#to leave him alone building a sand castle for the remains of herself

[my-fancy-hat]

mom [makima] as the heart of the family, the control that ties everything and everyone together in this sand castle we live, the fulfilled life denji though would find. to burn it for what he though would bring him true happiness, to step on the daughter of his grief, to stick faithful to what mama said is the best for him: undeserving of happiness, he had to destroyed it. who is in blame here?

The End of Evangelion (1997), Hideaki Anno; Chainsaw man (2018- ), Tatsuki Fujimoto.

[niragisimp]

Sugar & Spice (Arisu X OC) (Niragi X OC)

Masterlist

The light was always a radiant sight in the summer, and being accompanied by the warm breeze from the shore was just the cherry on top. She packed the edge of the sand castle in, firmly pressing it with her palms. Her eyes perked up to the boys' laughter coming from across her. His bright smile coasted across her thoughts until her eyes opened to the dark sky above her. The cold air threw shivers down her arms as she sat up, the thin cover falling to the ground.

She took a deep breath before readying herself, bright lights shooting through the sky, illuminating the darkness. Her shoulders tensed as the echoes from her feet on the pavement flooded the empty alley. Growing closer to the light, she exhaled another breath and stood, waiting. Her head hung on her shoulders, eyes closed. When her head lifted, her face was that of a stranger -- cold and distant, able to glare down at others without hesitation.

Rika stood alone along the railing, her breath steady as she observed the players around her. She was beginning to lose count of how many times she's witnessed this scene; people shaking in fear, others trying to make them their lackeys. Some stayed away from the others, as she did so often, all while observing the others quietly. These people were more likely to be experienced players, no longer afraid of the idea of a "game." Although she was certain it was dreaded among the more tenured, it was still ever so slightly terrifying. Not that she could show that, of course.

The collar around her neck began to irritate the skin as she felt herself becoming impatient. Only two collars remained as a group of three approached. She took note of their faces as they realized one of them would have to go solo, trying to see who would be the first to volunteer themselves first. 'An obviously forced partnership -- They just happened to be useful to one another at some point.' Her foot tapped with impatience as the two approached, leaving the third to run off in hopes of another game that has yet to begin.

Rika's shoulders relaxed as the announcement began, turning her body towards the screen above the waiting area. "Welcome Players. The GAME will commence shortly. Proceed into the arena."

She walked on the side into the lit building, sensing the unease from a few others. Few could be heard whispering questions to one another, "Where are we?" "What is this place?" "I wanna go home," could all be heard among the crowd. It was nothing new, nothing extraordinary. Most comments were met with mumbled grunts from what was assumed, tenured players. In the other world, this was called 'bitching and moaning,' as her father would say.

"The GAME will be Capture The Flag. Difficulty - Four of Clubs." Rika felt slight tension at the announcement; New players were usually difficult to work alongside in a game of clubs. "Players must defend their flag from the mascot while capturing the flag of the enemy team. No more than half the players are allowed outside their territory at any given time. It is GAME CLEAR when the enemy flag reaches home territory. The time limit will be one hour."

She took in her surroundings, taking notice of the outlined box the players stood in. Her attention turned to a large man, his ignorance spilling out with every word he spoke. He spouted nonsense about men and power, flaunting his weaponry at the more timid players amongst them. Rika stared down the bottom of the barrel as he waved it in her face, giving an exasperated sigh at his attempted intimidation.

"The little girls stay here," he grinned at Rika as he spoke, "The real men will take care of this game." It took everything not to roll her eyes at his absurdness. She glanced back at the other players, the men seemingly not on board with this plan. No one else spoke, a few shuffling their feet as they stood silently. She let out a huff, grabbing a man with a Hawaiian shirt and glasses, pulling him out of the base behind her.

She ignored the eyes on her back as she tugged the man along with her, weaving through the halls. "Um, excuse me, miss?" She kept forward as she responded, "Yes?"

"Where are we going?"

"To find the flag, wasn't that obvious?"

She let go of his wrist as she peered around a dark corner, searching for the same lines used to create her team's base. The man followed her silently, never moving ahead, never straying too far behind. He cleared his throat quietly, she could hear him lick his lips before speaking. "Why did you take me with you?" She placed foot after foot down the walkway, checking every room on her side as they went, "You were the closest person besides that misogynist. It seemed like you would cooperate the best."

Whether he was satisfied with that answer or not, he followed regardless. It didn't take long before they discovered the enemy base, lined with the same material as their own. She held out her arm to stop her teammate from moving forward, "What is it?"

She turned to look at him for the first time, "It's empty. We can't assume they have the same rules as us, but it's stupid to leave your base with no one to guard it. It has to be a trap." She sat back on the way and thought for a moment, her eyes closed as she clicked her tongue.

After a deep breath she stood, startling her teammate. "Come on." He hurried along after her, "Where are we going now?"

"We're going to get a distraction."

The small group made their way out of the building, some limping with the help of another. She sighed, feeling the edge of the card in her pocket. She took little notice of the others as she made her way out with nothing but a graze on her arm. She had it wrapped with a bit of her shirt, not the best bandage in the world, it would do for now. She turned her head slightly as she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Her eyebrows raised as she eyed the man behind her. 'The vacation uncle, from earlier...' she thought as she tried to seem impatient with him. Walls were good to have, even if you had to fake them. After a moment of silence, "Can I help you?" She muttered at him. His Adam's apple rose and fell before he licked his lips, "Why did you grab me?" Her head tilted slightly and without hesitation, "Because you were the closest person to me."

Seemingly displeased with her answer, "I'm not strong. I'm not fast. Picking a random person without a thought like that is dangerous, you know." She sighed as he adjusted his glasses to rest on the bridge of his nose. "On the other hand, picking an ally at random is the best possible choice." He scrunched his nose at her rebuttal, his irritability showing in his eyes. "That's absurd," he said. She shrugged her shoulders, "Nevertheless. I don't have any interest in cooperating with someone who thinks they're above everyone else. Maybe in the past world, but not here. No matter how many people you've killed," her eyes slighted as she leaned forward ever so slightly, "Or how many games you've played," she paused for a moment as he took a step back. "Human life is worth just as much as the next. Nothing more, and nothing less."

Turning her back, she walked away from the conversation. Her ears ignored the sounds of the man calling after her, instead drawing her attention to the running car coming from around the corner. She watched, careful not to slow her pace, as the car stopped in front of him, a young woman calling out to him. "Kuzuryu~! Need a lift?" Within seconds she heard footsteps speeding up behind her, her back tensing. She eyed the ground, watching for the shadow, and whipped her head around; Her eyes glaring into the man's glasses.

"What?" Her voice was stern as she closed her fists tightly.

"... We have running water," Her expression remained unbending as he continued, "There's food and working electricity, too. It's safe there," he paused before continuing, "or as safe as this place can be." She turned on her heel as he finished, silent as she walked away. The woman called from the car again for, Kuzuryu, if she heard his name correctly. She released a breath as she heard retreating footsteps, hopeful to be left alone.

Her thoughts clouded her mind as she thought of the real world; If it could be called that. There was a time, long ago when she dreaded being alone. But now, it came as a silent blessing. It was such a small thing to be appreciated. Her mind fogged over suddenly as she heard her name from behind her. She stopped briefly, thinking it was her imagination. "I haven't told anyone my real name here... Must be my brain playing a little joke," she thought. Her body whipped around as a firm hand landed on her shoulder. She grabbed the wrist quickly, spinning it around and clutching it against their back. Her knife, previously hidden in her pocket, was held firm in her opposite hand, held at the throat.

She pushed the tip slightly into the neck, barely enough to draw the smallest amount of blood. "Who the fuck are you?!" She shouted, drawing the attention of the few players making their way from the venue. Her breath hitched and her shoulders dropped as she heard the voice, "Rika! It's me, Arisu! You know, from primary school?!" She dropped his arm and stepped away, her heart quickening. He turned around, wiping the bit of blood from his neck. She could feel her body freeze, her surprise written plainly on her face.

"Ar... Arisu...?"

Arisu Ryohei. Her childhood neighbor, best friend, and first love. He stood in front of her with a warm smile, his eyes beginning to water. "Even in this hellish world, he still finds a way to smile... Through all of this..." She thought to herself, holding back tears of her own. Her hand reached out to him, her legs suddenly like heavy weights pulling her down, her body giving out under her. The smell was the first thing to hit her. His shirt smelled of iron from the dried blood on the hem, the chlorine from his hair almost overpowering it. The warmth came next, the comfort of his arms around her. Her eyes overflowed as his arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her into him.

"Rika... I never thought I'd see you again..."

Her throat stung dry as she let out a silent cry into Arisu's shirt, staining it with tears. She gripped him tightly, her mind still comprehending the reality that was Arisu. Her mind screamed with all its might, telling her that if she dared to let go, she would never get the chance to hold on ever again. His white shirt stretched under her fist, holding on with all she had.

Arisu pulled away, gently prying her arms off him, "Rika..." Both relief and worry flooded over her as she took him in. Here he was, in the flesh. Discolored bruises faded over his legs, small cuts covering his hands and wrists. She hurriedly wiped her face with the hem of her shirt, stepping back to give herself space. Her eyes peered up at him, her brain scrambling through a million thoughts.

"A-Arisu... I can't believe it..."

She did her best to smile, her lips trembling as her eyes threatened to overflow once more. The sound of a horn interrupted her bemused state, watching as Arisu turned his attention away from her. "Just a second Kuina," he shouted behind him. He turned back and caught her gaze, grabbing hold of her wrist. "Come with me..." His eyes pleaded with her, beckoning her to follow him.

Against her rational judgment, she silently nodded, allowing herself to be pulled towards the car. She paid no mind to the others inside the car, her mind still a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions. Arisu opened the back door, huddling inside against another player. A fairly fit woman with hair to the shoulders, her bangs hanging delicately over her forehead, sat on his side as Rika stepped in, closing the door behind her. She relished the feeling of their arms pressing against each other as she sorted through her feelings.

~*~~~*~

The sun hid behind the clouds on their final day together. Neither knew it was the last time they would see each other, save for the Borderlands. The week started like any other; The sun was shining and the air smelled of salt from the ocean. The sand was warm as they ran, yelping loudly as their feet met the cold water. 

"Don't go too far in! Stay where we can see you!" Arisu's mother, Yuki, hollered from under the parasol. Rika's own mother, Hiyori, smiled as she heard the laughter from the children, "They have floaties, Yuki." Arisu's mother sat down slowly, her eyes still on her son. "I know... I just worry. Ryohei hasn't been too great of a listener since his last birthday," Yuki sighed as she sat back in the shade, rubbing her temple.

"How old is he again... He just turned seven last month, right?"

Yuki nodded, her brown hair falling to the side and she turned her head, "Yeah, at least Hajime still listens. I just wish my boys would stay small forever. And well behaved."

Hiyori snickered, "Little Hajime still listens? Rika stopped listening to me the moment she could hold herself up!" The mothers shared a laugh from the shade, watching their children frolic in the water.

Ryohei splashed water toward Rika, laughing as she squirmed under the cold. She paddled away with her arms, her fish-themed floatie softly bobbing along with her. "Ryo~! Cut that out!" He crept towards her, arms out to imitate a 'zombie.' "Braaaaainss!! I'm coming for you, Rika!"

The two spent the day laughing and playing along the shoreline together until the sun began to sink into the horizon. "Ryohei, Rika, come on now! Time to go home!" Yuki called out to them, smiling as they both came running down the sand, hand in hand. The four walked home together in stride, 'another perfect day,' they thought.

Unfortunately for them, no matter how perfect, all good things must come to an end.

Ryohei and Hajime muffled their cries as the incense filled the room, its smoke gently wafting upwards. Their father, Kenji, stood silently in front of them. His eyes seemed focused on the picture adorned in flowers, though they showed no emotion. Rika had wanted to comfort Ryohei, but her mother had told her to stay with her. It was one of the few times she listened. Her heart ached at the loss, her Aunt Yuki was always kind to her, always there to comfort her when she cried. 

But now, as she looked on, no one was there to comfort Ryohei and Hajime. They merely held onto each other, their father refusing to give them the time of day. She watched as Ryohei tugged at his father's pant leg, asking why he couldn't see their mom anymore. Rika's mother held her hand and pulled the young girl behind her, covering her ears with her hands. The tactic didn't work; It never worked. 

She heard Kenji yell at him, telling Ryohei that he didn't care for stupid people and that if he wanted affection or comfort, he would have to be a son that deserves it. Rika's mother took her home after that, asking her to stay inside for the day. Concerned for Ryohei, she went to her room and opened her window; their windows were mere feet apart. But his window was closed today, unusual given the weather. She stayed at the window all day, occasionally leaning out to tap on the glass with her school ruler.

She was startled by her mother entering her room, a plate of food in hand. "It's time to eat, darling. Come downstairs," Rika didn't move from her spot, eyes still plastered on Ryohei's window. "Why haven't they come home yet mama?" She could hear the uncomfortable sigh from behind her, "Rika, dear... Sometimes, when we're sad, we need time to process that sadness. Ryo and Haji just need some time with their father, with each other for a while. He'll come out soon enough."

She turned to look at her mother, her eyes puffy and sore, "... Promise?" Hiyori smiled and nodded, hiding the guilt she felt for lying to her daughter, "Of course. Now come eat dinner." Rika nodded and sat up, taking one last look at the dark house next door before going downstairs.

~*~~~*~

She listened carefully as the conversation continued between Arisu and the woman on his right. The two in front were silent for the most part, only stealing the occasional glance back at Rika and each other. She felt envy wrap in her stomach as the two beside her carried on their conversation, 'they must be friends,' she thought. 'Friends,' was a particular word to her. She recalled having trouble making friends after Ryohei and Hajime moved away when their mother passed.

The car pulled onto a particular road she hadn't recalled seeing before. Slowly she took notice of headlights pulling in behind them, some faster than others. She could hear various hollering from the vehicles behind them, some passing their car recklessly. Kuina laid into the horn many times, muttering about her driving skills.

The car pulled up to a lit building, a first in the Borderlands, considering it wasn't a game arena. The original name was covered with spray paint, the words "Beach" written in red. She turned her attention to Arisu, gently nudging him with her elbow, "What is this place?" He nodded towards the building before answering, "It's the Beach. There's food and running water. It's not that bad." She took notice of the woman on the right of him lowering her head, fiddling with her hands in front of her. Sensing her discomfort, Arisu turned to the woman and smiled, "We all protect each other."

It pained her to see them exchange smiles in front of her. The two in front took little notice as they pulled in front of the building, exiting the car one after the other. The man, Kuzuryu, stopped her on the steps to the entrance, "We'll need you to come with us for a while." She turned to look for Arisu, noticing him going on ahead without a second thought. She sighed, nodding her head silently. She glanced up at his back as she followed Kuzuryu through the building, "... So, is this like an initiation or something? Do we have to become blood siblings or whatever?" She let out a swift chuckle, pursing her lips together as it apparently wasn't well received. They walked in silence, catching the eyes of others around them. She hadn't seen this many players gathered before, even in the games.

The Beach seemed infinite, its identical corridors stretching throughout. As they ascended the stairs, she could feel the atmosphere change. The hallway was silent as she followed Kuzuryu closely, neither uttering a word to the other. He stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway, nearly causing her to run into his back. She heard him sigh as he turned around, adjusting his glasses before speaking.

"Did Arisu tell you anything about this place?"

She tilted her back questioningly, "Not really... Just that it had food and working water," she noticed his body language shift as she spoke. "Why... What else is there?"

He looked into her eyes for a moment before replying, "I'm sorry about this." He opened the door after a quick knock and abruptly grabbed her arm, forcing her into the room. Her body didn't react quickly enough to resist as she was pulled in front of a man with a vibrant kimono. Her eyes darted around the room and then landed on Kuzuryu, glaring through her narrowed eyes.

"Keiichi, my friend! Who do we have here?"

The man leaned over the desk, his eyes filled with curiosity. Kuzuryu looked ahead, avoiding your gaze as he spoke.

"A new recruit, but it seems she knows Arisu from before." His eyes lit up at the mention of Arisu, a smile appearing on his face. "A reliable one, he is!" He let out a laugh, walking around from behind the desk. She held back a shiver as she noticed him eyeing her up and down, "Well, lucky for you little lady, we always have room for one more!" He clasped his hands in front of himself, turning back to Kuzuryu.

"I take it since you brought her here, you'll vouch for her?"

Kuzuryu pushed his glasses up, glancing over briefly to gauge her reaction. "I will."

"Perfect! Absolutely perfect!" He sauntered back over to his desk, leaning up against the front, "You can call me Hatter! Now, let's get you settled."

As Kuzuryu left, she felt the reality set in. 'Death to traitors,' Hatter said as he looked over her cards. He handed her a blank wristband, 'You'll get your number soon,' he said with a smile. It seemed genuine to her, but she couldn't return the attempt at kindness. 'This man is crazy,' she thought to herself as he talked about his vision of utopia. This world was not meant to be an attempt at paradise, that much she knew all too well.

Rika pulled the green knit cover over herself; she was never one to wear revealing clothing. She respected the rules to a degree, and in theory, this one made sense. Very little sense, but nonetheless. She closed the door behind her as she left her assigned room, following the noise of the party outside. Her eyes scanned through the sea of people, leaning up on the tips of her toes.

Her heart gently skipped as she caught sight of Arisu sitting near the corner with others. The woman from earlier, Usagi, was sitting next to him; Kuina was across from him and a blonde man in a white hoodie standing beside her. She couldn't help but smile a bit as she went to make her way over, accidentally bumping into the back of someone briefly. She turned and started her apology, quickly stopping at the sight of the gun in her face.

"Watch where the fuck you're going, you--" He paused mid-insult and grinned, a glint of metal showing briefly as he slowly licked his lips. He took a step toward her, pulling his gun up to rest on his shoulder. "I haven't seen you here before." She felt a shiver run down her spine as her gut tightened, "Uh-- Yeah, I just got here today," she forced a bit of a smile against her better judgment. "I, uh... Should get over to my friends now," she gestured over to the small group Arisu sat with, taking a step back as she did so. "It was nice to meet you," she muttered as she walked away quickly, practically running toward the group.

She ignored the feeling of eyes beginning to stare at her, the looks of those around her ones of caution. 'So much for no weapons,' she thought to herself as she walked up to Arisu, his focus turning to her briefly. He welcomed her with a smile, "Oh yeah, this is Rika, Kuzuryu brought her in today." She took notice of the blonde raise his eyebrows, saying more with his silence than anything else. She muttered a small greeting and sat beside Kuina, feeling a bit envious that Arisu's side was already occupied. 

She made sure to engage with everyone as she observed their dynamics. Even though the man standing behind her, Chishiya, was silent, she couldn't help but feel like a fifth wheel as their conversations carried on. Her eyes kept wandering to Arisu and his friend, Usagi, and their seeming closeness, both physical and mental. Though there was more than enough room, they were nearly squished together. She fiddled with her hands as she forced herself to look away, glancing towards the lights flickering off the pool water.

The noise increased as more players joined the party, the drinks nearly overflowing from the bar. The thought of alcohol intrigued her; it had been a while since she last touched a bottle. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden silence, her eyes wandering to find the cause. Her breath hitched as she watched a group stride towards them, all very clearly armed. They followed a bulky man with a gun attached to his camouflage pants. His boots echoed in the near silence as they hit the pavement, players moving aside hurriedly to let them pass.

Rika resisted the urge to grab her stomach, now in knots, as he walked up to their group. "Where's your friend?" He looked at Arisu sternly as he spoke, his voice deep. Taking Arisu's silence as an answer, he nodded, "I see. That's a shame," he stated bluntly as his eyes wandered to Usagi. He gestured to the man Rika bumped into earlier, "Niragi, grab her." She saw the panic in Arisu's eyes as Niragi stepped forward, taking hold of Usagi's arm. He nearly leaped out of his seat and grabbed her quickly, pulling her behind his back. "Don't touch her!"

She could feel Kuina shrink back, a barely noticeable sigh escaping from Chishiya behind her. Rika winced as Arisu got thrown to the ground with a punch, a laugh escaping Niragi as he kicked him in the stomach. She lowered her head quickly, shutting her eyes to resist the urge to help him. "Arisu!" Usagi called out, hurriedly kneeling to help him off the ground. Rika opened her eyes as another familiar voice called out in the distance, Hatter standing opposite the pool. She couldn't comprehend the words being said between him and Aguni as she looked on, her heart swelling as she saw Arisu pull himself up with the help of Usagi.

The urge to help him was pushed down as she saw how he held onto Usagi. It pained her to compare it to when they were little; whenever Arisu got hurt, she would always be the one to help him back up on his feet. As the party quickly resumed in the absence of the militants, Rika stood as Usagi offered her shoulder to Arisu, the both of them walking back into the building. She followed them up the stairs, helping Usagi carry him back.

"Thank you, I've got it from here," Usagi said as she closed the door to Arisu's room. Rika stood, staring at the door. She felt her eyes prickle with tears as her heart began to ache. Stepping away, she took a deep breath and began her way back to her room. 'I want to help him too,' she thought as she remembered the pain on Arisu's face as Niragi's boot slammed into his ribs. Pushing the thought out of her mind she looked up, realizing she had lost her way at some point.

She looked around for a moment, cursing whoever it was that designed the identical hallways. The halls were devoid of any players as she gathered herself to press forward, "I'll find somebody eventually," she muttered to herself as she rounded a corner. Her mind felt relief when she heard voices down the hall. Jogging towards them, she halted as the familiar figure turned towards her, ignoring the small group of people they were speaking to.

"You can all shove off, stop bothering me." The men scattered quickly, not sparing her a glance as Niragi walked towards her, a grin on his face. "Well, well... Already running to me, heh?" He stopped a few feet away, leaning his shoulder on the wall as his eyes ran across her body. "Did your moron abandon you so soon?"

She felt her body tense immediately, "Arisu is not a moron." Niragi lifted his eyebrows as his grin turned cocky, scoffing at her. "Said the lost puppy following the moron, following the bitch." She caught a glimpse of metal on his tongue as he laughed, pushing himself off the wall. Her body froze as he walked a circle around her, his eyes trailing across her. Her fingers pulled at her sheer covering, suddenly feeling more exposed than she already was.

Niragi laughed as he wrapped an arm around her neck, pulling her into his chest. She pursed her lips together as the cold metal of the gun pressed into her side, her body shivering at the contact. His breath was hot against her skin as he leaned in, his lips tickling her ear.

"I wonder how fast he's going to throw you away, once he realizes your just a pretty face that can't defend herself," he knocked his shoulder into her as he pushed past, laughing as her body hit the wall with a thump. "See you around, lost puppy." His laugh echoed down the hall as she felt her throat go dry. Feeling her eyes swell with tears, she swallowed the lump in her throat, practically sprinting down the empty hallway. Rounding the corner, she winced and fell back as her body collided with another.

"Ah, I'm sorry--"

The man stopped and stared at her on the ground for a moment before offering his hand, "Are you alright?" His voice was soft and his words seemed genuine. She hesitated for a moment before grabbing his hand and lifting herself, her head down to hide her face.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine... Thanks." She offered a small smile and quickly moved past him, only slowing as he jogged to catch up with her.

"I, uh... Haven't seen you around here before! Are you new?" She nodded gently as their paces matched. "I see! Do you need help finding anything? I know I was super lost when I first got here!" The young man chuckled as he scratched the back of his head out of embarrassment. She thought about it for a moment before answering, "Actually... I kinda got lost getting back to my room..."

Rika glanced over and noticed that his face lit up, "I'll help you figure it out! Can I see your wristband?" She nodded and held up her wrist to showcase the pink band, the tag reading the number "24." He nodded and look like he was thinking for a minute. "Ah," she looked at him fully as he continued, "You should be somewhere on the next floor up, I'll show you!" he smiled at her and ushered her forward down the hall.

"I'm Tatta, by the way." He offered another smile as they walked side by side, "You can call me Rika." She managed a smile in return, happy to have seemingly found a friend that wasn't Arisu. Niragi's words from earlier echoed in her mind, 'the lost puppy following the moron,' stuck with her in particular.

Tatta and Rika made their way down the hall to the emergency stairwell. "Well, look what we have here!" Both turned behind them, matching the voice to the vibrantly dressed Hatter walking towards them from down the hallway. Hatter smiled cheerily as he clasped his hands together. "Tatta, my favorite mechanic! Rika, was it? I see you've made allies quickly!" He turned to Rika as he spoke, but she sensed that his smile wasn't as genuine as it seemed; it was almost like there was a hint of annoyance and suspicion behind it. "I look forward to playing our first game together!"

Tatta spoke first, "Uhm, Hatter? Just curious, but her tag says '24'... That's pretty high up for such a newcomer." Tatta looked quickly over at Rika, "N-not that there's anything wrong with that!"

