#this isn’t even candle answers anymore this is a new beast entirely

[scented-candle04]

What have you people DONE,

[hecohansen31]

Loving You Is A Losing Game

Ivar+Kidnapped Wife! Reader (Vikings! Era)

Chapter 2; Electra

“You can have your rich table and life flowing over the cup. I need one food: I must not violate Elektra.”

“Electra” by Sofocles

(Previous Chapter) (Masterlist)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I don’t know if anybody remembers this series, but I thought about bringing it back to you, since a few of you seemed interested in this and I am honestly VERY very excited about this series!

Sadly... it is slightly... too angsty for me, even more during this quarantine, so I wasn’t able to write it till I was in a mood that was sane enough to write it out, so sorry for the waiting!

As always: if you want to slip any feedback, know that it’ll make my heart beat faster and I’ll absolutely write faster!

Feedback is easy, quick and free, never forget to leave a comment, if you enjoyed this.

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SUMMARY:  Being kidnapped wasn't the hard part.

Surviving in a kingdom where nobody is your ally might be more problematic.

Even more when a new life is growing in your stomach.

WORDS: 7,3 K

WARNINGS; Unstable Relationship (I think that honestly Reader and Ivar’s relationship is borderline abusive, even more if set up in the modern era, there is no physical violence, but there might be some psychological one so please be careful sweeties), Pregnancy, Talk of Abortion, Mention of Death, Betrayal, Kidnapping Historically Inaccurate, and Not following the series path.

On the days on the boats you’d try to keep your mind active, talking with Astrid, but the night… you were lost to feverish dreams.

Of your labor, accompanied by the death of your husband and child, to the point that you had come to dread night.

Even thought, unless one of your jailers took pity of you and would leave a candle burning out slowly, it’d be forever night in the dark of the heart of the boat you were on.

You had tried to goad your jailers into knowing where you’d be going, but they had been as silent as rocks.

They looked at you with pity and a vicious lust, that made you glad that Gustaf had stopped any man from ‘roughing you up’.

‘… she is the wife of a prince!’ he had commented, sending you a joking look, because drenched in dirty clothes and vomit, you didn’t look very much like royalty ‘… and we’ll treat her as such’.

Had Ivar ever gotten his hands on their wives or children, he wouldn’t have treated them like that, for sure.

You wondered whether he knew about your kidnapping.

Lagertha and your family certainly wouldn’t have left him in the shadow of ignorance.

But did he still care about you?

Maybe he’d have cared about the child in your belly…

A sudden impulse to retch brought you back from your treacherous thoughts, as Astrid called out your name, to check on you.

Although the jailers had simply thought your ‘illness’ to be seasickness, Astrid had caught on pretty quickly what it truly was, as once you were left alone, she had whispered:

‘Are you with child?’ she had asked, looking in your eyes, as you raised your head to lightly nod, and she had thrown her head to the sky of wood ‘… is it his?’.

‘I might be the wife of a traitor, but I certainly am not a cheater’ you had replied pointedly, as Astrid asked for forgiveness, raising her hands as you had lightly pushed your tied arms to hug your knees ‘… I loved him’.

‘… he’ll come for you’ she had spoken as she matched your pose, making you raise your head ‘… he has killed for much less, believe me, he’ll find you’.

You didn’t understand if she was doing this to calm you down or simply because she truly believed your husband was a beast.

“I don’t think he cares anymore” you muttered, as you cradled yourself tighter in your arms.

“I don’t think that he’d risk it for a simple lovers’ spat” she commented, and you couldn’t help but bit your lips, harshly, because although Astrid’s words were gentle and laced with sureness, your thoughts weren’t.

“… it wasn’t a simple lovers’ spat” it had been more like two words clashing through each other.

All the differences that you had had, spit against the other.

“… it just… it used to be quite… easier” you explained, finally uttering your thoughts “… when we were younger, before we were married”.

The ring on your finger was heavy to remind you that.

“You married quite young” commented Astrid, as you nodded “… it isn’t easy, even more when you are blessed with so much power and a stubborn husband”.

You laughed darkly at her comment, as she tried to turn to you with her piercing blue eyes staring at you.

“I just… sometimes I wished we had just kept it on like it was” you explained, confessing something you had never told anyone “… it just felt like we did it more to prove something to others than for ourselves”.

Your entire life had been this way.

Your romance with Ivar had started this way and had continued like that.

Even the child in your womb was a show of that.

To prove to those who didn’t believe it that Ivar was a man, exactly like them.

“Will you keep the baby”.

You had been waiting for that question for quite some time, because it had also tormented your thoughts, but to be uttered out like that it took the breath from your lungs as you choked on your words.

Eventually answering:

“… I don’t know” you confessed.

“Do you want a child?” she questioned you again, as those piercing eyes reminded you of Ivar.

“This might not be the best period to have a child” you tried to push away the question, but Astrid’s eyes focused on you tightly.

“Have you ever wanted children?” she asked “… if we weren’t stuck in a damned ship brought to our demise, would you keep it? The one in your belly”.

Nobody had ever truly asked you that.

You realized that not even Ivar had ever asked you that.

He had simply told you that to have peace, you’d have to give him a child.

He had ordered you to have a child.

And now you had one, but the only positive sensation you had about it had been Ylva’s gentleness in talking with you about it.

“… I…” you choked on your words, unsure of what to say.

Because it hadn’t ever been a question for you.

It had been a fact.

And now that it had happened…

… you weren’t sure of the answer.

“… I don’t know” you spoke “… Ivar always wanted children, it’ll strengthen his hold on the throne and it’ll…”.

“What about you?” Astrid focused the attention on you.

And you couldn’t help but want to vomit, and not because you were feeling nauseous.

Nobody had ever asked your opinion.

“… my mother died because of running around her children. Exhaustion claiming her… ” something had been unlocked in you as you confessed that and Astrid’s gaze softened “… I always… she isn’t something I want to be… I like children, but… I am not sure of wanting them, now”.

Even more in this period.

You didn’t trust Gustaf, in the slightest.

That man reminded you too much of calmer version of your husband.

And your husband did nothing without a second purpose.

“… have you thought about…?” she didn’t have to say it, but you remembered the talk with Ylva, the name of the herb she had told you to take in case you didn’t want the child.

Now it’d have been extremely difficult to obtain it.

“Yes” you spoke softly “… my… healer Ylva has told me to take an herb in case I didn’t want it anymore, but now…”.

“If you don’t want this baby, you don’t have to carry it” she spoke as if it was the most natural thing ever, and you froze in your spot “… I am not saying it solely because it’ll indeed change your life for the worse or for the better, but because if you don’t want it truly… if you aren’t ready for it… it’ll grow unloved”.

She seemed almost to speak from experience and ducked her head away from you, as you looked at her surprised.

“… I can’t… I don’t know how to…”.

“I’ll get you the herb, no matter what” she promised you “… just let me know if you want it or not”.

Something broke inside of you at that thought.

The question of the baby had kept you up till late, but you had never had a deep and stable solution, something that could be more than a fantasy.

But now Astrid had given it to you, her eyes speaking of true sincerity.

She would have helped you if you didn’t want the baby.

She wasn’t lying.

“… I need to think about it”.

“Do it fast” she commented simply, almost as if you hadn’t had just a heart-to-heart conversation “… the herb won’t work after a certain amount of time”.

“I’ll let you know” you promised softly “… I just… need some time to think about this”.

And then you were surprised as you heard the door open, and immediately Astrid pushed herself away from you, meanwhile you tried to look at your fiercest, even with dried vomit on your clothes.

Gustaf walked in, a smirk on his face as he looked at you as if he was holding court.

Everything in him seemed damnably royal and it annoyed you to an extent that you would have gladly hit him if you had had your hands free.

“Good morning, ladies” he called out to you both, only welcomed by a grimace on your faces “… I have news for you, don’t you want to hear them?”.

“Fuck you” commented bitterly Astrid, but Gustaf seemed too happy with himself, to properly care about her comment.

“We have arrived at my home” he promised you softly “… and you ladies will be my welcome guests”.

---

“I don’t fucking care about anything!” screamed Ivar as Lagertha sent him an annoyed look, as one would  with an annoying child who wouldn’t just lower his voice “… it is my wife we are talking about! She was fucking kidnapped because of your ineptitude in being queen”.

“Ivar, you either calm down or you’ll be back in your cell” threatened him the blond woman, meanwhile a few guards came closer.

“I don’t honestly know what he is doing here” commented your brother loudly, on the opposite side of Ivar, closer to Lagertha than him, and with a look of pure hate in his eyes.

Felix hadn’t been his best supporter, but he had never been an obstacle to your relationship as your father and older brother.

But Ivar knew that since he had tried to overtake Lagertha and pushed shame onto his sister, he hadn’t been his biggest supporter.

But he hadn’t expected him to straight up try to cut him off like that.

“… shouldn’t he be in prison?”.

“We called a truce” commented Lagertha.

“No, we didn’t” Ivar replied, shooting her a quick look “… I just value my wife enough to know when I have to shut up and lay down my weapons”.

“Then shut up” replied Lagertha “… I am not allowing my soldiers to get slaughtered to retrieve your wife, because they run into Gustaf’s lands blindly”.

“My wife is in their hands” he spoke harshly, before he shot a quick look to Felix “… you own bloody sister!”.

“I fucking know, you idiot!” replied Felix, getting up, as he towered over Ivar and for a moment, the cripple was truly scared, because Felix’ eyes spoke of pure anger.

One that he knew all too well.

“Calm down!” Tala, his sister-in-law screamed as she also got up, her pregnant belly immediately catching eyes.

She was near the birth date and she shouldn’t have been there, but she had insisted on staying in the council.

And Ivar could understand why.

“Your silly male arguments won’t help (Y/N)” she spoke loudly, to make sure that all attention wasn’t on her “… I do agree that we can’t lose time, because she might be in danger, but I also know that going blindly in there won’t help in the slightest.”

Both Ivar and Felix were taken aback, because Tala was usually shy and gentle, she had been a constant comforting figure, but right now, she wasn’t ready to step down.

And she had told the truth.

They were also losing time arguing amongst themselves.

“… I love (Y/N), as a sister” she spoke, and now her softness broke through her front “… I can’t even fathom the thought that I’ll give birth without her by my side. But I’ll endure it, if I know that she’ll soon be safe in my arms and that we’ll be the same”.

Lagertha gently moved to the trembling pregnant woman, whispering a few comforting words, as Felix did the same, caressing her round belly, meanwhile Tala leaned against him, the man gently adjusting her so that she could sit on him, with her front against his, as she enveloped him in a tight hug.

Ivar couldn’t help but miss you even more dearly as this happened.

He just wished that he could do the same as Felix with you.

He wanted you there with him, because he wanted to apologize for the last words he had said to you.

They burned in his memory.

And he just wished he could bring you as close as Felix was doing with Tala, whispering soft and comforting words.

But he had never been able to do such a thing.

He had solely been able to break your heart.

“… I’ll wait, but…” he commented, breaking apart the beautiful moment “… I am worried for her”.

“We are all worried for her” assured him Lagertha, as she shot a quick look to Felix, who continued in hiding in his wife’s hair “… and Astrid is with her, so believe me I have no intention to let this go”.

“I’ll gut Gustaf” he hissed roughly, after that, because he couldn’t shove his anger onto Lagertha or Felix if he wanted to have some alleys in his mission.

But Gustaf?

That fucktard wouldn’t have lasted a day once he got ahold of him.

“We all agree on that” answered him Lagertha, with a dark smile.

He’d have you soon in his arms.

And he’d have his revenge.

But for now, he’d just listen in to the what the council knew about Gustaf.

He seemed a ghost, who had risen to power during the insecurity of the throne of Kattegat, meanwhile they were in England.

He had started with small raids around fellow Viking villages, and had proclaimed himself king, raising a small but sneaky army.

Lagertha admitted to having undervalued him, thinking he wouldn’t be anything too big and that Kattegat would have held itself against him.

But it hadn’t.

And now you were paying for all her mistakes.

---

A few women had been allowed inside the boat to wash your body from days of dirt and to preserve your modesty from the men’s eyes, as they gently dabbed your body with water soaked tissues that they pressed to your body, then moving you to a bathtub brough inside just for you and Astrid, allowing you a bit of intimate time.

The one it took you to give Astrid your answer.

During the time that you had had before the boat had docked, you had realized one thing.

This child hadn’t been blessed by a good timing.

And as much as you knew that Ivar would have cursed you for your decision, you couldn’t deny that if the gods had blessed your pregnancy, they wouldn’t have allowed Gustaf to take you.

They would have allowed your pregnancy to appear much before.

But in truth they were all pretty lies about the fact that you were scared to end up like your mother.

And not solely a tired woman, relegated to child bearing but one that wouldn’t have loved her children truly.

For all this time you had tried your best to fake that the growing belly on your stomach wasn’t anything more than a dream, a feverish dream.

You had tried not to get too attached to the baby.

You hadn’t considered it truly, except when your belly stiffened for another vomiting session.

You just couldn’t bring this pregnancy to its rightful end.

There were so many reasons why it was cursed.

And in the end as Astrid had said: it was your decision.

‘I can’t keep the baby’ you had whispered in her long hair, free from the braids to be properly washed, as she kept her face impassible ‘… I’ll wait to know your plan to get rid of it’.

Although the words seemed to easy, they hurt your tongue.

Almost as if somebody had decided to rasp coarse paper against it.

And now your tongue bleed, crying for the injustice of the words.

‘Sweet baby’ that was the first time you addressed it in your mind ‘… I can’t have you, right now. It wouldn’t be fair to birth you in chains, meanwhile your father has his own plan to destroy himself’.

There would have been others.

You tried to console yourself with that thought.

But your tricky mind knew that although you might have been blessed with others, they would have never ever been like this one.

And yet, it was the best choice through the worst-dealt cards Destiny had given you.

Astrid didn’t give you any judgement and lightly nodded, the only semblance of an agreement appearing between you two, as she moved to wash your hair.

And you were glad she couldn’t see your tears for the child that you had never wanted and would never have.

You tried to focus on the steps ahead, instead.

Now that you were on land, you’d have both advantages and disadvantages.

It certainly would have been easier to go escape on land, but at the same time you wouldn’t have made it quite far, hadn’t you found a way to secure yourself boat back to Kattegat.

And most importantly you didn’t know where you truly were.

You hadn’t been able to keep up the time in the stomach of the boat, although you were sure that not even a week had passed since you had been kidnapped, so you couldn’t truly understand how far you were from home.

It was almost torture to think about everything that was wrong and difficult in that moment.

Because you saw no way to escape this.

But you had to keep your mind lucid to see anything that might be helpful.

So, for now you played the caught princess, as you let the guards bind your hands together, thinking about the fact that it would have been so easy to knee them in the groin, grab the rope and tighten it around their necks, as your older brothers had taught you.

You just smiled as Gustaf moved to examine you.

“Gotta make sure that you look like the princesses I promised my people” he smirked, as he looked at the dress you were wearing, something that was quite luxurious you had to say, but it just made you feel exposed “… now smile”.

“You might have bond my hands, but you don’t control my mind” replied tightly Astrid, as he moved to examine her, meanwhile the guards’ eyes ranked over her body as you heard tight whispers of ‘whore’ and ‘fucking cunt’.

You kept your mouth shut.

And not simply because you were feeling like retching again.

Gustaf ignored completely Astrid’s comment and simply turned to you, as you ducked your head, playing the submissive lady act.

You were led away and before you knew it you were in the middle of nowhere, as you tried to understand your surroundings, but it was nothing like Kattegat, although the weather was quite much more chilly and you were almost glad when Gunnar gentlemanly enveloped you in his mantle.

But at the same time, it reminded you of your first ‘date’ with Ivar, making you feel guilty for the intimate gesture.

Ivar back at that time had been too nervous for any physical contact, but as he had seen you shivering, he had cursed loudly commenting on your stupidity to wear ‘such a light dress on such a cold night’, but he had wrapped you up in his own furs, finally finding the courage to envelop you in a loose hug.

But then as you moved further on the hidden road, an hidden city revealed underneath you, spurred on by the heavy movements of the soldiers marching with you, enveloping in a tight grip your bodies, as Astrid also looked as surprised as you.

And entire population, half the one of Kattegat, but still impressive, was living in rocks-like house, something that would have almost seemed like a fairytale, hadn’t it been reality happening in front of you.

“… I know that it isn’t as majestic as your own city, but this is my land, ladies, the one that will host you till we get your weight in gold” he presented it to you, as more people came out of their small huts.

“So, we are hosts?” this time it was your voice unable to stop itself from emerging “… why then are my hands bound?”.

“For your safety, my lady” commented Gustaf with a triumphing smile “… wouldn’t want you to run off and be brought back with the hard manners”.

“My husband will have your head if you touch as much as a hair on my head”.

Because even if you and Ivar were on strained terms, he wouldn’t have allowed you to be dishonored.

If not for your honor, certainly for his.

“Then you better behave, lady (Y/N)” commented Gustaf with hungry eyes moving to your body and you tightened the mantle around your body, as you felt like a useless bratty princess.

Gustaf clearly wasn’t scared of Ivar.

He should have been.

But the fact that he wasn’t, made him bold… and dangerous.

“… she is a princess” backed you up, Astrid as her hands went to your “… I wouldn’t forget that”.

“Princes, princesses and subjects… that’s how the world works, isn’t it?” asked Gustaf, something almost fanatical appearing in his eyes “… but that isn’t how it works in my land! I brought here the rejects, the warriors that were left behind…”.

And you immediately noticed that a few of the men around you had missing limbs or didn’t look in the slightest like the typical image of a warrior.

“… the women that nobody wanted” and this time it wasn’t simply the one that didn’t look ‘normally’ beautiful, you knew he meant that one that nobody wanted to marry and the ones that had been too abused by men to want another between their legs “… and the children that nobody wanted”.

His voice seemed to shift onto a softer tone as he said this, almost as if he had personal experience in this.

You took the information and stored it in your mind.

“… so welcome to the land of nobody, my ladies” he proclaimed with a quick look at you both “… this will be your new home from now on”.

----

Ivar had been allowed to go back home on his own, although he knew that Lagertha’s spies trailed after him.

More because they were worried that he might try to do something stupid to get you, than because they were sure he’d try to overthrow Lagertha.

And hadn’t Ivar had that ‘small’ fight with you, he would have certainly thought about that.

But now, he just couldn’t.

You had been right in berating him, after you had searched for a solution that his goddamn pride made him refuse to accept.

And now you were paying the consequences.

He knew that you had to be treated well.

That’s what he would have done with such an emotionally important hostage.

Touching one single hair on the head of such an important hostage would have meant the captor’s death, if they hadn’t the army to back it up.

Their gain would have been more if you were alive.

But you could have been bruised.

Roughed up and… made to service men.

And he would have made them paid dearly for it.

He was trying to bring himself to move away from the hallway of Kattegat, thinking that even if he wouldn’t have slept, he would have probably smelt a bit of your perfume in your mattress, when he saw somebody walking in.

Ylva, your healer and friend.

He was surprised to find her, but she smiled at him sweetly, as she moved further up to him and the guards in the hall let her come closer, although he saw a spy dispatching himself from the others, probably to inform Lagertha of this meeting.

“Ahhh look at the lucky man!” she commented softly, as she came closer to him and he tried his best to smirk softly at the older woman.

She had been the main reason why he had been able to marry you, since she had constantly supported you in your decision to marry the crippled prince, alongside helping him to get through the pain, with brews of herbs and bottle of oils.

“Ylva, what are you doing here? Are you not supposed to be in your hut throwing curses and brewing potions?” he asked trying to appear gingerly happy.

Ylva lived isolated from everyone, so he was sure she hadn’t heard the news of your kidnapping and he reasoned with himself that it was best not to say anything, at least for a bit since.

Ylva had been like a mother to you and he knew that she was also attached to you, like one.

He didn’t want to make her worry.

“… I do that only on special days, you know me, Ivar!” she commented before shooting him a softer look “… and what are you doing out of the cage? I thought that you were locked inside”.

“I escaped” he commented dryly.

“Then (Y/N) convinced you, didn’t she?” she smirked sweetly at him and hearing your name was like a punch in the gut but he tried his best to hide it “… I knew that the child would do the trick…”.

“What child?” asked Ivar confused, although a terrible sensation started brewing in his stomach as Ylva shot him an annoyed look, almost as if she thought that he was playing dumb.

“The one in her stomach, Ivar” she commented immediately and suddenly Ivar couldn’t help but choke on his own breath “… your wife is pregnant, Ivar! But I confide she has told you…”.

You were with child…

… in some foreign island…

“… she hasn’t told me, actually” he obliged himself to speak as Ylva came to support him “… she hasn’t been able to… she… an attack overcame Kattegat, and she was taken…”.

He had berated you for not having given him a child, in your last meeting.

And now you were pregnant.

And away from him.

“Ivar…” breathed Ylva anchoring him back to earth, and away from the horrible thought he had been having about you, broken and your unborn child separated in the womb from you “… I had no idea…”.

“I’ll bring her home” he promised to Ylva, because he knew that no matter what he’d bring you back to Kattegat.

And then he didn’t know if it was the shock or stress, he passed out in Ylva’s arms.

---

You had been led into one of the largest rock-houses, discovering that inside they could be quiet homely, and rich, although the entire design tended to look more like a jumble of various riches that probably came from different raids.

Or so you supposed.

You saw them throwing in a few of the ones they had successfully stolen from Kattegat as you were led to your own private rooms.

More like cells, although they were ample.

You had been locked inside, till you heard a pipping voice chatting brightly with the guard, and soon the door opened under a small key that the girl hid quickly her cleavage, but you noticed the movement, trying to search a way to make her accidentally spit it out.

