y/N teased him with a grin that went from ear to ear. Kíli’s previously playful expression changed to that of a more serious one while his burning eyes remained set on hers. They said eyes were the gatekeepers of the soul, a statement Y/N could hardly disagree with. Whenever she looked into his, she could swear she saw the most intimate and personal part of him, his very soul.

“You may be right, but if this is a dream,” he trailed off as if in search of words. “Then I never wish to be woken from it,” Kíli said in all seriousness that echoed all the way in his eyes. His gaze was fierce, melting everything in its path including her. The longer she stared into his eyes, the more she risked getting lost there and forgetting everything and everyone but him. They had talked about swimming in the waterfall, yet she found herself floating in his eyes, completely submerged and travelling to some distant land where only they existed. It's what made looking into his deep eyes so dangerous because she always found herself utterly consumed by them.

“Neither do I,” Y/N whispered as she tilted her head to the side, her eyes continuing to admire his. He could show her all the wonders of this world, but nothing would be as precious as his own dreamy eyes. Kíli smiled warmly at her words before crashing his lips on hers, forcing her to close her eyes and yearn for the next time she would see his. If it hadn’t been for his passionate kiss, Y/N would have considered herself robbed of something precious. Alas his kiss was the next best thing in her books.

#kili #kili the dwarf #the hobbit au #the hobbit #kili x reader #kili x you #kili x y/n #dwarves of erebor #erebor #kili fluff #kili oneshot #tolkien #tolkienverse #fotfics

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sketch-mer-6195 · 3 years

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Forsaken Chapter 7 (Thorin Oakenshield x OC)

Characters: The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Gandalf the Grey, The Goblin King, Bilbo Baggins (briefly), Sisilla.

Word Count: 2008

A/N: I had to re-watch the Goblin Town scene so many times to make it flow right along with adding poor Sisilla in. Poor blind girl does not belong in fights haha!

Forsaken Taglist: @lathalea @tschrist1 @laurfilijames @ocfairygodmother @wordspin-shares @notlostgnome @blulemonades @fizzyxcustard @ruthoakenshield

Summary: With Rivendell behind them, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield travel up and across the Misty Mountains to get to their next destination. That only leads them deep within the mountain and captured by the goblins in the Goblin Town. With all hope being loss, Thorin and the rest of the dwarves are saved by not only Gandalf, but an unexpected fighter that none were expecting to see.

As the Company had left the safety of Rivendell and began their venture through the Misty Mountains, it had its ups and downs. Both figuratively and literally. The rains and blinding light from the lightning had not helped, nor the Thunder Battle that the giants had begun to ensue. With the close encounter of losing half of his company and Bilbo Baggins, Thorin was tired and frustrated by the time they found a dry cave to shelter in and wait out the storm. Once everyone was settled in and Bofur on first watch, Thorin situated himself on his bedroll where he soon closed his eyes to try and rest. They were to leave at dawn with or without Gandalf. Frustration coursed through his veins with Bilbo and his actions from earlierrlier. The hobbit was no burglar, as he knew all along. More like a nuisance and whining babe. Letting out a long and frustrated sigh through his nose, Thorin began to think of home. Erebor. The Blue Mountains as well. His beloved younger sister, Dís. How he could hear her nagging and her complaining about how he nearly lost her only son’s after what had transpired on the ledges of the Misty Mountains.

Then, at the corner of his mind, like a sliver of light peeking through the curtains. There she was. As light as a breath of fresh air during the first snowfall of the year. Sisílla. It had only been over a week or two that he had last seen her in person and yet, she left a big impact in his mind and his heart. Something he was not expecting. Her words, her voice, her eyes, her smile. She was his starlight in this darkness that he tread alone in his mind. A beacon of hope for him that he so needed.

But that turned as he heard Bofur and Bilbo speak in hushed voices.

“You heard Thorin. I don’t belong here.” Bilbo huffed.

“But you are a part of this company.” Bofur reassured him. Something he was good at was always to see the positivity in everything.

But as he heard them converse, the ground below them began to have long cracks that the sand slipped through. The low rumble of the earth below them made Thorin jump to his feet.

“Get Up! Get Up, All of You!” Thorin ordered.

It wasn’t long until most of the Company were on their feet until the earth, well in fact, floor tipped down and swallowed them all into the mountain itself. Long, basically free falling down, down, down into the heart of the mountains until they stopped in what looked like a patchwork basket. As everyone tried to get oriented where they were exactly, a large horde of goblins sprung out of nowhere snapping and clawing at everyone in the Company. Thorin and his men tried to fight them off only to be shoved to their feet and dragged down into the heart of the mountain. What lay ahead of them, no one knew. All they knew was that they had to get out somehow. The song from the Goblin King himself rang through the caverns, this was no good for any of them. Minus Bilbo who had become lost farther down within the mountain. It didn’t take much to infuriate the Goblin King, especially with Bofur’s doubletalk as he tried to explain why they were at the goblin’s “front porch” or whatever they wanted to call it. Stripped of their weapons and Throin being pointed out and threatened to be taken and killed as there was a pretty price on his head.

The Goblin King sang in an awful and screechy voice that would make Bifur sound like a canary, that’s how painful it was to hear the creature croak. But it didn’t take much to turn the atmosphere into a dangerous one as one of the little goblins began to unsheath Orcist only to burn it’s skin with a sharp sizzle. As the goblin dropped the elven sword with disgust, nearly all hissed and screeched including the Goblin King! He scrambled to his throne and pointed an accusing and disgustingly huge finger at the rather innocent (to most eyes) blade that laid on the wooden platform.

“Bones will be shattered, necks will be rung

You will be beaten and battered

From wracks you’ll be hung!

You will die in here and never be found,

Down in the deep of Goblin Town!”

“I Know That Sword! It’s The Goblin Cleaver!” He roared. “The Bitter! The One That Severed A Thousand Necks!” The Goblin King roared.

Whips and cracks, slashes and scratches, the goblins began to beat down on the Company. As Thorin and his men tried to fight them with their bare fists, it was too much for them. The goblins had successfully pinned all of them to the ground.

“Kill Them All! Cut Off His Head!!!” The Goblin King barked, his jowls quaking with each word that slipped from his decaying looking mouth.

One of the goblins situated himself above Thorin, a large makeshift dagger in hand and deathly close to severing Thorin’s head from his own shoulders. And for that moment, Thorin believed. Truly believed that this was the end of his journey.

Suddenly, a powerful force that was as strong as a gale force wind from the north, and brighter than the sun knocked everyone to their backs and extinguished the torches in the Goblin Town. Stillness, silence, the sound of wood creaking in stress and relief beneath their very feet and bodies. The torches soon became lit once again, as if by magic. A tall figure with a staff and sword slowly emerged from the shadows. And soon two. But the second figure was much shorter and was wearing what looked like armor. As the dwarves and goblins slowly got up enough to lift their heads and get to their hands and feet, the Company were surprised to see who it was. There stood before them Gandalf which they were all relieved to see. But the second person they were all flabbergasted. Clad in light but strong elven armor, her silvery white hair braided back with some strands framing her face and a longsword. Standing close to Gandalf, they could see how she tilted her head in such a fashion that she was trying to figure out the layout in some way.

“Take up arms.” Gandalf called out as the group slowly rose to their feet. “Fight… FIGHT!” He finally ordered.

And the battle ensued. The Company, gathering their weapons with speed and agility, for a dwarf that is, as they all began to ward and battle against the goblins that fought back. Thorin grabbed a hold of Orcist and with expert precision, he began to take goblin’s down by the droves. Suddenly a streak of silver and white raced past his eye as he saw whom he thought he would never see again.

“Sisílla?!”

The oracle had beheaded three goblins with one fell swoop of her sword and spun her head to face his general direction and smiled. A brief moment of time froze for them both before the sounds of the battle brought them both back to the present. Thorin had successfully blocked the Goblin King’s attack as the power of his sword threw the king to his back and off the platform. As they all cleared the path the chase was on. Gandalf kept Sisílla close to him and Throin as they tried to escape the city. Goblins from every crook and crevice, shadow and crack jumped, bit, clawed and swiped at the Company. And with every attack, the dwarves, Gandalf and Sisílla had a counter attack.

Cuts and slices, death and close moments that either Thorin, Gandalf, or another one of the dwarves had to at least once or twice pull Sisílla down, back or away from an attack or arrow. Running to a path that had been destroyed and held by raggedy rope, Kíli cut one of the supporting rope that separated their portion away from the horde of goblins that was drawing near which caused the oracle to lose her balance and quickly land on her hands and knees. Thorin quickly gathered her up and kept a grip onto her baldric to keep her steady and close as he had no clue how she would be able to judge where to jump. Some of his men were able to jump onto the next landing before the platform swung back to the horde of goblins. Swarmed once more, the other half of the Company fought off the goblins until they drew closer to the platform where the other half of the Company awaited for them.

“JUMP!” Thorin barked as he wrapped an arm around her waist, making Sisílla follow suit and take a blind leap and land in the grasp of the other dwarves.

Fíli was the last to leap for freedom and cut the swinging platform to fall into the caverns below. The battle wasn’t over yet nor was the escape as they all continued to fight, cut down and run to leave the dreaded Goblin Town. And the light of the end of the tunnel was before them as they saw the bridge that would have led them into the tunnels and soon out of the Misty Mountains. But it was thwarted as the Goblin King, yes the one that Thorin easily deflected and pushed him over the edge, had come back from the depths of the darkness and blocked their way out.

“You thought you could escape me!?” The king bellowed as he swung an attack against Gandalf.

The Grey Wizard stumbled back where he was caught by some of the dwarves. Thorin still kept Sisílla close to his side, his hand white knuckling her baldric just in case they had to run once again or fight. He had to keep her close. This was no place for a woman, let alone the Oracle of Middle Earth to be in. Why was she here? What brought on the audacity to be with Gandalf and not in the safety of Rivendell? He promised her that he would send word to her. So, why was she here!? Those questions were going to be answered, but for now, they had to get out of the mountains.

“What are you going to do now, wizard?!” The King sneered meniachelly at Gandalf.With a helping shove, Gandalf stabbed the goblin in the eye before slicing across his grotesque and large belly with Glamdrig. As the king fell to his knees, he looked up at Gandalf in deep shock.

“Well that’ll do it.” Was his last words until Gandalf cut across his throat and died.

But the sudden fall of the Goblin King gave way to the support on the multi-layered platform that the entire group stood upon. All of a sudden, they were free falling and sliding down. Down, down, down to the pits of darkness. Thorin pushed Sisílla to the floor to keep her planted in place and close to his chest. His hand cradled her head for protection as they all knew they had to stop eventually. And they did with a loud crash. But surprisingly in one piece. Sifting out of the debris, Gandalf, Sisílla and Thorin looked at the destruction they had survived and were a bit surprised that they did make it to tell the tale.

Bofur looked up, just as surprised as the others. “Well that could have been worse.”

Ironically… it did. The dead body of the Goblin King came crashing down upon the Company which earned groans of displeasure and slight pain. As they tried to get out from under the weight of the dead giant goblin, more goblins came crawling down the walls to ensue the chase once more.

“There’s too many, we can’t take them on!” Dwalin stated as he helped Orí out of the rubble.