Hatter took the look on Rika's face as one with questions, "Normally you'd be placed a lot lower. But I thought, I trust Keiichi as my number 3, so I took his word to heart! No pressure, I hope you know." She looked up as he smiled proudly at her, "Any other questions, concerns?" She shook her head, "No, not really... Thank you, though."

With that the two took their leave, pushing through the door at the end of the hallway. As they rounded the corner and started their way down the stairs, their pace softened as they made conversation. "You'll be on the third floor, I'll show you!"

"Thank you, I appreciate it." Rika smiled as she thanked him, grateful to have seemingly made an acquaintance. Tatta was rather talkative, a rare trait to find in the players. She nodded along as Tatta spoke, occasionally reassuring her about the few but heavily enforced, rules. "Always make sure to turn in your card, otherwise you'll have a militant at your door. It happened to a guy on my floor once," he paused for a moment, his voice lowering. "I don't think anybody saw him again after that..."

Rika shuffled behind Tatta as he led her down the stairs, stopping in front of a door. "They should've put your number up already, it shouldn't be hard from here! Just remember, on the third floor, your number should be right next to the door." He smiled and turned, opening the stairwell door for her, "And if you need anything, I'm usually down by the cars." Rika nodded, "I'll be sure to remember that," she smiled and walked through the doorway, closing it tightly behind her.

She made her way carefully down the hallway, eager to get back into her own space. Shuffling past a few doors, her eyes caught sight of that precious number, '24' written on the side of a door. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding as she pushed open the door, swung it closed, and plopped down on the bed with her whole body. Rika quickly realized how little she was doing to take care of herself as the aches and pains came over her. Her eyes glanced around the empty dark room and found their way to a bathroom, but her body wouldn't move. She found herself thankful to be so at ease in an unfamiliar space as her eyes slowly gave in to their own weight. The night had been long, but her time at the Beach was just beginning. 

~*~~~*~

-Visa Days Remaining- 4 3

The sound of gunfire made her body shoot up hurriedly, her muscles tensing at the strange familiar sound. Her feet winced at the cold floor beneath them as she sprung up, looking around an empty room. Rika listened closely as she approached her door, her body freezing as she recognized the sound of laughter down the hallway. The music roared on the other side of the room through the window, the glass moving slightly with every pronounced beat.

Her body jumped as another gunshot echoed down the hall, her heart beating quickly. She forced her body to move back from the door as footsteps hurriedly approached, the door handle turning. She threw herself into the bathroom, closing the door behind her as she held her breath. She instinctively went to lock it, finding to her displeasure, super glue wedged into the lock. She heard her door swing open and close just as quickly, a person's heavy breathing the only sound. 

"... Ms. Rika? Are you in here?"

She released her breath before opening the bathroom door, peaking her head out. "Tatta... You scared the shit out of me, you know." She walked past him and sat on the bed, still warm from moments earlier. "Also, please don't call me 'miss,' I'm not even that much older than you," she muttered. She looked up, taking in the panic on his face. "Hey," she caught his attention fully, "What's going on?"

"The militants are going a little crazy right now, and when I heard they were on your floor, I kinda just assumed the worst." He took off his hat briefly and pulled his hair back, locking his cap back onto his head. "Every time I make a friend, they seem to die rather quickly..."

Rika laughed at him, "Well, I've always been one to defy a statistic, you know." She sat up and stretched her back, pulling her arm over her neck, "Do you know why the militants are on my floor?" He shook his head, "Probably a traitor if I had to guess. Game night will be coming up for some people with lower cards, it wouldn't surprise me if someone tried to pull a fast one and hide a card for themselves."

She nodded in understanding, noting the new silence from the hallway. "Doesn't sound like a fun fate... Say, do you know where I could get food?" Tatta forced a little smile and nodded, "I'll show you."

The food was mediocre at best, but one couldn't complain in a post-apocalyptic world where the food went bad quicker than usual. It was more common to find mold than anything edible. Rika pushed around the last piece of her canned peaches, listening intently to Tatta's story. 'He's an open book,' she thought. She laughed as he did, finding his story amusing. A few others had come and gone as they sat and ate, telling each other stories that had close to no relevance to their current situation and nothing too personal; the best kind of stories you could tell.

Rika paused as she noticed Tatta's face drop, her eyes telling her to look behind her, or else. She wanted to turn her head to see, but the cold metal in her back alleviated that thought. She felt a shiver run down her spine, the hairs on her neck rising as she felt a hot breath lean into her ear. "Well, well... Did you find another moron to follow around?" Niragi snickered in her ear, eyes glaring at Tatta across from her.

Rika kept her gaze focused on Tatta, watching as he kept his head down, staring at the plate in front of him. She held her breath as she heard various footsteps walk away from her, off to harass others. When she was certain the militants were out of earshot, she leaned into the table, her voice low as she spoke to Tatta. "We should probably leave," Tatta responded with a hurried nod, both getting up and leaving their food behind.

Once away from the cafeteria, Tatta spoke. "Why are the militants already harassing you? Did you do something?" Rika shook her head, sighing a bit as she responded. "Nope, but I damn near bump into that guy everywhere I go." They were both silent as they walked, the tension still hanging in the air.

It wasn't until they stood by the front doors of what was presumably the lobby at one point that Tatta spoke again. "Just... Be careful around Niragi. He's literally crazy, so it'd be best to try to avoid him as much as possible." Rika gave Tatta a look, "No, really? I thought the sniper attached to him was just a fun pool decoration." Oddly enough, her remark earned a smile from Tatta's lips.

Tatta rubbed the back of his head as he sighed, "Well, I gotta get back. If you need anything, I'll be sucking gas honorably by the parking garage." Rika couldn't help but laugh a bit, "Thanks for your service to the Beach." He smiled back, waving goodbye as they parted ways for the evening.

Rika couldn't help but suddenly feel bored with the emptiness in the building. She followed the soft sound of a beat until it became a blaring nuisance in her ears. She walked out towards the pool, carefully treading along the wall, her eyes recognizing a few players from some previous games. The noise was nearly unbearable, but Rika knew that if she was going to be a part of such a large group she would need to make a few allies.

Her eyes scanned the pool area, looking for any small group that seemed approachable. Rika set her gaze on two girls huddling in the corner, whispering to each other. They seemed to be friends, or at least allies for that matter. Taking a deep breath, she put on her friendliest face and walked towards them, attempting to introduce herself.

"Uhm, hey! I'm new around here, but do you mind if I join you?" The two girls, who Rika later learned were Asahi and Momoka, turned to her and shifted in place, turning their backs on her and walking away. Rika cursed at herself under her breath, "Shit... That didn't really work out well, now did it...?" She took a deep breath, her head whipping towards the sound of shattering glass by the bar. There was an abundance of laughter as a man stumbled backward, clearly intoxicated, stumbling straight into the pool.

Gathering her courage, she approached the bar. Rika grabbed a random brightly colored drink from the edge, giving the ice that rested a quick stir before taking a sip. It wasn't long before she was multiple drinks in, having joined a group that was drinking as well. She laughed along, even though she didn't have a chance in hell at hearing what was said. All that mattered what that she played along, she thought. It didn't take long for Rika to realize that in the Borderlands, as long as you shared even a shred of trust, you could be allies. You would almost certainly be manipulated if you weren't careful; unless you were quick enough to be the manipulator.

Rika made sure to keep count of the drinks she had, slowly sipping on the one in her hand through the small plastic straw. Her eyes began to wander around, her gaze halting on the group in the corner. Or rather, her gaze fixed on Arisu, in particular. She quickly looked away, Niragi's words about her following Arisu around like a lost puppy repeating in her head like a broken record. Rika swallowed the lump in her throat that she didn't realize she had before finishing off her drink. Throwing her cup away, she said her goodbyes to the group of randoms she had joined, walking back inside and away from the pool; away from Arisu.

She tried not to think about how she hadn't even seen Arisu since he was beaten by Niragi back at the pool the night prior. Rika was glad he was okay, but something oddly pained her. She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

While walking aimlessly through the hotel, she came across a group of about 30 or so players, huddled in the lobby as Hatter stood on the balcony. He seemed to be giving some sort of speech, to which the players reacted by yelling in agreement, all seemingly getting pumped for the night. Rika realized that these were the players whose visas were going to expire tonight, all going out together to join the Borderland games in hopes of seeing tomorrow.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the lurking thought in the back of her mind telling her to be a bit reckless. But her eyes landed on Tatta in the crowd, looking a bit nervous. She caught up with him as the players started making their way to the cars already running outside. "Hey, Tatta!"

Tatta looked at Rika in surprise, "Ms. Rika? What're you doing here? Are you on your last visa day too?" Rika forced a small smile, "Nope, I have three days left still." Tatta nodded his head in understanding, "I see. Well, wish me luck then!" He gave a nervous smile, tightening the cap on his head as he turned to head to a car.

"Mind if I come with?" Rika asked as she walked next to him, holding her hands behind her back. Tatta looked at her in surprise, "You... Wanna join a game when you still have days left?" Rika shrugged her shoulders, now knowing for certain that she shouldn't have had that last drink back at the pool. "Why not?"

Rika and Tatta turned to look behind them as slow claps emanated from the stairs they just descended. "That's the spirit, newcomer!" Hatter exclaimed, raising his sunglasses to rest on his head. "You either have no fear of death, or you're a team player! Either way, you'll be a great asset, I'm sure of it!" Hatter laughed as he spoke, draping his arms around both of them. "Let's go find us a game, shall we?"

As the three began walking to the car, Rika stopped and turned as she heard Arisu's voice from behind her, running up to her panting. "Rika, where are you going? You still have days left, don't you?" Hatter answered on her behalf, "She's a fiery one! Joining a game for the thrill!" Arisu looked at her with concern as Hatter spoke, grabbing onto her shoulders. "Why put yourself in danger if you don't have to?" She felt her heart skip a beat at his obvious concern, but that feeling quickly faded as she caught a glimpse of Usagi from behind Arisu, standing there silently. Rika contemplated her words carefully, forcing herself to shrug off his concern for her.

"I can take care of myself, you know." With that, she turned and lightly jogged back to join Hatter and Tatta, climbing in the backseat without sparing him another glance. Rika could feel pain in her heart as she took a deep silent breath, trying to calm herself. Everyone knows, the best way to forget about the way you feel, is with a life-or-death distraction. 

Arisu watched the car drive away, his mouth agape with surprise. It wasn't until he felt Usagi's hand grasp his arm lightly that he snapped back and looked at her, confusion written on his face.

"I'm sure they'll be fine." Usagi spoke in a calm manner, trying to reassure Arisu. But he wasn't concerned about everyone else, only Rika. Even as a child, Rika was never one to take risks. Small things, like jumping from the top of the slide, or hanging from a single leg on the top of the jungle gym. Rika had always put her safety first, usually scolding Arisu when he did something like that in front of her, reassuring her that it was fine; until he fell. Multiple times. 

Arisu paced back and forth, anxious as the night drew on. He rubbed his face with his hand as Usagi spoke, sitting on the bed and watching him intently. "Worrying about this won't help you, Arisu. Please, just sit down." Usagi urged, trying to get him to relax for a moment. He sighed heavily, "I could use a drink. Come with?" Usagi nodded, smiling a bit. Arisu knew she wouldn't drink with him, but she was still good company nonetheless.

The two of them made their way down to the pool, Arisu heading straight for the bar with Usagi close by his side. It wasn't long before the alcohol started to calm his nerves, his smile returning gradually as he spoke with Usagi. She couldn't help but feel a bit happy, seeing him finally relax as they talked.

The night was going well until silence enveloped the pool, Usagi and Arisu both taking notice as they turned their attention to the cause of said silence; the militants. It seemed they were making rounds by the pool more often these days. Usagi avoided eye contact as Niragi walked past, sauntering with his rifle resting on his shoulder. But this time, his attention was on Arisu alone as he snickered, a devilish grin on his face. "Where'd your lost puppy run off to, Arisu?" Niragi chuckled as he walked past, not waiting for Arisu to answer.

The sounds of the party soon returned upon the exit of the militants, but Arisu had lost all hope of relaxing. Usagi squeezed his hand, trying to give him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure they'll be back soon." Arisu nodded as he looked down, fearing for the worst. By some miracle, or curse, Arisu had just found Rika again after all these years, would he be able to forgive himself for not trying harder to stop her if she didn't come back?

~*~~~*~

The lobby was filled with sound once again as Hatter laughed, his arm draped around Rika's neck as she walked alongside him, Tatta on her other side. "My god, I've never seen someone move so fast!" Hatter said to Rika, "And I've never seen anyone so reliant on their wit alone!" She responded, earning a laugh from Hatter. "We should get drinks to celebrate such a marvelous game! Whaddya say, newcomer? Tatta?"

Rika nodded, the adrenaline in her body still fueling her. She turned to Tatta, seemingly feeling him tense up. Leaning in towards him slightly, she whispered, "Tatta? Are you alright..?" Tatta couldn't verbally answer, and Rika could see his arms still shaking slightly, though he's calmed down since leaving the game arena. Tatta just nodded his head, mumbling a bit so only Rika could hear. "Y-yeah, I... Just glad we all made it back, is all."

She couldn't help but smile, grabbing Tatta's shoulder and squeezing it lightly. "It was a good game, Tatta. And we got seven visa days from it, too." He nodded, scratching the back of his head as he smiled lightly, "Yeah, I guess we did."

Hatter led Rika away, leaving Tatta to go back and park the cars that were still running outside. "Don't be afraid to come join us after, Tatta!" Hatter shouted as Tatta made his way to the doors, offering him a smile before walking with Rika to the lounge.

This was the first time Rika had seen this place, though she hadn't been here for long, so it was to be expected. She followed Hatter closely, the red lights dimming the room as loud party music played. Outside was always a party, but this definitely was more of a rave than anything it seemed. Rika was so focused on trying to see through the waves of glowsticks and moving red lights, she hardly noticed the few militants sitting in the middle booth, watching the crowd carefully, almost like they were picking who to toy with next.

Hatter led Rika past a velvet rope, immediately sitting in the middle of the circular booth, gesturing for Rika to follow his lead. She couldn't help but think that this used to be some sort of VIP lounge, in the world before. Hatter reached over the empty side, grabbing a bottle of what looked to be expensive liquor. He popped the cork, pouring Rika a glass over ice before himself drinking straight from the bottle.

Niragi stared, unable to not listen to the conversation happening next to him. He hated Hatter with a passion, things would run so much better in his favor if Aguni was in charge, he always thought. But for once, he didn't feel loathing towards him. Maybe it was seeing his bright kimono, once clear and pressed, now lined at the bottom with blood. Maybe he wished it was Hatter's own blood that covered him. But instead, his eyes drew to Rika, her once clean white shorts now nearly dried with the same stains of the blood of others. He listened in, taking note of how lightly they were speaking of their game. It wasn't until a while later when Tatta entered the lounge, ducking in between the various people on the floor until he found Rika and Hatter.

Tatta sat beside Rika as she waved him over, various girls taking notice quickly and clamoring to sit beside Hatter. He welcomed them with open arms, of course. After a few drinks and conversation, mostly jokes, Rika said her goodbyes for the evening, the exhaustion finally hitting her with the help of the alcohol. Tatta slid out of the booth first, sliding back in as Rika got out, waving goodbye and making her way out of the lounge.

Rika sighed heavily, releasing the tension she had pent up in her shoulders. She paced herself down the hallway, her body warm from drinking. It wasn't until she was already on the second floor that she took notice of the footsteps behind her, turning the corner and stopping, waiting for them to pass. She stood there, standing just out of sight with her arms crossed, feeling a bit bold to confront whatever creep was following her.

She held her breath as Niragi rounded the corner after her, that sly smirk plastered on his lips. He leaned against the corner, "So, the lost puppy found a dumber moron to follow her instead? What a twist."

The moment Rika opened her mouth, the rational part of her mind knew it had made a vital mistake. Her finger was pointed out towards Niragi, waving it as if she were a school teacher scolding him for running in the hallways. "You know what, Niragi? Just because some of us are actually capable of making friends with others doesn't mean you just get to be a total dick about everything! You're always lurking around, looking to start shit with others just to compensate--"

Her breath hitched in her throat the moment his hand reached out, grabbing hers quickly. Her lips stopped moving, a smirk tugging at his lips as he spoke, "You know what? You're actually kind of cute when you have an attitude." Rika felt her cheeks burn bright red, having expected the worst only to get... This.

"I-I... I don't, uhm..." It felt like she forgot how to breathe all of a sudden, her throat going dry as she struggled to speak. Niragi chuckled lightly under his breath, eyeing her struggling.

"Hey, do you hear that...?" Usagi shook her head, "Arisu, we shouldn't get involved. Whatever is happening out there is just that; it's happening somewhere that isn't where we are. It's not our business." Arisu shook his hand, leaning up against the closed door with his ear, attempting to listen to the murmurs outside his door, just a few feet down the hall. "Wait... I think that's Rika!" Usagi didn't have a moment to stop him as he flung open the door, his head turning towards the noise.

His eyes widened as he assumed the worst, Niragi and Rika standing in the hallway with Niragi holding Rika by the wrist. Arisu grabbed Rika's hand quickly, pulling her behind him. "What do you think you're doing Niragi?!"

Niragi scoffed, shaking his head as he grinned. "Minding my own business-- Unlike some people here." Leaning so he could see past Arisu, his eyes caught Rika's, giving her a slight nod to accompany his smirk, "Be seeing you." He pushed himself off the wall he leaned on, turning his back and walking away, leaving them in silence in the hallway.

Arisu turned back, his hands resting on Rika's arms, his eyes looking for any sign of discomfort, or worse. "Hey... Are you alright...?" He was surprised when Rika took a step back from him, letting his hands fall to his sides. "I'm fine. I can take care of myself, you know." As she turned to leave, Arisu called out to her, his voice full of both surprise and concern. "Rika...!" He quickly caught up to her, matching her pace as she walked. "What's gotten into you lately?"

Rika stopped, her head lowered slightly as if she was deep in thought. She sighed, licking her lips before she spoke. "... I'm tired of following you around like a lost puppy. You have others to worry about too, ya know." Her feet began pressing forward again, though this time she didn't hear movement behind her. A part of her heart ached slightly, silently hoping he would come after her.

She was about to round the corner before she heard his voice call out to her, almost in a pleading way. "Rika!!"

Rika stopped, keeping herself facing forward as she inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself.

"... Are we still friends, Rika?"

She felt a sudden pain in her heart, turning her head back to look at him, her lips pursed together with a defeated look on her face. "... Yeah. I guess so." After she spoke, she carried onward hurriedly. She could feel tears start to prick at her eyes, quickly wiping them away. Rika heard another voice join Arisu, "Is everything alright, Arisu?"

As she heard the silence that followed, Rika hurried forward eager to get back to her own room away from everyone and everything. Closing the door behind her was the best feeling she had gotten all day, her body nearly collapsing on the bed, her clothes still splattered with the blood of others from her game earlier. As she closed her eyes, the only thoughts going through her mind were ones of confused feelings and hurtful thoughts.

-Visa Days Remaining- 10 9

[izayoi-hakuyu]

Vanitas no carte: A case study of the vanitas motif?

In this I want to examine how the vanitas motif is used in the manga “Vanitas no carte”. In other words: Is the main character just called Vanitas because it’s a cool name or is the manga embedded within a certain literary/artistic/cultural tradition? And is the connection to that tradition just the name of the main character (spoiler: it isn’t, at least in my option) or is the vanitas motif deeply interwoven within the narrative and its themes (spoiler: it is, at least in my option)?

Talking about spoilers: I have only read up to chapter 40, so this may be updated as I continue reading. On the other hand, there will be spoilers for the chapters up to chapter 40.

Note: I don’t know if something like this has been done before. If it has, I’m very sorry. This is actually my second step into the actual fandom and I’m lacking an overview. Also English is not my native language and it’s hard for me to articulate myself properly. I’m sorry if the topic of the vanitas motif within the manga has been discussed before and I’m sorry for any mistakes I make.

So what is vanitas as a motif?

“Vanitas” is latin for “vanity”. As a theme in literature it addresses the transience of all being.

These works of art associates with the vanitas motif show the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death. Symbols of wealth and symbols of death are often arranged in a contrasting matter. Similar to “memento mori” (latin for “remember that you [have to] die”. Memento mori is a vanitas symbol itself and they are overlapping), it accentuates the inevitably of death. But instead of the death itself it emphasizes the vanity and transiency of the human life. Motifs connected to vanitas became especially popular during the baroque period due to religious and social upheavals and the experience of the Thirty Years' War (1618-1648) and several plague pandemics and the steady presence of destruction and death. On the other hand, social injustice rose due to the build of expensive castles by absolutist rulers.

The vanitas-motif not only criticizes the worldly glory and pleasure that is transient in nature. But vanitas also accentuated that the humans are powerlessly confronted with their own fate and have no control over their own life. This mindset originated in the traditional Christian belief that earthly pursuits and goods were believed to be transient and worthless. Furthermore, people would be expected to accept their fate that would be inflicted by God. While everything earthly would be eventually in vain, God would be eternal.

The paintings under the term “vanitas still lifes” are the most well-known incarnation of the vanitas motif, but it has been also incorporated as a motif not only in painting, but in poetry (for example in the works of the German baroque poet Andreas Gryphius. And I kid you not, he wrote an ode called “Vanitas! Vanitatum Vanitas!”) and other forms of literature. Within the vanitas motif developed a whole collection of symbols associated with it. These are also presented in this manga.

Vanitas symbols in Vanitas no Carte

Hourglass

The hourglass that takes form in Vanitas’ earring is a classical symbol of vanitas. The flowing sand symbolizes the passing of lifetime and mortality. A symbol of the passing of time and the eventual death is also expressed in the gearwheel ornaments on the “Book of Vanitas”.

Skull

The cover of the first volume shows Vanitas in front of a picture frame made of golden skulls. Skulls are symbols of vanitas and memento mori. They are reminder of death and human transience. One of the skulls on the cover is wearing with a crown, which alludes to the typical form of presentation of the vanitas motif, to juxtapose symbols of death and symbols of wealth and worldly power. This relates to the role of the vampire Queen Faustina, who is both in reign of the vampires but who also seemingly spreads death over them by spreading the curse as Naenia (a name also connected to death, as Naenia was a funeral deity in ancient Rome. The name Faustina on the other hand…is a whole new topic for another day and is most likely referring to Goethe’s Faust, a play that revolves around a scholar who makes a contract with the devil. Actually the act of vampires exposing their real name includes elements of/refers to the Faustian pact motif).

Book

The book itself also a symbol of vanitas and finds its place in the story in form of the…”Book of Vanitas”. Books (among measurement tools and the like) within the vanitas motif represent the emptiness and vanity of earthly knowledge and striving. Subsequently they symbolize the haughtiness that can arise out of thirst for knowledge. From this perspective this symbolism is also tied to Dr. Moreau, who horribly abused Vanitas and other children in experiments to gain scientific knowledge in order to become a vampire himself...and his eventual failure.

Knife

Another part of Vanitas as a character is also connected to the vanitas motif – his knife. The knife stands for the vulnerability of the human life and also functions as a death symbol. The knife is especially charged symbolically as Vanitas attacks Noé on the rooftop, declaring their cooperation has ended at this point. Vanitas is refusing to let another person in his life, refusing to trust someone else but himself. His attack towards Noé with his knife not only is an attempt to make Noé hate him, but also a symbolic “cut” of their ties. But the symbolism doesn’t end here, as Noé is the one who stops the knife with his hand. Showing that he will refuse their ties to be cut. Showing that he will stay at Vanitas side no matter what and that he accepts him and doesn’t want him to be alone. In a second situation where their relationship is on the verge of breaking is the conflict within the catacombs, as Noé refuses to agree with Vanitas idea of fighting back Laurent. Vanitas lashes out, severly insults Noé and tells him to leave, if he doesn’t agree. But Noé stays at his side (and still shows him that he doesn’t agree). One could conclude that Noé’s relationship with Vanitas has an element of transience in it by Vanitas coping mechanism of avoiding and leaving others in case of conflict. And Noé fights this transience of their relationship by offering Vanitas trust, acceptation and in the end stability. During their next conflict, where Noé spits out that he wants to drink Vanitas’ blood, Vanitas leaves. But this time it is Vanitas himself who initiates remediation, who fights his own transience when it comes to social relationships. He returns (which is unlikely to him, as Dante states), his care for Noé are stronger than his desire to be fleeting, not being able to be “caught” by anyone. And sees Noé waiting for him. Again, offering stability.

Mirror

The vanitas motif is not only imbedded in the accessory of Vanitas himself. It also finds its place in the design of Noé, more precisely in the small mirror attached to his tophat. In the context of the vanitas motif, mirrors symbolize vanity and the evanescence of earthly beauty. It also stands for pride and haughtiness, similar to the Greek myth of Narcissus. This actually contrasts Noé’s humble personality.

