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amazingmsme · 3 years

Text

Hot Boy Summer

AN: Here’s my fic for the @ticklesofcolor fic exchange! I wrote for @calmturquoise & I had a blast writing this fic for you! So sorry for the delay, I just finished up with my associates & I had to write 2 final papers. I hope you’re okay that I was liberal with your prompt, since I went with Zuko & Sokka it would kind of be hard for him to use his bending to tickle someone, but I still tried to incorporate it! I also completely threw in the towel with this title. I hope you enjoy it! Sokka & Zuko just play off of each other so well.

Zuko was hot. Like strictly temperature wise Sokka told himself. But firebending proved to be quite useful to him. When they were camping, he was the warmest to sit next to. Not to mention, he made great fires for roasting weenies and marshmallows. But Sokka's favorite thing about it was that it meant he was pretty easy to tick off, which made for good fun.

He would never actually get too angry, so he assumed he didn't actually mind it all that much. And the truth was, he didn't. Zuko never really had friends of his own, and the playful teasing, if annoying, was actually fun. The others picked up on the habits too. It ended up with Toph claiming Zuko as her body pillow to hug against while she slept.

"Hey, can you hold this?" Without waiting for an answer, Sokka shoved a wet clay bowl in Zuko's warm hands.

"Wha- uh- sure," he said, perplexed but not setting it down. Sokka's cheeks were puffed out like a frog from trying to contain his laughter. Zuko realized what he was trying to do and huffed to keep himself from chuckling along. "Hell no, go find a kiln," he said, shoving it back in Sokka's hands.

As annoying as it was, it made Zuko feel... accepted. Like he was actually a part of the group instead of the outcast he was so used to being. He thought that they would all hate him: fearing his flame and mistrusting of everything he did. But that wasn't the case. And it felt good. He felt like, maybe, he could return the playful teasing. Toph was surprisingly easy to embarrass when he mentioned how "hot" she must thing he is from cuddling him all the time. Coincidentally, an embarrassed Toph and an angry Toph we're pretty much one in the same, and a sharp rock had launched him several feet in the air.

Katara could see right through his attempts at teasing, at being friendly, but she was still not amused by him. Aang was too happy all the time to get a rise out of him, though it was still fun to mess with the young avatar. Sokka was the most fun however. He had a sense of humor, and even though Zuko's wasn't what you'd consider "good" the other boy could still recognize what was meant to be a joke or a tease and deliver one right back. He was dramatic, and therefore, very easy to evoke a reaction.

He couldn't help but notice how the rest of them were very physical. Like, they'd constantly be touching each other. At first he found it a little unsettling, but they had done a pretty good job of making him get used to it. And eventually, he began reaching out to them.

So when Sokka grabbed his wrist and squeezed a pressure point to make a flame shoot out to toast a mallow. He snatched his hand back and shakes a finger in his face to scold him. "Alright I've had just about enough of you using me as your personal lighter!" he admonished, the smirk on his face revealing his amusement. Sokka's smirk was even wider. More smug and full of pride.

"Why? It's not like you'll do anything," he taunted, crossing his arms over his chest. Zuko glared at him. He was right, he'd probably just let it slide. Except he'd watched how they all play with each other and wanted them to know he could be fun like that too. He always hesitated to reach out, but he wanted to change. So they were both a little shocked when he shoved Sokka to the ground and sat on his legs, just above the knee. He blinked a few times then chuckled. "Nice try flambo, but it'll take more than just sitting on me to teach me a lesson," he sassed.

"I know," he said, looking down at him. He'd seen the others tickle Sokka to tears when he won't knock it off with the lame jokes, so he knew this method would be affective. Except, he didn't really know where to start. He'd never been in many tickle fights with his sister, and when he did he usually didn't win. But it had been years since he'd engaged with someone like this. But he'd watched enough, he was sure he could figure it out!

He gave a tentative poke to his belly, eliciting a quick squeak. Sokka's eyes widen and a nervous grin breaks out as he shook his head. Zuko placed a few more pokes to his stomach and sides before wiggling his fingers over the skin. Sokka was squirming and giggling lightly which... wasn't right. He'd seen the others get him, he should be howling with laughter. So why wasn't he?

"W-wohow you're really bahad at this," Sokka spoke fairly easily. Zuko huffed and shoved him against the ground and clambered away to stand. Sokka sighed and reached up, snatching his wrist. "Hey don't go, I was just teasing."

Zuko glared at the ground, lower lip jutting out slightly in a mix between a scowl and a pout. "Why not? It's true." When he didn't move to sit back down, Sokka yanked him to the ground, none too gently he might add.

"Ow! You didn't have to do that you know!" he complained, leaning to the side so he could rub his sore butt. Thankfully the grass cushioned his fall, but unexpectedly crashing down on your tailbone was never fun.

He shrugged. "I know, but it was the easiest way to make sure you wouldn't leave." He offered a softer, more genuine smile. "Besides, it's not your fault you don't know how. I doubt you had much time for goofing off like that," he said, his voice sympathetic. Zuko nodded shyly.

"Yeah, once mom was gone, things really picked up. And they were never easy before, but everything just got a lot more intense after that," he admitted. After keeping things bottled up all his life, it felt good to get it off his chest. Not all at once, but slowly; small things, like now.

Sokka seemed to mull something over in his head before deciding, "I can teach you if you want." Zuko blinked in surprise.

"Really?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I mean, I can't leave you all defenseless like that," he teased with a poke to his side. His lip twitched in a smile and he jerked away.

"Hey I can defend myself just fine! But um, who's our first target?" he asked slightly confused, staring out at the others spread around their small camp. "'Cause I think Aang'll be our best bet-" he rambled on, unaware of how Sokka was creeping up from behind.

"You are!" Zuko barely had time to process what he said before a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him back against Sokka's chest. He gasped as realization dawned on him and he tried to pry himself free.

"What? Why me? I-I can't learn like this!" he yelped. His friend only laughed.

"You will. You gotta know what different techniques feel like so you can get the best reactions. You gotta try different things 'cause certain things work better on some people," he explained. The way he was so casual about it just embarrassed Zuko even more.

"I appreciate the sentiment but I'm really more of a hands on kind of learner," he said as he squirmed. Sokka practically lit up.

"Then this is perfect! See? Hands-" he held them up for him to see before immediately diving for his stomach. "On!" Zuko practically screamed.

"Nohoho! Thihihis ihisn't fair!" he squealed through his laughter.

"What do you mean, of course it is! I'm giving you a lesson in tickling 101!" he chirped happily, kneading at his sides. Zuko cackled and doubled over, hands weakly prying at his wrists.

"Nohohot ohon mehehe!" he protested.

"Like I said, in order to tickle someone, you gotta know what different techniques feel like. There's light skittering," he said, demonstrating by spidering his fingers over his ribs. His laughter turned breathy and giggly, the squirming dying down as it became slightly more bearable. "Also quick squeezes," he said as he rapidly squeezed down his sides, making him squeal and twist back and forth. "Oh, and poking! But you seem to have that one down," he said, delivering quick pokes all over his torso.

"Ohohokahay I gehehet ihit! Stohop!" he cried out. Sokka shook his head.

"Not yet, the lesson's not over!" Suddenly, his hands shot down to squeeze his thighs. Zuko shrieked and kicked out, feet scrambling in the grass. "There's squeezing, oh! And kneading!" he said, switching tactics and demonstrating the new technique on his stomach. His laughter deepened as he desperately tried to squirm away, sucking in his belly and leaning away from the touch. This only succeeded in him pressing against Sokka even more, trapping him further in his hold.

"I can't believe I almost forgot one of the most important steps," Sokka said, managing to bring one arm up to smack himself on the forehead for being such an idiot.

Zuko didn't want to know what he meant by that, but then again, he kind of did. Curiosity killed the cat. "W-whahahat's thahat?" he asked. Now that the other boy had brought it up, he simply had to know.

"Teasing of course!" he exclaimed. Oh no, he really shouldn't have asked. "Sokka nohoho dohon't!"

"Why?" he asked, cocking his head. "Are you too ticklish to handle it?" he asked, raising the pitch of his voice in a mocking tone. For some reason, that made the sensations even stronger and all the more maddening.

"Shuhuhut up mahahan!" he squealed, doubling over and pushing at his tickling hands. "You're really not in a position to be making demands," he said smugly. Zuko managed to growl through his laughter. Sokka chuckled at the noise.

"I can't believe it: even when you're giggling up a storm you still try to appear all broody and grouchy!" he taunted. His cheeks turned pink upon hearing this and he tried to hide his face in his hands.

"Sohohokka ohohokay! I gehet it nohohow!" he pleaded.

"Alright, last lesson. You know what raspberries are, right?" he asked. Zuko could remember how his mother would play with him when he was younger, sometimes blowing raspberries on his pudgy tummy or neck. His eyes widen and he shook his head.

"Don't you dahahare!" he tried to scold.

"Oh, I dare," Sokka said with a sly smirk, placing his lips on the nape of his neck and blew hard. A loud, wet fart noise filled the air along with Zuko's wild cackles. He arched his back as much as he could, squirming and thrashing in his hold. He managed to twist away and shoved Sokka's face back with a little more force than necessary.

Sokka's shit eating grin remained plastered on his face. "You're the worst," he spat out between panting breaths. He closed his eyes and shrugged, clearly pleased with himself.

"You're welcome." Zuko's blush burned brighter and he playfully punched his shoulder. "I didn't say thank you!"

"Yeah but you were thinking it," he teased further. "If you still suck at tickling then there's just no hope for you," he said, patting his back consolingly. A rare glint of mischief shined in Zuko's eyes.

"I think it's coming back to me... Only one way to find out." Before Sokka could react, he slammed into him with his shoulder, knocking him on his back. He wasted no time pinning him.

Sokka stated up at him in shock, already giggling with nerves. "C-can't we talk about this?"

Zuko smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Nope."

#calmturquoise #ticklesofcolor2021 #fic exchange #zuko #sokka #avatar #avatar fic #atla #atla fic #avatar tickle fic #atla tickle fic #ticklish!zuko

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joezworld · 4 years

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📁

Specifically, any headcanons of the Sodor Engines interacting with the internet, or the internet in general?

For some reason, I’d imagine that podcasts and the like are popular among vehicles in general.

That is a question that I've been working on for some time - because I'm workshopping my own Tornado headcanon (and boy oh boy does she use the internet a lot) - but I have some ideas for the Sodor engines as well:

Henry is probably the most "plugged in" engine on the island, weirdly enough. One of his drivers gave him an iPod back in the early 2000s, and kindly preloaded it with a bunch of torrented music.

BTW, that works because all the engines are now equipped with automatic train warning systems, and the little on-board computer has a USB port - as a nice side effect it allows music players to work with the engines in the same way as bone-conducting headphones do. The computer also acts as some kind of computer interface, which I am not going to explain how that works because Jesus Christ I don’t know how it does either.

Henry has managed to upgrade his iPod a few times since thanks to hand-me-down units from NWR staff, so he eventually got his buffers on a wifi-enabled iPod Touch and now downloads new music from the station wifi. He does listen to podcasts, but as every other engine will tell you, you could show Henry ten thousand new and exciting songs from the best artists in the world, and his top ten played songs are still going to be Genesis, Phil Collins, and Yes. Bear considers it a win that he managed to convince Henry to regularly listen to Rush after a mere twenty years of convincing.

Mavis and Daisy listen to a very interesting program called The News, because as stated elsewhere, they invest a shitload of money and need to be on top of things. Thomas and Percy wish that Daisy would use headphones or something similar to that, instead of listening to Bloomberg TV at loud volumes in the middle of the night. Toby frankly doesn’t mind, as it’s very nice to be kept up-to-date on the outside world.

In a move that surprises no-one, Bill and Ben have a podcast where they talk about whatever they think about at that moment - usually horse-racing, investing, and clay mining. As such, they have a wide audience, almost none of whom know that they’re that Bill and Ben, as their podcast is audio-only.

In an also unsurprising move, Edward and BoCo have been made very much aware that Bill and Ben have a podcast, but are still unsure as to what the hell a podcast is, despite being frequent guests on it.

Of the main line diesels, only Bear has shown any real interest in the internet, and was immediately put in charge of the Amazon Alexa when a unit was installed in the diesel shed. He also has an iPod that he got for Christmas a few years back. (The NWR has a very good personal electronics recycling program called give it to Henry, he’ll make use it.)

Bear does listen to podcasts as well as music, but his choices are so insufferably boring that even Henry refuses to listen to them. (I don’t really listen to podcasts - despite making one - so insert the most boring podcast you can think of here.)

As for other internet uses...

Gordon is very up-to-date on the newest social media trends - somehow - but only really cares when he is involved. He won’t admit it, but he’s been trying to figure out how to work a camera/selfie stick for some time so he can start up his own Instagram account. So far he has been unsuccessful, but one day he will manage it.

James has had an ongoing feud with his own Wikipedia page for about a decade now. The article sourced most of its information about his construction off of some out-of-print book about the L&Y. The book in question is accurate about James’ class, but not James himself - as he was a prototype engine. There’s no other primary sources available, so the very dedicated Wikipedia mod who created the page won’t change it - no matter how much James complains that he was there! He knows what happened!

Every now and again a TTTE fan blog/tumblr will make a post about hypothetical “ships” of the Sodor engines. Most of the time it’s shipping the core characters like Gordon and Henry, much to Gordon’s bafflement and Henry’s amusement!

Only one blog (a ttte fan tumblr by the curious name of @mean-scarlet-deceiver ) has gotten it right. Henry actually reached out to congratulate this blogger, but was unfortunately mistaken for a very dedicated roleplay account.

James is very annoyed by these blogs, as they have never once correctly guessed who he is “shipped” with! He has tried several times to be seen in public with Delta, but these events have never gone as planned - the “best” instance is when Edward rolled by at exactly the wrong moment, leading to months of speculation that JamesxEdward was the ship to look out for!

Thomas, being a generally oblivious sort of engine, was totally unaware of the online fan community around the TV show until he started getting actively harassed by vloggers and Instagrammers in the early 2010s. He’s fine with it now, but it was a deeply unusual experience for most of 2012.

Toby has developed an unexpectedly popular following on social media following his collab with Stormzy. His official twitter is huge now, with over a million followers, even if he has no idea what to do with it. He posts rarely, but usually manages to make an incredible post when he does.

No-one is sure who told Oliver what a “fan-production” is, but if you manage to get ahold of him for any period of time and ask him nicely, he will lend his voice to your TTTE fan-project, so long as it isn’t about [INSERT TERRIBLE SOCIAL/POLITICAL VIEW(S) HERE]. This means that he has 100% voiced dramatic readings of NSFW Fanfics before, which is always an absolute riot to spring on people unannounced.

There is a series of slice-of-life TTTE fanfics on Ao3 that have been written with such accuracy and innate railway knowledge that people are sure it was written by a Sodor engine, but nobody knows which one.

The Culdee Fell Railway has very active Instagram, Twitter and YouTube accounts, with all of the engines and coaches showing up regularly. It’s about the closest any of the railways on Sodor have come to what those outside the UK would call “normal locomotive social media”.

The Skarloey Railway has social media accounts too, but they don’t really feature the engines in any meaningful way, instead being used as a normal service announcements page.

The SR is a real working railway that doesn’t rely on tourism money as much as the others do, so they get a bit of a pass here.

The Arlesdale Railway has Twitter and YouTube, which didn’t usually get a lot of hits until 2020, when Ivan and Amanda Farrier started badgering the staff to make some videos just to alleviate some boredom. So far the most popular videos on the channel are a front-mounted camera video of the entire line slow-tv style, Bert explaining how steam engines work, and a video of Mike complaining about Justin Bieber for a solid half-hour.

That’s about it as far as Sodor goes, but before we’re done, I want to take a moment to talk about Tornado, because I have some fun ideas for her...

First of all, we need to establish that Tornado is very young. Her construction only started in late 90′s, and she was steamed to life in 2000, putting her firmly into the “Zoomer” category. Add in the fact that she was built by a bunch of old men who didn’t really know how to treat a new engine, and she was raised much more like a human than a locomotive - I’ll get to this much more in the proper Tornado Headcanon post, but what this means here is that when social media started being a thing in the mid-to-late 2000′s, the people at the A1 Trust decided that they needed a young person to run things like Twitter, Facebook, and Myspace... and, well, Tornado was the youngest person in the trust by a large margin.

I should state here that in the rest of the world, locomotives are on the internet at roughly the same level as humans are, so there’s plenty of equipment to connect a phone/computer/camera to an engine - being English, the A1 Trust didn’t know how common it was, but they managed to get it up and running just the same.

So Tornado has very quickly become attuned to the internet, just like any other teenager would. (yes, let’s let that settle into our minds for a moment - Tornado is barely old enough to drink in the US!) Quite naturally that means that she knows social media inside and out, and is actually quite a proficient social media manager for the trust, managing all of their social pages. More than one person who has complained about the trust on twitter has unknowingly been complaining to Tornado herself!

“On the internet, nobody knows that you’re a dog Engine”.

Tornado has her own personal social media accounts too, but most/all of the time she gets mistaken for a very dedicated role-player, as the general perception of British Locomotives is that they don’t tweet. This has resulted in some amazing reactions from podcast hosts (because, as you might expect, Tornado is very knowledgeable about steam traction in the 21st century, and tweets about it often, so train podcasts want to talk to her) when she gets invited onto video calls, turns on her webcam, and is met with screams from people who suddenly realize that her profile picture is accurate.

By far the best instance of this is when she was invited onto a video call with a railfan podcast. She was at the NRM at the time and managed to convince them to let her use their Skype setup. A wide-angle lens was needed because she was on the turntable in the Great Hall, so that podcast quickly got sidetracked when her webcam was turned on and revealed Tornado, with Mallard, Evening Star, City of Truro, and Green Arrow visible behind her. Whatever the original topic was quickly got thrown out in favor of a 2-hour Q&A with some of the most famous engines in the UK.

#ask response #the internet #ttte thomas #ttte toby #ttte bill and ben #ttte gordon #ttte daisy #ttte mavis #ttte henry #ttte bear #ttte oliver #tornado #nrm #trains using the internet #ttte #sodor #sodor shenangians #the formatting on this one is super fucked up and i can't figure out how to fix it - sorry

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iatethepomegranate · 3 years

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We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 10

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, is showered in love and support, learns how to be a person again, and tries to protect those like him from going through what he did.

Content warnings: Panic attacks, vomiting, Caleb's backstory

Chapter summary: There's not a lot Caleb can do right now, but he can teach a hurting teenager a new spell and reunite him with his very much alive parents.

Chapter notes: I 100% believe that Astrid knows the Nein call Essek "Hot Boi." Chapter title is from Ghost by Jacob Lee.

****

Chapter 10: And I'm just a stranger who could be a friend

The first thing Caleb did was flip to the page in his spellbook where he had transcribed the Sending spell. It was far into the book. As he pulled out his copper wire, Felix made a sound of surprise.

“You learned this recently?” asked Felix.

“Ja, I travelled with a cleric friend for a long time who had the spell,” Caleb replied. “Not Caduceus; he was there too, though. Jester seemed to enjoy casting it at everyone, even mere acquaintances, so I never saw the need for it.”

“What made you learn it?”

“Jester insisted a few weeks ago, so I could talk to her while we were apart. I knew another wizard who could teach me, and we were spending a great deal of time alone together exploring Aeor, and exchanging theories.”

Felix, despite his distress, was absolutely smirking at Caleb and he was not about to deal with teasing from an actual child. “So… exchanging theories in Aeor? Is that what old people call it now?”

“Hush.” Caleb ran Felix through the basic somatic motions of the spell, before demonstrating it himself. “Hallo, Caduceus. I am teaching Felix the Sending spell. It will take a few hours. Let me know if anything happens.”

“Hey, Caleb. Beau has the monks looking for Nico. They’re playing nice with the Volstrucker, apparently. Don’t miss dinner.”

“Right, so you can have a single two-way exchange out of the one casting,” said Felix. “What’s the word limit again?”

“Twenty-five words. Now, this is a third-level spell. It will take some effort for you at the moment.”

“I’ve been to school, Bren. I know what spell levels are.”

“Call me Caleb. Or Professor Widogast, if you prefer. I do teach here now.”

“Fuck off.”

“Caleb’s fine.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Professor.”

This was better. Caleb could work with impetuous children. Most children he knew were like that. Caleb could tune his behaviour to whatever Felix seemed to find most calming. Or at least distracting.

Felix had great attention to detail, methodically copying out Caleb’s transcription of the spell and yet still finding excuses to make fun of Caleb along the way. It was comfortable, more than Caleb had expected. Felix only knew him by reputation, and one put forward by Trent, no less.

Maybe it was the shared trauma. Maybe it was the fact Caleb was teaching him something. Or because Caleb, despite being a professor here, wasn’t trying to inhabit a position of authority over him in the way Trent had.

Snacks were delivered to the room about halfway through the process. Felix paid it little mind, and that was painfully familiar.

“Felix.” Caleb could not believe he was enforcing a break. That he had become the kind of person who would pull a focused wizard away from study for mere human needs such as food. But he was responsible for Felix, at least for now, and that was a frightening pressure.

“Busy.”

Caleb closed his own spellbook, taking away Felix’s source for transcription. In its place, he put a bowl of fruit. “Eat.”

Felix paused, his pen hovering over the page, frowning. Then he slowly set it down and sullenly grabbed a plum. Caleb sat back against the wall, nibbling on a handful of grapes.

“Don’t forget to stretch before we get back to it.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Why are you like this?”

“Listen, I’ve had many people do this for me in the last year alone. So I’m paying it forward, and you are going to accept that.” Caleb tried to throw a grape into his mouth, and missed. He grabbed it off the floor and popped it into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. “It’s good for you.” If any of the Nein had heard him say that, they probably would have fainted from shock. It was easier to give this advice than to follow it himself.

“I can see why Trent fucking hates you.”

Caleb snorted. “Oh, this does not scratch the surface of Trent’s problems with me.” He threw another grape, catching it in his mouth this time. “Did anyone tell you what my friends and I did to him?”

“No.”

“Well, he tried to ambush us at Caduceus’s family home. One of my friends may have ‘acquired’ evidence of his experiments from Vergesson, and he was upset that I refused to entertain his ego while busy with bigger problems. By the time we were done with him, Astrid and Wulf were on our side, my friends had permanently glued a silencing collar around his neck, and used the leftover glue to stick his hands together. And that glue was in the shape of a dick.”

“Bullshit.”

“Ask Astrid. She activated the collar. Or Beauregard. She put the thing on him.”

Felix had that look of a teenage boy who was trying not to look impressed, hiding it behind a veneer of sarcasm. “Okay. I will.”

They finished their break, stretched, and got back to it. Felix was clever, eager to learn. It brought back memories for Caleb. Good memories, as tainted as they now were. And as much as he was worried for Nico and grieved for what had happened, he was also indescribably relieved they had been able to stop Felix. If he could help Felix reclaim even the smallest amount of good from his stolen childhood, he would take that as a victory.

Astrid looked in on them as Felix practiced the somatic motions around his copper wire, his muscle memory already secure. With a few minor corrections, he would be ready to cast.

“Almost finished?” she asked.

“Almost,” said Caleb. “Felix, that was very good. Just watch that you fully complete the motion right at the end, and hold it until you finish speaking your message. With time, you can find your own method.”

“You learned this method from your special Aeor friend?”

Caleb sighed. “No, these somatic components are developed from watching several casters perform the spell. My colleague provided the basic framework to learn the spell, but his somatic components are more intricate than my own.”

“So he’s your fancy special Aeor friend.”

Astrid chuckled. “It’s not the silliest nickname he’s had. Now, focus. The Martinet is sticking his nose in our business and we need to get you out of here.”

Felix wordlessly practiced the gesture again, meticulously correcting his errors. He ran through the motion a few more times, becoming more confident each time.

“I think you are ready,” said Caleb. “Remember: twenty-five words. Consider them in advance. It may be worth telling Nico he can reply to you.”

Felix nodded and closed his eyes, counting on his fingers under his breath. And then he cast. “Hey, Nico. It’s Felix. I heard what happened. I’m okay. They stopped me. I hope you’re okay. You can reply to this message.” The barest pause. “Love you.” Felix held his breath, listening out for a reply.

Caleb let him have ten seconds, before breaking the news. “Felix. If he has not replied yet--”

“I know,” Felix muttered. He grabbed his spellbook, hugging it to his chest as he deflated, and Caleb’s heart broke. “Just… get me out of here.”

****

Astrid’s teleport brought the three of them back to Blumenthal. The path was muddy from yesterday’s storm. Felix gripped his spellbook tighter, raking his eyes over the buildings around them. The way he held himself, shoulders hunched, inches from bolting, reminded Caleb far too much of himself mere months ago.

“Felix,” he said. “We need to speak to your mother and father, but we will not put you in a situation you do not think you can handle.”

“I don’t know if I can do this.” And wasn’t that just painfully familiar. They had barely made it a few steps before he froze, closing his eyes against the vision of home.

Astrid looked to Caleb, silently begging for him to do something.

“Felix,” said Caleb, completely panicking on the inside, “we will not force you to do anything you don’t want to. Okay? Let’s walk for a bit. Take deep breaths. If we reach your house and you don’t want to go inside, I will stay with you and Astrid will talk to your parents. Is that all right?”

Felix nodded, and he took a step. Then another step. And another. They walked together down familiar but unfamiliar streets. They were in a different part of Blumenthal than they had been yesterday. Caleb blocked out most of it, concentrating on getting Felix through the next few minutes. His own shit did not matter right now.

Felix’s body language remained tense. His head stayed down, barely keeping an eye on where he was going. His fingers flexed around his spellbook. And Caleb was planning. A hundred different options.