And Gandalf knew he was right. “We must get to the sunlight. Retreat!”

Chapter 6 - Chapter 8

Master List Link

#Forsaken #Thorin #The Company of Thorin Oakenshield #Goblin Town #Gandalf #the hobbit #thorin x oc

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theworldsownoptimist · 2 years

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—Sunday Morning by Wallace Stevens

Illustrations: Fleurs d'après nature et fleurs ornementales by Ernest Guillot

Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice. She dreams a little, and she feels the dark Encroachment of that old catastrophe, As a calm darkens among water-lights. The pungent oranges and bright, green wings Seem things in some procession of the dead, Winding across wide water, without sound. The day is like wide water, without sound, Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet Over the seas, to silent Palestine, Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.

Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams? Shall she not find in comforts of the sun, In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else In any balm or beauty of the earth, Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven? Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow; Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued Elations when the forest blooms; gusty Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights; All pleasures and all pains, remembering The bough of summer and the winter branch. These are the measures destined for her soul.

Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth. No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind. He moved among us, as a muttering king, Magnificent, would move among his hinds, Until our blood, commingling, virginal, With heaven, brought such requital to desire The very hinds discerned it, in a star. Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be The blood of paradise? And shall the earth Seem all of paradise that we shall know? The sky will be much friendlier then than now, A part of labor and a part of pain, And next in glory to enduring love, Not this dividing and indifferent blue.

She says, “I am content when wakened birds, Before they fly, test the reality Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings; But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields Return no more, where, then, is paradise?” There is not any haunt of prophecy, Nor any old chimera of the grave, Neither the golden underground, nor isle Melodious, where spirits gat them home, Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm Remote on heaven’s hill, that has endured As April’s green endures; or will endure Like her remembrance of awakened birds, Or her desire for June and evening, tipped By the consummation of the swallow’s wings.

She says, “But in contentment I still feel The need of some imperishable bliss.” Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams And our desires. Although she strews the leaves Of sure obliteration on our paths, The path sick sorrow took, the many paths Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love Whispered a little out of tenderness, She makes the willow shiver in the sun For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet. She causes boys to pile new plums and pears On disregarded plate. The maidens taste And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.

Is there no change of death in paradise? Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs Hang always heavy in that perfect sky, Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth, With rivers like our own that seek for seas They never find, the same receding shores That never touch with inarticulate pang? Why set the pear upon those river-banks Or spice the shores with odors of the plum? Alas, that they should wear our colors there, The silken weavings of our afternoons, And pick the strings of our insipid lutes! Death is the mother of beauty, mystical, Within whose burning bosom we devise Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.

Supple and turbulent, a ring of men Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn Their boisterous devotion to the sun, Not as a god, but as a god might be, Naked among them, like a savage source. Their chant shall be a chant of paradise, Out of their blood, returning to the sky; And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice, The windy lake wherein their lord delights, The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills, That choir among themselves long afterward. They shall know well the heavenly fellowship Of men that perish and of summer morn. And whence they came and whither they shall go The dew upon their feet shall manifest.

She hears, upon that water without sound, A voice that cries, “The tomb in Palestine Is not the porch of spirits lingering. It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.” We live in an old chaos of the sun, Or old dependency of day and night, Or island solitude, unsponsored, free, Of that wide water, inescapable. Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail Whistle about us their spontaneous cries; Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness; And, in the isolation of the sky, At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink, Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

#poetry #literature #made this for my wall but it's cute so im putting it here #full poem under the cut x

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brobadil · 3 years

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The Dane of Erebor, Part Thirty

(Gif credit @heartbreak3r. Original post here.)

Title: The Dane of Erebor

Summary: They grew up on tales of that mountain. It was home to their people, but it was never home to her. She was destined to become the hero of Erebor, The Lonely Mountain, she was destined to protect a home that was never hers. To Lorelai, home was never a place, it was always a person. Her home was always with him.

Pairing: Fili x OC (Lorelai)

Word Count: 1629

“Thorin!” Fili’s voice was stolen by the wind.

Thorin was one eagle over from us, dangling from its claws like a ragdoll. I could see nothing but his feet and one dangling hand, but that was all I needed to see. From the blood dripping from his fingers to the unnatural stillness of his body, the entire scene looked too similar to the one from my dream. I bit my lip and tried to banish all negative thoughts from my mind.

Thorin was alive, he had to be. He meant too much to too many people to be dead. All around me, I could see grief-stricken faces mourning for a king we weren’t even sure was dead yet.

The eagles took us high into the sky. Had my arm been just a little longer, I could have touched the clouds, as is my fingertips just barely missed them. The sun rose on a new day, one without orcs or wargs on our tails.

They took us to a single peak in the middle of the Misty Mountains. It wasn’t much of a mountain, more like a jagged spike protruding from the ground. The very top was so small, I wasn’t sure all of us would fit on it. If we did manage to get on it, I wasn’t sure how we would get down. The edges were sheer cliffs, it was practically a straight drop.

Thorin was dropped first. With the tenderness of a mother, the eagle rested Thorin on the peak. His sword dropped at his side as his entire body fell limp. I could feel Fili go stiff when he saw his uncle’s body. From the outside looking in, it seemed as if he were dead. There was no life left within him as he laid, still, on that mountain top. I held tightly to Fili’s arm, doing my best to comfort him as he never tore his eyes from Thorin.

One by one, we were dropped on the very same mountain peak. Gandalf landed next with Dis and Kili not too far behind him. The wizard wasted no time in rushing to Thorin and crouching next to him. He had his hand over Thorin’s eyes whenever Fili and I landed.

Fili was the first to rush to Thorin’s side, though I wasn’t too far behind. He held so tightly to my hand, I was sure it was going to fall off. With each step we took, he squeezed tighter, but I said nothing. If squeezing my hand is what brought him comfort I would not stop him.

Bofur and Bombur came up behind us, each one laying a hand on my shoulders. The entire company came to stand and wait for Thorin to wake up. All eyes were on him, all our breaths were held, as we waited.

Gandalf removed his hand and Thorin almost instantly opened his eyes. As soon as they fluttered open, slowly but surely, the entire company let out a relieved breath. Fili finally loosened his grip on my hand and I was certain Dis was about to start crying. Thorin blinked rapidly and his first words were, “The halfling.”

“It’s alright,” Gandalf smiled, “Bilbo is right here.”

Thorin raised his head to stare at Bilbo. The Hobbit in question looked more relieved than any of us, I swear he almost fell down right then and there. He was swaying on his feet and smiling wider than I had ever seen him smile. His entire being lit up whenever Thorin looked at him.

Dwalin, Kili, Fili, and Dis all rushed forward whenever Thorin began to stand. Dwalin and Kili got him standing while Fili kept him from falling backwards. Whenever he was on his feet, it was Dis who jammed her shoulder under his arm to keep him from falling.

“You!” Thorin exclaimed, whenever he finally had his balance.

The air quickly became cold. I sucked in a sharp breath, filling the chill inside and outside of my body. Thorin shook Dis off and slowly stomped his way to the nervous looking Bilbo, “What were you doing?!”

Thorin’s voice was dark and deep. He had used that voice on us plenty of times. Whether it was scolding Fili for stealing his sword, yelling at Kili to get away from the goats, or at all three of us for stealing cookies. I had heard that voice before, and I was just as nervous then as I had been every time before.

Bilbo stuttered, doing his best to find a response but coming up with nothing. He took a single, hesitant, step back as Thorin took several towards him, “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

“Thorin, he was protecting you,” Dis jumped to defend Bilbo.

“Stay out of this, Dis,” Thorin didn’t even look at her as he finally stood above the Hobbit, “Did I not say you would be a burden? That you wouldn’t survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?”

Dis looked ready to hit Thorin into next week. Azog didn’t kill him, but Dis very well might. She was already balling her fists and stomping to her brother before she was suddenly stopped.

Thorin’s demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. His entire being melted, becoming as soft as a satin pillow fresh out of the wash. All tension left his body, and the brooding dwarf I had known for years was gone. In his place came the dwarf behind the mask. This was the Thorin as he was deep in his heart, the one with more soft spots than hard and a heart of gold worn right on his sleeve.

“I have never been so wrong in my entire life,” even his voice was softer, breaking mid-sentence.

Thorin didn’t wait for permission or anything. He reached forward, pulling Bilbo into the most bone crushing hug I had ever seen him produce. Before that moment, I had barely even seen him hug his family. He hadn’t hugged Fili and Kili since they were kids, and he only hugged Dis when she forced him too. Right then, he enveloped Bilbo in the tightest bear hug filled with so much adoration it was sickening.

The entire company was dead silent, not from fear, but from shock. Every single one of us could have easily fainted right then and there. I fully believed Azog replaced Thorin with a completely different dwarf and we didn’t realize.

Only Dis was unphased. She crossed her arms over her chest, smiling softly and shaking her head. I was just barely close enough to hear her whisper under her breath, “It’s about time.”

“This isn’t real,” Kili muttered, “This can’t be real.”

“It’s real,” I whispered.

“That can’t be Thorin.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Someone who hugs, obviously.”

Thorin pulled away from Bilbo gently, keeping his hands on the Hobbit’s shoulders, “I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No- no, I would’ve doubted me too,” Bilbo shrugged, “I’m not a hero or a warrior. I’m not a Took or a Baggins, not even a Burglar. I’m just a Hobbit.”

“You are more than that, Master Burglar, I see that clearly now,” Thorin smiled, “You are one of us and you will always have your place among us.”

I thought Bilbo was going to start crying right then and there. He did his best to hold himself together, but I could see he was melting as well. His shoulders fell as his eyes began to sparkle. It took me a moment to realize it came from tears he refused to shed.

The company began to celebrate for more reasons than one. Dis surged forward to wrap Thorin in a hug before quickly turning to berate him for going after Azog. The rest of the company all cheered and exchanged hugs as I glanced up at Fili. He looked down at me, his smile mirroring my own.

He pulled me into an embrace, one that let out everything both of us were feeling. I held onto him like it was the first and the last time. Slowly, as we got further along the quest, each hug felt more and more like the last. With death around every corner and a new danger with every step, each moment very well could be our last. I knew it deep in my heart and, from the way he held me close to his chest, I could tell Fili felt it too.

“Mahal,” Dis’ voice caught all of our ears, “Thorin, look.”

We all turned to see the two siblings stepping up to the edge of the cliff. They stood mighty and proud, but their eyes were full of wonder. Both of them gazed longingly, somberly, at a single solitary peak just barely within distance.

“Is that what I think it is?” Bilbo muttered.

“It can’t be,” Fili stepped up behind Thorin and Dis, pulling me along with him, “Amad, Uncle, is that-”

Fili fell short. Kili stepped up to the opposite side, his eyes wide and full of the same wonder. It was Gandalf who finally answered, “It is, my friend. Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, the last great kingdom of the dwarves in Arda.”

“Home,” Dis glanced at Thorin, doing her best to ignore the tears in her eyes, “Our home.”

Thorin flung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. The two of them nearly started crying as they gazed at the mountain they had longed for for so long. The rest of us weren’t too far behind. I glanced over my shoulder, just barely able to see Balin was the only one with the courage to openly cry.

“We’re almost there,” I gripped Fili’s shirt and gazed up at him.