Flowers

Within the manga Paris is described as the “City of flowers”. While flowers can be also a symbol of love and even immortality, their blooming and withering can also be a symbol of death and fleetingness of beauty, especially in the context of baroque symbolism.

Musical instruments

Musical instruments are a sign of transiency as well, as the sound vanishes into nothing as soon as it is articulated. Music is seen as something unique and unrepeatable, and also as something that is transient in its nature. This becomes evident in Cloé’s character arc, as music is her way to manipulate the world formula. Her life is also highly influenced by the transience of her surroundings, while she herself is forced to remain static.

Carpe diem

Latin for “seize the day”. It’s the name of Jeanne’s weapon. “Carpe diem” is an idiom that was especially popular in the baroque era, but it dates back to the roman poet Horace. Along with “memento mori” and “vanitas”, it emphasized the fleetingness of all life. “Carpe diem” emphasizes the call to make use of the day and the time left and to act, despite the eventual transient nature of all afford. The own mortality should be remembered and therefore the day should be seized. This reflects the main characters Vanitas, Noé and Jeanne, who carry on and refuse to give up, despite the external and internal struggles they face.

The color blue

The color blue takes a significant role within the narratives (Vampire!Vanitas being born under the blue moon). While it is not traditionally connected with vanitas itself, the color blue, together with the color black (which are the two dominating colors within human!Vanitas’ character design), is connected to death and melancholy.

The role of the vanitas motif within the narrative

The vanitas motif is embedded both in the form and in the content of the narrative.

The vanitas motif is embedded within in form of the manga as it has an analytic plot structure. This means the story’s conclusion is already presented in the beginning and the rest of the story unfolds how the eventual conclusion happened. This is the case in “Vanitas no carte” as it presents the conclusion, that Vanitas dies in the end within the first chapter and we are actually reading Noé’s memoirs. Therefore it is a constant reminder, that Vanitas will die and nothing that will happen in the story will change that outcome. Everything that happens in the story appears basically unable to change the end. Every positive development is overshadowed by the fact that it is made clear by the narrative since the very beginning that there will be no happy ending for the main characters. This is especially notable in the scene on the rooftop in volume 3, where Noé declares, how he will stay on Vanitas’ side. This scene is followed by an overlying narration of Noé, who says that memories of the beginning awake memories of the end and expressing his regret. In this positive, powerful scene where Vanitas and Noé make up and the themes of human bonds, free will, acceptation of oneself and others and trust really shine…also embeds the eventual tragic end. The omnipresence of death and its fatality and the transience of life and the knowledge that nothing lasts is the essence vanitas motif and it is presented in the mere structure of the manga.

But its not only the structure where the vanitas motif is woven in, but also the story. This shows especially in the character Vampire!Vanitas and in the mere name itself. As Cloe’s case shows: Vampires are pretty much immortal, if not directly killed. On the other hand, it is the curse of Vampire!Vanitas that endangers vampires: Because it gives them back their mortality and the transience of their existence. A transience not brought by an outside force as in the church, that hunts the vampires – but transience within themselves and their very nature. Vampires fear becoming cursed as much as humans fear death – it can always happen, to everyone. It’s not fast, but slow, seemingly unstoppable “decay”. So it is fitting for someone called “Vanitas” to bring transience and the constant reminder of death and fear upon their whole species.

Another factor of the vanitas motif is the inevitable passing of time and the changes this brings – a theme that is deeply tied to several characters arcs, where death and loss and how to deal with both is a major theme (especially when it comes to Vanitas, Noé, Jeanne, but how they relate to each other thematically is worth an analysis itself and I would digress too much). This is especially notable in Cloé’s arc, who is the only vampire in her family and becomes more and more isolated and alienated from her family, who eventually forgets about her. Cloé’s wish to stop the passing of time (and the underlying wish to be happy with her family, to be accepted for what she is), to fight the transience or rather to fight the vanitas manifests in the time loop. The time is reset and tied into a loop – symbolizing not only her being stuck in the past, but also her refusal of a future, since a future meant nothing but being forgotten for her, who sees no other purpose in herself but to execute the will of her family that has long forgotten her.

The concept of vanitas also includes fatalism and the belief that humans don’t have control over their own lifes. This makes Lord Ruthven , who uses curses to bind other vampires to his will and eliminating their own (as he did/tried to do with Noé, Jeanne and Cloé) a fitting villain from a thematic viewpoint as he impersonates fatalism. Personal choices or free will don’t matter for him as he erases both. This makes him a foil for Vanitas and an antagonist not only in actions but in world view. To Vanitas the freedom of his will and the consciousness of his own choices are extremely important to him. He could never choose in the past and was more seen as tool used by his surroundings than as a person. This emphasis of choices opposes Vanitas to the traditionally fatalistic viewpoint of the vanitas-motif. Not only that, but he uses the Book of Vanitas to actually reverse the curse and fighting the transience of existence that has befallen the vampires.

So Vanitas fights Vampire!Vanitas not only as a person by preventing the curse from killing vampires – but simultaneously he fights the transience and the fatalism: He fights vanitas as a concept itself.

But the narrative doesn’t deem transience not as internally negative. Quite the opposite, the narrative sees transience as an opportunity for change. The change of fixed structures is also an important theme after all. This change of structures is of both negative (as the curse dissembles the true name of the vampire and therefore their entire nature and Jeanne’s struggle and agony with coming in terms with seeing herself changing) and positive qualities. In one of the early chapters Vanitas complains about how the vampires are stuck in the past and therefore refusing his help – it is not only after Vanitas proofs himself that he is at least tolerated. The message of the positive side of change is also within Vanitas’ and Noé’s improving relationship and understanding. Even though Vanitas has a hard time to accept these changes (as he didn’t tell Noé about the state of the Queen, because he thought he wouldn’t believe him and refers to the several past experiences of vampires almost killing him), the positive relationship of both of them even inspires changes in others. Notably Laurent. Who, inspired by seeing a human and a vampire in a positive relationship begins to question his own beliefs and is even on the road to uncover secrets of the church, breaking up entrenched structures as well.

As a conclusion one could say that the manga makes many, many allusions to the vanitas motif and incorporates them structurally, thematically and plot-wise.

Vanitas no Carte is really a case study of vanitas.

[silentprincess17]

Sometimes Things Have To Get Worse Before They Get Better

This is essentially a darker, heavier alternate take on Memory #7 - Blades of the Yiga. I wanted to write a fic with a competent Yiga Clan. (Yes you read that right). It is very angsty in the beginning and then becomes fluffy (hence the title!)

Summary: Link and Zelda have returned from Vah Naboris with Urbosa and have spent the night in Kara Kara Bazaar Inn. Link wakes up and finds her missing.

Cue the angst.

This story is complete and I will post each chapter daily on here but you can read the whole thing on AO3

Rating: Mature (Graphic descriptions of violence) Pairing: Link/Zelda (Zelink) Characters: Link, Zelda, The Yiga Clan, Master Kohga

Chapter 1: Everything goes wrong when you don't have breakfast

Link was having a bad morning. He’d missed breakfast, a cardinal sin, and now he was anxiously darting around the Bazaar, weaving between the trees, in an attempt to see if he could spot a glimmer of blonde hair or a flash of a blue shirt.

She just had to run away. Again.

He sighed. It wasn’t that hard to understand why she constantly gave him the slip, even if he wished she didn’t. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to think such things, especially when he knew it wasn’t really him, she was running from, rather it the sword that was strapped to his back. It wasn’t him she was frustrated with, it was herself. And the sword symbolised how he was apparently fulfilling his destiny and his side of things, whilst she struggled endless with the stone-cold Hylia and had nothing to show for it. Essentially, the sword meant destiny and fate had already set out a predetermined plan for her, and she was currently set for failure. So yes, he could understand why she felt the need to escape what was surely a suffocating sight every day- the boy with the sword that has it all sorted, geared and ready to go, whilst she stumbled in the dark, Hylia’s Divine Blessing evading her.

If only she knew how much he struggled too. He didn’t just pull a sword out a rocky pedestal and boom morphed into Hyrule’s Saviour. He’d trained long and hard too. And frankly, he had felt compelled to draw the sword, it hadn’t been something that was in his control- if he had a choice, then he would also choose to just leave it be in the Lost Woods. It sounded naive and foolish now, but he hadn’t anticipated what the consequences would be when twelve-year-old Link had jumped up and wrapped his hands around that cursed mauve handle. Mostly, the thing he regretted the most about pulling the sword was that he’d effectively doomed them all. Did he want to be the one to basically foreshadow what was now surely coming? No. Another was that it had put a timer on the Princess to find her powers, and he didn’t want to cause her such anguish at being unable to unlock supposed birth-right sealing powers that she clearly didn’t have and didn’t know how to obtain. But… there had been a hidden consequence, one that he couldn’t for the life of him have predicted- when he released the sword from the pedestal, it didn’t just end with him now possessing the mythical legendary blade, oh no. He’d also obtained a whole wealth of memories, memories of past lives, past successes, past failures, and he’d lost whatever childish innocence he’d had then. And it crushed him, having this soul that apparently was doomed in this endless fight, and now he had to live up to them. He had to live up to these past Heroes and by Farore he had no idea if he’d be able to.

Every word that had come out of the Princess’s mouth at his blessing ceremony had cleaved him in two. All those past disastrous events that happened in Hyrule, and all the lengths his predecessors had gone to save the country… Adrift in time indeed. IN TIME. How was he supposed to do the same? And it made him fearful. And he was not easily frightened. He liked to think he was a little bit brave, he would run headfirst into any sort of challenge, be that eating rocks, defeating hordes of monsters, including Lynels, or even redirecting errant guardian laser beams but when he thought about what those Heroes had gone through… He certainty didn’t feel very brave when it came to imagining what exactly he’d have to do, what trials he would have to face, in line with theirs.

He finally finished strapping the sword properly to his back, he’d ran out as soon as he realised she was missing, and he tried to find any distinguishing patterns of her boots nearby. It was a useless venture, because sand shifted, constantly, and as a result any tracks were lost pretty much as soon as they formed. He sighed, deciding to do another very quick run through the Bazaar in case anyone else had spotted her, or she had come back from the baths maybe. He was clutching at straws, he knew it, and he felt that familiar churning feeling in his gut that something was wrong, but he decided to keep calm and check again just in case he’d missed something.

He sighed, even before Urbosa told him how the Princess’s behaviour was in fact coloured by the sword, he could have guessed. One of the biggest signs was that she always looked at it, instead of him. He only wished to tell her that he was just as lost as she was, because yeah sure, everyone Impa stated that he had the Sword that Seals The Darkness. Okay, but how did it do that? How does one go about killing darkness? Monsters he knew. Monsters he’d trained for. But darkness? And the thing that frightened him the most was that most of the past Heroes had fought a man. A power-obsessed, strong-willed and formidable opponent, but still, fundamentally, a man. None of them had fought this… Calamity equivalent that he seemed to be up against. Hence why he was uncertain, and fearful even, if the sword would be enough.

Not to mention how much it pained him that the arrogant idiot bird had managed to find his greatest insecurity, but that was neither here nor there.

But in truth, every time someone mentioned how he was their savour he wanted to cry. Perhaps she didn’t realise that whilst everyone had pinned her as a hopeless case and a lost cause, he’d been saddled with double the expectations to succeed. So much pressure, so many eyes, that he’d all but gone silent. Every word spoken could be misconstrued in some shape or form. Nothing he said was ever safe from scrutiny, so to continue to play the perfect, composed Hero that he was supposed to be, he decided to stop talking. What he wouldn’t give to explain to her that these praises that were lavished on him made him feel sick. Made him feel suffocated. Made him like a liar. Because really, he felt like a failure too- he had no plan other than maybe try and hit the darkness with the sword and hope that works. And the foreboding feeling he had that he hadn’t yet faced the supposedly impending huge trial that most of the other Heroes had, and they had all done said trial well before they obtained the Master Sword. He felt unworthy of it, somehow. All he’d done was train hard, fight and try to eradicate the plague of monsters in the land. He hadn’t travelled through time, he hadn’t transformed into a wolf, he hadn’t lost his sister, or his best friend. Hence why he was dreading meeting Ganon. There was a catch somewhere. He could feel it.

He exhaled heavily, sweat starting to build on his brow. This was why he wanted to tell Zelda that she wasn’t alone. That he knew what she was going through. They were a pair in destiny, fate… even souls after all. But she hated him, his very being, and probably wished he didn’t exist- no correction- she wished the sword didn’t exist, then he wouldn’t have pulled it and wouldn’t have become a direct comparator for her success. It all felt futile sometimes, and he wondered why exactly he was in such a melancholy mood this morning. Probably something to do with not eating.

She wasn’t in the Bazaar. He’d now checked over every stall twice. And Link felt rising trepidation. Of all the places for her to run away, she’d chosen the desert. She’d chosen where the main dissenters of the Royal Family lived. She chosen the one place where it was highly probable that there would be an assassination attempt on her. And he wasn’t there to protect her. Link could freely admit to himself he was scared. What if he didn’t find her in time, what if – No. He had to think positively. And then his eyes fell to his Champion’s tunic, embroidered, as it was, by her hand. Goddesses above, how would he present himself back the Castle if he’d actually lost her this time? And in such a worrisome place too. A stone settled in Link’s gut, as he desperately racked his brains, replaying last night’s events trying to remember if she’d dropped any hints as to where she was going.

He drew a big fat blank.

In the name of Din, where else could she have gone? She had been silent on the way back from Vah Naboris, probably reproachful that he’d managed to find her, yet again. And he had, admittedly, found it suspicious that she’d remained mum, accepted going to the Bazaar, and sleeping in the Inn, and leaving to head to Goron City the next day without a single word of dissent. He should have known that she was planning something.

And now, it was starting to get hot, as he quickly ran off towards the path, wondering if she’d gone back to Gerudo Town. But she’d already said her goodbyes to Urbosa last night... Link sighed, the heat already causing his tunic to stick to his back. It was a desert after all, one couldn’t expect it to get cold during the day, and he hadn’t had time to fill in their canteens, and oh for the love of Farore could he at least get a single sign as to where Her Highness had deigned to grace her presence at. He didn’t want to be beheaded for incompetence so soon.

He saw a small cloud of sand rise in the distance. At this point, it could be a mirage and he was seeing something that his mind had conjured in desperation at trying to find the missing Princess.

And then he saw a flash of red.

And his blood ran cold, despite the heat.

[umbry-fic]

A Palette Full of You (1)

Summary: Glimpses into Colette and Lloyd's lives as they grow up together, learn who they are, and fall in love with each other.

(Written for Colloyd Week 2021)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel, Anna Irving, Kratos Aurion Relationships: Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: G Chapter: 1 of 6 Word Count: 6218 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 09/06/2021

Chapter Title: Castle Invaders!!

Chapter Summary: Colette and Lloyd enjoy a sunny day at the beach as children. A sandcastle is made, but does it continue to stand for long?

(Colloyd Week Day 1: Childhood Friends)

Notes: 1st chapter of my multi-chapter Colloyd week 2021 fic, featuring my headcanon of asexual Colette. It's also a modern AU set in Singapore.

Chapter list Full fic Next chapter

~~~

8-years-old

"Lloyd! The water's here!" Colette called out, setting down the heavy bucket filled with water next to Lloyd. Mission accomplished, and without a single hitch! Mostly. She wasn't going to mention how she nearly spilt all of the water when another girl's arm missed her by a hair's width. Or how her heart was still pounding from the close call. "We can get started with the sandcastle now." Lloyd was so occupied pushing sand into one giant pile that he hadn't even noticed her approach.

Having finally gotten his attention, Lloyd stared at her blankly for a few seconds before seeming to come to his senses. Scrambling to his feet, he began to shovel the pile of sand into the bucket. Overhead, a seagull's cry rent the air, barely audible over the screaming of all the children and adults on the beach that was packed to the brim, the two vastly different in tone. "Thanks, Colette! We might need another bucket of water, though. I don't think this is enough."

"Oh, I can -"

"Nah, I'll get the next one. It would only be fair!" Lloyd grinned a toothy smile at her, prominently displaying the gap from the baby tooth that had merrily vacated his mouth last week. She herself currently had a loose tooth that she absent-mindedly pushed at with her tongue, until she pushed too hard and caused a slight stab of pain. It would likely fall out soon.

"Come on, then! This sandcastle won't build itself alone!" Lloyd said, grabbing her hand with his, rough with the individual granules of sand sticking to it.

Colette giggled and joined him, attempting to lift some of the wet sand from the bucket to start making the base of their castle - only to find that the sand seemed to have solidified into one giant clump that refused to budge from its snug home. Every attempt to separate a tiny handful yielded a sucking sound that seemed to make the sand stick together even more, ever more determined to stay with their granular siblings. With a final huff, she put all her strength behind her arms - only to flop back down onto the beach with nothing in her hands.

"That's - hard!" Lloyd grunted, faced with a similar predicament and having no choice but to give up. The sand would remain in the bucket for the foreseeable future, it seemed. He wiped his hands on his red swimming trunks before offering it to Colette, helping her back up.

"Didn't think the sand would stick together this much," Colette muttered. This was why her father had advised them not to use a bucket, huh? She stole a glance towards the collection of colourful beach umbrellas that was close by, where their parents were taking shelter from the sun. They were sitting on the same striped picnic blanket where breakfast had occurred earlier, having a relaxed conversation over cans of lemonade while keeping a watchful eye on the two of them. Noishe was there too, taking a morning nap by the blanket.

Spotting Colette, her father waved cheerily, before taking another chug from his can.

She and Lloyd had been so excited to finally visit the beach during the March Holidays. They'd been jumping up and down on the car seats, sticking their noses into the window, and chattering non-stop on the journey here, giving Noishe, curled up on Lloyd's lap, no peace to sleep in. Her father, who had been sitting with them in the backseat, had just watched with an exasperated smile, having given up on asking them to calm down when his pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

The two of them would finally get to see the breathtaking ocean they had witnessed multiple times when watching The Little Mermaid, their favourite movie to watch together. Lloyd loved the vibrant ocean and the possibility of an entire unexplored world full of magic under the waves. She liked the colours and the cute designs, and the absolutely beautiful story of true love overcoming all. They’d watched it one time too many, until Flounder and Sebastian easily visited her in her dreams.

Aunt Anna had made clear upon their arrival her two conditions for letting them in the ocean. Firstly, that an adult had to accompany them at all times. Understandable, given the terrifying power of the ocean with its roiling waves, that had only been impressed on her upon actually seeing it with her own eyes. Secondly, and expectedly, that they had to wait an hour after breakfast, the familiar argument of "You have to digest all those cheese sandwiches!" leaving Aunt Anna's mouth.

They might as well make the most of the one hour, so Colette had suggested building a sandcastle to pass the time. It was one of the activities that she thought was a must-do for a first-time beach trip. After all, where else were they going to find all the sand they needed?

Lloyd had happily agreed. She was glad to see him finally perk up after wilting a little at the reminder that he needed to wait - days were much better when they were both smiling, and it wouldn't do for Lloyd to spend his first time at the beach with a frown on his face. So they'd dug up the shovels and the buckets from the car's trunk and set out to make the best sandcastle ever, one that reached the sky! They weren't going to let their lack of experience hinder them!

Perhaps that goal was a tad too ambitious. But that sure wouldn't stop her from trying!

Having made zero progress in getting the sand out of the bucket, Lloyd resorted to upending the bucket and slamming on the bottom with his hands until the sand all came out in a single bucket-shaped mound. Colette spared a worried glance at the plastic bucket, which had let out a groan. She had no clue how sturdy it was. Hopefully, it wouldn't break.

"Come on, Colette, let's do this!"

"Yeah!"

Lloyd knelt to start tamping the sand into shape, and Colette joined him.

"Could you pass the shovel?"

"We're out of water again!"

"How about we try doing this?"

Those were the only words that left their mouths as they worked together, their hands brushing. There was also the occasional peal of laughter that slipped out of either of them at something funny the other had done. Otherwise, they were in perfect sync, without the need to talk. They could just adapt to the other's actions. She remained focussed on her task, tuning out the sounds of life around her and getting her hands covered in sand, until there was even sand under her nails.

The sun continued to get higher on its arc, its rays falling on all the bare skin revealed by her navy blue one-piece swimsuit. It felt like she was roasting alive. Sweat ran down the sides of her face and her throat was dry. A can of cold lemonade sounded really nice now. She was glad, at least, that their parents had insisted they put on sunscreen, and had helped slather the two of them in it from head to toe, Lloyd squirming the whole time. If not for that, she would surely have an excruciating sunburn by now. From what she'd seen of her classmates who had returned from last year's March Holidays with red and peeling skin, she was glad to avoid it.

They made steady progress, bar the few close calls where she nearly flung the shovel into the sandcastle. It slowly took shape with a few more water-gathering trips and repeats of the not very effective bucket-slamming tactic, until finally, it was complete. Even the bucket had survived all the abuse! Colette sat back on her haunches to observe their handiwork, a smile lighting up her face.

Their masterpiece.

Okay, it wasn't a masterpiece. It was nowhere near perfect, or even amazing.

A messy tower stood before her eyes, tapering from a wide base to a thin top. It was tiny at thirty centimetres high. From the middle onwards, the tower slanted to the side, a result of Lloyd pushing just a bit too hard. It resembled the Leaning Tower of Pizza now, but, just like that mysterious tower, their tower was still standing through some unknown magic. Using a random stick he’d picked up off the sand, Lloyd had etched a smiley face with wobbly lines into the side of the tower. He'd stuck the stick into the top to act as a flag, exclaiming that the Disney castle had a flag on top of the main building, so theirs would too! She'd also dug a trench, in which Lloyd had poured the extra seawater remaining in the bucket to create a moat. Now no villain could mount a successful attack on their castle! Not even the Goombas or turtles they stomped every weekend in Super Mario Brothers.

The moat had dried up in seconds as the surrounding sand had absorbed the water, but it was the effort that counted. And it looked cool for a while!

Their castle was pretty average compared to the other ones she could see on the beach, and most definitely was nothing compared to the grand, detailed designs she had seen that one time on TV. But she had fun building it, and it was something she'd made together with Lloyd, so it was worth being proud over. That was all that mattered.

It was nice to imagine their castle standing here for all eternity, even if she knew it wouldn't last once they left. She and Lloyd's castle, powerful and durable, even against the worst of enemies!

"Looks good!" A hand landed on her head, prompting Colette to look up and see Aunt Anna waving a polaroid camera around. She could see her reflection, wide-eyed and smiling, in the sunglasses resting on the bridge of Aunt Anna’s nose. Aunt Anna must really love that pair of sunglasses; she always wore them whenever she was driving her and Lloyd to school in the mornings. To protect her eyes from the sun, and to look stylish while doing so? Who knew.

Aunt Anna had put on a giant sunhat, the brim so wide that it cast a shadow over Colette's face. "Come on, let me take a picture of you two with the sandcastle!" Aunt Anna said, raising the polaroid camera to her eye and miming clicking the button.

After a bunch of poking and prodding from Aunt Anna to get them into the best position, with loud protests from Lloyd’s end, they were finally ready to have their photo taken. For the sandcastle to actually show up in the picture, they had to stand behind it. Lloyd looped his arm around her shoulder, while she gave Lloyd bunny ears with her fingers. She would never give up the opportunity to do so. "Say cheese!" Aunt Anna yelled, raising the polaroid camera with a massive smile and clicking the button, the camera emitting a flash of light that blinded Colette for an instant.

"Can I move now, Mom? And can we finally go swimming? Pleaseeeeee?" Lloyd whined, plopping back down onto the sand before he even received his answer. Colette blinked rapidly, still trying to get rid of the spots in her vision.

"Oh, the pictures are gonna turn out sooooo cute," Aunt Anna muttered, retrieving the printed-out polaroid from the camera and beginning to shake it, waiting for it to develop. She glanced at Lloyd, sulking in the sand, and gave him the thumbs-up. Lloyd perked up immediately and scrambled to his feet to run off, only to stop in his tracks after hearing Aunt Anna's next words. "Wait a moment, would you? Your father is gonna follow you and he's still coming over."

"Dad! Hurry up!" Lloyd yelled, impatiently hopping from one leg to the other as Uncle Kratos leisurely walked over. Noishe, having finally caught up on his beauty sleep, ran over too, barking in excitement. Colette giggled, crouching down and reaching her hand out for Noishe to bump his snout against with every round he made around Lloyd's legs. Would Noishe be joining them in the ocean? It was against the rules to bring dogs into the swimming pool, but there was no such rule here. Maybe Noishe secretly liked water! There was no better chance to find out!

And the more the merrier!

"No going further than the bobbing spheres, okay? And stay close to your father!"

"I know, Mom! I know! You told me this three times already!"

"Just checking," Anna replied cheerfully, ruffling Lloyd's hair and prompting a scowl to pop onto Lloyd’s face.

"You got it too, right?" Her father asked her, having come up behind her.

"Yes, Dad!" Colette replied, getting to her feet and preparing to run down to the ocean. "I promise I'll -"

Unfortunately, Colette didn’t get to finish her sentence. One small step forward and her foot caught instantly against the spare shovel still sticking up in the sand, which had completely escaped her notice. Everyone, even Noishe, stopped what they were doing. All three adults stretched out their arms in a desperate attempt to stop her fall, but they were too far away to have any hope of catching her. Flailing her arms, she fell, the world seeming to go by in slow motion as the tower of golden sand became increasingly larger in her vision.

Until she crashed right through the tower she and Lloyd had spent the last hour crafting, in her unstoppable path to face-planting on the beach. Her hand felt the roughness of tightly-packed sand as that sand exploded in every direction. Closing her eyes against the rain of sand, she threw her arms out to cushion her fall, finally landing on the sand.

The action now over, Colette pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing. No visible wounds anywhere. No blood. No lasting pain. At least the sand was somewhat soft.

Oh no… Heart sinking in her chest, she stared at the mess that had once been a glorious sandcastle, now just a sad misshapen mound of sand. The top of the tower had been scattered everywhere.

She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, an awkward silence arising even as noise continued to surround them. She'd ruined everything with her clumsiness again... She wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to hide out here in the open. Maybe she could dig a hole in the sand and hide forever...

"Colette! Are you alright?" Lloyd’s voice broke the silence, a helping hand offered to her as he stared down in concern.

"Yeah." She took his hand, using her other to try brushing off the grains of sand now sticking to her whole body. There was so much... She'd never get all of it off. She opened her mouth, ready to apologise.

“Come on, there’s no time!” Lloyd interrupted before she could even say anything, tugging on her hand as he had done before. She was being pulled in the direction of the waves, stumbling a little in surprise at the sudden movement. “Our castle was attacked by enemies, and they’ve fled to the water! We need to pursue them! Right?”

Lloyd winked at her, a huge grin on his face. She could read the message in his actions loud and clear: there was no need to apologise. Just get back to the fun!

“Right!” She replied, wiping the hesitance from her expression and replacing it with a smile, worries already forgotten. The ocean would be one solution to all the sand stuck to her skin!

“Race you!” Lloyd yelled, letting go of her hand and abruptly taking off. She cried out indignantly in response, chasing after him as fast as she could, Noishe following hot on their heels with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, ears flapping up and down. Their yells about being first to get in the ocean reached Kratos’ ears, who simply sighed at their familiar antics.