Caleb refused to force this boy to face his parents before he was ready. If the time came, and he couldn’t do it, he would need somewhere else to go. Somewhere away from here. If Astrid allowed it, there were a few options. Veth in Nicodranas would take Felix if Caleb asked, but he wasn’t sure if Felix would feel comfortable being around a family like that, especially with a small child. Or Felix could stay at the Lavish Chateau, but Marion was a busy woman who had been through enough on Caleb’s account. There was the Gentleman’s hideout, but Caleb wouldn’t want to leave him alone there. He could take Felix to the Blooming Grove, where the Clays would willingly care for him, but taking a boy who almost killed his parents to a graveyard was possibly not the best option.

There was Reani, wherever she was, but he wasn’t so sure that Felix could handle her on his own, or that her rigid morality had shifted enough to take him in without killing him if she found out even a fraction of the shit he did while under Trent’s power. Taking Felix to Nila and her young family, who Caleb believed had returned to her clan, would bring up many of the similar issues as taking him to Veth. And the Guiatao clan had suffered greatly at the hands of the Iron Shepherds, including many deaths, so Caleb wasn’t sure that would be a good place for him to cope with nearly killing his own parents.

And Caleb was not putting Felix on a pirate ship, so that ruled out Fjord, Jester and Kingsley.

They could always bring Felix back to Rexxentrum and he could either stay on Astrid’s estate (possibly too traumatic) or with Caleb and the lesbians, but Ludinus was poking around and that could get messy. Not to mention the whole “harbouring a Drow fugitive” thing.

Caleb circled back to Veth. If Felix could handle it, he would feel most comfortable taking the boy to her if he wasn’t able to go home. Caleb hadn’t told her what happened yet; he was not looking forward to that conversation. Even if it would help him in the end.

Of course, this all depended on Felix. If he agreed to go home, this would be irrelevant. But Caleb felt better having come up with a plan.

They reached a quiet street. Felix headed to the house at the far end, partially concealed by a granary. Caleb thought, with faint nausea, that even the physical isolation of their parents’ homes could have been a factor for Trent.

Felix made it all the way to the small vegetable garden out the front of the house, but faltered between the carrots. He stared up at the modest house. A single-storey affair, small even for a family of three. The front door was painted cherry red. The boy’s lips parted; no sound came out. His eyes traced the features of the house - the red door, the two small windows, the thatched roof in need of maintenance.

A woman’s face appeared at the window. And the door flew open.

“Felix!” The woman ran out of the house, and Caleb was just barely able to take in her simple dress and heavy coat, blonde hair gathered in a loose bun. But as she got close, Felix stepped back, wide eyes fixed on her face, as she spoke in rapid Zemnian. “No one has heard from you in weeks. Where have you been? Are you okay?”

“I can’t do this.” And he was backing away. “I can’t.” He tore his eyes from her, and ran.

“Go after him,” Astrid told Caleb. He wasted no time chasing after the boy. Caleb had run from a great many things in the past few years, but he was not the fastest man alive. But he was fast enough.

Felix barely made it around the granary before he collapsed into the grass. Gasping for breath.

Caleb knelt beside him. “Felix, listen to me. You’re okay. Slow down, breathe. Let the air fill your lungs. Feel the grass beneath your hands.”

Felix dug his fingers into the dirt, gulping in air. He was listening, at least. Being on the other side of this was not especially familiar to Caleb, but he had coached Essek once or twice. He could do this. They could do this.

Of course, Felix barely knew him, so it wasn’t like Caleb could just hug him. That would probably make things worse. So he would have to use his words.

“Felix, you got this. How does the grass feel?” Caleb gave Felix a moment to process, and then he supplied options, taking a pause between each. “Is it dry? Wet? What colour is it?”

Felix coughed a little, sucking in a shaky breath. “Wet. Green.” His hand slid across the grass. “Short. Muddy.”

“Good.”

Felix leaned away and vomited onto the grass. Then he staggered to his feet, grabbing Caleb’s shoulder for support. They moved a little further from the house, and Felix leaned against the granary, knocking the back of his head against the wood. And he laughed, that kind of unhinged, hysterical laugh that was not funny at all. Caleb knew it well.

And then he was in tears. Caleb reached for his shoulder, carefully, and Felix didn’t shake him off.

“I was going to kill her,” Felix said quietly. “If you hadn’t… I almost murdered my parents. I love them. I love them… and it didn’t matter. I was going to… oh gods....”

“Felix,” Caleb said, and did a very poor job hiding the tremor in his voice. “I am so glad we found you.”

“What the fuck does it matter? I would’ve done it.”

“Felix, as somebody who did… it matters a great deal.”

Felix stared up at him, eyes wide and wild.

“I will not force you to go home if you’re not ready,” Caleb said, pulling his voice back under control. “All I will say is this: I would have given anything to see my mother and father again. I almost did. And I know it hurts to look at your mother, knowing that you were going to end her life because of a lie. But you didn’t. She is still here. So is your father. And you have time to heal, all three of you.”

Felix wiped his face on his sleeve, cleared his throat. “Okay. Danke.”

***

Astrid was seated at a small dining table with Felix’s mother and father. Nobody got up from the table when Caleb brought Felix in, though it took visible restraint from his parents. Felix took after his mother--blonde hair, blue eyes, soft features--but he was closer to his father’s build.

The father tore his eyes from Felix with visible effort, and when his gaze fell on Caleb, he froze. And Caleb recognised him, and his wife. Friedrich Schneider and Louise Fischer--probably Schneider now. They were a few years older than him, but he could recall playing together as children.

“I heard you were back,” said Friedrich. “You were helping Nico out yesterday, ja?”

“Ja, I was there,” Caleb said carefully. “As were Astrid and Wulf.”

Louise pulled out the chair next to her. “Felix, come here.”

Felix, still gripping his spellbook like a lifeline, shuffled over and fell into the seat. Caleb sat next to Astrid on the opposite side of the table to the family.

“I have given some details of Master Ikithon’s arrest,” Astrid told him. “We were just about to discuss options for support. If you would?”

“Ja, of course.” Caleb compartmentalised his old memories and focused on the task ahead of him. “We are organising a support group for Ikithon’s former students. We are still nailing down those details, but we will be sure to pass them on. I have also been appointed as a teacher at Soltryce Academy, and we are hoping to put the students back into school when they feel ready.”

Louise and Friedrich grasped at Felix, who curled in on himself but did not complain.

“We just got him home,” said Louise. “After everything Astrid has told us, why would we let him go back?”

“The students in Felix’s position are at a delicate stage of development,” Astrid said, with little inflection, and Caleb sensed she was compartmentalising as well. “They are quite skilled, but have lost the guidance they had. That is dangerous. Good or bad, Ikithon was…” She sighed, and the mask melted away a little. “He engineered this situation. We were dependent on him. Even those whose families still live. Bren, you have been out of his influence longer. Do you have thoughts?”

“Ja, I do.” Caleb had spent his fair share of time soul-searching in the past few weeks, as well as the past year as a whole. “Ikithon shaped each of his students in a very specific way: patriotic to a fault, willing to do anything to get the job done, and unfalteringly loyal to him. It is a gradual process. By the time you realize it is happening, you have already done terrible things at his command. For most, there was no way out. My situation is unique, because I was able to escape in a rather dramatic fashion, but it has taken years to shake off the influence he had on me. I was alone and homeless for most of that time, and let me tell you: almost every fragment of positive change in me happened in the past year, because I had a support network. I found people who cared about me, and they learned how to help me. It was a group effort. I am now in a position to offer that kind of support to others.”

“Say we let him go back,” said Friedrich. “Will he have to live in that place?”

“Not all the time,” said Astrid. “You are not far from Rexxentrum, so I do not see a problem if he wishes to come home regularly. Bren and I both live off-campus if he needs a break but cannot make it to Blumenthal.”

“You do not need to decide now,” said Caleb. “The seniors do not start for another few weeks.”

“We’ll think about it,” Friedrich said flatly. “What happened to Nico?”

“He did it,” Felix said quietly. “Had a breakdown. Ran the fuck away.”

“We have people searching for him,” said Astrid. “Bren taught Felix a spell to talk to him, if he likes.”

“He prefers Caleb,” Felix muttered.

“Danke, Felix.” Caleb had not expected Felix to speak up on his behalf, not when he had his own shit going on. “Astrid gets a pass and, well, your parents knew me when we were children. I go by Caleb Widogast these days, but I will answer to either name.”

“Why the change?” asked Friedrich, still in that flat tone of distrust.

“I went by many names after I escaped Master Ikithon,” said Caleb. “For safety. I gave that one to a woman who eventually became my best friend. Now, it’s my name. But, for you, I don’t mind.”

Both Friedrich and Louise did not look trusting. At all. A mere muscle twitch from openly glaring at Caleb and Astrid, really.

Louise sighed, and some of the hostility dropped. “Thank you for bringing Felix home.”

“We will check in regularly,” said Astrid.

“Felix can message either of us with the spell I taught him,” said Caleb. “If he so wishes.”

Things were too tense to continue much conversation. Caleb and Astrid said their goodbyes, and left. They did not speak, except for Astrid’s short incantation to teleport them back to Rexxentrum.

They landed on the outskirts of the Shimmer Ward. Astrid immediately combed her fingers through her hair, hands shaking.

“That was…” She groaned softly. “Thank you for coming. I will keep you updated on the search for Nicolaus.” She turned on her heel and marched deeper into the ward, pausing for a split second, before she continued onwards without looking back.

Caleb slowly worked his way back to and through the Tangles until he was home. He couldn’t fault Astrid for being distant right at the end. The last twenty-four hours had been intense for everyone involved.

It was close to dinnertime as he reached the house. He entered his side and shut the door, leaning against it as the strength left his body. He’d done it. Today had been two-thirds of a shitshow, and he had made it through.

Felix was home with his parents, and he had the means to contact Nico, and Caleb himself, if he wanted. That was a win.

Nico, however…

Caleb knew, intellectually, that it had been a freak occurrence. A series of imperfections had tangled together into a knot, and that knot had been Nico’s escape. Almost every wizard in that room had more than one try at countering Nico’s spell, but they had not been unable to unravel it. Nico, empowered by panic and grief, had thrown all he had into a powerful fireball, and had the adrenaline to power through what should have hurt him a great deal.

Caleb hoped he was okay. Physically, at least. Psychologically, Caleb knew he wasn’t.

He sat on the floor, resting his back against the door. And he tried something. Coil of wire in hand. “Hello, Nicolaus. This is Caleb Widogast. You may know me as Bren Ermendrud. I was with you today. I’m sorry we frightened you. Be safe.”

He didn’t expect a response, and he did not receive one. A small part of him feared Nico wasn’t responding because he was dead. It was all too likely. There was no way he hadn’t been injured in the blast. Once the adrenaline wore off, the pain could’ve taken over and left him vulnerable to any number of attackers.

Gods, if after all this, Nico had died on the side of a road…

Caleb was tired. But he forced his fingers to cooperate, and worked through another casting.

“Me again. I want you to know: Trent Ikithon is in prison for what he did to us. You’re welcome in my home, when ready.”

Again, no response.

“Caleb?” A form slid into view at the top of the stairs, blending into the dark, but Caleb knew Essek’s voice anywhere.

“Ja,” he said, with the remaining strength he had. “Felix is home. We have both tried to message Nico, with no response. I…” He didn’t want to speak it into existence, so he shifted the morbid statement on his tongue into something more positive. “I hope he’s alive.”

Essek floated down the stairs and sat beside him, squeezing into the remaining doorspace. “If he's anything like you, I would expect nothing less.”

“Danke.” Caleb dropped his head onto Essek’s shoulder, and let himself rest.

#critical role #caleb widogast #shadowgast #astrid beck #professor widogast #cr2 #my fics #fanfiction #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic

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justinalovee · 4 years

Text

Now we live

Previous chapter

Chapter: 0.07

Nova stood watching as Kane tried to blend his people with her own. It was a disaster waiting to happen. She was surprised her commander had agreed to it.

“Monin.” Kane said cheerily. “I thought we'd start with a reception then move on to training. We have a lot to learn from each other. Weapons there, please. Only Ark guards are here.” Indra along with other grounders threw their weapons into a box. “Thank you for agreeing to this, Indra.”

Indra looked him up and down, before replying with a snarky comment. “We're here on the commander's orders. I agreed to nothing.”

The council meeting room quickly became full of grounders. Kane looked uncomfortable as he spoke to Jaha in a low voice. Nova tried not to smirk as she heard Octavia telling a guard to stick his tongue up his ass. She sighed listening to Kane deliver a speech about their common enemy, the mountain men.

Nova’s eyes landed on Murphy as one of the other grounders started to square up to him. She bit down on her bottom lip as she decided what to do. With eyes on them Murphy had suggested they kept a low profile with the aftermath of Finn’s death still being raw, and a part of that was not jumping in to defend each other unless it was necessary. Nova did as Lexa said and stayed away from the ceremony, but now Nova wasn’t sure if she could go back as whispers about her involvement had started to spread. Thankfully it hadn’t reached the ears of the sky clan yet.

Murphy glared at the person in front of him, “you got a problem?”

“Yu stood der watching while Ai village was massacred.” ‘You stood there watching while my village was massacred.’

Nova couldn’t hold her tongue. “Penn hod op. Yu get in em wasn’t em.” ‘Penn stop. You know it wasn’t him.’

Murphy shrugged, “sorry man. I don’t speak grounder.

Penn stepped even closer to Murphy, causing him to push the grounder back. Kane stormed over to them. “Mr. Murphy, apologize to that man.”

“For what?” Murphy asked. “He started it!”

Kane shook his head. “Two days' work detail.”

“Work detail? I just told you I didn't do it-” Murphy challenged him.

“Care to make it three?”

Penn glared at Murphy, “you can burn just like your friend.” Murphy clenched his fist but ignored the comment. He was trying his best not to take the bait.

Penn smirked, “Hei nova? ha does Ai feel bilaik a skaikru slut nau? everybody get in Yu turned bilaik bakon ona bilaik gada in kru gon Disha. cockroach. Ai wonder chit bilaik sister would fig raun taim she could-”

Penn was cut off by Murphy punching him in the face. As a riot broke out between sky people and grounders, Murphy ignored Kane who was yelling at him, and grabbed Nova’s hand and dragged her out of the room with him.

______

Murphy closed the door behind him and spun to face Nova. Who looked bewildered by what just happened. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, “I’m fine.” Her fingers trailed over the bruise appearing on his knuckles. “I can’t believe you punched Penn in the face.”

“He had it coming,” Murphy’s eyes were glued on Nova’s fingers. He wasn’t used to somebody worrying about him, she gently pressed a kiss to the back of his hand before rubbing her thumb over his swollen skin. “What did he do to you anyway?”

‘Hey Nova? How does It feel to be a Skaikru slut now? Everybody knows you turned your back on your own people for this...cockroach. I wonder what your sister would think if she could-‘

Nova shrugged, pretending the comment didn’t hurt her. “Nothing important, just that I’m a slut, a traitor, and he was starting to talk about my sister when you punched him.”

Murphy gritted his teeth. He would have done more than punch Penn in the face if he had known what he was saying. “How do you say I’m sorry in grounder?”

Nova chuckled. “I’m fiya, why? Are you thinking of apologising for causing a riot?”

Smiling Murphy shook his head. “Hell no. I just wanted to say...I’m fiya Nova.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind ear, “you could have gotten hurt in there.”

She closed her eyes. “I’ve been through much worse, and so have you.”

Murphy gulped down, his eyes had trailed from her fingers to her pink lips. His feelings towards the grounder confused him. From the moment he let her escape the drop-ship something changed. He had never put his neck on the line for anyone before, let alone a stranger. The grounder girl who helped him live quickly became his only friend. But now? Murphy wasn’t sure if friendship was the only thing he wanted.

Nova opened her eyes to see Murphy gazing down at her. The look made her stomach tighten, her lips parted slightly as he leaned towards her.

The door to the room swung open, as Clay, a young grounder stood sheepishly rubbing his neck. “Kane en indra are lufa au Yu both. Ai heard chit happened fou, Skai boy punched penn gon defend Yu?” ‘Kane and Indra are looking for you both. I heard what happened before, Sky boy punched penn to defend you? Causing a massive fight to break out? ’

A wide smile spread across Nova’s face as she nodded, “he don dula.”

Murphy frowned as the grounder raised his eyebrows and left, “what was that about it?”

“He was asking if it was true if you punched Penn, and caused riot.” She laughed, “Kane and Indra are looking for us.”

Great, just great.

______

“Good, Fio. Who's next?”

“I am.” Octavia stepped forward, “We're supposed to train together right?”

A few grounders tutted as the sky girl argued with Indra that she should train with them. Kane stood beside Nova who was leaning against the wall. “Aren’t you going to train?”

She shook her head, “I’ve never been much of a fighter.”

“What is your skill?” He asked curiously. Kane wasn’t dumb, every grounder he had came across had a specialsed skill.

“Archer...” memories of the promise she made to Treyton came flooding back. “Let gyon au kom foutaim.” Kane raised his eyebrow at the grounders mumble. Nova cleared her throat, “We should all try our best to let go of the past. I can teach your people how to use a bow and arrow if they are interested. And Indra says it’s okay.”

He smiled, “thank you.”

______

“I take it you don't approve.” Murphy did his best to Ignore Jaha. “I asked you a question.”

Murphy stopped mopping and turned to face Jaha. “Who cares what I think.”

“I do. That’s why I asked.” Jaha looked back at his people and grounders training together. “So what do you think?”

“I think the grounders can go to hell.” The moments the words passed his lips he regretted saying them. Murphy didn’t hate all grounders, he was pissed at them getting special treatment. “Most of them anyway.”

The chancellor waited until the hallway was clear before following John further into the camp. “I got you off work detail.” He watched as the teenager screwed his face up. “You knew my son and I'd like you to take me to his grave. Now that there's a truce, it's safe for me to go see the body.”

“Then get somebody else to take you,” Murphy spat.

“I'm told the graves are unmarked. You can show me which is his.” Jaha offered Murphy a gun, which he accepted. “You can hold a mop, you can hold and gun.”

______

Murphy scoffed as he watched Jaha kneeling at Wells grave. He had no sympathy for the man who killed his father. “Are we about done? We got to be heading back.”

Jaha didn’t take his off Well’s grave, “How well did you know him?”

“Well enough to be hung for his murder.” Murphy paused, “Clarke sugarcoated it for you didn't she?”

“What happened to my son?

Murphy sighed, he didn’t want to relive one of the worst days of his life. “Twelve-year-old girl stabbed him in the neck with a knife she took from me”

Jaha shot his head up. “Why would she do that?”

“She couldn't kill you,” he shrugged. “Yeah, so you got a lot of blood on your hands, Chancellor. Every single one of them including your son would still be alive if you hadn't sent us down here.”

Jaha stood up and clasped his hands behind his back. “ If I didn't send you, they would've died on the Ark with the rest of us and we would've never known that Earth was survivable. Their sacrifice is why we are here. Good can come out of even the darkest acts, John.”

Murph groaned as Jaha started to walk the wrong way, “Camp you is that way.”

“We'll rest at the dropship for a while.”

“Suit yourself.”

______

Murphy shook his head as Jaha continued to offer him food. “You sure? You must be hungry?”

“No one gives anything without expecting anything in return.”

Jaha looked at him with a blank expression on his face. “That's a cynical way to go through life, John.”

“You pull me off work detail, you offer me food. Why are you being so nice to me.”

The chancellor cleared his throat, as if was getting ready to deliver a speech. “Everyone deserves a second chance. That's why we sent the hundred to the Earth in the first place.”

“What a load of crap. You didn't give a damn about us. You still don't, that's why you're not fighting for those kids in Mount Weather.”

Jaha gave him a disapproving look. “I have to think of everyone. I know you don't want to hear this but sometimes you have to sacrifice the few to save the many. Like I said, good can come out of even the darkest acts.”

Murphy shook his head. The only person who treated him like a human was Nova, she showed him kindness when nobody else did. “Then you can take it from me, I was pardoned, slate wiped clean I'm still treated like dirt.”

“You made mistakes, so have I.”

Murphy glared at him, “I'm nothing like you, Chancellor.”

“No, we both should have died several times over. We both suffered at the hands of the grounders. We both have been betrayed and imprisoned by our own people.”

“So there's no place for us,” Murphy said sarcastically. “Great thought you were supposed to be inspiring.”

“There is a place for all of us. When I first landed on Earth I met a woman who spoke of a place beyond the dead zone, a place where everyone is accepted, a city of light.”

“Sounds like a fairytale.” Murphy continued to listen to Jaha’s rambles about a better life, while trying not to think about what could be happening back at camp.

______

Murphy awoke in the drop-ship to the sounds of others talking. What the fuck? He jumped to his feet, “Hey what the hell is this?”

Jaha stepped to the side to reveal a small group of people standing outside. “We're going to the City of Light.”

“You're going now? There's a million ways to die out there.”

“If it's not your time, nothing can kill you. If it is your time it only takes one.” Murphy opened his mouth to reply when Nova came into view. What the hell was she doing here? Jaha smiled at the young man’s expression. “I thought you might want some company Mr. Murphy.”

Nova quickly hugged her friend before turning to face the strange man who had asked her to join them. “Do you even have a map?”

“Nope.”

Murphy wrapped his arm around Nova’s shoulder. “Then how do you know where you're going?”

“I don't, but I won't be moved by fear. You want to stop being treated like a criminal. You gotta stop thinking that's what you are. Take this leap of faith with me, John Murphy and let me show you there is so much more for you than this.”

Jaha started to lead his ‘people’ away. Murphy and Nova watched as the group started to fo further into the forest. “Why did you come?”

“Jaha...your leader said he knows what I’ve done...he apparently knows how to make the pain stop.” She blinked away tears, “I feel so guilty. Every time I see your people...I see his face everywhere I look.”

“So you want to go?”

Nova bit down on her bottom lip. “I-I don’t know. I’m not going anywhere without you, if you stay I stay.”

For the first time in hours a smile pulled at the corners of Murphy’s mouth. He weighed up their options, they could return to camp Jaha and risk others finding out what Nova had done, or take a chance. “What the hell,” he shrugged. “My people hate me, and Lexa has practically banished you. Let’s see what this place has to offer.”

Nova leaned up and kissed him on the check. Murphy locked his own fingers with hers, as they started to catch up with the group searching for the city of lights.

#the 100 #John Murphy #john murphy/oc #john murphy/grounder #john murphy imagine #john murphy x oc #murphy the 100 #grounders #the city of light #the 100 x oc #lexa the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #the 100 fandom #thelonious jaha #marcus kane #Indra the 100 #slow romance #friends to lovers

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infinitegalahad · 4 years

Text

All The Light We Cannot See

Pairing: Safin x Blind!Reader

Summary: A young assassin and blind sculptor find beauty in each other.

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: Thank you @just-a-queen-bee for this fun little request! This was my very first one actually! It was so fun to write. A short and sweet drabble. Soft Safin is the best Safin. Alicia and Ben are dorks together so I did slightly inspire it toff of them. The reader is blind and gender-neutral. And yes, I shamelessly named it after the book...I had too! I'm sorry the book was so damn good! I legit love all the requests, keep them coming! Just a reminder that I’m doing rabbles and heacanons only due to school. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy! ;)

Masterlist

There was something about them that Safin fell for.

He wasn’t one for emotions. In fact, he was a cold-blooded killer and nothing more. The world had never given him any kindness. All it had done was strip his family, dignity, everything. Emotions were simply nonexistent in Safin’s world. Life was a game and nothing more. He was SPECTRE’s lapdog and always did as they pleased. Safin was a ruthless killer who hid behind a mask to hide his true self.

But if he felt nothing, why did he feel the urge to hide his face? The scars had been burned into his skin ever since he was a child. He was young, yet looked old. At a glance, the scars seemed normal, but they truly a monstrosity. He was a monster, he knew he was. But nobody had ever cared about him or comforted him. People were targets in his eyes. Every last one of them.

Except for y/n.

Y/n’s father was an infamous scientist Dr.Morte. He had worked for Spectre and thousands of organizations over the years. Morte was known for kidnapping agents and horribly disfiguring them. Safin was corrupt, but Morte had been far in the deep end. When assigned the hit, Safin had no problem killing him. The death had been rather personal. Morte had been one of the many men responsible for the death of Safin’s family, and disfigurement of his face. The burns were a reminder of Morte and his actions. Safin didn’t kill him because of the crimes he had committed against others. He killed Morte for what he had done to him; strangled him with the very gas he used against Safin. Seeing his eyes roll into the back of his head as he pleaded for help only satisfied Safin.

As Morte took his final breath, Safin had heard footsteps in the room above him. He was instructed to kill every suspect in the building. As he traveled up with his finger on the trigger, he had walked into a dark room full of thousands of clay sculptures. Each had depicted a range of faces, small and big, happy and sad. A noise had startled Safin, causing him to point his weapon in the direction of a young person. They wore rags with a frail figure. There face was expressionless as they looked at him with the saddest clear eyes he had ever seen. They had blinked a few times, still looking directly at Safin. But their sad eyes never moved once from his form. Instead of being scared, they were calm in the heat of the moment. Safin’s breathes were heavy and stressed, yet it did not once scare them. They did not cower or cry. All they did was haunt him with those eyes.

Safin’s finger fiddled with the trigger. Why was he hesitating? His hands shook as everything became blurry. A feeling emerged in his body that he had never felt before. Was it sympathy, or confusion? Everybody who had seen him was scared of him for his repulsive features. But not them. It seemed like they knew what was going to happen to them, and that they had accepted it.

A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he lowered the gun, his finger gently sliding off of the trigger.

-----

“Why would you let me see you?”