She was quite a beauty, although she had one missing eye, covered by an elegant bandage on it, bright pink of something that seemed quite exotic.

But her fierce attitude definitely made up for the absence of the eye.

She asked you what she could do to make your staying better, suggesting some herbs if you were still feeling nauseous from the boat.

“I’d like to know your name, firstly” you asked, knowing that to set up an emotional bond with anyone would have been useful, even more with the woman that had the literal key to your freedom.

She seemed taken aback by your request and you were satisfied by that, although she hid her surprise quite well.

“… and my stomach is slowly settling itself on his own, but what I’d like is some information, obviously if you are allowed to talk”.

She nodded, shyly, as she ducked her head away from you, almost as if she was used to hide the missing eye on her face.

Hadn’t she sided with your captors, you would have gladly befriended her.

“Of course, my lady”.

“This place isn’t on any map, is it?” because obviously the gods couldn’t make this more difficult even if they tried.

The girl shook her head.

“… it is an absolute desert spot and if you aren’t brought her, you’ll never know of its existance” she explained with her eye full of admiration, almost as if she thought this was the best that could ever come to her.

But the truth was that much hadn’t changed.

She was still a slave.

Just because they had changed her chains with the silky ones, it didn’t mean she was out of this.

Gustaf wasn’t a freer of people.

He was a man who saw the anger of rejections and used it against others.

Ivar and he would have gotten along well.

“That’s beautiful” still you played the surprised and brattish lady part “… it is absolutely extraordinary that this was all set up with no record from any other kingdom”.

You saw irritation fall on her face, as if she didn’t want any mention of other kingdoms in her own.

Well, sadly for her, you and Astrid would ruin her marvelous plans.

“… we have no other way than to shield ourselves form the kingdoms that have rejected us” her voice spoke of a pain that made your eyes soften “… sadly we haven’t many choices, unlike you”.

You wanted to tell her that your own freedom wasn’t as wondrous as hers.

But you held your tongue and simply smiled sadly.

“Do you know who my husband is?” you asked her softly “I am the wife to prince Ivar The Boneless, and I can assure you that he made many great things, even with…”.

“… he is a prince, my lady” she commented, again that tight look that this time hit straight in the bullseye “… I was nothing but a miller’s daughter, when my master’s wife caught me spying on her at her husband’s order, catching her with a slave. She made him take my eyes and then told me I should have thanked her for having done ‘a clean job’ “.

Pure anger burned in her eye, as you thought about how similar it had been to Ivar’s.

Hadn’t Gustaf been his competitor, they might have understood each other.

But men with rage that burned so brightly would have never been friends.

They would have burned everything around them.

“I am sorry” you mumbled, as you sent her a tight look “… I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories”.

“I just look forward to the future, my lady” she commented softly, as she sent you one last look “… this place isn’t so bad, once you get used to it”.

“I hope not to sound annoying, but I really hope not to get used to it” you whispered, hoping she wouldn’t hear you, and if she had, she gave no signal of it “… and I hope this won’t sound terrible rude from me, but I’d like to relax a bit, sleep even”.

“Oh, of course, my lady” she replied, hiding quite well her offended expression from you, as she ducked away, locking you in.

And you passed the following three hour counting down the minutes to make sure that you could get ahold of the time, as you watched the color of the sky change, although the windows of your chamber had been chained in, to avoid you another easy escape.

After three hours, the girl finally came back, something much more submissive in her glance as she tried to make you talk, finally revealing you her name, Kari.

But you tried to keep everything close to your chest, as if this was some kind of interrogation.

Kari had you swiftly changed in a new dress, this was far more decorated than the one you had been dressed with, although you were grateful for the fur stitched on its shoulders because the coldness of the rocks, no matter the fireplace blazing, seeped also inside the rocks.

You thought it must be the humidity that stuck to your skin like a second skin.

Although the dress was far more covering than the other, you felt naked without your chess pendant, as you fidgeted with your fingers against its original position.

The thought of having lost it making your heart break.

Although your relationship with Ivar was quite strained, it still hurt you to have lost it.

Ivar had been so proud when he had given it to you.

It had meant the world for you.

Alongside what he had told you to accompany it.

It had made you feel for once as truly his match and not simply his wife.

As you were dressed, all jewelry you wore was taken off you and you could totally understand why, although you didn’t wear much.

Anything could be a weapon, in the right hands.

‘You’ll have them back, my lady’ had commented Kari, as she took your wedding ring matched with your golden earrings.

You doubted they would ever come back to you but you tried to simply nod, before Kari informed you that your hands would have been left unbound to let you eat in piece.

‘Please don’t try anything, you’ll simply hurt yourself’ she finished explaining, treating you almost as a child, and you played along, because you were sure that trying to escape right now would have been a death sentence.

But still the tone she used irritated you.

Almost as if you were to be treated like a precious doll.

And you weren’t.

You had never wanted to be one.

But you endured it, doing your best to keep your mouth shut.

You didn’t understand Gustaf’s way of playing with you.

This wasn’t the way you would have treated hostages.

Certainly, it was good that he didn’t want to hurt you, but at the same time…

… it made things just unclear to you.

But you were thankful to be brought out of your room, although it wasn’t as small as a cell, it made you uncomfortable to say the least, and although surrounded by guards you felt comfortable in the hall as you looked around with curiosity scanning each door and person.

You were brought down a flight of stair in a bigger room, lighted up by a lot of candles laying around, because of the tough interior of stone, making everything seem quite wary, almost a war room organized to be a parlor for guests.

As if you were guests and not hostages.

And you realized that it was what Gustav wanted to make you seem like.

Honored guests coming to bless him and his people, as you came to a ragtag table full of good smelling food, something that awakened your hunger and before you knew it your own child gave you their own blessing to eat, easing the nausea.

Astrid appeared on the other side and before you knew it, she came barging to you with more emotion than she had shown for the entire time you had known each other.

But soon you discovered that there was much more behind it.

Her hands pushed something in the back of your dress, over into your fur, sticking it to the pins in it, and she whispered in your head to act natural and you did, smiling at her in the most heartsick way.

Soon the guards put themselves between you, regaining order, as Gustaf walked in.

Both on the boat and outside of it, you hadn’t been able to get a good look on his face.

You had to say that indeed he was quite handsome.

He had long light blonde hair, which had been properly set up in a combed hairstyle, highlighting the harsh plane in his face, although he looked quite smaller than you had thought.

Had you to say something about it, you would have commented that he had been a premature baby.

He still wore extremely fine clothes, probably the finest in the entire room, hiding his figure and keeping the straightest of figures.

He might have been truly a beautiful creation.

Hadn’t his eyes shone with such a wickedness.

“Princess (Y/N)” now he addressed you properly, but you knew it was all for the people looking at you “… princess Astrid, how did you find your rooms?”.

You stopped Astrid’s remark on her lips, mumbling a soft ‘fine’.

“… I am glad to hear that” he replied, as he pushed one hand out to you, as if he expected you to take it, but you simply smirked back and moved to grab on Astrid’s one, who although hid it, seemed definitely surprised “… we shall sit at the table, by my side, as the honor guests they are”.

This time Astrid’s reply came before of your reply.

“Weren’t we prisoners?” she addressed him harshly and you moved to push her back, as something dangerous appeared in Gustaf’s eyes, but disappeared as soon as his eyes settled on you.

“You are my hosts, as long as you behave”.

A veiled threat.

And your head went accidentally to your stomach, already disappearing before you could fully understand what you had done.

“Now sit down and eat with us” ordered you Gustaf and you complied, getting sat, as you dragged Astrid with you, the guards to push the chairs out for you.

You tried to focus on the food, finally able to eat something without the need to retch it completely, finding yourself famished.

It was also easier because it meant that you could avoid conversations and just hear the other speak, although not much was said, soon Gustaf prompted you both to speak.

He started asking you questions, to which you answered with tight mumbles and slight moves of your head.

“You aren’t a woman of many words, princess (Y/N), are you?” teased you Gustaf and you simply moved to raise your head to send him a tight smile.

“I don’t think that pretty words are needed now” you commented back, as you pushed to go back to your food.

“… not even with your husband?” he replied with a devious smile, something that made your anger spike up, as it almost seemed another invasion of intimacy “… because I think that’s the only thing he can do to entertain a woman”.

You choked on your breath as Astrid shot you a warning look

Still, one thing was to insult you.

Another was to insult your husband.

Mostly on such intimate things, nobody truly had the knowledge of.

As Ivar would have defended your honor, you would have defended his.

Always

“I think that is a case in which pretty words aren’t needed” you commented sternly, as you turned to him cleaning your face in a tissue, before you raised from your chair, alerting a guard “… and so is my presence, I’d like to return to my room”.

“It wasn’t meant to offend you, princess” Gustaf’s eyes burned for the humiliation that you had put him through, but his words were pleading “… do stay and enjoy your meal”.

“I have had enough” although your stomach grumbled “… and I am tired. This is my first night on something that doesn’t move, I want to enjoy it fully”.

Kari immediately moved to follow you, meanwhile the guards waited for Gustaf’s orders, which were simply pushed out by his hand waving dismissively, although his eyes stayed on you till you left the room.

Astrid sent you one last look, her eyes sending you her ‘goodnight’.

And soon you were in your bedchamber, surprising Kari as you asked her to bring you some herbs and hot water to help you digest all the food that you had eaten.

‘… I might have exaggerated with it’ you tried your best to sound helpless and naïve.

Kari just nodded her head, leaving you effectively alone, as you grabbed the small pocket Astrid had pinned in your fur, effectively finding it was the herb you needed.

If it was like Ylva had told you, you’d have to put it in hot water and then drink it and it would have…

… it would have…

… changed you.

When Kari came back, your hands were shaking and you had hidden the herb in the ample sleeves of your dress to be able to hide it among the various herbs she brought alongside a cup of boiled water.

She tried suggesting you a few herbs as you moved to push the ones that you had hidden in the sleeves in its plate as she shifted her attention away from you, and then made your choice, proceeding to put it in the water.

Now all you had to was wait.

And then drink the awfully smelling beverage.

Kari seeing your choice brought everything away, trying to fret around you to avoid seeming as if she was wasting time and you waited for her to leave you alone, to move to check on the beverage, telling her to leave you alone so that you could sleep a bit.

‘I am truly looking forward to sleeping on something that doesn’t move’ you commented trying to brighten up the mood, although you had to hide the shivering of your hands.

And as you turned, the beverage was ready, of a dark color that made your face appear on its reflection, as you thought for one last time about whether this would be a good or not decision.

It was the best among some many bad decisions.

And right when you were moving to drink it, the door behind you opened.

And your hand almost accidentally dropped the mug.

You were halfway through telling Kari if she had forgotten you anything, but Gustaf, instead, stood on the threshold and you couldn’t help but assume an immediate defense stance and utter:

“What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to express my apologies to you, more properly” he spoke loudly, as his eyes were kept on the cup and they slowly came back to your face “… check that you weren’t truly mad with me”.

“You kidnapped me! To say that I am mad with you is an understatement” you commented unable to stop the sass from leaving your mouth.

And you hoped it might distract Gustaf.

But his eyes were smarter.

“… this doesn’t have to be bad, if you don’t make it be” he commented, as he moved towards you as you felt your body suddenly freezing in its position, as he got the cup out of your hand, before he smashed it on the floor “… are you with child, princess?”.

You shook your head, but you were already feeling tears flowing down your face.

“Because I know for sure that frigid bitch of Astrid isn’t, but she asked for a contraceptive brew, claiming that my men raped her, meanwhile she was on the boat”.

And before you knew it, Gustaf, in his slender stature, had pushed you onto the bed, pulling on your hair, as you tried to fight back, but it was no avail, since he had quickly immobilized you under him.

The worry for your belly and the life in it that you had wanted to kill making you quit any attempt of rebellion as Gustaf forced you to look at him in the eyes.

“So, don’t fucking lie to me too, little princess” he spoke tightly “… are you with child?”.

“Yes” it was a choked sob and you tried to at least escape with your face from his harsh glare, as if it lessened the truth of your lips.

And then suddenly Gustaf’s body was away from you, his weight not offending you further.

But his eyes still scared you as they set up on your body, almost as if he could already see the pregnancy overcoming your body.

“You are much more precious than I thought, princess”.

---

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[goddessofeternity]

Love Amidst the Darkness

Chapter 12: Allied Kingdoms

The following weeks in the palace were quiet and uneventful, the attack at the tournament was still fresh in the minds of the king and queen. So, Queen Hestia traveled to the far kingdom of Kastria to seek help from their southern allies. The lush forests and swamps were a sight to behold in the kingdom of Kastria. Queen Hestia peered out the window of her carriage as her advisors spoke beside her. The kingdom of Kastria was different from every other kingdom she traveled to. While other kingdoms were built on stone and fine bricks, Kastria was not. Most of the homes were built in trees and made out of branches and other earthly materials. The people of Kastria lived off the land around them. The only pieces of architecture that were made from stone and brick was the palace, their place of worship, and places of shelter from their seasonal storms. The climate was quite hot here, even though Melodia was starting to get chilly. As such, queen Hestia found herself in a summer dress, with a thin shawl over her shoulders. Her long hair was slicked back in a ponytail, a modest crown on her head. Queen Hestia rolled back her shoulders as the carriage pulled up to the front of the palace. Stepping out, she was greeted with flowers and welcomes from the people. 

 “Thank you….thank you so much…” Queen Hestia smiled graciously as she accepted the flowers. The people of Kastria were always so gracious.

 “Welcome to the kingdom of Kastria, Queen Hestia,” a guard bowed to her. “The emperor and empress are eagerly awaiting your arrival. Allow me to escort you to the throne room. Please follow me.”

 “Of course lead the way.”

 Walking down the long halls, Queen Hestia gazed at the paintings of the emperors and empresses of the past. There were many great men and women but were a problem in the past. Queen Hestia could remember clearly when the current empress' ancestor had tried to conquer Melodia over 290 years ago.

♛ 

 “Our emperor demands that you surrender your kingdom to him, or face the destruction of all you hold dear.” The messenger looked at the royals' reactions carefully. “You have one day to answer this message.”

 “I will answer this message now.” King Kyros rose from his throne angrily. He walked toward the messenger and glared down at him. Fire rose from the ground in his anger, the messenger flinched away from the intense heat. “Tell your emperor that I will not surrender my kingdom! I hereby declare war on the empire of Kastria! May the gods have mercy on the bloodshed that will be spilled between us. Now get out of my sight.”

  The messenger quickly retreated to relay the message, almost tripping over his own feet.  King Kyros sighed deeply as he looked back at his wife. Her worried expression softened his features considerably. Walking back to her, he gently kissed her hand and sat back on his throne.

 “Kyros….war….I never thought it would come to this.” Queen Hestia sighed sadly. “Why couldn’t the emperor just accept our messages of peace? War is never good for either side, it just brings pain and death.”

 “Sometimes to bring about peace...there must be war,” King Kyros gently explained, patting his wife’s hand. “We have tried many times to reach out, but it appears the emperor is past mere words.” 

 “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, my queen.” He kissed her head tenderly as he stood back up. “I must ready the soldiers at once...we mustn't delay.”

 “Kyros…”

 “Hmmm?”

 “I don’t want to bring a child into this.”

 “Hestia....we talked about this. A child isn’t necessary for us, you know that. The fact that either of us exists is strange. Two phoenixes….Hestia we live forever. My grandfather had my father because he was bored. I have no grandmother or even a mother. They are probably long gone. My father had me because he wanted a child, yes...but he didn’t want to rule anymore.”

 “I know I know Kyros it’s just...it’s always on my mind.” Queen Hestia sighs sadly. “Ophelia told me that she and Zacharias have thought about it. They are gonna try one day.”

 “Hestia...we are the only phoenixes on the entire planet. I fell so madly in love with you, you are the most perfect woman on this planet. We ourselves are a symbol of love, a child just...Hestia we don’t need to.”

 “......” Queen Hestia stood from her throne, looking away from him. “Very well my king...I have a meeting to attend to.”

 “Hestia-”

 “You have an army to prepare Kyros.” She states coldly. “I will see you at dinner.” 

 The king let out a frustrated sigh as she walked away. The hurt in her voice broke his heart. He quickly set out to prepare. This was a conversation that he knew would just continue another day. For now, he set about preparing for a bloody war that would last for the next 30 years.

♛

 “Welcome to Kastria, Your Majesty.”

 Queen Hestia tore away from her thoughts as the emperor and empress sat before her. Queen Hestia gestured for the guards to bring forth her gifts. New medicines, herbs, flowers, and different books for education. 

 “It is always a pleasure to see you both Your Imperial Majesties.” A noise at the base of the thrones drove queen Hestia’s gaze downward. Like Dragleic, the kingdom of Kastria’s residents were also in the company of large companions. A lion and his lioness were nestled at the feet of the emperor and empress. The large predators were making grunts at her and walked towards her. Queen Hestia smiled and knelt down as they brushed against her and licked her hands. Normally these magnificent beasts would be aggressive, but around their masters and people they trust, they were like kittens. Speaking of kittens, Rion and Lyna, the lion and lioness respectively, had four kittens playing under the thrones. 

 “It is always wonderful to have you here Your Majesty.” Empress Yvette smiled kindly as she adjusted herself in her seat. “We have your room prepared if you’d like to rest before we have our discussion.”

 “Yes please rest the journey here is quite long,” Emperor Klein says as he stands and walks toward her. “We can speak later into the evening after dinner.”

 “Thank you...I think I will rest for a bit.”

  “Tia!”

 Everyone looked to the far left door as a young boy ran into the throne room holding a fifth lion cub in his arms. His tousled blond hair suggested he just woke from his sleep. A few maids were chasing behind him frantically and out of breath. The young prince ran up to Hestia excitedly and she knelt and held her arms open to him. He jumped at her with a bit of force and she let out a small breath as she lifted him and the cub up. She adjusted them both as he giggled and held onto her tightly. 

  “Good morning Your Highness.”

  “Morning!”

 “Matteo...you mustn't run from your maids and you are still in your night clothes.” Emperor Klein sighs as he looks at his son. “Queen Hestia is tired from her journey, she has to rest my son.”

 “No! Tia has to play with me!” Matteo pouted adorably as he buried his face in her neck. Queen Hestia chuckled lightly as he held on tighter. 

 “It’s quite alright...I enjoy seeing the young prince.” Queen Hestia smiles as she sets the cub down. “It has been some time since I was last in Kastria.”

 “Yes but he needs to learn his manners.”

 “Klein let him be...he’s only three years old...let him be a child.” Queen Hestia and emperor Klein both look to the throne as Empress Yvette stands. Queen Hestia’s eyes widen as she takes in her appearance. The empress was pregnant again although it was small, her stomach was slightly protruding. “Besides it has been quite some time since he has seen her. If she wants to entertain him I don’t see the harm.”  

 “Oh! You...if I had known I would have brought more gifts.” Queen Hestia says as Matteo jumps from her arms to run to his mother. “Congratulations to you both.”

 “Thank you for your kind words but…” Emperor Klein looks at his wife apprehensively as she holds her stomach. “We haven’t let out an official announcement yet since…”

 “Since our past miscarriages..” Empress Yvette finishes sadly. “We just want to make sure and not get our peoples hopes up or our own.”

 “Yes of course I understand.” The royals of Kastria were very unfortunate in the child rearing area. The empress had two miscarriages before Matteo was born. She also suffered from terrible morning sickness, and was bedridden for months. Queen Hestia felt incredibly bad for Empress Yvette, she was lucky enough to have Althea without much issues. The world could be very unkind to those who have done no wrong. Queen Hestia said nothing further as she continued to converse with Emperor Klein. After being shown to her temporary bedroom, queen Hestia sighed deeply. She hated having to tell them about a potential threat after so many years of peace. With the empress pregnant, it made telling the news harder. Stressing her out could cause her to miscarry. It was a hard task, but regardless she had to do it. So after resting for a few hours and eating dinner, Queen Hestia joined the royals on a balcony overlooking their empire. Pulling her shawl around herself tighter, Queen Hestia sat beside the royal couple. Although the sun was setting, a few rays of sunlight were still beaming. Hestia reached a hand out and pulled the warm rays onto herself and the royal couple.

 “It is always amazing to see you do that.” Empress Yvette sighed as she enjoyed the last few minutes of heat the sun provided.

 “Yes it does have its uses.” Queen Hestia snapped her fingers and set alight candles that were sitting on the balcony. 

 “I’d imagine being a Phoenix is spectacular,” Emperor Klein chuckled as he pulled his wife close. “Being able to soar in the clouds and make fire...it's all very extraordinary.”

 “I might take a morning flight before I head back home.” She smiled at the couple as the emperor rubbed his wife’s stomach. “Kastria is very quiet...I’m surprised by that.”

 “Everyone is preparing for a storm. The cats are restless so we are taking precautions.”

 “If we can help with anything please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Of course thank you….” The three of them sat in comfortable silence watching as torches lit up on the empire’s streets. People were still walking about and laughing with neighbors. Children chased after cubs and more big cats lounged in trees.

 “Hestia...what’s wrong?”

 Queen Hestia blinked out of her thoughts as she looked at Empress Yvette. Hearing the worry in her voice made her uneasy. She looked at emperor Klein and they both looked worried.

 “We heard of the attack at the tournament...we never got much details of what happened. I feel as though you have something terrible to speak with us about.”

 “Is Melodia in danger? Are we in danger?” Emperor Klein’s demeanor changed as he frowned.

 “I do have news to speak of. I just don’t wish to put stress upon you Yvette. I would hate if the issues in my kingdom cause...something unfortunate.”