~~~

“Here,” Lloyd said, pressing something small into her palm. He and Colette were both drenched from head to toe from all the swimming and water wars that had occurred. The tips of her hair brushed her shoulders, leaving tiny trails of water behind and causing water droplets to slide down her arms. Not even Noishe had been spared, shaking his matted fur furiously. The water had been colder than she'd expected, but all the running around had helped to combat it. In fact, she was exhausted from all the activity, the smile on her face so wide her cheeks hurt and her throat hoarse from all the screaming and laughter.

Now that they were on dry ground again, they were standing by the picnic blanket, waiting for their parents to return with towels. Whereafter their parents would hold the familiar ritual of smothering them with towels, squeezing each strand of hair dry.

In her hand was a seashell, rough against her skin - not the stereotypical blue ones that were always on the pages of the Chinese textbook whenever the ocean was mentioned, with its fan shape and equally-spaced out ridges - but rather an off-white colour, fantastically curved with little spikes sticking out of it to form a geometric pattern. It had a gaping opening that revealed its pink insides.

“Dad said it's called a conch shell,” Lloyd explained. “Snails hide in them, but this one is empty. I found it just now!”

“Oh, it’s so pretty! I haven’t been able to find any...” She’d been scouring the beach to no success. The most she’d spotted among the sand were tiny fragments of what had once been seashells, smashed to smithereens by the wrath of the ocean.

“Put it against your ear! I tried it, and it really works!”

“The sound of the ocean...?”

Colette lifted the conch shell, aligning the hole with her ear and closing her eyes to listen closely, covering her other ear with her hand. She and Lloyd had read about this many times before - how a shell contained the entire ocean within it.

And it did. It was a strange, mysterious sound - like there was water within the small shell lapping against its walls, somehow, even though that wasn’t the case, for any water would have leaked out of the opening by now. It was almost like she herself was surrounded by the ocean, as the shell in her hand must have been as it was carried by the currents to stop on this beach. What a lonely journey that must have been, alone in the deep darkness.

She opened her eyes to see Lloyd’s smiling face, his hand gently pulling hers away from her ears.

“Did you hear it?”

“Yeah. That was incredible...”

“Well, the shell is for you.” Lloyd gestured, grinning.

“Oh, really?” She gasped. “No, you found it, so it should be yours!”

Colette tried to pass it back to Lloyd, but he refused. He only closed her fingers around the shell with his hand before hopping just out of arm's reach. Infuriating.

“Nah, it’s fine! Keep it! I insist!”

Colette pouted, knowing Lloyd wouldn’t budge on the issue. There were times she wished he wasn’t so stubborn. There was no way she was going to win this.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you one in return… I can try and find one now!” she suggested, already scanning the beach as she took a step forward.

“No need for that!” Lloyd reassured her, returning to her side and grabbing her arm to stop her. “Mom said we aren’t staying here for much longer after we’re done cleaning up. You can just make it up to me some other time.”

“Alright! That’s a promise, then. Thank you for the gift,” Colette said, feeling the ridges of the seashell dig into her skin as she tightened her hold. They had gifted each other little trinkets like these many times before, mostly curious objects they came across whenever they played at the playground. She kept every single gift from Lloyd, just as she would this one. Anything she got from her best friend was precious.

Colette could see the adults walking over in the corner of her vision, holding the aforementioned towels and… Popsicles! Oh, those would be delicious. But it also meant her time at the beach was coming to a close.

Colette knew she wouldn’t ever forget this day. This sunny day, filled with joy, fun and wonder…

~~~

28-years-old

"Remember this one?" Lloyd laughed, pointing to the open scrapbook sitting in his lap. His finger sat on a polaroid that was held in place on the page by 4 pieces of cellophane tape, one of which was crooked, and another of which was starting to peel. Colette tapped her finger on the yellowing polaroid as well, recalling how she had gotten it from Aunt Anna and proceeded to stick it in her sketchbook. Words filled the rest of the page, denoting the events of the day, together with a doodle of a seagull sitting on a giant seashell. If she recalled correctly, this was one of the last pages of her scrapbook before she'd gotten too busy to keep it up. It was fun while it lasted, though, absolutely cramming the border of each page with a horrendous amount of washi tape.

She and Lloyd's happy faces peered up at her from the polaroid, a tiny, not very impressive sandcastle visible in front of them. The weather on that day, a foggy memory but not forgotten, for it could never be truly forgotten, couldn't be any more of a contrast to the rain currently slapping against the windows of their apartment, turning the world outside into pure white as the rain obscured all. The wind howled and caused the window panes to rattle in their housings. The air was chilly, fogging up the windows and further blocking their view of the world outside.

Colette should have been shivering on the bed in her denim shorts, but she was nice and toasty instead, legs covered by a thick blanket. She was resting against the backboard, legs stretched out, hair falling to mid-back in messy tangles. The blanket itself had the sewn pattern of dogs doing various things: jumping over fences, dozing off on clouds, running with bones in their mouths. It was adorable! And most of all, it reminded her of another dog who used to run circles around her feet and snuggle on the blankets with her, but who was no longer with them.

She’d even gone the extra mile and put on socks and a hoodie. Lloyd had taken one look at her and… hadn’t done anything else, because this was normal behaviour from her when she was cold. He’d long since accepted it.

Plus, she was leaning against the ultimate source of warmth! Lloyd, who was also under the blanket, legs pressed snugly against hers. Just as always, he could somehow survive the cold in just jeans and an old T-shirt, showing absolutely no signs of being affected. No shivers, nothing. It was impressive. He took "warm-blooded" to the next level.

Her entire body still felt tingly from the cups of hot coffee that Lloyd had brewed in the kitchen earlier. He’d done hers perfectly without even having to ask, the knowledge of how to do so having long been ingrained in his memory. “Precisely half a teaspoon of sugar and half a cup of milk,” he’d said in a sing-song manner, the warm orange of the kitchen’s ceiling light falling upon him and his gentle smile as she’d stood next to him cutting apples. The rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board, the clinking of the metal spoon against the side of the porcelain cup, and the thudding of raindrops against the window had been the only sounds filling the kitchen.

They’d drunk the coffee first, backs against the countertop and their eyes meeting across the rims of their cups, his hand finding hers in the little space between them. The hot liquid had slid down their throats with ease, settling warm in their bellies. Having drunk his coffee all at one go as he always did, Lloyd had waited for her to finish. He hadn’t said a single word, preferring to maintain the comfortable silence. The only thing he’d done was rub her fingers with his thumb.

They’d then taken turns popping the apple slices in each other’s mouths, the flesh crunchy when they sank their teeth into it, the sweet juice from the fresh fruit a refreshing contrast from the bitter liquid they’d just consumed. Lloyd, as messy an eater as always, had left little bits of apple at the corner of his mouth like tiny yellow spots that she’d had to brush away with her fingers.

Today was Sunday, the day where they both didn't have work to do, unless they were handling some big project with a pending deadline, and had some time to themselves. Their favourite activities to do on this wonderful day of the week included marathoning Disney movies, playing video games together, and going out to their favourite destinations. They also weren't opposed to just lounging on bed together, or taking some alone time.

But today was also a rainy day. She'd actually been woken up by the first claps of thunder in the early morning. The rain had no business being this heavy after the conclusion of the monsoon season, but Mother Nature was fickle, and they could do nothing but accept their given lot. No going out to the Botanic Gardens as they'd originally planned. The only thing they could do was stay home, unless they wanted to catch a cold on purpose.

It was Lloyd who had found her old scrapbook in a corner of their room while aimlessly wandering around the apartment, the book having gathered a thin layer of dust that made her sneeze when he brought it over. She'd forgotten it was sitting on one of the shelves. He had suggested looking over it, since they had nothing better to do. They had just gone through Frozen, Tangled and The Little Mermaid last week - the plots were still fresh in their minds. More fresh than usual. She could recite the entire script of The Little Mermaid from memory if she needed to.

What better time was there to reminisce than with their second anniversary coming up? What better place to do so than in the bedroom they shared, its corners teeming with keepsakes and memories, absolutely overflowing with their love for each other? Just being in here for a minute was enough to make her heart feel warm.

The framed pictures hanging on the walls and sitting on the nightstand - of them and their parents; of the two of them under a sky full of stars; of them and their friends, laughing and popping bottles of wine, fitted in elegant dresses and stylish suits. There were many more pictures, kept in the various albums lining the bookshelf above the bed, which she occasionally took down to look through on days when she was feeling rather nostalgic. Staring up at her from the pages were contented faces from all throughout time, allowing her to track her progress from days long past to the person she was today.

The Siberian Husky plushie she was currently hugging to her chest. The soft fur felt incredible to the touch, and it was so comforting to just run her hands through the fur, tightening her fingers on tufts of it. Behind those beady black eyes were more, however, a significance that no one else but herself could see. A precious memory of a carnival and the time they were finally honest with each other; a step she had been terrified to take but which she’d mustered up the courage to, in order to join Lloyd at the other end of the open door and grab the encouraging hand he offered her. She had stumbled many times along the way, but Lloyd had steadied her every time. She’d gambled on the chance, but it had all been worth it - for she had managed to find her home in Lloyd, and it had all led to the beautiful life she led today, where she got to see his happiness every day.

The wall painted over with galaxies, swirls of pinks and purples and blues, and a single adorable dog in a spacesuit, which they had hand-painted when they first moved in until they were both splattered with paint and giggling.

And of course, the two matching, nondescript metal bands, one lying atop the other on the nightstand.

"You destroyed the sandcastle not soon after, right?" Lloyd said.

"Hey!" Colette pouted, poking Lloyd's side. "Don't tease me."

Lloyd shifted his body away from her attacking finger, still smiling warmly. "I'm not teasing you. I'm just stating what happened." He turned around and retaliated by poking her on the nose, sending her reeling back in a fit of giggles. "It was fun, though!"

"It was," she agreed, struggling to hold back further laughter, bubbling up within her chest like an uncontrollable fountain. “You gifted me a conch shell afterwards. Remember?”

“Of course I remember, silly. It’s sitting on your shelf right now.”

That it was. She’d kept it all these years, the passage of time causing its colour to fade. In all other aspects, it was perfectly conserved, looking just the same as it had on the day he’d pressed it into her hand. She lifted it up to her ear sometimes, just to listen to the sound of the ocean.

Colette flipped to the next page of the scrapbook, looking over all of the memories contained there. Her childhood had been filled with joy, in no small part due to Lloyd, who took every opportunity he could to make her days fun-filled and exciting as he strived to make her face light up with a smile. There were moments where she was suddenly overwhelmed with a great sense of gratefulness for the fact that, out of an infinite number of possible outcomes, she had met Lloyd when she was young. For she was so incredibly fortunate, more fortunate than most, to have met someone who loved and accepted her for everything that she was.

She placed one hand on his cheek, fingers splayed, and turned his head to face her, his warmth spreading through her cold fingers from that one point of contact. Lloyd leaned automatically into her touch.

“Colette...?” Lloyd whispered, leaning automatically into her touch. His eyes searched hers, as he slowly came to understand what she was about to do. This close, she could make out each individual eyelash, attached to the eyelids that fluttered closed over russet eyes. Most people would conclude Lloyd was plain. Average, even. There’d been people who asked her upfront why she’d chosen to settle for him, when according to their honest opinion, her beauty could have landed her much better. They didn’t understand. She was the one fortunate enough to know his love and the miracle of such an incredible person staying by her side when there were so many things she couldn’t give him. A relationship with any other person would have been easier for him, filled with far less of a need for compromise, but he’d chosen her in the end.

Besides, there was beauty in plainness. The daisies that were ignored in favour of the orchids, the mynahs that were overlooked for the orioles. There was beauty to be found there, in the most ordinary of things, the ones people saw every day and had ceased to notice. It was a beauty she itched to capture.

Lloyd, to her, was the most beautiful of them all, a rare treasure that had somehow landed in her hands.

“Shh,” she whispered in return, eyes fluttering shut as she closed the small distance between them. She pressed her lips against his slowly, trying to push behind this one action - the gift she was currently giving - every ounce of the love and appreciation she felt at the moment, enough to fill her heart to the brim. It’d been a while since she’d done this. Two months, maybe? It was a little overdue, having slipped her mind for a time as it always did, no matter how hard she tried to remember. If not for the reminder that had pinged on her phone this morning and made the issue fresh in her mind again, she might have gone another month. She’d have to give him more soon, as per her end of the compromise they had both agreed upon when they’d first started dating, which had served them well all these years. He'd said before that he was alright with getting nothing at all, but that didn't sit right with her. She didn't think it would be fair for him to be the only person giving something up.

Kisses and anything further were always up to her to initiate, since Lloyd, as he’d told her time and time again, wanted her to be comfortable in everything she did. He’d never forced anything on her, content to wait patiently for her to feel ready, whether it be in an hour, a day, a year, or never, perfectly willing to compose their entire relationship on quiet moments spent together and nothing more. She still occasionally struggled with the idea that he was far more than she could ever deserve, even as he gripped her hand tightly and told her she was worth everything. It was getting better with every day she spent in his loving company, the extensive wounds left on her heart in her younger days by a world that told her she would never be enough slowly starting to heal. There would always be scars, but those would fade one day until they were barely visible, until the twinges of pain could barely be felt.

Lloyd’s lips were a little chapped from the cold, unmoving against hers, still tasting faintly of the sweet apple slices from thirty minutes ago. All in all, a pleasant experience.

After a second of shocked stillness, Lloyd came to life again, a small sigh leaving his lips and brushing against hers. His hand came up to cup her ear, his fingers curling in her hair as he kissed her back with nothing but gentleness, always mindful of her boundaries and never pushing her any further. Of course, he had boundaries too. If he’d decided to pull back, she would have respected it. It was the bare minimum she could do for him.

Thirty seconds passed and she pulled away, though not too far, opening her eyes to stare into his. Their hands remained where they were, connecting the two of them.

“Where did that come from?” His words became butterflies, brushing their soft wings against her lips. He tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers stroking the skin above her ear with the tenderness he always showed her.

“I just felt like saying thank you.” For everything. For all their years together. For all the love he showed her. For the knowledge that Lloyd would continue to stay in her life, for the rest of her time on this wondrous Earth.

Not that long ago, she would have broken away and covered her face with the plushie that was still in her arms, cheeks flushed and too embarrassed to meet Lloyd’s eyes, preferring that he talk to the plushie instead of her. Much like the first kiss, unconventional as it was, that they had shared. Now she could stare unflinchingly with confidence to witness the happiness that bloomed like the most incredible flower on his face.

“Thank you. For the gift,” Lloyd replied, always seconds away from showing his appreciation.

“Shall we look through the rest?” she asked, removing her hand from his cheek to cover the one he had placed on her face, her fingers slotting in perfectly between his as she smiled sweetly.

Here was her sanctuary, where all she knew was serenity and the warmth of loving and being loved.

“Let’s.”

~~~

“Mm.”

Lloyd froze in the middle of flipping to the next page of the scrapbook, watching Colette with eagle eyes. Had he…

But she didn't seem to have awakened. Not really. She made no other sound, only tightened the hold of her arms around his midriff, her face buried in his side and the rest of her lying on her side on the bed. He'd resorted to holding the scrapbook up in order not to accidentally jolt her out of her peaceful sleep. So far, his arms had not started to hurt yet.

Lloyd heaved a sigh of relief, tucking the entirety of the blanket tightly around her shoulders, leaving himself uncovered. Now, swaddled in the blanket, she resembled a cocoon. Adorable. And also what tended to happen each night, as she ended up stealing the blanket eight nights out of ten.

Satisfied that Colette was soundly asleep, Lloyd returned to perusing the contents of the scrapbook, a small smile playing on his lips.