Out of all the people Saifn had met, they were the only person who had any form of sympathy for. The reason y/n had never reacted to Safin’s weapon was that they couldn’t see him. Y/n had an amazing sense of hearing and smell. They thought there were going to die, but Safin (in a sudden act) couldn’t bring himself to kill them. Y/n had been a victim of there own father’s work. Being blinded at a young age, they accustomed quickly to it. As a form of expression, y/n had used sculpture. All of the faces they felt were transformed into identical sculptures.

Whenever he saw them, Safin felt the urge to protect them as they were the only person that ever mattered him.

Safin turned over to y/n, greeted with there big clear eyes. They had a small, curious smile on there face as they moved towards them. Clay spots were all over there face as they had been working on a new project.

“I’m not special. You wouldn’t want to feel me.”

Tilting there head, they huffed but kept persisting. “Why? I love to feel all kinds of faces!”

“Not mine, y/n. You wouldn’t-”

“Wouldn’t what?”

Y/n had grabbed Safin’s gloved hand, pulling him towards her. Her eyes, although emotionless, were begging. Y/n had known Safin for three years and not once had ever felt his body. They saw Safin has a friend and someone they could trust. After years of abuse and torment, Safin (although cold) had treated them with the respect that no one had ever done. It always had felt like whenever Y/n was close to Safin, he would be so far.

“Like my face. It’s…”

“Different?” A shocked chuckle escaped their lips. “Safin, have you not realized I can’t see anything? I’m not phased, as you can clearly see.”

“Just..” Y/n was close to Safin as they inhaled the cologne he wore. It smelt expensive and was a trademark of Safin. Holding there hand, they played around with his gloved things. They yearned to feel his skin and see who he truly was. “Let me see you. I don’t see the point in you hiding from me…”

“You always joke about your vision…” Safin had noticed, a sigh escaping from his lips. Y/n did have a point. They truly couldn’t see what he was. They were one of the only people who hadn’t run away from him (yet). If they were going to be with him for a while, then what was the point in hiding behind a mask and gloves. “I will allow it. But you won’t...scream, right?”

“Scream? Safin, if I scream and run, where will I go? I will most likely hit a wall.” You joked. Safin’s hands began to lighten in your grasp. Did he not perceive the joke well. Squeezing his hand, you subtly smiled, “I won’t run, I promise.”

Sighing, Safin removed his gloves so they could feel his hands. Y/n’s gentle fingers hesitated with his face, wanting to be gentle. What could be on Safin’s face that he had been so afraid of? He was smart enough to know that they were as blind as a bat.

Their fingers gently caressed his cheeks. It started off with a few fingers which responded to a wrinkled complexion. Furrowing their eyebrows, y/n placed their hands on his cheeks. It wasn’t just wrinkled, but burn marks. They didn’t even need sight to see them. Whatever had been on his face was extremely severe. All of the wrinkles were deep and long. The burns were rough and textured.

But once did it disgust them. Safin had some of the most interesting skin they had ever felt. It wasn’t boring but different. Y/n liked different. It would be fascinating to sculpt.

“Your skin is so...unqiue. I’ve never felt someone like this before...” Y/n had pointed out. Feeling Safin’s eyebrow soften at the response, they quickly reassured him. “That’s a good thing. I like unique things…”

Safin froze at the response. Then he had realized. Had y/n complimented him? All a sudden, he felt flustered as his cheeks began to burn. Y/n had cupped his face, a smile.

“You liked my compliment?”

Safin was caught off guard, too distracted by there face. Their skin was soft to the touch, gliding over his skin. He felt like he was being touched by an angel. “Y-yes, I did. Thank you.”

“Your welcome.” You replied. Your hands became more liberal as you explored his face. The further up you moved, the more you could feel the pain in his face. His face was scrunched along with his whole body, tense by your touch. Not because of you, but he was afraid.

“So sad…” They mumbled. Safin had leaned into your hands, enjoying the soft touch. His ungloved hands wrapped around there soft hands as he pulled them close. A small noise escaped from y/n’s mouth as he pulled them in, surprised by Safin’s sudden move. Safin had usually been distant from you was now pulling them in. They could feel his cheek nestle in your hand, a dreamy sigh escape from his lips.

“Y/n?” He asked, looking into your clear eyes.

“Yes, Safin?”

“You’re never going to leave me, right?”

His voice was rather shaky as he left out of his vulnerable side. It was a side that you were quite unfamiliar with. They knew Safin as someone who felt very little emotion and hated the world that surrounded him. After years of endless speculation, they finally had come to the realization that Safin hated the world because he believed it hated him for the way he looked. The only person he had seemingly ever taken any interest in was them and only them.

“No, why would you think that..?” They perplexed. Feeling his scarred skin, you then had realized. “Oh...Safin. Of course not.”

“Your the man who saved from that place. We’ve been together for three years. I am here for the man inside, not the man outside.” Their fingers moved pieces of his ebony hair, which had begun slowly graying. “I like the man on the outside just as much.”

A smile had curved on his face. It was the first time that you had ever felt such emotion on his face. Safin’s hands brought you close to his face. Before you knew it, your lips had connected. It was a sweet embrace. His hand’s held your cheeks as you held onto his chest for security. Safin’s lips were plush like bread as they overpowered your own lips. He held and treated you like you were made of glass. It had been the first time you had ever had romantic feelings in your life. It took you three years to realize that the love of your life was standing right in front of. Even if you were blind, Safin’s face never mattered to you. All that mattered was that you loved the man that you couldn’t even see. All you ever needed from Safin was to feel his damaged skin against your clay ridden hands.

To sculpt him.

To comfort him.

To love him.

#safin x reader #rami malek x reader #rami malek #safin #no time to die #rami malek headcanon #rami malek masterlist #james bond #my writing #requests

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awake-dearheart · 4 years

Text

Bound To Break [Part Four]

moodboard by @angelic-holland

Series Masterlist

Summary: Andromeda and Perseus feel they’re made for each other. They know they’re meant to be together, even if the gods say otherwise. Even their constellations are together. When Zeus issues a decree that they defy, his fury forces them apart. Is their love strong enough to overcome even the will of the gods?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries, blood, death, the most gut-wrenching angst I’ve ever written holy shit

Word count: 8773 (hahahaha)

A/N: I um....yeah. I wish I had a better explanation for why I did this but I don’t. I just enjoy causing pain. But in all seriousness, I love this little mini series and I’m so happy with how it ended. Thanks to everyone who’s been along for the ride! If you need a refresher on who’s who, here’s the cast list.

The thunder of Zeus’ rage echoed throughout the whole of Olympus as he stormed through the gates, not even bothering with the formality of stopping to greet Athena, who sat befuddled at the desk. Zeus stomped past him and through the crumbling streets that composed what was left of Olympus.

In the five years since Y/N had left Zeus’ temple in Greece, Olympus had felt the brunt of his rage. When he wasn’t destroying random buildings with bolts of lightning, he was terrorizing the citizens, keeping them living in a constant state of fear. Nearly every home had holes or scorch marks from lightning blasts. Stones randomly crumbled from the palace walls. Perseus and Andromeda’s old home had been burnt to cinders years ago. Olympus had fallen into uncontrolled chaos and the residents couldn’t remember the last time they had seen a clear and cloudless sky. The only thing in the entire kingdom that had been spared Zeus’ wrath was the oak tree in the center of the palace grounds.

The king continued through the grounds and into the palace where he was greeted by a frazzled and anxious-looking Hermes.

“Your Majesty,” Hermes greeted with a bow. “How did it go?”

“How do you think it went?” Zeus snapped, pushing past him toward the stairs. Hermes recognized the path he was taking and blanched in fear.

“M-my liege,” he stammered. “Perhaps a reprieve for the prisoner is in order?” Zeus stopped in his tracks, turning slowly back to Hermes with murder and lightning in his eyes.

“You dare to give me orders?” he hissed through his teeth.

“N-no! Of course not, Your Majesty,” Hermes faltered. “But my job is to advise, and as your advisor I feel I must remind you that Perseus is weak. Your current rage is palpable, and I fear he may not survive it. If he dies, you’ll have lost your only bargaining chip.” Both gods were quiet for several moments while Zeus considered his words. Hermes waited with bated breath, flinching each time the thunder rolled outside.

“About time you proved yourself useful,” the king said finally, causing Hermes to let out the breath he’d been holding. “I’ll leave him be for now. He’s more useful to me alive anyway. This visit to Earth was just the first. Andromeda is bound to break sooner or later.” Without another word, Zeus turned and left the hall. Hermes waited until he rounded the corner before turning and making for his own chambers.

Over the centuries, Hermes had made it a habit to collect things from the other immortals. Some of them were sentimental, others more practical, but all of them served a purpose. As he closed his chamber door quietly behind him, Hermes hoped the one he was looking for would be powerful enough to help. He made his way across the room to a trunk he kept at the foot of his bed. It creaked when he opened it and he froze in place, eyes darting around the room. When he was sure he was alone he opened it the rest of the way and looked over the collection inside; a pair of rose-colored glasses from Aphrodite, a small plant gifted to him by Demeter, and a Cerberus fang he had taken on a trip to the Underworld. Hermes dug through the trunk until he found the relic he was looking for and eventually lifted out a small, clay jar. Apollo had promised him eons ago that the contents of this jar could heal any injury.

“You better be right,” he murmured to himself as he tucked the jar into a small bag he kept at the end of the bed. He was about to close the trunk when Hermes noticed something at the bottom. The sword had been sitting there for so long he had forgotten about it until this moment when he picked it up and let the dust fall from the blade. More resolved than ever he stood and shut the trunk, stowing the sword beneath his cloak and walking to his window. His staff rested against the sill and Hermes lifted it to his eyes.

“It’s time,” he whispered against it. “Meet me at the gate in fifteen minutes.” He thudded the staff against the ground once and four separate golden feathers flew through the sky. Not waiting to see where they ended up, Hermes turned and left the chamber.

As he made his way through the ruined castle, Hermes felt like a stranger in the only home he’d ever known. The path he traveled was familiar to him, but the walls surrounding it felt almost alien after all they’d been through. He descended the steps into the dungeon slowly, cursing under his breath when he saw Hephaestus on guard duty.

“Hermes?” the smith asked, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “What are you doing down here?” Hermes swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat before he spoke.

“You know why I’m here, Hephaestus,” he replied softly. The color drained from his companion’s face and he started shaking his head quickly.

“Look, man,” Hephaestus protested. “I like you, and I know you like the kid and all, but I can’t let you do this. You’re talking about treason.”

“I’m talking about much more than that,” Hermes cut in. “You’ve seen what’s happened to our home since she left. If it continues, I don’t know how much longer we’ll have a home left. This isn’t just about reuniting long-lost lovers, Heph. This is about saving Olympus.” The two gods stared at each other for some time without moving or speaking. Eventually, Hephaestus dropped his gaze to the floor, sighing heavily.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “But Zeus is our king. We can’t go against him.”

“We can if we win,” Hermes replied. “And I know how we can.”

“Enlighten me,” Hephaestus said, looking up from the ground. Hermes pulled back his cloak, producing the sword he’d found in his trunk.

“Take this,” he said, handing over the blade. “Perseus can wield it, but it needs something more to defeat a god.”

“I think I have an idea,” Hephaestus said with a smirk, taking the sword and turning it over in his hands. “Man, I missed this sword.”

“Reminisce later. Work now.” Hermes put his cloak back into place and held out his hand. “Keys?” Hephaestus nodded and took the keys from the hook on the wall and handed them over.

“What do I do if I get caught?” he asked, finally tearing his eyes from the sword.

“Hope Elysium is waiting for you,” Hermes replied, striding past him into the dungeon. He made his way to the end where he found the strongest of the cells. There, huddled in the corner, was a bruised and beaten Perseus.

“Oh, gods,” Hermes gasped, opening the cell as quickly as he could. When the iron of the bars creaked, Perseus flinched and began to drag himself away from the door.

“N-no,” he whimpered, desperately trying to get away. “Please, no.” Pain gripped Hermes at the sound of utter defeat in Perseus’ voice and he crouched down slowly and held his hand out.

“Perseus,” he said in the softest voice he could muster. “It’s ok. It’s me.” The broken boy raised his head and looked up at the god through swollen eyes.

“H-Hermes?” he asked, confusion and the slightest hint of relief coloring his voice. “Is it really you?” He struggled to sit up and Hermes quickly leaned in to help, propping him up against the wall.

“It’s really me,” he answered. “I’m here to get you out.” Perseus chuckled weakly and closed his eyes again.

“Hope you brought help,” he groaned. “In case you can’t tell I’m more than slightly incapacitated.”

“Lucky for both of us I did then.” Hermes took the bag from his shoulder and reached inside, pulling out Apollo’s jar. He took a generous scoop in his hand and rubbed it gently over the wounds on Perseus’ face. He watched as the ointment began to glow softly. It bathed Perseus’ face in a warm, golden light, and when it faded his wounds had vanished. Perseus brought his hands up to gingerly touch his face, his eyes widening in surprise when he found them all repaired.

“Woah,” he breathed as he looked up at Hermes. “Thank you.”

“Thank me once we’ve got you off Olympus,” Hermes muttered, working the ointment over the remaining wounds.

“Yeah, what’s the plan on that?”

“Don’t worry,” Hermes said with a small smirk. “It’s all taken care of. We’re getting you somewhere safe.”

Y/N woke up late the next day, stretching out in her bed as the sun poured through her windows. For a moment, she thought maybe the confrontation with Zeus had been nothing but a bad dream, but a message chiming on her phone swiftly reminded her.

Dr. Strange: When you come back on Monday we’re reviewing the Rhodes case. Files will be on your desk. Enjoy your day off.

Chuckling softly, she put her phone back on the nightstand. Even on a personal day, the doc had work for her to attend to. The small smile on her face faded as the memory of her altercation with the king came flooding back. She’d called the doctor last night after leaving the café, letting him know she’d be taking a personal day today. He didn’t ask for details and she didn’t give them, just thanked him for understanding. Her sadness over the entire encounter quickly faded into anger, which burned into a renewed sense of hope. Hearing Perseus, as clear as if he’d been standing right beside her, reignited a fire inside her. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew that he’d been hearing her all along. Every prayer she’d whispered had made its way to him and somehow, he’d managed to get one to her. With that knowledge inspiring a confidence she hadn’t felt since she’d fallen from Olympus, Y/N got out of bed and headed to the living room. Books towered on her coffee and end tables, and just as she was about to dive back into them, she heard a knock at her door.

“Oh, by the gods,” she groaned, standing back up. The person on the other side of the door kept incessantly knocking as Y/N made her way to the door, yanking it open roughly. She was prepared to tell whoever it was off but was caught by surprise when she saw Hermes looking back at her. He wore a crisp suit, similar to the ones he donned as his alter ego Tony Stark, and smiled softly at her. Neither of them spoke and Y/N allowed herself to fill with elation at the sight of her old friend. Her happiness was quickly replaced by anger when she deduced the most likely reason for his visit.

“Tell your king he can shove his offer up his ass,” she snapped, folding her arms in front of her chest.

“Well, hello to you too,” he chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint but my king doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” she asked coolly, glaring at him.

“Honestly, I don’t care what you believe,” Hermes said, leaning against the door frame. “I came here to bring you something. Call it a peace offering.” Y/N arched an eyebrow and looked him over.

“What kind of offering?” she asked skeptically.

“Turn around and find out.”

The voice. Was it in her head again? Every time she’d let herself feel hope over the last five years it had been snuffed out by crushing disappointment, and she knew if she let herself believe Perseus was really behind her and he wasn’t, she would crumble. She looked up at Hermes with tears already in her eyes, but the god said nothing. All he did was nod over her shoulder, smirking softly. Slowly, she turned around.

It felt like a dream. There, in the center of her living room, bathed in bright sunlight, stood Perseus. He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, just like he always had when he was Peter and flashed Y/N a wide, toothy smile. Every cell in her body wanted to run to him, but shock kept her rooted to the spot. Perseus kept smiling at her as his eyes traveled up and down.

“Hey, dream girl,” he said softly, his voice thick. That was all it took. With a sob, Y/N launched herself across the room and into his arms. He grabbed her tight and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and kissing her temple softly.

“I told you I’d never let anything keep me from finding you.” Y/N pulled back to cup his face with tears streaming down her own.

“I never doubted you for a second,” she said with a smile. Chuckling softly, Perseus leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back slowly and wound her arms around him. While their lips were connected, as far as they were concerned, they were the only two people in the world. Hermes shifted in his spot and after several minutes, cleared his throat.

“As touching as this reunion is,” he said sternly. “We do have some slightly pressing matters to attend to.” They finally broke apart and Y/N turned around, stunned at what, or rather who, she saw. Walking past Hermes and into her living room were Artemis, Apollo, Demeter, and Ares. Her mouth fell open as they came to her one-by-one and wrapped her in long-overdue embraces. More tears fell from her eyes and she took turns hugging them all, finally turning back to Perseus and taking his hand.

“I-I don’t understand,” she stammered, “How did you all get here?”

“Sadly, without any kind of fight,” Ares said, sitting on the back of the couch.

“Why is that sad?” Apollo asked, bewildered.

“I haven’t had a good battle in eons,” the goddess of war answered. “I’m getting all itchy.”

“I might be able to help you with that,” Y/N said abruptly. Everyone looked at her with varying expressions of concern on their faces.

“Drom, who are you planning on going to war with?” Perseus asked.

“Zeus,” she replied without hesitation. Hermes sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as Artemis shook her head.

“That’s not the plan here, babes,” she said, rubbing Y/N’s arm gently. “You’re mortal now. You can’t fight this fight.”

“This was a rescue mission,” Demeter said. “Step one was getting Perseus out. Step two is getting you somewhere off of Zeus’ radar so we can go back and take him out.”

“They’re right,” Perseus said, squeezing her hand. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

“If any of you think for one second that you’re going to hide me away in some shoebox while you go fight the king of the gods you’ve gone completely insane,” she said, turning to her husband. “All of this happened because of me. Everything he’s done, everything he’s planning, it’s my fault. Do you really think there’s anywhere I’ll be safe from him? The only place I’m really safe is with you guys. And I want my shot at him.”

“She’s right,” Hermes said abruptly, earning a chuckle from Ares.

“Not something I thought I’d ever hear from you,” she smirked. Hermes shot her a look so severe it made even Ares falter before he turned back to Y/N.

“Ever since you told Zeus off in that temple in Greece, things on Olympus have been horrific,” he explained. “He’s gotten more volatile, more unpredictable, and more vicious with every passing day. Our home is in ruins all for his overinflated ego, and that ego means he won’t let you out of his reach for even a second. The last thing he’ll expect is for us to bring you to him. Are you prepared for this?” Y/N felt Perseus squeeze her hand again and she looked back at him and nodded softly, knowing in her gut what she had to do. Perseus stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her again, placing a soft kiss to her forehead. He held him tight and closed her eyes, willing herself to take in just this moment in his arms. Y/N knew that once they did this nothing would be the same, be it good or bad. Perseus seemed to sense it too and held her close until Apollo spoke.

“Not to ruin a beautifully half-baked plan,” he said, perching himself on the windowsill. “But how do we intend to pull this off? He’s…well he’s Zeus. It’s not like I can just put an arrow through his eye and call it a day.”

“I have something that can help,” came a voice from the doorway. Everyone looked up to see Hephaestus leaning against the doorframe. Perseus tensed immediately and pulled Y/N behind him. Artemis and Apollo pulled bows from out of nowhere and took aim while Ares produced a small blade from her belt and Demeter positioned herself between Hephaestus and Perseus.

“No, it’s ok,” Hermes said, holding up a hand. “He’s on our side. Heph helped me get you out.” Y/N looked over Perseus’ shoulder as Hephaestus stepped slowly inside.

“I know I failed you both,” he said, defeat thick in his voice. “There hasn’t been a day since Zeus cast you out that I haven’t regretted my part in it. I can’t take back what I did, but I can do my best to try and make it up to you now.” He took a leather bag off his back and opened it slowly, pulling out a large sword. Perseus gasped softly and stepped toward him.

“I-Is that…?”

“Your sword,” Hephaestus finished for him, handing over the weapon. “Harpe. Hermes found it and since you managed to kill Medusa with it, we figured it might be helpful.” Perseus turned the blade over in his hands as Y/N stepped up with her brow furrowed.

“There’s something different about it,” she remarked, looking the sword over.

“I lined the edges of the blade with bark from the oak tree at Zeus’ palace,” Hephaestus said, nodding. “I don’t know if the legends about it are true, but I thought it was worth a shot.”

“They’re true,” Demeter piped up, eyeing the sword. “I grew that tree for him myself. Its bark is the only thing in all the realms that can hurt him.” Y/N looked up at Perseus, his sword still in his hand, then around the room at the other gods.

“I can’t thank you all enough for what you’ve done,” she said softly. “You’ve given me my love back. Having Perseus and seeing all of you…I can’t put it into words. This next part is going to be big. Life-altering big. If any of you want to walk away, we won’t blame you.”

“Do you really think we went through all of this just to back out now?” Hermes scoffed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, we’re not going anywhere,” Apollo agreed.

“I’m sick of watching Zeus destroy my home,” Artemis said, tightening her grip on her bow.

“No one is safe until we stop him,” Demeter said.

“Like I said,” Ares chimed in, joining her friends. “Itchy.” The group turned slowly to Hephaestus who clutched his chest gently.

“After my heartfelt speech and act of treason you still doubt me?” he asked. “Consider me officially defected.” He stepped up next to Hermes who clapped him on the shoulder and nodded softly. Perseus rubbed Y/N’s arm gently and leaned into her.

“So, what’s the play?” he asked. Turning to her cluttered end table and digging through the stack of books, Y/N finally pulled out the one she was looking for and turned to her friends.

“I found this in a bookstore last year,” she said, holding the book up. “From what I can tell it maps out all the passages the Norse gods talked about. The closest one is in New Mexico.” Hermes looked up at her with a smirk on his face.

“Shall we?”

The immortals gathered at the base of Olympus several hours later, huddled close to avoid being seen. Once they were sure the coast was clear, Hermes nodded to Apollo. The sun god stepped out and aimed his golden bow, firing an arrow across the sky. Everyone watched as it flew in a high arch, slipping behind the clouds to catch the sun and drag it down beyond the horizon.

“What happened to the chariot?” Perseus asked softly.

“Too bulky,” he answered with a shrug. Andromeda chuckled and took Perseus’ hand as they made their way up the mountain as slowly as they could. They kept to the shadows, choosing to take the longer route up the mountainside rather than risk the main staircase. At the top, the path brought them close enough to it to see Athena, nose buried in a book at the top of the stairs. One-by-one, the crept past, careful not to attract attention. Demeter was the last to join them as they passed the gate and headed toward the palace.

The grounds were deathly silent as the immortals made their way through. Perseus and Andromeda walked hand-in-hand as they crept forward, constantly looking over their shoulders. Slowly, Hermes pulled the palace doors open and ushered them inside.

“What the hell happened here?” Andromeda breathed, taking in the crumbling structure.

“Zeus happened,” Ares replied, balling her fists.

“Where is he, Hermes?” Perseus asked, still gripping Andromeda’s hand.

“Most likely in his chambers at this hour,” Hermes said. He started down the hall with the rest of the group close behind.

“What about the throne room?” Andromeda asked as they passed it.

“Not likely,” Artemis replied. “He hasn’t made much use of it since your little display in Greece. Rumor is it’s completely destroyed.” Andromeda gulped slightly and nodded, opting to stay silent. They kept on their way, tension filling the air thickly. The only sound besides their soft footsteps was the occasional roll of thunder in the distance. After what felt like ages, a pair of golden doors shone up ahead of them. Andromeda shivered involuntarily as they stopped, looking back at Perseus as he pulled Harpe from beneath his cloak.

“Are you ready?” she asked him with a shaky voice. He nodded gently and raised his eyebrows.

“Are you?” he replied.

“Not really but we’re here now,” she resigned.

“I still think it should be me,” Ares protested for the tenth time.

“And I’m done debating with you,” Perseus snapped back. “Harpe is my sword and I’m the one who killed Medusa with it. I’ll do it.” The red-headed goddess nodded and pulled a pair of daggers from her belt. Artemis and Apollo readied their bows while Demeter produced a spear from beneath her skirts. Hephaestus, armed with a hatchet, stepped forward and handed Andromeda a small blade.

“It’s not much,” he said with a slight edge of fear in his voice. “But it’s sharp enough to make someone pay attention to you.” She nodded once and turned back to her husband.

“Stay back with Hermes, and only attack if you have to,” he instructed before turning back to the others. “On my count. One…two…three!” At his count, he pulled the doors open and the group charged inside, weapons raised. Andromeda gripped her knife tight as Hermes pulled her into the room and back against the wall. The rest of the group fanned out; weapons aimed at all corners of the room. Andromeda’s eyes scanned with them and dread filled her when she realized the only other person in the room was Hera, seated at the vanity in a navy blue dressing gown, pinning her hair into curls.

“Where’s Zeus?” Perseus demanded, raising his sword. Hera remained silent, only turning around once her last curl was in place. When she spoke, she addressed Andromeda directly.

“I’ve never understood what my husband saw in gutter trash like you,” she spat. “You really are as stupid as you look.” Perseus tensed and tightened his grip on the sword, moving toward her only to be cut off by a bolt of lightning striking in the middle of the room. It flashed brightly and once it faded, Zeus stood in its place. He was accompanied by his brothers, Hades and Poseidon, as well as Persephone, Hestia, Athena, and Aphrodite.

“Now, now, my love,” Zeus said almost sweetly. “There’s no need to be so rude to our guests.”

“Says you,” Hera shot back. “I’m the one who’s had to watch you lust after this child for centuries.” Another bolt of lightning struck, this time just outside the window as Zeus’s face hardened and he turned to his wife.