 “We appreciate your concern up Hestia,” Empress Yvette smiled and relaxed into her chair. “Honestly I always feel a bit of stress, especially with a storm coming soon. If your news is worrying your kingdom then it will also be the concern of ours.”

 “If you and Kyros need assistance of any kind then we shall back you up. Your family is more than just our allies, you are trusted friends.”

 Queen Hestia sighed deeply as she looked at her dear friends. In her heart she hoped that maybe the threat was dealt with when the creature was slain, but that was just a foolish thought. Her visions proved otherwise...her vision showed a greater threat to her family and kingdom. If it wasn’t stopped then it would be the end for them all.

 “At our tournament...it was infiltrated and attacked by a single man. He looked sickly and weak, but he had somehow made it quite far into the tournament. One of the knights fighting him drew his blood, and that was when he transformed into a grotesque creature. It killed many of our soldiers and almost...it….it almost killed Althea. I was leaving the arena with her and Ophelia and the children, and it killed the knight traveling with her.”

 “Oh Hestia! I am so glad she is alright now.” Yvette held a hand over her heart as she leaned back. She placed her hand on her stomach and Klein put his hand over hers. 

 “How did you kill this creature?” Klein asked with clenched teeth. His grip had tightened on his wife’s hand as she patted his to calm him down.

 “I killed it…” Hestia held out her palm, a small fire formed in the center. Klein and Yvette could feel the intense heat as she compressed it. “I set it alight with the hottest flame I could muster. I was so afraid that Althea had been killed that I charged right for it.”

 “So they can be killed with flames…” Klein stood and paced around the balcony. “Do you believe that there are other means to battle this creature?”

 “I think so...I’m positive that it can be killed in other ways. Its blood soaked appearance when it reached us told me enough. It was also quite sluggish.” Yvette sighed and sipped her water and her lioness Lyna slinked up with a cub in her powerful jaws. Matteo was holding her tail and rubbing his eyes. 

 “Matteo…” Klein sighed as he lifted his son into his arms. “You are a terror to put to sleep son.”

 Yvette and Hestia smiled and laughed at the young prince. Especially when he tried to fight his growing sleepiness. He played with Lyna and her cub and Yvette patted his unruly hair as he giggled and laughed. “I wish to apologize again for bringing such awful news to you both…”

 “You’ve warned us about an incredible danger...I know you were worried about informing me, but I will be fine and I’ll be better when we have properly prepared ourselves.” Yvette looked over the empire as the people started to retire for the night. Hestia smiled as Matteo climbed into her lap and immediately fell asleep, she ran her fingers through his hair as he drifted off. “Klein I wish to speak with Hestia alone for a bit, we can put Matteo to bed.”

 “Are you sure? I’d rather you get some sleep…” Yvette smiled and laughed at his worry.

 “I will join you in our bed soon my lion…” The couple exchanged a few more words before they kissed and Klein left. Hestia stood and carefully handled Matteo as she walked the halls with Yvette. 

 “There is something else that is bothering you…” Hestia looked at Yvette with a frown. “You seem a bit distracted. You’re worried about what is going to happen aren’t you.”

 “Yes I...if what happened at the tournament can be avoided...then I wish to make sure that we are prepared. I also want that for our friends.” Hestia shook her head as she laid Matteo down on his bed. Turning toward Yvette, Hestia rubbed her temples. “I’m sorry for the sudden news. I would hope that next we meet I’ll have better news.”

 “Regardless, Hestia...we appreciate your concern and I hope that we can stop this problem before it even begins.”

 “I do as well Yvette...I hope Kyros is having more luck with the empire in the east.” Yvette agreed as they left Matteo’s room to chat. Hestia grew a bit worried as she thought about her husband. Their allies to the east were closed off and rarely communicated with them. They were a mystery to the other allied kingdoms as well. They remained friendly enough, but their behavior was concerning. Nevertheless, Kyros and Hestia agreed that it was best to inform them of any approaching danger. Time would only tell how they would take the news.

♛

 King Kyros tapped his chin while he looked outside his carriage window. The palace was a mighty sight to behold. The curved roofs and tall towers soared high in the air. Red trees were sprinkled all throughout the roads. The people stopped and stared as they gazed upon his carriage. King Kyros watched as blacksmith sold their wares and others pulled heavy carts along the road. As the carriage pulled up to the palace, Kyros narrowed his eyes a bit as an entire guard was lined up to see him. Letting out a breath, Kyros stepped down from the carriage with slow movements.

 “Welcome to the Chowa Empire, King Kyros. I am General Honghui. I will escort you to meet our leader.” 

 “It is a pleasure to meet you General. I look forward to meeting and speaking with the leader of your land.” The general looked at the king with a calculated gaze before he led him into the palace. King Kyros took the time to notice a distinct feature about the inhabitants. Each person had the ears and tail of an animal species. The general seemed to have the features of a tiger and most of the guards had dog and cat features. He smiled to himself as he thought of all the mysteries that the world of Edrion held even still. Walking into a large circular room, Kyros was greeted with a woman with dark brown hair tied up immaculately, and a sword by her side. She gripped it tightly as she narrowed her eyes at him, her tiger striped ears and tail twitched at his movements. The guards took their places around the room and Kyros had his gifts brought in.  King Kyros looked around looking for the emperor that he had exchanged many letters with, but only laid eyes on the woman.

 “Greetings King Kyros...are you looking for the emperor? You will not find one, because I am the one you have been speaking with. I am the empress of Chowa.”

 “Oh? This is a turn of events...my apologies Your Imperial Majesty. I would have hoped during our alliance that we formed some sort of trust between each other. I have brought gifts and medicine from my kingdom. My wife apologizes for not being able to come to meet you. She had prior business to attend to.”

 “......” She let out a sigh before she turned and walked toward a door behind the throne. “We can speak in here, King Kyros.”  Frowning a bit, he followed her as did the general. The trio entered a small but comfortable sitting room and the empress sat on a chair with the general by her side. Kyros sat across from her but eyed the sword she never seemed to relax her grip on. Clearing his throat, Kyros started the conversation.

 “Your Imperial Majesty, I have come to discuss a grave issue with you. It could possibly impact your empire as well.”

 He didn’t miss the agitated twitch of her tail as her eyes narrowed. “Oh? You could have informed me about this in our letters. You didn’t need to come all the way here to the empire.”

 “Our communication has been scarce. You suddenly stopped communicating with us a few months back. A formal meeting between us has needed to happen for some time. We can’t keep up good relations between each other if we can’t look into the other's eyes. It is the very foundation to be able to look upon each other and build trust.”

 “......” She remained silent as she looked him in the eyes. “You couldn’t possibly want to seek the aid from an empire run by a woman. I’m sure you don’t seek the counsel of your wife…”

 “Why wouldn’t I?” Kyros knew that she was trying to rile him up, but his temper was not so easy to flare. He could only wonder about her hostility though. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before they narrowed again. “I always seek the counsel of my wife. She gives me some of our greatest ideas. My wife and I rule together, not apart.”

 “.....” She scoffed and drank from a tea cup and she gestured for the general to pour one for king Kyros. Drinking from the cup, he felt that he had to get to the bottom of this.

 “Might I ask why you have been so hostile? I only wish to continue our alliance and speak with you about grave matters. You have not stopped glaring and gripping your sword since we sat down.”

 “I have not been hostile.” Her tail flickered behind her, telling Kyros that he was right. “I grow tired of men telling me how I’m feeling.”

 “I mean no disrespect. I just want to break the tension.”

 “I highly doubt that you-“ The doors behind them suddenly opened and the empress's face grew pale. Kyros stood as a pretty woman with the ears and tail of a red panda stood with a guitar in hand. She looked around the room in surprise and Kyros took the chance to greet her.

 “Hello. I am King Kyros of Melodia. It is lovely to make your acquaintance.”

 “Hello Your Majesty...I..I um...”

 “Liling! What are you doing here?!” Kyros looked at the empress with a raised brow as her hair stood on end. The other woman looked down at the ground as she gripped her guitar tight. Kyros watched the scene carefully as the empress sighed gently before moving towards the woman known as Liling. He watched as the empress whispered soft words of reassurance to her. Her features softened in the presence of Liling and it told him quite the story. The general took notice of King Kyros’s stare and cleared his throat and the woman parted quickly.

 “I think I can see why you have been withdraw from my letters and meetings with my kingdom in person. Traveling with her would be quite the scandal and it would be frowned upon in other places. It would not however, be frowned upon in Melodia.”

 All three of the occupants looked at him in surprise, but the one who reacted quicker was Liling. With a happy bounce in her step, she crossed the room and stood in front of King Kyros. She looked up at him with eyes full of hope and wonder. 

 “Really? Is that true Your Majesty?”

 “Of course. We don’t discriminate about who one chooses to love and cherish. I would have been glad to inform the empress of this if she would have come to my kingdom.”

 “You could just be saying that to appease me and get on my good side. I will not let some foreign king I don’t have a relationship with try and trick me.” 

 “Shall we get to know each other then? Trust and friendship between allies should be forged through conversations and perhaps more tea?” Liling giggled into the sleeve of her gown, while the empress growled and sighed deeply. The general led them to an indoor garden where the empress sat across from them both. Liling quietly strummed her guitar as they were served more tea and snacks. Kyros did not miss the looks the servants gave toward the couple. The general glared at the servants and they scurried away quickly. 

“How about you tell us about what isn’t frowned about in your kingdom, Your Majesty?” The empress was not afraid to speak her mind. She was cautious and she had every right to be. The world could be especially cruel to royals, and having feelings for the opposite gender meant it could only be crueler. “I’m sure your council threw up quite a fuss about “things that are frowned on.”

 “Oh they did...over 200 years ago. My wife and I certainly didn’t let the topic just get brushed under the rug.” The sudden breaking of a guitar string had both royals looking at Liling. Her face flushed fiercely as she tried to fix her string.

 “So..the royal family of Melodia really is immortal. I suppose the same could be said about the ones in Dragleic?”

 “Haha yes. Rise from the ashes and all that. My friend Zacharias wishes that he could rise from the flames like I can. The residents of Dragleic live very long lives and I think their oldest resident might still have a spring in her step.”

 “I would love to visit the other kingdoms some day…” Liling looked at the empress with sad eyes. The empress sighed and patted her lover's hand as her ears drooped. 

 “You both would very much be welcomed in Melodia. My family has many balls and we invite many of our allied friends to come. We are having a gathering in a few weeks actually.”

 “Oh!” Liling looked at the empress with begging eyes and Kyros smiled as she crumbled under her lover’s gaze. “Xiaoli….”

 “I suppose that we can see about visiting…” King Kyros chuckled as Liling clapped her hands excitedly. The empress looked him over with a questioning gaze and furrowed her brows as she spoke to him.

 “I do have a question for you King Kyros…”

 “Yes?”

 “I believe you have a child...a daughter correct?”

 “I do have a daughter, yes….” He raised a brow and crossed his arms, he tensed up a bit when the topic turned to his daughter. “Why?”

 “I was just curious what you would do if she preferred the company of women? Would you push traditional values on her, even in your progressive kingdom?”

 “......” King Kyros silently stared at the empress and realized her little game immediately. She was testing not only his role as a parent, but one as a ruler. One who assured her of something that she was sure he lied about. Empress Xiaoli was a force indeed. “My wife and I would gladly accept whoever our daughter brings into her heart, but I will not deny that some would prefer her to marry a man. To continue the line of succession.”

“If she doesn’t want it? What then? I can’t see the point in a family of phoenixes needing to reproduce…”

“Heh...I told my wife that many years ago, but my daughter has brought such light into our long lives that I wish she had convinced me sooner. As our only heir, she has no choice in the matter unfortunately. She has a duty to her people and she has known this for years, if she was interested in only women, then we would do what we need to make sure she is happy. Believe me when I say that my wife and I always consider what is best for our daughter over everything else.”

“Hmm…” The empress chuckled as she sipped her tea and crossed her legs. “I think I like you Your Majesty. Now then...why don’t we get to the root of this meeting shall we?”

♛

“So...the empress has taken your word on the matter?”

“With much scepticism she did. I believe that she was very wary of me. Her lover Liling took to me quite well though. She was vastly interested in stories about our kingdom and Dragleic. I think you two would get along well my queen.”

“I think we would as well. I think I should start planning for another ball soon.” Queen Hestia smiled as King Kyros kissed her hand as they walked through the palace. The queen had arrived back home a few days before he did, and he was more than happy to come back into her embrace. It also gave him time to relax and destress. The last few weeks had been especially tough, but he didn’t want to worry her or Althea.

“We deserve it with everything that has happened.” Queen Hestia gripped his arm tight and he stopped walking to look at her. “What’s wrong my love?”

“I just worry about Althea. I wonder if she’s really happy….ever since I told her about her fiance and then all that has transpired over the past few weeks. I just worry that she might be a bit depressed-”

“Mother! Father!” The royal couple turned as their daughter ran down the hall with her knights following closely behind her. Althea stopped in front of her parents trying to catch her breath. “I...I heard that you were back, Father! I wanted to greet you but I was wrapped up in other matters!”

“Really now? Does it have anything to do with the flour on your face?” Althea blushed as her mother wiped her cheek. “You were in the kitchens?”

“I um...well maybe. It’s a surprise!” She giggled and her mother visibly relaxed and Kyros rubbed her back as they watched her smile and laugh. She turned to her knights and their playful banter warmed the queen’s heart. It seemed that she didn’t have much to worry about in regards to her daughter’s happiness. The couple only hoped they could preserve her innocence for a bit longer, and that this growing threat would only be a distant memory.

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

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[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Four | Circus ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Orochimaru ] [ Verse: Fabulous Freaks ]

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Humans have, for uncounted years, enjoyed making spectacles of things strange, obscure, frightening. To gawk at what is different is to take comfort in one’s normalcy.

But few ever think of what it must mean to be different.

“Over here! Hurry up!”

Panting in panic, a young boy is wrestled forward, the canvas sack over his head barring breath and vision alike. Rough, chafing rope holds his wrists behind his back, a hand dragging him forward by an upper arm.

He has no idea where he is, or why...or who has brought him here. Around him, a cacophony of noises only make him all the more confused, a plethora of conflicting smells burning his nose. Smoke, food, dung, perfume.

...where is he?!

Why?!

Then something changes. A door is heard to open, he struggles up several stairs, and then it closes behind him. Everything cuts off. The noise, the smell...the abrupt change makes him stagger.

“...take it off. Let’s see what we used all this effort on.”

The canvas is whipped from his head, and the boy flinches, stumbling back a step. He’s...in some kind of wagon. Cluttered with photographs, props, and other paraphernalia he can’t begin to recognize. And before him, sitting on an elevated chair with one leg atop a knee, is a person.

He...can’t tell if they’re a man or a woman. Porcelain-pale skin is made all the more striking by dark eye makeup, the person in question looking down at him appraisingly.

Like a steer for slaughter.

“Ooh...he really is ugly, isn’t he?” The stranger gives a venomous chuckle. “No wonder he was abandoned. Who could stand to look at a face like that…?”

Taken aback at the sudden cruelty, the boy flinches. He wasn’t abandoned…! His grandmother, the last of his known family, had died a few months ago, leaving him alone. He’d taken to the streets, but...they were cruel to all, let alone someone so...so…

“What is your name, boy? Do you even have one?”

Glowering half-heartedly, he hesitates for a long moment. “O...Obito.”

“Obito...well, welcome to your new home, Obito.” The stranger gestures outward with both outstretched arms. “A humble traveling circus. Fitting for someone like you, don’t you think?”

“This isn’t my home! You kidnapped me!”

“Mm...yes, yes I did. But tell me, boy...what do you have to go back to? Look at you.” Taking up a cane, they prod at his ribs. “Thin as a rail, dirty, sickly...you’ll simply wither away if you stay out in the gutters. Why not stay here, with others displaced like yourself…?”

Obito steps back from their touch, still glaring. He knows this...person has a point. He’s been eating garbage and refuse, avoiding the cruel looks of strangers. Nothing but a miserable, fading existence. But...a circus…? “...w-what do you want with me?”

“To put you on display! To take what makes you odd...and let it turn you into a star. I have many oddities just like you. People who are different. That amaze, frighten, or confuse onlookers. People come from miles around to see our little family of freaks. All you need to do is stand and be gawked at. Do that, and I can guarantee you meals, a cot to sleep in, and a place to call home. More than fair, don’t you think…?”

Obito’s nose wrinkles. “...I already get stared at…”

“But you get none of the perks, do you? Why let yourself wither away, embittered and alone, when you could thrive, knowing that this hideous face is no longer reviled, but revered! It’s so simple, Obito…” The cane lifts, catching his chin and forcing him to meet the gaze of his captor. “...so just say yes. Or...I can dump you back in the gutter. It’s your choice. So make the right one, hm…?”

Chin trembling, Obito tries to logic his way out of this...but in truth, he knows he should agree. He has nothing left. Nothing. Would it really be that bad? To trade his pride for a chance at living? “...f-fine.”

Lips curl into a cruel smile. “Perfect…! Take him to the others, let him...settle in. We’ll introduce him to his new life in the morning.”

The same brute who dragged him takes out a knife, earning a flinch. But he only cuts the rope, letting blood and feeling flow back into the boy’s hands. Wringing them gingerly, Obito realizes he has little else to do but follow.

Now unblinkered, he takes in his surroundings once they leave the wagon. They’re behind the tents and attractions, animals sulking in cages and people milling about. Clowns, acrobats, beast tamers...all looking far less bright and animated than they do when the spotlights are on.

“This way. No lollygaggin’.”

Flinching, Obito follows the man into a tent.

Within, several cots are already strung up and occupied. They all look like adults. “Toward the back is an empty one. Go get some shuteye, you’ve got work to do in the morning.”

Stepping aside and eyeing him warily, Obito does as suggested and heads toward the rear of the tent...which goes dark as the flap falls behind the exiting troupe member.

He freezes, trying to let his eyes adjust.

“Pssst! Over here!”

Startling, he sees a light bloom ahead: dim, but visible. Like a moth to a flame, Obito hurries toward it, stumbling over things on the ground before reaching the very back of the tent.

Atop one of the cots is a person draped with a thin blanket, hiding their visage as it drapes low over their face. A pale, dainty hand holds aloft a candle. “That one there is empty. Just across.”

About-facing, Obito finds the empty hammock behind him before turning back to the other figure. It’s rather small...maybe someone close to his age? The voice is also diminutive, quiet and soft. Obito assumes it belongs to a girl. “W...who are you?”

“...just another one of the freaks,” she replies. “You must be new…”

He hesitates. “...yeah. I’m Obito.”

“...Ryū.” Slightly, her head tilts up, and though the shadows are deep beneath the blanket, the light nonetheless catches a pair of silver eyes. They flicker, and Obito can tell she’s studying his face.

Ashamed, he glances aside, hiding the deformed skin that stretches from brow to chin, ear to nose.

“...you don’t have to hide, you know.”

“...everyone stares…”

“But here, to be weird is to be normal. We all have something different about us. So when you put us all together...it’s really not so weird anymore.” Lifting her free hand, she pulls back the blanket.

Obito stares.

Like some kind of ghost, her entire form is colorless. Snow-pale skin, grey eyes, and every hair he can see completely white. “...they call me Specter when I’m performing. Kinda obvious why, huh?”

“But...you don’t look weird,” Obito protests, forgetting to hide his face. “You’re so pretty!”

She tenses, clearly taken aback before she brings the blanket back over her head. But he still sees the rosy blush in her cheeks. “...I’ve never seen anyone else who looked like me...except my mama. When she died...I got taken here. I’ve been here since I was four.”

“Four…?” He wilts - at thirteen now, it’s quite the difference. “...my gran took me in when I was a baby. My parents died when our house burned...everyone thought I would die from my wounds. But I didn’t. Now I just...look like this.”

Ryū’s gaze lifts. “...they’re scars…?”

“Along my whole side down to my thigh,” he replies bitterly. “Everyone else called me a freak...but Gran loved me all the same. When she...w-when she died, I had nowhere else to go…”

“And that’s when Orochimaru found you.”

“Who?”

“The ringmaster. They take in anyone they think will get more people to come to their circus.” It’s Ryū’s turn to sound bitter. “They tell us we’re a family, but...it’s all a lie. No one is happy here. We’re just ways for them to make money…”

“Why don’t you leave?”

“Where can I go? I’ve been here almost my whole life, I know nothing else. The only talent I have are the dances I had to learn...what use is that to anyone? And none of us get to make any money...we have nothing. It all belongs to the ringmaster. Including us.”

Not having an answer, Obito chews the scar along his lip in thought. “...someday, we’ll leave. When we’re grown! We’ll figure something out, right?”

Her gaze falls. “...someday.”

The pair fall into a somber silence, the wax of the candle starting to wane. But before it dies, Ryū lifts a hand. “...may I…?”

Looking back up, Obito hesitates...but then steps a little closer to her cot.

Gently, she lets a few fingertips trace along the ridges of the scars. They even extend up into his hairline, leaving him with lopsided locks.

Her dainty touches make the skin tingle, and Obito has to repress a shiver. “...ugly, aren’t they?”

“...no. They’re strong,” is her rebuke. “...they show that you lived.”

He has no retort for that. “...I-I should...try to sleep.”

Letting her hand retreat, Ryū offers, “Just do as you’re told, and you won’t have any trouble. And if you need any help, just ask me, okay?”

“...okay.” He moves to the empty cot, kicking off his shoes and struggling to lie down without being tossed back out.

Only once he goes still does Ryū extinguish her candle.

Outside, the muffled sounds of the waning circus evening keep him awake. So many unknowns, so much to fear. But...he has a dry place to sleep. Something over his head. Food to eat.