Fili smiled, “We’re almost there.”

~~~

Tags: @pikkunilkki

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foursideharmony · 4 years

Text

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 6)

Summary: Logan goes for help. It doesn’t go well, but help (?) arrives anyway. Meanwhile, Patton makes a discovery.

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: There are some pretty hairy descriptions of violence in this chapter--brief, but potentially vivid. Also, Remus is finally involved, so watch out for that.

Word Count: 4,445

Read on AO3: here

People often underestimate how fast bears can run. They're so bulky, and most of the time are content to lumber along in an unhurried fashion. The best way to stop underestimating them is surely to be chased by one—anyone who experiences that will remember bears as the speedy animals that they actually are for however long the rest of their life might be.

The second-best way, though, might just be to ride one at a full gallop over miles of Narnian countryside.

Logan wondered just how fast they were going—he estimated between 35 and 40 kilometers per hour. With visual cues, he could have pinpointed their average speed more precisely, but he was clinging to Stoutpaws's back with his head down to minimize air resistance and his eyes closed to keep the freezing wind out of them. The bear's fur was unpleasantly coarse and smelled of a cloying mixture of dirt, honey, and wild animal, but Logan pushed all that to the back of his mind. This was necessary.

It was hours before they paused, and then only so Stoutpaws could shuffle to the top of a small bluff and confirm their destination. “That wood there,” he said, pointing with one paw. “Lantern Waste. That's where you came from, right, sir?”

“If the word 'Lantern' in the name refers to an antique lamppost stationed in the woods and inexplicably in operation, then yes. I believe the door we came through is just beyond it.”

“You use a lot of big words, don't you, sir?”

“I value precision in communication.”

They continued. Another hour brought them to the edge of Lantern Waste, and Stoutpaws slowed and let Logan dismount so that they could navigate more carefully. “Thus far, I do not recognize any specific landmarks,” the Logical Side noted after a time. “But it occurs to me that the lamppost is a unique feature in this forest, composed primarily of cast iron in contrast to the natural wood and stone that surrounds us. And I am given to understand that bears have an exceptionally keen olfactory sense. Perhaps you could locate it by scent?”

“I can certainly try, sir.” Stoutpaws reared up on his hind paws and turned his head from side to side with great nostril-flaring sniffs.

“As long as we are conversing, I would like to mention that there is no need to address me with an honorific. If you wish, you may call me by my name: Logan.”

“Oh no, sir, I couldn't do that. You're to be King, after all. And a fine one you'll make with your careful way of speaking, if I do say so myself.”

Logan found that he had no response to that. He recalled that the original book ended with the four children being crowned as monarchs of Narnia, but he couldn't say the prospect appealed to him. Neither did it pall, however. Still, he was pretty sure Stoutpaws had just complimented him, so he offered a nod of appreciation when he next met the beast's eye.

“No iron yet,” Stoutpaws was saying, “but I think the wind is against me. And there's something else...” He awkwardly pivoted on his paws, smelling to the northeast. “Hang on, that's the scent of reindeer! And lacquered wood! It's a sleigh! It's him—the White Warlock! He's after us!” He dropped back down to all fours and began pacing in a tight circle. “What shall we do, sir?”

“Let me up,” said Logan. “Head deeper into the wood and keep trying to smell out the lamppost.”

“I can't outpace the Warlock's sleigh!”

“Do your best, then, to buy us some time, and I'll work out a plan in the meantime.”

“Yes, sir!”

Stoutpaws took off at a dead gallop through the wood. They hadn't gone far when his nostrils flared wide and he declared, “I smell iron! ( puff, puff ) At least we're heading ( puff ) the right way!”

But just as they came within sight of the incongruous fixture, they began to hear, from somewhere behind them, the jingle of sleigh harness. “Oh, sir, he's coming ! He'll catch us for sure!”

Logan found himself wincing at the young bear's plaintive tone. “Let me down here.” Stoutpaws skidded to a halt and Logan dismounted once again. The sound of the sleigh was not as close as they had feared; Roman must have had to slow down among the trees. “I'll make it the rest of the way to the wardrobe on my own. You find a place to hide, and if anything should go wrong...please return to the others and let them know.”

“Nothing doing, sir! I-I promised to protect you with my life!”

“The best way for you to protect any of us right now is with information. Remember that, Stoutpaws. Knowledge is far more precious than strength or speed or even magic. Get yourself behind cover. Protect what you know.”

Stoutpaws's eyes were wide under his ears, half-flattened with fear. “Yes, sir,” he said meekly, before loping away toward denser brush. Logan stooped to pick up a pebble as the sound of the sleigh drew nearer and turned to sprint toward the lamppost just as it broke through the closest layer of trees and he heard Roman's bark of triumph.

Logan's turn of speed surprised even him, but he supposed it was only to be expected with the combination of adrenaline and fresh, unpolluted air. He had nothing on a reindeer-drawn sleigh, however, and with the grove of the wardrobe mere yards away, he felt a whiff of animal breath on the back of his head. In the next instant, he hurled the pebble as hard as he could into the grove and flung himself to one side in order to avoid being run down, losing his coat in the process. He landed hard, half-winded, the chill of the snow biting into his suddenly unprotected forearms, and wasn't able to pick himself up as quickly as he liked. He had only managed to raise himself up to his knees before Roman stood over him, looking every bit as menacing as he had that morning.

“I would have thought Virgil would be the one to try and escape. Did you really think I'd let any of you just leave?”

“Roman,” Logan panted, “this is highly uncharacteristic behavior for you. I would adv—”

“Spare me, Pointdexter, you're not my guidance counselor!” He reached out, and Logan found his chin forcibly tipped up by the end of what seemed to be an ornately carved icicle. “What was that you threw just then, Logan?”

Logan met his gaze with rock-steadiness. “A message.”

Roman's eyes widened and he turned to shout at his Dwarf attendant. “Hurry up! Get in there and intercept it!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Roman watched him scamper off before turning back to Logan. “It must suck to get so close to your goal and then fail at the last minute.”

Now that it was just the two of them, Logan noted, Roman had reverted to a more colloquial mode of speech. He carefully said nothing, balanced precariously between the desire to keep Roman talking and perhaps obtain clues to his precise mental state and how it had come about...and the need to avoid angering him further.

“Well? Don't you have anything to say?”

So much for remaining quiet... “I regret this course of events.”

“Funnily enough, I don't. Strike a pose, nerd.” Roman raised the icicle over his head, and Logan realized, just too late to defend himself, that it was actually a magic wand. He reflexively cringed away, taking whatever small comfort he could from the fact that he had succeeded at every part of his plan that was under his direct control...

Patton decided to go for a walk. He'd had no luck at all cheering the Narnians up—if anything, their sadness was piling up on him, worsening his own—and he had reached the point where it was either get some fresh air and solitude, or have a breakdown in front of everyone.

Virgil insisted upon making sure it was safe first. They sent out a Talking Dog called Scuffer and a Raven by the name of Sallowpad out to scout the area by land and air, respectively, and make sure none of the enemy were nearby. Then one of the Fauns loaned Patton his pipes, so that he could blow an alert in case of any surprises. Thus equipped, Patton bundled into his fur coat and scrambled out of the shelter just ahead of the tears that were threatening to fall. The cold, clean air helped him gulp them back for the time being, and once he got farther from the camp, farther from all those forlorn faces and despondent voices, the space under the trees, with only his own quietly crunching footsteps and misty breaths for companions, helped to dissipate the horrid feelings.

Everything was going wrong. He couldn't deny that. The story wasn't going the way it should, not at all, and he and Virgil and Logan weren't familiar enough with it to figure out what the problem was and nudge it back on track, and he'd tried talking to the Narnians about the White Witch but their responses were always about the White Warlock as if whatever was going on with Roman had overwritten her, and...and...and...

And if Patton understood the situation with the Dryads correctly, Roman had just ordered someone killed in cold blood. She was just a figment of the Imagination, but it was still a cruel, vicious, tyrannical act! He just couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of Roman, the noble fairy tale prince, doing something like that. But he knew he had to fix it, but how could he, when he couldn't figure out how it had come about?

How could he, when he couldn't even inject a little cheer into a ragtag group of talking animals and fantasy creatures?

He came to a small clearing—well, more of a space between large trunks. The branches of the trees arched overhead, nearly meeting in the middle, so that in the summer, with everything in full leaf, the ground beneath would be too shaded to let anything other than ferns and moss grow. Right now, of course, there was nothing but a thick layer of snow covering a slightly thinner layer of dead leaves...except in one spot, where there was a patch of sun that seemed to have built up just enough warmth to let the snow melt and reveal the musty earth.

And sitting in that patch of sun was a cat.

Despite everything, Patton almost laughed out loud—probably the only outdoor spot in all of Narnia that was even a little warm, and a cat had found it. The stifled laugh came out as more of a snort, and the cat—which had been lying down in a semi-circle with its back to him—twisted its head to see where the noise had come from. “Hiya, kitty,” Patton said shyly. “I didn't mean to bother you.”

The cat stood up, yawned, stretched, and sat. Now facing Patton, it looked up at him with intensely golden eyes. It was a handsome creature, with long, tawny-colored hair that didn't seem to have picked up any mats or burrs.

“I sure wish I could pet you,” Patton went on. “I think I could use some furry snuggles right now, but I'm afraid you'd set off my allergies.”

The cat hopped to its feet and walked up to the Moral Side, turning its body sideways as it approached. It stopped about a foot shy of making contact with his legs and gazed up at him, as if asking permission. “Well...” Patton said, “...I guess a minute or two can't hurt. If anyone asks I can blame my symptoms on the cold air.” He stooped and held out his hand, and the cat rammed itself against his legs before half-rearing up to rub its head against his outstretched knuckles. “Heh, listen to me, planning to tell a fib. I must be hanging out with Janus too much. Wow, you sure are friendly, aren't you? Do you talk at all? No? I guess even here, not everything can talk.”

He slouched until he was sitting with his back against one of the trees and shifted from letting the cat rub his hand to actively running his fingers through the fur of its head. “I just don't want Virgil to think I'm not being careful. I don't think I could stand disappointing anyone else today, you know?” He sniffed a few times and couldn't tell whether it was hay fever or his emotions starting to spill over again. “I don't understand what's happening , kitty. One of my best friends is acting like the bad guy! And he's always been so idealistic! He hates evil! What could possibly make someone do a one-eighty like that?”

He leaned his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. The sun must have been hitting the wood too, because it felt incongruously warm against his scalp. He continued to card his fingers through the cat's thick fur as fat tears finally began to leak from between his eyelids. Not hay fever, then. He didn't bother holding them back anymore. No one was around to be annoyed or to make a fuss over poor, sensitive, fragile Patton. It was just him and this startlingly affectionate feral cat. For a few minutes, he let the tears flow. They didn't freeze on his face—it wasn't quite that cold—so that was all right. They did make his cheeks burn a little from the salt and the chill of evaporation, but that was all part of the cleansing process. There was no better short-term therapy for icky feelings than a good cry.

The faucet gradually shut itself off. He suddenly envisioned Roman, the White Warlock, with his too-pale coloration and his huge ermine train and his icy crown with that monster diamond on it and his retinue of horror creatures. The image was unusually clear in his mind (Patton's imagination had always worked more based on how things made him feel, not how they looked), almost as if it were a painting that he could scrutinize at his leisure. For some reason, his attention kept getting drawn back to that diamond. Patton grew very pensive. If the diamond was drawing his notice, then maybe his gut had picked up on something important about it, and Patton was not in the habit of ignoring his gut. Not when it craved chocolate chip cookies, and not in situations like this.