“Hold your tongue or I’ll rip it out,” he threatened, waiting for Hera’s meek nod before turning back to the intruders. “Relieve these traitors of their weapons and then escort them to the throne room to receive the king’s justice.” Hades, Persephone, and Athena moved forward at his command, collecting weapons from the reluctant rebels. Andromeda managed to find Poseidon’s eyes as Athena was taking her blade and tried her best to plead with her friend without words. He looked back at her and sighed softly before breaking her gaze. Once all their weapons had been collected, Zeus’ minions rounded up the intruders and led them toward the throne room. Perseus found Andromeda and she clung to his hand as they walked, tears filling her eyes. Desperate, she looked to her left and spotted Aphrodite.

“Dite, please,” she begged, too far past terrified to care. “Please, don’t let them do this.” Aphrodite kept her eyes down as Hades stepped in front of Andromeda and slapped her across the face. Perseus managed to keep her from falling to the ground and glared up at the god.

“Keep your mouth shut until someone tells you to talk, traitor,” Hades commanded with fire in his eyes. Before Perseus could charge him, Poseidon stepped between them.

“There’s no need for that, brother,” he said, holding out his arm. Hades shoved it away and looked him over.

“When I want your opinion, brother, I’ll give it to you,” Hades sneered. “If you’re not careful you’ll end up in the same spot as your friends here.”

“You forget your place, Hades,” Poseidon said, drawing himself up to his full height. “You may be king in the Underworld, but up here you’re just my brother.” Dark flames burned in Hades’ eyes and he was about to snap back when thunder crackled outside.

“Enough,” Zeus bellowed, opening the doors to the throne room. He strode inside, the others trailing behind him as he took his place on the large, marble throne. Andromeda looked around and took in the state of the room. Despite the appearance of the rest of the castle, and contrary to the rumors Artemis had heard, the throne room looked to be in pristine condition. Not a speck of dust or debris coated the floor and the throne looked like it was still being regularly polished. Zeus nodded to Hestia who smirked, flashing her red eyes to light the torches around the room. The pilfered weapons were dropped at Zeus’ feet and Perseus squeezed Andromeda’s hand as they faced the king.

“Never, in all my years on the throne, have I endured such disrespect from my subjects,” he said flatly, staring directly at Andromeda. “You sneak into my home in the dead of night with a plan to assassinate your king, and now that you stand before me you don’t even have the decency to kneel?”

“You’re no king of mine!” Andromeda yelled, glaring at him. “You don’t deserve your throne.” Gasps echoed off the walls at her outburst and louder thunder sounded outside the palace.

“And you,” he growled. “Defying my orders and returning to Olympus. This is an offense punishable by death, little one.”

“No!” Perseus screamed, lunging forward. Hades shoved him back roughly, sending him stumbling into Hermes.

“You’re the one who wanted me back in the first place!” Andromeda yelled back at him, reaching behind her for Perseus’ hand. She relaxed slightly when she felt it in hers and from the corner of her eye, she saw Poseidon turn to his brother in confusion.

“What is she talking about?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Zeus snapped at his brother, still glaring at Andromeda. “Shut your mouth.”

“You don’t command me anymore, Steve,” she hissed. “I’m not afraid of you. Yesterday, your king came to Earth and told me I could return to Olympus if I never spoke to Perseus again and I agreed to be his and his alone.”

“You went to Earth?” Hades asked, turning to look at his brother. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Because I didn’t,” Zeus protested, growing angrier by the second.

“Yes, you did,” Aphrodite said meekly from behind him. Everyone in the hall turned to look at her. Zeus was the last to look, finally tearing his eyes from Andromeda. The thunder outside struck again, louder this time as the king glared at Aphrodite with rage in his eyes.

“Aphrodite stay out of this,” Persephone cautioned from behind Hades.

“No, Aphrodite, get involved,” Hephaestus said, taking a step toward his wife. “This has been eating at you for years. Now’s your chance to make it right.” She looked back at Hephaestus with wide eyes, watching as he nodded encouragingly. After a deep breath, Aphrodite spoke while walking forward.

“On the day Zeus banned travel to Earth, he told me to lie to Perseus and Andromeda,” she began, keeping her eyes on her husband. “He told me to tell them that they weren’t soulmates even though I bound their souls myself.”

“Why would he do that?” Athena asked, removing his glasses.

“Because he wanted me,” Andromeda answered before looking back at Aphrodite. “Tell them what else.”

“Yesterday, Zeus took me with him to Earth,” Aphrodite continued. “We found Andromeda and he told me to offer her a deal; if she agreed to be with Zeus, he’d let her come back and Perseus could live out his life on Earth as Peter.” Hades and Poseidon glanced at each other and then back at Aphrodite. As she finished and held out her hand for Hephaestus, a huge bolt of lightning burst through the ceiling, striking her in the chest. The force of the blast knocked her off her feet and across the room into the wall. Hephaestus screamed in agony and ran toward her as she slid to the floor. Andromeda was right behind him, tears already pouring down her face. Hephaestus picked his wife up gently and brushed her hair out of her face as he checked her over. After a moment, he looked up at Andromeda with red-rimmed and tear-filled eyes.

“S-She’s gone,” he whispered. Andromeda let out a broken sob and clapped her hands over her mouth. She looked down at the lifeless body of her friend as the gods behind her started to argue.

“How could you?!” Hestia screamed, causing the flames of the torches to burn brighter.

“You really are a monster,” Hera breathed, backing away from him.

“I did what needed to be done,” the king said coldly. “She was lying.”

“No, she wasn’t,” Perseus challenged. “I heard it all. Andromeda prayed to me when you were there, and I heard it all. Aphrodite was telling the truth.” Slowly, the remaining gods started to realize the truth, and one-by-one began to turn on their king.

“What’s wrong with you?” Poseidon demanded. “Aphrodite was one of us. How could you do this?”

“Watch your tone,” Zeus growled. Outside, peals of thunder boomed louder and more frequently.

“You lied to all of us,” Hades accused. “Forbid us all from visiting Earth while you took little day trips and for what? A bruised ego? Some girl who rejected you?” The others joined in shortly after and soon shouts echoed from every corner of the room. During the chaos, Andromeda saw Hera and Persephone slip a back door behind the throne. As the shouts and demands for answers reached a fever-pitch, Hermes raised his hands and addressed the gods.

“Fellow Olympians,” he called out. “For five long years, we’ve watched as Zeus has laid waste to our home. He’s let his hatred and jealousy run rampant and forced us to pay the price. The time had come to end his reign of terror. Together, we can take back Olympus and return her to her former glory.” The gods cheered and began to yell again when he finished, and Hestia and Athena came to join the rebels. Through all this, Zeus still barely moved. He sat, almost as still as the marble his throne was carved from, with his eyes on Andromeda. She stared right back at him, never so much as flinching as the thunder boomed so loud the walls shook. After a minute, Poseidon stepped forward to speak to his brother.

“Zeus, it’s over,” he said softly. “Come with me.” He reached out and placed his left hand on the king’s shoulder and that seemed to be the last straw. The instant his hand connected another enormous bolt of lightning cracked through the ceiling. Rather than suffering the same fate as Aphrodite, this bolt struck the sea god on the shoulder, severing his arm from his body.

“No!” Hades cried out, running toward his injured brother. Apollo ran forward as Poseidon toppled to the floor, already pulling healing elixirs from his bag. Chaos erupted in the hall again as Artemis and Ares rearmed themselves. Smaller bolts of lightning struck around the room as the gods turned on their king. Zeus paid them no mind, but rather kept his eyes on Andromeda. She waited, holding her breath until his eyes flitted over to his injured brother. When they did, she took her chance. Lunging forward, Andromeda grabbed Harpe and ran toward the throne, raising the blade to strike. She brought it down quickly but at the last second Zeus turned and caught her by the throat. Her eyes widened as his fingers squeezed tight and she felt the sword slip from her grip.

“Let her go!” Perseus screamed. He made a move for the sword, but Zeus was ready. Rage seemed to have cleared the king’s mind and was able to anticipate the young immortal’s move. Lightning struck all around the throne, driving Perseus and the gods back. They looked on in horror at the scene before them.

“Brother, enough!” Hades yelled. “This has all gone too far. You’ve let this girl influence every decision you’ve made for centuries. Let this end and face your justice.”

“If I hear one more word from any of you, I’ll kill you all,” Zeus seethed. The remaining immortals fell silent at his threat, watching as Andromeda struggled against the king’s grip on her throat. Zeus leaned in until his face was mere centimeters from hers, so close she could see the lightning striking around the throne reflected in his eyes.

“Despite your continued insolence, I’m willing to give you one last chance,” he whispered, his breath fanning over her face. “Be mine or suffer the consequences.” His features hardened as he looked over her like his prey and Andromeda felt herself shiver. He loosened his grip by a fraction, and she clenched her jaw hard. Knowing what she was about to do would seal her fate, she said a silent farewell to Perseus, looked up at the king, and spit in his face.

“Go fuck yourself.”

The lightning blast that struck the outside of the palace made the one that had killed Aphrodite sound like a firecracker. The ceiling that had been so well cared for splintered and cracked, sending chunks of it hurtling to the ground. Zeus retightened his grip on Andromeda’s throat and stood, stepping forward. Perseus attempted to make for his sword again, but another lightning strike knocked him back.

“I’ve had enough of you, child,” he said, low enough that only she could hear. “I’ve given you every opportunity to live a comfortable life here with me, and you’ve continued to refuse me. I thought your little vacation to Earth might have made you see reason, but I can see we’re beyond that. The time for deals is done. All that’s left now is judgment.”

“Let her go!” Perseus screamed again. “End this!”

“The only question is how to punish you,” Zeus continued, ignoring Perseus’ pleas. “I could just kill you, but that would be too easy. Hermes has proven he can’t follow commands and would conspire to travel between the realms and bring you back from the Underworld. After this, maybe even with my own brother’s help. And it’s obvious Perseus will never stop fighting for you.”

“Gods, you really do love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” Andromeda rasped in his grip. Growling deep in his chest, Zeus spun her around to face her husband.

“And you still haven’t learned it’s not wise to goad me, have you?” he hissed in her ear. “The punishment I’ve devised for you is one worse than death. Say goodbye to your husband. Tell him how much you love him.” Andromeda bit back the sobs that threatened at her throat and locked eyes with Perseus. He already had tears pouring down his face and Demeter was holding him back from being struck by the lightning.

“Andromeda,” he sobbed, struggling in Demeter’s grasp.

“I love you, Perseus,” she said, feeling the tears start to fall from her own eyes. “My hero.”

“I love you too, my dream girl,” he said, still fighting to get to her. Zeus rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“Always with the nicknames,” he said. “How touching.” He kept a firm grip on the back of Andromeda’s neck with one hand and raised the other in front of her face. Andromeda took a deep breath and kept her eyes on Perseus, readying herself for what was to come. She could vaguely register the shouts of the other immortals, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. All she could do was watch as Zeus raised his hand and snapped.

At first, she thought Zeus had granted her the mercy of a painless death. She felt nothing and waited, watching her husband and waiting to meet her end. Then, just as she was about to turn to Zeus, something happened. Demeter gasped and let go of Perseus, looking down in terror. He stumbled away from her and fell to his knees in front of Andromeda. She tried to free herself to get to him but Zeus’ grip on her didn’t falter. Perseus looked up at her with wide eyes and tried to speak, and it was only then that she realized what was happening. Andromeda watched, frozen in fear, as her husband started to fade into dust in front of her. He tried several times to call out to her but each time nothing but small puffs of dust passed his lips.

“PERSEUS!” she screamed, fighting to get to him. Zeus dug his fingers in tighter, refusing to let go until all that remained of Perseus was a small pile of ashes on the ground. Then, and only then, did he throw her down next to them. She reached out with a shaking hand, hoping somehow this wasn’t real, but knowing as soon as she touched the soft ashes that it was. Zeus wasn’t lying when he said her punishment was worse than death. Silent sobs ripped through her as her tears pooled on the floor beneath her. Behind Zeus, Hades and Apollo had managed to help Poseidon to his feet.

“Zeus…what have you done?” a bewildered Poseidon asked. Andromeda turned her head a fraction of an inch to get a better look at him. It seemed Apollo hadn’t been able to reattach his severed arm, but Poseidon had managed to reform a new one from water. It reflected the light of the lightning outside, almost metallic looking as he challenged his brother.

“I’ve taken care of my problem,” Zeus answered with a shrug. “Now, it’s as if he never existed. Nice and simple.”

“Simple?” Hades scoffed. “This is despicable, and that’s coming from me. You’ve crossed a line here.” Zeus ignored them both and walked over to Andromeda still weeping on the floor.

“I hope this serves as a reminder to never cross me again,” he whispered in her ear. “Then again, since you’ll be spending the rest of your days in a jail cell, I suppose it doesn’t much matter.” She looked up at the king through her tears and balled her fists.

“I won’t let you get away with this,” she swore. Zeus simply chuckled and grabbed her face, kissing her firmly. She struggled against him as he held her in place, only pushing her back to the ground when he was done.

“I already have,” he mocked, turning to walk away. Andromeda laid where she fell, next to her husband’s ashes, and watched him with defeat and grief filling her chest. She closed her eyes, ready to accept her fate when something brushed against her hand. She blinked her eyes open and looked down, her eyes widening in shock. A small stream of water was flowing past her, carrying Harpe into her hand. Almost on instinct, her hand wrapped around the hilt as she looked up to see Poseidon’s steel-blue eyes on her. Slowly and deliberately, he nodded once. She nodded in return and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm her shaking nerves. Gathering her strength, Andromeda pushed herself to her feet and charged at the king with the sword raised, screaming incoherently. She swung the sword at him as he spun on the spot, catching her wrist in both of his hands. The tip of the sword managed to just break the skin above his heart, causing a single drop of blood to fall. He looked into Andromeda’s eyes with genuine shock on his face for the first time in eons. She pushed against his hands in a desperate attempt to drive the sword further in, surprising everyone in the room with the strength she displayed.

“Insolent girl,” Zeus panted, fighting against her. “I am Almighty Zeus, King of the gods. Who are you to defy me?” Sweat dotted both of their brows as they fought for dominance. Andromeda could feel her grip slipping and her strength waning with every passing second, and just as she felt she couldn’t hold on any longer, her eyes fell on Perseus’ ashes. Gritting her teeth, she looked up at Zeus with fire in her eyes.

“I’m a hero,” she answered. Planting her feet firmly and mustering every ounce of strength she had, Andromeda let out a roar and pushed against the sword. Zeus’ grip slipped slightly, and the sword plunged into his chest all the way up to the hilt. His eyes widened in shock as his hands fell and he looked down at the sword that had run him through. Andromeda stared at it with him for a moment before pulling it out, sending Zeus staggering back into his throne with his hands clamped over his wound. Lightning started to crackle in his eyes as he looked over to his brothers. They stared silently back at him, offering no help as he started to gasp for air. Everyone fell back as the lightning spread from his eyes over his head and down his torso. With one final look to Andromeda and a blood-curdling scream, Zeus exploded in a giant blast of lightning.

The peal of thunder that followed Zeus’ death seemed to last forever. When it finally ended it took the clouds that had gathered with it, and for the first time in five years, the Olympians could see the stars. Andromeda fell to her knees and began to cry again, letting the sword fall from her hand. Her friends watched her in stunned silence. They looked back and forth at one another, none of them sure what to do or say, or even if anything could console her. They could only stand there, still as the statues that filled their temples, watching as she broke in front of them. Finally, and quite surprisingly to everyone, Hephaestus dragged himself to his feet. He staggered over to Andromeda and flopped down next to her, taking her hand gently in his. Neither of them spoke. They just sat silently, hand in hand. His sorrow mimicked her own, bleeding from his soul into hers, connecting them in the worst way imaginable. After a time, Andromeda looked up at the gods until she found who she was looking for.

“Can you bring him back?” she asked Hades desperately.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Zeus didn’t just kill him, he obliterated him. His soul…his essence doesn’t exist anymore. There’s nothing to bring back.” For the first time since they’d met, Andromeda saw actual remorse in his eyes. His apology now was for so much more than his inability to bring her husband back. She nodded slowly and sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her free hand. Poseidon sighed softly and walked forward, crouching down in front of her.

“Rommie,” he said gently. “We can’t stay here.” Her eyes met his as a fresh wave of tears spilled out and she grabbed at his flesh arm.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” she whispered.

“Let’s start by getting off the floor,” he suggested, moving to help her up. Andromeda stared at the ground as Poseidon and Hephaestus helped her up, her eyes once again falling on Perseus’ remains. And that’s when it hit her. The clarity of what she had to do now dawned on her as if Apollo himself had raised it.

“Hermes,” she called out. “Can you send me back to Earth?” Poseidon froze in front of her as she turned to face a stunned Hermes.

“Y-you want to go back?” he asked.

“Maybe take a little time to think things over,” Athena suggested, his voice thick. Andromeda finally took a look around and saw how disheveled the gods were. Every one of them had tear streaks down their faces, even Ares. Hestia was still on the ground over Aphrodite. Seeing them like this only cemented for Andromeda that she didn’t belong.

“I don’t need time,” she said, looking around the room. “I was never supposed to be here. Perseus and I…we wanted to go home. That’s what started this whole thing. And now he’s gone. Zeus took my immortality. I don’t belong here anymore. It’s past time for me to live out my life.” By the time she finished speaking, most of the remaining gods were in tears again. Poseidon turned her gently to face him, a single tear falling from his eye.

“Rommie, I need you to understand something,” he said. “If we send you back, that’s it. With Zeus gone, it’s going to be chaos up here. For centuries. Hera will want your head. Olympus will be locked down for the rest of your mortal life. This is a one-way ticket.” More tears fell from his eyes as he spoke, and Andromeda reached up and brushed them away.

“I understand,” she whispered, nodding gently. “Please, Poseidon.” The sea god leaned into her touch and closed his eyes, sighing softly. He cupped her face in his hands and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

“The favor of the gods,” he mumbled against her skin. “It will take you to Elysium when you die.” He pulled back and looked down at her with a watery smile.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling softly back at him.

“Live well, Andromeda,” Poseidon said, letting her go slowly. She held onto his hand until the distance was too great, and eventually turned to face Hermes.

“I’m ready,” she said before looking over her friends one last time. “I love you all. Thank you.” Hermes placed a hand on her shoulder and just as they were about to leave, Poseidon cried out.

“Wait!”

Every head in the room turned to him as he held his hand out. He swallowed thickly and took a shaky breath before he spoke again.

“I can’t bring Perseus back,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “But I can give you something else you’ve lost.” Andromeda and the others watched in confusion as Poseidon kneeled to scoop up Perseus’ ashes. He walked them carefully over to a window that had been blown open during Zeus’ rage, and with another deep breath he blew them out among the stars. Andromeda felt her heart thud in her chest as the stars started to glow brighter in the sky. The constellations shifted in their places until two she recognized came into view. She let out a choked sob as Poseidon reunited her and Perseus in the heavens.

“I know it’s not the same as having him back,” he said, turning to her. “But hopefully this is a small comfort.” Andromeda tried to speak but nothing came out, so she settled for a small nod as Perseus rejoined his remaining brother. With a final look at the place she once called home, Hermes put a hand on her shoulder and whisked her away.

TEN YEARS LATER

Y/N sat at her favorite table in her favorite cafe, sipping her tea and reflecting on the time that had passed since she’d returned from Olympus. When she’d visited Earth with Perseus, a decade seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Now, on her own, the last ten years had felt like a lifetime. She hadn’t been on Olympus long enough to arouse suspicion, so both her apartment and her job were waiting for her once Hermes had left. Dr. Strange took a liking to her and helped pay her way through nursing school. She worked beside him as a right hand, and though the job was often demanding, he treated her well and she enjoyed the work. Her life was quiet, and she liked it that way.

Nights were the hardest. When they were in season, she would spend hours staring out her window and her and Perseus’ constellations. She still prayed, only now she included all her old friends as well as Perseus. She told them about her life and how much she missed them, and every so often she’d find a little sign that they missed her too. A large snowy owl had taken up residence outside her window, reminding her Hades still had a sense of humor. Demeter made sure all the plants in her home thrived, but her favorite was the dagger Poseidon had sent her. She found it in her bathtub of all places, a small trident carved into the oak handle. She carried it with her everywhere, always tucked safely at her waist as it was now. She felt it there as she read an article on her phone. The Daily Bugle had been writing non-stop about the recent crime wave in the city, and today was no different.

NYC NEEDS SAVING: WHEN WILL A NEW HERO ARRIVE?

Y/N scoffed slightly and scrolled past just as the front door burst open.

“Everyone get down! This is a robbery!”

Two gunshots rang out as customers dove to the floor as ordered. Y/N slid from her chair and onto the floor under her table, chancing a quick look up at the robber. He was young, maybe in his twenties, and his hands shook as he looked over the crowd.

“Nobody try any hero shit or you’re all dead!” he ordered, pointing his gun around the room. Y/N rolled her eyes slightly and sat back, adjusting when she felt her dagger digging into her hip. Suddenly, right next to her ear, a voice she had almost started to forget whispered to her.

My hero.

She whipped her head around, looking for the owner of the voice but knowing he wouldn’t be there. Her hands shook slightly as she looked down at her phone.

WHEN WILL A NEW HERO ARRIVE?

Slowly, she drew the dagger from her hip and looked down. On the hilt, opposite the trident and burned into the wood, were tiny recreations of the constellations she stared at every night. Thunder clapped outside as Y/N looked back up, gripping the oak tight in her hand. She eyed the robber with a small smirk on her face as she crawled out from under the table and readied herself for a fight.

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adiwriting · 4 years

Text

Sunday Morning 13/?

This fic was written after both @cosmicclownboy and @jocarthage talked to me about Malex gardening... so this is a thing. As always, if you have a prompt, let me know!

Gif by the lovely @manesalex

Week 13

It’s nearly lunchtime by the time Alex wanders out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, expecting to find Michael playing with the puppies. The fact that he doesn’t see Michael or the puppies is confusing. Michael had walked them this morning, but that had been hours ago and he’s definitely been back since then. He’s sure of it because Michael had brought him an omelette in bed and had made Bell a special doggy breakfast of her own.

Michael hadn’t said he was leaving and he never steps out without a goodbye kiss, even if he’s just going for a quick walk around the block. He takes a lap around the house, checking all of the rooms and the garage before he hears tiny paws against the back door and realizes that Michael must be in the backyard. When he looks over, he smiles at the sight of Peter jumping at the sliding door, trying to reach him. When he looks out into the yard further, he sees Michael, shirtless, with a shovel in hand.

His first thought is that he’s burying a body, because that’s just the kind of crazy life they lead these days. Though Alex is pretty sure he would have heard if they’d killed anyone and Michael isn’t stupid enough to bury a body in their own backyard. Still, he doesn’t know what else Michael could need a shovel for or why he’s digging up the backyard.

Curious, he steps out into the back, leaning down to pick up Peter as he jumps all over him.

“What is your daddy doing?” he asks as Peter licks his face.

Michael has the radio on, cranking some country station that Alex can’t stand but Michael loves. Wendy is rolling around in a pile of clay that Michael has dug up and John is, unsurprisingly, sleeping in the sling that Michael’s taken to wearing. He should snap a picture and send it to Isobel. She doesn’t believe Alex when he tells her that Michael is going to be the most overprotective dad in the world. He pulls out his phone while Michael still hasn't noticed him and snaps a picture, making sure to zoom in on John’s dopey little puppy smile.

“What are you doing?” he asks once he’s close enough not to have to yell.

Michael looks up at him, slightly startled, before smiling. “I'm setting up a garden.”

Alex gives Michael a curious look. He’s never heard him talk about an interest in gardening before, but he guesses it makes sense given all the time he’s spent working at various ranches and farms around town.

“It’s gonna be great,” Michael says. “Just trust me.”

Alex has no reason to doubt him. He’s said that about every other home improvement project he’s started and each time Alex has been pleasantly surprised by the results. Michael could probably have his own show on HGTV if he wanted. Lord knows the world would love watching shirtless Michael doing home improvement jobs around the house. Alex certainly does.

“Okay,” he agrees, not honestly caring one way or the other. It’s Michael’s house, too, even if they’ve never made it official. If he wants a garden, he can have a garden.

Alex has never been one to plant, himself. Gardening isn’t a stereotypically manly activity, so it clearly wasn’t something any child of Jesse Manes was going to do. He can just picture his dad’s reaction if Alex had ever even suggested planting something. Once he’d joined the military, attempting to grow anything seemed pointless when he never knew how long he would be in a single place for. He’s pretty sure it’s not his thing though. He barely remembers to feed himself and the dogs, so there’s no way he’s going to remember to regularly water a plant.

Peter starts moving around in his arms, whining to be let down. Alex sets him on the ground and groans when he goes to jump in the same pile of clay that his sister is already playing in. They are definitely going to need a bath tonight.

“Gardening is supposed to reduce stress and anxiety,” Michael explains as he hands Alex his shovel and moves to go grab another one.

“So I guess you’re expecting me to do this with you?” Alex asks, amused.

“Am I expecting you to take your shirt off and get hot and sweaty with me?” he responds, playfully. “Absolutely.”

Alex laughs at that, but does start to dig into the dirt, following Michael’s lead.

“Weren’t the puppies supposed to be our therapy?” he asks a few minutes later, once he’s started working up a decent sweat.

“The puppies were your therapy,” Michael says.

Alex scoffs staring pointedly at the puppy that’s literally strapped to Michael’s chest.

“I love how you tell everyone that we got these dogs for me,” Alex says with a laugh. He pulls his own shirt off when it becomes clear that it’s too hot to be out here with it on. “I was prepared to leave with one. You’re the one that decided we needed to bring home four.”