And...maybe a friend.

He can handle this...for now. But someday, he’ll escape. And he’ll take Ryū with him. He doesn’t know how they’ll do it, but...they will.

Someday.

The next morning, the same man that dragged him here wakes them at the crack of dawn. And Obito sees the others who occupy the tent: the rest of the malformed. A set of conjoined twin boys, another with extra limbs, a woman with a bearded face, and a man with just one eye in the center of his head are just a few of the people subjected to scrutiny.

Along with the rest of the troupe, there’s a hurried breakfast before they help in carrying out the preparatory tasks of upkeep. Cleaning up garbage, setting up props and tents, hauling in supplies from the train...whatever it takes to be ready for another wave of guests.

Once that’s done...it’s time for their real work to begin.

Led to a long, narrow tent, Obito balks at the sight of cages. And like trained dogs, every one of the so-called freaks takes their place within one.

“The hell are you waiting for? Get into place!”

Obito feels a push at his back, nearly stumbling as he’s forced toward a small, empty crate. Once inside, the door is shut...but not locked.

“Remember...look alive, ladies and gents! Don’t leave the guests disappointed.”

...and so it goes.

For hours and hours, people parade through the tent, gawking and pointing at the unfortunates within. Small children hide behind their parents, whose noses wrinkle in disgust. On and on and on it goes.

And then the worst possible happenstance comes to pass.

Shuffling past his cage, a pair of young people stop. Obito, despondent, looks up as he hears his name uttered in question.

...he knows these two.

Staring at him in horror, a boy and a girl meet his eyes, full of questions they can’t bring themselves to ask. For a long moment, the trio stare at one another...before the boy beyond the bars urges his feminine companion away, the pair of them whispering to each other before fading out of sight.

He’s never felt so humiliated.

Only once the daylight starts fading is the tent closed, and the cast freed to have their evening meal. Legs sore from being so confined, Obito winces and hobbles behind the rest of them.

Only Ryū waits for him.

“...I heard two people say your name,” she murmurs softly, noting his look of shame. “Did someone recognize you…?”

“...yeah,” he replies, tone warbling. “Now everyone will know.”

“...we’ll change cities, soon. I’m sorry, Obito.” She offers a hand, gently leading him back to where they’re fed.

But her day isn’t yet done.

“You...perform?”

“Mhm. I tightrope walk,” Ryū confirms. She’s changed into a white leotard and leggings, hair bound up tight behind her head.

“Can I see…?”

“You can stay by the back entrance - I think you can see from there. Just don’t let anyone spot you, okay?”

“Okay…!”

Tucking behind a barrel, Obito peers out as Ryū’s act is announced: Specter, the ghost of the circus who defies gravity itself. Up a ladder she climbs to a rope tied between two of the main poles of the largest tent. Barefoot, she makes her way out, balance maintained as she walks, flips, and seems to dance. With each stunt, the crowd gasps as the rope sways.

...there’s no net, should she fall.

Obito watches with bated breath, both fearful she’ll stumble, and yet entranced as she remains upright. But when the act is done and the applause sounds out, she’s still safe.

He sighs at last.

“That was amazing…!”

Giving him a glance from her cot that night, she ducks her head with a demure smile. “...thanks.”

“Does everybody do more than sit in the cages?”

“Some do, but not everyone.” Ryū considers him. “...do you have any special talents you could do?”

That makes him hesitate. “...I dunno.”

“If you find one, maybe you can get an act. If you do, you get out early to prepare.”

Well, that’s all the convincing he needs! Any less time he has to spend in that tent, the better. So when no one is looking, he starts practicing with throwing knives.

It takes time - they change cities more than once before he’s any good at it, and several more before he’s confident. Presenting his new talent to the ringmaster, he’s given a secondary slot to perform.

...and so it goes. Days blend into weeks, to months, and then to years. All across the land they travel, the circus torn down and put up again and again as the train takes them back and forth.

Soon enough, Obito is no longer a boy. After years of lugging supplies and pitching tents, he’s gotten far bulkier than his scrawny childhood self. Easily able to pack just about anything, he performs feats of strength for onlookers, including smashing a bell with a weight propelled by a hammer strike.

It earns him the stage name the Burned Beast.

And all the while, Ryū keeps up her acts. She too blossoms, growing into a young woman and becoming one of the most popular acts of the circus. Posters bear her face, and she’s often toted around on Obito’s shoulder to gain more attention before her act every night.

But it’s not just her talents she’s lauded for. While her ghostly appearance puts off some, it brings in others.

Needless to say...most back down when Obito looms up behind her, glowering them all back like mice before a hawk.

While he’s made a friend or two beyond Specter, the pair remain closest with one another. Ryū tends to any injuries he gets, gently keeping him in tip-top shape. And Obito serves almost as a guard whenever necessary.

And neither of them have forgotten their wish to someday escape.

They often speak of it long into the night, ruminating and reminiscing: discussing what they’ll do once they’re free.

The only question is how to do it.

Staring out at the darkening horizon one night, Obito’s brow furrows. “...seems like it’s going to rain tonight.”

“Really?” Ryū joins him at the mouth of the barrack tent, pinning up her hair as she glances out. “...well, it should be fine. We’ll be inside for the rest of the night.”

As she retreats, Obito keeps up his vigil. Something doesn’t feel right.

...but they have a show to put on.

Over the years, Ryū’s act has grown and evolved. Nowadays, she’s packed in on Obito’s shoulder, waving to the crowd until he throws her straight up to cling to a pair of hanging ropes. Twists and turns see her travel up and down the lengths until she finds her way to the tightrope.

And at Obito’s insistence, he remains below, ready to catch her should she fall. For a time, everything goes as per usual. Ryū wows the crowd with her stunts and agility.

But as the act switches to its second phase, the wind begins to pick up, rain pelting the canvas of the tent. And in the air, thunder rumbles.

It’s not just rain...it’s a thunderstorm.

Watching Ryū, Obito spares glances to the entrances. The weather is blowing in, causing those on the ends of the stands to huddle inward. Light flashes as bolts fling across the sky.

...this isn’t good.

And then, with a mighty clap, a streak of lightning hits the top of the tent...and flames begin to spread in spite of the rain.

Panic.

Circus people and guests alike scatter, scrambling for exits as the fire eats at the structure.

“Ryū!”

Huddled atop her rope, Ryū looks down to Obito and his open arms. “I-I -!”

“Jump!”

Steeling herself, she does just that, landing in his grip with a grunt.

He runs.

Like tinder, the rest of the circus is going up in flames. Canvas is quick to catch from flying sparks. Wagons erupt into fireballs. Cages are opened to let animals free, people fleeing into the rain.

“Obito!”

Still carrying her, he ignores her calls. Into the barrack tent he barrels. “Grab your things!”

“But -?”

“This is it! Our chance to run!”

Panic pales and pinches her face. “Where?!”

“Anywhere! We can’t stay here, it’s all -!”

With a crash, a flaming beam collapses atop the tent only feet from them, tongues of fire reaching eagerly for anything and everything it can reach...and blocking the way out.

“Run!”

Hauling her bag of meager possessions as Obito does the same, Ryū follows as he slashes the rear panel of canvas with a knife he’s kept hidden away from his act. Neither of them look back, fleeing toward the tracks where the engine - trying to avoid the spreading flames - begins to move.

“Get on!” Tossing his bag, Obito turns to Ryū, picking her up and setting her within the car.

“Obito!” She reaches a hand, hauling him up as he lands halfway onboard. As the locomotive begins to pick up speed, they watch the flaming carcass of the circus fade into the darkening distance.

...shocked silence falls over them both.

They aren’t the only ones who ran. Several others huddle in this car, and the rest are just as occupied.

No one finds the ringmaster.

Claiming a corner, the pair of them hunker down, clinging to their bags and trying to wrap their heads around the devastation.

“...it’s really over...isn’t it?”

Obito gives her a glance. She seems far more upset than he expected. “...yeah. It is.”

Clearly frightened, she leans into him, Obito not hesitating to wrap protective arms around her frame. “...I-I can’t believe it…”

“...we’re free.”

She looks up, expression slowly slackening to wonder. “...we’re free…”

“No more cages. No more ringmaster. Nothing. We can go our own way, now. Just like we planned, for so long…!” Carefully, he takes her face in his hands. “...no more Specter. No more Burned Beast. Just Ryū, and Obito.”

She softens, bringing a hand up to rest along his wrist. “...together.”

Eyes flickering over her face, Obito lets himself smile...and then do something he’s wanted to do for quite some time now. Lowering his own, he slowly - hesitantly - brings his lips to hers.

There’s a moment where she stiffens...but then she goes lax in his hold. It’s a slow, chaste, somber thing...but when they pull apart, they reconverge into a warm, comforting hold.

There’s no telling where they’ll end up now, with their pasts now up in cinders. But wherever it will be, they’ll be there together.

     So this is uh...very angsty x’D I don’t think it’s at all what Meg prolly pictured but it’s immediately what came to mind for me kjhdjfgdg      Circuses are, in some ways, not very great places. They’ve improved over time of course, but many still abuse animals, and even people still. Oro is our ringmaster as their actions in Oto could be seen as something similar: gathering up people who don’t fit in to “profit” off of them. So while they can be fun, my mind immediately went to the darker side of them mostly because of Phantom of the Opera but shhh.      ANYWAY, I could’ve fleshed this out more but I’m on a bit of a schedule ahaha~ So parts might seem a little rushed, but I tried ;w; That said I really enjoyed writing this one. Angst isn’t ALWAYS my cup of tea, but when I have a craving for it, it’s lots of fun x3      Thanks for reading!

[corpse--diem]

Once More, With Feeling | Morgan, Rebecca, Nell & Erin

Takes place around mid-March. 

@mor-beck-more-problems / @exorciseyourspirit / @nelllraiser

Morgan couldn’t remember what she had imagined when she and Nell agreed to gather up a sacrifice for Erin’s ritual. The moose had been decided in advance after a brief consultation with the mortician (So what would you say your dad’s favorite animal was? If he was an animal, would he be the same one?) and Nell had known where all the choice moose grounds were. Maybe she had thought they’d hold out some berries and make some nice transcendent connection like in some new agey painting. Maybe she imagined some kind of magic lasso situation before popping the elixer in. Whatever ideas she’d had, it hadn’t involved getting swatted in the face by its tail or falling into the mud. Still, moss-covered and muddy, they managed to make it from the woods to the mortuary. Morgan waved to Erin from the driveway, smiling as best she could. “Okay!” She said to Nell, still a little out of breath. “We made it! This is good! And thanks again, making sure I didn’t get a black eye. I really don’t wanna bug your mom for another healing so soon.”

It’d been a moment since Nell had caught anything so large as a moose, but she was certainly up for the challenge the creatures posed. Though the creatures weren’t normally aggressive, that generally only stood true for when they were unprovoked. And Nell was fairly certain capturing one counted as...provoking it. She was something of a mirror image to Morgan with mud and grass, but a bright grin was one her lips, some of her adrenaline keeping her on that high as she helped the other witch lead the moose in. “We made it!” she exclaimed, all too thrilled with how things had turned out thus far. “Yeah, and she would have asked too many questions if she’d had to heal you this quickly. But thanks for making sure I didn’t get literally kicked in the butt.” Her smile dropped in the slightest, remembering the danger Morgan had been put in. Nevertheless, she followed Morgan’s lead in waving towards Erin eagerly, a hand pointing towards the moose in question as if she were presenting a prize. “We got the moose! Isn’t he pretty?” He was, indeed, the finest moose specimen they could find. Generally the stronger and more handsome a beast— the better when it came to sacrifices. “So uh- do we have...a way to get this guy where we need him once he’s inside?”

Erin didn’t know where the question about her dad’s favorite animal was going to go. Maybe she naively assumed they were going to channel a moose god or whatever it was these people got up to, but when they hauled a whole damn moose up her driveway? Erin was speechless. Who was she to question them, though? They were here to help her, right? She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from yelling, but threw on a pained, welcoming face. “Beautiful,” she tried to reply with equal gusto, faltering halfway through. Okay, she couldn’t do this anymore. “Before I let you bring this large, live animal into my home,” she gestured towards the elevator door usually meant for caskets and bodies. “Why are we bringing a fucking moose in here?” Rebecca hadn’t prepared her for this. And even if she had tried to, this was all starting to seem like a horrible idea.

Rebecca had arrived early, just as she’d told Erin she would. Morgan and Nell were fetching the sacrifice-- a word that still made her shudder, blood magic was not something she often liked-- as Rebecca set to work getting the basement ready. She could hear the poor severed body scratching away at the door, begging to be let out. All it wanted was to do whatever the wish that brought it to life told it to. But it wasn’t that simple. Even after that, he would still be around. A true curse. Morgan and Rebecca knew about that, didn’t they? Rebecca’s vision blurred a moment and she blinked it away before she continued to etch little canels into the floor. Pathways for the blood to run through and connect, making the circle. Symbols on the inside would need to be redrawn in blood, but she’d chalked them out so that all three of them could work on that part once the ritual began. Sitting back, she examined her work. Nearly done. Just on time it seemed, as she heard voices from upstairs. She went back over to her bag and dug out her notes, getting to work setting out the incense in the places she’d noted on her sheet.

Morgan looked at Erin incredulously. “You want to do this right, yeah?” She said, still bright, patting the moose gently on the back. “Equivalent exchange! We get out what we get in. And we need to get out a lot, so--” She waved her hand, ta-da style. She lead the way towards the garage. It seemed roomy enough, and there was some promising looking machinery that might be moose friendly. Moosey wasn’t going to be around much longer, the less distressed he was the better, she felt, but they also needed to make this happen. They’d take care of Moosey’s remains after, and the sacrifice would be quick. Morgan had looked at diagrams of Moose anatomy so she’d know where to cut and how deep. “Hey, Rebecca--?” She called. Exchanging a look with Nell. Keeping Erin on board hadn’t been part of the plan, but maybe they could keep her reassured together.

Nell nodded along with Morgan’s words, as if this was the obvious answer. “Exactly! And if we don’t have enough to exchange well...it’s never good. And plus— you said your dad reminded you of a moose, right?” Nell finished, as if that was the clearest explanation she’d ever given in her entire life. Nell didn’t mind having Erin present, though. In truth, it might help things along if she wanted to donate a bit of her own blood, and she’d said as much to Rebecca online. With consent, of course. And no more than just a bit. She followed along the moose, bringing up the rear as they toddled along. Meanwhile, bringing up the caboose of the parade behind Nell was what appeared to be an enormous black cat brought up the rear in the form of Taki, tail proudly waving through the air as if he’d been the one to catch the moose. “Is Rebecca...here?”

Erin didn’t have the energy to fight this. She’d proclaimed numerous times she’d do what she needed to in order to get rid of her undead father and if bringing in a fucking moose was what it was going to take? “At this point, we might as well,” she ran two worried hands down the sides of her cheeks, holding back the horror in her chest. Her eyes were on the moose the whole time as she led them to the elevator. Thankfully, they’d managed to capture a smaller one, but big enough that his antlers barely fit through the frame of the door. She stood outside, shutting the door. Glass shattered as the elevator descended. Probably a light fixture. Or five. This was all for a reason. This was fine, she kept telling herself. “She’s downstairs. And probably not at all ready to greet a moose while she sets up.” Erin took to the stairs that led to where the elevator opened up in the basement, motioning for Nell to follow. “You know, you never did tell me how you managed to break in here,” she said offhand, trying to distract herself from the moose that was stepping into her basement. This was fine. This was totally fine. “What, uh--what do you need me to do?” She asked when they finally were all in the basement, moose party-of-one included.

The elevator dinged and Rebecca looked up from her work, going over to the door, but standing aside. She knew what was expected behind the door, as it slid open and a nervous looking Erin came into view. “Oh, good! You were able to find one. Is it calmed, like we discussed?” she asked Morgan, looking over to Nell. She was younger than her online presence made her seem, but Rebecca could already sense the amount of power the girl held. As she ushered them in, she finished setting up the last candle and went to stand on the other side of the circle. “We’ll get this all set up before we grab your--” she stopped herself. Was it insensitive to say father? Probably, “--the corpse--” Oh, that wasn’t much better, “--Do we have anything to restrain him with?”

Morgan held up the empty elixir bottle triumphantly for Rebecca to see. “Moosey is in a great place right now, and I’ve done the research legwork to make this a quick one.” Suffering wasn’t an ingredient in the ritual, so she wasn’t keen on creating any. She pet the creature’s fur, scratching behind its rather impressive neck. The set up was exactly according to what Rebecca had told them to expect, candles and sigils and arrays in a dazzlingly complex riff on the dimensional theory circles she’d come across in her studies. It was beautiful. More importantly: it was powerful. Morgan scanned the rest of the room and settled on a shadowy shape slumped in a chair. “Is that, uh….is that him?” She asked, pointing.

Nell took a closer look at Erin, letting everything slow down for a moment to realize that...this probably wasn’t easy for the woman, especially after who knows how many of her light fixtures had just been shattered. “It’s gonna be good. We know what we’re doing,” she offered as a feeble attempt at assurance. “And um- I can...pay for the light fixtures.” That was technically their fault, wasn’t it? “But a good witch never tells her secrets about breaking in.” Nell bounced back with a tease. “Don’t worry about it, though- it’s nothing anyone without magic wouldn’t be able to do.” Then she was joining Morgan near the moose, reaching into her pocket and procuring a strawberry to offer up to the big guy with a fond smile. “Morgan’s a smartie pants, and I’ve used a moose or two before so it’ll be great.” Then she was taking in the set-up Rebecca had made with a practiced eye, not surprised to find that everything looked as beautiful and in order as it could be. “Truly a work of art, Rebecca. What’s he restrained with, now? If we have to, we could just use a bit of magic for that as well.”

Erin truly thought she was past the whole ‘this is fucking bizarre’ phase of this whole endeavor, but seeing the moose and the elaborate set up with the circle with the markings, surrounded in candles made her realize how entirely untrue that was. Noticed Rebecca’s hiccup in word choice but at this point?  “Don’t worry about the lights,” she mumbled towards Nell, before a long, steadying sigh slipped through her lips. This was fine. Everything was fine. They were talking about the moose but it wasn’t clicking until a few seconds after that--”Wait, you’re going to… you know.” She gestured to her neck, dragging her index finger across it. “To the moose?” Jesus this was derailing further and further every second this dragged on. She ran her hands over her face again, her anxiety levels spiking. Just do what the kind witches say and this’ll be over soon. “I got him,” she nodded. Moved across the room to the chair her father was tied up in dragging him out into the light and to the circle. Wasn’t sure if that was right, but she’d seen enough horror movies to have an idea of how she assumed occult-y stuff worked. Doubled back for the kitchen pot, opting to hold that one in her arms for now. “What next?” She asked with more gusto. “I’d really just--love to get this over with, if that’s alright.”

“No need to hush the words,” Rebecca said to Erin, “he can’t understand English.” She turned to look at Nell, giving a nod. “Thank you, Nell.” She watched Erin drag her father out, from wherever she’d had him stashed. His head was missing, and he was tied to a chair. When Erin dragged him to the circle, Rebecca came up beside her and corrected his positioning, putting him at the top of the circle. “Center of the circle is for sacrifices. Top of the circle is the energy point,” was all she said before heading back to the other two. “Morgan, are you doing the sacrifice or is Nell? I have the dagger prepped already, so whoever is doing it, use that,” she instructed, pointing them to where to stand as well. Turned back to Erin. “I’ll need you to stand opposite your father, here,” she said, ushering Erin to her. “You’ll need to hold something of his as well. Something that has value to you.”

“We’re doing it together,” Morgan said readily. She had never killed anything as large as a moose before, and somehow that made it all the more important. She took the dagger from Rebecca and held herself in position, waiting for Nell to do the same. They had gone over this together, where to strike without wasting the blood they needed, and how quickly to slit the throat. Morgan had even practiced her techniques on the fresh produce she brought home. It wasn’t perfect or even close to the feel of the hairy, breathing creature beneath her, but as Morgan drove the knife into Moosey’s heart, she was glad she had something outside of herself to focus on.

Moosey’s legs buckled under him.

Morgan draped an arm around his wide neck and dug her weight into the floor to slow his fall. “Sshh, it’s okay. You’re doing so good, “she whispered. Stroking his pelt, she angled his head just so and peered down at Nell through his antlers one more time for the okay before speaking the blessing of sacrifice Rebecca had given her to memorize and making the second cut.

Dark blood sprayed up Morgan’s hands and rivered down, snaking past Moosey’s matted fur and trailing down, thicker and heavier, into the circle.

Nell waited for Morgan to get into position, stepping into her own with a matching knife in hand as she locked eyes with the other witch, a steady hand still petting the moose. She was only ever briefly sad about her sacrifices, knowing that they were serving a greater purpose. And did their life truly end if it was living on in something else? It was simply the ebb and flow of the universe, an exchange of energies that some might even say was beautiful. The manipulation of blood, and the life held within it should be revered in her mind, not met with disgust. In tandem, she sunk her own knife into the big moose, whispering her own words of comfort and encouragement to him as she did her best to help lower him. “Good boy, that’s it. Just a little sleep. Thank you, Moosey. I’ll remember you.” The blood was flowing quickly now as she felt her magic beginning to spring to life. She took a bit of it for herself, spreading just enough up her arms to leave long, red streaks there. Nell couldn’t really explain it, but she generally chalked the rush of power she got from this act to her affinity for blood magic. Finally, she rose from her place on the floor beginning the next part of the ritual as she spoke the words aloud, confidence in her movements as she reached out to link hands with Morgan and Rebecca.