He had to file the thought away for later, because the cat was suddenly pawing at his leg. “What is it, buddy? Are we done with pets?”

The cat ran a short distance away, stopped, and looked back over its shoulder at him, blinking meaningfully.

“You want me to follow you? Okay, gimme a sec to get up.” He braced against the tree and heaved himself to his feet, then let the cat lead him out of the clearing.

(He completely failed to notice that the snow dwindled away under its paws, only to return as it passed.)

He followed his guide for perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes, to a small grove of evergreens, like a forgotten Christmas tree farm. He hadn't know what to expect, but he was surprised anyway by the sight of none other than Ailim, kneeling near the center of the grove, her posture slumped. Directly in front of her was the stump of a pine tree that had been sawn off about two feet above the ground. The cut looked quite fresh, and—oh. Oh. Oh...heck.

“Ailim?” he said.

“Oh!” she responded, startled. “It's Patton, isn't it? What are you doing here?”

“My new fuzzy friend brought me.”

She just looked perplexed. “What friend?”

Patton looked around, but the cat was suddenly nowhere to be seen. “Well, he was here...I guess he led me here for a reason.”

“I apologize for appearing in this unseemly state.”

“No, please don't! You have every right to be out of sorts! Do you...maybe...want to talk about it?”

She looked downcast again. “There is little enough to talk about. The Hags divined the whereabouts of Muricata's tree and the party dragged us both here. She could barely keep her feet, so they made me hold her up. They used a saw. I felt her agony as her trunk was gouged apart.”

Patton flinched. His gorge rose slightly.

“When the tree fell, I felt the life leave her. Then she vanished from my arms. My sister...she is gone from the world. It is as if she had never sprouted.”

Patton rushed forward, shrugged out of his coat, and draped it over the miserable Dryad. She wasn't crying, but she evidently had been earlier; twin trails of hardened yellow resin ran from her eyes down to her chin. “I'm so sorry,” he murmured. Beyond that, he was at a loss. He wanted to promise her to make it better, but...her sister was gone . Murdered. Cut down in her prime (literally).

They hadn't even been neat about it. The stump was scarred with a shallow cut well below where it had eventually been felled. Patton ran his fingers over it, his heart squeezing in vicarious anguish. It seemed they had tortured Muricata first...but Ailim hadn't mentioned torture in her brief description of the execution.

As if she could tell what he was thinking, she said, “They started there, but the Warlock told them to do it higher up instead. I don't know why.”

Patton's heart was suddenly hammering against his ribs. This felt important . What was he looking for? What was the difference between the lower cut and the upper one, that Roman would make that call? Did he just want a convenient place to sit down in the forest? No, that was silly. Patton wished he were smart like Logan so he could figure out this sort of thing. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again they refocused of their own accord at the farther edge of the cut stump, where there was a sprig of greenery...

Patton walked around and peered closely at a few sprouts of fresh green needles growing directly out of the side of the trunk, as happens on pine trees. “Um...Ailim?,” he said, his voice wobbling with uncertainty, “I don't know if this helps at all, but this tree isn't totally dead. They left a growing part.”

“What?” Ailim said breathlessly, letting the coat fall from her shoulders as she sprang up. She leaned over the stump without touching it, peering at the needles. “You speak the truth. There is life left in the tree; it may yet regrow.” She gathered an armload of snow from the forest floor and spread it over the top of the stump. “In the meantime, this will protect it.”

“Does that mean your sister would come back?”

“I cannot say. The tree might acquire a new spirit, or Muricata might emerge again but without her previous memories. Or it might remain an unawakened tree, alive but with no sentient soul. But it seems that for all his wickedness, the White Warlock chose to leave this door open.”

“Yeah...” Patton said. “He made sure they cut above the growth. And he let you go. Ailim, will you come back to the camp with me? Everyone will be glad to see you're okay, and I think we should all sit down and try to figure out what it means that Roman did this. My head's starting to hurt from trying to solve these puzzles on my own.”

“Nevertheless,” said Ailim, fetching Patton's coat and offering it back to him, “you spotted this sign. You have given me a measure of hope, however slim. Thank you, Patton.”

And as they started back toward the Hill of the Stone Table, Patton began to feel like a few things were going right after all.

Halfway there, it suddenly occurred to him that the cat hadn't set off his allergies in the slightest.

Huh. That was weird.

Anything can happen in the Mindscape. Expect, as they say, the unexpected.

But Janus was of the opinion that there was no excuse for him to be walking along the upstairs hallway simply minding Thomas's business and suddenly get jumped out of nowhere. One instant everything was normal, the next he was flat on his back, struggling to hold a knife away from his face while the wielder of the knife, who had bulbous features and a shocking quantity of beard, was snarling at him. He caught something about a message and a warlock, but his attacker seemed to have worked himself up into a lather long before encountering Janus and was, in the main, unintelligible.

This left Janus with no clue what the fellow wanted, and when you don't know what someone wants you can't give it to them (or convince them that you've given it to them and pocket the difference) and get them to stop trying to stick a knife in your eye. Add to that the fact that he'd been completely unprepared for this, and that his attacker was noticeably stronger than himself, and Janus was well and truly up [Censored for indelicate language] Creek, sans paddle.

If there was one thing he hated, it was not being in quiet control of a situation. If there was one thing he utterly despised, it was having to adapt on the fly.

Well, if anyone in the Mindscape knew how to cope with [Censored] Creek...besides, this was probably his fault anyway.

“REMUSSSSSS!!!” Janus hissed, even though he was trying not to. High stress had that effect on him.

He heard, in the following order: rapidly approaching footsteps, “What's u—WOW!”, a sickening crunch as Remus's morningstar made contact, and the heavy thump of a body hitting the wall. Then Janus was free. He sat up to take stock.

His attacker was definitely dead, given the shape of his head, and he was a lot shorter than Janus would have assumed given his strength—a fantasy dwarf, then. That was all he was able to discern before the being evaporated into sparkling motes of light that dissipated: proof positive that he had been a figment. “Mind explaining what that was all about, Your Disgrace?” he said.

Remus was pouting at his weapon, probably because the victim's blood had also vanished. “Your guess is as good as mine, my favorite phallic symbol. Must have been one of my brother's.”

That gave Janus pause. He'd assumed, once Roman barged in on the morning's assemblage and then the entire cadre vanished for the day, that he had taken them on a jaunt in the Imagination...but to let a mayhem-oriented figment out unsupervised? That suggested...difficulties. And when he considered the dwarf's vague reference to a message...hm.

“Purely in the interest of maintaining order in this psyche,” he said in the most chipper tone he could manage, “I am going to get to the bottom of this.” He stood up, dusted himself off, and headed for Roman's room.

Remus, unsurprisingly, was right behind him. “Sounds like a blast! There's always plenty to maim when Roman gets into adventure mode! I'm coming too!”

“I'd be simply delighted to have your company,” said Janus. Remus, bless him, either missed the sarcasm or didn't care.

Roman's room was a mess, which was nothing out of the ordinary. This mess appeared to be the result of a deliberate ransacking, which was. Presumably the dwarf was the culprit; perhaps he'd been looking for the “message.”

The doorway to the Imagination, which had taken the form of a large wooden double-doored cupboard, stood wide open. One door actually hung askew from a single hinge, befitting the overall atmosphere of the room. Janus summoned his crook as a precaution before stepping inside.

About a minute later, he was already having regrets. Roman had made some sort of winter wonderland, and Janus's semi-reptilian biology was already starting to protest being made to function in the low temperatures. He turned up his collar, pulled down his hat, and tucked his free hand into his capelet, but he was going to have to find more layers somewhere. Maybe he could get Remus to create him a nice wool coat. Or some longjohns. (Although he was hesitant to ask, as he wouldn't put it past the Duke to instead grant him a yak pelt so fresh that it was still bleeding.)

“Hey, look, someone made an ice sculpture of the buzzkill!”

Janus looked up from his ruminations. Remus had indeed discovered a life-sized, transparent statue of Logan, but upon closer inspection, it proved to be not ice but rock crystal (silicon dioxide, as Logan himself would specify). The Logical Side was depicted kneeling, leaning back on one hand and flinging the other one up and out as if in self-defense. His expression was decidedly alarmed, and taken as a whole, the presentation made Janus distinctly uneasy. And the more he inspected the sculpture, the more that feeling grew. The thing was unreasonably detailed. He could make out the knit texture of his polo shirt and individual strands of hair...and because it was transparent, he could see that the carving went layers deep—Logan's necktie ran completely around underneath his shirt collar, and his eyes were engraved behind the lenses of his glasses.

“Welp!” Remus was saying, raising his morningstar. “Smashy smashy!”

The horrible truth dawned on Janus just in time. He lashed out with his crook to snag Remus's ankle and pull him off-balance before he could bring the weapon down.

“Awwwww! What did you do that for, J-Anus?”

Janus found himself trembling, and no longer could he blame it entirely on the cold. “Speaking purely as a hypothetical,” he said with an embarrassing creak in his voice, “what if that weren't, by the strictest definition, a sculpture?”

Remus tilted his head in confusion. “Well, what else would it...” His kohl-rimmed eyes widened in some chaotic hybrid of shock and glee. “Nooo! You mean someone's gone and put the ol' Medusa whammy on Geekboy?”

“Obviously.” Janus looked around the snowy forest, wary of everything. “I think,” he said, choosing his words with the utmost of care, because they were the truth, “that there is a great deal of trouble afoot here.”

#sanders sides #fanfiction #lamp/calm #Platonic LAMP/CALM #dlampr #platonic dlampr #narnia #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #villainous roman

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prophecy-is-inevitable · 4 years

Text

Indulgence of Divinity: Chapter 1

Michael Langdon x OFC

Four months after the events at Outpost 3, Michael begins to grow restless in the Sanctuary. His powers continue to grow seemingly without a purpose, and the Cooperative is clamoring to know his next move. Help arrives from an unlikely source that changes everything Michael thought he knew about being the Antichrist.

Rebuilding the world requires a delicate balance-destruction and creation, death and life, dark and light. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to do it alone.

Chapter Warnings: Mild Language (we’re just warming up)

Word Count: 3846

So excited to finally have the first chapter posted! Hope you enjoy! (Also posted on AO3 under the same title.)

------------------------

Chapter One: Court of the Divinity

Water droplets traced the lean outlines along his torso and thighs while others collected in the hollow at the small of his back. The aqueous kisses briefly reminded him of caresses that yearned to memorize each dip and swell of a lover’s form. His eyes drifted closed as he tipped his head back, lips drawing apart to pass contented sighs, in an attempt to savor the sensation. How long it had been since it was more than an illusion… His head lulled with a deliberate slowness to feel the tension ebb and flow from the corded muscles across his shoulders, up the base of his skull, and down the center of his spine. A delicate floral note occasionally touched his senses that he couldn’t quite place as past or present, simply familiar; nonetheless, it momentarily quelled the chaotic swarm of thoughts plaguing his mind. Even kings deserved a reverie now and again.

Michael’s gaze flitted about the room as he stood from the bathing pool and retrieved his towel hanging from the decorative iron gate.