“You really think you’d have been able to pick one of them?” he asks. Alex thinks about it, and the truth is, he’s not sure how he would have picked just one of them. “That’s what I thought,” he adds with a smirk.

“So why are we digging up all of this land? Don’t we just need to like, put the seeds in a hole?” Alex asks.

Michael looks at him in sheer disbelief. He opens his mouth several times to say something but eventually just shakes his head. “You’re so pretty,” he teases and Alex flips him off.

“Seriously, Guerin, I know nothing,” Alex says. “Teach me.”

“Really?” he asks, unsure. “You’re not going to make fun of me if I nerd out?”

“I mean, I’m totally gonna make fun of you, but I’ll listen.”

Michael spends the next few hours teaching Alex all about proper soil for plant growth, the health benefits of growing your own food organically, the satisfaction that comes from being able to provide for yourself off of your own land, and about a thousand other things that Alex only half understands. He enjoys listening to it all anyways. By mid afternoon, the kids are exhausted and laying in the shade sleeping and Alex is ready to follow suit. But they’ve got something called a raised bed that will be ready for planting and Michael is already talking about building another accessible raised bed so that Alex can garden with him. He’s so damn excited about it that Alex doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he probably won’t use it.

Though, who knows? With how happy it’s making Michael, maybe he will try it. Maybe Alex will start finding himself out here with Michael on their days off. After all, Michael’s already talking recipes that he’s excited to make once they start getting real vegetables and it does sound delicious. And while he’s tired, hungry, and sore, he does feel lighter than he has in weeks. Maybe Michael was onto something when he’d suggested that gardening was good for anxiety.

“Please tell me we get to shower now,” Alex says, helping Michael clean up the tools and put them away in the shed he’d built a few weeks back.

“I’ve had to stand here and watch you look like that all day,” Michael says. “We’d better be doing more than showering.”

He smiles at that, as if Michael thinks that he too hasn’t been dreaming about licking every inch of his body for the last few hours. “We should hurry while the kids are still sleeping.”

Michael grabs Alex’s hand and pulls him into the house quickly, shedding his remaining layers as he goes while Alex laughs loudly. He honestly loves Michael so much. This time last year, he didn’t think they’d ever figure things out. He’s so incredibly glad they have. He can’t imagine his life without Michael and the little family they are building together.

Tagged: @callieramics, @redstalkingdeath

If you’d like to be tagged, let me know

#roswell nm #roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic recs #fic: sunday mornings #domestic bliss #fluff #doggy daddies #gardening boys

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lesetoilesfous · 3 years

Note

The smell of freshly baked bread + Zevran/Anders (I've never considered that ship before! I'm curious)

I’m so glad you requested this, thank you! I think they’re fun. I love to imagine both polyamorous scenarios with the Warden, and dirty weekends at The Pearl for thiese two...This one is pre-relationship, but I hope you like it!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: ZevrAnders

Characters: Zevran, Anders

Tags: pre-relationship, allusion to past torture, allusion to past starvation, casual polyamory

Rating: Mature

There are very few things better than the smell of freshly baked bread. One of them is Talen: the specific blend of leather and wood polish he uses to work his bow, a smell that Zevran cannot taste without a bone deep sense of safety, even in the most outlandish of environs. Another is Antivan leather, the rich, stinking, choking scent of tanning, smoky and so heavy in the air that it feels like you can touch it. But freshly baked bread: to a man who had more than once flirted with starving to death, was a very special kind of paradise.

So Zevran follows his nose, out of the main hall of the Vigil and down towards the kitchens and the scent of baking wheat, feeling his mouth water even after all these years, even now, when he always knew where his next meal would come from, and how to get it if he didn’t. Zevran walks past the soldiers of the Vigil in a daze: the only person who’d likely catch his attention at this point is Mahariel, and he’s working on training the recruits.

(Recruit, singular, the Howe boy who Talen claims Zevran does not have the patience to deal with, yet. Zevran’s answer, that the boy would learn, had not been accepted by his all-too-patient lover. Yet despite his best efforts, Zevran could not resent him for it. After all, it was Mahariel’s generosity of spirit that had seen him not only survive a contract on a Grey Warden but find his freedom, and there were very few Crows who could say the same.)

The soldiers and walls of the Vigil blur into a river of greys and browns as Zevran follows his nose to the kitchen, ears ringing when he’s close enough with the familiar percussive cacophony of rattling pans, slamming doors and sizzling roots. A pair of young mabari are crouched by the door to the kitchens, whining, and a skinny ginger tabby is perched on the wall above them, watching them warily. Zevran’s mouth lifts in a small smile as he regards them, before setting his hand on the iron handle to the door and pressing on the latch.

At the exact same moment, another hand touches his.

Zevran reacts on instinct, pressing a dagger to what he had assumed was the height of an elvhen stomach and instead pushes into the too-thin meat of a skinny thigh. At the same time, the (very tall) figure beside him yelps, stumbling backwards - which in turn startles the mabari and the cat. The mabari start barking, great whooping yelps, and the cat disappears in a flash of red fur. Zevran glares at the human beside him as if that will save face for the utterly stupid lack of judgement that had let - what, a mage? Sneak up on him. Ice runs cold into Zevran’s stomach as he considers how firmly deceased he would have been if this man were anyone else, and the taste of freshly baked bread dissipates in his mouth.

The mage, for his part, with long blonde hair tied back from his face and a rickety wooden excuse for a staff, holds up two long crooked hands in an open gesture of surrender. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean, I didn’t see you -”

Attempting to collect himself, Zevran sheaths his knife. This man is no threat to him, judging by the way his long, skinny limbs are shaking. He forces an exhale, pushes a non-existent strand of hair out of his face, and tries to ignore the cold sweat on his back, painting on a smile. “No, it is I who should apologise. You... gave me a fright.”

The mage nods, and swallows, glancing between Zevran and the door to the kitchen. “The feeling’s mutual.” Slowly, he stands and brushes down his - skin tight suede - robes, before holding out a hand. “I’m Anders, by the way.”

Zevran takes his hand, and is surprised by how firm Anders’ grip is when he shakes. “Zevran. You are one of the recruits?”

Anders’ thin lips pull up at one corner, as if at some private joke. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Something like that.” At Zevran’s questioning gaze, he clarifies. “I’m an apostate. And given a choice between a quick death and a slow one, I chose getting eaten by Darkspawn.” Anders’ lips twist, and his fingers flex as he lowers his hand.

Zevran very deliberately does not think about Talen, and what will happen when his Calling comes for him. The mage, Anders, puts his hand on the door handle, then seems to catch himself. “Oh, but I’m not dangerous. Like, I’m not a blood mage. I just.” He shrugs, an awkward movement of his too-thin, broad shoulders. “Don’t like being cooped up.” He offers Zevran another humourless smile. Then he opens the door with a faint click.

There’s a broad, fat woman inside the kitchens, and when she sees them she beams at Anders, her cheeks red with the heat that wafts out of the room in waves of sweet-smelling steam. “Anders! I should have known it was you causing such a commotion.”

Anders’ sharp shoulders drop as he makes eye contact with the woman, and he steps away from Zevran quickly, crossing the space to drop a kiss onto her cheek. “Sarah. Sorry about that, I, um -”

He glances back at Zevran, and she follows his gaze. Zevran gives them both a wave, and then a flourishing bow, because it amuses him. “Zevran Arainai, Antivan Crow.” He grins when both of them startle, “I am not here in a professional capacity.”

The mage, Anders, has moved to stand between Sarah and Zevran - which Zevran thinks is either brave or stupid, considering how awkwardly he holds himself, and how easy it would be to unbalance him. He frowns down at Zevran, “So why are you here?”

Zevran performs a gusty sigh, imitating an actress who’d once made him laugh in a Rivaini streetshow. “Perhaps you will know me better as the Warden’s paramour.”

Anders’ frown transmutes from suspicion into confusion. “Which warden?”

Zevran laughs, then, honestly, and catches the moment that Anders’ mouth quirks upward in a shadow of a smile when he does. “Aha, I had become so accustomed to there being just two in our travels during the Blight that I have neglected to remember his recent efforts. No, I mean the Warden. Talen Mahariel.”

Anders’ eyebrows hit his hairline at the same moment Sarah dips a hurried curtsy of stained brown skirts. “Oh my word, the commander’s paramour in my kitchen! Oh, everything is such a mess.”

Sarah immediately begins to busy herself with clearing surfaces, apparently at random. Anders looks caught between soothing her and keeping his eye on Zevran, so Zevran spares him the decision, stepping quickly forward and easily around the mage to catch her hands. They’re warm and soft in his, and Sarah stops immediately, eyes widening as she flushes. She, at least, is a more ordinary size, and only slightly taller than Zevran.

“Please, do not stand on ceremony for my sake. I admit I was only drawn here by the scent of fresh bread.” Sarah’s eyes, if possible, widen further, an effect exaggerated by the flour sticking to her cheeks. But then her expression softens, and she gently pulls her hands back.

“Well then! You should have said. Here, sit down. You too, Anders.” Sarah’s tone takes on a distinctly matronly quality when she speaks to the mage, though she can’t have had more than a decade and a half on him in age. Zevran supposes he’s known younger mothers.

Both of them sit at a rough wooden table on simple stools. Over their heads, sunlight spills like honey across the deep stone windowsill. Anders offers Zevran a tight smile, whilst Sarah ducks and opens a heavy iron door in the oven built into the wall. The smell of fresh bread intensifies, savoury sweet and warm on Zevran’s tongue. Sarah hums to herself tunelessly as she fishes out two iron plates from a cupboard, and slices the bread with a soft crunch.

She presents the plates and a clay dish of butter, as well as a tiny clay pot of rock salt, and puts her hands on her hips. Zevran stares at the steam rising in curls from the fresh bread and resists the urge to lick his lips. Sarah bumps Anders’ shoulder with her hips, and moves a hand to muss his hair. “You should have seen this one when he got here. Skinny as an alley cat and led by his nose just as easily.” Anders flushes, and opens his mouth to respond, but Sarah just claps his shoulder hard enough to make him buckle forward. “Go on you two, enjoy yourselves. I’ve got dinner to prepare for a small army.”

Then she turns and moves back to the kitchen, humming as she goes. Zevran pauses before touching his bread, glancing at Anders. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but the mage hunches his shoulders defensively, crooked hand frozen with his bread halfway to his mouth. This close Zevran can see that his fingers are littered with scars, and several of the knuckles are out of alignment. He is familiar with the treatment that elicits such effects, but he had not expected to see its marks on a mage. Perhaps Talen was right, and he based too much of what he knew of magic on cheap romances. Zevran had always assumed a mage would stop anyone before they could do such a thing.

“Withholding meals is Templar 101,” Anders mutters, glaring at Zevran defensively, “At least here I don’t get in trouble.”

Several things fall into place. Zevran picks up his bread: the crust is gold and thick, and warm to the touch. He butters it with a generous pat before sprinkling a little salt over the top. Anders watches him with poorly concealed curiosity. Zevran pretends not to notice. “Disciplinary starvation is not uncommon among the Crows.” Zevran offers Anders his first honest smile, and tries not to feel as if he exposing a vulnerable organ. “It seems we have this in common.”

Anders stares at him for a long moment, then, before eventually ducking his head and offering Zevran a hesitant smile in return. Satisfied, Zevran bites into his bread, and lets out a moan that he knows is pornographic. Sarah giggles, and Anders flushes pink across his cheeks, down his long neck and across what areas of his chest are exposed by those truly inviting robes.

Zevran hides his grin in his next bite. Well, Talen had a pet project with the Howe boy. Perhaps some amusement could come of knowing the mage better. It would, at the very least, be a pleasant enough way to pass the time.

#dadwc #zevran arainai #anders #da:a #my fic #rainwolfheart #zevranders

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frenchy-and-the-sea · 3 years

Text

Gift Fic - Of a Hand’s Span

It’s officially over two months past due, so idk if I can call this a birthday gift, but I bludgeoned my way through a serious case of writer’s block for the very lovely @thereluctantinquisitor anyway! I realized too late that this might read as a bit of a rehash of the birthday fic you wrote me Kay, and I don’t consider myself an expert enough on your delightful OCs to think it’s at all in character, but I hope you enjoy the effort all the same! Thank you for always being a voice of encouragement and an incredible friend!! <3

~ 2500 words, of the Stonebreaker variety

------

When your year included a day spent swinging from the gallows, it seemed poor luck not to celebrate surviving it.

The realization found Sylda quietly, one scorching afternoon in the height of summer as she idled around the dingy inn room that she and Delver had spent too much of their dwindling coin on. They hadn’t had much choice in the matter; the little inn was about the only place a reasonable person could wait out the arrival of the caravans that ferried travelers through the heart of the wilds beyond the bustling little trade stop. So they had spent the last two days waiting, until the waiting turned to bickering, and the bickering to silence, and the silence to sudden, glaring memory.

Staring up at the pock-marked ceiling, Sylda checked the date against the calendar in her head, checked it a second time for good measure, then sighed and heaved herself up off of the groaning springs of the bed beneath her. Its complaints drew Delver’s attention from his third reread of the book that he was definitely not falling asleep to.

“Where are you going?” he asked hazily, on reflex. There was resistance in his voice already. Sylda shrugged.

“Out,” she said, just to annoy him. “Maybe down to the market. Maybe to a tavern with some better wine. Hey, if I’m bored enough, maybe I’ll find my way over to the Gilded Keys. That could be fun.”

“We need to be here when the caravan arrives,” Delver reminded her, blinking the mirage of the book’s pages from his eyes as she crossed to the door.

“Mhm.”

“And I’m not going to climb around the whole city looking for you.”

“Of course not. I’ll be back.”

“Sure.” Delver sighed, scrubbing half-heartedly at what Sylda assumed was the beginning of his latest headache. Then he straightened.

“Isn’t the Gilded Keys a brothel?”

Her answer was the door falling shut behind her.

------

It was a productive afternoon, all things considered.

She spent nearly all of it loitering around the fringes of the market square, indulging in the long-neglected impulses of a thief gone nearly legitimate. A bakery lost some small, pocket-sized rolls fresh from the oven. A grocer misplaced a lump of cheap butter and a wide-mouthed jar of jam. A vintner got a very fine payout for a bottle of strawberry wine from the purse of a nervous gentleman up the road who had used braided cord for his purse strings instead of tarred rope. All in all, child's work, but clean work nonetheless. As the sun began to fall behind the edge of the horizon, Sylda wound her way as far from the center of town as she dared, and scaled the first roof that looked stable enough to hold her. It was nothing more than a low, flat plane of straw mats several blocks from the market, packed down and then gone over several times with pitch and bits of clay until it was as solid and sharp as unhewn granite. The family of three that lived beneath it wouldn't hear her footfalls on something that thick, even without all of the arguing they were doing.

She settled herself down on the corner that jutted out over a deserted alleyway, dangling her feet over the edge as she spread her spoils out beside her. The bread was still warm from its stay in the satchel she had tucked against her chest, just enough to melt the harder edge of the butter that she slathered on top. Cheap though it was, it was still deliciously salty, accenting the sweetness of the jam and the tart pop of wine. She indulged in three of the rolls, and half of the bottle of wine, before she let the tension roll slowly out of her shoulders.

Another year, then.

By every metric, that was something worthy of a toast. It meant that she hadn’t been too slow or too stupid, or at least that she had been good at cutting an escape when she was. It meant that she had cultivated enough luck and favor to be more of an asset than a menace. It meant that she had kept herself fed and safe and alive, and that she had done so, consistently, season after season, for the better part of two decades.

Almost, whispered the traitorous voice in her mind, quiet as a shadow. Almost, and almost not. A shame, to have nearly lost so much to the rope, and to have it mean so little…

She silenced the thought with another angry gulp of wine. She had survived. That was plenty. She didn't owe the world anything past that; she didn't owe anything to anyone.

And to yourself?

Sylda lowered her bottle as the flash of anger fizzled. Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? She had survived, and in surviving had been dragged away from everything that she had ever known. Every blessing and curse of street life, every familiar face that she had loved and never thought that she would miss; all of it had been swept away from her like so much road dust under her heels, carried off in one whirlwind of an afternoon. Now, instead, she had a messy inn room to look forward to one night, a frigid road camp the next. She had the company of a man who irritated her nine days out of ten, whose need for her mostly involved being a particularly interesting puzzle. Oh, Delver was fine as far as traveling companions went, but he had been clear about the purpose she served him, and vice versa. An even trade. That hardly made him something to be relied on.

When she thought about it, truly thought about it, her blessings fit almost entirely in the span of her hands - these clothes, this butter, a handful of rolls, a bottle of wine -

“There you are!”

And she nearly lost the bottle of wine over the edge of the roof. Heart in her throat, Sylda spun in her seat as Delver's head suddenly appeared over the edge of the wall beside her, his face twisted into a grimace of effort as he struggled up over the side. Habit alone roused her to her feet quickly enough to reach him at the edge of the roof, and haul him up by the crook of his elbow.

"What in the world are you doing here?" she asked, bewildered, as he staggered to his feet. Delver just snorted and knocked the topmost layer of grime from his cloak.

"I’m doing what I explicitly said I wasn't going to do,” he said dryly. “I'm climbing all over this dusty speck of a supply town looking for you. It's been hours, Sylda."

Defiance edged up through the cracks in her surprise. "I told you I was going out.”

"Sure. And then you went and stayed out until nearly sundown, when we were supposed to be back at the inn, waiting on the caravan -"

"Oh, the caravan isn't here yet." When Delver arched an eyebrow, Sylda shrugged. "What? I’m right, aren't I? If it had shown up already, I’d have seen it, or at least heard the ruckus from the market. You can spot them coming a full league away, and I’ve spent years running rooftops. I know what to keep an eye for.”

“Do you?” Irritation touched the edges of Delver’s tone. “Well, that’s a relief. Because you didn’t seem to ‘keep an eye’ on the shopkeepers that you spent all afternoon stealing from. If you had, maybe they wouldn’t have known exactly who I was talking about when I asked after you.”

He made a flourishing gesture to his purse, which jingled pitifully against his waist. Newly emptied, Sylda realized with a wince. She could just about picture the shape of the conversation that Delver had been subject to when the shopkeepers that she had swindled recognized her description. Maybe she hadn’t shaken nearly as much rust off as she had thought. She chanced a sheepish grin.

“In my defense, I wasn’t exactly intending to go back to them.”

Delver huffed. “No, I bet you weren’t.”

The brush of an insult there was almost enough to raise Sylda to an argument, but Delver’s attention had already shifted down to her meager pile of plunder, still lain out on the roof’s edge. He eyed the simple fare over for a moment, frowning, then turned to steal a glance up at her through the dirty fringe of his hair.

“Why?”

She could have lied. Could have pretended that she didn’t know what he was asking, could have pretended she was just sharpening her skills again, could have chalked it up to boredom, plain and simple. But a ghost possessed her instead, and she said, “It’s my birthday.”

It was almost worth the admittance to see Delver straighten so quickly. “What?”

“My birthday,” she said again, a little stronger. The words were out; no use fighting them now. “Rolls around about every year or so, you know? I figured it was worth doing...something, after making it through another one.” She made a pointed gesture near her neck and then shrugged like it didn’t wake the rotten seed of that particular memory. Delver just nodded, suddenly as stiff-necked as a new actor. He looked down at the spread of her spoils at their feet again, then out over the dusty rise of buildings spiraling out around them, frowning.

"Kind of a shit place for a celebration, isn't it?" he asked after a moment. Sylda shrugged.

"I’ve had them in worse places," she said, with a twist of a smile. "And to be fair, it's still better than sitting in a tiny inn room listening to you snore your way through a book you hate."

Delver scowled. "I don't snore."

"No," said Sylda, full grinning now, "you thunder like a bear in heat, and that’s on your better nights. Really, I’m not surprised you don’t travel in the wilds much, since you’d be in very real danger of one of them trying to petition you for the night -”

She broke off just in time to duck out of the way of one of the bread rolls as it sailed past her head.

"I’m starting to regret coming to find you,” Delver snapped as she heaved herself upright, snickering.

“You didn’t have to,” she pointed out helpfully. "Actually, I’m surprised you found me at all. We're not exactly near the market, and your bad luck is legendary -”

Delver raised another roll.

“- which makes the fact that you did find me that much more impressive." She held up a hand in a half-hearted gesture for peace, and begrudgingly, Delver lowered his weapon.

“It wasn’t exactly hard,” he admitted after a moment, dropping the little hunk of bread back onto her spread cloth. “You said that you used to work on rooftops, back in Yelen. After the mess in the market, I figured the only place that you'd go is up.”

He looked away, back out over the rise and fall of the town’s silhouette around them, and a strange tightness suddenly coiled itself inside Sylda’s chest. Delver was right; it wasn’t a difficult assumption to make, that she would go scurrying back to the rooftops for her safety. But it still took knowing her. It took remembering. A Cipher’s long, long memory was a testament to the things they found important enough to keep. The notion that anything about her even approached that bar, even temporarily…

She suddenly found herself settling back onto the edge of the roof, gesturing Delver down beside her and holding the bottle of wine out towards him.

“You still had to find me,” she pointed out. “It’s not a big town, sure, but finding one rooftop in a thousand, well…”

She shrugged, leaning back on one hand. Some starved, wretched part of her knew exactly what she was doing. It was the child in her, reaching out with both hands, little fists grasping for another word, another reassurance, another little brush of that companionship. Anything to have more than just this bottle of wine. The shame of it burned like a wildfire in her chest, but if Delver noticed, he mercifully didn’t say so.

“I tried just taking the roofs myself,” he said instead, accepting the seat and her offered wine with a grunt. “Managed to get on top of one without falling flat on my ass in front of everyone. Almost celebrated. Then I had a knife at my back.” He sighed, and took a long pull of wine as Sylda stifled a startled laugh. “I don’t know why I expected most thieves to stay on the street after knowing you. The gentleman holding my spine hostage seemed to think I was part of another gang and had come to muscle in on his territory. Then he tried to rob me. Then I guess he realized I wasn’t even worth dulling his blade to cut my purse, so he told me to get back on the ground where I belonged. I've spent the last hour peeking up onto roofs at random and hoping no one tries to cut my fingers off.”

"We usually check for rings on them first," Sylda assured him with a grin, even as her child-soul latched its stubby fingers around the thought and reeled it close. For me, it crooned delightedly. For me, for me; all of it, done just for me! A fresh tongue of shame licked up her ribs, spitting like a new log on a fire, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to push it away. She was so warm, suddenly, shame and all. Maybe it was just curiosity, or frustration, or the ill-used dregs of duty, but Delver had still come looking for her. She hadn't needed him to; they both knew how easily she could work a town, even a small one, when she was being careful. But he had come anyway.

Even a very useful tool didn't warrant that sort of attention.

Swallowing the knot building in her throat, Sylda forced a shrug that she hoped looked nonchalant.

"Well, all the same, I’m glad you didn’t get your fingers cut off. Or fall off a roof. Or get robbed a second time." Delver leveled a glare at her over the bottle of wine, which she returned with a thin smile. “What? I’m serious! It’s a dangerous task, running rooftops like this. I just mean that I’m glad you made it up in one piece, that's all. It would be a pretty terrible birthday present for you to go and die on me."

Delver snorted. "Yeah, happy birthday," he muttered. "Now you’re sitting on a rooftop in the middle of nowhere while I drink away all of the wine that you stole. I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

Sylda just laughed. She couldn’t quite bring herself to correct him.

#my writing #other people's ocs #stonebreaker #thereluctantinquisitor #original fiction #i'm convinced I ran away with the characterization on this #so you have my deep apologies for that #i still hope it brings you a little bit of joy though!!#you deserve all of that and more :D

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ashestoashesjc · 4 years

Text

A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend On A Couple's Retreat

Short Story 1/2/(3)/4/5/6/7/8/9/10

"RrRRrrrr... grrr? <Hey, uh, babe... seen my arm anywhere?>" rang Sett's voice throughout their cigar box of a house as he rummaged through closets, opened cabinets, overturned couch cushions.

Shutting and latching the front door behind him, Ulrick began flipping through the stack of envelopes clutched in his right hand. "Huh? Oh…”

“Okay, so… don’t get mad,” Ulrick began, as meekly and guilt-tinged as one can make a shout. “But... there was this huge, I mean HUGE silverfish…”

“GRrrr! Rrrrr. <Dude! Not cool,>” could be heard as Sett stomped his way to the foyer.

“I know! I’m sorry! I’m weak!” moaned Ulrick.

Sett sighed as he entered the cove and laid his single remaining hand on Ulrick’s left shoulder, the other sleeve draped flaccidly at his side. “Grrrr. <Well, yeah.>” he said. Ulrick snickered.

“You know, having your boyfriend kill a bug for you is exceedingly normal,” Ulrick said, separating the bills from the letters that weren’t bills. There were very few that weren’t bills. “Almost conventional.”

“Rrr. <True,>” Sett replied. “Rggrrrr. <Probably while the arm’s still attached, though.>”

“A mere quibble.”

“Rrrrgrrr? <So, where is it now?>” Sett asked.

“Ugh. Still getting cozy with the silverfish, I’d imagine,” Ulrick admitted, guilt creeping back into his voice. He covered his eyes with his free hand and shuddered. “In… the shower.”

Sett sucked air through his teeth in a compassion-filled cringe.

“Yeah,” Ulrick sighed, resigned to his trauma.

“Grrrr. <Don’t worry,>” said Sett. “Rraarr. <I got it.>”

Ulrick slid his hand down his face with a grateful groan. “God, I love you.” Sett pulled him forward by his collar and pecked his forehead.

Continuing to sort through the mail, Ulrick came to a red envelope and, seeing it addressed to Sett, handed it over. “Looks important.”

Confusion clouded Sett’s eyes for the first few, slow moments spent undoing the envelope’s seal flap, until suddenly, a surge of realization like lightning drove him to violently tear the crimson paper away.