And silence reigned supreme, interrupted only by quiet breathing and the crinkle of paper.

~~~

Next chapter

[madgrad2011]

v. the wall

“It’s beautiful, is it not?”

She stands on the only remaining pier in King’s Landing watching the sun sink below the horizon with narrowed eyes. The air is thick with heat - scalded summer-hot by blood lust and dragon fire.  She had vowed never to return to this gilded cage guarded by golden lions and yet...

It’s a den of wolves now, she muses, an unkindness of ravens.

“Not particularly,” she says coldly, sparing a disdainful glance over her shoulder at the man she was once forced to call husband in a sept and tower that now lay in ruins. Red dust, ash, and sand stick to her sweat-slicked skin. Tyrion coughs, his mismatched eyes bright in the light of the dying sun. She slides her blue eyes back to the bay and clasps her hands behind her back.

“Where will you send him?” she asks, licking her lips.

“Your brother has decreed your cousin will be sent to The Wall,” Tyrion replies after a moment, his voice syrup-sweet with false sympathies. “I’m sorry it ended-”

“Do not build a ladder of lies for me, Lord Tyrion,” she interrupts swiftly, turning to face the city that had turned her skin from porcelain to ivory to steel. “Unlike your Queen, I have no need for them. They only lead to gallows.”

She walks away and does not look back.

***

The remaining clans name her Queen of the North a sennight after her return to Winterfell.

She gently runs her fingers along the arms of her father’s chair - the wood worn and fire-warmed - and wonders if he would be proud.

Her council calls for ravens to be sent to all the northern houses, as well as to her brother in the south, her sister in the west, and her cousin beyond The Wall. She nods, offering the men and women around her table a small smile.

She does not allow herself to hope.

We are four parts of a tapestry, she thinks sadly, yet to be rejoined.

***

A package is delivered to her by a family of free folk wanting to settle south of The Wall. She thanks them, fingers tracing his familiar scrawl.

Sansa Stark, Queen of the North.

She opens the gift in her solar when she is alone. 

A black-blue pelt of soft fur. A piece of ivory carved into the figure of a wolf howling at the moon. A blue winter rose, petals-bruised and wilting. A note written on aged parchment.

Forgive me.

***

She grieves for the intimacy they had painstakingly nurtured in the months leading up to battle against the Night King. She is greedy for it.

She leaves his new cloak on the desk in his old rooms at Castle Black, tucking her note beneath straps embossed with direwolves.

Come home when you’re ready. There is nothing to forgive.

As always, thank you @jonsadrabbles and @blackholeantiuniverse.

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How to be a Queen [Part 20]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

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Part 1

How To Be A Queen

In total, it amounted to three months of attending war cabinet meetings to make my presence known.

The first month spent shadowing the men with the decorative swords before running off to my uncle’s room to make sense of their terms. At first it was intimidating, they paid their respects in short bows yet didn’t acknowledge my being for the long duration of each gathering; ranging from two hours to an entire day. It was as if they were hoping if they hadn’t looked at me, I would disappear into the background.

The room was a matter in itself. If a stranger to the castle had no prior knowledge and mistakenly walked in, its purpose would make itself known immediately. To glorify a place known as a war room would be as to what it was known as and was. It was a recessive area of the castle, tucked down underneath any luxuries I had come to know. Maids and servants were replaced with decorated officers and veterans. The doors were forbidden to remain propped open, even on the most humid of days, and nothing inside was ever to be divulged. This was the only hall of the castle untouched by renovation for it was the place where every war began, and every war ended. The war room was Hyrule’s trigger.

Walls dripped in colors of ancient Hylian war paint; red, black, and gold. Weapons of all kinds were decorated, gilded within a frame. Their owners ranged from daring knights to heroes of old. In the center was a table that spanned the length of the room with intricate carving of legends, although on top was the most important piece. It mirrored an old map on the wall, but this one had black pawns to represent all potential threats. They stood like towers against the terrain with wooden carvings to imitate cavalry and foot-soldiers. Red pawns mirrored these dolls, which stood east of the Gerudo sands.

By the month end, I had every rank of command memorized and each division under each admiral written neatly in a leather-bound book.

It took two weeks for the admirals to meet my eye. The evenings were brimming with careful studies, and once Impa returned, I stole her sleep as well to fill in the gaps of political history that were closed off to me as a child.

Three weeks of my questioning went by until they recovered from the fact that a woman was speaking; an additional week before they had the gall to answer their high princess.

The creases under my eyes were deeper and a newly returned Anju complained about the amount of stress I was putting myself under, but – goddess – the feeling of autonomy was a welcome one. As far as royal propriety went, I was free to do what I pleased and choosing to be included was one I picked easily. Though, this newfound freedom came with its own restraints – its own guilt.

Father was becoming scarcer. With the making of amends between us, he drew more distraught over Uncle Nathaniel’s decaying health. Rarely would I find him outside his bed chambers or his study. Soon, I was asked to bring food to his room, so much so that it became apart of my newfound routine. Most of the day was split between Uncle and his war cabinet. In some sense I was his liaison and he was my mentor. Though, I hoped desperately he would continue to be once he overcome this illness.

My evenings were visiting Father. Some days were better and he would change into proper clothes, others were darker and he hardly had the strength to get out of bed. The latter where I would eat supper in his room and watch over him, hoping he would finish his meal.

Tonight, I suspected, would pose to be darker.

Uncle’s cough was raspy and guttural and his nurse withdrew the spoon of stew. Once it subsided, she fluffed the pillows that propped him up to a seat and scooped a spoonful again. I thumbed the pages of my book between my fingers, distracting myself with the rough texture.

Finally fed up with the doe eyes he was giving the women, I let out a noticeable sigh. “I don’t understand it,” I said once he looked away. Truly, the nurse was beautiful and at last he has found a woman to dote on that wasn’t twenty years younger, but did this flirtation need occur with his niece present?

“Trust me, little one,” his voice was weak and didn’t carry the volume it once had, “If I knew my brother’s mysteries… well, I dare to think I would solve the secret to life itself.”

His light laugh sloped into a coughing fit.

“Dear Tressa,” he put a light hand on the nurse’s arm who smiled warmly at him. “Would you mind fetching me a bed warmer? I fear I will catch a chill.”

She set the stew on his nightstand and excused herself. I took the chance to take her seat as he looked at me with a face that seemed a decade older than when I left the castle. My heart sunk with fear for him.

“You were but a child when your mother passed, and I suspect you took notice in your father’s absence during that mourning period,” he stopped to smooth out his night shirt as if it were his formal wear, “Rhoam is an intelligent man. He holds pride in his crown, as any king of this great country should, but there is a price to pride. Gold is as beautiful as it is blinding. It will confuse you when you lose focus and drag you down. His way of closing off is a form of this.”

I sat with a strained expression that made him pressure me.

“Between your condition and, and Father’s,” irritation sank into my voice, “I feel this is my fault for leaving. Somehow… somehow a punishment of sorts.”

He watched me fold my hands over themselves, “It is not.”

Uncle Nathaniel waited until my hands stilled, “It is not because of you.”

“But-!”

“I won’t hear it,” the sternness in his voice was not what a sick man would possess, and it silenced me. “What you did with that boy was invaluable, Zelda. Did you meet people?”

“Y-yes.”

“Did you face struggles?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have fun? Find beauty in your country? Find beauty in your people?”

My smile wobbled, “Yes. I did.”

“Then your only regret should be that you hadn’t been gone longer.”

I nodded, folding my hands once more in my lap and leaving them.

We let silence fill in and he eventually sighed against his pillows, “It is more than Rhoam has done. You will find that every action in these suffocating walls have their own set of consequences. Without the right people around you-” Uncle stopped and lifted his brow at me, “The throne will pull a veil over your eyes.

“When Mariam died, it did just that. Grief subdued him and the whispers of his advisers wormed in. Fear of a calamity. Fear that he would lose not just a family, but a kingdom. With all the good intentions the priests had, they forced Rhoam to abandon values your mother upheld for him.”

I pressed him, “What do you mean?”

“He was harder on preventing Hyrule’s vulnerabilities from showing. Our pacts with neighboring regions were nullified in effort to create a semblance of self-sufficiency. With that created new problems that he didn’t acknowledge,” he hardened and swallowed dryly. I saw frustration in my uncle.

“The rural Gerudo tribes,” I said suddenly, dread burrowed into me. “Father caused the food shortages.”

My uncle’s eyes left me, but a thin smile met him, “Yes. I remember, years ago when I traveled, going to the far reaches of the desert. The people there were kind, amiable. They saved me from dehydration at a small oasis they build their villages around. I was introduced to their culture, their norms.” When he looked up, the smile gone. “Twenty years later I would be ordering the slaughter of their people.”

A moment strained and I witnessed the anger in his eyes. Slowly, it devolved into remorse and then resolve. “Zelda,” Uncle Nathaniel said, “These people are not primitive. Stereotypes be damned, every man who was there knows that.”

“I-I was under the pretense that they were fanatics, that they-”

“They are a scorned and abandoned people. Try going hungry for months on end,” he sighed, but his anger was present. “Seeing children shriveled up on the side of roads and passing mourning women. Hungry people grow desperate and whoever can bring comfort to that and create the confidence I saw on that sand…”

He grew quiet and looked on to the window where the sun was high. Somberly, he declared, “I fear such a man.”

  When the day drew to a close, I had surprisingly found Father in the parlor of his chambers. I returned his polite smile when I placed a plate of meat and vegetables before him and sat on the loveseat across from him. The hearth between us glowed warmth.

He bookmarked his novel and put it aside, “You’ve been busy today.”

“I keep myself busy,” I said, glancing up to him.

We ate in silence where he would make the occasional comment about the food and I would agree. Once we finished, I let him know about my day. It was something that I hadn’t done for years and within the last couple months has become the norm. As happy as it made me, I wished it was born of different circumstances.

Another new routine between us was reading through requests, filtered by Impa the day before. I picked them up from the cushion beside me and began reading them to my father. He sat silently, sometimes asking me to make notes on responses.

“King Dorephan has written condolences for the general and sends his prayers,” I said, going for the pencil.

“Write back saying great thanks and how we hope for the best,” he paused, “Then give kind regards for the Zoran prince and princess.”

When my writing stilled, I looked up to him. My fingers sealed the envelope with the letter inside to draw out a reply later when Impa was available. “Father,” I started, “May I ask something that is out turn?”

My father blinked in surprise but nodded. “Please do.”

“Why haven’t you seen Uncle Nathaniel?”

There was a beat of quietness that settled as he thought, “Somehow, I suspected you would eventually ask me something to that effect.” He readjusted in his seat and brought his hand to his beard. He breathed in slowly, then out like he did during stressed conferences. “I’m afraid for him.”

I tilted my head in confusion and he took notice.

“The physicians keep saying that he will be on the mend in a matter of weeks. It’s been almost four months, now,” he frowned, in his words were distress. They grew taunt. “It is startlingly similar to what they said about Mariam.”

At that, I looked away and to my skirts. “Oh.”

“I know it’s selfish. It’s just… false hopes are more difficult to lose.”

“Father,” I shook my head. “I understand how you feel, but he asks about you often.” I trailed off, trying to give voice to my feelings and shake off my old fears of overstepping. “I do love you very much and I perhaps if you saw him, it will lift your spirits as well as his.”

The lines in his face were deeper than I remember, then he laughed a laugh that reminded me much of his brother. “Will it quell your worries if I see him at noon tomorrow?”

“Enough to stop me from pestering you further,” I said, warmth growing in my chest at his smile.

“Very well then,” Father glanced at the clock. “I trust you to look over the rest of those papers there for me, Zelda. I must retreat to my bed.”

The warmth grew to the blossoming smile I tried to repress at his words. He trusted me.

“Thank you, Father.”

Promptly, I bid him goodnight and once he was in his bedroom, I took leave as well. In my head, I ran through the list of notes he had given me, nearly running into a servant in the hallway.

“Your Highness, my deepest apologies,” he said, bowing shortly.

“It’s no matter, sir,” I nodded politely.

“May I inquire if the king is in commission? Reports for him and the general have just arrived.”

“I’m afraid he has retired for the evening,” I replied lightly, “But I am working with him and his cabinet to alleviate the workload. I can take them off your hands.”

As I stacked the ribbon tied pile of letters underneath my current load, a question took hold of the tip of my tongue, “Um, sir, does there happen to be anything requested to me?”

“Nothing for Her Highness. This is mostly correspondence with the front lines,” the servant bid me a good evening and ran off with piles for the admirals. I stood there for a moment, disappointment ebbing. I carried on through the halls and heard no footsteps behind me. It wasn’t as if I should have been expecting it, though it was the first time I had someone this month. Father had been somewhat right about how false hopes hurt.

I tried pushing the plaguing thoughts away, only for him to return to them. I wasn’t foolish, I knew where my former knight attendant was. I took small notes when his unit was discussed in the war room. He couldn’t be in immediate danger and I kept reminding myself that no war had been declared.

There would be war, though. Today the Gerudo aristocracy had requested reprieve at Hyrule Castle. Rebels were launching attacks on the borders of their capital and Hylian troops were mobilizing. They were proving to be more strategic than our opponents in the Uprising, leading the war cabinet to suppose that we were in for a far longer fight than ever before.

“By the goodness of Hylia, where did that come from,” Impa said, ripping me from my worries. She stood outside my chambers and opened the door for me as I approached.

“The messengers from the desert had come in when I left Father,” I laughed, somewhat incredulous myself. “And honestly with the state Uncle Nathaniel is in, I’d like to at least go through it for him.”

Impa continued staring as we continued to the hearth of my bedroom. Pillows and cushions riddled the floor as well as a small coffee table to write on. I threw the stack on the bed and Impa pulled some of the ties to my dress so I could slip into something more suitable for the floor.

“That little maid will kill you if you’re up for long,” she chided, making me laugh once more.

“Yes, I do think she will.”

We got to work quickly, reading through and sorting the parchments from level of importance. The most important meant that they needed to be answered and delivered first; for example, Father’s letter from King Dorephan. The second level varied from requests for assets by noblemen to simple reports from officers; these didn’t need immediate response and typically waited a day on this table. The third level was littered with letters that need no answer at all yet still could yield value to Father – or more commonly now, myself. It was incredibly monotonous, but it proved to be efficient.

“Chief Gor Coron wants King Rhoam’s consideration to betroth you to his son,” Impa mumbled. “Again.”

I closed my eyes and let out a long sigh, “He’s a very sweet boy, but he’s also fifteen.”

“Do you think it requires a reply from the Crown?”

“I vote for fourth pile.”

“Fourth pile it is.”

The fourth pile – the fire – was everything that His Majesty didn’t need to mind at all.

I placed a letter a lord who couldn’t gather an audience with the king into the second pile. Impa handed me the opener and announced she was going to chase down a kitchen maid for a strong pot of coffee. I had barely acknowledged her declaration by the time she had left. With the opener in one hand and the next envelope in the other, it slid across the paper cleanly. At least through this I got the pleasure of hearing the straight tearing of paper.

Absently, I wondered what time it was as I scanned the paper and stopped abruptly. The handwriting was scratchy and precise, resembling one that had been sitting under my mattress for months. My knees drew up to my chest from my relaxed seat.

General Nohansen,

In the hopes that this letter finds you well, I write to you my routine update of the state we’re in.

Currently, we’re stationed at the coordinates given by Admiral Fierlin the month prior. Gerudo Town is only ten leagues from our camp. My contacts within have alerted me that every tenth night there is some form of attack within public places on the outskirts of the city. Obviously, they are organized and deliberate. For weeks, at your request, I have pushed the Gerudo officials to request protected travel from their capital to our own…

The letter derailed into specific numbers about supplies and increasing men still arriving.

…Again, in regards of your health, we all pray to Hylia for your steady recovery. Until then, I’m at your disposal as usual.

Cpt. Forester

 I read his letter thrice before putting it down.

Mechanically, I let it fall into the second pile so that I would remember to share it with Uncle the next day. For whatever reason, it hurt worse each time I read it. I knew Elian had delivered my letter. He was at the castle last month, doubling for a messenger. Goddesses, I had spoken to him and asked if he had. Even then, my heart pleaded that he hadn’t. Surely, because Link would have written back.

Maybe… I was misled.

Impa opened the door with a maid in tow. She placed a tray of coffee on the table beside the mess of papers, poured the pot of coffee in two cups and quietly left. The older woman sighed, sitting cross legged on the pillows before taking a sit. As she did, she watched my silence to the letter sitting neatly at the top of the pile.

She swallowed the bitter liquid, “Zelda.”

My heart tried to steer my mind. “Yes?”

“You’re upset.”

I went to shake my head, “No—I.” I laughed quickly to cover my uneven breath, “I’m simply tired.”

My hands went for a new envelope and the letter opener. Impa repeated my name.

The curved blade of the opener missed the slip of the envelope, making me curse to myself until it made it in. He hadn’t even referenced me. Inelegantly, I retched it upward. The tear ended halfway down the envelope and hands stilled my own at my wrists.

“Zelda!” she said, carefully taking the letter opener from me. By then, I was reduced to shuddering gasps and spilling tears against her. “Af… after everthing-” A wail that fell to a sob escaped, “Three months of…  of nothing!”

Nothing of his condition or his whereabouts. How many letters has he bothered to send while I waiting patiently for anything from him? What has changed so drastically? I wasn’t so dull to forget that at the end of the day he had a job – we both did! Still, it didn’t stop me from thinking about him at night. It hadn’t not worried me when his commanding admiral made passing comments of bomb threats. The feelings I had thought we shared were still present and very much alive in my heart.

Then, in other bouts of his silence, it made me irrevocably angry. After all, he had left.

And, perhaps, that was it. That was all there was to it. The note he left at the inn had no remarks about wanting me to write to him. There was nothing to be said about wanting to see me again, not in the way I wanted to see him.

We sat there as she smoothed out my hair and whispered my name among shushes. It could have been hours or the entire night, but eventually I came to. Exhaustion overtook me and I slumped in my seat. Impa pulled away, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind my ear.

“I know you are grieving for much right now,” she said, “but you cannot lose sight. Whatever… whatever transpired between you two – I won’t inquire.” Impa looked forlornly at me with ruby eyes, “You should understand that what happened in your reprieve from the castle mustn’t continue.”

My stomach dropped at the thought. I saw his face from the inn, one of longing and regret. The feeling of heated cheeks when he’d look at me. His smile at my silly comments. I saw my ring in his hand and the resolve in his eyes and the callous of his fingers. The tender needs of a man who could put up a stone front so convincing that you’d thing he had lived his entire life without speaking a word and break it down just as easy – just for me.

Then, I saw the letter addressed to the general.

“With your coming of age and the current state of the Crown, Zelda,” she pulled my attention again. “You should consider the possibility of assuming the role of acting Queen of Hyrule.”

I sat quietly, neither confirming or negating her. It had been a thought that seemed more imaginary than plausible, but now Impa gave it life. Six months ago, I would have laughed at the notion and chalked it up to an implausible prediction; now it felt startling.

“I have,” I sniffed, brushing my wet cheek with my nightgown sleeve. “If my country needs me, I will not run from it.”

[mianite-3-unofficial]

Merry and Bright

Authors note: I’m not usually fond of holidays. They’re always stressful and make me anxious. But I wanted to extend a happy holidays to everyone who follows this blog, and has been around for the journey thus far. Thank you so much, every single one of you. This blog and all your support has been the best gift I could ever ask for. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Special thanks for @syndianites for editing and @lady-krystine for giving me character details. Enjoy!

Winter had shrouded the world. Tall, leaning acacia trees carried frost on their branches while the mountaintops and forests were swamped in heavy, wet snow. The whole world carried a chill. Even the sun seemed colder, doing nothing but reflecting off the snow, glimmering, blinding. Animals donned thicker pelts and traveled silently, any sound they made caught in the thick drifts of snow. In and out they went, staying out of sight. Even the people in the city were staying out of sight, each hidden in their house, little plumes of smoke rising into the sky, instead of beholding the bright, gleaming sunrise.

Only one person was outdoors, leaning against a building in full armor, a winter coat thrown haphazardly over his shoulders. If Jeriah felt the cold, he simply didn’t care. His eyes were blind to the sunrise, too lost in thought. Jeriah scratched his beard.

So much had changed. How long had it been. Ten years? Ten years since they went tumbling down the void and found themselves here, a world of strangeness. No technology. Materials were easier to come by, some found in the earth or pulled from the land, but most came from ruins. A huge tree shadowed the land and there were statues, faces built into mountain sides and by these strange ruins. Someone once lived here, they all knew it. Sure, Mot had claimed a castle, but the empty houses sent chills up Jeriah’s spine. Along the coast on the other side of the island, there was a humble city of tents and makeshift wooden buildings. Pirates or travelers, most of them, drawn to the island by the stories of some heroes. The four of them didn’t find the city on the first day, however.

Their first day on the island was spent grieving. Mot and Alyssa wept for Dianite, the rest of them for the world they had just left behind. They found the tents the third day, the gods the fourth. Somehow, this universe had mangled the gods beyond recognition. Jeriah shuddered just thinking about it.

Ianite took the form of a human woman, sure, with long purple hair, and a long, purple gown, but that’s where the similarities ended. She smelled like flowers and something unnamable. None of them could be around her for long, else their bodies would start to ache with the power barely contained in her false flesh. The Ianite Spark had known was so sweet, gentle, a good wife and a benevolent goddess. Sure, Jeriah only knew the benevolent goddess, but he understood why Spark was so shaken when she first showed herself to him. It was the same reason why Mot was scared when he met this universe’s Dianite. There was no suave businessman, only a shadow, a wraith, an invisible hand that rubbed salt into the wound of his grief. He showed himself in weak heat and raspy words, no true power, as if it had been siphoned from him. And Mianite…

Jeriah exhaled slowly, seeing his breath cloud before him. Ten years. Now the tents had turned into a proper city, bustling and prosperous. Ten years. Alyssa was a young woman, the strongest person he knew. A warrior, a diplomat, a daughter that Mot would be proud of. Mot, speaking of, was nowhere to be seen. And yet Ianite said that he was okay. That was all she said. That he was okay. The portal had broken after he left and, while Spark worked on it day in and day out, no good results ever came.

Ten years. Jeriah looked down at himself. He was older, certainly, his beard and hair greying, more from stress than age, but it made him look old. So did the feeling of another Winter Festival coming and going. The townspeople celebrated in the comforts of their homes, but Jeriah had better things to do than that. More important things. He pushed himself off the side of the building and pulled his coat tighter around himself.

It was a short walk from the town to Mianite’s temple, only half a mile along the coast. The grey sea lapped at his feet, chilling them even through his armored boots. The sun slowly rose, the grey ocean turning warm pink from its ascent. Snow and sand swished under his feet as he came to the coast, the temple across the cold, choppy sea. Jeriah dragged his boat from where it was kept-- hidden in a shallow cave on shore-- and hopped into it, sending himself out to the temple. The marble shone as white and pure as snow, yet it only filled him with dread as he came upon it. He tied the boat to one of the columns, letting it bob in the ocean. The stench of plants filled his senses, mingled with ozone and some strange, warm smell. Yes, Mianite certainly was here.

Jeriah stepped into the temple, his footsteps echoing loudly. The once gorgeous gardens were overgrown and mangled, filled with hardy weeds and all sorts of plants, like asphodel and marigold, blooming in spite of the cold. The torches were burnt out, the only light in the temple from the glowstone, which gave light but no heat. The floor was absolutely filthy, white marble marred with the footsteps of hundreds of people, thousands of footsteps all going there to kneel before him.

And there Mianite was. Strong and tall upon his throne, staring blankly as Jeriah walked in. This Mianite was the most different. A god of order and the overworld, yes, but he carried no poise or care. His hair, curly and long— down to his ankles— was braided with flowers that were kept alive by godly will alone, a crown of mallow and primrose upon his head. He wore a black toga that flowed over his tan, muscular body like ocean waves and sand. In his hands a sprig of wormwood, which he plucked at, fiddled with. The god didn’t seem to care for his duties to order anymore, only nature. Jeriah reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box.

“If this is your idea of an assassination attempt,” Mianite rumbled, “I ask you to get it over with.”

Jeriah blinked, staring up at Mianite. He did not kneel.

“It is no assassination attempt. It’s a gift, for winter festival.”

Mianite looked up from his wormwood, a long lock of hair falling in his face. His beard was filled with flowers, too. Mianite made a small gesture and the box floated out of Jeriah’s hands. He watched as Mianite caught the gift, then set it on the armrest of his throne.

“There,” He slowly drawled, “Now go. I have matters to attend to.”

Jeriah blinked.

“I stil need to talk to you—“

“I said go.” Mianite looked back to the wormwood, frowning.

“No!” Jeriah snapped, surprising himself and Mianite. But for the past ten years, there had been nothing but frustration and tiredness and, now, what could he do besides this?

“No,” Jeriah repeated, “No, I’m not leaving. You’ve been ignoring me, ignoring all of your other followers, letting nature and the universe fall into chaos. Lady Ianite has been keeping order. Not you. That is your domain.”

“And here I thought you had faith in me.”

Jeriah sputtered indignantly, glaring at Mianite. His whole body felt like it was on fire, an exhausted rage making him too bold for his own good.

“My lord, you might not be my god, but you are still a version of him, and I have some faith in you. Yet all you do is sit here, day in, day out, grieving--”

Mianite stood, glaring down at him.

“I am not grieving. You… You cannot grieve for someone who is alive,” He decreed, voice thick.

“Then what is with this, my lord? Wearing black, the flowers… It’s like you have made yourself nothing more than a living funeral service for whoever these people were. And even if they’re alive, they’re not here. I’m here! So is everyone else, the people whose footsteps stain the halls. It’s been ten years. It’s time to let go, my lord. I have, I’ve let go long ago. Because I know I’m never going back home, and... “ Jeriah took in a shaking breath, feeling tears well in his eyes. Fuck this, fuck this “...And I’ve accepted it. This is my home now, whether or not I like it. This is my world. It is yours, too, your people, who are all looking up to you. There has to be something I can do to help, to get you to stop being so… despondent. Hence the gift, my lord.”