Erin set the potted head in place beside where Rebecca had nudged the rest of her father’s remains in the circle. She’d thrown a joke in there--or maybe a genuine, playful jab--but it hardly sunk in. This felt like an out of body experience and she could only nod and move at the other women’s directions. Something of his. Right. She had prepared for that much. They weren’t an overly sentimental family, making finding something appropriate harder than she thought it would be. She procured an old, well-worn mug--one that had seen years of use from the stains lining the inside with ‘Embalming Fluid’ written on outside. It was dumb, she knew that. But she’d given it to him the day she told him she wanted to be a mortician. That day he’d laughed harder and smiled brighter, prouder, than any other she could truly remember. For almost a decade, this was the only mug he would drink out of too. “Got it,” Erin held it up shyly as she moved to where Rebecca wanted her, just in time for the knives to sink into the heart of the moose. With amazing care and grace, she noted, but the sight of a wild animal bleeding out onto her floor, with Nell rubbing the blood into her skin, stunned her into pure silence again. Oh god, what was she doing? What had she invited into her home? Maybe she should’ve just Nic blow the goddamn corpse up. “Jesus,” she mumbled. Wild, panicked eyes followed the trail of blood that moved into the circle before jumping between the three women as if waiting for an explanation or further direction.

An old mug was a good choice. Rebecca looked between the three of them as Morgan and Nell prepared the sacrifice, turning her eyes away as they slit its throat and let it bleed. She wasn’t much for all this magic ritual and sacrificing, but she knew this was a part of it. A part of life. And this animal’s soul would be returned to the ether while its blood and body would be used to help, here on Earth. She gave it a silent prayer, waiting for its labored breathing to stop before opening her eyes. Nell had already prepared the blood on her arms and Rebecca watched the liquid pool around the circle she’d made, filling in every crevasse. When it was full, she grasped their hands. “We’re going to channel our power through you, Erin, and your mug. I want you to think about your father-- think everything. Think about the good moments and the bad. The joy, the pain, the sorrow he brought you. I want you to think about what closure you need from him. And when you’re ready, speak it aloud.” She nodded to where Erin needed to stand, in the middle of the circle, facing her father. “Don’t be afraid, you can’t be hurt inside of there, I made sure.” She glanced at Nell and Morgan, then, before nodding, signaling them to begin chanting with her. She hoped the Hebrew wasn’t too difficult to memorize, but considering she was the link of the circle, she needed it to be in her power language.

Morgan marked the back of her hands with Moosey’s blood as it poured from his neck. She held onto him with all her might to control his collapse to the floor. She bent over his lifeless body and scooped the dark, stringy flesh from his neck and marked herself with two sigils, one connecting her with the others, and one protecting her from the pull of what they were about to do. She opened herself up and filled herself with the words Rebecca had given them to memorize. Her voice was strong and her mind was clear. There was no curse, no worry, only the balance and the bargain, power flowing in and out of her. And suddenly, in the space they had made together, a bright hole cut its way into the world.

A small, peaceful smile began to form on Nell’s lips as she felt their power mount, the three woman’s magic weaving together as if it had been yearning all this time to be joined as one. She had never minded working alone, but spellcasting with two others like this- it almost had a sense of nostalgia for her, having grown up with two sisters who’s magic she shared as they’d practiced all together in their younger years. The words fell from her mouth in tandem with Morgan and Rebecca, and she didn’t pause as the hole opened from one world into the next, though curiosity made her stare. It wasn’t like the glimpses of the demon realm she’d had before, though it certainly wasn’t anything similar to their world either. As she looked into it- she could feel the pull of the new world working against their magic, trying to lure her into its depths with something of a siren call, as if all their wishes would come true if she only stepped forward. But the temptation wasn’t a match for their joined power, and instead she simply gazed onwards into the world, trying to glean whatever she could from the swirling images she saw within. Nothing stayed concrete for more than the blink of an eye, shifting at a moment’s notice as wishes so often did, taking forms you wouldn’t expect, it being impossible to predict what might come next. But there were more important things to do here. “Bring it home, Erin. Let yourself have it.”

Speak it outloud? Fuckity-fuck-fuck. Erin faltered at that more than she had when Morgan stabbed a goddamn moose in her basement. Shaky hands struggled to keep the mug in her grip while the women circled her and chanted, the bright light that suddenly ripped into the dark room. So close she could swear she felt some sort of electrical pull, like a crackle, that followed the gusts of wind blowing her hair back. What sort of magic fuckery had she gotten herself into? For a long moment she only stared into the hole, lost in the slideshow of colors and images that were gone as quick as they came. Nell’s voice brought her back with a jarring halt. Right. Her father. Feelings. She’d done her homework, had a lengthy talk with herself about it, but she was having trouble remembering anything at the moment.

Squeezing the mug, she closed her eyes and focused. Flashes of memories jumping around in her own mind. The bad--the day she left over a year ago after she’d realized he’d had something to do with his mother’s death. The day she got the call about his death. The lackluster note that explained what she now had inherited. Her jaw clenched tightly. There was good there too, she had to remember that. Like the memory that came with this stupid mug. All of the warm comforts of home and family meals. Crying in his arms when the kids at school would tease her for being weird. He had been who had taught her the best way to handle it was to embrace it, after all. But for every good memory, the bad trickled in over top of it, reminding her how they got here in the first place. Fuck, she should say something.

She opened her eyes to the stark contrast of decaying flesh against the brightness behind him. Fear crawled along her nerve endings like a thousand little spiders and her heart pounded loud in her ears above their voices. “I don’t hate you,” she started, her voice already wavering as she tried to find the words. “I should, and I have every reason to, but I don’t. But I have what you’ve done and--I hate how you left things. But I’m going to fix it. And I’m going to be just fine without you,” she nodded, straightening herself.

There. She’d done it. But why wasn’t anything happening?

The looks the witches gave her didn’t seem all too impressed or convinced. She held her hands up. “Okay, okay!” She got the hint. Took another deep breath, running a hand over her eyes in frustration. Dig deeper? Is that what they wanted? “Alright--fine!” She rolled her shoulders, shaking her head, giving in completely now. “I do fucking hate you sometimes. I hate that you destroyed our family. That you bowed out without saying goodbye. That you left me this--fucking shit show to deal with and that because of you, I have no chance of having a normal goddamn life. And you can be damn sure I won’t forgive you for getting her killed.” Her eyes burned and her cheeks felt wet, suddenly aware that was the first time she’d said that thought out loud. “But I’ll fix this because you couldn’t. And if I can’t fix it, you can be damn sure I’ll be better at it than you. I don’t need you and I need to move on if I ever have a chance at that.” Erin paused, clearing her throat, nodding at the headless corpse wriggling in the chair before her. She wasn’t afraid of it anymore. “So you need to go,” she said with certainty, wiping at the tears under her eyes. “Now.”

That electricity from the hole heightened suddenly with a blazing swirl, suddenly tangible and powerful. Enveloping her father, chair, pot and all with a force that sent him flying backwards. And in a flash, he was gone. Finally, forever, gone.

Magic wasn’t Rebecca’s forte by any means, but there was a certain je ne sais quoi to it that always pulled her back. It was a higher connection to the world and the universe at large. It was a feeling she always got during exorcisms, and it was a feeling she’d been chasing her entire life. A sort of calm always washed over her when it happened, and she had to fight to keep her eyes from closing, watching Erin, watching the others, watching the portal, opening and closing, visions of another world, a hole in the universe, peering back at them. Erin’s words held power, Rebecca could feel them. Her emotions writhed around through the magic, absorbing the blood they had spilled, and centering on the undead body tied to the chair. It was almost a tragedy.

It all happened so quickly. In a flash, the body was gone. The portal sucked into itself, and closed. The effects were immediately, and Rebecca felt the weariness creeping in, faltering only slightly in her step as she let go of the other two’s hands. “It’s done,” she said quietly, rubbing her head, “you’re free.”

Free. Erin heard the word, saw the empty space where her father had just sat. Felt the exhaustion set in, felt bare and ripped wide open, but free hadn’t washed over her just yet. Her eyes remained on the space where the light had been for more than a few moments, her fingers anxiously digging into her palms. As if at any moment it’d reappear and shoot him right back out. That’d be her luck, wouldn’t it? But that moment never came and she was eager to get away from the three sets of eyes around her. “Thank you,” she finally mustered, clearing her throat and wiping her eyes before she turned to face them again. She owed them more than she could properly communicate right now, hoping the sincerity in her voice would speak for her. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. It’s a start, anyway,” she mustered a half smile. Let a long breath go as her mind only just began to wrap around what had just happened. Then she stopped, her entire body sagging as her eyes fell to the blood streaming along the floor, leading to the small deceased moose still very much dead in the middle of the room. “...You guys are gonna take him with you, right?”

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5014 Chapter: 7/9 Rated: T+ Summary: When his brother disappears coming home from town Madara goes looking for him only for both to end up taken prisoner in a castle hidden by magic generations ago. The candelabras talk, the furniture sleeps, and a great white beast hides himself away in the eastern wing. As he uncovers the story behind this place and gets to know the last small group of ���survivors’ Madara gradually makes a new home here in the least likely of places.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 7

Gently swirling the contents of the flask in his hands, Madara watched the translucent liquid rotate in small waves for a few moments before lowering it to resume rolling the glass between both palms as he had been for the past several minutes. In general he’d never been the type for nervous fidgeting but Hashirama's suggestion had confused him and awoken a strange nervous energy of sorts.

“This medicine is for Izuna,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” Hashirama agreed, “but I believe it is important that you take some as well.”

“Why would I drink someone else’s medicine?” It seemed a waste, especially after the happy discovery that it did not disappear at the midnight reset.

Hopping closer along the kitchen counter, Hashirama lifted both hands to still his movements, the wicks in his candles thankfully unlit. “It may do you some good as well. My brother assisted me in reading several of the journals we did not look through before and one of them mentioned that those who spend time near a person infected with your brother’s illness may contract it themselves.”

“But I’m not sick! I’m not coughing or anything! Wouldn’t I have shown some kind of symptoms by this point?”

“Ah, there lies the rub. According to one physician’s notes the illness may lie dormant for months or even years without any signs until something awakens the symptoms. I believe it was referred to as latent tuberculosis – and I also believe that you may have been infected.” Hashirama's candles gripped him tightly as one might clutch at someone’s fingers. “Please, my friend, allot yourself a portion of this medicine. It would not do to cure your brother at last only to fall ill yourself instead!”

Madara lowered his gaze to stare at the flask again, turning that information over in his mind. He’d heard of that before. One of the farmers he used to serve at the inn had stopped coming in to the village square when people finally put two and two together to realize that any pregnant woman who came in contact with him tended to lose the child. They called him a ‘carrier’, although what he was carrying Madara had never bothered to figure out. He himself would never have a wife, what with his attraction to men, so he hadn’t cared much to learn about the exact dangers.

After promising Hashirama he would think about it Madara disentangled himself from their odd embrace and hurried away. The flask slipped neatly in to his pocket for later while he strode through the halls towards the front door. His limbs began to shiver the moment he stepped outside but it was easy enough to put up with a bit of shivering when he knew he would be sweating through his coat very shortly.

True to an earlier promise, Tobirama had thrown himself in to the task of training Madara in the use of a gunbai with surprising enthusiasm. Six out of seven days they met, ran through a specific set of warm up stretches to loosen their muscles, then sparred until the massive weapon began to slip from Madara's grasp. Apparently he could only be considered a master of the art when he could endure any amount of abuse without ever allowed the gunbai to leave his grip. Considering how tired he usually was at the end of their daily exercise Madara had quickly built an appreciation for the strength of warriors in Tobirama’s time. They must have taken battle quite seriously.

Struggle as he might, in the end Madara was forced to admit defeat when he could not convince his arms to lift the weapon he had fallen in love with even one more time. The entire bottom half of his body was soaked through from stumbling around in the snow but his shirts were damp only with the sweat from his own body as he jammed the gunbai in to the ground and leaned heavily on it in an attempt to catch his breath.

“Your abilities are growing at an admirable rate,” Tobirama mentioned, already politely cleaning the blade he preferred to use for their training sessions.

“Right,” Madara snorted. “My ability to get clobbered in to the ground.”

His friend granted him a fond smile. “Would it make you feel better to know that I would be much less of an opponent were I blessed with my natural size once more?”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Truly I am not. I was trained as all my brothers were but I had other pursuits which caught my interest and swordplay was not one of them. What makes me formidable now is the sheer size of this cursed body.” With a wry twist of his mouth Tobirama gestured down the front of him with one massive arm and Madara paused to consider that.

“I guess if you didn’t have arms the size of my calves you wouldn’t pack so much of a punch, yeah. You’d probably still grind me in to the dirt.”

Coming forward to help him stand and leading them both towards the armory, Tobirama hummed. “Would that I could pit you against Hashirama instead. You may not see it but I do: your stamina has already improved by leaps and bounds, your movements are stronger. Already you may have surpassed my abilities.” Oddly enough he even looked proud to say so rather than the clenched jaw of forcing out an unwanted admission as Madara would have expected from anyone else he’d ever known.

He kept his silence as they made their way inside the armory to finish cleaning their weapons and put them away. Proper storage and care of one’s things was something Tobirama was rather vehement about, though Madara happened to feel the same so it wasn’t exactly a lesson hard learned. As much as he usually enjoyed the few moments when it was not considered weird to lavish tender affection on an inanimate object, though, his thoughts drifted to other concerns as he went through the motions today entirely on autopilot. Neither of them spoke until the gunbai and sword were both hung back in their proper places and Tobirama was already turning for the door when Madara's voice called him back.

“Sometimes,” he began slowly, “you have a good day and the way you talk is almost hopeful. But then other days you talk like you expect to live forever stuck in time the way you are.” Unsurprisingly Tobirama’s expression immediately turned somber.

“It is not being outside of time’s flow that bothers me but–”

“Yeah, I know, the body. But the body isn’t yours. You just acknowledged that yourself.”

“Perhaps. But it is the form I deserve.” One of Tobirama’s hands slid down to press against where the fur covering his legs rose up over his hips as well.

Madara turned a little more towards him and very carefully did not fold his arms in an effort to avoid confrontational body language. “No it isn’t. No matter what mistakes you think you’ve made – and we all know you made none – that doesn’t make you a beast or an animal or anything. If anything that probably makes you more human than ever.”

“How, precisely?” Tobirama asked incredulously.

“It’s in the nature of humans to make mistakes.” Madara shrugged. “It’s what we do. We’re imperfect and we try our best but it’s just…it’s human to fail.”

He wasn’t really surprised to see Tobirama look away from him uncomfortably. If he ever did get all of these idiots back in to their human selves the first thing he was going to do was smack Hashirama upside the head for never saying half the things this man so clearly needed to hear. None of these thoughts should have been allowed to take hold of him. If Madara had been around back then he would have been kicking in doors to give Tobirama a piece of his mind, telling him all the things he needed to hear no matter how badly he didn’t want to hear them.

A blind man could tell that his words had already made the other uncomfortable but Madara was merciless. Better late than never.

“I won’t bother dragging the whole argument out of the closet, you already know my opinions on what happened and your lack of blame for it all, but I just…do you really see yourself as not human anymore just for that? Even after all this time?”

“Would any human do to another what I did?” Tobirama asked quietly.

“Yes! Lots of them! Literally any one of us would kill one person to save the lives of a hundred others, especially if that one person was already dying and happy to have their suffering end.” And oh how those poor people had probably been grateful to have their suffering end.

Tobirama looked away. “It was not one person but hundreds,” he insisted. “That is different.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Madara almost reveled in the frustration he could see behind his friend’s eyes. That was good. Frustration was another human emotion and the harder Tobirama fought to prove his point the more opportunities Madara would have to show him how he was wrong. And he had always loved proving people wrong.

“You were born a human,” he went on mercilessly. “You learned as a human, you grew as a human, and from that ripped up portrait I caught a glance of you looked pretty damn human to me. But if you’re so damn determined to be a monster then answer me one question. How does that make you any different?”

“I…I do not follow…”

“Does the form of a monster determine its insides? Can you tell from looking at a man whether he teaches children or murders them in their beds? No. So just because what you might call a monster has some kind of twisted body or ugly outsides that doesn’t mean the insides are ugly too. You don’t know! Maybe the monster under your bed just really needs a hug or something!”

Barely remembering he was trying to keep his body language open, Madara propped both fists on his hips and nodded in approval of his own points, silently enjoying the flabbergasted way Tobirama was staring at him. It wasn’t often he got to flap the unflappable king of cool. Or so he sometimes referred to Tobirama in his head. Whether it was the era he’d been brought up in or just his natural composure the other had a tendency to remain calm and utterly in control of himself at all times – or until Madara said something that hit one of his weak points.

It felt like a good sign that it took a couple of minutes for Tobirama to compose himself enough to speak again. Clearly if he wasn’t speaking he was thinking because this was a man whose brain simply never shut off but as long as he was giving consideration to the right thoughts Madara decided he didn’t mind the wait.

“You are…unlike any other I have ever met,” was the final conclusion.

“Eh? I guess you haven’t met a lot of decent people in your life.” Madara paused thoughtfully. “Or maybe you just haven’t met enough assholes, Izuna tells me I’m an asshole all the time.”

A look of fondness flashed across Tobirama’s face. “Your insistence upon seeing me as more than I am is both flattering and delusional yet I cannot seem to bring myself to request that you stop. It is more than I feel I deserve and…I appreciate it.”

“Oh yeah well your definition of what you deserve is wildly skewed.”

“Perhaps because I prefer to dwell on more pleasant things. Such as yourself.” Tobirama smiled in an oddly hesitant way but Madara only smiled back without questioning it, snorting a little with amusement.

“It’s been a long time since anyone called me pleasant,” he admitted.

“A travesty. You should be appreciated more often.”

Eyeing his companion a little sideways, Madara hummed. “If you are trying to sweet-talk me in to a change of topic it won’t work. I’m still determined to show you how very humanly stupid you are being. Although I’ve got to admit that a little flattery never hurts anything, you could stand to say a few more nice things to me.”

“My good friend, I could spend the rest of this day listing your better qualities without ever repeating myself.”

“Damn.” Removing one hand from his hip to scratch at the back of his head, Madara laughed. “You must plan to talk really, really slow then. I don’t have all that many good qualities.” It was all he could do not to leap in to the air and pump both fists with joy. Tobirama had called him a good friend. Considering him a good friend meant the other was forming new attachments and doing that meant that he was not so disconnected from his humanity as he thought. Madara couldn’t wait for the appropriate moment to turn around and shove that big step forward in the other’s face.

Underneath the calm mask of Tobirama’s twisted features Madara thought he saw a moment frustration but it was gone in the next instant so he dismissed it. He did have to admit that his responses probably sounded a little flippant and Izuna had always told him how annoying it was when he gave off an impression of not being invested in the conversation. If that was it he did feel a little bad. He was very invested. Other than Izuna’s health there was nothing more important in his life these days than helping Tobirama learn to see himself as human once again and not just because doing so would return to him his own freedom.

No, he wanted Tobirama to remember his own humanity because they were indeed friends now and he wanted his friend to remember, above all else, the feeling of happiness. His own brand of freedom. What could ever be more important than that?

“Well,” he broke the silence, ready to let the subject drop for now. “If you want to say more nice things to me then maybe we should go inside where it’s warm so I can feel my toes again.”

“Ah, my apologies. I sometimes forget about…”

“Feet?”

“Yes,” Tobirama agreed with shame coloring his tone. That simply wouldn’t do.

Madara headed for the door and tossed over his shoulder with a smile, “I think that’s one of the things where you got the better end of this deal. Do you know how much I would love to just never stub my toe again or never worry about cold feet when I go to bed?”

“How is it that you always manage to put a positive spin on everything?” Tobirama asked as they stepped out in to the snow. “You have more talent for it than even Hashirama.”

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll take it as a challenge.”

Another triumph in his favor, Tobirama cracked a smile. “If you wish to avoid his enthusiasm then perhaps you would consent to spending more time in my company. My days are always brightened by your presence. It would please me greatly to know more of you.”

“Not a bad idea,” Madara admitted.

“You approve?”

“Definitely. I mean, we already agreed that we should get to know each other and now we have; now we’re friends. It makes sense for us to spend time together.” Madara sent his companion a conspiratorial grin. “And if it gives me an excuse not to listen to Hashirama compose poetry for his wife then all the better.”

Once again a flash of frustration appeared on Tobirama’s face that he didn’t understand but Madara let this one go unmentioned as well. Questioning Tobirama’s unexplained miniature temper tantrums was probably just as dangerous as asking Hashirama why he was in such a good mood on any given day. Although he was willing to bet that Tobirama would not respond by launching himself in to lengthy poetic speeches that he would then have to tune out, for which Madara was grateful. Just imagining it was terrifying.

Trudging back through the snow was terrible when Madara's legs felt as though they might turn to jelly at any moment but it was made less terrible by Tobirama kindly walking ahead of him and widening the path they had made to come out here earlier. For all the conveniences of having the world reset every day this was one inconvenience he could have done without; it would have been nice to shovel himself a nice path to use but what was the point if it would only disappear? Wasted effort. And Madara wasn’t about to tire himself out for nothing when he already got all the exercise he needed during their sparring sessions.

After detouring towards the stables for Madara to be sure his old mare had enough hay and water they made it inside the castle and paused for him to peel off all the extra layers now soaked through with sweat and snow. Learning how to wield a gunbai involved an unsurprising amount of getting knocked on the ground. Hashirama found them as Madara was contemplating taking his shirt off as well and walking through the halls bare chested until he could go bathe.