As he scanned the contents of the letter contained within, words failing to do his emotional state justice, Sett began to fist pump wildly, God help anyone in the flight path of his singular elbow. Ulrick looked on in entranced bewilderment.

“Was there itching powder in that envelope?” asked Ulrick.

Sett shoved the creased letter in Ulrick’s face, his manic energy not yet dissipated. Ulrick took it and held it out at arm’s length until his eyes brought the words into focus.

“A couple’s retreat?” he wondered aloud, lowering the paper enough to peer over the top at Sett.

“Grrgrrrr. <An all-expenses paid couple’s retreat.> Rrrrrr. <At a swanky resort.> GrrrrRr. <Complete with water skis.>”

“This is from a contest?” he asked, rotating and inspecting the sheet. “When did we enter a contest?”

“Rrggrrrr? <You know those entry slips we’re getting in the post all the time?>”

“The ones I’m always throwing away? I’m familiar.”

“RrrRrrrrr ggrrrr. <Well, your aim could use some work, because some of them wind up in the mailbox,>” said Sett, with a shrug.

The sound that next filled the room, colored with exasperated mirth, was one Sett was used to Ulrick making, though one that never stopped bringing a flush of heat to the place where his heart used to be.

He grabbed Ulrick by the hips and the two began to sway back and forth. “Rrrrrr. <Just imagine it,>” he purred dreamily. “GrrrRRrrrr rrrrRrrr grrr...arrrr? <Massages, rock-climbing, a luau. And… did I mention waterskiing?>”

Swaying still, Ulrick looked up with his head cocked. "I've... never heard you mention waterskiing before."

"GrrRrrrrrr. <I enjoy a lot of things I don't talk about.> Rgrrrrgrrr. <Like country music, or bad chick lit,>" Sett said before twirling and dipping Ulrick in a blur. "Rraarrrr. <I'm a multi-layered zombie.>"

Breaking clumsily away from the songless dance and squeezing the bridge of his nose, Ulrick set down the remainder of the mail on the side table by the entrance and looked his boyfriend over. “It’s totally free?”

“Grrarrr. <It’s totally free,>” confirmed Sett.

Ulrick raised an eyebrow. “No catch?”

“Rrr… <Well…>”

“And streeetch! That’s right! Streeetch!”

At the front of Meadow Grove Resort’s famed yoga studio balanced - one foot planted on the ground, the other hooked deftly behind her neck - Chrysanthemum Smith, a remarkably limber 60-year-old instructor, urging her out-of-shape contest winning students to achieve the same feats of flexibility.

All around Ulrick and Sett, a pretzel factory’s soon-to-be-discarded collection of heinous, gnarly undesirables had been given life in the form of sweaty middle Americans.

That pretzels went through a less agonizing process being baked at 500 degrees was a fact Ulrick was both confident in and envious of. His legs were angled in a way he was sure he’d feel for weeks to come.

Sett, on the other hand, had apparently been a contortionist in a past life, the way he bent himself into poses, well, a pretzel would gawk at, holding each position stoically before moving gracefully on to the next. It also helped that he couldn’t feel what would leave most tendons shredded rags.

Ulrick gave up the pursuit of dislocating his pelvis and instead went to poke Sett in the cheek. Through his mask, Sett made a chomping motion at the finger, though remained otherwise totally still. "Okay, but this kind of bites, right?" Ulrick signed.

"A little. And not in the fun way," Sett signed back.

On a pair of blue, rubber mats to their left were two women - one in a biker's jacket and tattered, patched jeans, short red hair tied into a haphazard ponytail; the other a dark woman donning a shaved head, flower-patterned maxi dress, and combat boots - the former of whom suddenly grabbed Ulrick's attention with a nod.

"You're telling me," she signed.

And in an instant, they were no longer alone in the hazy, secluded sphere that made their reality.

So taken aback was he that he blurted aloud, "You sign?"

The yoga instructor shushed him from her place at the head of the wide room, leading him to duck down sheepishly. With the forced inclusion of an overly casual air, he said more than asked, "You sign."

"Oh, yeah," the woman chuckled gruffly. "Mom's Deaf."

Taking a sudden interest in the conversation, Sett's head swiveled to the leather jacket-clad woman. "Shit yeah!" he signed with fervor, eliciting a harsh snort from the woman. The instructor's head whipped around to glare her way, but went ignored.

Sett's hands jumbled for a moment before he continued. "I mean, I'm sure that must have been very difficult for your family and--"

She gave a dismissive wave of the hand. "Nah, don't worry about it. She's capital 'D' Deaf. A congenital thing. Whole family's been signing forever."

Her wife - Jen, they later learned - chimed in with, "Di does it at home, too. She's taught me half the lyrics to Boys for Pele."

"Wow!" Ulrick said with teeth-clenching enthusiasm. "That's so great! Isn't that so great, Sett?"

The mask did nothing to conceal Sett's raised, beaming features. "That's so great!" he signed.

"I'm sorry!" bellowed the lithe yogi, shattering all delusions of serenity. "Am I boring you?"

Several overlapping voices came to the general consensus of "Christ, yes."

One of the husbands, portly and somewhat resembling the famously affable capybara, asked, somewhat less affably, why they were being stretched into taffy when they should be outside taking one-on-one lessons with the beach volleyball instructor. He was joined by a few surly “yeah!”s.

They were met with an unimpressed crossing of the arms. Though it should be noted Smith’s foot was still being held comfortably behind her head.

"I would suggest, in the future, that you more closely scrutinize contest entries," Yogi Smith advised in as calm a manner as it seemed she could now manage, though with an unmistakable edge to her voice. "In order to partake in our facility’s more... physically involved activities, you’ll first need to align and cleanse your mental, emotional, and spiritual energies.”

This provoked a studio-wide groan, with the exclusion of Jen, who seemed just eager enough to cancel out the cloud of grim impatience encircling her.

“Unless, of course,” Smith said, shifting poses to something favoring the letter ‘G’, “you’d prefer to construct your own schedules. In which case, a full price admission to Meadow Grove Resort remains available.”

She sleekly extended her right leg, pointing its foot pin-straight toward the sliding studio doors. “Don’t, as the masters of yore were wont to say, let the door hit ya.”

When no one moved and the room went quiet enough to hear an acupuncture needle drop, Smith resumed a standing position and bowed three times to each division of the studio. “Namaste. Namaste. Namaste.”

Chrysanthemum Smith had in no way undersold how ‘aligned and cleansed’ couple’s therapy and its airings of dirty laundry and subsequent ferocious dissolutions of decades of marriage; couple’s pottery, the same thing but with clay vases; and couple’s finger-painting, a bonding exercise in shared humiliation, would make their minds, emotions, and souls through sheer gut-rending hilarity.

Ulrick almost didn’t want to stop watching people who, hours ago, seemed all confidence and bravado, now being brought to tears by an instructor’s criticism of their macaroni art lacking ‘depth.’

But their confinement was over and they were free to roam the grounds as they saw fit and Sett, without even feigning to look for a map of the resort, made a beeline for the largest body of water (and the largest gathering of humans) he could sniff. Ulrick was still surprised at times by how agile Sett could be on his feet when on the hunt for blood - or recreational watersports - and struggled to keep up.

Their long-awaited waterskiing adventure began almost as soon as they arrived at the lakeside, the instructor needing a volunteer at that instant to man the skis while he lectured another guest on the controls of the boat. At nearly a head taller than anyone else present, Sett didn’t need much more than a raised hand to stand out.

Things were going great; Sett mounted on skis as long as he was tall, the boat revving greedily for take off. At Sett’s thumbs up, the runabout hammered off in a thunderous roar. And then, all at once, things were going wrong.

The envisioned majesty of skimming the motionless calm of the crystal river was halted abruptly with a leaden Sett stumbling mid-lake in his skis, trying and failing to correct himself, going feet-over-head, and sinking like an anchor to the agitated silt of the riverbed below.

Ulrick, though he jumped with concern at the first hint of a misstep, expected a brief swim back, perhaps slowed a bit - but not much - by Sett's stoney limbs. He’d been the star diver of his local swimming hole as a teen and still maintained some of the underwater dexterity, though nowadays tended to lurk the floors of bodies of water like a carnivorous bottom-feeder; eating habits included.

But then a few minutes passed, and nothing. A lifeguard and two of the more experienced swimmers among the guests plunged into the river and searched for fifteen minutes, cracking the surface now and again for a gulp of air, all to no avail. The water was too cloudy with sediment to see past a certain depth, and the orange-purples of dusk were beginning to settle in. They'd need to return in the morning with a diving team.

It'd now been forty-five minutes, and three of the resort’s other guests were consoling Ulrick, one herself on the verge of waterworks. They'd just witnessed a man - someone's significant other - torn tragically from life's teat, and in front of the man he loved, no less.

Ulrick, for his part, was positively miffed.

"When I get my hands on him..." Ulrick started, before one of the grievers tossed him a teary-eyed questioning look. "Er, that is... would that I could only put my hands on him... again..." he corrected.

Just as Ulrick had begun mentally reviewing the basics of the Arts of Throttling, a movement, barely noticeable, shook the surface of the lake. Then bubbles, then the full break of the water as a head rose into view. Then the screams of onlookers as, in the fading light, a ghastly lake monster began its murderous approach. Then screams of a different kind as people began to make the connection proper. Then there was weeping, fainting, more than one declaration of faith renewed. It was a miracle!

Later, after insistences for medical attention were politely but firmly refused and the religious stragglers begging for just a smell of Sett’s waterlogged clothes were shooed away, Ulrick asked why he waited so long to resurface, to which Sett said, "GrrrrRRrr. <Well, at first I was just sort of embarrassed.> RrrrrrrGrrrRrrr? <Then I thought, "How often do these people see miracles?>"

"Oh, sure," groaned Ulrick. "A man comes out of a lake after half an hour and it's a miracle. A man comes out of a grave after a few months and it's "Grab the torches and pitchforks, everyone!""

"Rrrr. <Babe.>"

Ulrick gave a pouty grumble. "I'm just saying. One's a little more miraculous, is all."

Sett pulled Ulrick's head into his chest and stroked his hair. "GrrrRrrrRrrr. <Shh, I know, dude, I know.>" His heavy, soaked clothes and lack of body heat didn't chill Ulrick as much as they should have, and though a fine coating of sand covering him from head to toe gritted against Ulrick's cheek, it only made Ulrick rub his face in rebelliously.

"Okay," Ulrick said, resting his fists on Sett's chest and gazing up into his eyes. "What's the next activity? I think we’re... due-au for a luau?" The moment the words left his lips, his face collapsed into disgusted regret.

“Rgrrr... <Actually…>” Sett said, wrenching off his mask and shaking the excess water from his hair, teasing a blush out of Ulrick. “GgrrrRrrrr? <Doesn’t watching the stars by the lake sound pretty relaxing?>”

Ulrick grinned and took a seat on the shoreline, running his hands through the tufts of ryegrass stretching out in waves around him. He tapped a spot to his right and Sett, half-cocked smile in tow, came lumbering over to take it.

Hours flurried past, changing nothing about the image of the intimately silent pair but the number of stark white pinpricks in the sky they beheld.

They threatened to sit silently basking in each other forever.

And then Sett said, “GRrrrrgrrr, rrgrrr, graargrr. <So, Diane and Jen gave me their number, and they want to plan an outing.>”

Unease shot through Ulrick’s veins, but he held his tongue in search of the correct words. “O-oh?”

“Grrr? Rrgrrrrr. <Isn’t that cool? People want to spend time with us,>” said Sett, ensorcelled with the twinkle of every new star. “Rrrrr. <With me.>”

“That might be…” began Ulrick, before noticing the glimmer in Sett’s eyes and faint lift at the corners of his mouth as he stared up towards a great unknown. He sighed. “It’s going to be great.”

Sett rested his hand on Ulrick’s, their fingers interlocking. He smiled, and the two gazed into an ever-darkening firmament, speckled with a thousand stars and a thousand futures.

#A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend #short stories #supernatural #mlm #wlw #queer #series #A Necromance #original #fiction

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

Text

ATTD: A Magician, Not a Healer (1)

ATTD Masterlist

dream road trip companions: jasper “all my friends are dead” run, will “maybe if i’m polite enough they won’t notice my debilitating ptsd” price, and, you know... Chorus

@whumpitywhumpwhump @favwhumpstuff

TW for: gore/body horror, impalement; emeto; coughing up blood; near death experience (all in flashback); sick/feverish whumpee; infected wounds; brief manhandling of a touch-averse whumpee.

----

Once, in the latter half of his time with Mulciber’s Company, when they could all feel their time running out, the Company had been sheltering in a temple when it was brought tumbling down around their ears, and a beam from the ceiling, three inches thick, had skewered Jasper through the right side of his midsection.

It hadn’t severed his spine, which had been pure luck on his part; if it had he would have been dead and out of reach of any magic but the gods’. But it had pinned him to the floor, and left him juddering on the ground like a gutted fish, vomiting stomachfuls of blood onto the painted tile of the temple floor, and he had had about thirty seconds to watch his life flash before his eyes at double speed.

Then he had raised his head—with more effort than anything he’d done before or since—and seen Silex leaping toward him through the rubble, the Healer’s sweet open face blazing with single-minded focus.

All these years later—and Silex three years in the ground—Jasper did not remember the pain of the wound itself with any clarity. He remembered the terrible wet feeling of his throat being filled entirely with blood, and he remembered thinking—though he should have known better by then—that there would be little enough Silex could do, and hoping only that Silex would hold his hand and speak kindly to him while he shuddered and puked himself to death. And then he remembered the sensation, unlike anything he’d ever felt, of Silex reaching into his guts and pulling them back into the right shape; pulling the blood off the tile and shoving it back inside him, and bullying his viscera back together, in the shape God meant them to be in the first place.

He remembered that first breath, clear of blood, and Silex’s answering cry, weak with relief, and the Healer crushing him forward into a bear-hug, before the rest of the Company converged on them, to pull them both from the wreckage.

There had been classes in Healing at the Academy at Wizard’s City, even in Jasper’s general undergraduate program, and at the time he’d not taken much interest in them. He had thought, along with most of his classmates, that Healers were necessary, but not very glamorous; certainly he had had no interest in pursuing the specialization. They had taught him, then, how to speed the natural healing of a wound, and he could still do it competently enough, which was fine for the normal cuts and scrapes he received in his life as a wandering Magician, without his Company.

However, sometimes the natural course for a wounded man was to die, and in those cases, there was not much an ordinary Magician, like Jasper, could do.

Silex would have taken one look at the boy called Will, tutted in sympathy, and gathered him in like a brooding hen; Silex could, doubtless, have set the boy right in the time it took Jasper to boil a pot of tea.

But Silex had been dead three years, now, a betrayal for which Jasper had still not forgiven him. And Jasper was not a Healer.

Jasper prodded at Will’s wound once more, before they started the day-long trek back to the port city, despite the boy’s obvious discomfort with the physical contact involved. Jasper knew exactly enough to know the wound was bad—that it was at least slightly septic, and probably seeping poison into the boy’s blood—but not nearly enough to effectively treat it.

Which meant the best he could do was get the boy moving, preferably at some speed. That, thankfully, he did have the skill for.

As the dust-storm died down around them, Jasper got to his feet, and pulled his staff free from where it was slung through the straps of his pack. He used the end of it—which was capped in metal, to keep the wood from wearing, and to use as a blunt instrument, occasionally—to sketch a long rectangle in the dust. Then he rubbed his finger in a circle around the blank side of his Runes, and concentrated hard on pulling a largish oblong lump of earth up out of the ground, thinning the packed dust underneath, to avoid leaving too large a hole behind.

With a little more concentration, he carved the earth into a sort of—makeshift saw horse, out of dust and clay. Jasper nudged it forward with his staff, and it obligingly shuffled forward, sliding along the ground, picking up and leaving behind new dust as it moved.

He’d given the dust-horse four blobby legs and a little lump at the front, to make a head. It didn’t strictly need any of those, but Jasper found it comforted people, when magical things came in recognizable shapes.

Will watched this process very closely, blue eyes fever-bright. The monster, Chorus, had several minutes since curled up beside him like a large white cat, and gone to sleep.

“There,” Jasper said, satisfied with his work, and turned back to give Will a grin. “Think you can get on yourself?”

Will nodded--though Jasper frankly didn’t believe him--and began to climb unsteadily to his feet, using the walls of Jasper’s makeshift lean-to for support.

“Why don’t you travel that way all the time?” Will said, eyeing the dust-horse with wonder, and perhaps a degree of distrust.

“Two reasons,” Jasper said, and then without warning picked the boy up around the waste and deposited him easily on the dust-horse’s back, where he sat stiffly, looking comically surprised, like a cat dropped in a bath; with a little effort Jasper did not laugh at him.

“One,” he said, and then had to stop to cough the laughter from his voice. “Ahem. One, I can cast only one spell at a time, so as long as our friend here is active—” Here he smacked the dust-horse on its lumpy flank; the dust-horse didn’t react, though the boy on its back winced slightly— “I’ve got no defensive magic. So if those wolves decide against leaving us alone, get ready to land on your arse.” Will blinked at him, looking alarmed, though he made no move to dismount; Jasper hoped that meant he was accepting the ride. “Two,” Jasper went on, “I may as well hang a sign around my neck that says, ‘I Am A Great Magician, Please Bother Me With All Your Problems.’ I will carry you into Limani myself before I let the general public see this spell.”

“Oh,” Will said, blinking wide eyes at Jasper. “So… laziness, then.”

Jasper laughed, startled. “He says, atop my spellwork,” he replied, pleased the boy still had the faculties left for mild insults.

Jasper turned to squint back into the semi-darkness of the mostly-empty storm shelter. The monster, Chorus, had raised up on one elbow, and was eyeing him lazily, red eyes glowing very slightly in the dark.

“You coming?” Jasper said, and was relieved when his voice came out relatively steady.

“Ugh,” Chorus said, and yawned widely, showing her many teeth.

“It doesn’t matter,” Will said, shifting to keep his balance on the dust-horse’s back. “She can’t go more than a league away from the sword; if she tried she’d just get dragged along behind. She’ll have to come.”

“Ugh,” Chorus said again, with more feeling, and then dematerialized in a puff of white smoke, and was suddenly seated pillion behind Will, on the horse.

Jasper took an involuntary step back, trying to hide the sudden spike in his heart rate.

“You could walk,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow at her.

Chorus sniffed, raising her chin proudly. One of her white arms was wrapped loosely around Will’s waist. Again, her touch seemed not to bother him at all, which seemed entirely backwards, at least to Jasper.

“Walking is for peasants,” Chorus said haughtily, and Will gave a little huff, half laughter and half annoyance, and shook his head, leaning forward a little to support himself against the dust-horse’s head-lump.

The dust-horse was no harder to move with the addition of Chorus’s weight. In fact, between the boy’s gaunt frame and the lady’s semi-corporeal one, it moved more or less as easily as if it was carrying no weight at all.

“Well—fine,” Jasper said, swinging his pack back over his shoulder, and prodded the dust-horse in the rear with his staff, to get it moving. “Let’s get a move on, then, before the sun’s too hot to walk under.”

It would be the first time he’d traveled with another living creature, since the last of the Company left him. Jasper determined then and there that he would try not to enjoy it. It felt like bad form, to be so grateful for the distraction.

#whump #original whump #magical healing #impaled #near death experience #fantasy whump #all those that dance #death mention #emeto tw #coughing up blood #feverish #infected wounds #touch aversion

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kelseaaa · 4 years

Text

It’s Tradition

Pairing: Tyril Starfury x f!Elf!MC (Raine) | Blades of Light & Shadow

Word Count: 5k+ (oops)

Warnings: T rating - probably one of the fluffiest things I’ve ever written with the absolute mildest hints of suggestiveness (like not even, really)

A/N: Happy holiday’s! This little fic is a special gift for @missameliep for the Choices Potluck hosted by the wonderful @homeformyheart. I truly hope you enjoy it!

~~~~~

The holidays in Undermount were very different from what Raine had experienced at home in Riverbend. To be fair, she really hadn’t experienced much growing up in the small village. The farmer that Kade and she lived with couldn’t offer much as gifts, some years there being none at all. But they always brought in a tree from the great forest just beyond the town. And every year they would hang their handmade clay ornaments upon the branches and rejoice with one another and celebrate the year.

When the farmer passed away and it was just Kade and Raine left, they still tried to carry on the tradition. Usually by helping set up the tree in the main lobby of the Dancing Pig Tavern for all of the town and patrons to enjoy. And then, of course, the two would scrimp and save just enough to purchase each other a little token.

So this year, as Raine spent her first holiday season away from Riverbend and away from Kade, she was feeling a little down. The first reason being the latter of the two issues. Kade had decided to stay in White Tower to work and study in the archives. Raine decided to spend the past few weeks in Undermount with Tyril. It had been a tearful goodbye - considering that they had just reunited.

But it wasn’t all bad. Tyril, Valir, and Adrina had been most accommodating. With their home newly renovated, the Starfury’s were more than happy to host her for the holidays. But again, the holidays in Undermount were different.

“So you don’t have a tree?” Raine had asked Tyril and Adrina as they were out for their morning stroll through the market.

Adrina picked up a few rolls of blue, silver, and white fabric, pinching the material between her fingers, before placing them in her basket and leaving a few coins for the shop owner. “Why would we have a tree?” she asked, her brows pulling together.

Raine looked between the younger Starfury sibling to the other, her own brows shooting up in surprise. “If you don’t have a tree then where do you hang your ornaments? Or place your gifts?”

Tyril and Adrina gave each other a sideways glance before Tyril nodded and cleared his throat. “Raine, that’s… we don’t do things like that here.”

Raine frowned as she followed behind the pair. This was going to be a very different holiday, indeed.

~~~~~

“So, Raine,” Tyril began from where they sat on the settee in the Starfury manor. The large fireplace encased the room in warmth and a burning orange glow. “Tell me more about this holiday tree.”

Raine shifted in her seat next to the blue elf. She curled her legs up under her body and turned to face him. She couldn’t get over how surprisingly relaxed he looked, his armor long removed with only a thin, white tunic covering his chest and brown trousers on his legs.

“Well, it’s a tradition we had back home in Riverbend,” she began, adjusting the blanket that covered her lap. “Everyone in town did it. We would all go to the forest and chop down a tree we thought was the best then set it up in our home. Then we would decorate it with little ornaments we had made throughout the years.”

Tyril nodded silently, a reserved smile playing on his lips.

“And then Kade and I usually sang songs while the farmer listened,” she continued, not even noticing the other elf’s expression. “And he would make the best cider and Kade and I would try to stay up as late as we could just to enjoy the tree. We usually fell asleep right on the floor.”

Tyril let out a soft chuckle at that and Raine could feel the heat on her cheeks. It wasn’t from the fire.

“And tell me about these gifts you mentioned,” Tyril said as he shifted his body towards Raine, his arm resting on the back of the settee.

Raine smiled, Tyril’s interest encouraging her to talk more. “Well, we didn’t have much growing up. But the farmer almost always got us some little item or trinket. He would wrap them up with parchment and place them under the tree. Then in the morning after we set up the tree, Kade and I would get to unwrap the gift.”

Raine let out a wistful sigh at the many memories she shared. All the little items she had received over the years and just the thought of being together. It made her chest ache with nostalgia.

“When the farmer passed away, Kade and I continued the tradition in our own way,” she added, her fingers worrying a thread on the blanket. “We never missed a year. Well, except for, you know…”

She fell silent as everything came back. The thought of not having her brother around this year really seemed to put a damper on her mood. Combined with the fact that she was in a mostly foreign place without the usual holiday traditions, it made Raine very somber.

“I’m sorry Kade isn’t here,” Tyril said, his voice breaking through the quietness of the room. “And I’m sorry we don’t have the same traditions as you had back home. But I truly hope that this year is just as special for you.”

Raine couldn’t help the genuine smile that formed on her lips. Without hesitation, she leaned over on the settee placed a gentle kiss on Tyril’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said before sitting back on her side. She reveled in the violet flush that fanned across his cheeks.

“You’re, um, very welcome,” Tyril stuttered before quickly turning his face away from her stare.

“Maybe this year won’t be so bad,” Raine thought to herself, a sly smirk crossing her lips.

~~~~~

“So what traditions do you have?” Raine asked Adrina as the two elven girls sat in the Starfury heir’s room. They had gone through just about every gown Adrina had owned, searching for something perfect for Raine to wear to the holiday dinner, which would be happening in just a few days.

“There aren’t many,” Adrina stated, before pulling out a purple and green ensemble that quickly had Raine’s nose scrunching in distaste. “Generally each house hosts their families large meal on The Night of Eve then afterward everyone gathers in the square for the lighting of the fountain.”

Raine toyed with a red ribbon attached to the back of one of the more extravagant gowns. “That sounds... nice.”

Adrina hummed in response, her attention focusing on the blue, silver, and white fabric that was partially patched together on a mannequin in the corner of the room. “Yes, then the following day we enjoy a plentiful brunch.”

“And that’s all?” Raine asked, to which Adrina just nodded her head in response. “Well, that sounds…”

“Simple?” Adrina offered, making the two girls laugh. “It truly is, in fact, I rather like the idea of gifts and trees.”

Raine sighed. “Yes, me too.”

Adrina looked back to her new friend before her gaze shifted out through the open window of her room. The gears were already turning as the two continued through their afternoon activities.

~~~~~

The sunrises in Undermount were unlike any that Raine had seen growing up. And on this particular morning - having been unable to get a full night’s rest - Raine was awake and alone out on the terrace just off the side of the manor. She pulled the silken robe tighter around her body, the chill from the frosty air whipping slightly through her hair sent shivers through her spine.