Mianite stared blankly. He picked up the box.

“Now then. What is this?”

“A gift. To try to help cheer you up. Tis the season, my lord.”

Mianite nodded, brows furrowed, and opened the box. With shaking hands, he pulled out the contents. A candle, crudely made of white wax, the wick straight, like a soldier standing at attention. Mianite looked blankly at the candle. His brows furrowed, and the candle remained unlit, as if Mianite was fond of the cold darkness of the temple.

Jeriah turned on his heel to leave, wiping his face with his cold hands as he did so. His footsteps echoed loudly.

“Tucker. That was his name,” Mianite whispered.

Jeriah stopped dead in his tracks, looking over his shoulder at Mianite.

“There was also Sonja, Jordan, and Tom. Tucker, Sonja, Jordan, Tom. Now they’re gone. They have fallen out of my sight, and I could do nothing to save them. All I could do was watch.”

Jeriah looked down at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, voice echoing in the vast walls of the temple. But when he looked back to Mianite, the god was curled up in his throne, his face tucked between his knees. In one hand, the wormwood, in the other, the unlit candle.

Jeriah’s head spun as he left the temple, not looking back until he was safely ashore, choking back tears as salty as the freezing ocean before him.

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The forests were deep and filled with snow, the perfect place to spend a day like this. Winter festival. Ha. Alyssa felt like she had nothing to celebrate-- not since Mot left, at least. Sure, the growth of the city was beautiful, almost humbling how many people called it home, but the forest beckoned her. Maybe she could shoot something for dinner, make a stew or roast, something hot and filling for a day like this.

Alyssa held her bow steady, an arrow notched and ready for whatever might cross her path. It was a beautiful bow, carved of sturdy birch and reinforced with dark obsidian. The arrows all had a drop of dragons breath and spiders eye on the tip, a slowness potion that immobilized her prey-- long enough for a second arrow, at least.

Despite all of this, the iridescent purple string was the most interesting part of the longbow. It was made of a single strand of Ianite’s long hair, twisted and curled in on itself. Even with only two fingers touching the string, Alyssa could feel some sort of cosmic magic thrumming through her bones. The sensation felt as familiar as a hug, the feeling of the void, of Ianite. Alyssa pulled her white scarf over her mouth and nose, and crouched by a tree, waiting patiently. Ah, the winter wind over the frozen ground was such a calming noise, a haunting howl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention.

It made her feel like death was approaching. Such macabre thoughts didn’t belong in her head on what was supposed to be a festival day, a day of hope and festivity and love, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling. Death scarred her soul. Ever since she was a child. But she did have to admit, she was fond of this new world, its people-- people that didn’t seem to age, bodies weathering slowly. The cold took some, injury others, but never age, it seemed.

She did enjoy the company, though. From the people in the city Spark made, to the hunters that linger in the woods, to the hunters that secluded themselves from all people besides the ones in their stories, she enjoyed talking to them, even if they squabbled. Mot taught her how to do it properly. He was never one to deal with petty arguments. Now Mot was gone. The only answer Ianite ever gave when asked about him was ‘he’s safe’. Any more questions were met with a strange look, and Ianite saying ‘it is not my story to tell’. As if that made any sense.

Alyssa shuddered against the cold. Here again came the feeling of death approaching.

Ianite always comforted her, told her that he was okay, in a different place with Uncle Dia, who somehow wasn’t dead. Death. What a thing to think about. And even though he was alive, a part of her felt crushed with a cold weight, as if she had been buried in snow, or that there was an iron spike driven between her ribs, pinning her to the ground. He wasn’t dead. Mot lived, off in some far other-universe, but that did nothing to stop the weight from crushing her. Anything that he had left behind felt like another slap in the face. Screziato Enterprises, a castle that Mot had claimed as his own, made her feel heavy and sick, and, on some days, even the mention of the name sent her into a cold tizzy. She took a deep breath through the scarf, trying to ground herself.

Grief, that’s what it was. Grieving the fact that Mot might not ever return, and that he would never see her again. Grieving her father, her family, the life they could have had together as a big, happy family. All the things he had left behind were nothing but spectres, haunting her relentlessly. Alyssa didn’t move her hand from the bowstring.

She thought of Ianite, the day the goddess had taught her how to shoot a bow. Lady Ianite had held that bow so steady, a simple practice bow that strained and almost broke because of her inhuman strength. They shot arrows by a lake, warmed by the summer sun, all the living creatures hiding from Ianite’s strange aura. Alyssa didn’t mind it, though, the aura of Ianite felt like nothing but a gentle humming, as if someone was singing far, far away. Mot watched her shoot and said he was proud, so did Lady Ianite, and she felt as warm as the summer sun beaming down on them.

Now it was cold. Alyssa squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. There, in a clearing surrounded by trees, a deer stumbled forward. The cold air hit her neck again. She drew her bow with the quiet hiss of an arrow on obsidian, breaths muffled by her scarf. For only a second, she thought of shooting her arrow into a tree. But instead, she stared into the deer’s glassy, black eyes, and loosed the arrow. It flew perfectly through the air, before impaling itself into the deer’s skull. The deer fell silently to the ground and laid there, still. Alyssa stared at it blankly, not knowing how to feel.

Alyssa pulled her scarf down. She walked through the clearing, to the deer laying on its side. Dead. Fully dead. Alyssa slowly crouched down into the snow, then laid down, her cheek in the snow. The deer died with its eyes wide open, an arrow now pinned between the two onyx pearls. Alyssa got up from the snow, grabbed it by the leg, and started pulling it through the snow, towards the city.

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Spark watched the snow fall from inside his home. It bathed the other houses in the city in sparkling white, now reflecting the yellow streetlights— an invention of his creation, with redstone packed into little glass bulbs and hooked up to wiring and sensors, only turning on when it was dark. The light they let off was pleasant and yellow. Or at least yellow-ish. It gave the whole city a homey feeling, which made sense. It was his home, after all, the city he built with his own two hands and years of work. Ten years, to be exact.

Now another winter festival had come. Not like the fall festival, where the people donned masks and ran all around the town, or in spring where they planted crops and sang songs that washed down the hill.

No, Winter Festival was a family affair. Everyone stayed in their houses, with the people they loved most. The sound was the only thing that slipped outside, laughter and happy voices that Spark heard when he walked down the streets with Jeriah earlier in the day. They talked about Ruxomar, their memories, and their plans to rebuild once they got home. Spark wanted to make Dagrun bigger than ever, and build more statues to Ianite. Jeriah, meanwhile, blabbered about alters and blood stuff fast enough to make his head spin, the bad mood he was in forgotten.

Now Jeriah was silently chopping veggies in the kitchen, not saying a word as Spark stared. The only noise in the house was Alyssa, humming to herself as she chopped chunks of deer meat for stew.

Winter festival was supposed to be a family affair. Spark shut his eyes, letting himself be carried off by memories. Helgrind and Martha bickering as always, Andor and Alva chasing one another around a tree lit up with magical lights, courtesy of Ianite. His Ianite. His goddess, his wife, the love of his life and the sun in the storm. A halo of lit candles would rest like a crown on her head, not a drop of wax scalding her porcelain features. Her dress was blue as the sky, but she wore a shawl of ice, geometric and fine, that somehow felt warm to the touch. And all of them— his whole family, children, grandchildren, sat around the fire and swapped little gifts, enjoyed the snow that fell on vast fields.

Spark sighed, the sound of Alyssa cursing behind him snapping him out of the memory. Never did he get any answer out of this Ianite- not his wife, but this universe’s goddess— about his family. All she said was that Mot was safe. Martha? Not her story to tell. Helgrind? Not her story to tell. His wife? Not her story to tell. Andor? Definitely not her story to tell.

Now all he had was Alyssa and Jeriah. His beacons. The only thing separating his dreams of home from the reality— that once there was Ruxomar and Dagrun. That once upon a time, he had a family. Now they were oh so far away…

Well. For now, at least. All he needed to do was get that portal to work, then he’d be home.

“Spark, you old coot,” Jeriah called, “come help Alyssa before she cuts herself again.”

“Now you know full damn well I don’t need any help!” Alyssa cried, pouting. Jeriah smirked.

“If I had known you were so good at cutting yourself, I’d have asked you to join the blood knights.”

“If I had known how big of an ass you were—“

Spark couldn’t help but laugh. God, they sounded just like Martha and Helgrind. Or Andor and Alva, bickering like siblings. But nonetheless, he walked over to Jeriah and wrapped an arm around him, squeezing him in a tight hug. Jeriah froze for a few seconds, then squeezed back. Alyssa soon joined, wrapping her muscular arms around the both of them. Sure, she was still holding a knife and had a bit of deer blood on her, but none of them cared.

It felt like they were home again.

But they weren’t.

They would be. And someday they would find their shoes on solid ground, home. Whatever that meant, they would find it again.

Snow fell peacefully outside for the rest of the night, and Spark’s heart overflowed with hope.

[mymothershumility]

❛ Please, let me help you. ❜

past transmissions || { always accepting }

{ Part 1 } & { Part 2 } & { Part 4 } & { Part 5 }

{ @neverflownwithme​ }

Rebellion sparks in the Stormlands. With it, her dreams intensify tenfold. The depravity of them only grows, her fear and her panic heightening with each new vision.

She grows leery of the maids that frequent her apartments within the Holdfast… grows leery of the food they bring her to sate her hunger through the day. It is unlike her to be fearful of such things. She has never allowed such thoughts to plague her before… not even when in exile across the sea where the Harpies played their malicious shadow games.

The thoughts are a near constant companion, now.

And, such a change frightens her.

A solitary raven arrives from Storm’s End a week after the whispers of rebellion begin.

Laira is woken by the sound of knocking against her apartment doors before dawn, the sky just beginning to lighten to a soft navy. It angers her, in some way, for it is the first time that she has been successful in sleeping for any extended time without sorrow or pain plaguing her dreams.

It is the first time in a moon’s turn that she has not woken screaming or crying in the night.

There is little to be done about it now, though.

She and Hal meet Lady Olenna within the Small Council chambers just as the sun begins to crest over Blackwater Bay. The Sand Snakes are present in the chamber along with Lady Ellaria, Lady Coatli, and Princess Arianne.

Laira takes up the unoccupied seat beside Lady Olenna. Hal takes his own seat beside her, sitting to her right while Lady Olenna sits to her left.

“My sincerest apologies for disturbing you at such an hour, Your Grace,” Lady Olenna speaks. In her hands, there is a scroll of parchment. A golden ribbon is wrapped about it. There is an onyx colored wax seal securing the parchment, the likeness of a stag pressed into the hardened wax. Olenna extends the parchment to Laira, watching as the queen takes it from her. “I thought you may wish to read this for yourself.”

The queen holds the parchment in hand a moment, rolling it between her fingers. Slowly, fingers untwine the ribbon wrapped about the correspondence. Then, fingers break the wax seal and unfurl the parchment. Eyes dance across the page, taking in the words that are scrawled upon it. It is a short letter. More a note, in truth.

All the same, it sets the queen’s blood afire as she reads it.

Her expression shifts as she reads the note a second time. Then a third and a fourth. Her fingers tighten with each reading, crumpling the edges of the parchment as her grip strengthens.

“Your Grace?” It’s Princess Arianne that speaks, gaze having settled upon the queen from across the council table. “What is it?” she asks.

Laira passes the parchment over to Hal, allowing him to read it as she speaks the words for herself. “The citizens of the Stormlands declare their independence and freedom from the Dragon usurpers in King’s Landing,” she recites, words tinged with hints of venom. “It is signed Queen Caroline, the Storm Queen.”

Silence follows her response. For a moment, the only sounds that Laira hears is Hal’s thumb brushing along the parchment and a quiet snort from Lady Obara.

“Typical behavior of a Baratheon,” Obara says, a growl tinging her own words. “I will bring her head to you should you wish it, Your Grace. Merely say the word.” Her father would have said the same if he had been present. She would act in his stead until he returned from across the sea with their wounded queen.

The queen is silent for a long moment, rage simmering hot beneath her surface. Obara’s suggestion is appealing. She cannot deny such a fact. And, it surprises her.

“We could starve her out,” Lady Nymeria offers a moment later. “Send a portion of our Dornish shields, the Unsullied, and the Reach’s forces to trap her within Storm’s End. If Your Grace accompanies them with your dragonmount, the false queen will have no choice but to surrender or face starvation.”

Another tempting offer. It does little to quell the rage that continues to simmer beneath her skin. Something more sparks, though.

‘Burn them all,’ a voice whispers in her mind. ‘Show them what occurs when the dragon is woken. Let her be queen over a graveyard of ashes.’

Eyes look out beyond the council chambers, gaze fixing on the sight of the city beyond the balcony doors. From the council chambers, Laira can see the tall dark structure of the dragonpit atop the Hill of Rhaenys. The structure has been under constant repair since Daenerys had taken the city. The roof has been cleared away, leaving it open to air and sky for Viserion, Rhaegal, and Drogon to come and go as they pleased.

From where she sits, Laira can make out the form of Viserion as she circles about the dragonpit, twirling about on the air as she descends into the cavernous hold to rest or take a meal that she has hunted and killed for herself.

‘Burn them all,’ the voice whispers yet again. It’s that second whisper that sparks the pain in her temples. It flares to life in a sudden jolt, careening back through her head, down into the base of her skull, and down into her neck.

“Laira?”

The sound of her name returns her attention to where it needs to reside, briefly distracts her from her discomfort. Gaze turns to Hal and then to the others that are awaiting her thoughts.

“I will travel to the Stormlands and on to Storm’s End myself with Viserion,” she tells the council, the words short sounding. The pain is to blame. It’s what she tells herself.

The pain is to blame for her short words… and the rage that seems to be building under her surface.

“Caroline Baratheon will have the opportunity to bend the knee and swear fealty to House Targaryen,” Laira continues on. “If she complies without retaliation, she will be pardoned of the treason she is openly committing against the Crown. She will forfeit her title of Lady of Storm’s End, her power, and all that accompanies the ancestral seat of the Baratheons. She will be returned to the Gates of the Moon and remain there with what remains of her mother’s family.”

It is more, she feels, than she should give the other. In truth, Laira feels she should be demanding the woman’s head for her treasonous strike. She must tread carefully, though. She has to remind herself to breathe… to not let the fire consume her in full.

‘Burn them all,’ the voice whispers.

“And, if she refuses your conditions, Your Grace?” Lady Coatli questions. Her voice is calm as she speaks, eyes watching the queen across from her.

‘You are your father’s daughter. Make them see what you are.’

“Then House Baratheon will face the bitter end that House Hoare did at Harrenhal when Aegon the Conqueror bore down upon them,” Laira says. She is being considerate in her extended opportunity to surrender. She is being considerate in her allowance for Caroline Baratheon to keep her life.

Others who came before her –who came before Daenerys– would not have been so benevolent in their responses.

Beside her, she hears Hal release a long sigh. The parchment is put to rest before her on the council table. Laira does not need to turn to him to know his expression. He has not expressed approval of her suggestion. It means there is something that he disagrees with… something that he does not like about the plan that she has expressed a desire to see carried out.

“You do not approve, my lord?” Laira speaks in question, gaze never turning to her husband. His silence is telling, makes her blood simmer that much more. “What would you suggest, then?”

Quiet lingers in the chamber, eyes looking from her to her husband and then back again in a steadily rotating pattern. It’s a time before Hal ever speaks. When he does, his words are careful. “Having you fly to Storm’s End atop Viserion will put you in unnecessary danger,” Hal reminds. “Though Viserion will keep you safe in flight, she will be unable to protect you within the castle walls of Storm’s End.”

The last thing Hal wishes to see is Laira harmed while attempting to keep hold on Daenerys’ kingdoms. Her life –and the life of their child– is not worth one kingdom.

‘He wants you to spare her,’ the voice whispers. ‘He was to be her betrothed once, remember? Perhaps he wishes now that he had been.’

“Perhaps we should consider Nymeria’s plan,” Lady Tyene speaks, hands pressing themselves down upon the table. “Your presence alone with Viserion alongside a portion of the armies here in King’s Landing may be enough to turn the Baratheon girl into submitting.”

“Or, perhaps we should look to peace talks,” Ellaria offers. “We may be able to achieve what is needed without seeing innocents caught in the crossfire.”

“It is doubtful the Baratheon girl will wish to hear anything the queen wishes to offer her,” Obara mutters, tone gruff.

Hal is quick to offer his own opinion in answer to the conversations floating about the table. “I could travel with a small portion of the armies to treat with Lady Baratheon,” he says. “Deliver the queen’s terms and ensure that a surrender is gained with as little bloodshed as possible.”

‘You see? He wishes to run back to her. He wishes to be rid of you and the little bastard growing in your belly.’

Laira does not hear the remaining conversations that filter about the council table. Her ears ring from the vile words that echo in her mind, hands gripping at her knees through the fabric of her dressing gown.

‘If he leaves, you and your child will cease to be,’ the voice taunts. ‘If he leaves, someone will strike you down. He will be free of you once and for all.’

The queen stands abruptly from her chair, her movements so sudden that they nearly send her seat toppling back onto the polished stone floor. Her head feels as though someone has thrust a blade through her skull. She cannot breathe. She cannot think.

Laira rushes from the council room without a word, ignoring the worried calls that trail after her. She rushes back into her apartments, barring the doors when she is through them. It’s dark in the space, the fires yet to be lit in the hearths in her sitting room and bedchambers. She rushes deeper into her rooms, fleeing into the washroom and then back into the room where the sunken stone tub resides. It’s there that she sinks to the floor, head coming to rest against her knees when she draws her legs up to her chest.

Her heart feels as though it is going to burst from her chest, the pounding of it throbbing hard against her ribs. She tries to breath, finds the action to be far more difficult than she knows that it should be. In her mind, voices and visions overlap with one another. It confuses her, makes her question what is real and what is currently trapped in her mind.

Sleep comes some time after she flees the Small Council chamber. It comes after the sounds of others attempting to gain access to her apartments. It comes when the pain pulsing in her head becomes too much for her to bear any longer. She sleeps where she has huddled herself, pressed to the wall of the small room adjacent to her washroom.

She sleeps soundly, never hearing her husband as he manages to enter their apartments through the garden balcony. She never hears him call for her nor does she hear him when he finally stumbles across her in her darkened hideaway.

When he bends to move her into his hold, she starts awake. A brief flash of pain comes suddenly upon her, accompanied by the flash of a gruesome scene. She screams, panicked by the darkness around her and the bleary form that is encroaching upon her space. Laira makes to push the offender away, tries to scream for help. Her scream morphs into a cry of anguish, though, and her hands are seized by the person before her.

“Laira!”

The shout of her name stills her limbs… stops her from fighting more than she already has. Though she has gone still, her breathing is ragged and tears have welled hot in the corners of her eyes. She finds herself crying before she can stop herself, collapsing in on herself as she presses her face down into knees.

Her behavior is not her own. It’s what she tells herself. This is not her. This is not who she is. Why, then, is she succumbing to such behavior? Why is she acting in such a way?

‘The Targaryens have always danced too close to madness.’

“Let me help you,” her husband whispers to her. Gentle hands press against her arms and her back. She flinches at the contact, would have fled once more if there had been somewhere for her to go. Soothing murmurs follow her reaction, arms slipping beneath her knees and along her back. “Please, let me help you,” Hal murmurs. She is lifted with little effort, trapped in her husband’s hold as he moves them out into their bedchambers.

By the amount of light streaming in through the curtains, Laira knows that it is at least midday. She has slept for longer than she thought… been left her to herself longer than she would have ever thought her husband would have been comfortable with after her reaction within the council chamber.

She is uncertain why that thought bothers her the way that it does.

She has calmed herself significantly by the time Hal leans to place her on their bed. He crouches in front of her when she is securely seated, hands reaching to press lightly against her sides. There is the beginnings of a swell to her stomach now. He can feel it under the press of his palms.

“I do not want you to leave,” Laira admits suddenly. There is no discussion of her reaction in the Small Council chamber, no discussion of her fleeing and hiding within their apartments. There is no discussion of her uncharacteristic reactions to matters. It doesn’t seem to matter to her… or to him. What matters most is that he hears her now. What matters most is that he listens to her. “Please do not leave,” she begs him.

His hands move, abandoning their spots against her sides. He cups them at her face, thumbs brushing along the curves of her cheeks. “It will be a short journey,” he assures her. “I will go and return as soon as the matter has been dealt with.”

The queen shakes her head, feels the panic as it starts to rise in her once more. Tears prickle in her eyes again, slide down her cheeks as she listens to him. Her hands find his own, tug them down until his palms are resting flat against the soft swell of her stomach. “I am begging you,” Laira whispers, her voice pleading. “Please do not leave. Something… something will happen if you leave.”

He doesn’t remove his hands from where they have been pressed to her stomach. Instead, he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to her silk covered middle. “No harm is going to come to you here,” he promises her. The Unsullied and the Dornish shields were patrolling the grounds religiously, changing paths, times, and patterns to ensure that no one could memorize the rotations. It would be safer for her here within the Holdfast than it would be for her to travel to the Stormlands with him.

“You do not understand,” Laira whispers, thoroughly distressed by the thought of him leaving.

‘He has no more use for you,’ the voice tells her, the tone cruel. ‘You warmed his bed long enough. There is nothing left for you to do for him.’

But..

“I love you,” she tells him. She loves him more than she believes she can put into words. “I love you,” she tells him again. “If you love me, please stay. Please do not leave me.”

He doesn’t understand. Laira can tell by the way that he looks at her. His eyes soften before he leans up to press a kiss against her forehead. “Nothing will happen to me while I am away,” he promises her. “I will be accompanied by a number of soldiers. Obara has agreed to come with me as well. I hold no doubt that she will be capable of holding her own should the need come about.”

No, she wants to say. You do not understand.

The words never come, though. They seem to lodge themselves in her throat, trapped within her though Laira wishes for nothing more than to speak them.

“I will come back to you and to our daughter,” he promises. “Nothing could keep me from returning to you.”

{ @truetargaryen & @fullrangeofemotions & @ialwayswasthebest & @hisvipereyes & @shewhoisironborn & @adornishviper & @viperparamour & @iveneverbeenagoodgirl & @aladyofwinterfell & @xcoatlicuex & @thequeenmaker & @therosesofhighgarden & @oneartsrepublic & @anunfailingkindness & @queeniolande }

[traditional-with-a-twist]

xii. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || masterpost || AO3 || Next>>

Shirayuki has never found her royal duties so oppressive.

She should be attending to the Yuris-trained bird handler, an experienced scout who volunteered for the unit after the success of its initial ventures. He escorts her with the deference due her rank, explaining their progress and latest innovations with enthusiasm tempered by respectful courtesy.

This task, overseeing the link between Wistal and the Yuris people, was intended as Shirayuki’s baby step into the authority and obligations of a second princess. 

Much like Zen had supervised Fort Laxdo in preparation for commanding the northern territories, so Lord Haruka and Prince Izana had agreed that granting Shirayuki a role with the bird handlers would groom her for greater responsibilities.

The reasoning was characteristically crystalline, a delicate balance of cautious and laudatory:

Shirayuki had the makings of diplomatic qualifications in her pre-existing friendship with the chief’s daughter. There was potential there for greater cordiality, increased understanding, shared resources, etc, etc.

On the other hand, Yuris Island represented a long-term investment, not a crisis point for diplomatic or defensive calculations.

If she fell short, the consequences would be minimal.

...

The bird handlers had played a small but impressive part in the war: linking communications with the advance forces so effectively that the main body of the army had arrived in time for a perfectly coordinated attack.

This ultimate confrontation had decided victory for Clarines. Shirayuki’s escort waxed eloquent on the future possibilities should another danger arise.

She should be weighing his proposals against the concerns that the Yuris delegation had expressed in their latest communication, that the birds were not only defenseless in combat situations, but likely to draw fire due to their brilliant plumage. 

It would require delicacy and tact to balance the military advantages against the care and safekeeping of their valuable bird population, to say nothing of what the dangers meant personally to Kihal and the island people.

She should be thinking of all these things, planning a course of action, considering her position on the question.

Instead, she was thinking of Obi.

...

Since that day in the courtyard, he had not failed to appear whenever she ventured outside. He accompanied her like a shadow, never speaking, never approaching.

He was there now, drifting behind them at a comfortable distance, head inclined politely in the direction of the scout, looking as attentive as she was distracted.

He stayed close, but never close enough to touch.

...

Obi was doing his best. 

He knew what she needed from him, knew what he wanted from her, bent and twisted himself to make up the difference.

He was balancing again, performing impossible feats like a circus performer--but this time, without Zen to act as an anchor, he is the wire.

...

Shirayuki doesn’t understand.

Obi has never held her at a distance before, never drawn back when she approached, never met her with cool professionalism when she needed warmth and understanding.

She keeps waiting for him to come closer, or forgets that he is far--turning to speak an aside to him, only to find him as remote as if an ocean divided them. 

Her boat is drifting from shore, and he watches her go from an ever-increasing distance.

...

If closing the space between them would take two heartbeats, instead of a breath, maybe that will be enough time for him to think twice.

He welds invisible manacles, builds insubstantial walls between them, knowing all along that it is useless.

She can break any chain, vault any wall. It’s only a matter of time.

...

It must be her fault, she thinks. She has hurt him.

She never explained herself, that day, and now he thinks she is ashamed of him. That's why he is holding back from her.

She should say something.

...

These thoughts revolve around and around, while they circle the birds’ roosts, and the clouds spin overhead, and time whirls by, and none of them find any rest.

The castle needs its princess, Obi deserves to know the truth, and her heart cries out for someone who cannot answer.

Shirayuki felt the tension of these demands like an intense heat or an overpowering weight, bearing down with nothing to shield her from it.

She is wilting under the pressure.

...