Strangely, Hashirama did not have a cheerful greeting for them. Or any greeting at all.

“Have either of you encountered Mito recently?” he asked the moment he saw them. Both shook their heads and Tobirama reminded him that they had been outside for the last couple of hours as they usually were this time of day. “If you see her would you be so kind as to let her know I am looking for her?”

“Of course, brother,” Tobirama replied.

With that Hashirama was gone again, hopping off down the hallways at speeds that threatened to send him tripping over his own metal base. Madara tilted his head to one side.

“That’s weird.”

“I agree. He is not normally quite so abrupt.”

“Oh, yeah, that too. I just meant it’s weird because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mito outside of the kitchens unless she’s with Hashirama.”

Tobirama looked down at him with brows furrowed in thought. “She was no great lady before she married my brother. I believe the kitchens give her comfort because she was raised there, a simple cook until she caught the crown prince’s eye.”

“Damn. I didn’t know that.”

“She would likely not wish for you to know.” His friend glanced at him sideways with a conspiratorial smile and Madara laughed. Without being told he never would have guessed that Mito had been raised as anything other than a proper lady in the royal courts. She certainly had acclimated well to such a massive promotion if her usual cool demeanor was anything to go by.

The anomaly was an easy one to put out of their minds, the two of them resuming the paths they had intended to take now that their training was done for the day. Tobirama walked with him until they reached the hallways that led towards the royal apartments. As they spent more and more time together Madara was slowly learning more and more things they agreed upon and one of those things was the necessity of bathing after such strenuous activity. Not many things struck him as more disgusting than the idea of going about the rest of his day reeking of sour armpits. He’d gotten enough of that stench from the patrons who frequented the tavern perhaps a little too frequently and he had less than zero desire to be like those animals in any sort of way.

Izuna sat comfortably ensconced in the window seat when Madara entered the room, nose buried in a book and sock-covered feet tucked under his thighs where they were curled with anticipation. He always had loved a good adventure story. For a moment Madara couldn’t help but stop and stare, admiring the flush of color where there had once been tired and waxy skin, the shine coming back to long dark hair. His brother looked healthier now than he had in years and he continued to improve with every day that passed. It was amazing what access to actual medicine would do after years of being sold a shitty half-potent brew to keep him coming back as a repeat customer. If Madara ever saw that witch doctor again the idiot was going to come away from the encounter without all his vital body parts intact. That was a guarantee.

“Bath?” his brother asked distantly without looking up. It was incredibly annoying that he found it easy deciphering the twirling flowery script Madara could not, able to enjoy whatever book he wanted to from the library.

“Please tell me the water’s still hot,” he pleaded.

“Mn. Should be. I haven’t bothered to check.”

Madara grunted and stumped on through to the water closet. Even in the current times it was a rarity to find homes outside of the big towns that were built with indoor plumbing. The fact that this castle had such luxuries available was well worth the fact that to heat the water for his bath still required a small fire under the tub. It was better than hauling water in from the well as he’d had to do all his life. The tub was even make of copper with four clawed feet holding it up above the ground, much more comfortable than the squat wooden barrel Madara was used to crawling in to.  

To his absolute delight the small fire he stoked up before going outside had gone out not too long before, leaving his water a delicious burning temperature he was able to enjoy by submerging a towel before his body so he wouldn’t have to sit directly on the heated copper bottom. Sinking down in to the water was bliss upon his tired muscles and Madara was glad no one but Izuna was close enough to hear the shameful drawn out moan that echoed around the room in appreciation. There really was nothing like a good hot soak after a hard day’s work. And considering that his life had been fairly soft compared to others he felt he was only just beginning to appreciate things like this now after signing on to turn his muscles in to jelly six out of seven days a week.

Although he couldn’t say that he minded. In an odd way the soreness of his muscles felt good, felt like tangible proof of the progress he was making both in his own skill and in convincing Tobirama to see himself as human. The more time they spent together the more his friend seemed to be opening up and revealing new facets of his true self. For him to ask that they spend even more time together must be a breakthrough. Madara grinned smugly, sinking down to hide his expression under the surface of the water, and mentally gave himself a nice pat on the back. Obviously he was such a good friend that Tobirama wanted them to get even closer!

His intention was to soak just long enough that he could lift his arms without feeling like he wanted to scream but by the time he pulled himself out the water had gone cold and the shadows in the room were stretching out much longer than they should have been. Apparently time had slipped him by as he relaxed.

No longer half as sore as he had been, Madara was almost tempted to hum pleasantly as he dried himself off and dressed again in the clothes he’d left in the bathroom earlier, checking first to make sure Izuna hadn’t caught any mice to leave in his clothing again. It was wonderful to see his brother regain some energy but he could have done without the resurgence of the pranks they used to pull on each other when they were young. Once he was successfully covering in mice-free clothing Madara wrestling a brush through his hair until he was able to separate three portions to braid together. The gilded mirror hanging over the sink told him that he’d done a decent enough job, nothing fancy but better than the raggedy drowned look he usually sported walking around with wet hair.

On his way back through the bedroom he double checked the position of the sun through their window and wrinkled his nose. He might be a little late for dinner. Mito hated it when he was late. Hopefully she didn’t overcook anything in retaliation as she so often threatened to do to Tobirama when the man got too lost in his head to remember food.

“Coming?” he called, pausing at the door. Izuna’s face lifted from the book he’d been reading with a glassy eyed look which said he also hadn’t realized the time.

“Five more minutes?”

“And get yelled at by the lady of the house? Not a chance. If you’re not coming now then I’ll bring you up a plate later.”

He watched Izuna wrestle with indecision before finally sighing and setting the book aside, unfolding his legs to stand then pausing to stretch. By the time he finally made it over to the door Madara was tapping one foot impatiently.

“On your own time,” he insisted with heavy tones of sarcasm. Izuna stuck out his tongue.

Together they wandered through the hallways towards the lower floors where Mito should be whipping up her latest delicacy, Izuna patiently listening to his big brother recounting an afternoon of training that probably sounded pretty identical to al his other stories about training. When he could get a word in edgewise he immediately derailed the conversation to talk about the rich fantasy world he’d been reading about and that was just as interesting so Madara decided against scolding him for being so rude. It was always a pleasure to see him so invested, so vibrant.

Instead of the usually cheery voice hailing them as soon as they walked in to the room, however, both of the Uchiha brothers were surprised to find the kitchens empty but for little Kagami dangling from an oven handle and struggling valiantly to open the massive door with his tiny wooden weight. Madara leapt across the room to rescue him, setting the toy soldier on the countertop instead with his heart racing in his chest.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Do you know what the ovens could do to you? What if you caught fire!”

“I did not want for you to go hungry, I was only trying to cook dinner!” Kagami scuffed one foot in to the counter while Madara and Izuna traded looks of confusion.

“Mito cooks,” Izuna pointed out.

“Exactly. Which begs the question again, what do you think you’re doing?” Crossing his arms, Madara lifted one eyebrow in his best impression of a disappointed Tobirama. Nothing got this boy talking than the idea that he had somehow disappointed his idol.

Just as predicted, Kagami pouted. Then he defied expectations by perking up and shaking his head with some measure of authority. “Mito-hime is not here. Hashirama-sama went to find her; he sounded very worried that she was not preparing so I thought to cheer everyone up by doing so myself! Then Hashirama-sama would not have to worry and you would not have to go on with empty bellies!”

For a few moments the two of them stared down at the boy in search of any hints that he wasn’t telling the whole truth. It was a futile effort, though. Kagami was almost more honest than Hashirama and he had no reason to lie to them. Eventually Madara scooped him back up and carefully transferred his small body away from the work station, depositing him in Izuna’s outstretched hands with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He really was glad they had taken such a shine to each other.

“You forget that we’ve lived alone for years; I can cook for myself just fine. It might not be quite up to the standards Tobirama is used to eating but I’m sure he’ll manage to choke it down.”

“It is weird that Mito’s not here with dinner waiting though,” Izuna chipped in, already seating himself on a nearby stool.

Madara hummed with his head shoved inside the closest pantry door. “I agree, it’s not like her. Hashirama will find her though. She’s probably just off distracted with a book or something like you were before I dragged you down. Everything’s fine.”

He didn’t need to look to feel the weight of Izuna’s eyes on him, to read the silence for what it was. Kagami happily began to chatter about something inconsequential and they let him. That was, after all, the point of pretending that everything was normal. Neither of them wanted to upset the poor boy until they knew for sure that anything was amiss.

But his brother had hit the nail on the head. It was very strange for Mito not to be here in the kitchen with dinner ready, stranger still that she would pass up on an opportunity to scold them for deviating from the schedule she had set for their meals. Whether because of her modest upbringing or a need to prove herself worthy in her new station Mito was a woman who thrived on order, everything where it was supposed to be and always at the right time. It might have been possible that she really had simply fallen victim to distraction as he suggested and that she might come flying in to the kitchen with tight-lipped apologies to scold him for using the wrong frying pan.

Or – Madara's fingers tightened around the onion he held between his palms – it was possible that his gut was right and something was very wrong. They wouldn’t know until Hashirama found his wife.

[saltine-kakyoin]

ok i CANNOT take it anymore I simply MUST know. spill the beans on the Star Catinum scene please 🙏🏼🙏🏼💝💝💝🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 I have been wondering for SO LONG and I am SO CURIOUS

OKAY SO BEFORE I GET INTO THIS, LEMME PROVIDE SOME EXPOSITION! :3 the Star Catinum Scene was heavily inspired by the one fan art of splat w the BIG dinner plate eyes, the one where’s he’s like owo and then O W O. it reminded me of a cat! and then i thought of this one post i saw ages ago about how much it’d suck if catra’s eyes went all big + dilated in the middle of one of her fights with adora, and then... the dots connected and, to quote my main man kronk, it was all coming together now :3 another big part of this is the adventure i had w coffee in ny, which we’ve talked about here in there in chat! w that said, lemme dive right in!! this might get long, so i’m gonna put it into a readmore just in case!

sO. the star catinum scene is from the sda, which means kak is roomies w camille in paris while jotaro is grappling w friend/family withdrawal in florida! Jotaro travels + visits everyone when he can, bc he is just. Mad lonely in florida. he might grump about all of the crusaders, but he really do be lovin + missing them, you know? On Kak and Camille’s end, this is normally fine! however, the visit that takes place in the star catinum scene is like. towards the later end of the semester for Kak, and inconveniently RIGHT in the middle of one of his final projects for the semester. So! Instead of trying to juggle the project + jotaro, he decides, fuck it! I’m gonna go crazy go stupid and finish it in advance so I can devote all of my attention to jotaro + what he’s been up to when he arrives. :)

nonetheless, jotaro’s visit sneaks up on him, in the way that these kinds of situations do, and he really becomes unhinged that week! He’s gone, painting for nights on end, leading up to Jotaro’s arrival + distressingly, he’s still not done the day/night before jotaro’s set to arrive! Kakyoin is normally a pretty levelheaded and rational guy, but all pretense has jumped out the window. he just Needs to finish this project at this point. SO. that night right before jotaro flies in, Kak stops by the cafe right underneath his and Camille’s apartment that’s run by a turkish and indian couple, and orders two large cups of their most intense brew. With his project and his coffee in hand, he sets off for a parisian rooftop to finish what he started, chugging the first cup as he goes. The first cup is nice, and really gets him going and in the mode! however, he gets so hyperfocused on the painting that he forgets there’s a second cup- at least, until he almost trips on it hours later! And then he’s like. Oh. Oh GOD. there’s a second cup! full of coffee! what do? The small voice of reason that’s been dwindling throughout this week is like: noriaki....whatever you Do, do NOT drink that cup. just let it go. toss it. But another, louder part of him is like: but you are getting kind of sleepy tho.. and are you done with your project yet? No? Then why waste the money by throwing the cup away? Just drink it dude...

So, he drinks it! which is fine and dandy for all of five minutes, until the caffeine REALLY begins kicking and oh, oh god. he should Not have had the second cup of coffee...Filled with regret and too much energy to handle, he feverishly finishes up the painting, slowly losing a grip on reality with each stroke! it almost feels like his body is trying to exorcise itself, which he can’t really blame it for. almost drunkenly, he stumbles back to his and camille’s apartment- thank god for hierophant catching his missteps and making sure the painting isn’t tarnished on the journey! He stumbles back into the apartment, which is pretty dark beyond the light peeking out from camille’s bedroom + the flickering glow of the flames from her new candles. she steps out of her room when she hears he’s finally home, and ooh. Kakyoin may be lost in the caffeine sauce, but he can almost Feel the concern radiating from Camille’s person. she barrages him with a bunch of questions, seemingly all at once. wherewereyou? are you okay? isitfinished? whendidyoulastsleep? Most importantly, are you going to be well enough to get pick Jotaro up from the train station in a few hours? 

Kakyoin waves these questions off as his body plummets into the wonderfully plump cushions of their sofa- painting,i’mfine,yes,idon’tknow, and Yes. just let me close my eyes for a moment...i’ll be fine just wake me up when it’s time to get jotaro. And then, he slips into a deep deep slumber. 

 (i’ve gotta get ready for work soon, so i’m gonna copypasta the rest from my explanation of it to jules!! which is grand bc i feel that explanation captures the fever dream quality of it much better than i am here!)

Camille watcches him melt into the couch + basically enter a coma with mounting anxiety. Normally Jotaro calls when he's arrived at the train station from the airport, and despite the early hour she doesn't really expect this time to be any different. However, it's normally Always Kakyoin that goes to get him. and then they go out for lunch, or dinner, or breakfast. or just a random snack run at the oddest hours of the day. Normally Camille hardly interacts with Jotaro, and she’s used to their interactions always falling flat.. she doesn't know why. Kakyoin assures her that that's just how Jotaro is: quiet, expressive in his own ways. but it gnaws at camille

So anyhow, she waits for Jotaro to call with Dread, because the situation can go one of two ways: kakyoin emerges from his like 2 hour nap after not sleeping for at least a day or two, and the entire visit is off because Kakyoin himself is off skelter. Or, she answers the phone and gets jotaro from the train station Herself + maybe makes him dislike her even more! both options make her stomach drop, and she can't stop her eyes from constantly drifting over to kakyoin, who looks a little too still, a little too cold, a lot of too worn out. She grabs her nicest, most comfortable blanket and throws it over him.. maybe it'll help him sleep better, and hopefully it'll help ease her mind

she does some meditation until jotaro Finally FINALLY calls. Kakyoin is the lightest sleeper known to man for reasons that Camille is unable to understand, so she leaps on their telephone. jotaro's voice is something that strikes fear in her, and having his voice right up in her ear at like 3 am is the least ideal thing ever. it throws all of her meditation out the window, and the harebrained anxiety is Back.

hurriedly, she tells jotaro that they'll be over to pick him up soon! and she can't help but notice the deflated, "Oh." she gets back in response, which baffles her even further. (jules said that was bc he was just waking up from his own personal red-eye flight fever dream nap, and I cannot agree more!) Sure, it's normally always kakyoin that gets jotaro, but what's so wrong with her tagging along? It's not a far walk from their apartment to the train station- what if she just wanted to get out of the house? anyhow, the thought only serves to make camille more nervous.

she decides right after hanging up that No. She is Not going to wake kakyoin up for this- he really needs the sleep, jotaro be damned. it's not like they're going to get up to anything at this hour anyways. She shimmies into her outerwear + yeehaws over to the gare du nord, where she finds jotaro pretty quickly (he’s so tall!). he's like, "Oh- you. Where's Kakyoin?" and she spitballs the entire thing to him because Camille is just a motormouth when her nerves are high

Camille is expecting Jotaro to be miffed, just a little bit, but surprisingly, he's pretty chill about the whole thing. He's grateful to Camille for coming to get him, because otherwise he'd get hopelessly lost in the maze of the city. This is where Camille begins to realize, hm.. perhaps she was too harsh of a judge..mayhaps.. jotaro really is just Like That, as kakyoin has said at least six times before.. what a concept.

They start walking back to the apartment, and Jotaro's mostly concerned about Kakyoin and why the dude's currently comatose on their couch. Camille just keeps rambling and maybe giving out more information than she should, but Camille is just like Polnareff in that regard. she doesn't notice his gaze soften at their similarity, or at the concept that kakyoin would work himself raw just to make time for jotaro's visit... (which Kakyoin shouldn't have to, not for his sake! but the concept pokes at the small beast in jotaro that fancies kakyoin, which.. ugh. that's an entire thing for him to wrestle with.)

so they make it back to the apartment, and camille urges him to be really quiet as they enter- 'did you know, kakyoin's a super light sleeper? i stubbed my toe and cursed once and it woke him up! it's a little odd, i wonder why he's like that.' but jotaro knows. he learned why early sometime in their third year, an admittance uttered in the pitch black of the ocean at an ungodly hour. death 13, a stand he never met, or at least one that he doesn't remember meeting? and yet one that had such a profound impact on kakyoin. in the present, he puts more thought into his footsteps as they cross the threshold between the apartment commons and kakyoin and camille's apartment.

And oh, there he is. buried under a heaping white blanket, with only the left side of his face poking out. jotaro grins ever so slightly, looking at the noodle strayed madly across the side of his head that jotaro can see- how intensely had kakyoin flung himself at the couch? he feels like his eyes rest on kakyoin a moment too long, and maybe camille feels it too. or maybe her mind is just buffering- kakyoin had said she was squirrel-minded sometimes. as if her brain were leaping from one thing to another at such incredible speeds that she herself struggled to keep up with it

camille whispers so lightly that jotaro almost doesn't hear her. but once he does catch on to what she is saying, something takes hold of his heart and tries to drag it under. She's afraid to wake Kakyoin up and ask him to move because he really needs the sleep, but that means jotaro's pick for bed is either her bed (sized for one petite camille and therefore most Definitely not fit for one giant Jotaro) or kakyoin's (which is better suited for jotaro's height but also DANGEROUS)

he feels her eyes upon him like a searing iron on flesh. camille means well, and camille has No Idea what feelings he has- he knows she doesn't think anything of his silence, his deliberation...but god. in this tiny apartment lit only by candlelight, it sure feels like she's peering into his soul and judging him. nonetheless, he ends up choosing kakyoin's bed. his flight was long, and camille's bed is just. not cut out for him! that, and it'sonlyonenightit'sonlyonenightit'sonlyonenight. once kakyoin is up tomorrow.. or whenever he's up......he and jotaro can just switch beds and there'll be no problems. this is what jotaro tells himself, but his mind still runs rampant as he lies in kakyoin's bed. thisiskakyoin'sbed. this is where kakyoin sleeps Every Single Night. this is where kakyoin would be sleeping Right Now if he hadn't run himself ragged in preparation for your visit. he did that for youforyouforyou! but also.. he should not have done that for you- you always have this effect. it's an endless cycle all night long- jotaro is thankful when the exhaustion from the airport finally shuts his brain up

needless to say, jotaro feels like shit when he wakes up. camille feels like shit when she wakes up. nobody had a good night except for kakyoin, and that's only if you count out his feverish journey back to the apartment as his body tried to violently keep itself from tearing apart at the seams due to drinking Way Too Much strong coffee. camille's already up when jotaro clambers out of kakyoin's room, starting the pot for the morning. she takes one look at him and empathizes, asks how he takes his coffee. they chat quietly as it brews- camille tells him that the only person she thinks got a good night's sleep is kakyoin, who is still out of it. bemused, she tells jotaro how she misjudged where the counter was earlier and accidentally ended up slamming her mug on it, which she was SURE was going to wake up kakyoin. but behold... the beast still slumbers!

this is a really pivotal moment for jotaro and camille's friendship, this quiet morning talk. they don't talk about anything in particular, just whatever floats into camille's mind. they're both too tired to really care about any preconceived notions they had about the other, which is how they both learn that they had horribly misjudged the other. huh, would you look at that!

at some point as they're chatting, star platinum peels away from jotaro to go check on kakyoin, which used to happen often, especially back in tibet. this would annoy jotaro any other time- he very distinctly remembers kakyoin harshly telling him i'mfinei'mfinei'mfine, i'm not going to break or anything. but star (and thus, by extension, jotaro..) has always been the type to Need to check. star has always been a bit more anxious about kakyoin after dio, which jotaro really thinks is pretty fair. seeing your best friend getting rolled into a helicopter with a giant gaping hole in his abdomen will do that to you!

but anyhow. star peels away from jotaro to check on kakyoin, and jotaro allows it. he is concerned about kakyoin- although jotaro's guilty of it, too, it's no good to be staying up for that long and knocking yourself straight out with old coffee. he keeps chatting with camille through all of this- star platinum is up to Risky Business, but camille can't see him. jotaro's fine

(except camille CAN see him and she's too petrified to say anything about it lmao)

so while he and camille keep chatting, star platinum hovers over to kakyoin, and really takes the dude in. admittedly, kakyoin looks worse for wear. his skin has an odd pallor to it that makes jotaro feel a little queasy, and the bags under kakyoin's eyes don't go unnoticed either. his brow is deeply furrowed, and absently jotaro wonders what's plaguing kakyoin in his sleep. it's always been like this, since death 13. since the coma. he wants to smooth kakyoin's brow out, to run his thumb along it. but that's dangerous.

instead, star acts on instinct and reaches out to push The Noodle, the damnable beast, out of his face. star moves slowly- he doesn't want to wake kakyoin up, after all. it was just in the way. Of Kakyoin, that is. Not Jotaro looking at his face. Never that.