But she would brave the cold to witness the beautiful hues of purple, orange, and pink that filtered through the deep blue sky as the sun made its way over the horizon.

“Good morning,” a calm voice sounded from behind her. Raine smiled, glancing just over her shoulder as Tyril made his way to her side. “You’re up early.”

He was dressed in a more formal outfit, still divested of his usual armor. He wore a tight-fitted black tunic, emblazoned with silver trim. His trousers were dark blue and flattered his skin perfectly.

Raine turned back to face the morning sky. “Couldn’t sleep,” she provided.

Tyril only hummed a response.

“It’s beautiful,” Raine said, the sun catching against her purple eyes, making them sparkle in the morning sky.

“It truly is,” Tyril replied.

Raine slowly turned her head to face her companion, her breath hitching when she realized he was already staring back at her. She couldn’t help the quiet laugh that bubbled from her lips.

“I think Mal has been a bad influence on you,” she said with a smirk, bumping her shoulder into his. Before she could pull away he reached out quickly, wrapping his arm around her waist to keep her close, his fingers resting gently on her hip.

“I take offense to that,” he replied, though there was no true animosity to the words.

The two stood in companionable silence, allowing the cold morning air to wash over them as they continued to watch the sunrise from over the mountain. Raine let her head rest on his shoulder until the sun was almost fully visible. And when she felt the tender press of his lips on the top of her head, she let out a contented sigh.

“Are you ready for dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she replied before a slight frown tugged at her lips. “But I wasn’t able to find anything nice to wear.”

Tyril shifted his arms around, wrapping his other arm around her waist and pulling her against him so he could look directly at her face. “Do not worry about that,” he said before leaning down and giving her a sweet kiss.

Raine sighed against his lips, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. She enjoyed the kiss for several minutes, relishing in the feel of his warm lips against her cold one. Reveling in the way his hands hugged her frame just right. Just simply enjoying the feel of being with him.

But as the ache in her lungs indicated, they soon had to break for air

“If you say so,” she finally replied, though the thought still nagged at the back of her mind.

Tyril just smiled before leaning in and leaving a chaste kiss on her lips again. “Good, now then, I think maybe you should try to get a little bit more rest before dinner tonight.”

At that moment it finally hit her how absolutely tired she was. “I think you’re right,” she agreed before the two untangled themselves from each other.

As Tyril and Raine left the terrace, she felt warm fingers brush against hers. She instantly intertwined her own with his as they walked through the grand hallway. A few minutes later they stood just outside Raine’s room. The pair said their goodbyes - though there were fewer words shared and more kissing - and soon Raine was easing the door closed behind her.

The moment the door clicked into place, Tyril turned on his heels and headed down the hall. He had much to do and so little time.

~~~~~

When Raine finally woke, the sun was high in the sky. She let out a loud yawn and turned in the bed, burying her face deeper into the pillow. It wasn’t until a small gust of wind filtered in through her open window did she remember what today was.

The Night of Eve.

With a huff, Raine withdrew from her bed and quickly got to work on making herself presentable. She shuffled through her wardrobe, searching for something not too boring or torn or old that she could wear for the night. She was just about to decide between her turquoise dress or the brown dress when there was a knock on the door.

“Adrina!” Raine greeted as she opened the door to see the blonde elf standing there, arms tucked behind her back. “What do you have there?”

As Adrina entered the room the smile on her face only grew wider. Instead of answering, she simply thrusted the item out from behind her and into Raine’s grasp. Raine looked down at the garment that was now draped in her arms. A beautiful and delicately detailed blue, silver, and white gown.

“Surprise!” The Starfury heir exclaimed as her arms shot into the air.

Raine parted her lips but couldn’t speak. Her eyes grew wide, brows shooting to her hairline as she stared agape at the dress then back up to Adrina. It was several long seconds before she could conjure up any words.

“You… you made this?” Raine asked the question though she knew the answer. When Adrina excitedly nodded her head Raine only shook hers in disbelief. “Did you make this for me? For tonight?”

“Of course! Well, at first I wasn’t sure what I was doing with it but when we spoke a few days ago in my room I suddenly knew exactly what I was to do with it.” Raine could only let out a disbelieving laugh as her fingers ran across the smooth fabric. “Now go on,” Adrina continued. “Put it on! We have a dinner to enjoy!”

Several minutes later, Raine stepped out from behind the changing partition. She ran her hands down the front of the dress, flattening out the nonexistent wrinkles. As Raine stepped up to the mirror, she couldn’t help but smile at the reflection.

“It’s perfect,” Adrina said, her own smile beaming brightly. “Now come here, sit,” she said, motioning to the empty seat in front of her. Raine complied, taking a seat as Adrina stood behind her. “I’m thinking braids…”

~~~~~

A couple hours later, Raine stared again at her reflection. It was unbelievable. Her usually long, blonde hair was wound up into an intricate braid that wrapped around her head. Several loose strands framed her delicate face which now bore hints of kohl and rouge.

“Now then,” Adrina began, making her way to the door. “I think it’s time I finish getting ready myself. See you in an hour?”

Raine nodded her head, unable to keep her gaze from the reflection looking back at her. When the door clicked behind her, signaling Adrina’s departure, she let out the massive breath she had been holding.

Raine was not one to dress fancy or parade around in flashy garments like high society. She was used to sleeping in bedrolls spread upon the earth and scrounging for scraps just to make it by. So at this moment, with silk wrapping her and her lavender skin purposefully tinted pink, she felt different - a good different.

Knock knock knock.

The sudden sound of fingers rapping against her bedroom door broke her from her daze. She honestly wasn’t even sure how long she has been sitting there alone in the room.

“Come in,” she called out, her heart pounding at the thought of another person seeing her dressed so out of character.

Seconds later the door crept open and a very familiar figure strode through the door.

“Raine, it’s time for-”

Tyril quickly stopped his announcement once his eyes landed on her. Raine had never seen him like this. He was frozen in the doorway. His long, raven hair was pulled back from his face in an elaborate braid and half-bun style, the other half flowing down past his shoulders and back. His outfit from earlier - with the silver detailing - all made sense now after seeing her own dress. But perhaps the most surprising of all was the shocked expression he wore. His lips slightly parted and eyes wide - pupils were nearly blown black entirely.

Raine smiled shyly before tucking one of her loose, blonde strands behind her pointed ear. “Hi.”

Her voice must have broken Tyril from the spell and he quickly schooled himself, lips closing together again, though there was a distinct curve at the corners. “Good evening, Raine,” he greeted, body bowing before her, causing a small giggle to escape her mouth.

“And evening to you,” she replied with an exaggerated curtsy that only made him roll his eyes fondly.

Tyril stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. Ever so slowly he glided to her until his body was mere inches from hers. He reached out for her hand - which she gave willingly - and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

“You look so lovely,” he stated casually.

His eyes never left hers as his lips slowly mapped a path from the back of her hand, over her palm, and across her wrist. Raine didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until he pulled away, allowing the hands to drop back down but never breaking apart. The smile he gave her made the tops of her cheeks and tips of her ears flush to a delightful lilac and Raine had to look away for a moment. She surely expected that if they were outside the heat radiating from this exchange would melt all the snow around them.

“Thank you, as do you,” she replied, her voice coming out as a murmur.

She felt the tender squeeze of his hand, making her look back up. “We should go, dinner’s almost ready,” he said before gently tugging at her hand. Raine simply nodded and followed him out the door.

The long walk to the dining hall had been… fine. Though Raine was nervous - even though she had no reason to be, she had been around Tyril’s family for several weeks now and it was only going to be them at the dinner - something deep inside her still felt out of place. The only thing keeping her tethered to the world was the feel of his warm, nimble fingers intertwined with her own.

“Ready?” he asked just before they stepped inside the hall.

She glanced up, locking eyes with the taller elf, and smiled. “Ready.”

A moment later the servants opened the grand doors before them, revealing the lavish dining hall. The smell hit her first, a variety of cooked meats and vegetables that filled her senses causing her to smile warmly.

The second thing to hit her was a familiar voice - several familiar voices, actually - greeting her. “Raine!” the voices called out in unison.

Raine blinked once, twice before settling on her traveling companions that we seated around the table next to Adrina and Valir. Mal, Imtua, Threep, and Loola were all smiles as Tyril gently led her into the room. She hadn’t even noticed they were moving until Tyril pulled out a chair for her and guided her into the seat.

“You.. you’re here,” she couldn’t believe her eyes. It had been months since the entirety of her adventuring group had been in the same town, let alone the same room.

“Well don’t be so surprised to see us, Kit,” Mal snarked, though the quick twitch of his lip let her know it was all for show.

“We couldn’t say no!” Nia began from where she sat next to Mal. She reached across the table, gently enveloping Raine’s hand in hers. “When Tyril reached out to us there was only one answer.”

“Yeah, Landrat. Even I was starting to miss dry land,” Imtura said with a laugh, her hand clapping against Raine’s back.

Raine’s eyes grew wide as she stared around the table at her friends. It was then she realized that there were tears in her eyes and a gigantic smile on her face. She turned abruptly to Tyril who sat just on her other side.

“You did this?” she asked incredulously.

Tyril didn’t answer, instead he grabbed his goblet from the table. He raised it above his head, waiting for the others to follow suit. Raine nearly fumbled with her own but was quick to clutch it in her shaky hands.

“I would like to propose a toast,” the tall, blue elf started once everyone had their drink ready. Even Loola and Threep sat with their goblets at the ready in front of them. “A toast to togetherness. A toast to friendship. A toast to The Night of Eve. And a toast to Raine, for without her, none of this - us - would be possible.”

A round of cheers and “huzzahs” rattled off from the table and moments later the first course was served.

As the dinner went on, the group opted to catch up. Imtura boasted about her time at sea with her crew while Nia and Mal spoke of their time together in White Tower. Even Threep joined in, sharing reviews of all the delectable snacks and treats the castle provided him and Loola.

Raine couldn’t keep the smile from her face, not even for a moment. Even though Kade wasn’t there, she was still with her family - her chosen family.

After dinner, the group made their way into the town center and found a good spot to watch the lighting of the fountain. Raine’s eyes dance in the starlight, taking in the large number of elves that were now flooding the Undermount streets. She smiled at the sight of young and old gathered around. She looked up, barely catching the stare of icy, blue eyes.

“This has been wonderful,” Raine stated, her arm winding around Tyril’s torso. “Thank you for this.”

Tyril placed his arm over her shoulder, pulling Raine closer to him. “You are welcome, my dear. I hope this has been enjoyable for you.”

Raine tilted her head to rest against him. “Of course.”

Their friends quickly gathered around them and a few minutes later - with a little magical help - the large fountain in the center of town burst with millions of dazzling lights. They trailed in the air and danced over the fountain, cascading down the rippling waterfall until landing with an elegant swirl in the pool below. The air around the plaza and fountain crackled with energy and Raine’s breath stilled at the spectacle.

It was a long time before the glittering light show started to die down and most of the other elves made their way back home. Imtura - who had grown impatient - turned to the group. “So, we done here or what?”

“Imtura!” Nia admonished, her eloquent face scrunching into a scowl which had Mal, Imtura, and Raine all laughing.

“Imtura’s right,” Tyril said, his sympathetic gaze turning to Nia. “It’s about time we head back to the Starfury manor.”

Without much protest, the group made their way back along the city streets and before long they were walking back into the Starfury’s home. The group walked along the expansive entryway, chatting amongst themselves.

“That was fun,” Raine said, though her usual jovialness wasn’t quite there. “Are you all staying long? What else do you guys want to do?” She watched as Adrina, Tyril and the rest of the group all glanced around one another. Raine pursed her lips and raised a brow. “What?

“Let’s go to the foyer,” Adrina said, a small grin playing on her lips. Raine noted how everyone quickly agreed and pointedly ignored her questions but she simply shrugged and followed the others.

Raine was the last to enter the room, too busy chatting with Loola and Threep at the back of the group. But once she entered the room their conversation was quickly brought to a stop. She could feel the familiar prick of tears at the back of her eyes which were blown wide at the sight in front of her.

There, in the center of the foyer, stood a tall, lonesome yet full tree. A tree that had not been there the day before. Raine’s eyes traveled the length of the tree before she turned to face Tyril and Adrina.

“What is this?” she said, not bothering to hide the tremble in her throat.

“Surprise!”

Raine whirled around, her attention quickly stopping on Mal, Nia, and Imtura who were holding up an assortment of colorful clay objects. She quickly realized they were all ornaments - all of different shapes and sizes.

She was in awe at the scene in front of her. Her brain was feeling dizzy and for a moment all words escaped her until she was finally able to muster up enough brainpower to ask one question.

“How?”

Tyril stepped up and rested his hand on her lower back, guiding her closer to the tree. “Well, when I reached out to everyone to invite them, I may have mentioned the traditions you were accustomed to.”

“And they sounded so lovely,” Nia added in, her face lighting up.

“And so I asked them to bring some of these clay ornaments you spoke of,” Tyril continued.

Mal stepped forward, showing the little bird and jewel-shaped ornaments in his hand. “Yeah, Kit, even I know of this tradition.”

“So we all wanted to help,” Imtura said, placing a brown colored ornament in Raine’s hand. It looked almost like a pirate ship, or maybe a half-moon, she wasn’t sure.

Raine looked down at the ornament in her hand. She could feel the tightness in her chest and the dampness that threatened to spill from her eyes. She looked up from her hand to the smiling faces of her friends - family - that surround her.

“Thank you,” she croaked, the sound coming out more of a hoarse whisper. “This… it’s so much and I… thank you all so much.”

Without warning, Raine slung her arms around the group, pulling them all into a tight embrace. There were some quiet protests - mainly from Mal and Imtura - but no one pulled away. Once Raine was satisfied with the hug, she released the group then quickly turned to the tree.

“Now then,” she began, stepping forward to the towering tree. “Let’s get to decorating.”

~~~~~

It was several hours later when the group started to drop like flies. They had spent their time decorating the tree and drinking many goblets of honey wine. Raine had even sung several of her favorite holiday songs, teaching them to her companions. But once Adrina and Nia let out several large yawns, Raine knew the night was almost done.

By the end, however, it was just Tyril and Raine left, sitting side-by-side on the settee. Adrina and her father had long retired to their sleeping chambers. Mal and Nia laid curled up together next to the fire and Imtura laid sprawled out on one of the many accent chairs in the room. Loola and Threep were purring softly on one of the cushioned window seats.

“Thank you, again,” Raine whispered, her head resting on Tyril’s shoulder.

She could feel his smile against the top of her head when his lips pressed against her hair. “You are more than welcome, my love.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that.

“So,” she began, her hand winding its way into his. “What do you say we sneak off and start our own holiday tradition?”

She could feel heat instantly radiate off the body next to hers. In the next moment, she was being pulled up from her spot on the settee and dragged down the hall to their sleeping quarters. She had to cover her mouth with her free hand to stop the giggle from bursting through her lips and giving them away.

It was a very, merry Night of Eve indeed.

~~~~~

When morning came, Raine was pleasantly surprised to see her friends gathered at the breakfast table for the large brunch Adrina had mentioned. She was even more surprised to see the assortment of neatly wrapped parcels under the large holiday tree in the foyer.

“When did you have time to do all this?” she asked Tyril as her companions and the Starfury’s made their way to the room.

“A man never reveals his secrets,” he said with a smirk, causing both Raine and Adrina to roll their eyes.

“He had the staff help early this morning,” Adrina admitted, causing the taller blue elf to pout and Raine to laugh.

As the group settled in around the tree, Raine looked around the group with a frown. “But, I didn’t get any of you anything.”

Tyril placed his hand on hers. “Don’t you worry about that. You being here has been a gift enough.”

Raine smiled before leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “Okay but that was really cheesy,” she said, unable to contain the laugh that bubbled out.

Tyril merely huffed and moments later the group was passing around the many gifts from under the tree. Once all gifts were handed out and opened, the group began to laugh and chat amongst themselves.

“I have something else for you,” Tyril whispered against her ear, causing a shudder down her spine. “Wait here.”

Tyril hopped up from his spot and quickly walked outside the foyer space. The group grew silent as they watched the doors he had just walked out of. Moments later the sound of two sets of footsteps could be heard and when the doors opened back up Raine nearly toppled out of her seat and on the floor.

“Kade!” she yelled, her legs moving on her own as she ran across the room and pulled her brother into a tight embrace. “Gods, Kade, you’re here! How? What?”

“Happy Holiday!” Kade said, his arms winding around his sister’s back and pulling her close. “Tyril sent for me. I rode on a Drake all morning from White Tower. It was amazing!”

It was several long minutes before the siblings split apart. Raine ruffled her brother’s hair, the two laughing as they made their way back to the rest of the group.

“Glad you could make it!” Nia said, scooting over on the bench to make room for Kade. The rest of the group gave their own greetings to the younger sibling. Soon everyone was catching up and Raine was all smiles again.

“I hope this holiday was everything you remember,” Tyril said, his lips close to her ear.

Raine smiled and leaned back into the other elf, his arms wrapping instinctively around her waist. With a sigh, she tilted her head and placed a long, loving kiss on his lips.