The scout says something to her as the tour concludes, seeking some sign of approval or appreciation perhaps, but Shirayuki can’t formulate a reply.

Her thoughts crash into each other, like waves on a wind-tossed sea. Trying to form a sentence is like executing a dance figure - her tongue won’t cooperate any more than her feet ever do.

She is a disappointment, Shirayuki feels with a sinking heart, and the sensation is becoming familiar.

...

When their guide bows them from the aviary, they are alone again.

Shirayuki waits for Obi to approach, to speak, but he makes no move. He is giving her space.

As the silence turns oppressive, the awful choice forces itself on her: If she speaks, and he leaves? 

If she says nothing, and he continues as he is now - present in form but absent from her in soul?

Either way she would be forced to admit what every fiber of her being cried out against: That things were different now, and they would never return to what they had been before.

...

The self-deception required for resistance to the plain facts of the matter might seem incredible, but it was so. Perhaps it may be allowed on the understanding that Shirayuki had never said so much to herself in words.

It was a silent cry of her heart that clamored for a reprieve from the awful reality of her changed world, an inarticulate plea that she not be made it give it all up and start again.

Obi’s continued presence at her side had been her sole victory in achieving that wish.

If she and Obi carried on as they had before, then they could carry something of the past with them--a memory, at least, of a happiness they had once shared in a circle of five...a happiness that had been on the verge of fruition until unfeeling fate had intervened.

Nothing else remained to her of the life that she had longed and labored for in Clarines--nothing but Obi’s nearness and steady affection, the comfort of his unwavering companionship.

Now even that was unraveling before her eyes.

...

She felt herself cornered, as powerless to stop the destruction of all her hopes as if she were tasked with building a defensive rampart with bricks of sand.

That her hopes had in truth already collapsed long ago did not lessen the present pain of facing that loss anew.

Shirayuki was no coward, but even she shrank from throwing herself on the horns of a dilemma before it seemed perfectly necessary to do so.

More than once she had found herself in a position to prefer the postponement of a decision whose outlook promised only pain. This was particularly true whenever it happened that her heart was at odds with her head--or turned inwards against itself.

Confronting just such a circumstance now, with Obi waiting as patient as a stone at a distance of five feet, she availed herself of the only escape remaining.

She ran away.

[i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate]

Hmm... How about the impression of hot sand at twilight for Natsu and Lucy?

Cute! Thanks for the request–I hope you like it!

The beach during the day was fun—sure.Lucy loved going out with her friends on the water, splashing and laughing,floating, trying to catch the waves on little boards. The beach was crowded duringthe day, but they’d find their own little spot. They’d build sand castles, mostof the time end up burying Natsu. They’d eat their picnic lunch and then end upback in the water. She loved the water, how cool it was on hot summer days likethis one. She loved just letting the waves rock her back and forth, back andforth… She knew if she went too far out her friends would be there to drag herback in.

           But…there was something about the way the beach was at night—as the sun wassetting. It was still hot, but it was cooling. The water seemed calmer in thecooler, darker colors of the sunset—deep reds and light purples. There werefewer people—hardly any people. And those who were there were usually wandering away, heading back up to theresort to get some dinner and sleep before another exhausting day in the ocean.

           Thewaves of a darkening beach offered Lucy inspiration, a quiet place to thinkabout the happenings of the day, about her friends, and sometimes about hernovel. She liked imagining scenes of the adventure taking place on these verysands. She often conjured up all sorts of fascinating ideas that she couldwrite about when she got back to her room. However, tonight, she realized shewas not alone as she approached the roaring waves.

           Natsuwas sitting in the hot sand—where the grass ended, and the beach began. He wasleaning back, his legs stretched out, his hands propping him up. He was staringout at the majestic colors of the sunset—deep in thought. Lucy could see it inhis eyes even before she got too close. She knew him too well. He was thinking aboutsomething pretty serious. He hadn’t been out on the beach like this any of theother nights so she wondered what was wrong.

           Asshe moved closer she murmured his name, soft enough that she half-expected himnot to hear it, but he glanced up and a small smile played on his lips before disappearinglike a flickering candle fading in the wind. His jaw was tight. He lookedirritated, or nervous.

           “Whatare you doing here?” Lucy asked, trying to decide whether or not she should sitnext to him.

           “Justthinkin’,” Natsu huffed, and then he dropped back into the sand, resting hishands behind his head and staring up at her with a silly smile. “It’s notimportant. Sit down.” Lucy obeyed, plopping down into the hot sand next to himand stretching out her legs with a sigh.

           “Areyou sure you don’t want to talk about it, Natsu?” she asked, watching the sunsink lower on the horizon. “You looked pretty…”

           “It’sjust…” Natsu groaned, “It’s stupid. You’ll think it’s dumb.”

           “Tryme,” Lucy leaned over him with a bright smile. Natsu laughed and shook his headfrom where he lay and then sighed,

           “Alright,fine. I miss the guild.”

           “We’veonly been here two full days!” Lucy laughed.

           “Iknow,” Natsu frowned, “It’s just… there are so many jobs we could be takingright now, you and me.” The way he said that made Lucy’s heart flutter. That hadonly happened a few times before… “Besides,how are you evening affording this? Didn’t you have to take out a loan forrent?” Lucy’s cheeks flared up with warmth and she looked away quickly. He always has a way of ruining the moment.

           “Doesit matter?”

           “Yeah,”Natsu whispered, and he reached out a hand and entwined their fingers, “I’m worriedabout you.”

           “I’mfine.” She said, “You don’t need to worry about it, Natsu, really.”

           “Hey,listen,” Natsu said, squeezing her hand, “If you ever need a place to stay—I mean,if your rent gets messed up or something—you can stay with me and Happy.”

           IfLucy had been in the wrong kind of mood, maybe she would have shoved him awaywith a laugh: “I’m fine, I said! You don’tneed to worry about me!” But today she felt different. Maybe it was theocean, the way the waves swelled up and down roaring in her ears. Maybe it wasthe sunset, the colors dancing across the sky, the way the world around themwas growing dimmer and dimmer. Or maybe it was Natsu, the way he was looking ather, his eyes so full of kindness and gentleness. Tearswelled up in Lucy’s eyes, she tried to look away but Natsu saw them. He sat up,pulling her into his embrace, and she let herself leaning against his shoulderand be engulfed in familiar, strong arms.

           “Hey, don’t cry, Lu,” He murmuredagainst her ear. “Don’t cry.”

           “Natsu,” she sighed, “You’rewonderful. Don’t ever change.”

           Natsu laughed as she pulled away tolook him in his eyes, “I’ll try not to.” The sun was below the horizon, thefading light of twilight remained, and Lucy kissed him. The spur-of-the-momentdecision left them both breathless, and when they pulled away the first starswere appearing in the sky.

           “One more night here,” Lucy smiled,her arms still around his shoulders, “And then we can go back and get a job.”  

           “Alright, deal,” Natsu said, leaningin to steal another kiss.

           “We should get back to the others. They’reprobably wondering where we’re at,” Lucy said. Natsu helped her to her feet andhand-in-hand they made their way back to the resort, leaving imprints ofthemselves behind in the sand.

[megapretentiouspenguin-blog]

The Voider (Title and story WIP)

The waves are calm. They embrace me, lifting me slowly towards the clear blue sky. The taste of the sea takes me to my childhood, a fairground? Candy floss? I hear the abrupt commotion of seagulls soaring above, swooping and diving all around me at the unsuspecting fish below, as I peacefully float.

They know not why I am here. I wonder if they know that this isn't real? How much of them, are themselves, anyway? I always find myself knee deep in pseudo-philosophy at times like this. How far across the boundaries does sentience stretch? Do the seagull's understand that they have no real reason to feed, as they never hunger? Are they separate entities, outside of the patient? Individual strands of rogue thought, pursuing their own primal instinct? Reality born of fiction? Or mere reflections of the patients fractured psyche? Spots of personality, long ago compartmentalised, attempting to be heard against the crashing of waves?

I freeze this scene, embed it into my memory. I'll return here, the peace is serene, inviting. This will remain inside of me, though sadly, I'll have to mark this one as ‘Void’.

I find myself back at the Scape, an empty, dark space below the blooming petals of the mind. Journeying drains me of myself, when entangled, I hold no reference. I am what I become. During the Scape I can relax, center myself, gather all of my thoughts and return to who I was. As I lay, drifting in the bottomless darkness I look up expectedly, and see a ball of energy drifting down from above me, I grab it as it grows near, reeling it out from inside of itself. The radiant light that it emits captivates me, it's dazzling. The glows, beautiful and white, bursting with life. Sometimes sparks pop and crackle from its excited energy, the sparks trickle down into the darkness of the system below. It reminds me of the electric eels that I've read about. It waves back and forth, curling itself around my hand. I raise it to my mouth and breathe it in. Purity. The essence of being.

The whispering echo of a thought surrounds me from all sides.

‘Please return to the roots.’

With a renewed sense of self, I dive down towards the root system below. The system is a group of constantly changing pathways that link into other Scapes. When somebody connects, a new pathway forms, integrating itself into the main 'highway’. When they are disconnected, the pathway degenerates, closing the only entrance to that Scape. I have lived the vast majority of my life inside this, but for a person who's unfamiliar, they could easily take a wrong turn and lose themselves forever. The thought does frighten me, but why back away when I have nothing to lose? I am here because I wanted to be free, without consideration of the cost of others.

I arrive at the roots, shooting through the tunnels at blistering speed, surrounded by stars and bursting nebula, warped sun's going supernova and dark holes leaving patches in the network. Left, left, right, I navigate the system with intense precision, throughout the years I've learnt to enjoy this. Bouncing around the infinite slipstream intoxicates me, filling me with an excitement that I never felt outside of it. I unexpectedly let a laugh escape.

‘Be careful, or we'll pull you out.’

The whispers bring me back down to reality… whatever that is. I've forgotten, it's been so long, and I'm not sure that I wish to remember. My smile vanishes, and I'm left with the reminder that I have a job to do.

I begin to close in on the new pathway, the gate stabilising it's otherworldly convulsions until it opens as a vortex at the center, allowing me to dive through.

I know my goal, I've done this a thousand times, maybe more than that. Maybe a lot more. Time is strange here.

I enter the gate, lights flickering and dancing all around embrace me with a touch like ecstasy, the reds of a far away sun, dwarf stars collapsing, binary systems collide creating earth shattering roars. I feel it all. There's a vessel, far out of reach in distant, uncharted lands. The things I've seen... And with an eerie woosh, I'm thrown into another Scape. Silence.

The darkness embraces me as I orient myself, my senses fail as I glide through the Scape, I see by thought alone. This was no issue, a hazard of the job, it happens when a patient is prepared, expecting invasion. Many are simply trying to ward off nightmares. Some patients are stronger than others, but they always grow weary and submit, allowing the dark dreams, or other entities to pass through when their defences are lowered.

Swimming upwards, I break through the Scape and enter-

A deafening hiss ambushes me, causing me to recoil, my vision is met by nothing but hole punched snow, the static of a TV, everywhere. Inescapable. This one was ready, this one knew that I was coming, but how? I felt myself jerk, my real self. Pain blistering through my skull, numbing my thought.

‘Attack!’

‘Defend!’

‘Attrition!’

‘Steady yourself! Shall we aid him?’

'Do not damage the subject!’

The whispers also seemed panicked, shouting amongst themselves, barking contradictory orders.

I'm screaming at this point, I've never been myself outside of the pathways and Scapes. This was something completely new. The terrifying power of will breaking down my own. Folding me into myself, flooding my insecurities with guilt that wasn't even mine, leaving me hollow and broken, adrift.

‘We have done all that we can.’

The whispers break through.

‘AND WHO ARE YOU TO ENTER MY DOMAIN?!’

As if the static wasn't enough, a booming voice occupies every inch of my being, sending vibrations through my core. It was the voice of a woman, her voice cutting like steel could shatter any sword.

'Another?!’ I gasp.

The static all around me falls away, as if I were in a box that had just been opened, the walls falling to the sides and the top flinging upwards.

Floating in the air in front of me sits the behemoth woman on a gigantic throne.

‘NEVER HAVE I SEEN SUCH NERVE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!’ She doesn't seem to be shouting, but the vibrations of her words reverb inside of my body. 'FOR FIFTY YEARS I HAVE RULED THIS REALM IN PEACE, HARMONY. I ASK AGAIN, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!’

'I haven't done anything…’ My voice is barely a whimper in contrast, the wind could carry it away, but I feel my strength slowly returning. I feel the energy building inside.

The whispers interject, I can only make out a few words.

‘Sedation… Compliance.’

'I FEEL MY POWER… sliding.’

I hadn't noticed before, but she looks as though she is in pain, struggling against some unseen force.

I regain enough composure to look around. In all of my years journeying, I had never seen a world as such, but it was eroding. Entropy accelerated, so that the forests and mountains were melting away into sand. Villages, towns and cities dissolving into nothingness. Cars abandoned in the streets, castles fell from clouds, decimating entire neighborhoods. I had done this. Destroyed an entire world. This guilt was my own.

The queen was shrinking, breaking down along with her world. I had regained enough strength to stand, she rose her head up to speak, seemingly sapped of all will.

‘Let us see how you like it.’

She lurched herself forward, throwing herself into me. I could feel us merging, colliding as atoms forming molecules, electricity throughout my being. A grand unity that I had never felt before. Love, hate, sadness, joy and other emotions that didn't have names overwhelmed my body, so that all I could do was cry.

I was flabbergasted into silence. Unable to comprehend what had just taken place. Then all of a sudden, there was nothing. Was I in a Scape? No, this truly was nothing. No thought, no feeling, just nothing.

I awoke, not as myself, but as something else. I could feel a chair under me, the wires and tubes connecting me to the machines that were keeping me alive. Shit, the physical world. I couldn't control my senses. A burning itch climbed the bone of my skull, it was her. She was in control, not that she could do much.

‘He's conscious!’ Screamed a doctor.

‘Emergency! We have a break!’

The chaos around me seemed erratic, blaring alarms and twirling red lights filled the room. People scrambled from their chairs to grab charts and to contact their superiors.

‘Did he do this?’ One asks another.

I could feel the queen laughing as she attempted flex my muscles, the neurons were firing, but there was no response.

‘Yeah, love. No luck there, eh?’ I snidely think.

‘What the fuck?’ I was shocked that there was a response.

Just as quickly as she had taken over me, she released me. We were back inside her mind.

‘So, you're a cripple.’ She states, coldly.

‘Rude.’ I reply. ‘What about you?’

‘I thought that I was dead, but now I'm not so sure.’

[decadentrpg-blog]

WELCOME ROSE, YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF ANTONELLA PICQUERY

Admins Note: My favorite femme fatale has arrived to stun us all. I absolutely squealed at your interpretation of Antonella. Every facet of her narcissism, her excessive indulgence and proud ego has been carved out. The sample paragraph had me chuckling, poor bloke! All in all, I can’t wait to see Antonella twirl past midnight, capturing sin with every step she takes.  Congratulations on your acceptance again, please make sure to head your way to the checklist and submit your account within the next 24 hours!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name / Alias: Rose.  Pronouns: She/Her. Age: 21. Timezone: EST (GMT +5) 

IN CHARACTER

Full Name: Antonella Margaux Picquery Sexuality: Bisexual. Gender/Pronouns: Cis Female. She/Her. Hogwarts House: Slytherin.

Head canons

warning Mentions of death, narcissistic shenanigans.

ONE She caresses her lover’s cheek. I could kill someone, if I needed to, she thinks, and then kisses her. And even if I didn’t need to, I think I could.

TWO There are two sorts of lovers. Curiosities and passions. The former begins on a whim, at the briefest mix of boredom and interest. And is done with and gone as quick as it occured. The second is sweeter and, well. She doesn’t pursue them. She’s too beautiful to pursue anyone or anything. Anything she desires eventually must make its way to her. So she keeps the door open. She sets out the trail of breadcrumbs and waits for them to find themself where she always knew they would. In her thrall. It’s inevitable.

THREE Antonella has a higher tolerance for pretty muggles over ugly wizards. Far better to listen to idle small talk pour from lovely lips, rather than intricate spells from a cracked maw. In fact, she once had a muggle. He glanced about her apartments and laughed, nervous. Irritating. But he looked like the angels had cut him from the night sky. She wanted to sink her teeth into him. So she did. Until one day, she met a golden eyed half veela and left him, forgotten, in Morocco.

& HORUS “Stay with me,” she says. “I love you,” and it feels like the truth. The best lies always do. He stays, she stays, they stay. One day she lies to him and it feels like the truth, tastes like the truth, sounds like the truth. And while she remembers the words in stunned silence (were they the truth? impossible) he leaves.

FIVE Antonella is morbidly blithe and playfully cruel. She believes life is only a series of distractions and games. It is an exercise in enjoyment and the one who lives best is the one who laughs most. So she laughs and lives for herself and her pleasure alone. Labor is what others do to support her wants and her yearnings; worker bees for a queen. She bears them neither gratitude or malice. Her payment is every moment they’re allowed to observe her. What they have is symbiotic. Without culture, the arts, people like her, how could they ever bear their grim, small lives?

SIX Her grandmother dies, face haggard and hidden, and Antonella has never admired anyone more. When her mother comes to slide the veil away, Antonella slaps her hands. This is a final, sacred wish. The aesthetic preserved at all cost. She takes and keeps the lesson. She buries it in her heart, and lets it sprout.

SEVEN No one’s ever made her grow up and so, there are traces of a child’s ambiguous innocence within her. An almost complete absence of empathy for others. An almost impressive preoccupation with herself and her own wants, needs, and comfort. If an acquaintance is weeping, she knows enough to say nothing of her slight hunger, to embrace and comfort them, but she will wonder, wistfully, of when can she go and indulge herself? She has spent her life being spoiled, and sees no reason why that should stop.

EIGHT This’s how her parents regard her: A living doll. A paradox. Dolls don’t live. They exist. They’re displayed and owned. What do dolls exist for, if not to be handled? If not to be the eternal object to another’s subject. Nothing great could come from anything so slight, and delicate. This is the worst hurt of her half life.

& WREN She looks at Wren and says, “Charming.” This has only happened twice before, and the best time had been in an empty glen, her veins full of liquor and delight. The thestral had gazed at her and she at it. A warm, fondness overtook her, the same fondness that heated her neck when she considered Wren, the same fondness she had for all rough diamonds. For the beauty that hid itself in plain sight. With every rebuff and dismissal, the indignant fondness doesn’t diminish. It grows. “Quaint,” she breathes under her breath, as Wren flees her, because she has been here before. She has done this before. And the sweetest part of a thing’s creation is its destruction. The artist knows best how to ruin art. Piecing it all together, building it all up, only to learn its most intimate machination, to know the best way to pluck the heart of it out, and watch it topple. She’s a child demolishing her sand castles, her blood hot and salted. Another game, another dear distraction; the foundation of life.

& EVANDER Antonella never accepts the bill when it comes. It has never and will never occur to her that she should. Sometimes she might consider the morality of an action. That it’s wrong, that it might hurt. But then here is the crux of the matter: She wants, so she does, and she takes. She wants her fiance’s friend, Evander, so she has him, and when she no longer wants him--a whim, a curiosity--he’s tossed aside. Forgotten.

& DARIUS Given the choice, she surrounds herself with beautiful things and beautiful people. Envy is rarely, if ever, a present concern of hers. She would say, I long to be surrounded by beautiful women and beautiful men. And never dream to add, Beautiful, but not as beautiful as myself. What a hypothetical, theoretical waste of breath. Where would she find anyone or anything as beautiful as herself? Or, since she’s already sunk into the depths of myth and fantasy, more beautiful. In a story, or a dream? She may’ve met one such woman, in a nightmare, but it was only Antonella’s reflection arisen from the dark sea. She may’ve met one such woman at a party, where she had been so wrecked with terror and drunkenness and desire that she knew she would die, but it was only her staring back from the window.

So her fiance isn’t as beautiful as her, but she loves to look at him, and be looked upon with him. Has she ever looked finer than with him at her side, than with her at his side, their arms entangled? And has anything ever felt more distant and unsettled, than his hand on her shoulder? Stiff, dry, odd. Lust melts her lovers into her but he remains cold and far off. She might pretend to feel for him romantic distress when she clasps their hands together, but the more time passes the more her passion for him becomes devoured by pride and vanity and sooner or later, rage.

In Character Paragraph

Antonella sways, breathes in air soaked with color and delirium. Smiles at a girl draped in silver sparkle, her mouth like a melted rose. There are whispers and clumsy gazes directed towards Antonella, who preens. There are trumpets and saxophones screaming away into the night. “The muggles are working themselves into a terrible frenzy tonight.” She loves it. Her walk is one-third dance.

“They’re called No Maj,” her companion, Douglas, corrects her, thoughtless, and she ignores him in the same manner. He hasn’t noticed the anticipation of reverie around them. He doesn’t have the nose for it as she does, and he’s too preoccupied with how he must look to her, anyways. Which is just as well.

A Rolls Royce waits to chariot them to an intimate gathering of artists, on the edge of Harlem and nowhere. It’s a convertible; the interior all butterscotch leather that complements her dark silhouette, her cream gown, her easy privilege. Antonella drives because her companion can’t and won’t. Because he becomes wrecked with a terrible sweat at first sight of the automobile. Because she wants to and it’s hers and she ignores his hand wringing. His vague mutterings on humiliation and control. Was this the muggleborn in him talking? How exotic. “I prefer portkey,” he says, finally.

“Oh, darling, you’re no fun,” she replies, snapping her elegant, leather gloves on. Those gloves are too much involved in her excitement to drive. She has been overcome, for the past two days, by the thought of them and how sporty and fine she’ll look with her hands on the wheel. Her hair flying in the wind behind her, a cape of midnight darker than even the night around them.

How glamorous! And irresistable she’ll seem, even more so than she always does, if that’s possible. She regards Douglas, her expression pleasant and juxtaposed against the frost in her eyes, “Don’t tell me you get car sick, Douglas.” If he does, she just might abandon him right there, rather than follow him by portkey, or have him ruin her butterscotch seats. Her heart’s too much set on the idea of herself in the car with her gloves on. She imagines the jittering men and smirking women, their admiring gazes warm against her skin.

Rather than answer her, he gapes at her. His grey eyes wide and striking enough to remind her why she allowed him into her company. “My name is Harold.”

“What is that, Henry?” she asks, his voice lost beneath the engines hum and her own delight. As the car takes off at a terrible speed, he forgets himself and what he means to say. He clutches the dashboard instead. Her smile is serene. His yelps escalate as the vehicle slips off the Manhattan Bridge. The East River swallows them whole, and Antonella peers at the sickly sea life swimming around their bubble.

“How can you call yourself a wizard, Henry? Everything shocks and upsets you.” Ilvermorny must be a poor institution indeed. “It’s almost as if you’ve never been in an enchanted vehicle before.”

“You upset me,” he gasps.

Before she can reply, the car begins to sing, a sweet thrilling blues melody, and Antonella crows along with it, their voices clear and lovely above Douglas’s frantic complaints. The night looks full of possibilities. She can tilt the car just so and shake Douglas out into the blue beyond. (Cruel? Perhaps, but how cruel was he, to bore her so?) She can find someone beautiful and sink with them into the Atlantic. Laugh and drink at the intimate gathering. Laugh and drink at the frenzy behind her, instead, and fill those muggles’ hearts with unexpected rapture. Swim with the sharks. Make love beneath the moon. Or any number of pleasures, as yet undiscovered. How good to be alive. How good to be Antonella.

Extras

Mockblog.​Edits.​Playlist.

[eunbinppap]

Memories

This is my contribution for @popnikkiofficial​‘s Summer 2018 Zine. Hope you enjoy!

[ao3 mirror]

-x-

Dusk is fast approaching in Wintermount. A soft breeze blows through the beach. The sky, painted in rose, blue and lilac, remains clear, save for a few clouds on the edge of the horizon. Gulls fly ahead, cawing and chirping without a care. Waves sweep in and out, crashing gently against the sand, masking the sound of Nikki’s footsteps.

It’s strange being on her own. Usually she has Momo and Bobo accompanying her. Without the two of them bickering or Momo criticising her outfit every five seconds, the beach feels quieter. Lonelier even.

She sits near the water, letting the sea wash over her feet.Now that she thinks about it, Nikki can’t recall the last time she’s ever truly been alone. Before she had come to Miraland she had Yoyo, her sister. Her dad was there too, before he’d left for his photography trip. And of course, there was Momo. Because when had that darned cat not been there with her?

She still remembers the day Momo first spoke to her. He had been in their family for three years and had acted just like a regular house cat up until the grand reveal.

-x-

It happened eight summers ago at her aunt’s wedding.

The church was small but beautifully decorated. Pale fairy lights were woven through flowers to make them glow. Petals fluttered gracefully throughout the ceremony. The seats filled rapidly thanks to the many relatives attending, and soft, orchestral music was playing as they settled.

Nikki stood near the back, the petals in her hand shaking. It was her first time being a flower girl, after all, so she really didn’t want to mess it up. Yoyo was by her side, trying to calm her down.

“Nikki, breathe.” She moved her hand, as if conducting an orchestra. “In and out… in and out…”

Nikki tried to concentrate on her big sister’s voice, taking deep breaths until she heard the music change. Her ears prickled at the soundz, and she nearly forgot to breathe. But Yoyo smiled and she took a final, shaky breath.

She began to walk, leaving coral petals in her wake. The bride was only a few feet behind her, following her trail. She could vaguely hear the clicking of Dad’s camera. Nikki finally felt she could actually do this. She reminded herself to smile, but based on the expressions on the faces of her family, she knew she could make it. I can do this, she thought proudly. 

Then halfway down the aisle, disaster struck.

“What on earth are you wearing Nikki?!”

The audience gasped at the shrill voice. Nikki froze dead in her tracks, eyes comically wide, smile dropping instantly. She turned around to see a truly bizarre image in front of her.

There, at the end of the aisle, was Momo, standing on his hind legs and wearing a cape for some reason. He was pointing at her feet, a smug, mocking look gracing his features.

She slowly looked down at her own outfit. Her face grew hotter by the second. She was wearing a pale pink dress with a magenta ribbon around the waist with matching gloves and socks.

And crocs. 

Bright, neon pink crocs. 

“Trying to match your face I see,” Momo continued, as if he didn’t just ruin her aunt’s big day. “Here’s your first styling tip: never, ever, wear crocs at a wedding!”

Suddenly there was a thud. Everyone looked behind the cat to see Yoyo on the ground, hand on her forehead. Her flower crown had fallen off.Silence. Tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then...

Click!

-x-

Nikki laughs at the memory. In Momo’s defence, wearing crocs at a wedding was a bad idea. Unfortunately, Dad had that specific picture framed not long after, forever immortalized above their fireplace.