Flickering candles lined the stone alcoves and shelves carved centuries ago out of the grotto rock and filled the room with a serene luminance. Their reflections danced and swayed on the surface of the water only to writhe in the wake of his languid movements. The sheer array of burning wicks had produced a surprising warmth in the chamber–a warmth that drew memories from the rugged stone and imparted the scent of incense from pilgrimages long-forgotten into the air. A shrine to the Lord and his archangel Michael that once stood proudly at the front of the holy cavern had been reduced to nothing more than an opulent light fixture. It brought him a sense of satisfaction in no small measure, and a smug curl of his lips accompanied the thoughts of sacrilege.

‘How fitting that the Sanctuary of Saint Michael Archangel, his oldest shrine in Western Europe and a holy destination for centuries, would become the seat of power for the Antichrist of the same name. The Sanctuary of the Apocalypse,’ Michael mused while patting himself dry. The infernal heat thrumming through his veins made short work of any dampness left to his skin. The grotto he stood in had once been the location of a church. Since coming into the possession of the Cooperative, the pews had been removed to make room for a stepped recess to be carved into the floor and filled with water in the style of an ancient bath–an extension of his personal chambers. ‘Someone clearly thrives on irony.’ Of course, it was not to be lost on him and his smirk of satisfaction only grew as he pulled on the sleek black fabric of his pants.

The journey back to his rooms saw the return of Michael’s incessant thoughts of uncertainty. The existence of the Sanctuary had been somewhat of a surprise even to him. Then again, the best lies were always built from a foundation of truth. What had begun as a ruse to incite panic and chaos amongst survivors was apparently very much an actuality. An actuality that he had been living in for the last four months.

Outpost 3 had been the last for…liquidation. Once the task was completed, the Cooperative had sent him a communication informing him of an automated jet waiting to take him to a “safe place”. They didn’t want to risk the use of Transmutation, despite his ever-growing powers. The flight was long and turbulent from the dramatic air currents and storms swirling in the wake of the cataclysm. A coastal mountain topped with a medieval structure loomed outside the window as the plane started to descend. The Sanctuary.

Noticeable architecture and the few remaining geographical features alluded to a location somewhere most likely Mediterranean. Michael’s lips stretched into an open-mouthed grin, and his eyes burned from how widely they were opened as he looked at the landscape of his making. Previously turquoise oceans undulated in new scarlet waves onto a gray shore. Bare branches strained against the raging wind–their leaves decimated long ago. Armageddon had truly come, and it was by his hand. Sure, he had seen first hand the result of his handiwork in America, but the satisfaction of seeing the effects clear across the world… Michael remembered the way his chest swelled and his shoulders straightened with pride.

That had been four months ago . Fucking hell… What great accomplishments had he achieved since those glorious days of revelation? Once again, he had been left to do his father’s will with no direction, no help of any kind. The remaining Cooperative members were breathing down his neck like hellhounds, either trying to curry favor with absurd and depraved behavior (which he may or may not have accepted on occasion) or hovering for a command. How could he lead his people when he had no means of navigating the future himself? Even the stars were silent behind the eternal midnight cinders cloaking the sky.

He dropped onto the lush mattress and draped his forearm over his eyes. In times of stress, Michael’s mind conjured up images of a world that no longer existed and perhaps never had. The sense of familiarity surrounded him once again as he stood amongst the tall pines and colorful oaks. He remembered these woods. Birds trilled happily above as if pleased by his return. His blood no longer marred the earth in a ruby pentagram; sprigs of white bell-shaped flowers sprung up from the circle and perfumed the air with their sweetness. They were larger than last time. Michael crouched to slowly reach out a hand, palm up, to cradle one of the drooping blossoms.

“Do you like them? I’ve been practicing.” A soft voice reached his ears just as the scalloped tepals dusted the tip of his middle finger. The uncertainty in the voice made his brow crease. He turned his head with a frown to face the shimmering specter, their radiance shrouding any distinguishable features aside from their feminine figure. She was always there, stood in the same space his frantic young mind had hallucinated an angel while begging for his father’s aid.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” It was much more a statement than a question. Had his own imagination turned against him, too? Was this a subconscious manifestation of his own doubt?

“White and delicate isn’t exactly your style,” the figure said. Her tone had relaxed a bit at the sound of his disappointment.

“Perhaps that’s all the more reason for me to like it. A palate cleanser to the world before my eyes every other minute of the day.” The flowers captured his attention again when they began to bob in the breeze. “Beautiful,” he breathed. He couldn’t see a smile, but he got the distinct feeling of happiness from his companion. Curiously, his own heart beat a bit easier as the aura permeated his space. Michael straightened again to take in the full effect of the flowers and surround woods.

“Something’s bothering you, Michael. You’re never here otherwise,” she mused. The light shifted as she moved to sit on a mossy rock. He titled his head to look at her without turning his body. Long strands of golden hair fell over his shoulder and framed his face in the sunlight. A shrug tugged at his shoulder as he spoke.

“What comes next? Have I done all I was meant to do?”

“Is fire, blood, and chaos all you were born for?” A tight nod answered her question. “Doubtful.” She rose and stepped into the ring of flowers with him. The hair hanging in his face was pushed behind his ear by misty tendrils he perceived to be fingers. A slight chill tickled his cheek from the contact and caused the hair at the base of his neck to rise. “With each breath, you grow in strength and purpose.” One of the flower stems was placed in his hand. “Why do you think these have flourished? As you grow stronger, so do I. It would be pointless to give you more power with no purpose behind it, especially since you already hold more power than any being left in the world.” A dark chuckle bubble in his throat at that. Her words satisfied him when similar grovels from those in the Sanctuary would find his ire.

“Then why -” The presence of a frosted hand directing his gaze back towards the glowing woods stopped him short.

“Patience, Michael. Having power does not mean you have to be omniscient. It simply means you will be more than capable of whatever is required in time. You’ve given them what they wanted–there’s no reason to believe you would fail at that in the future.” Phantom fingers slid up his cheek and into his hair in a gesture of comfort and Michael closed his eyes with a sigh. “Patience, my king.”

The stone ceiling of his bedroom greeted him when he next opened his eyes. Goosebumps still prickled his skin as a reminder of his dream. For a few moments he did nothing but stare blankly, wondering if he could close his eyes again and return to the simplistic visions of his mind.

“Patience…” he grumbled, dragging a hand down his high cheeks and chiseled jaw. Could the Antichrist possess such a heavenly virtue? Michael couldn’t remember any recent time he was met with less than near-instant gratification. Several soft yet pronounced raps on the door put an end to his wishful thoughts of mental escape. That would be Ms. Mead, and he certainly didn’t want to keep her waiting. It wouldn’t do to treat the one person here that was truly on his side so poorly, and certainly not after she’d undergone such extensive repairs from the events at Outpost 3.

A rare, genuine smile graced his full lips when he pulled the door open to reveal the woman. The deep furrow of her brow and the shift of her eyes promptly removed the carefree expression from his face.

“You’re needed in the great hall.” The muscles around Michael’s eyes twitched in scrutiny. Only incredibly important or special occasions called for the use of the great hall, and he certainly hadn’t issued any grandiose decrees. She wasn’t pleased to be ignorant about whatever situation had arisen, either.

“I will be with you shortly once I’ve made myself presentable.” Michael acknowledged her request with an elegant incline of his head. Ms. Mead nodded quickly and turned on her heel to await him outside his chambers.

Michael quite enjoyed catering his looks to maximize the effect of his presence. Without knowing the purpose of this engagement, he would have to work with what previously resulted in the most success. Within three minutes, he was walking through the halls with Ms. Mead and rather pleased with his appearance. He had donned his usual black dress pants and tucked button-up, the buttons of the cuffs trailing well up his forearms. A luxurious black side button dress coat accentuated his broad shoulders and lean stature; Michael enjoyed the feeling of the fabric conforming so perfectly to his body.

Many survivors admired the thought that went into the Sanctuary’s design each time they walked the halls. Displays had been embedded into the mountain walls where the builders encountered the fossilized remains of prehistoric flora and fauna–lingering reminders that all origins were followed by the same undisputable end in time. Rivers of fire ran down trenches parallel to the walkways for sufficient lighting. Without access to the outside world, they set the fire to cycle intensity and mimic the path of the sun. At night, minerals were added to the oil to make the fire burn blue in homage to moonlight. Large fireplaces dotted the hallways for added warmth and light in the deeper parts of the mountain.

Today, residents of the Sanctuary that had found themselves a partner were happily clinging to each other in alcoves or corners. Some exchanged gifts they’d either made or traded for tied with red ribbon. Someone had poorly scribbled hearts decorating their package, and Michael’s eyebrows jumped momentarily in realization. Of course. It was February. Many of the survivors had chosen to observe the old holidays in a vain attempt at normalcy. If it gave them reason to remain happy and kept morale high, then he would allow them to cling to their absurd traditions. They smiled and waved, some bowing their heads in respect, as he passed them. An occasional brave soul wandered his way with the intention of handing him chocolates or paper flowers. Michael held up his hand to stop them with a small, appreciative quirk of his lips but shook his head.

“There’s no need for that. Your loyalty and support are enough.” They held eye contact for a moment until the person scampered away to a cluster of others standing by a fire pit. Almost immediately, Michael’s jaw squared and returned his expression to simmering annoyance.

“Ms. Mead,” he drawled, “why am I on my way to the great hall for an obligation that I can’t seem to recall arranging?” Her head shaking slightly was barely visible off to his side.

“This wasn’t arranged at all. These…people–Court of the Divinity they called themselves–just showed up and wanted to see you. Wouldn’t say what for, but I recognized the man in charge as a member of the Cooperative. Some high ranking clergyman or some bullshit.” Ms. Mead continued to shake her head and gave him a sidelong glance. “I don’t know where they get off thinking they can make such demands of their king. It’s impertinent if you ask me.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratory level. “We shouldn’t trust them.” Michael’s head tipped back with a pleased laugh.

“Oh, not to worry, Ms. Mead. We must attend to the needs of our people.” Michael stopped outside of the oversized mahogany doors and turned to the older woman. His hands came to rest on her shoulders as he fixed her with a pointed gaze. “And if they waste my time, it will be the last time that they do so.” Ms. Mead returned his look with a smile and watery eyes, one of her hands reaching out to delicately stroke the long curls resting over his collarbone before she replied. The pride rolled off of her in waves nearly as strong as the electronic pulses of her fabrication.

“That’s my beautiful boy.” Michael would always hold her affection in highest regard. With a deep breath, Ms. Mead returned to the moment and smoothed down his hair. “You go in ahead. I’ll retrieve your guests from the auxiliary hall. My king.” She left with a bow and beaming smile so Michael could take his rightful place in the extravagant throne chair at the front of the hall. He certainly cut an imposing figure. One leg rested crossed over the knee of the other, his elbows firmly on the arm rests to allow his steepled fingers to remain steady in front of his chest, and his jaw clenched with a minute grinding the longer he waited.

Several minutes passed before the heavy doors were opened and Ms. Mead, now wielding a stern expression, led in a bizarre group of men. Michael couldn’t help leaning forward a fraction in interest. Each man was dressed in different holy garb. A Buddhist lama, a Hindu sadhu, a Jewish rabbi. Those were only the ones in clear view. Still more troubling, not one of them did he recognize beyond the cardinal standing at their front. He had worked as the Cooperative’s source inside the Vatican for decades under the guise of a faithful God-worshipper. Michael lifted his chin out of habit at the man’s approach, heightened even more as the small congregation bowed before his dais.