however, jotaro gets caught up in the thought, and in the implication of the thought, and star's finger brushes against kakyoin's ear way more than he had intended to (read: he hadn't intended to!! *cue internal screaming*), and oh. god. oh god. kakyoin's index finger fidgets, and then his eyebrows relax. has jotaro fucked up. oh god. if he woke up kakyoin he might just chuck himself out the window and into the traffic below them

as jotaro's thinking this, star platinum, the fucking beast, remains firmly planted in front of kakyoin. despite all the sirens going off in jotaro's mind, it stays there. most times, he feels like star platinum and he are pretty well in sync. but sometimes, he wonders if star platinum has a will of its own- is it Really just jotaro floating around in there? he wondered this at the very beginning, in that jail cell, and he begrudingly wonders about it now. getbackinhererightnow, and Yet! star platinum remains, taking in kakyoin with wide eyes. beside him, camille takes a very long sip of her coffee.

kakyoin wakes up slowly, as if sleep is not yet done with him. when he finally does manage to crack open his eyes, he blinks once, twice. slowly. why is it so bright. why is it so Purple? once his brain finally rejoins the land of the living, he is able to discern what the purple nebula before him is- it's star platinum? looking at him with eyes the size of dinner plates? his mouth utters the stand's name before he can quite process what's going on, but the second he does, splat is gone. faintly, he hears a choke from across the room, and that's what finally wakes him up. his gaze is drawn over to his and camille's kitchen, where camille is very pointedly digging around in their fridge. but next to her is the hulking jotaro kujo, choking on what kakyoin... judging by scent alone, guesses is coffee.

the scent triggers something in kakyoin’s mind, and then it all hits him like a train- overwhelming and all at once. oh dear god, he slept for far too long. he missed jotaro's arrival completely! and now jotaro is here choking on coffee in their kitchen. Jotaro is here!! and kakyoin was only just now waking up, disgustingly sweaty, under a mountainous blanket- camille's? oh dear god. what a nightmare!

in any other circumstance kakyoin would go to hug jotaro or shake his hand, but this. this was not it. his breath smelled like coffee that was much too old and God, he was so hot! he felt like his clothes had been glued to his skin. he yells out some sort of greeting, some acknowledgement that hey!! it's jotaro! but the words are jumbled and a pretty pitiful mix of english, japanese, and french. and then he vaults over the couch and into his room, WHERE! Jotaro's suitcase is?????? he trips on it, yells out some sort of profanity, grabs some clothes, and proceeds to promptly lock himself in the shower for at least fifteen minutes.

in these fifteen minutes, it's just intense kill bill sirens on all ends. kakyoin's like FUCK MAN I MISSED PICKING UP JOTARO, I CAN'T BELIEVE I SLEPT THROUGH ALL THAT! AND WHY WAS STAR LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT? AHHHH; jotaro is just. lost in the sauce. star platinum you fucking bastard you should have withdrawn much earlier! that was too close! and camille. camille just hyperfocuses on achieving the perfect blend of coffee and creamer for her second cup while pretending she did NOT just witness whatever that super tender super intimate scene was. just smile and wave camille, smile and wave and nobody will ever know you saw a thing....

they collectively pretend to agree nothing happened when kakyoin gets out of the shower. jotaro, needing something to do with his hands before his body implodes, makes kakyoin some calming drink- something his father no doubt made often during busy tours. their fingers brush when he passes the cup to kakyoin, but you know what? we are NOT going to think about it. kakyoin nurses the cup gingerly, and camille, the saint that she is, bubbles up an entirely new conversation.

and that's basically it! jotaro falls deeper down the rabbit hole, kakyoin becomes Confused, and camille begins taking notes on the Hopeless Case of One (1) Kujo Jotaro lol

[reifromrfa]

RFA guys react to MC playing Mimi Marquez in Rent the musical

I really love Rent the musical and wondered how the RFA guys would react if they saw MC playing Mimi :)) If you’re not familiar with the musical or the character, see below:

Light My Candle ^

Mimi performing Out Tonight in the movie adaptation of Rent ^

Enjoy! :))

Yoosung

Not into theater performances so he asks Zen to watch with him in case he doesn’t understand something

Immediately regrets this when you come up on stage in that mini skirt and knee-high boots

Is red as a tomato in his seat when he sees you performing Out Tonight

“Zen close your eyes!”

“Wtf Yoosung get your hands outta my face!”

Gets angry when the guy playing Roger pushes you away like why is he pushing away this beautiful woman wtf is wrong with him??

Makes a note to google everything in La Vie Boheme, he's so lost

Passionate kissing scene between you and Roger — he totally didn’t know there were kissing scenes in musicals!!!

Congrats MC you have unlocked yandare Yoosung

Totally cries when you sing Without You

Cries harder in I’ll Cover You Reprise 

He gasps loudly when your character dies, nearly getting up from his seat because he’s so into it

Is relieved when you come back to life and wipes his tears during the closing number

Later, he and Zen go backstage to congratulate you with a bouquet of roses but you’re still in your costume and he practically shoves Zen out of the dressing room, not wanting the handsome actor in the same room as his gorgeous girlfriend

Kisses you and hands you the flowers and you blush, asking him if he liked it

“I loved it! You’re amazing, MC! But I’m kind of relieved that it’s over”

You tell him the show’s supposed to run for a month

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?"

Zen

He heard you singing a few lines in the shower but you wouldn’t practice with him, saying you wanted to surprise him

Super excited to see you up on stage but also curious because his shy and sweet princess was going to play the part of a prostitute?

Invites Jaehee to watch with him, since he knows she’s a big fan of musicals too

Light My Candle — oh my God his eyes are glued to you

Out Tonight — “Is she trying to provoke the beast?” and then “Holy shit there are a lot of men watching”

The souvenir program falls to his lap ;)

“MC is quite good” Jaehee says; even she’s surprised to see you playing Mimi

“Too good” Zen mumbles, uncomfortable that all these people are watching you roll your hips with those skimpy clothes

Thinks Christmas Bells is so cool; so many voices and all of you are singing different things; will totally want to sing duets with you

And then you’re kissing Roger and he realizes how you must feel when you watch him kissing his co-stars on set

Shit is this how she feels when she watches my plays?

Contact — he’s having a hard time breathing and there goes the souvenir program on his lap again

Without You — super impressed with your delivery and are those real tears?

Is in awe for the rest of the show; he never knew you were this good and he feels a sense of pride that the woman performing up on that stage is his girlfriend

At the end of the show, whistles and claps loudly, he’s super proud of you

Goes backstage and gives you a huge hug and a long kiss before handing you the bouquet of roses he bought

“What did you think?” you ask him nervously, because he’s a veteran and you really want him to like it

“Babe, I have no words to describe how great and wonderful you were up there. You shone. I fell in-love with you all over again.”

You’re super happy but then he steps closer to you and says in a low voice, “But is it too late now to ask for a costume change?”

You laugh because yeah, it’s too late to change your costumes

Zen groans and reminds you that “All men are wolves”

“Including yourself?”

He leans closer to you, a dark look in his eyes, “Babe, haven’t I told you? Don’t provoke the beast.”

And after a ~ehem~ make-out sesh in your dressing room, he asks if you’re allowed to bring your costume home

Jumin

He’s more accustomed to watching orchestra concerts and ballet performances than rock musicals but he wouldn’t miss seeing your performance for anything

Buys the front row seats for the RFA members

When he sees you come up on stage he inhales sharply and his heart stops

WHAT. ARE. YOU. WEARING.

Jumin does not approve.

Considers going up on stage and taking you home immediately but everybody stops him

Out Tonight — dying inside but keeps a calm facade outside; isn’t moving though and Seven swears he saw smoke coming out of Jumin’s ears (“The robot has short-circuited!”)

But when your eyes meet his during your dance and you give him a mischievous smile, his heart immediately starts beating furiously and and you see the look in his eyes; you know you’re in trouble when you get home

Gets scandalized by the whole musical when the cast sings La Vie Boheme

Everybody turns to him when you start kissing Roger but Jumin is like a statue; doesn’t even bat an eye

Seven pokes his cheek and a chill passes through his body when Jumin gives him the scariest glare ever looks at him

It’s better in the second half and he has to admit, he’s enjoying your performance very much and thank God you have more clothes now than in the first act

Except when Roger has his hands around you

He can see how passionate you are with acting and really wants to see you perform more

His heart melts when you cry in Without You and he just wants to protect you from everything

Contact — are you seriously trying to give him a heart attack MC NO stop dancing and push that guy away from you and WTF are those noises you are making NO

But in the last scene, he sees himself holding you in his arms as you’re dying and this breaks his heart

He can’t imagine life without you and after your very convincing death scene, he realizes that for the first time, he’s terrified of losing someone

Yoosung would later swear he saw a tear in the corner of Jumin’s eye, which Jumin would deny

When you return backstage, your dressing room is full of flowers; your co-stars would tease you endlessly and some even get jealous

When the rest of the RFA appear backstage, they all congratulate you but Jumin is very quiet and you’re worried that he hated it or he got bored

When you’re alone, you ask him what he thinks and he looks at you

“MC…you were beautiful. You took my breath away.” He takes your hands in his and kisses them. “That last scene…You were very convincing.”

“And it made me realize that I don’t ever want to live in a world without you by my side.”

He hugs you tight and you’re happy because he actually loved your performance but then—

“I’m afraid I can’t let anybody else see you dancing that way though.”

You knew this was coming but too late, the show’s fully booked until the end of the month

He’s not happy about the thought of other men watching you perform, but puts up with it because you love it so much and he loves seeing you happy

You also experience his inner Christian Grey once you get home

Makes Jaehee submit reports to him about your next roles and makes sure he goes to your rehearsals and to his relief, you don’t take similar roles anymore

For now ;)

Seven

You forbid him to research on the musical, saying you want to surprise him

Gets balcony seats because he can’t risk being seen much and asks one of the ushers if he was allowed to eat Honey Buddha Chips during the show, to which the answer is no

The rest of the RFA are there too, since he’s excited to show off his girlfriend and he wants you to see how much they support you

When you finally step out onto the stage and start singing, he’s hooked.

Cannot stop looking at you

Totally agrees that you have the best ass below 14th street

Kind of wishes he could hack into people’s brains so he could wipe their memory of you dancing and singing Out Tonight

La Vie Boheme is his new anthem

Suddenly Roger is kissing you and touching you everywhere and omg he thought you two weren't going to end up together why is this guy kissing you

Stop kissing my girlfriend

Wait they're playing lovers

It's just a play it's just a play it's just a play!!!!

But after the first act, you hear someone cheering loudly and screaming your name and you blush, knowing who it is

When the second act starts and the scenes get darker, he grows quiet and watches you intently

His heart swells with pride and joy as he watches you bare your heart out on stage and give the performance your all

His heart broke when you sang Without You and he will ask you to sing it for him more often

And then he panics and covers Yoosung's and Zen's eyes when you perform Contact and why does he only have two hands????

Is as red as his hair

Seriously considers asking you to find something else you're passionate about but of course he doesn't

When Roger sings/screams at you in one scene, he has to remind himself that this is just a musical and that he shouldn't track the guy and make his life a living hell

Those last words as you were dying gave him chills. Being a secret agent, he's constantly afraid that his past would come back to haunt him and take you away from him and seeing you die --even though it's fake and he knows nobody sings before dying --makes him tense up and want to hide you from the world where nobody can hurt you

But when you take your bow, he cheers the loudest and claps the hardest, he's so proud of you

Runs to you backstage and hugs you tight and doesn't let you go

Partially because he doesn't want the rest of the guys seeing you in your costume

You don’t need to ask what he thinks, he doesn’t stop talking about it and asking questions and praising you the entire ride home and you’re so happy that he likes it

Bonus: you’re on the couch in his apartment one day and then he walks out of his room. Wearing your costume.

Oh my God I’m so sorry this is so long, I was listening to the Rent soundtrack and really got into it so ;;; Hope you enjoy though! :)

Check out my other Mysme writings here!

Mango Shake/Ko-fi is always very much appreciated (ᵔᴥᵔ)

I’d be honored to write your story <3

Get extra content by becoming a Patron! :)

[inkstainedfanfics]

I Still Exist

Requests: Omg your stories are awesome! I was wondering if I could suggest a newt x reader with the song "Where Do We Go" or "Shatter Me" by Lindsey Stirling? Where the reader feels kinda neglected and depressed for quite some time and newt fails to notice because he is in a lot harsher mood and snaps a lot as a result of working on his book? And one day she goes "missing" and worries newt? Lots of angst pls!(Idk it sounded a lot better in my head)You can come up with the rest. Thanks!       AND      hi !! i really love your stories, and i was wondering if i could request an v angsty one where newt is under a lot of stress and snaps at reader? ❤️❤️

Word Count: 2,701

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Part 2   |   Part 3

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to one in

The workshop smells about how you’d expected when you crawl into the case. A burning mixture evaporates somewhere nearby, partly covering up the odors of the various feed bags for the creatures and the plate of raw meat rotting on the table. You shake your head, disgusted, and slip past the shed. Scanning the field, hand over your eyes to block out the blinding sun, you spot Newt next to a murtlap. He’s on his knees saying something to the snarling creature. You swallow down the heart breaking in your chest. He’s exchanging more words with that beast than he has with you in the past month.

“Newt. Newt!” You shout, crossing through tall grasses and kicking stones out of your way. For God’s sake, “Newt!”

He twists enough to ensure it’s you before turning his back on you. “One minute, love.”

Hands on your hips, you wait as he chatters with the beast. It’s not that you’re against his research, it’s that he’s trying to cram chapters worth of new material into the book. You’d supported his idea when he first told you a month and a half ago. Now, though, you’re not sure you would’ve been so encouraging had you known he would spend every waking minute in the case without you.

“I don’t have all day, Newt. I have to get to the bakery with Queenie before it closes.”

He shakes his head, facing you. “I’m busy, love. Can’t it wait?”

You can feel the tension in his voice, strengthened, no doubt, by the bags under his eyes. “I just need to know if you’d prefer apple or peach pie for dessert.”

He mumbles something that sounds like ‘that’s it?’ but when you question him, he simply says, “I said it’s your choice. I’m sure you’ll make the right one.”

“All right. How about a bag of flour? I was thinking we could make some doughnuts together tomorrow morning.”

Newt sets his quill down on his paper and stands, brushing the dust from his knees. “I wish I could.”

“But you’re busy with your book?” It’s more a sentence than a question.

He reaches down to pick up the dirty journal at his feet. “I’m sorry, love. You know I want to. I just need to finish this study on the murtlap’s instinctive reactions to mishandling.”

“He bites you. There’s your answer.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Now will you please spend some time baking doughnuts with me tomorrow morning?”

Newt frowns. “You know it’s more complicated than that.”

“It’s been ages.”

“I know. It’s been ages since we’ve had time together. But my book is being published soon.” He starts forward, leaving you to follow him. “I need to be sure the information in it is as precise as possible.”

You step next to him and wrap your arms around his side. “Please, babe?”

Newt shakes his head. “I don’t have the time.”

“Newt-“

He pulls the door to the workshop open. “I told you this would take a lot of work. You were fine with it then.”

“I didn’t realize it would mean that I’d lose all of my time with you.”

He tosses his journal on the table and rushes toward the heated liquid that you’d first smelled when you’d walked into the shed. “I will try,” he murmurs, lifting the vial from the flame with a pair of tongs, “to find some time.”

“Try?”

He raises his eyes to yours as he sets the vial in a cooling rack. “That’s the best I can do.”

“I miss being with you.”

“You’re with me right now.” He quirks an eyebrow at his dry joke.

You groan. “That’s not what I meant.”

He wipes down the table with a rag. “I know what you meant. I don’t want to promise anything.”

You step forward to stand across the table from Newt but gag at the plate of rotting meat in front of you. “Why not?” You ask as you round the table and lean against it, next to Newt.

“I don’t want to disappoint you, love.”

You would consider that sweet if you didn’t see his left ring finger tap the table twice: his tell. “Don’t lie to me.”

He swallows, staring at the table. “I would never.”

His finger twitches. “Why the hell don’t you want to promise anything?”

Newt sighs and turns, rolling his eyes when he thinks you can’t see, but tries to keep his tone light. “It doesn’t matter, love. Don’t you have to get to the bakery?”

You suck in a long, slow breath. “Tell me the truth.”

He’s silent for so long, you almost ask again. When he does speak, though, you know why he was so hesitant. “I’m tired of your whining.” The words are quiet but harsh.

The long breath leaves in an instant. “My whining?”

Newt braces himself against the window’s wooden sill with two hands. “You have a tendency to complain more than is necessary.”

Your cheeks flush. “I’m so sorry I want to know if you even care anymore. I’ll try to keep my worries to myself from now on.”

He scowls, eyes flashing in anger. “You asked me to be honest.”

“I didn’t realize that my boyfriend would have an issue with me asking for him to spend a second of his time with me.”

“I am right now.” His voice hardens as he turns toward the tube. “Looks how that’s turning out.”

He stares at the vial like it holds the rest of his manuscript, completely ignoring the crack in your voice. “I’m sorry to waste your time. I’ll just see my own way out.”

“Please do.”

You want to both scream and cry and the result is your crimson face and puffy cheeks. You spin on your feet and march out, muttering curses at him beneath your breath.

You miss Newt. You miss joking with him, miss cooking burned suppers with him, miss late nights stargazing and sipping butterbeer until the sun comes up. This Newt, though, you wish would just go away.

Slipping on your jacket, you grab your purse and head into the kitchen, hoping Queenie will be ready to head to the bakery. The kitchen is empty, so you shout for Queenie twice. You’re about to head out the front door to see if she’s outside already when you notice the note stuck to it.

Something came up. I won’t be able to make it to the bakery with you. So sorry. Could we go tomorrow? Xo Q.

You step into the hallway alone. Your feet thud along the ground, one heavy bang at a time as your fury melts out, replaced by nothing more than a heavy despair. Newt doesn’t want you around. Queenie made other plans without consulting you. You’re little more than a shadow on the wall.

You continue down the staircase, growing tired and slower with every step. There’s no reason to hurry. No one’s waiting on you anyway.

The steps seem endless when you’re not pounding down them in a race against Newt or gossiping with Tina about the residents on each floor that you pass. By the time you reach the landing, the familiar feeling of hopelessness has wormed its way into your heart and made its bed.

As you trudge to the bakery, you wonder if it even matters if you return to the apartment.

Newt casts a charm on the final candle, sending it floating into the air around the blanket. He sets two plates on it, flicking a pebble off the nearby pillow he’s going to sit on later tonight. The basket of biscuits floats over, settling on the checkered setting. He looks over everything else one more time. The sun is already halfway finished with its descent when he stands. He chose this spot on the flat stone outcropping because of its view of the midnight sky. You’d loved stargazing with him on your first date, pointing out random shapes and making up stories for whatever you saw. It was all you had talked about for the next month.

Newt rubs his neck as he leaves the spot to go find you. He hadn’t meant to say what he said. Sure, maybe you could be persistent, but it isn’t your fault the two of you hadn’t had a date in so long.

He’d felt terrible the moment he’d calmed down, but when he had climbed out of the case and searched for you, you’d already left for the bakery with Queenie.

The next hour of his research had been worthless; he’d spent the entire time wondering how to properly apologize for what he’d said.

Now, though, the picnic is ready and you’ll be back from the bakery.

Crawling out of the case, he notices your jacket isn’t strewn across the bed. Odd, but he continues forward. Queenie sings in the kitchen, swaying along to the jumping record playing in the corner.

“Queenie?”

“Hey, honey, I was wondering about you. Will you join us for dinner tonight or are you gonna be too busy in that case?”

Red tinges his cheeks. So everyone feels the same. “I’m afraid I’ll be in the case again. How was the trip to the bakery?”

“Oh, apologize for that, would you? I feel horrible for having to cancel.”

Newt’s face screws up in confusion. “Wait, you two didn’t go together?”

“No. I had a work situation.”

“So you’re alone? You don’t know where she is? She’s not with you?” Newt’s innate protective side pesters him.

Queenie giggles. “Why would she be? I thought she was with her ‘handsome, clumsy boyfriend.’”

Newt ignores Queenie’s use of your thoughts and asks when she last saw you.

“This morning at breakfast. When you would barely look at the poor girl.”

Newt’s guilt digs deeper. “Do you know where she is?”

Queenie stops dancing as she sets a pot of food down. “Probably with Tina.”

“Who’s with me?” Tina calls from her room, appearing in the doorway.

Newt tries to calm his heart before it begins pounding.

Queenie steps to Newt’s side. “She’s probably just running late at the bakery.”

“Impossible. It’s getting dark out. It’ll be dangerous for her to walk alone.”

Tina interrupts. “She’s probably in the case. You just didn’t notice her.”

Newt nods. Of course. He could’ve just passed you when you were standing behind some trees or feeding a large creature. “I’ll check again.” He’s back in his room and in the case in a minute.

He walks through the fields, calling your name from habitat to habitat, but the further he gets without a response, the faster he moves, until he’s jogging, running, sprinting back toward the apartment. He smacks his head trying to hurry out.

He rolls across the bedroom floor, yanking the door open and dashing to Tina and Queenie.

They take in his red face, terrified eyes, and hands on his knees as he pants. “She wasn’t down there. Anywhere.”

Tina can’t hide her nerves when she peeks through a curtain and spies the black sky. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Newt spits out. “We need to find her.” He stands and strides toward the door.

Tina reaches a hand out and grabs his arm. “Newt, wait. We don’t even know where to start.” “We’ll figure it out.”

“If she’s really in danger, we need a plan.”

Newt is quiet. “I have one: Find her and save her.”

“One more developed than that.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have time to wait around thinking.”

“Stop and think!”

“She could be hurt!”

“Wow,” you interrupt meekly from the now open front door, “you were really going to give up some of your precious time to try to find me?”

Newt’s shoulders sag when he sees you. “Where were you?”