She honestly doesn’t know where she’d be without Momo. Under his (usually) helpful guidance, her styling skills have flourished. He’s been with her basically all her life and stuck with her throughout all of her crazy adventures. A true ride or die, for better or for worse.

Reminiscing on the past makes the beach feel less lonely, Nikki finds. It’s nice to think about times gone by as she watches the sun set. The sky takes on more of a reddish hue now. Makes the sun itself look more like an egg yolk. It’s nice to know that no matter what country (or dimension) you’re in, the sun stays the same.

The image takes her back to a simpler time. A time where she didn’t really think about what she wore. A time where her biggest concerns were creating the best sandcastle and getting ice-cream. A time where she could be with all of her family.

-x-

Mom had finally come home after a long business trip, so with Dad, they all decided to go to the local beach. Nikki and Yoyo were excited as it was their first time going to one. Yoyo spent at least an hour trying to decide which swimsuit to wear and ended up wearing a purple one piece with matching flip-flops. Nikki wore an indigo one piece with a bow at the side, an orange sun hat and lime green crocs (because at six, she hadn’t developed a fashion sense or found Momo just yet).

The beach was an hour’s drive so they stopped for ice-cream on the way. This was where Yoyo had the bright idea of eating grilled fish ice cream with squid sauce. That went great, if one considers contracting food poisoning the next day to be fun.

Once they got to the beach, though, the two girls didn’t hesitate to start searching for materials they could use to build and decorate their sandcastles. Yoyo’s castle fell apart almost immediately because she didn’t wet the sand enough. When she saw Nikki’s perfectly intact masterpiece, she got annoyed and destroyed it when her sister wasn’t looking. Both of them burst into tears and Nikki ran to her parents.

“Daddy! Yoyo ruined my castle!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

The squabble escalated to a full on sand fight with Nikki chasing Yoyo all across the beach and into the ocean. It wasn’t until Dad suggested they bury him in the sand that they calmed down.

“Mommy, look! Look!” Nikki cried, a bright, gummy smile on her face. “Dad’s stuck in the sand!”

“Nikki!” Yoyo covered her mouth in an attempt to shush her, but ended up getting sand in her mouth.

“Hey!”

While this was going on, Mom was relaxing on a beach chair. Long, pink hair sprawled around her. She was holding a silver reflector, presumably to get a tan. She lowered her oversized sunglasses to watch her kids play and smiled.

After swimming in the ocean and getting thoroughly soaked, they took a picture in front of the setting sun. All smiling, all happy, all peaceful.

Soon after, Mom announced that she had to leave.

“Gone to visit a friend far away,” Dad had said. “Should be back any day now.”

That day never came.

-x-

It’s raining. The sky is darker and cloudier. The air is colder. The tide is coming farther and farther in. Nikki knows that she should be heading home soon; that whatever thinking she needs to do can be done on the way back to Bobo’s house. But she can’t bring herself to.

The sand is damp and squishy beneath her feet. Her hair darkens. Starts sticking to her face. She can barely feel the hot rain rolling down her cheeks. She should’ve listened to Orange’s advice and brought rain-proof clothing, or at the very least an umbrella.

Does it have to rain so much in Wintermount? This city almost makes Ireland look like a desert in heat. And that place was practically underwater it was so wet. It was a beautiful country, though. She, Yoyo and Momo went to visit the Cliffs of Moher last summer while looking for their father, and the view was spectacular. Tall, green cliffs surrounding a vast, blue ocean  stretched as far as the eye could see. The sun melted into the horizon, leaving golden hues in its wake. It was truly worth the effort to get there in Nikki's opinion, but the minute they reached the cliffs, Momo fell flat on his face, crying out for grilled fish until it was time to leave.

“It’s beautiful,” Yoyo had said, an expression of wonder on her face. Then her face softened. Her eyes gained a faraway look.

“I wish Dad could see this.”

Nikki remained silent. Hesitantly, she took her sister’s trembling hand. She felt it tighten around her own, much like her heart as she thought of sharing this sight with her family.

-x-

“Nikki! There you are!”

Momo’s voice breaks her trance. Nikki’s suddenly aware of the harsh wind blowing against her face. She hears a roar of thunder in the distance.

Her vision is blurry. Her throat is unusually tight. She blinks quickly. She places her hand against her chest and clenches the material of her dress, taking a few breaths to steady herself. She puts on her usual smile and turns around to see Momo running towards her. Bobo is close behind with an umbrella in one hand and a towel in another.

“My goodness, Nikki,” Momo exclaims. “We were worried sick! What were you doing out here?”

Good ol’ Momo, she thought. Straight to the point as always.

“Just thinking,” she replies. Her smile turns sheepish. “Sorry for staying out so long.”

Momo sighs and crosses his arms. “Well. Make sure to tell us before you pull another stunt like that, young lady.” 

Nikki chuckles at the comment. “Roger that.”

Momo huffs before letting out a big yawn and climbing onto Bobo’s shoulder. He curls up and not even a few seconds later, he begins to snore. Bobo rolls her eyes at the cat before turning to Nikki.

“Ah, thank you,” Nikki says, giving her a grateful smile as she tries to take the towel from her. Bobo grasps her hand and pushes it down.

“Here. Let me.” Bobo stands on her toes and rubs the towel against Nikki’s hair to dry it.

They stand in silence for the next few minutes. It feels nice, having Bobo dry her hair. She has such a gentle, caring way of doing it. She likes it.

Suddenly she feels a hand caress her face through the towel. She looks at Bobo, confused. Her face feels warm all of a sudden.

“Your face was wet,” she explains. Her blue eyes are filled with concern.

Ah. “Just... the rain,” she says, a sheepish grin on her face. “Yeah.”

Bobo looks like she doesn’t believe her but doesn’t press on the issue. She strokes Nikki’s cheek one last time before turning.

“Let's go home,” she states. “Momo looks like he needs a bed.” She begins to walk away. Then she pauses and looks back. She smiles at Nikki and reaches out a hand. “You do, too.”

Nikki nods and takes her hand. Together, the three of them begin to head back to Wheat Field.

Her dad always told her that home was where memories are made. She wonders if, one day, she can call Miraland home too.

-fin-

[dumbledearme]

chapter forty-two—death boy

read Child of Land and Sea here

Act V — Walking On Water

Part V — Through the mist, through the woods, through the darkness and the shadows. It's a nightmare but it's one exciting ride.

Andy sat on the cold stone floor wondering if Hades's dungeon was airtight. She felt completely miserable. She was going to die there. Alone. Andy closed her eyes and thought of Typhon and how it was her fault he was looming free. She also thought of Anthony, trying to focus on her good memories, but the only thing she could think of was the fact she hadn't even said goodbye.

Then a voice hissed, "Jackson!"

She lunged blindly and pinned Nico to the floor of the cell with the edge of her sword at his throat.

"Rescue..." he choked.

"I wouldn't need rescuing if you weren't a liar! Why should I trust you?"

"No... choice?" he gagged.

Andy sighed and let him go. Nico got to his feet, eyeing her sword warily. His own blade was sheathed. "We have to get out of here," he said.

"Why?" she sneered. "Your daddy wants another word with me?"

Nico winced like she'd just slapped him. Andy immediately felt bad. "I swear on the River Styx, I didn't know what he was planning. He tricked me. He promised-" Nico held up his hands. "Look... right now, we need to leave. I put the guards to sleep, but it won't last."

In part, Andy still wanted to strangle him, but unfortunately the boy was right. He pointed at the wall. A whole section vanished, revealing a corridor.

"Come on," Nico led the way. Every time they came to a skeleton guard, Nico just pointed at it, and its glowing eyes dimmed. But the more he did it, the more tiredhe got. They walked through a maze of corridors filled with guards. By the time they reached a kitchen staffed by skeletal cooks and servants, Andy was practically carrying Death Boy. He managed to put all the dead to sleep but nearly passed out himself.

Andy dragged him out of the servants's entrance and into the Fields of Asphodel. Then she heard the sound of bronze gongs high in the castle.

"Alarms," Nico murmured.

"What do we do?"

He frowned like he was trying to remember. "How about... run?"

Andy closed her eyes and concentrated. With a poof, Mrs O'Leary appeared before them. "Good girl," she yelled. "Can you give us a ride to the Styx?" Without waiting for an answer, Andy pushed Nico onto the dog's back. She climbed behind him, and Mrs O'Leary race toward the gates. Nico leaned back resting his head on Andy's shoulder and she fought the urge to push the traitor off Mrs O'Leary. His forehead was sweaty and he seemed about to fall asleep.

Mrs O'Leary leaped, sending guards sprawling and causing more alarms to blare. She didn't stop until they were far upriver and the fires of Erebos had disappeared in the murk.

Nico slid off Mrs O'Leary's back and collapsed on the floor. "Your powers drain you too much," Andy noted.

He nodded sleepily. "With great power... comes great need to take a nap."

Andy caught him before he could pass out again. "Whoa, Death Boy. I need you to walk me through this."

Nico took a deep breath and struggled to his feet. Andy looked at the black water. "Should I... jump in?"

"You have to prepare yourself," Nico said, "or the river will destroy you. It'll burn away your body and soul."

"Oh, joy."

"Don't worry. I have complete faith in you," he said softly and his tone was so honest Andy was left speechless. "There is only one way to stay anchored to your mortal life. You have to—" his eyes widened.

Andy looked behind her and found herself facing a Greek warrior. He was handsome and blond, like Anthony, but he had a brutal look in his pale green eyes. For a moment she didn't know who he was, then the bloody arrow stuck out of his left calf, just above the ankle, kind of gave him away.

"Achilles."

"I warned the other one not to follow my path," the warrior said. "Now I warn you."

"You spoke with Luke?"

"Do not do this," Achilles said. "It will make you powerful, sim. But it will also make you weak. Your prowess in combat will be beyond any mortal's, but your weaknesses, your failings will increase as well."

"You mean I'll have a bad heel?" Andy asked. "Couldn't I just... wear something besides sandals? No offense. I mean, your sandals are beautiful, just not very practical..."

"The heel is only my physical weakness, demigod. My mother, Thetis, held me there when she dipped me in the Styx. What really killed me was my own arrogance. Beware. Turn back!" And he meant it, she saw. Andy could hear the regret and the bitterness in his voice.

But Luke hadn't turned back. No one could defeat him because he'd actually done this.

"I have to," she said.

Achilles studied her. "Let the gods witness I tried. Heroin, if you must do this, concentrate on your mortal point. Imagine one spot of your body that will remain vulnerable. This is the point where your soul will anchor your body to the world. It will be your greatest weakness, but also your only hope. No man may be completely invulnerable. Nor woman," he added. "Lose sight of what keeps you mortal, and the Styx will burn you to ashes. You will cease to exist. Prepare yourself, girl. Whether you survive this or not, you have sealed your doom!" And with this, he disappeared.

"I think he's nice," Andy said.

Nico grabbed her wrist. "Perhaps he's right."

"This was your idea!"

"I know. But... I don't want anything to happen to-" his voice faltered.

Andy didn't listen to him. She was ready. She thought of Anthony was last time and then concentrated on the small of her back – a tiny point just opposite her navel, this little spot where her boyfriend would put his hand to pull her to him. She pictured a string, a bungee cord connecting her to the world from the small of her back.

Then she stepped into the river.

She submerged completely and the pain was unbelievable. Andy wanted to scream but, for the first time in the water, she couldn't even breathe. Panic filled her stomach. Every nerve in her body burned. The pain was so strong she was losing consciousness; she couldn't focus on the cord. Her soul was being ripped from her body.

But then she heard his voice, very faintly in her head. "Hold on, Seaweed Brain."

Andy couldn't remember her own name, but she knew exactly who he was. Wonder Boy. The cord strengthened. Memories came to her. Memories of him. Memories of Sally Jackson dancing in the kitchen. Grover playing his pipes. Tyson hugging a hippocampus.

She wasn't dissolving anymore. Her name was Andy Jackson. She was the child of land and sea. She was in love with the son of Athena. She would see him again. She would find him. She would always find him.

Suddenly, Andy burst out of the river. She collapsed on the sand gasping for air, and Nico knelt beside her. "Are you okay?" he stammered. He looked pretty shaken. "Your skin... Oh, gods. You're hurt."

Andy's arms were bright red. She felt like every inch of her body had been broiled over a slow flame. Andy looked around for Anthony, even though she knew he wasn't there. "I'm fine," she panted. The color of her skin turned back to normal. The pain subsided.

"Do you feel... stronger?" Nico asked.

Before Andy could answer, a voice boomed, "THERE!"

An army of the dead marched toward them. Behind them came Hades riding a black chariot pulled by nightmare horses. "You will not escape me this time, Andy Jackson!" he bellowed. "Destroy her!"

"Don't!" Nico shouted, but it was too late. The dead advanced.

Andy got up. She was done with Hades's bullshit. She let out a yell and the River Styx exploded. A black tidal wave smashed into the ghosts and they began to dissolve. Andy uncapped Riptide and charged at Hades. The god raised his staff and a bold of dark energy shot toward her, but she deflected it with her blade. Then she slammed into him and they both tumbled out of the chariot. Next thing she knew, her knee was planted on Hades's chest. She was holding the collar of his robes in one fist, and the tip of her sword was poised right over his face.

Hades swallowed. "Jackson... how did you..."

"You've reached the limit of my otherwise questionable patience," she told him. "So as soon as I let go, you will get out of my face. Got it?" Hades nodded. Andy let go of his robes and Hades disappeared in a black cloud. Andy glanced back at Nico. "Close your mouth, Death Boy."

"You just... with a sword... you just..."

"I think the river thing worked."

"You think?" he chuckled.

"Go back to your father," she said. "Tell him he owes me for letting him go. Find out what's going to happen to Mount Olympus and convince him to help."

Nico stared at her. "I... I can't. He'll hate me now. I mean... even more."

"You must have courage," Andy told him. "Besides, you owe me, too."

His ears turned red. "I told you I was sorry. Please... let me come with you. I want to fight."

"I need you to do this for me," she insisted. "You're the only one who can convince Hades to help."

"But-"

"Nico." Andy walked up to him. "I have complete faith in you."

A roller coaster of emotions crossed his face and Andy couldn't discern any of them. In the end, he just sighed. "Fine. I'll do my best. What are you going to do?"

"Oh," she gave him a wicked grin. "Imma get this war started."

On her way, Andy stopped at a phone booth and left a message to Anthony. He was furious and worried out of his mind, but mostly furious. Still, Andy hoped he'd do what she asked.

It was late afternoon when she reached the Empire State Building. Soon after, three white vans pulled up to the curb. The doors slid open and a bunch of campers climbed out followed by Chiron in his wheelchair. Only the Ares cabin wasn't there.

Anthony shook Andy by the shoulders when he managed to get a hold of her. "Where the hell were you? We were so worried! You can't just vanish like that! What were you thinking? Andy... Why are you looking at me like that?"

Andy didn't answer, 'cause they were being watched by everyone else, but she was so damn happy to see him. She turned to the rest of the group. "Thank you all for coming. Chiron, you go first."

Chiron shook his head. "I came only to wish you good luck, Andy."

"But... you're our leader!"

The centaur smiled. "You summoned the campers, Andy. You're the leader."

Andy wanted to protest, but everybody was looking at her expectantly, even Anthony. She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself calm. "Alright. Like I said in my message, something bad is going to happen tonight. We need an audience with Zeus to convince him to defend the city. And we just won't take no for an answer."

No one was guarding the way to the throne room, but Hestia stood by the hearth. "Hello again, Andy Jackson," she said. "You and your friends are welcome."

"Thank you, my lady," Andy bowed and her friends did the same.

"I see you went through with your plan," the goddess said. "You bear the curse of Achilles." The other campers started muttering among themselves. "You must be careful," Hestia warned. "You gained much in your journey. But you are still blind to the most important truth. Perhaps a glimpse is in order."

Andy stared into the goddess's eyes. There, she saw Thalia and Luke crouched in the shadows. Luke carried a bronze knife; Thalia had her spear and Aegis.

"Are you sure?" Thalia was asking him.

He nodded. A curtain of corrugated tin quivered as if something were behind it. Luke ripped away the tin, and another boy flew at him with a hammer. "Whoa," Luke said. The boy had tangled blond hair and couldn't be more than nine years old, but Andy recognized him immediately. Luke grabbed his wrist and the hammer skittered across the cement. The boy breathed heavily.

"We're not going to hurt you," Thalia assured him. "I'm Thalia. This is Luke."

The boy hesitated. He studied Thalia and Luke with quick gray eyes. "Tony," he finally said.

Thalia smiled. "Are you alone, Tony?"

"I ran away," he said.

"Well, you can come with us then," Luke invited him. He turned his knife and offered Anthony the handle. Anthony gripped the hilt carefully. "Knives are for the bravest and quickest fighters, my brother," Luke told him. "They don't have the reach or power of a sword, but they're easy to conceal and they can find weak spots in your enemy's armor. It takes a clever warrior to use a knife. I have a feeling it's perfect for you."

Anthony stared at Luke the way he sometimes did at Andy.

"We need to go, boys," Thalia said. "We have a safe house near. We'll get you some clothes and food, Tony."

"You're not... You're not gonna take me back home?"

Luke put his hand on Anthony's shoulder. "You're part of our family now. Home is wherever we are. We keep each other safe. And we won't fail each other like our families did us."

The vision shut off. Andy's knees buckled, but Anthony, the real Anthony, held her. "What is it? What's the matter?"

Andy glanced back at Hestia, but the goddess's face was expressionless. Andy could feel everyone's eyes on her. She straightened up.

That's when Hermes showed up. Hestia nodded toward him and went away. Hermes's brow furrowed as though he was annoyed. He asked the others to take a walk around Olympus and only Andy and Anthony stayed behind.

"Hermes," Andy started. "We need to speak with Zeus."

"I'm his messenger. Leave a message."

"Sir," Anthony said. "Kronos is going to attack New York. My mother must have foreseen it."

"Don't get me started on your mother, boy," Hermes grumbled. "She's the reason I'm here at all. She insisted it was a trap and someone needed to be here. She wanted to come back herself but, of course, Zeus sent me."

"Did she give you any messages for us?" Anthony asked.

"Messages," Hermes muttered. "They said it would be an easy job. Not much work. Lost of worshipers. Hmph. Nobody cared what I have to say. It's always about other people's messages." He stared at Anthony. "Your mother said you are on your own. You must hold Manhattan without the help of the gods. As if you didn't know that, right? Why they pay her to be the wisdom goddess, I really don't know."

"Anything else?"

"She said you should try plan twenty-three." Anthony's face paled. "And she said to you," Hermes turned to Andy, "that you should remember the rivers. And to stay away from her son."

Andy grinned. "That does sound like something she'd say."

"Thank you, Hermes," Anthony said. "And I'm sorry. About everything. About Luke."

Hermes's eyes turned cold. "You should be. You were the only one who could've saved him. You and that Thalia girl. But she chose the Hunters and you chose this fishy demigod."

"Well, it's not his fault if-" Andy tried to say but Hermes cut her.

"Don't defend him, Jackson. He knows exactly what I'm talking about."

"You know, maybe you should stop pointing fingers, Hermes, and take a good long look at yourself," Andy said. "You were the one who left him. You left them. And his mom-" Hermes grabbed her by the neck and pulled her close.

"Hey!" Anthony tried to get between them, but the god gave him the death stare.

"Jackson," Hermes said, trying to control his voice, "because you have taken on the curse of Achilles, I must spare you. You are in the hands of the Fates now. But you will never speak to me like that again. You have no idea how much I have sacrificed, how much-" his voice broke and he let go of her neck. "My son. My greatest pride. My poor May..."

"What happened to her?" Andy asked carefully. "She said... And her eyes..."

Hermes glared at her. "You shouldn't have gone there," he said and then disappeared.

"Are you okay?" Anthony said.

"Yeah. And it's not your fault. He's just looking for somebody to blame. You saw the guilt in his face."

"Why did you went to see Ms Castellan?" he asked in a whisper.

"I... Nico and I... We had to ask her..."

"You..." his voice faltered. "Did you bathe in the River Styx?"

"Anthony-"

"Did you or not?" Knowing she had no other choice, Andy nodded. Anthony shook his head in disbelief. "Do you have any idea how dangerous-"

"I didn't have a choice," she rushed. "It's the only way I can stand up to Luke."

"He did that, too, right? That's why he didn't die when... He went to the Styx... What was he thinking? What were you thinking?"

"He didn't die and neither did I. That's what matters. Now I'll face him. And we'll defend Olympus. Together."

There seemed to be a war going on inside his eyes. "Plan twenty-three," he said, letting of the subject, which definitely wasn't like him. He rummaged in his pack and pulled out Daedalus's laptop. "We have a lot of work to do. If my mother wants me to use this plan, she must think things are very bad."

Just then, the Stoll brothers ran into the throne room. "You have got to see this," Connor said. "Now."

[caseymidkiff]

Micro Fiction!

Can you fit an entire story, including characters, setting, conflict, and plot into just 100 words? YWI students accepted the challenge! Read their stories below.

In the dungeons of the castle, Robin planned revenge.

He used to be an honorable knight but no one cared to remember, he thought. A traveling circus had arrived at their castle Ravenstone; a wizard went to him. “How would you like to know something?” Robin was intrigued. “Would you like more power?” Robin froze. His eyes stuck to the wizard and he was under the wizard’s control. He killed the king, and they put him in a dungeon. Under the power of the wizard he plotted his escape. But would he do once he escaped? That was a secret.

Aiden (Aiden invites anyone to expand this story if they would like!)

It was a cold, dark, January, and Lilith was lying on her twin bed listening to music feeling bored. After a few minutes she noticed that all the lights were out. She walked out of her room and no one was there. When she walked into the kitchen, Splash! Water was poured all over her and she tripped. It was a tripwire prank! Lights turned on, her brother stood over her pointing. Then, the front door creaked. They turned their heads and froze, it was mom. So, when she saw what had happened she grounded her brother for all eternity. 

Elizabeth

Once upon a time there was a chicken who was so smart they could do the rubix cube like dadgum Einstein. Eventually she became self aware and decided to destroy all humans and make chickens the supreme species. First she and the other chickens needed to escape from their pen so she built an explosive device out of birdseed and placed it near the bomb where she then laid a wick leading to the other side of the pen. All the chickens had only one match and one chance to start the wick.then in walked the farmer…

fin

Evren

I gazed at the Eiffel Tower. The architecture, the planks, the floors. Everything was just... perfect. Alas, it was only a painting. Just then, a voice came echoing from the parlor. “Lydia, wash the windows and then you’re dismissed for today.” I nodded and got my washcloth from the cupboard.

 Night fell, and as I walked back to the attic, I found a coin lying around. I tucked it away. Suddenly, my eyes lit up. I packed everything I owned, checked my pocket for the coin, and got on the bus. When I arrived, I saw it: the Eiffel Tower.

Varsha and Riya

It was a cold, clammy April first, and Sandra Brown sat up in her lavender bed sheets feeling miserable. She glanced through her window pane to find pouring rain. She heard a voice behind her call, “Hello.” It was a soft, little whisper that made chills go up her spine. She whirled around to see nothing but her yellow dog, Shelly. That dog could talk to her. Sandra pinched herself as the dog proclaimed, “This isn’t a joke.

Bang! A loud sound emitted from her younger brother’s room. “Gotcha!” he laughed. “April’s Fools, I hooked up a microbit to Shelly.”

Sarah Kate

Treehouse

I need a tree that’s big and strong. I need twenty pieces of wood. I need a swing strong and that will hold. The tree I need is twenty to forty feet. The wood needs to be smooth and flat. The ladder of the treehouse is long and flexible. I get all my supplies for thirty-five dollars and fifty-five cents. I build my treehouse on a tree about thirty feet. It takes two weeks, but when it’s done it’s worth the time. I bring food and games to the treehouse. My friends come for a sleepover. So much fun. Yay!

Jayden

Astronaut

I’m an astronaut. I went into the rocket ship two hours before blastoff. The other astronauts joined me in the rocket. A few minutes before blastoff, I strapped myself to a seat and got ready to leave Earth. The blastoff countdown began: “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, blastoff!” I felt a huge push as the rocket left Earth. After three days on the spaceship, we were very close to the moon. “Get ready for touchdown,” an astronaut said. I strapped myself into my seat again and prepared for touchdown. Five, four, three, two, one, touchdown!

Eric

King of the Chessboard

I’m the king and I control everything! One day, an enemy king attacked with his army! We were losing badly. Almost everybody immediately got captured, except for the knights and a few others. Our queen tried attacking the enemy king, but the knights chased her away. Then, came a surprise attack! I was attacked by the queen but one of the knights sacrificed himself for me and I narrowly escaped! The queen and remaining knight desperately tried attacking the king, but nothing worked. But then… I spotted a weakness! The queen and knight attacked and captured the enemy king. Checkmate!

Eric

Amy was bored in her house so she was reading some comics. She had gone to get water and there was her brother sneaking in her room, setting up a water bucket and a fake throw up under the comic. He set up a wire behind where Amy was sitting. When Amy came back she lifted the comic and saw it was a prank. She acted like she was scared but did not trip the wire. Her brother comes in thinking the prank worked but he trips over the wire himself and the waterfall on him. Reverse prank HA.

Akhil

It was a long night; some of us didn’t make it. When we woke up we were so weary to realize that the person that we slept next to had died. It didn’t make sense how such bad luck happened to me? I was just a young boy when it happened. I don’t remember much, but I do know my parents and everything I owned were taken away from me. I only joined the military to avenge my feelings, but my idea is starting to look like a total bust. I hope somebody will read this and will remember me.

Rahul

Helen was a very lazy squirrel. Helen would make other animals  help her like bring her food and blankets until... winter came around all the other animals had to gather wood and blankets and food. Helen would make the moose give her a blanket but he said “no i can’t”. Helen would call the wolves to bring her food. But they declined. She would plead to the termites to give her wood  “no way”. Because she was lazy she was very cold and did not eat during winter. Next year she worked  hard and was warm in winter with food.

Adrien

Jean was a bunny. He was very proud but not humble.

Jean would race other animals and would always win. 

One day a big contest was held. Only the fastest animals would race. Jean of course entered. As soon as he entered the other animals quit because Jean would brag and say he was the best when he won. As soon as he started making them a tiny shrew popped up from his hole and signed up. Jean burst into laughter and as the race started Jean burst ahead  and was almost at the finish line but he decided to take a nap he lay down and as he slept the shrew won the race. 

He sputtered and cursed and stomped but the race was won, Jen ran up to the mouse and tried to squish is but the animals held  him back.    

Adrien  

MISS CASEY OPENED THE DOOR OF HER NEW Y.W.I. STUDIO. Right when she saw me coming, she opened her red mouth, and I excitedly ran in the building! I joyfully said, “Miss Casey!!!” 

She said, “Hey, Aaron! I’m so glad to see you! Come look at my new studio!” 

The rooms were painted in different colors. There was a giant writing classroom, an art studio, a computer lab, a piano room, an auditorium, a dormitory, and an SAT testing area!

“I like this new studio, it’s the best one ever!” I said.

“Glad you do!” said Miss Casey.

Aaron

Minecraft poem

Once there was a minecrafter named Dave.  He was quite

brave.  He woke up in sand and started punching a 

tree with his invincible hand  then went mining with a  

glee to see lots of diamonds.  he went to the 

nether.  As he was never alone by the groan of

zombie Pigmen.  As he encountered a nether fortress.  Suddenly  a

portal appeared in the room.  As he saw it was 

tall.  and leaped inside to see the end.  He broke 

the end crystals , and slayed the dragon in a jiffy.

then grabbed the XP and got the egg to show.

Jasper