“Cardinal Vicente Santori.” The name dripped off Michael’s tongue like saccharine wine. “To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your audience? For your sake, I would hope it’s something of the absolute utmost importance.” The cardinal bowed again. The tone in their king’s voice left no conflict regarding his displeasure.

“My king, as you know, we are more than 20 months through your prophesied reign,” Santori began. Michael’s intrigued gaze turned to that of ice, and he brought his chin to rest on his bejewelled fist.

“I am aware. So…what is this?” He opened his palm up towards them inviting silent answers. “As you said yourself, we are beyond the halfway point of the Apocalypse. It’s a bit late for any religious intervention.” Michael’s patronizing chuckle reverberated in the vaulted room, “Especially from you, Cardinal.” The man quickly shook his hands to brush away those notions.

“No. No, we are here for quite the opposite.” The slight tilt of the king’s head drew the cardinal’s attention before he continued. “You have done well in cleansing the stain of humanity from the world. You’ve also grown stronger since coming to the Sanctuary, haven’t you, my king?” When he did not receive a denial, Santori delved into further explanation. “We are the Court of the Divinity, tasked with a special purpose. We have the answers to that phenomenon: there is still more work to be done. Work that you cannot be expected to complete on your own. What we have experienced is only the beginning of your father’s great plan. Preparation of a canvas about to become your greatest masterpiece.”

“What would you know of this ‘work to be done’?” His father had refused to answer his own questions, yet these heretics claimed to have knowledge of his purpose? All Michael had ever wanted was answers. Would it be washed-up clerics that gave them to him? Michael ran his tongue over his teeth. The most irritating aspect of it all was that not a single one of them held a lie within their heart or mind.

“Satan was cast into the fire and chained amidst the burning lake against his will. Would you wish to remain in a prison for all eternity? Is that what you would base your greatest wish from? It is one thing to condemn others to share your fate, but it’s something else to rise above it. There has always been a deeper longing for Paradise, and what better way to secure his claim on Earth than by his son creating something that surpasses that of God. However, you will not succumb to such hubris as God, my king, for you won’t be alone.” There was a pause in the cardinal’s ramblings to let the information settle. Silence hung heavy in the air for so long that some of the men began to shift uncomfortably. Even Ms. Mead seemed to be holding her breath off to Michael’s side.

Their king stood, each vertebra aligning themselves one by one, until he reached his full height. His descent from the dais was marked by the crisp, measured knocking of his heeled shoes on the stone floor. Arms clasped elegantly behind his back, Michael approached the cardinal and looked him up and down. The older man was in his choir dress for what he must have deemed a special occasion; vibrant scarlet cassock with matching scarlet trim, red elbow-length cape over the lace-trimmed white rochet, and a red cleric’s skullcap. One item was notably missing; Cardinal Santori no longer burdened himself with the symbol of the cross. Michael stopped directly in front of the man to give him a sardonic smile.

“Will it be you, Cardinal, and your men that seek to help me with this task of surpassing God? The one you once promised to worship and honor with every breath and whom you have now forsaken?” They were so easily swayed by a little show of power. Michael had won their faith by hardly lifting a finger. The cardinal stepped aside and issued a beckoning wave back to the others. The group parted, three men on either side, to form a passage for the remaining associate at the back of their cluster.

“Unfortunately, the act of creation has always been a divine gift. We have never been blessed in such a way, though we have been given the honor of upbringing for the one who has. Our glorious purpose.” Soft heels clicked across the thin carpet runner approaching the dais. “God failed because there was no balance, which he now knows. There cannot be creation without destruction, no life without death, no light without the dark. To force one into extinction is to condemn the other. Someone once called you ‘the Alpha and the Omega,’ correct? Well, they were halfway right.” A slim hand settled into the one the cardinal left outstretched.

“My king.” Michael’s eyes quickly darted to the speaker when they stepped into his view, dipping into a low curtsey.

She was his opposite in every way. Delicate feminine features and form contrasted his strong, masculine bone structure and build. Her lustrous amber eyes met his aquamarine, and both pairs widened at the sudden jolt they received. Fire and ice. Twisting. Turning. Climbing from earth to sky. Something about her called to him. Something quietly familiar. Michael stepped forward with a creased brow while she allowed him to continue his observation. He swept a wave of her silken obsidian hair over her shoulder. Her breath shuddered momentarily, but her smile widened when their gaze met again. She waited patiently, allowing him as much time as he needed. After all, she had been patient long enough in waiting to meet him, and this gave her an equal opportunity to drink him in as well. His skin held the warmth of the fire he was born from in both color and temperature. She, on the other hand, seemed to be risen from the first winter snow. Could it be true that he wouldn’t be left to rebuild the world alone? Their proximity caused a breeze to weave through the room that centered around them. Years of waiting and begging and training…would this be the beginning of their purpose?

Clothed in flowing white, the crystalline vine embellishments captured the firelight to give her a glowing illusion. Chiffon draped from her shoulder straps and down her back in a delicate cape veil that did nothing to obscure the expense of her open back. More of the gentle fabric was braided across her chest to protect her dignity. A large portion of the bodice remained sheer except for more sparkling embellishments designed in the same intricate vine pattern. In place of a slit, the sheer fabric continued from the bodice, over her left hip, and down the entire left side of the otherwise modest, floor length skirt. It was a look meant to make an impression while still conveying the purity within her body and blood. Sensual yet sinless. She wanted him to be pleased, to be intrigued. And he certainly was in both respects. Cardinal Santori’s voice broke through Michael’s considerations.

“This… is the Divinity.”

#Michael Langdon #Michael Langdon Fanfiction #Michael Langdon x OC #Indulgence of Divinity #my fics #Michael Langdon deserves love #Writing Requests Open

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mermeriso · 3 years

Text

Sunday Morning

(Wallace Stevens, 1915)

Complacencies of the peignoir, and late

Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,

And the green freedom of a cockatoo

Upon a rug mingle to dissipate

The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.

She dreams a little, and she feels the dark

Encroachment of that old catastrophe,

As a calm darkens among water-lights.

The pungent oranges and bright, green wings

Seem things in some procession of the dead,

Winding across wide water, without sound.

The day is like wide water, without sound,

Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet

Over the seas, to silent Palestine,

Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.

Why should she give her bounty to the dead?

What is divinity if it can come

Only in silent shadows and in dreams?

Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,

In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else

In any balm or beauty of the earth,

Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?

Divinity must live within herself:

Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;

Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued

Elations when the forest blooms; gusty

Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;

All pleasures and all pains, remembering

The bough of summer and the winter branch.

These are the measures destined for her soul.

III

Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.

No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave

Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind.

He moved among us, as a muttering king,

Magnificent, would move among his hinds,

Until our blood, commingling, virginal,

With heaven, brought such requital to desire

The very hinds discerned it, in a star.

Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be

The blood of paradise? And shall the earth

Seem all of paradise that we shall know?

The sky will be much friendlier then than now,

A part of labor and a part of pain,

And next in glory to enduring love,

Not this dividing and indifferent blue.

She says, “I am content when wakened birds,

Before they fly, test the reality

Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;

But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields

Return no more, where, then, is paradise?”

There is not any haunt of prophecy,

Nor any old chimera of the grave,

Neither the golden underground, nor isle

Melodious, where spirits gat them home,

Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm

Remote on heaven’s hill, that has endured

As April’s green endures; or will endure

Like her remembrance of awakened birds,

Or her desire for June and evening, tipped

By the consummation of the swallow’s wings.

She says, “But in contentment I still feel

The need of some imperishable bliss.”

Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,

Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams

And our desires. Although she strews the leaves

Of sure obliteration on our paths,

The path sick sorrow took, the many paths

Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love

Whispered a little out of tenderness,

She makes the willow shiver in the sun

For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze

Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.

She causes boys to pile new plums and pears

On disregarded plate. The maidens taste

And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.

Is there no change of death in paradise?

Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs

Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,

Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,

With rivers like our own that seek for seas

They never find, the same receding shores

That never touch with inarticulate pang?

Why set the pear upon those river-banks

Or spice the shores with odors of the plum?

Alas, that they should wear our colors there,

The silken weavings of our afternoons,

And pick the strings of our insipid lutes!

Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,

Within whose burning bosom we devise

Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.

VII

Supple and turbulent, a ring of men

Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn

Their boisterous devotion to the sun,

Not as a god, but as a god might be,

Naked among them, like a savage source.

Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,

Out of their blood, returning to the sky;

And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,

The windy lake wherein their lord delights,

The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,

That choir among themselves long afterward.

They shall know well the heavenly fellowship

Of men that perish and of summer morn.

And whence they came and whither they shall go

The dew upon their feet shall manifest.

VIII

She hears, upon that water without sound,

A voice that cries, “The tomb in Palestine

Is not the porch of spirits lingering.

It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.”

We live in an old chaos of the sun,

Or old dependency of day and night,

Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,

Of that wide water, inescapable.

Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail

Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;

Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;

And, in the isolation of the sky,

At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make

Ambiguous undulations as they sink,

Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

#wallace stevens #poetry #modernism

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glacecakes · 4 years

Text

Alchemy Lullaby (11/?)

Of all the changes that came with living in the castle, becoming a father was not one he anticipated. When Eugene encounters a small child suffering like he did, he gives them the opportunity to grow up the way he never did… helping them both heal. (AU where Varian is 4 and gets adopted by Eugene)

Varian comes down with a cold; the ramifications of learning the truth.

Read the rest on AO3

Starting making this, had a breakdown, bon apetit.

No deadass that's what happened @space--butterflies and @finnoky gave me a rly good idea, I rewrote the whole chapter, had a mental breakdown, went to therapy, cranked this out. So. sorry for being late rip.