“Out.”

“Look at what time it is. You could have been hurt.”

You walk in and shrug the grocery bag off your shoulder. “Why would you care?”

“I care about you.”

“Yeah?” You walk past him, sliding your jacket off your arms. “What a great line to pull out anytime it seems like I might leave you.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Please let me explain.”

“Let you?” You hang your jacket on a hook and turn, eyebrows raised. “I should do something for you? Why, exactly, should I when you can’t even give me five minutes of your time to talk?”

Newt winces at the blow. “I know I haven’t been paying you enough attention lately. I’m sorry.”

“Lovely. It comes at the perfect time.” You run a hand through your hair. “Whatever, Newt. I don’t want to fight right now.”

He follows you into the bedroom. “Where were you?”

“I was leaving.” You pull open the case, voice flat.

Newt’s shoulders curl in. “To where?”

“Wherever the wind blows me.”

Newt climbs into the case after you. “Why did you come back?”

“I didn’t feel the wind, and I don’t know where I’d go on my own.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad the wind stayed still.” He tries to smile at you.

You don’t reply.

Eyes flickering between you and the ground, he breaks the silence. “Are you going to leave again tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, Newt. It’s not like it really matters to anyone.”

He blinks. “What?”

You can barely meet his eyes when you face him. “How long did it take for anyone to realize I was even missing? Four hours? Five? It wouldn’t matter to any of you if I just vanished one day.”

He stops you by grabbing your hand. “You matter to me. So much more than you understand.”

You swallow at the pain in his eyes, but you’re too exhausted to fight tonight. “You can’t just act like this after a month and a half of pretending I don’t exist.”

“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but will you give me time to make it up to you as best I can?” His sincere pleads almost convince you. Almost.

You draw your hand from his grip. “I need space for now.”

His voice shakes and grows quiet. “Please don’t leave me.”

The little flame of anger in your chest burns your next words. “I won’t make any promises.”

He flinches at the words. “I’m sorry.”

He leaves, shoulder drooping low, when you turn your back on him without so much as a nod.

You look over your shoulder to be sure he’s gone before you slouch to the ground and close your eyes, letting the grief take over. You sink into the ocean of it, letting the waves drown you until you’re not sure if you’re awake or dreaming. You lose track of time as the ocean consumes you. Hours may have passed by the time the wind tickles your face and slowly blows the ocean of grief from your chest.

You prop yourself onto your elbows, peering around. Hours have definitely passed. A pink sky has replaced the midnight black. A pack of diricrawls waddle nearby, pecking at seeds. You rub your eyes and push yourself to your feet. The air is surprisingly cool and you just want to curl up in your bed.

You reach the shed and are about to leave when a beaten journal catches your eye. Newt’s collection of notes for the book. He treats it like a child treats his favorite teddy bear. He’s never even let you flip open a page before.

You lift it and examine the outside. Streaks of dirt cover it, results of carrying it everywhere. The corners are rounded from wear, and ink splotches are dotted around it like a design.

You open the cover, expecting the table of contents, Newt’s way of knowing what page he’d need to flip to. Instead, it appears to be the dedication page.

To my love,

You freeze, reading and rereading the final sentence five, ten, twenty times before you accept it. Your name is right next to Scamander. Written in the same messy scrawl. As though he hadn’t picked up the quill, as though he had meant to put the names so close together.

As though … as though he means to marry you.

[joyful-voyager]

An Outrageously Long-Winded Political Rant

Just me, bored at work and getting crap off my chest ahead of the End of the World, coming Friday to a country near you. "The Myth of Individual Exceptionalism" January 18, 2017 There’s an episode of the TV show “The Office“ in which a main office guy calls a satellite office guy to tell him he’s been promoted to a management job. I’m fuzzy on the details of character names and backstories; I’ve only ever caught a few moments of the show while my teenage daughter binge-watches it on Netflix. Anyway, the front office guys says to the satellite office guy, “It’ll be nice to have another M.B.A. around.“ The first few times I happened to catch that exchange, it made me chuckle. The writers managed to tap into something that everybody who has ever worked in a low-level, non-management office position knows: Upper management thinks that just because someone has those three little letters behind their name – M.B.A. – that person is automatically better suited to a high level position in the company than someone who has actual experience within the company, or than someone who knows how to perform the company’s core function — in this case, selling paper. It used to make me chuckle. It doesn’t anymore. Another anecdote, this one from my childhood. My Dad was a Korean War vet who wanted to go to engineering school when he got back from overseas, but couldn’t afford it. He rose through the ranks of his company as an apprentice, learning the craft of tool and die making at the elbow of experienced designers. He eventually earned the designation of Master Mechanic and was fairly high up in his company. When his boss, who had also risen through the ranks from apprentice to Master, retired, there was an unexpected change in corporate policy. The managerial position Dad was ready to assume suddenly required a degree he didn’t have and, at age 55, was unlikely to earn. Someone else – someone younger, with that all-important engineering degree but no experience in the field – was brought in for the management position my Dad had been promised for years. My Dad reviewed his options, hedged his bets, and took early retirement. Within a year, he was freelancing his job back to the company because no one there knew how to do what he did. Final anecdote. Years ago there was a massive corporate shakeup at a company where I used to work in a low-level marketing position. The Board wiped out most of the executives in one massive cut, the company was sold, and within a few months we had our third CEO in six years. This new CEO was, you guessed it, young and dynamic. He’d had great success as a high-level exec at a company that specialized in credit card processing. My field, and the company I worked for then, had absolutely nothing to do with credit card processing. But because this guy came from the credit card industry, our top corporate priority was suddenly not what was in our mission statement. Nope. Our number one priority was to get consumers to pay us using their credit cards so that we could enroll them into an auto-renewal program … which we on the ground level knew our customers wouldn’t like. Not one bit. That CEO didn’t last very long. These three anecdotes highlight what I’ve come to call The Myth of Individual Exceptionalism. This is the idea that someone who has had great success in one field must have achieved that success not by knowing that field exceedingly well, or by being part of a team that worked together to propel a company to success, or even by being related to someone on the Board. No, a truly exceptional individual achieves success simply because he or she is exceptional. And that exceptionalism translates to everything that person touches. Obviously. Got an M.B.A.? You must be great at everything. You could take that M.B.A. and run a department at a company in any field. Never mind that you started in, let’s say, publishing, and now you’re managing a construction crew. Your M.B.A. makes you fit to manage anyone, anywhere, at any time. You are better than the ground-level guy with decades of experience because you have that advanced degree. Likewise, my Dad’s decades of experience as a tool and die maker clearly couldn’t hold a candle to his replacement’s degree in engineering. “But it means that guy could learn!” I hear you thinking. And yes, there may be some truth to that. The problem was that the company didn’t have time to wait for the degree holder to learn his job, which is why the rest of the designers, who knew what the problem was, convinced the young guy to give my Dad a freelance contract. (And I owe them my thanks. He nearly doubled his income and was able to put me through college entirely on those freelance contracts.) Finally, the CEO of a credit card company can absolutely run a book publishing business. Of course! He got to be CEO by being exceptional, not by knowing anything about credit cards. It’s obvious! He is an Exceptional Individual, and so he can do anything! I find this ridiculously silly. Look. Bo Jackson notwithstanding, we generally do not assume that someone who can play one professional sport at a high level can play all professional sports at a high level. Given his size, I’m sure Michael Phelps is a beast on a basketball court. But could he outscore Steph Curry? I doubt it. Serena Williams is a hell of a tennis player, but could she replace Abby Wambach on the US Women’s National Soccer team? Unlikely. So why do we think the CEO of Company X is fit in any way, shape, or form to be the CEO of Company Y, when the two companies’ core functions have nothing to do with each other whatsoever? Why do we think a person who is exceptional in one field will have the same success in a different field altogether? And who the hell thought letting Anne Hathaway and James Franco host the Oscars was a perfectly sane idea? Which brings me to the rise of Donald Trump. During the long and nightmarish campaign, I was an outlier among my friends. I was convinced Trump was going to win the election, and while there were a lot of factors that made me think that – not least of which was the notion that people are kind of dumb and kind of racist and just flat-out detest Hillary Clinton – there was one thing that kept standing out to me. I kept hearing otherwise intelligent, thoughtful people saying things like, “We need someone who will run the country like a business.“ Every time I heard that, it made my hackles rise. Because I knew they didn’t mean, “We need someone who will run the country like the independent auto shop down the block, where my guy Keith schedules the work, delegates the jobs, trains new mechanics, checks each finished project himself, and still manages to balance the books every year and keep the shop open even though there’s a new Tires Plus down the street.” No, I was pretty sure what they meant was, “We need an Exceptional Individual who will run the country like a giant corporation that throws its weight around the marketplace and makes other companies bend to its will.“ Right? Isn’t that what you heard? Didn’t you hear that voters wanted someone who would make deals without messing about with all that sticky red tape of diplomacy and habeus corpus and international law and such? Because that’s what I heard. What I heard was that people honestly thought that Donald Trump’s (questionable) business success would translate to politics. That notion shows an incredible lack of understanding of both business and politics. But because he’s an Exceptional Individual (i.e., a fabulously wealthy and therefore, at least in the American worldview, successful person), he’ll be exceptional at everything. I’m sorry, but that’s insane. But it doesn’t stop there. Take a look at his Cabinet picks. We have some Exceptional Individuals who are in no way, shape, or form qualified for the positions he’s appointed them to. Ben Carson is an exceptional neurosurgeon. Why in the name of all the gods would anyone think that makes him qualified to run the Department of Housing and Urban Development? His exceptionalism in his field does not translate to his new position. Betsy DeVos? Fabulously wealthy, and in this country, a fabulously wealthy person is automatically an Exceptional Individual, right? Capable of anything because of innate exceptionalism? But did you hear her non-answers in her confirmation hearing? Not only did this woman never serve as an educator or school administrator, I’m not sure she ever set foot in a classroom, not even as a student. She is incredibly ignorant. Rick Perry? Rick Perry? We’re going to make this bumbling fool the head of the Department of Energy – a position that requires a science background – because he is the ex-Governor of a state that has a lot of oil? I’m not sure Donald Trump has any idea what the DOE actually does. And I’m certain Rick Perry doesn’t! But, hey! Rick is an Exceptional Individual. He’s better than all of us. He has to be. He’s an ex-Governor with great hair! His exceptionalism alone makes him fit for the position. I could go on … and on … and on … but I won’t. I’m as worried about Trump’s swamp full of sycophants and bootlickers as much as the rest of the country, not to mention his VP, the dead-eyed dominionist Mike Pence, and his creepy sons, plastic daughter, and entirely-too-gleeful son-in-law. (And don’t even get me started on the racism, misogyny, xenophobia, and ableism. Oh, and the fact that he is almost certainly financially beholden to the Russian government.) But I’m also worried about American voters and the way they’ve bought into this Myth of Individual Exceptionalism. Because it just isn’t true, not in any meaningful way. Our collective belief in this uniquely American myth has given way to the rise of larcenous megachurch pastors and rapacious corporate CEO’s, priests who molest kids, college athletes who rape women (and the police officers and judges who exonerate them), and big-box corporations that destroy local competition and offshore jobs in the name of the bottom line. We Americans have an unfortunate tendency to put individuals and organizations on lofty pedestals, tell them they can do anything because they are exceptional, and cheer wildly when they succeed. We’re baffled when they fail because they have upended the story we told ourselves, that Exceptional Individuals will always succeed because they are inherently better than the rest of us. And when they do something truly heinous – when an NFL player beats his girlfriend, when a college athlete rapes his unconscious victim, when a corporate CEO leaves a company in shambles and walks away with an eight-figure bonus – we can’t help but rationalize their behavior or just look the other way because those things conflict with our belief that wildly successful individuals cannot be immoral. Because if they were immoral, they wouldn’t be successful. Folks, Donald Trump is not an Exceptional Individual. He is a mean-spirited, petty, thin-skinned, ignorant, immature man-child. He’s a mediocre businessman who has managed to parlay his inherited wealth into the Trump Brand that gets his name all over everything. In this country where appearance is everything and depth is distrusted, he has achieved the biggest success there is: Omnipresence. He is the individual equivalent of Starbucks, Inc. He is on every TV and website. He has dominated our national discourse for 18 solid months. He is Everywhere You Want to Be even more than MasterCard. He has achieved the highest expression of Individual Exceptionalism there is in America. That doesn’t mean he’s going to be a good president. In fact, it probably means he will be one of the worst presidents in American history. He believes so fervently in this myth that he’s appointed people because of who they are, because of their perceived exceptionalism, rather than what they know how to do. To someone whose entire worldview is built on the idea that some individuals are better than others – look up Trump’s quote about “good genes“ and prepare to be appalled – a man who is already a successful neurosurgeon will be able to head up HUD in his sleep. A woman who is worth a personal fortune – a palpable symbol of exceptionalism – is certainly qualified to be Education Secretary. The fact that she destroyed public education in the state of Michigan is surely an aberration. What’s the point of all this? Well, mostly I wanted to get it off my chest. But I also wanted to ask something of my fellow Americans. I would respectfully request that you look to the individuals that you most admire and ask yourself what they have really done to earn your admiration … and what would it take for them to lose it. Donald Trump, for all his ignorance and arrogance, understands the American Myth of Individual Exceptionalism. He knows that it would take a lot for an American to denounce someone he or she had put on a pedestal. In fact, he’s counting on it. In January of 2016, almost one year to the day ahead of the inauguration of our nation’s 45th president, he articulated it in one of his rare full sentences: "I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters.” In less than 48 hours, this man will be the most powerful person in the world. If that doesn’t terrify you, you’re not paying attention.

[themaleficperformers-blog]

Chapter VI: Ronan / Lunaria

High Inquisitor Oswald’s speech was nothing new to Ronan. He pretty much relayed what had already been told to him: he was now in charge, and now it was very public knowledge that Ronan had been knocked down to second.

High Inquisitor Oswald was the new Head of the Institute, for the time being, at least.

After the speech, Oswald took Ronan aside, explaining to him that he was now in charge of speaking with the Fey woman. ‘Lunaria’, he called her. The Fey always had strange names, so Ronan didn’t bother to remember it when he headed back into the crowd, looking for the Downworlder.

After approximately five minutes of searching, he spotted her. She wore a tight black dress, her facial features accented by glimmering patterns around her cheeks and forehead. She looked… otherworldly, which he supposed was a fitting for a Faerie.

Taking a deep breath, he moved over to her, face unflinching. “Hello, madam. My name is Ronan Hightower,” he muttered, giving her a quick bow of his head. “High Inquisitor Oswald would have me ask you a few questions, if that is alright.”  

Lunaria blinked at him, not missing the way his jaw clenched as he spoke. It was the only indication of any inkling of discomfort. Otherwise, he was completely stoic. The perfect Shadowhunter.

She smiled at him, without much warmth. “Ah, yes. I was wondering when my interrogation would begin. Lunaria.” She curtsied, with a dramatic flourish.

Ronan bit the inside of his cheek, thankful for the ‘calm anger’ rune he carved into his wrist earlier. This wouldn’t be easy, for either of them.

“I assure you, my lady,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and low, “this is no interrogation. Would you accompany me upstairs? It’s far less… crowded than it is here.”

Her eyes flickered across the room. “There’s at least one thing we agree on, Shadowhunter.” She stepped to the side, sweeping her arm out. “After you, kind sir.”

Ronan nodded, glad she was at least compliant. He lead her towards the grand staircase and upwards, passing a few people who did not try and hide their curiosity, seeing a Shadowhunter leave the party with a Fey.

Once they reached the second floor, they walked along the corridor, dimly lit, like the rest of the Institute, by candles. The pair reached the far side of the corridor and Ronan pushed open a large, wooden door. Inside was a modest room with a desk, computer, and a large couch.

“Please, sit,” he said to Lunaria.

She walked over to the desk, trailing her finger along its surface as she circled around it and plopped herself down into the desk chair pulled up behind it. She then gestured to the couch, batting her long eyelashes at Ronan.

Ronan smirked, wondering why she’d choose the chair over the couch. Nevertheless, he sat down on it, careful to keep his back straight. He never dealt much with the fairfolk, but he knew of their trickery. They were famous for it.

“I’ll just cut to the chase, then.” Ronan cleared his throat, leaning forward a bit so his elbows rested on his knees. “I’m sure you’re aware that Duke Sol of the Seelie Court is a prime suspect in the murder case. We know that you were once… with him. To what extent, I am not certain, but if you would have any information on his whereabouts or if you have any reason to believe that he could possibly have a hand in what is going on, we’d greatly appreciate it.”

Lunaria closed her eyes. She knew this was why she’d been called here, but she hadn’t expected her stomach to twist that way hearing Sol’s name come out of the Shadowhunter’s mouth. It took three long seconds before she was able to compose herself and look at him.

“Nasty business, those murders,” she said, feigning concern. “If the Duke is involved, I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s always had a penchant for trouble. If you’re looking for him, he holds court in the Allan Gardens. Rather large greenhouse, I’m sure you know it.” She sighed, lifting and resting her feet on the edge of the desk. “If you’re looking to pay him a visit, I’m sure he would welcome it with open arms. Sol loves Shadowhunters.” By the end, she didn’t try to hide the sarcasm lacing her words. The challenge.

Ronan intertwined his fingers, clenching them hard enough to the point where he felt like they might break. Vampires, he could deal with. Werewolves were a walk in the park. Hell, even Demons were easy enough if you are well equipped, but the Fey were beasts of an entirely different nature. He knew she couldn’t lie, but that did not stop her from being arrogant. Such was the way of Faeries.

“May I ask when the last time you spoke to him was?” he asked, his teeth grinding on each other.

She paused, genuinely considering his question. It had been roughly 15 years since she had left the Court, and she hadn’t looked back since. But Sol … he was persistent. And puzzling, even for a fellow Seelie. He’d made it clear she was banished, never welcome to return, but at the same time, he made a habit of paying her unexpected visits.

She blinked slowly, realizing it was taking her far too long to answer the question.

“I’m not sure,” she said finally, giving a small shrug. “Let’s go with … best guess … half a year?”

Half a year… Ronan pondered the Fey’s answer. Surely, these murders were well planned out, and it was possible that it could have been over half a year in the making.

His voice grew a bit louder now - a little sharper. “And may I ask what he was like then? Was he different than usual? Did he say anything to you that may be taken as… threatening?”

She laughed, loudly. “Threatening? Why ever would you ask such a question? The Duke is the perfect image of kindness and chivalry. You should think of enlisting his aid here in your Institute.” Normally, she might have fought to keep her tone playful and teasing. Maybe that was what she tried to do. Instead, even she could hear the bitterness in her own voice.

She briefly recalled their last meeting, when she’d been standing under the shadow of a tree, watching a teenaged girl with long brown hair laughing on a park bench with her friend. And then, before she could even think about her own emotions, Sol was there, murmuring his same cold, cruel nothings into her ear. Reminding her of what could have been.

She pursed her lips and stared quietly at the Shadowhunter.

Ronan had nearly had it with the Fey at this point, and he could slowly begin to feel the rune’s effect slip away from him. He stood, taking a few strides over to the desk where Lunaria sat. He placed his fists on the wood, leaning in slightly, shoulders hunched.

“I don’t think you are being very honest, Fey. That doesn’t get you far here, especially with Oswald in the building.” His teeth were clenched, nearly to the point of them being bared. “People are dying. Three already. I would appreciate it if you could think, hard, about anything the Duke may have said that would indicate his involvement in these murders.”

“Honesty is my first name, sir,” she said calmly, smiling up at him. “But okay, let me think. Perhaps I was misunderstanding which Duke in particular you were talking about in reference to your last question. I’m sure there is a duke out there somewhere who is very kind and benevolent. Sol is … cold, certainly. He loves to toy with humans. Shadowhunters. Would he go as far as murder?” She shrugged, leaning away from him. “The Duke and I rarely talk business anymore. Our meetings tend to be more … personal, if you understand me.” She kept on her serene smile despite the way her stomach was clenching painfully.

“To you knowledge,” Ronan said, unmoving, “have you ever known Duke Sol to have murdered before? Not in battle, or in Fey tradition, but in cold blood?”

She met his stare evenly. “To my knowledge, no. He prefers destruction of the emotional variety. That isn’t to say I believe him incapable of it. Nothing would surprise me, coming from him.”

Ronan nodded, looking Lunaria in the eyes. They had a gleam to them, unlike any he had seen before. Perhaps it was a Faerie thing, seeing as he never dealt with them often, but it kept up a wall around her. One that was hard to breach.

He nodded, taking his fists off of the table and standing up straight. “Very well. I appreciate your time. That’s all I have to ask you tonight.”

She faked a yawn, hopping up from the chair. “No interrogation indeed, Sir Nephilim. You could have fooled me.” She walked around the desk, stopping in front to size him up. He wasn’t taller than her by much, but he was still fairly tall. “You certainly know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?”

Ronan didn’t flinch, or, at least, he tried not to. His eyes scanned Lunaria, trying to place where her head was at, but it was futile. She knew this game well.

“I try. Goodnight, my lady,” is all he replied with.

She smirked. He tried his best to remain his composure, but she could practically feel his hatred of Downworlders seeping out of his pores. She considered lingering to torment him a little more, but all of the talk of Duke Sol had her feeling surprisingly drained. Instead, she simply pranced for the door, stopping to wink back at him in farewell before she disappeared down the hall.

Watching Lunaria leave the room, Ronan flopped back onto the couch, sighing loudly. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his white shirt, tilting his head back and rubbing his hands down his face. He hated this more than anything, and he wanted nothing more than for this night to be over.

But he had a funny feeling that it was only just beginning.