“Actually,” she began once she broke away from the kiss, causing him to arch a brow. Raine merely smiled before snuggling back further into his embrace. “It’s better.”

~~~~~

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whattimeisitintokyo · 3 years

Text

Somos Familia Ch 45: Shantytown

The flight wasn’t a long one given how surprisingly fast Frangipani was able to fly, and soon she descended down upon an ancient Aztec pyramid. Unlike the rest of the city, with its dazzling lights and colors, the pyramid was cold and void of anything magical. Pieces had chipped and crumbled off and there was an ominous presence in the air. For the first time since coming to the Land of the Dead, Héctor finally felt like he was in a place of devoid of life.

In a show of good grace Frangipani did not let Héctor make a fool of himself by trying to climb down her side since it was such a hassle getting up. Instead she slowly shrank herself like a deflating balloon until she was the size of housecat, prancing off between his and Leti’s legs with Dante happily trailing after and barking at his friend. Héctor was grateful for that, but Frangipani’s large mass had done it’s damage and he was left with a huge case of saddle soreness. He wobbled around bowlegged trying to work out the kinks in his legs, wincing and hissing with each step.

Hearing Leti giggle at his predicament, Héctor gave her a playful glare. “Don’t laugh. I’ve got old bones.”

Leti shook her head with a smile. “You’ve got old muscles. Once we get down to Shantytown, then you’ll really see some old bones.”

“Shantytown, eh?” Héctor asked warily, stretching his leg out one final time as he peered down into the dark shadows below. He could hear water splashing faintly against the rocks and could already smell the mildew from all the way up top. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Ernesto is down there?”

“Uh huh!” Leti nodded, “Every Dia de Muertos Tio Nesto always gives a portion of his offerings to the people of Shantytown. And he always makes a grand speech and visits with everyone. He’s definitely down there!”

Héctor remembered well how he could usually tell that his daughter was lying. She would always talk extra brightly, smile just a little too widely. This time was no exception, and her new skeletal grin just made her smile wore wider. Or rather, this time it was like a lie mixed with the truth. Apparently this would be something Ernesto would do; he was sometimes charitable in life. Not as much as he and Imelda were, but for Ernesto each charitable moment was a triumph in his opinion.

“Okay.” Héctor nodded, grimacing again at the bleak murkiness below. “Seems kind of shady though.”

“Oh, I’ve been here loads of times, Papá.” Leti reassured him. “It may look scary and depressing… well it is depressing, but the people here are more friendly than anyone else. You’ll see. And we’ll get down that way.”

Héctor looked over to where she was pointing and gave a soft ‘huh’ in surprise. There, situated at the top of this ancient pyramid, was an escalator. It stood out against it’s surrounding so badly that Héctor felt stupid for not noticing it sooner. Seeing her father’s confusion Leti explained. “Oh, Tio Nesto had that installed a few years ago. Comes in handy, especially those with brittle bones.”

Héctor was puzzled. “You can still get brittle bones after you’re dead?”

“Oh sure.” Leti said. “Brittle, broken, ground to powder, stolen, misplaced. Just depends on how long you’ve been dead of if you are being forgotten. But anyway, the escalator helps those kind of people in need. Come on!”

All four of them walked toward the top of the moving staircase, Frangipani shrinking even more to her initial tiny size before plopping down onto Leti’s shoulder. Before Leti could reach for the handrail, however, a high-pitched whine stopped them. Turning back around they saw Dante sitting several feet away from them, head lowered and eyes looking pitifully afraid. A click of the tongue could not get him to budge, nor did the gently nudge from behind when Héctor went to fetch him. Dante just kept looking wide-eyed at the grinding metal plates before him, just waiting to slice of sensitive pads of the feet.

“Aww, he’s afraid of the escalator Papá.” Leti cooed, and even Frangipani gave a simpering little toot of compassion. “Looks like you’re going to have to carry him the whole way down.”

“Wha-?” Héctor started to protest, but three pairs of huge pouting eyes stopped him from saying anymore. With a groan of disgust he reached down to pick up Dante, difficult to do due his bony limbs and squirming body, but finally was able to hold him in an awkward spooning position. “Happy now, pelón?” he asked, and his answer was a happy slurp across the cheek.

It must have been a sight to see: A guitar-wielding old man carrying a dog like a small child, while with his skeleton daughter had an elephant on her shoulder, all riding down an escalator in awkward silence. It actually was pretty funny of one thought about it. Luckily, no one was there to see them, at least until midway down the giant pyramid. On the opposite escalator going up Héctor could see two figures emerging from the mist. Leti did too and with a gasp of surprise she started to wave. “Mama Chavela! Mama Rocío! Como estas?!”

“Hola, nieta!”

As the two parties drew closer together, Héctor saw that they were two skeletal old ladies. Both were dressed in faded gowns that looks as though they had been patched and mended several times over the years. Both were holding two baskets each that were overflowing with breads, fruits and vegetables and one lady had a small guitar strapped to her back.

Even closer still Héctor could see that these ladies were not like the skeletons he had already seen. Instead of the clean pearly white bones he had come accustomed to, these bones were dull and gray. And, just like Leti had said before, some places were chipped off and scratched. One woman even had part on her jaw broken off and held in place with a strand of wire. Héctor was slightly taken aback by the ladies run down looks, but Leti paid them no mind.

“Looks like you both got a good haul this year!” she said.

“Oh yes! We’re on our way to the trade show right now while the good items are still out.” One of the ladies said, shifting the baskets onto her hipbones for more support.

“Who’s your handsome young friend, Leticia?” The other asked.

“This is my Papá! He’s been cursed and we need to get a blessing from Tio Nesto or else he’ll die at sunrise.”

“Oh that’s nice dear.”

“Have fun tonight!”

“Adios!” Leti waved them goodbye as they finally passed each other up. Continuing down on their journey, Leti shrugged a little. “They’re a little batty, but still very nice. And Mama Rocío makes the best Shantytown ponche for Los Posadas.”

“Why did they call you nieta?” Héctor asked.

“Oh, heh. It’s just a term of endearment.” Leti said. “See, Shantytown is full of the nearly forgotten. They have no family, no ofrendas, no homes. So they all bundled together and made their own family with each other. And I’m an honorary member since I’m not forgotten yet, but I come here all the time.”

“So those ladies looked like that because they’re nearly forgotten.”

“Si. This whole place runs on memories, Papá. The more well remembered you are the longer you get to stay here. But, in the end, if no one remembers you… You just… go…”

The way Leti trailed off, so sad all of a sudden, didn’t sit well with Héctor at all. In fact he was starting to grow afraid. “Go where?” he was hesitant to ask.

“No one knows.” she said. “It’s called the Final Death.”

“Wait a minute! You can die again?!” Héctor was appalled. “No! I… I couldn’t watch you die again! I can’t.”

“Everyone gets forgotten eventually, Papá.” Leti reassured, and then actually had the nerve to get a little cocky. “Besides, I’m the tragic daughter lost from one of the richest families in Mexico. I’ll stick around for a while yet.”

It didn’t seem to make sense to Héctor at all, the way everyone was so nonchalant about the fact that they were dead and could die again at the drop of a hat. Even his own daughter was making jokes about it. If he were the one on the verge of being forgotten he would be an inconsolable mess, probably unable to do anything other than curl up in a ball and wait for the inevitable.

But as they reached the end of the escalator he was surprised to see that Shantytown didn’t look like the wretched, miserable place that it looked from above the mists. There was loud music playing, unfortunately, and laughter and all other sorts of rabble. Behind the giant stone arch there were bright lights shining through and Héctor could see papel picado hung up. Confetti and golden flower petals were strewn about all over the ground.

And there was one other thing.

Shantytown actually looked… nice.

It was on the water, which explained the musky smell, but the houses there were less like shanties and more like riverside condos. Several floors high and stacked as haphazardly as every other building in this realm, but much more sturdy. All painted a warm brown color and with beautiful murals on every other wall, high archways and clean clay tiles on the roofs.

The was a walkway that wove through the water and connected all of the houses together, made out of concrete and cobblestones with lamps illuminating the way down. All in all it looked like a very nice place to live and a realtor’s dream location.

Again, Héctor was confused. “Uh… Shanty-town?”

Leti nodded. “Yeah, the name has stuck but believe me that this place was worse years ago. Rotting wood and pallets, rusted sheet metal, garbage everywhere. It was a terrible place to spend the last few days before the Final Death. But Tio Nesto got several other celebrities and wealthy citizens to pitch in and completely remodel the place!”

“It’s very nice.” Héctor admitted as he put Dante down on the ground. As he released him Héctor grimaced when he looked at his hands. The were completely skeletal now and reaching well past the wrist.

Leti smiled appreciatively, but then sniffed the air like a snob. “Well, I still say it’s a work in progress.” And Héctor laughed at that.

Several skeletons wandered all over it, going to neighbors houses with arms full of the same offerings as the two old ladies. They all seemed to be converging onto one spot in the middle of town, though. It was a much larger area, but still too small to be considered a plaza, but big enough to hold a huge pile of offerings stacked as high as some of the buildings. An absolute mammoth amount of bread, vegetables and fruits, cooked meats and musical instruments piled in a somewhat strategic manner so that it didn’t topple into the water below. But it was clear that it had been slowly picked away as the minutes passed, and currently there were around a dozen other Shantytown skeletons situated around it passing out offerings.

“Oye, Paola. I managed to save you some grapefruit this time. I know you missed out on them last year.”

“Three guitars? What are you trying to do, Primo? Start a band? Have some more food instead.”

“Señor de la Cruz must hate bananas because we’ve got tons of them! Caramelize ‘em, mash ‘em, make ‘em into bread. A very versatile fruit, c’mon don’t be shy!”

‘He does hate bananas’ Héctor thought with a wry grin. ‘No wonder he’d give them all away-… Wait.’

“This is a lot of offerings.” Héctor said as he watched a small boy tuck in eagerly to the shiny red apple that was atop his own pile of goodies. “I’m surprised he’d just give it all away.”

“Nah, just a tiny bit.” Leti said. “But, in Tio Nesto’s case, a tiny bit means an entire mountain! Speaking of… Oye, Tío Jaime!”

One of the skeletons handing out offerings, who was no older than twenty but looked like he had osteoporosis in every visible bone, smiled as Leti came up to him. “Hola, Leti. You’re here awful early tonight. Did you already visit your family?”

“Si, but not as long as I would have liked. As you can see…” She gestured to Héctor, and when Jaime looked towards him his eyes bugged out a little. “…I have a bit of a problem.”

“Santa Maria…” Jaime breathed out, and soon every skeleton was looking at Héctor again astonishment. A couple of jaws even fell off and splashed into the water. Héctor just cringed out a smile and waved to them all. “Espera… Is that Héctor Rivera? Your papá?”

Leti walked to Héctor and grabbed him by the wrist to hold his hand up as high as she could, showing off the shiny white bones that were exposed. “My papá has been cursed, and he needs a blessing from Tio Nesto before sunrise. Is he still here?”

Jaime winced and shrugged his shoulder, making an unsettling crack and pop at the slight movement. “Sorry, Leti. He was here, but after he presented us with his offerings he left. That was about half an hour ago, so he’s probably off to the party at his mansion.”

Héctor felt his chest sink at the thought that the trip to Shantytown had been a complete waste of time and now he was more cursed than before. Rolling up his sleeve he groaned at the sight of his ulna and radius making an unwelcome appearance. Bending down to Leti’s height he whispered into her phantom ear. “Mija, the curse is spreading pretty quickly. Maybe we ought to hurry things up and-”

“Well shucks!” Leti placed her hands onto her hips and comically pouted. “Looks like he’s gone already! Isn’t that just the luck? Phooey!” Then she looked up and gave Héctor a cloyingly sweet smile with too many teeth. “Before we go though, can we go see a friend of mine?”

Héctor blinked in confusion, then held out his bare arm for Leti to see. “Leticia, I don’t have time to see anyone else. I need to see Ernesto.”

Grabbing his hand and already starting to tug him away from the pile, Leti just waved him off. “Sunrise isn’t for another five and a half hours, and this will only take a few minutes. While we’re here we might as well make the most of it. Kill two birds with one stone, si?

“Two birds? What’s the second bird? Wait a moment! Leticia!”

Despite the dangerous nature of the situation Héctor let himself be dragged a ways by Leti as well as pushed by Dante and Frangipani. Maybe it was because he had just been reunited with his long dead daughter and could refuse her nothing at the moment. Maybe he was slightly curious to see what other new discovery awaited him in this new and exciting environment. But the real reason, probably, was because Héctor was somewhat desperate for any excuse to not see Ernesto as soon as possible. He didn’t want to think what would happen if he did lay eyes on him.

As they continued on Héctor could see where the restoration of Shantytown had stopped. The pristine building transitioned to scaffolding, paint buckets and blocks of concrete with yellow warning tape wrapped around it. All abandoned in favor of the holiday, Héctor presumed.

And past that was the slum that Héctor had in mind.

It was just as Leti had said: Rotting wood and rusted metal. The only thing that had been completed and stood out like a sour thumb was the walkway they were on, but even then the shanties were connected to it by moldy, broken planks. Leti just shrugged up at Héctor. “I told you it was a work in progress.”

With a skip and a wobbly jump they all made it into one such shanty, Leti knocking on the wooden wall and pulling open a moth-eaten blanket that served as a divider to the one room home.

“Buenas noches, Nieve! I thought I might find you here!”

“Of course you found me here.” A sullen female voice said. “Where else would I be?”

Holding up one finger to tell Héctor to wait there, Leti walked further in with a giggle. “Well, you could be out there getting some of Tio Nesto’s offerings. You’d better hurry before all the grapes are gone. You love grapes.”

Now Héctor was really curious as to see who his daughter was talking to and why. Staying put he carefully pulled back the curtain slightly to peek out. Standing there with Leti was another young girl, a teenage one at that, standing by an open window looking out. She was wearing a tattered blue shirt, a gray skirt and a dingy straw hat. She was barefoot and a little dirty, but Héctor noticed that she didn’t seem as run down as everyone else in Shantytown. Her bones were still a nice cream color.

But her eyes. They looked so sad and angry all at once. And they held a wisdom in them that only came with either a rough life or, given her young stature the passage of time. Héctor knew that he was really looking at an old soul. An elderly woman trapped in the body of a child. She had been dead for quite a while.

“I don’t want any of that stuff, I just want to be alone tonight.” the girl, Nieve apparently, said. “Why are you here anyway? Why aren’t you with your family?”

Leti shuffled her shoes against the dirty floorboards and smiled. “Oh you know, some stuff happened. One thing led to another, that sort of thing. But I get it: You don’t want any of Tio Nesto’s offerings. But it is Dia de Muertos, and everyone deserves a little something, sooo… I brought you an offering of my own!”

Nieve then turned to her, and Héctor saw her look at Leti in anger. “You didn’t go to my ofrenda, did you? I told you I want nothing to do with that man or anything else he gives me.”

‘Ah, so that’s why she’s different.’ Héctor thought. ‘She’s not being forgotten. But then… why is she here?’

“No, no!” Leti reassured her. “I would never do that to you! No, but my offering is a man. Someone I know you’ve been dying to meet for years, figuratively speaking.” Walking back to the curtain Leti pulled it aside to show Héctor in full form. “Okay, you can come in now.”

Héctor walked slowly, not wanting to shock the poor girl with the sight of a living, fleshed out man. Nieve was slightly taken aback by his appearance at first, but then recognition kicked in and the girl’s eyes widened. She just stared at him in shock, not saying a word. Héctor shifted the guitar on his back awkwardly and gave a small grin. “Hola.”

She still said nothing. Just stared at him some more in amazement and a little fear.

“Nieve, let me introduce you to my Papá, Héctor Rivera.” Leti said as she pulled Héctor closer to Nieve. “Papá, this is Nieve Mendoza, and she is a very close friend of mine! And she’s always asking about you constantly!”

“Oh, I see.” “Héctor said. “Are you a fan?”

That seemed to jumpstart Nieve’s brain, and she croaked out. “N-no, I’m just… are you dead?”

“Nope, just cursed!” Leti said. “We have to get Tio Nesto’s blessing but sunrise or else he’ll be stuck here.” Raising up Héctor’s wrist again, she showed Nieve his bony hand. “See?”

Anger came back full force and Nieve hissed out, “You idiot! He’s on a timeclock and you waste his time by coming here. You need to get him to de la Cruz now before it’s too late!”

Leti was crushed. “But I thought you said you wanted to see him as soon as got here! Well now he’s here!”

“Never mind what I want! He needs to get a blessing now! So get out, both of you!”

“But don’t you want to talk to him?”

“No! I don’t!”

“Please, Abuelita! He’s your-”

“BASTA!”

……..

There was a silence that hung heavy in the air now, both girls panting softly and both looking at Héctor with trepidation. Héctor was now shocked into silence, his mind not quite working out what was happening in such a short amount of time. Nieve pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed harshly. “Leticia…”

“I’m so sorry, Nieve!” Leti said. “I didn’t mean to call you Abuelita. It just slipped out!”

Nieve glared hard at Leti. “Oh really? Because this is the first time in twenty years that you have ever called me Abuelita.”

“Oh, is it? Well then… oops?” Leti smiled widely, in that way Héctor remembered she used to do when caught in a lie.

“You little…” Nieve growled.

“Another term of endearment, mija?” Héctor asked.

Both girls looked at him, and Héctor grinned nervously. “Th-that’s what that was right? Because everyone in Shantytown is just one big family with different rolls and such… And it’s funny! Because you called her your grandmother even though she’s so young, right? I mean… Why else would you call her… that?”

Nieve didn’t look him in the eye anymore, couldn’t. She just stared down at the floor, looking sad and thoroughly ashamed. Leti bit her bottom lip and also couldn’t meet his eyes. Héctor still felt the smile on his face, but he could also feel the blood draining from it too. And suddenly it was hard to breathe.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Leti whispered and rushed out of the shanty as fast as she could.

Héctor didn’t even notice. He just kept staring at this young girl in front of him, looking at every detail of her face to find… he didn’t exactly know what. Similarities? It was hard since she didn’t have any skin to look for dimples or curves of lips or anything like that.

She did have sharp cheekbones, though. Just like he did…

Finally Nieve looked up at him, her features schooled into a more neutral expression. Bending down she picked up an old wooden crate, walked over to him, and set it down in front of him. Then she turned back to the window and leaned against the railing. The exact same position that he first saw her in.

“Have a seat…”

#somos familia #coco fanfic #pixar coco #coco pixar

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 years

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* * * *

INTERVIEW: SAINT MISBEHAVIN’ WAVY GRAVY

by Richard Whittaker, Dec 21, 2010

One day I got a note from ServiceSpace founder, Nipun Mehta offering me tickets to a new documentary movie about Wavy Gravy. Would you like to go?

I went. Although I was aware of Wavy Gravy as a cultural icon, I really knew very little about him. The film is a eye-opener. Michelle Esrick’s loving documentary, Saint Misbehavin’ - 10 years in the making - is a real introduction to this remarkable man. I'd never heard about Hugh Romney, the man who later became famous as Wavy Gravy. And what a story. I'll mention just one of its surprises: earlier in his life, Hugh Romney was Lenny Bruce's manager.

A few weeks after seeing the film, at Mehta’s urging, I had the chance to interview Wavy Gravy himself.

Richard Whittaker: How are you feeling about Saint Misbehavin’?

Wavy Gravy: Oh, it’s a swell movie. I’m honored to be so well-documented, and the review in the New York Times was embarrassing. I’m not that good.

RW: You said in the film that you’re an “intuitive clown.” Would you mind saying something about what that means?

WG: I’m trained in the art of acting improvisation. That means acting on the spur of the moment rather than doing, say, the focused slow burn and all the traditional clown moves. I don’t do any of that.

RW: So that would be about sensing the moment, what’s there, and taking in who you’re with.

WG: Absolutely—and sensing what’s going on. I was, for a number of years, with The Committee in San Francisco. I taught improvisation at Columbia Pictures. Harrison Ford was one of my students and I’ve taught improvisation at Camp Winnarainbow for over thirty years.

RW: I wanted to ask you about your history. For instance, in New York in Greenwich Village, you wrote poetry, right?

WG: Yes I did.

RW: Is any of it available? And is it something you’d want people to find?

WG: There are a couple of slender volumes out there. I think you’d have to go to Amazon or eBay to find them. I don’t even have copies myself. But other people do and will lend them to me when I need them.

RW: Do any titles stand out for you?

WG: Kaleidoscope and there’s Joe’s Song, which is taught in a poetry class at the University of California at Berkeley. Would you like to hear it?

RW: Please.

WG: Okay. It goes like this: “Once upon and ever since I was a child in a child’s world. I have wept a child’s tears and built a child’s wall of clay and stone and colored years of poems in paint and virgin gold. I sought to build a wall so tall from lion eggs from Gallilee, a brick of song among the dregs of silver nails and lesser men a mile long to kiss the sun and climb again. Once ago and ever now I stood a man on a child’s wall. I stopped and prayed to spider webs and roses of the sea. I spoke as one with all the earth and knew the pain of birth and death to be the same without my wall. Once upon and ever furled I stand alone with all the world.”

RW: That’s beautiful.

WG: I wrote it in 1960 or about then. I don’t write lyric poems very often. These days I mainly write haiku, usually when friends pass away, which is happening more and more frequently from natural causes. Also I’ve been having the good fortune to have my art exhibited, and I do a haiku to go with each piece.

RW: I’m imagining that, as a younger man, you had certain visions and deep feelings that could have been a liability for living the conventional life.

WG: I don’t think I ever had to contend with that one [laughs]. I live in the land of one thing after another. [speaking with an east Indian accent] “The sand only goes through the hourglass one grain at a time,” as some Hindu sage proclaimed. I’ve discovered that to be true.

RW: Did you have mentors who supported you in Greenwich Village?

WG: It was kind of amusing. I was going to theater school at Boston University, which was an amazing theater school. The finest directors in the world would come in and the whole college would read for a part. A freshman could get a lead. It was extraordinary. And if you weren’t cast in the production, you would be cast in the lighting crew or the costume crew or the stage crew. Then there was an upset about theater students not doing their social studies and the university attempted to move the campus of the theater school over to where the rest of the university was laid out. Just at that time, the teachers who had all been hired during the McCarthy blackball because they couldn’t work on Broadway, well, the blackball ended and they all quit. They went to work at the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York City, and they took me with them.

But while I was at BU, I had read in Time Magazine about jazz and poetry in San Francisco. I thought, hey, I’ve written a couple of poems and I know some musicians. I can do that! So I got together with a bunch of artists from the museum school and we proceeded to take the basement of a bar called The Rock on Huntington Avenue. The place in the basement was called The Pebble in the Rock. We put in black tables and black clothes and mobiles and paintings and began doing jazz and poetry. It was the first jazz and poetry done on the East Coast. So I had the privilege of inaugurating the East Coast to jazz and poetry. I persisted in doing it for years in, of all places, Hartford Connecticut. On every Monday I would grab a bunch of musicians and go to Hartford and make substantial money. Otherwise I was going to the Neighborhood Playhouse and reading my poetry in the evenings at the Gaslight Café in Greenwich Village, as you saw in the movie.

RW: That’s an amazing story. There was another thing you said in the film, “put your good where it can do the most.”

WG: Which is the advice I gleaned from one of my mentors, the author and adventurer, Ken Kesey.

RW: Did that kind of focus something for you?

WG: Well, it lit up. It lit up. I had discovered that, somewhat. Whenever I would do a good thing, it made me feel good. I think I heard a preacher of color on television in the late fifties. He said, “It’s nice to be nice.” And that kind of hit a chord for me.

RW: Do you think there’s a mix in what artists do? That in your poetry, part of it was trying to give something?

WG: Hmmm, I don’t know. I was just trying to get out of the way and let whatever was inside of me come to the surface. In the early days, I was not all that consciously altruistic—although, in the early days of poetry, the poets were not paid. We used to pass a cornucopia around after an hour or so and people would put money in it. We made an embarrassing amount of money that way. Myself and Len Chandler, who was one of the first folk singers I brought into The Gaslight, he and I put on these capes with hoods—Len was an African-American and he had a motor scooter. And we would jump on the motor scooter at the end of the evening and drive down into the Bowery and find somebody passed out on the sidewalk. We’d stuff his pockets with money and drive off and find somebody else until we’d given away at least half of what we’d made in the course of the evening. It was a lot of fun.

RW: That’s incredible. What do you think led you to do that?

WG: I don’t know. It just seemed like a fun thing to do. We didn’t need all that money.

RW: Do you remember the moment when Ken Kesey said “Put your good where it will do the most good”?

WG: No. But he told me a lot of stuff—like, “You should honor your mother and your father.” This comes out of the Bible. As soon as I learned that Kesey had written that, I forget how he worded it, I immediately called my mother and my father and honored them verbally as best I could. And it was illuminating for them and for me. Afterwards, I called Ken up to thank him. He said, “Well, it’s just so darn simple.”

RW: I want to ask about giving and receiving. Do you have any thoughts in general, let’s say, about giving?

WG: Giving seems to be easy for me. Receiving is the thing I’m just beginning to learn how to do with grace. It’s a work in progress, like the rest of me. Over the last thirty years I’ve experienced considerable physical difficulty, having had to receive a series of spinal surgeries and spending amounts of time in body casts. You have no alternative, or you starve. So it was necessary. I tell people I learned patience in the hospital. [there’s a pause] That’s a pun.

RW: You’re right! [laughs]

WG: And as my infirmities persisted, I learned to acquiesce to the moment and accept, with as much graciousness as I could muster, the assistance of people who offered it.

RW: I bet this is true for lots of people, that it’s easier to give than to receive.

WG: Right, but as I pointed out, I didn’t have much choice, as with a lot of the stuff that has happened to me in my life. Life situations have presented themselves and it was either sink or swim.

RW: This reminds me of another part in the film. This is at Woodstock. You and the other members of The Hog Farm were brought there to be the police force for the whole event. You called yourselves “the please force.”

WG: We were the Please Force. And we had also set up what we called the Trip Tent.

RW: And there’s a part in the movie where you describe helping a young man who was having a bad acid trip.

WG: As he came in ranting, this three-hundred pound Australian doctor laid on top of him and said, “Body contact. You need body contact” [said with an accent] and then a psychiatrist leaned in and said, [using another funny voice] “Just think of your third eye, man.”

Then I figured it was time for me to make my move. I said, “Excuse me. I’d like to try something here.” And they all backed up. What’s this hippie going to do? That’s when I said, “What’s your name, man?”

RW: And he mumbled something…

WG: I said, “No, your name.” He told me his name and I said it back to him. In fact, I said it back to him several times.

RW: I noticed how very clear and emphatic you were when you got his name. “Okay, Bob. Bob, that’s your name.”

WG: Your name is Bob.

RW: Where did you get the knowledge of using that simple directness?

WG: We’d spent some time on the psychotropic frontiers through the prankster days and beyond. It was not unfamiliar territory.

RW: You knew something about being really concrete, and focused.

WG: And through the greatest professor of them all, professor experience; and from courses at hard knocks university.

RW: You’ve had a lot of hard knocks university experience, I think.

WG: Yes. Well, that’s how you learn things.

RW: You said in the film how you’d found you could get high without the psychotropic assistance. Could you say something about that again?

WG: There are many ways to alter space. I do lots of breathing exercises, and I do mantras. Different people have different recipes to get to a space of consciousness and then to dwell in it for as long as you can, I guess. My own way is an amalgam of many different practices from many different lineages.

RW: You evolved from Hugh Romney doing the poetry to where you were wearing a jester’s hat.

WG: Between poems I used to talk about the bizarre things that happened to me during the day because it was really tedious just reading all these poems night after night after night. Then a guy came along and said, look, skip the poetry. Just talk about your bizarre experiences. That’s how I got into doing stand-up.

Lenny Bruce became my manager. I put out a couple of albums and toured the U.S. —and in fact, something of the world—doing stand-up before these other things came along.

RW: Somewhere you left the jester’s hat and started dressing as a clown.

WG: I was asked, when we had moved to Berkeley in the mid-seventies, to go the Children’s Hospital in Oakland and cheer up kids. On the way out the door of my house, someone handed me a red, rubber nose. I discovered it enabled me to get out of myself and be entertaining to the kids. After awhile, I began to paint my face up as a clown. Somebody gave me a costume, and a clown who was retiring from Ringling Brothers gave me his giant shoes. I worked with kids, with kids who were terminal, even, and did this almost every day for about seven years.

At one point I had to go to a political rally at Peoples’ Park and I didn’t have time to take off my clown stuff. I discovered that the police didn’t want to hit me anymore. Clowns are safe.

RW: Can you say more about what your experience at Children’s Hospital working with kids was like?

WG: I discovered that not only was I helping the kids, I was helping myself. As I began to do this work, I’d gone through three major back surgeries and was in quite a bit of pain. But working with the kids I discovered that as I focused on the children and the pain they were in, I lost track of my own pain.

RW: Is the clown an archetype you can inhabit?

WG: Sure.

RW: Do you think, “I’m a clown?”

WG: I don’t know. I can’t see you.

RW: [laughs] No. I have a long way to go. If I evolved, I might become a clown.

WG: Well, you need to go to camp Winnarainbow. They’ll teach you to clown. It’d be good for you. I think John Townsend said it most brilliantly in The Book of the Clown, “A clown is a poet who is also an orangutan.” But clown comes from the word “clod” or bumpkin, and the red nose indicates they were drunk. But I found all this out later. Suddenly I have these big shoes on and [laughs] a nose and I’m painting my face up, and where does it all come from? I began to study it, and it’s very fascinating, the path of the clown and the jester.

RW: What have you found out about being a clown? What has been revealed?

WG: It enables me to go places I couldn’t go as a regular kind of guy. People feel challenged by people going where I go. But when I put on the patina of a clown I’m no challenge to them in any way.

RW: What do you wish for people when you become a clown?

WG: I wish that they would find joy in the moment. It’s like I expressed in the film, laughter is the valve on the pressure cooker of life. Either you laugh at stuff or you’re going to end up with your beans on the ceiling.

RW: At camp Winnarainbow in the film it showed the labyrinth you have on the grounds…

WG: It’s a unicursal Cretan labyrinth. The oldest one is 3000 years old and was found on the island of Sardinia. The more common labyrinth, like the one you see at Grace Cathedral came about during the 11th or 12th century when Europeans could not go to Jerusalem on pilgrimage. So they developed this other labyrinth, which is different from the Pagan labyrinth, which made it to Scandanavia, to India and somehow to Peru and to the sun temple at Mesa Verde. That’s where I first encountered it when I spent time living with the Hopi Indians for a few months.

RW: How did that happen?

WG: I was enamored of the Book of the Hopi by Frank Waters. And that’s where I first saw the labyrinth. According to the Hopi if there was a condition of planetary emergency the different races would gather on this mesa for instruction from the spirit world. So I showed up. They said, “You’re pretty early.” But they took pity on me and I got to hang out with them for a while.

RW: Was anything given to you?

WG: Not something that I would feel comfortable talking about, but yes—not so much from the people as from the geography.

RW: So you brought this labyrinth to camp Winnarainbow, then?

WG: Yes. I asked Minalanska, who was an elder, what that was. She said, “Oh Wavy Gravy, that’s just the master plan of the universe.” So I borrowed a pencil and wrote it down, and I’ve brought it everywhere I’ve gone ever since. I learned to draw it. Even with my first book, I’d sign it and draw that labyrinth.

RW: Now how do you make use of the labyrinth at camp for the kids?

WG: A teepee at a time, in the evening, the campers get to walk the labyrinth to beautiful music under the stars. If they do good things, they get strokes. If they do bad things they get strikes. Three strikes and you’re out. You can always work off strikes, but you can get enough strikes to be sent home, too. By doing things above and beyond the ordinary camper—for instance, if you get eight stokes in a two-week session, you get to walk into the center of the labyrinth. In the center, there’s also these crystals. You get to take a crystal out of the labyrinth and take it home.

RW: Do you talk to the kids about the labyrinth?

WG: Oh, sure.

RW: What do you tell them?

WG: I tell them that the labyrinth is not a maze. Mazes are designed to get you lost. Labyrinths are designed to get you found. And I ask them to think of each step as a prayer for peace. I tell them you go into the labyrinth and that there’s an energy in the center that I call the spirit of Gaia, the earth mother. I say that if you have cares or problems you can leave them in the labyrinth and come out perhaps lighter than when you went in. And that is sometimes helpful to young people.

RW: In the film you made a comment to one kid that the labyrinth is inside of you.

WG: Oh, I tell all the kids that. The true labyrinth is inside you.

RW: That’s powerful. From the film, I see that your life has been a journey. Do you feel it that way?

WG: Absolutely. It’s been a great adventure.

RW: What are some of the changes from where you were and where you are today?

WG: The things that are the most significant for me in my life are the circus and performing arts camp that I’ve run with my wife Jahanara for over thirty years. We do nine weeks for kids and one week for grown-ups. And the Seva Foundation is another. Through it I’m able to raise funds to help the blind regain their sight. Eighty percent of the blind people in the world don’t need to be—they can get their sight back.

When we first started doing the work it was about five dollars for a cataract operation. Now it’s close to fifty dollars for the operation in third world countries. If you go to SEVA.org you can find out all about us. We’ve helped to orchestrate—it’s going on three million sight-saving operations. I get to put on concerts to raise funds to do that. I’m going to be seventy-five years old in May and I’m looking forward to doing a concert in the Bay Area at the Craneway Pavillion in Richmond and in New York City at the Beacon Theater. And also I’m facing another basic spinal surgery in January. So I’ve got a lot of stuff on my plate.

RW: I know we don’t have much more time, but …

WG: Eternity now, I always say. That’s one of my favorite quotes. And we’re all the same person trying to shakes hands with our self. I think that’s a good one, too.

RW: I like those quotes. It’s clear that you’ve spent a lot of time doing forms of service. Camp Winnarainbow seems to be a service.

WG: Well, my greatest legacy is the children that have come out of camp over the last thirty years. Lots of the kids who started camp when they were seven are now running the camp. And I’m sure it will go on long after I’m gone.

RW: Is that something one begins to learn, that the deepest gifts come when one can look beyond personal wants to take in the needs of others?

WG: That is my want! [laughs] Put your good where it will do the most. I can’t say it any better.

[WORKS AND CONVERSATIONS]

#Works and Conversations #Interviews #Wavy Gravy #Clown #Camp Winnarainbow #service #improvisation

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