Uhhh it's 2 am I'm too tired to do my usual spiel remember to vote tomorrow if u can, comment, kudos, blood sacrifice, thank u i would die for u all

So apparently staying up all night with your negative thoughts in order to win your father’s love was a bad idea.

The rest of the day was silent and somber. Rapunzel and Eugene kept sharing looks that Varian couldn’t comprehend. Cassandra paled whenever she looked at him. But they never spoke a word of what had occurred, and it was driving Varian crazy. He didn’t get any of the victory glory, no, instead he got bitterness and despair. At least momma would have been proud of him; she’d always wanted him to control his powers.

Around bedtime he got cranky. It started with not wanting to eat dinner. Usually Eugene would let Varian throw a tantrum; he refused to bow to Varian’s wishes and let him have his way. But not then. Eugene was terrified of a tantrum, what the destruction could entail. So when Varian refused to eat, he didn’t question it, and simply carted Varian off to an early bedtime.

But when he and his girlfriend came to get Varian in the morning, exhausted from a night of conversing and debating and crying, they found Varian not much better off.

The boy’s face was coated in sweat, radiating an uncomfortable heat. He whimpered, not even complaining when Eugene lifted him up out of bed. Instead he buried his face into the crook of Eugene’s neck, hot tears dripping down onto it. While morning cuddles were usual, this crying was definitely not.

It was so concerning that they had booked it down to the infirmary half out of their minds with worry.

“You said he woke up like this?” The doctor asked, brushing a gloved hand across Varian’s temple.

“Yes, he won’t talk to me, is he ok? I mean, obviously not, but-”

Eugene’s panicking was cut off by an abrupt sneeze, then another. Varian moaned, shifting away from the doctor’s hand.

“Loud,” Varian mumbled. “Hurts.”

They all quieted. “Sounds like a bug, or the flu,” Rapunzel hummed.

The doctor nodded. “He just needs rest and fluids. Has he ever been sick before?”

“Not while with us, no.”

“Alright. Take his temperature every hour until the fever breaks, and if it gets above 103 bring him back.” With a ruffle to Varian’s hair, the doctor wandered off, likely to see another patient.

“I’ll take him back to his room,” Eugene muttered. “You’re probably busy today, right?”

“Not too busy for him!” The princess whispered back. She frowned, reaching a hand over and brushing it against Varian’s cheek. Poor thing. “He’s miserable, he’ll need some love and snuggles.”

“Did you not hear the doctor? He needs rest.”

“How can he rest when he’s in pain!?”

The conversation became more biting the more both of them spoke. Even without them running on minimal sleep, taking care of a sick child would not be ideal. And it seemed they had wildly different ideas on how to help.

It didn’t help they’d been up all night thinking about the… other problem.

“Look,” Rapunzel finally sighed. “We all need sleep. You can take the first shift, I’ll come get you in a few hours. Ok?” Her eyes, while misty from frustration, tried to shine with their usual kindness. Eugene felt like he’d been punched in the gut with a guilt fist, but also, he remembered why he loved this woman so much.

Eugene smiled sadly. “Alright, get some rest. Love you.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, and with that, she left.

For a moment he was lost in thought, but Eugene frowned as Varian began to squirm. Tears of pain still streaked down chubby cheeks, at least until Eugene began to bounce him in his arms. He kept one hand on Varian’s head and pulled it to his chest, the other kept supporting his son. Varian, despite being past infancy, still retained a love for being cradled and rocked. Likely because he never really got it before. It did the trick, and he was back to an uneasy calm in minutes.

He kept up the bouncing, letting Varian rest while they walked back to Varian’s room. He only stopped his soothing motions to deposit Varian back in bed, and then switched to stroking his son’s soft hair.

“Daddy don’t go,” Varian whispered. “‘M sorry.”

Eugene blinked. There it was again, calling him dad. So far Varian only did it when especially upset or tired, but it warmed his heart every time. The situation wasn’t great, but still the fuzzies remained.

“What are you sorry for, bud?” Eugene hummed. “Not your fault you got sick. It just happens.”

“For the rocks.” A hazy, clouded blue peeked open to stare into the man’s soul. Through the pain Eugene could see fear, despair, and anguish; and it wasn’t because of the illness.

“Those…” He sighed. True, they caused problems, and it was a miracle Rapunzel didn’t touch them and cause an explosion, but it could wait until Varian was healthy again. “It’s… ok. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

Varian shrugged. “Cuz momma….” his voice trailed off. He didn’t even know where to begin. If he told Eugene everything, about the experiments and running and pain, would Eugene do the same?

No, no. Eugene and momma were not the same. Eugene loved him. Eugene cared for him! He would never.

Thankfully, Eugene picked up on it. “Get some rest, ok? We’ll deal with it when you’re feeling better.”

Varian unconsciously grabbed his stuffed toy, bringing the ear up to suck on. “No,” he mumbled through felt. “Not tired.”

His dad suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “What are you then?”

“A frog.”

He let out a bark of laughter at that. “A frog, eh? Like Pascal? Well this little frog,” he poked Varian’s nose which earned a breathless giggle. “Needs some rest.”

“Story?” Big blue eyes gazed up at him, pleading.

Yea, he should’ve seen it coming. Now that he was thinking about it, Eugene prayed Varian had never gotten sick while on his own. Or with his mom. It’s unrealistic, of course Varian has been sick before, but what if his mom had done the same as him? What if she refused to comfort him, refused to snuggle and wipe his snot?

So despite every fibre of his being wanting to avoid getting infected, this was a losing battle. He grabbed the Flynn Rider book off its nightstand. They’d been blazing through each book; in the few months since Varian joined them they were now on book 6.

“You’re just one crazy event after another, aren’t you?” Eugene hummed. He got a wet cough as a reply. Gross.

He’s totally gonna get sick isn’t he?

Despite her words, Rapunzel couldn’t sleep.

Every time she shut her eyes, visions of obsidian danced behind her eyelids, willing her hair upright. She couldn’t get them out of her head, and it really was no surprise why. It’s not everyday that your boyfriend’s son reveals that he can control the rocks that gave you back your 70 feet of hair!

Back when it first grew back, she and Cassandra had scoured the library for any information they could, before finally getting some help from Xavier the blacksmith. He’s a good man, and he knew a lot about legends, but legends aren’t facts. Now, she wonders if the rocks were leading her to him, to Varian, and it was by sheer coincidence Eugene found him first. But she’d never say that out loud. Varian was destined to be Eugene’s son, even if he wasn’t born it. Maybe it was a sign that he was her son too.

Three delicate knocks ring on the King’s Office’s door. “Dad, can I come in?”

At his affirmation, she opened the door. Frederick, regal as ever, stood on one end of the table, with Quirin at another. Oh, she’d been meaning to speak to her dad in private, but it’s not a big deal! Right…?

Well, maybe it was. Despite her and Eugene and Cassandra all vowing to keep Varian’s ability a secret for now, lest magic-fearing Frederick find out, the point remained that she needed to speak to him about it. While Varian had taken up most of everyone’s time and energy, the rocks never vanished from her list of problems. No, they still lingered around Corona, causing problems left and right. And something told Rapunzel that Varian’s outburst from before didn’t help matters.

“I was wondering about… the black rocks?” She started, and both men froze. A silent conversation occurred, shared in frantic, locked eyes. Quirin fidgeted helplessly, unsure of what the king wanted him to say. His eyes glanced down at the map where black flags pinpointed the locations of each rock spotted. While most were clustered in Old Corona, to the east, there were a few dotting the island capital. Rapunzel’s heart sank the longer she stared.

Francis’ tailor shop.

The schoolhouse.

The tunnel system.

The alley where it all started.

Varian.

She struggled to keep from screaming.

“I’ve been aware of these rocks for… quite some time now.” Frederick rested both hands on the diorama that encompassed much of the office. “They posed a real problem, displacing people from their homes, damaging roads…”

“Oh no,” she breathed. How much of it was intentional? How much of it was an accident?

“But fortunately!” Frederick perked up, giving her an encouraging smile. “We’ve taken care of them! In fact, I’m sending Quirin to Old Corona tomorrow to make sure our efforts have succeeded.”

“You are?” Quirin asked, confused. He got an elbow in the stomach. “I-I mean, yes, your highness, I’ll be headed out first thing tomorrow.”

She furrowed her brow, uncertain. Old Corona… so that was where Varian lived before the alley, before them. “Great, then I hope you don’t mind if I join you? I haven’t been out that way in a while, I’m sure the people would appreciate a visit.”

Frederick scowled, but before he could protest, Quirin hastily agreed. “O-of course, your highness, I would be honored for you to… accompany me.” He raised his eyebrows in a concerned smile, desperately trying to convey a silent question. Did Rapunzel know what he had seen? Is she trying to protect the child? Please oh please don’t force him to hurt a child to appease her father.

But alas, she didn’t seem to get the message. “Great, now if you excuse me, Varian isn’t feeling very well and Eugene needs a break.” She marched out of the room. The moment the door closed both men sagged in relief.

“Sir,” Quirin managed. “You and I both know the rocks haven’t been dealt with-”

“Don’t let her see or learn a thing.”

The knight fell silent. “Yes sir,” he whispered, but for once, he didn’t mean it.

Varian fell asleep relatively quickly, and thankfully it seemed more or less steady. So much so that Eugene was able to swap with Rapunzel without issue.

“I spoke to my dad, I’m headed to Old Corona tomorrow,” she whispered. Her eyes were exhausted but full of fire.

“How come?”

“It’s where she lives.”

Instantly, Eugene’s face fell. Right. The source of the fighting last night.

Eugene had been adamant. He’d met Varian’s momma once before, and that was enough. She hated her kid, she abandoned her kid and didn’t complain once when Eugene whisked him away. But Rapunzel had insisted in truth above all else. If anyone knew what was going on, it’d be her. He knew deep down it was a losing argument, but the point remained that he promised to clock her next time she showed her face.

“I’ll stay with him then. Hopefully this is just a 24 hour bug, I can’t do another day of this.” She smiled. It wasn’t the caring for a child wearing him down, that much was clear.

“Go take a nap, I’ll hang with him,” she whispered. The words flowed over him like charmspeak, and next thing he knew, it was late afternoon and he was waking up in his own bed.

He went to fetch some supplies. Nothing too much, just some pain medicine, towels, and cold water to soak them in. He’d probably also have to run a bath at some point, which Varian would despise. Much like Ruddiger, the child was happiest when covered in dirt and mud and soot.

It’s no wonder Varian adores the creature so much, he thinks with a chuckle.

In fact, Eugene is so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice someone coming his way until he nearly spills the bowl onto the Captain.

“Oh, shoot! Sorry Cap,” He winces, praying the man doesn’t try to kill him. He’s yelled over less.

“Fitzherbert,” the man sighed. He looked peeved, but said nothing of it. “I was wondering why you didn’t turn up to training today.”

Shit! He totally forgot to tell anyone that Varian was sick! Ears reddening, Eugene stuttered. “I-uh-yea, about that…”

The Captain raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. His face was impassive, but his eyes said it all. He’d better have a good explanation, or his ass was toast.

“Varianissickpleasedon’tkillme.” he braced himself for the smack.

“I get it.” And with that, all the air flew out of Eugene’s lungs.

“Oh thank god, I was afraid you’d kill me.”

“Fair enough.”

Eugene shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. He and the Captain never really spoke about personal matters, it was strictly a business truce. But it appeared that was about to change. The older man put a hand on Eugene’s shoulder.

“Fitzherbert, I believe Cassandra told you about her own adoption story?”

“How you took her in, yea.”

“I was just like you, back then.” The man’s eyes are stern but kind. Eugene had seen it directed at others, but never him.

“I hovered, and I worried about every little thing. They become the center of your world so fast, and you want to savor every moment. The first night with Cassandra, I never left her side, I just… sat there, and marveled at how something so small could be so important to me so quickly.” He gave the new father a weary smile.

Eugene glanced down at the water, rapidly warming. Cogs turned in his brain as he thought of a proper response.

Captain sighed. “Look, you said he’s sick?” Eugene nodded. “Then I’ll let it slide. Hope he gets well soon, for both of your sakes.”

That caused Eugene’s head to snap up. “What? I’m fine.”

“You’re missing your sass, Fitzherbert. Your color, your spice. You live for that kid, I can tell.” He let the man go, and walked off with a wave. “Hope he gets well soon. Oh, and bring him to training some time, eh?”

Eugene raised his hand in farewell, dumbfounded. The Captain had never been that… nice to him. Ever.

He didn’t ruminate on it for too long. He heard a faint cry from the end of the hall, where his son was.

The door creaked open, revealing a sad sight. Varian tossed and turned in the bed, whimpering and hiccuping tiny sobs. His fists grasped light blue sheets, the same color as eyes which were currently closed. Rapunzel looked to him helplessly.

“Hey hey, bluebird,” Eugene cooed, sliding into the bed and pulling his darling boy into his arms. “Shh, you’re ok, you’re safe. Are you awake?”

Varian whimpered, and Eugene couldn’t tell if it was an affirmation or coincidence. The boy was a furnace, he could only imagine the pain and discomfort. Being sick was never fun, especially at that age.

A more violent cry escaped small lips as Varian squirmed.

“Varian?”

“Momma, it hurts…”

Eugene’s heart plummeted into his stomach. He felt like he was going to vomit, and he wasn’t the sick one. Rapunzel stifled a gasp. Haunting memories of another mother resurfaced.

“H...hey, Varian,” her voice shook to high heavens. “Varian, it’s time to wake up.”

“Don’t wanna… no more.”

Oh lord, no more what? What did this woman do to her son? Their son? Eugene buried his nose into Varian’s sweaty hair and Rapunzel wrapped her arms around them both, a familiar position for the family. His mind raced at light speed, trying not to let too many possibilities flood his mind. He was scaring himself, but he dreaded the real answer more.

Varian’s leg kicked out in his sleep, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

“Oh, bud,” Eugene sighed, biting his lip. Usually it was Rapunzel who took charge of lullabies, but…

“Look to the stars... my darling baby boy...” Almost like magic, Varian began to settle. His foot, which had been raised mid kick, landed softly on Rapunzel’s chest, the fuzzy socks pressing against his shirt.

The blonde smiled and joined in. “Life is strange and vast, filled with wonder and joy…” As the furrow on Varian’s brow smoothed, Neither of them could help the overwhelming love that filled their souls. All directed at the boy in their arms. Even if he was a handful, and possibly, apparently, dangerous.

Eugene laid Varian back down into bed, brushing unruly hair back. He repositioned so Rapunzel was resting against his chest as they sang in unison.

“Face each new sun with eyes clear and true Unafraid of the unknown Because I’ll face it all with you.”

Varian smiled in his sleep.

#varian #tts varian #tangled the series #tts #tangled #eugene fitzherbert #tangled eugene #tts eugene #team awesome

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sanktnikolais · 5 years

Text

Best Part of Me

A/N: It’s been a while since I posted something involving our favorite idiots. Inspired by the song Best Part of Me by Ed Sheeran ft. YEBBA. Happy reading! uwu

Summary: Nikolai was having trouble sleeping over something big happening the next day, so was a certain general.

Words: 1881

AO3

Nikolai was utterly restless.

He knew for sure that he was when he finally threw off the covers from his bed and glanced at the grandfather clock at the other end of his chambers. It had already been a few hours since he went to bed and tried to get some decent sleep.

Because tomorrow would be the most important event that would be happening in the country.

Because tomorrow—tomorrow—Nikolai Lantsov would finally get married.

But as much as he was looking forward for the next day, he could not shake off the nervousness that was starting to cloud the logical part of his reasoning. Nikolai once thought that wedding jitters were silly—that anyone who would be married to the one they had dreamed of should not feel it.

Now that it was here, almost seizing control of him and forcing his legs to move out from his quarters, Nikolai knew better than to think of it as foolish.

The young king started to wander aimlessly through the hallways of the Grand Palace in just his thin undershirt and loose pants, and yet his feet somehow had its own destination when the path narrowed down to a familiar turn, towards a certain room that he had been visiting quite often ever since his proposal two months ago.

Nikolai stopped in front of her door, the thought of being here now somehow sending the beat of his heart into a more erratic mess. He raised his hand to knock, but stopped midway when a wave of hesitation hit him hard in the gut.

What was he doing here? Maybe she was already asleep. And if so, Nikolai was relieved. While he was endlessly plagued with thoughts that were mainly triggered by his nervousness, he could only hope that she was in peace tonight.

He huffed a laugh and shook his head, setting his palm gently on the surface of the door instead, somehow feeling a part of his restlessness ebb away. It was galling to admit aloud that the thought of her could already calm the thoughts that were bothering him to oblivion.

She really was his pillar for everything, and he was appalled that he had not realized what these strong emotions meant sooner. They could have saved more time and energy from dancing around each other for years.

With a small smile over his thoughts, Nikolai withdrew his hand and started to turn away.

Only to freeze his movements when he heard a rushed click on the door and it swung open, revealing his general clad in a coat over her nightgown, and his mind just stopped working altogether.

Apparently, Zoya had the same bewildered expression as his, as if she, too, were caught in the act of doing something terrible. The dark circles under her eyes proof of the same restlessness he had been going through.

Nikolai was the first one to recover and he cleared his throat, a wince coming up to his face on how awkward it sounded when he did. “Having trouble sleeping?”

The raven-haired gave a huff. “Don’t I always?” she replied, tiredness obvious in her voice. She studied him for a moment, her features softening for a bit—which was a rare sight to see. “Well, you could use a week’s worth of sleep. What are you doing up?”

“I just came to see you,” Nikolai blurted before he could even stop himself. His nervousness was taking over him. But there was no point of denying it, anyway.

He was given a raised brow, and then a light laugh before Zoya was opening her door a little wider, a gesture for him to come in. “I guess I’d have to postpone my plan to walk around the gardens to breathe for a while, then?” she said, moving away from the door just as Nikolai stepped inside her room.

“How considerate of you, my dear general.”

Zoya only shook her head with a small smile, and then she was walking outside the doors leading to a small balcony. Nikolai turned to follow, stopping beside her and leaning his elbows on the concrete parapet. The balcony had a perfect view of the gardens of the Grand Palace; the landscape itself was already a breather, and Nikolai was left wondering why she would choose to walk around instead of staying up here.

A comfortable silence stretched between them. The gentle breeze sounded a little pleasant tonight, and Nikolai felt at ease.

He could get used to this.

He could already see moments like this in the near future.

“I couldn’t sleep as well,” Zoya said after a little while, her voice lowering with every word. Nikolai gave her a look, and she quickly recovered and straightened up a bit. She averted her eyes from him. “I mean, it’s silly, I know. Getting nervous over tomorrow is something I shouldn’t feel.”

Nikolai gave her a lopsided grin and reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “You do realize that I would not be here if I hadn’t been feeling the exact same thing, would I?” He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “It isn’t silly at all, my dear Zoya.”

He felt her release a breath, her fingers slowly entwining with his. Nikolai felt his chest burst with warmth. There were already a handful of times in the past two months when he had witnessed a much less guarded Zoya Nazyalensky, and as much as he wanted and loved her for all she was and would be, he hoped that she wouldn’t hesitate to be vulnerable around him whenever she needed to be.

And that was when Nikolai realized what was making her nervous—the possible moment of vulnerability in front of a crowd. He knew too well on how guarded she had been over the past years. He had even become jealous of a dragon when Zoya allowed herself to lower her guard for a little around the Saint, while he had to continue to crane his neck up to try and talk to her above the walls she built around herself whenever she was with him.

Nikolai understood that now, and amidst of the heavy thoughts in his head, a sudden idea came up to his mind. He gave a laugh when he fully processed what his mind came up with.

It earned a furrowed glance from his general, her eyes narrowing. “You’re suddenly laughing by yourself.”

Being the person he was, Nikolai spoke what was in his mind out loud. “How about we get married right now?”

Multiple expressions bloomed over Zoya’s face at once—but it was mostly bewilderment as she were thinking that he had become mad. She huffed a laugh. “With you and I in mere underclothes?”

Nikolai laughed back. “Does it matter?”

“And no witnesses?”

“The saints in the skies could be our witnesses.” He paused and looked up in the night sky. “The moon and the stars could be as well.”

Zoya could only shake her head, an amused smile curling on her lips. “Your nervousness over tomorrow has bested you, Lantsov.”

Nikolai turned to her then, and looked at her in the eyes, his other hand coming to hold hers. “Let the skies and everything around us to be the witnesses, and it is just you and I at this moment, saying our vows,” he said and stepped closer to her. “I don’t think there is anything else for me to say that I have not told you yet, which I highly doubt being the chatterbox that I am.” He paused to laugh lightly. “But if there is still something I would still say, it would be that I love you, and do not be afraid to bare your heart to me whenever you need to. I will always be here until the end of my days.”

Zoya released a shaky breath, one of her hands coming up to his face. She gave him a small smile. “I know,” she replied. She lowered her hand on his shoulder, but her gaze never wavered from him. “We’ve been through a lot together, you and I. I can’t think of anything that happened in the past few years that doesn’t have you in it. You were one of the few constants I have ever had in my life, and just like you have always told me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“As much as I am a woman who only have a few words to say, I love you, too, and the nervousness that I was saying I shouldn’t feel was now replaced with reassurance that we could get through tomorrow and the next days. Because that’s what we’ve always done together. Together. And—Nikolai Lanstov, are you crying?”

Nikolai blinked and turned his face away immediately just as he felt a tear fall from his cheek. He hadn’t even noticed that tears were already flooding his vision until she told him about it.

“What? No, it’s just misty here tonight. Don’t you feel it?” he replied, quickly wiping a hand up to his face before turning back to her. But he knew pretending not to was futile, because he found his vision blurring again at the sight of her, the woman whom he had envisioned himself to spend the rest of his life with. “But yes, General Nazyalensky, I am moved by your words that I’ve started to shed tears.”

Zoya huffed a laugh, but her eyes were glassy as well. “I wasn’t even done yet.”

“Then please, do continue.”

There was a short silence, then Nikolai felt the hand on his shoulder come back up to his face again. “You already know,” she said, then added in a soft whisper, “I love you, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Nikolai was sure his chest could burst from happiness at any moment, and he just leaned down and kissed her, pouring all his love for her through it. Everything faded around them, and it only focused on the woman before him, whose hand had come to the back of his head to pull him closer to her, if it were still possible.

The moment ended after a long while, leaving him breathless as he touched his forehead to hers, his thumb caressing her check gently. Whatever worry he had with him when he first came here was now gone, and replaced with contentment and eagerness for tomorrow that was about to come.

“Thank you,” he heard Zoya say, and her other arm circled around his shoulders in a tight embrace.

Nikolai pressed a long kiss to her forehead, his arm going around her waist and burying his nose in her hair. “Anything for you,” he replied.

He didn’t know how much time had passed with them locked in each other’s arms, until he felt Zoya pull away a little.

“Now we really have to take that sleep. It’s a big day ahead,” she said.

“Eager to end the moment abruptly?”

Zoya chuckled. “We have the rest of our lives to have them.”

Nikolai did have a good sleep later when he retreated back to his chambers.

Because he already had something to look forward to.

#late night writing lmao #it's 2am here #zoyalai #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lanstov #king of scars #alhsdfklhasdf #my writing #nikolai x zoya #kos

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